#green and lush and alive

[johbeil]

From a walk this morning

Fuji Instax SQ20, scanned from instant print.

[thesirenisles]

Based on research and observation. If it does not apply, let it fly. Copyright Protected. All rights reserved. © 2024 The Siren Isles

“I lay at your feet. Your body is my temple.

Searching for eternity within you.”

aries

FIRESTARTER These natives desire fireworks and a whirlwind of passion in a relationship. Women can be like trap-hunters, rather than warrior-style direct. They'll set the trap for their target and pounce with feral efficiency. With this dynamic, the native can possess a voracious sex drive. This is because when Mars comes into contact with Venus, it is like a kid in a candy shop! Mars asserts and Venus indulges. Inhibitions are of no worry. They are in their element. A blend of the physical and sensual. Sexual attraction, power, and even attention could be factors in the choosing of their mate. But, the power must come with ACTION. They want the spontaneous lover that pops up with plane tickets and a "Surprise! We're going on a trip!" They need high energy, vibrant lovers that are all about them. The rush of adrenaline and desire is a MUST. Being a stick-in-the-mud or boring is the quickest way to turn them off. The problem here is that when Aries does rush in and attain the object of their desire, they are often disillusioned in some way. Sometimes it isn't what they expected or... they get bored and realize it was more about the chase. And there begets the plot. There is much to learn in matters of love in this lifetime with this placement. Ideally, these lovers need someone who will join them on their explorations and keep the spark of youth alive. Motion is vital. Drama is welcomed.

taurus

MATERIAL GIRL Sugar baby indicator. Venus is in her domicile here and the energy is lovely. Lush green gardens, pearlescent royal baths, and water adorned with rose petals. Venusian vibes! This native often has a natural aesthetic, being inherently prideful of their own beauty. I notice that they aim to perfect the "barely there" makeup. Women probably ask you for advice all the time and this placement has the tips! Great skin placement, unless otherwise chart afflicted. Blessed with all of these gifts, they want a worthy suitor. A PROVIDER. This native wants security, both in spirit and the physical. Comfort. Quality. Elegance. You must be consistent to win this lover. They want the man who believes in honoring his word. (Jon Snow vibes) The love needs cannot be met with a flighty lover. In their boudoir, you can expect to have all of the senses tantalized. Good eats (does not mean they have to cook, but they def know the best food spots), soft fabrics, sweet aromas, and tender touches! They are very physically intuitive and their partner must be able to speak fluent body language and love them tenderly. They want commitment ideally. They are the mature princesses, waiting on the one with whom she can spend forever. A stable, mature, and responsible partner. No dusties! Love is just not enough to overcome financial hardship for this native & that’s fine! Adhere to your standards!

gemini

WORDSMITH With this placement, Venus grasps the caduceus and takes flight with Gemini qualities of language, trickery, and a thirst for knowledge. Got rizz? I hope so, because it takes quite a tongue to dazzle this native. Sapiosexual indicator. Party over here!! Jokes. Laughter. Witty Banter. Quite popular, they can often meet their partners among friends and engaging in diverse conversations, sometimes online. These varying social circles create new experiences and the Gemini is more than open to them. (; I imagine this placement with cupid energy! Winged love goddess, fluttering from heart to heart and making people fall in love! This can be online, in person, over the phone, by letter... they're diverse! They leave a string of broken hearts in their wake, often too busy with their laundry list of hobbies to provide closure. "It was fun while it lasted!" The Venus in Gemini native wants to survey their options. In love, they desire an open air of communication and a partner that will never judge or rain on their parade. Being closed minded or vapid is a major turn off. You must be able to hold up your end of the conversation because this native loves mental connection. No dramatic displays of emotion needed. Similar to Aries, there is much to learn here before one can settle down successfully and that’s okay! Get out there and live!

cancer

QUEEN OF CUPS Venus saunters in the sand and basks in the moonlight that beckons the tide that is her tears. Happy tears. Sad tears. Doesn’t matter. She is deeply emotional here, nurturing, and an intuitive lover. Feminine energy is second nature, but in a cardinal disposition. Venus in Cancer has the ability to create safe spaces for their lovers to feel freely. This is perfect because this lover desires, on a soul level, to be needed. They want someone a bit needy and even dependent upon them for emotional security. Cry babies are welcomed. They do not mind the mama's boy, even. This side of either lover may not even be known to others or publicly. But, those who know them personally, have witnessed the crazy displays of passion. They need emotional transparency. Their Cancer claws want to take hold of their lover, console them, and wipe their tears. Venus here is the emotional life guard coming to their lover's rescue, utilizing the moonlight to guide them through the ocean of emotions. Can you even tell if someone is crying in the ocean? No nonchalant or emotionally unavailable lovers welcome! They need an honest and open lover who is unafraid to be vulnerable. EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE is key. When young, the cancer can attract the emotionally unavailable types... but they will not fill the cups of this deserving queen. Soul bonds are formed with this placement. and people can become attached to your healing or nurturing abilities.

leo

SOVEREIGN Powerful placement! Venus struts in the rays of the sun for an adoring crowd. Gold exudes from her womanly form. She is proud and fierce. The Sun and Venus collaborate to create a dazzling energy that attracts a sea of suitors. GLITZ. GOLDEN GLOW. GLAMOUR. However, this native desires a lover who equally glows! They are looking for their royal consort.. a king or queen with whom they can rule. The aesthetics or status of their partner matter here and they prefer to have arm candy. The type that will increase their value to the public, thus flattering the Ego (sun). Extravagance. Luxury. Grand gestures of Romance lol. But, very often absolutely stunning! This native desires to be seen and adored while in love. Their coupling can be considered the "couple's goals" type. Definitely posts their love on social media. They may shower their lover with their energy, gifts, talents, and love. (Venus blesses them with an abundance of all.) But, they expect this and then some in return. DIVA. They are your Goddess and their body is the temple you worship. These purring cats demand attention, compliments, and genuine appreciation. These lovers do not desire a shy or reserved partner in matters of romantic expression. No insecurity is allowed! You must be ready to shine with the Venus in Leo native, not hold them back.

virgo

WIFE Venus is a gracious girl boss in Virgo. She brings beauty to daily routines and acts of service and values these activities. These are the hardworking hotties that manage to make it all look so aesthetically pleasing. Fresh-fruit infused water. High-quality skin care. Matching workout fits. Strict exercise regimen. These natives can quite literally spend their lives working to be the ideal Venus. The ultimate maiden. Very natural aesthetic, similar to Taurus. ORGANIZED. MATURE. FEMININE. Venus in Virgo loves to check off her task list. “Finding the perfect partner” is at the top. It'd be a lot easier if she wasn't so picky. A keen eye for detail makes for an unusual journey in love. (Think: Charlotte from SATC. Dumped a guy on the SPOT because his home decor preference was different than her own.) This native often believes that she is not picky at all and does not like to waste time. This is because she feels that these requirements are something every bachelor should have. COMPETENT. STABLE. RESPONSIBLE. She desires a type that completes their daily task list efficiently while managing to be a consistent lover. A PRACTICAL and sensible partner. No overly grand gestures are needed (chart could vary). Small actions hold the greater weight here, because the Virgo notices and appreciates the details. Well-Spoken. Honest. Book Smart. An intelligent, mature, and stable partner is ideal. Someone who can help or assist them in someway, making their lives flow easier. The intense or emotionally heavy relations are not typically for them, unless otherwise influenced in the chart. They want to be apart of something steady and trustworthy, in regards to long term relationships. Being of service & being serviced by a great partner.

libra

PRINCESS Venus is in her other ruled sign here, making for a harmonious placement. Venus in Libra attracts people like flies to honey & takes on the role of socialite here. Blessed with charm, the native impresses others in one on one contact. This opens many doors and begets many opportunities! They are the must-have on the guest list. They will come dressed, classy, and add value to the social atmosphere. They even dress aesthetically going to bed. This energy also begets followers! There is great social media potential here. In love, they desire someone with class or attractive status in some way. CLASS. AFFLUENCE. LUXURY. They like those who can create connections. Open doors. Authorize Purchases. Good manners. Proper dress. INTELLIGENCE. Charm and social skills are a must. Social status is even better. They want to be a wife to a powerful man usually, due to Sun's unfavorable positioning in Libra (in fall.) Marriage could be a foundational value. That means they are a bit picky. No dusties. No boring people. If you're a homebody, this is not the person for you. This placement can also be a bit shallow, preferring a partner that they feel a physical attraction to. Others must find them fine too! This reflects back on the Libra’s ego. They need open and clear communication to establish some kind of balance in their relationships. Equal partnership. Cardinal energy here is all about the pursuit of fine living, EXTRAVAGANT social experiences, and LAVISH settings. The lover must be an asset to this. These are the folks who post from Barbados on a Tuesday. We love to see it!

scorpio

SORCERESS Venus rises from the black waves of the Underworld reborn when in the sign of Scorpio. BOW DOWN. Your Goddess has entered the room. BEWITCHED. SPELLBOUND. Possibly many secret admirers. Many suitors are drawn to this native, for reasons they can’t explain. This native demands abject loyalty. They desire every ounce of affection, love, commitment, and passion within you. Even if that comes with obsessive tendencies or public professions of love and fealty. Venus becomes a savant in the world of sex, death, and regeneration. This native desires intense emotional exchanges. They want you to prove that you love them, but never with just words. This sorceress excels in the transmutation of energy. POWERFUL stuff. The witch is in the room. Screaming. Shouting. Crying. They welcome the emotions. Their love can render you a slave to their whims. They conjure emotion out of you, command your energy, and then proceed to have incredible makeup sex. WHEW. "I can't live without you." -A Scorpio Venus outside your house at 3AM. (the witching hour). These natives need a devoted lover who can offer security and good sex. Match their freak. Someone powerful but lowkey is ideal. The lover is ideally not loud, but commands respect and attention in other ways. Plutonian energy likes those silent, but deadly vibes. They do not tolerate the meek, timid, or disloyal for long. It wouldn't be smart to double cross these natives. One word. Vengeance. There is much to learn here, being in such a heavy sign. They are here to transform in love, while also transforming others. You will never forget this placement!

sagittarius

GLOBETROTTER Venus leaps upon the back of a magnificent stallion and rides through the annals of wisdom collected by Jupiter. She is a collector of wisdom, interesting artifacts, and exhilarating experiences. Venus stationed here is an indication that the native will have to undergo a travel or journey (Sag) in order to find love (Venus). This could be literal travel or mental enlightenment. Both are profoundly powerful and significant to the development of this soul. ADVENTURE. EXPLORING. TRAVEL TO FOREIGN LANDS. STUDYING ABROAD. Venus values learning from experience and expanding the mind here. Their lover must be a student or even teacher of life. Wise. Sagacious. Confident. Venus in Sagittarius brings luck (Jupiter) to the natives love life. They attract those who can seemingly teach them something, that assists them on their life path, and creates opportunities. This person must be incredible and one of a kind. A practical homebody will not cut it. They need a fascinating best friend and adventure partner for their odyssey through the splendors of this Earth. They possess the globetrotter energy. Passport ready. Spontaneous personalities are a plus. Surprise this native with tickets or an activity. Invest in their higher education. Their lovers can often be foreign in some way or attracted in the educational space.. where this native shines!

capricorn

MATRIARCH Venus in Capricorn moves with an air of royalty. She is almost too aware of the cosmic hands of time (Saturn) and she is serious about not wasting a second of it. "Do you have a savings account? Do you have any assets? Do you want to get married and have kids?" This is small talk for this native! You're not on a date, you are on a job interview and you can assure there are prerequisites! Venus here may present in the old money aesthetic, if not a classic look. She is WOMAN. Queen of Pentacles. AMBITION. STABILITY. SUCCESS. MATURITY. These natives desire a steady lover that promises structure and some type of status. They desire to build and create something great. Something ENDURING.Something for others to envy. "The Power Couple." Even if the lover does not have status, they must possess the desire to attain power by any means necessary. CUTTHROAT. BUSINESSMAN. MOGUL. TYCOON. Venus in Capricorn is looking for that fiery ambition in someone and they are attracted to those who show this potential. She desires to be by their side in support, but also adding her own value to the union or "business deal" LOL, These native do not like games or unserious characters that live for "exhilaration". They need physical, financial, and emotional stability to be fulfilled in love. They are looking for their life partner. Saturn tasks them with waiting for the one they desire. But, this will be worth the wait. Quality and true love.

aquarius

PEOPLE'S CHOICE Venus is high above the clouds in her sky castle within the heavens of Aaru. Here, the Goddess has the ability to charm the ENITRE collective at once. Social media potential! This native also has a ton of friends. Possibly several best friends. INNOVATION. GENIUS IDEAS. REBELLION. Uranus and Saturn convene with Venus on the matters of humanity. Venus in Aquarius is in love with humanity, while also being the love of humanity. They desire a lover who does not mind sharing their time when they feel the need to be a humanitarian. This is a true INDIVIDUAL. Their expression of Venus is unique and one of a kind. They may even redefine what the themes of Venus mean to them in this lifetime. In love, they desire a best friend. A confidant. They need a soul partner who is not overly emotional, but cool as a cucumber & light. LAUGHTER. LOGIC. FUN. Friends to Lovers. Someone ready to learn and explore NICHE topics. Someone who they can discuss literally anything with.. from conspiracies to futuristic world ideas. Uranus and Saturn create a very evolved character in matters of creating, but in love... there is much to learn. Love may not be high on the priority list. However, Venus rules balance and this native must learn to balance their lover vs the world. There may be something eccentric or unique about their lover, but this does not have to mean blue hair. It can simply be someone cut from a completely different cloth than they are used to.

pisces

SIREN Venus meets Neptune in a sprawling grotto. The primordial waters of Nun enrich Venus with a knowledge of all the signs. Venus is exalted here and she morphs into the perfect lover. Venus here has the ability to recreate (Primordial) herself into the likeness expected of her (water). SHAPESHIFTER. SIREN. GLAMOURS. Her sense of love is fluid. She inherently understands what all of the signs need. This is the Venus who can be an immaculate lover to every single one of the signs. Venus here is love incarnate. The catch is that Pisces cannot be fulfilled by all types of love. She may flirt with the idea of belonging to extremely different types of people. Venus here is a sensitive, PSYCHIC, and SPIRITUAL soul. She is in tune with the unconscious thoughts of the collective. Water can be soothing with regenerative qualities for this native after being drained. But, they usually willingly give this power up, due to weaker boundaries. This is the lover who already knows what to say, where to kiss, and what hurts. So much energy can be spent on their partner. Their love is potent and transcends the realm of physical feeling. When this person comes into your life, it’s most likely because you truly needed unconditional love. In a lover, this native needs someone to be their rock! They need a steady and consistent lover to bring stability to the waters of Pisces. More importantly, they need a SOULMATE. This yearning for soul connection can lead to rose-tinted glasses. The lover must be sensitive, spiritual, and in tune with the emotions of the Pisces Venusian. Their love must be a fated one, full of understanding. These lovers must beware the energy leeches and manipulators. Venus' energy here is SO potent, that a disturbed few may try to possess or capture it. Fatal attraction and even envy from others is possible.

Thank you for reading!!

Check out my blog for more in-depth astrology and mythology posts!

@thesirenisles | masterlist | venus mythology

[cherrycolored-punk]

still frames - bestfriend! e.m. x fem! reader

author’s note: reminiscing about the friend I had in high school, the one who I’d create playlists with and who’d call to play his guitar for me every night. and you can’t tell me that Eddie isn’t the same type of dude. the sweet bits are based on the reminiscing. the rest is pure fiction with our favorite goof. anyways, enjoy!🧡

w/c: 5k

warnings: angst, pining, smut (oral - reader receiving, protected p in v), spanking, teasing, uhhhh let me know if I forgot anything

‼️ THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG, MINORS DNI ‼️

Raindrops race down your living room window in lines, and you watch them from your spot on the floor. It’s fall, and the lush greens of summer have begun to change color; their leaves now varying hues of orange and yellow. They create a coziness in your apartment, a warmth that feels like it envelops you and is amplified by the scent of your favorite candle; crisp apple, nectar, and warm clove spice fill your lungs with each breath you take.

Eddie lays beside you on his stomach, focusing on his phone and the playlist you created for him.

The playlists were a tradition since middle-school, a way to introduce each other to a new sound or a band the other might not have heard of. For some time, though, you’d been using it to send cryptic messages, and he hadn’t caught on. 

Your crush on Eddie came suddenly but was felt all at once. 

It was a spring morning nearly two years ago, and you’d laid dying in bed, except not really. You just had the flu, but you felt close to death and had texted him as much.

Eddie: what do you need?

You: hit me with your van, stab me in the face…please end my suffering.

He, of course, didn’t grant your wish, but he’d shown up at your apartment after work with a grocery bag full of supplies. Eddie was still wearing his navy coveralls covered in oil and smelled like grease. From what you could smell, anyway. You could barely breathe through your nose.

“I got you theraflu tea, and I don’t want to hear you complain about the taste. You just need to drink it,” he scolded before you could even complain. 

Your jaw snapped shut.

“Also got your favorite soup, four cans,” he held his fingers up, “orange juice, Vicks, popsicles in case your throat hurts, those saltines you like, and,” he turned, “I brought Scream for us to watch since I know it’s your favorite.”

It hit you like a ton of bricks, made your heart stutter, and nearly stop. 

It was the way he was smiling, the familiar excited gleam in his eye as he looked at you. It was the fact that he’d shown up after a twelve-hour shift with all your favorite sick foods in tow. 

Your eyes traced over his face like you were seeing him for the first time. The sharp edge of his jaw, the plump of his lips, the freckles that dotted the slope of his nose, and when did Eddie become so beautiful?

You’d tried blaming it on the fact that less oxygen was getting to your brain and a virus was wrecking your immune system, but now you didn’t have the same excuse. Now you couldn’t look at Eddie without noticing the pinks of his cheeks or the different smiles he had. Couldn’t be around him without yearning to hug him or hold him in a way that didn’t scream just friends.

The past year and a half had been overwhelming, the yearning making you feel hollow. Like if you didn’t say something, it would continue to eat you alive, but telling him ran the risk of ruining the friendship and that was a fate worse than being alone.

You glance over to the playlist he’s listening to, at the song playing, and clench your eyes shut.

Despite the music in your ears, you can hear the song reverberating off the walls of your skull. The one you heard that made you think of him. It plays in your head, having memorized every lyric and the way the singer’s voice influxes with certain words.

Bet you never knew it

Think you’d suit me just fine

And you know he’ll never get it, never know you’re hopelessly in love with him.

You close your eyes and focus on the song, one he chose specifically for you. 

Good Riddance plays soft, a break from the heavy metal he always added but not a song you hadn’t heard before. It brings a sense of nostalgia in the form of a lump in your throat, and you swallow hard, images of high school flashing through your mind like a retro view-master. It feels like yesterday and another lifetime all at once. The plays you were in, the various games you cheered at, going to Corroded Coffin’s shows, staying over at Eddie’s house, the first time he’d convinced you to join a campaign…the face of “I told you so” when you told him you had actually enjoyed it.

Eddie pulls the earbud from your ear, auburn hair tickling you where it meets your bare shoulder and interrupting your reminiscing. You turn to him, curious eyes meeting his steady gaze. 

“What is it?” you question with a quirk of your brow, unable to decipher the expression that colored his features. 

“Curious choice of songs here,” his voice carries a teasing lilt as he turns onto his side, facing you. 

You could feel his gaze on you, searching your features for the answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet. 

“How do you figure?” you turn, matching his pose, and rest your chin on your palm.

Eddie thought for a moment, his eyes turning up and to the left as he searched for the words. 

He looks handsome as ever, pale skin glowing from the light of your candle. Cinnamon eyes lit with a hint of mischief and something you couldn’t name. 

His eyes shift down and meet yours, a broad dimpled smile slotting into place. 

“Something tells me you have a crush on someone,” and your heart practically drops into your ass at his words.

“A crush?” You ask, half-laughing at his accusation in an attempt not to vomit.

“Oh, don’t play coy. Every song on here drones on about love,” he points to his phone, his eyebrows pushed into his bangs. 

“They’re just good songs, Edward,” you shove his head and lay flat on your back, but he follows your movements, hovering over you. Close enough that you can smell the spearmint of his gum and the cologne he wears; musk and smoked suede. It makes your mouth water, his proximity making your heart lurch in your ribcage. 

“I never said they weren’t good, Princess.” 

Your hand reaches out to push his face away at the nickname, but he catches your wrist in his grasp, a cocky smile spreading wide on his lips. 

“What happened to us not questioning the playlist, Munson? Isn’t that rule number one since day one?” You attempt to fight your wrist out of his grasp, but it remains firm. 

“Let go,” you grumble, and he shakes his head.

“Not until you tell me,” he counters.

“Tell you what?” you stop fighting, and your arm falls back near your head, his fingers still wrapped around it as though he were pinning you there. 

“Who is it?” he shrugs, but you don’t miss how his adam’s apple bobs as he asks. 

You wonder if Eddie can hear how your heart hammers, your senses overwhelmed by his sudden inquisition. 

“There isn’t anyone,” but your gaze turns from him, and he knows you’re lying. 

“Not good enough,” he shakes his head.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I need to know,” you look back at him. The need you’d felt for the past year reflected in his gaze.

Time slows.

“Why?” your voice is softer, barely above a whisper. Breath held as you wait for his answer. 

He lets go of your wrist and settles back at your side, reaching for his phone as you watch him. The anticipation of his response pushing you closer to cardiac arrest. 

Eddie pulls out your other earbud and places one of his own in your ear. 

I Want You plays, and you recognize the familiar sound of Mitski’s voice. One that is full of yearning and a palpable sorrow. You look at him with a curious upturn of your brow, a silent question, and he turns the screen of his phone towards you. 

It’s a new playlist, one you hadn’t seen, and it bears a simple title: your name. 

A million thoughts race through your head, but you can’t find the words or the right question. 

“Mitski?” You decide to tease, your cheeks warm as the feelings rush through you. The realization that maybe, just maybe, he loved you too. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles, but it’s full of affection, and his face leans closer—his gaze darts between your eyes and the swell of your lips. 

Your mouth parts in anticipation, eyes fluttering shut as your head lifts to meet him halfway. 

A small gasp escapes your lips at the first contact, his lips softer than you’d ever imagined. Slotting perfectly together with yours. He tasted like the gum he chewed and the soda he’d had; sweeter than you thought he’d be.

Eddie’s hand cups your face, gently holding your jaw as his thumb rubs the apple of your cheek. Holding you almost reverently. 

The kiss deepens as he pulls you on top of him, his tongue tracing the curve of your bottom lip, asking for permission. Your tongue swipes against his in response, and you swallow the moan he feeds you - fingers tangling in the fabric of his black t-shirt as he holds you to him. 

His large hand wanders down your back and over the curve of your ass, gripping the dough of it. You can’t help the circle of your hips as you grind against his thigh. Chasing the friction you so desperately need. 

Your lungs begin to ache as the kiss deepens, desperate for oxygen but more so for his touch, and you roll over, pulling his weight on top of you. Enjoying the feel of his body pressed into yours, and his knee slotted between your legs. 

Eddie pulls away, taking a deep breath to fill his burning lungs, and you chase his fleeting lips - eyes still closed. He chuckles, rubbing your cheek affectionately - memorizing the softness of your skin and the warmth of your body underneath him.

You breathe in deeply, gaze finally meeting his, and the first thing you notice is the flush of his cheeks. Then the way his brown eyes are almost obsidian; darkened with need. His nose brushes yours as he leans in for another kiss, just as soft as the first but quick so he can look at you again. 

“Are you finally going to tell me who it is?” He questions, lips hovering over your jaw, and you can barely breathe. Anticipating his touch. 

You shrug your shoulder, not ready to admit to defeat. 

“Couldn’t tell you, just some guy,” you play with the collar of his shirt, acting aloof. 

“Just some guy,” he repeats with a shake of his head, pressing a kiss to the space between your jaw and your ear. 

Your breath comes out shaky, and you can only nod.

“Was hoping it was me, Princess,” he kisses down your neck causing goosebumps to sprout along your arms.

His lips press against the skin of your shoulder, pushing at the strap of your dress with his mouth to nudge it out of the way. 

The curve of his lips is a whisper above your skin, his head dipping down and tracing the tops of your breasts. You arch into his touch, desperate to feel his mouth over every inch of your body. 

He stops abruptly, his head lifting back to hover over yours with a mocking grin. Enjoying how he already affects you, the way you whine when you don’t get what you want. 

“As if you don’t know the answer,” you gruff, and he leans in, shaking his head. 

“I want to hear you say it,” he whispers, face inches from yours—a dare. 

The stubborn part of you wants to deny it, wants to keep the secret close in case this was all in jest, but there’s another part that yearns to hear him say it too. To hear him say it back. For it to be more than a private playlist with your name attached.

“It’s you,” and you almost want to disappear. To sink into the floor or to be swallowed whole. Despite the kiss, despite the way his body presses closer to yours when he finally hears you say the quiet part out loud. Saying it out loud made it real, the threat of losing him as a friend more imminent. 

But his mouth is back on yours, more fervent than before. His hand traces up your thigh and grips the soft flesh. Pressing himself against you. 

You kiss him back with just as much need, an eager hand pushing at the hem of his shirt until you feel his skin. The curve of your nails drags lightly down his abdomen, stopping just above his belt. Enjoying the way the coarse hairs that lead into his pants feels against your fingers. Your other hand curls in his hair, holding his face to yours. 

Eddie shudders at the sensation, a small gasp spilling from his lips as they leave yours. You look at him through hooded eyes, a slight grin slotting into place when you notice his flushed cheeks and hair slightly disheveled. 

Energy thrums through you, making your heart pound. God, you want to make him gasp like that again.

“Was that so hard?” He questions, his expression a little cocky despite his breathlessness, and if you weren’t so eager to kiss him again you might just push his face from yours. 

“Shut up,” you say affectionately and kiss him again. 

Soft, sweet. Relishing in the feel of his lips until it isn’t enough. Until the carnal hunger can’t be ignored. 

Your tongue swipes against his lower lip, and you suck it between your own. Swallowing his low moan. The palm of your hand trails lower, small fingers wrapping around his handcuff belt. Breath caught in your throat until it makes your lungs burn, and you pull away. 

Eddie watches you, your slow, languid movements causing him to hold his breath in anticipation. His long, callused fingers push up, up, up until you feel them beneath your panties, matching your pace, creating a line of fire wherever they meet your skin. 

His belt falls open with a rumble of metal, and he presses his forehead to yours; hand gripping your ass, fingers spreading you apart, and edging closer to your center. 

Your palm rubs against his coarse pubic hairs as you slide your hand further into his boxers, a small gasp escaping your lips when your fingers rub against the warm length of his arousal. Eddie is bigger than you had imagined, and you’d spent plenty of time picturing him while in bed. Legs spread and fingers working you over the edge. But this is better than a daydream. 

His cock jumps against your palm as you wrap your fingers along his shaft, exploring the soft skin and the thick vein that lines his length. Your thumb brushes against his tip, collecting the pre-cum that leaks from it. 

Dark eyes watch as you remove your hand and bring your thumb to your mouth, tongue swirling against your digit before sucking it clean. 

A groan escapes Eddie’s lips, his jaw slack. Eyes hooded with need. 

His next movements are fast, quicker than your mind can keep up with.

He flips you onto your stomach, mouth racing down your back eagerly; needy hands pushing the fabric of your dress up until your ass is exposed. 

“This okay,” he questions, fingers hooked on the lace of your panties, and you whine, ass wiggling eagerly beneath him in response. He slaps the fat of it, a cocky laugh falling from his lips, but he wastes no time.

Eddie tosses your panties over his head absently; gaze focused on the swell of your butt. He hooks an arm around your waist and drags you up on all fours until you’re bared to him. His hands are on your ass like an anchor as he dips his head closer. 

The scruff of his beard scrapes against your soft skin, his warm breath felt against your spine. Each kiss is slow and deliberate, felt in your core as his lips trail down the small of your back and over the valley of your ass. He grips your cheeks and spreads them, revealing the rim of your ass and your glistening cunt. 

“So fucking pretty,” and he practically whimpers at the sight, grabbing his cock to adjust the strain against his jeans. 

He traces his middle finger over your slit and to your bundle of nerves, creating a circle around the bud; a sensation that makes your hips jolt, a soft moan escaping your lips. 

You breathe in sharply when you feel the nudge of his nose against your sex, his tongue swiping along your folds. Savoring the way you taste. 

He teases you, tongue flicking against your clit before swiping towards your aching center and stretching you over his tongue. A guttural moan escapes your lips, your nails digging into the plush of your carpet at the sensation. 

Eddie buries his face deeper, pushing his tongue further into you with a groan that vibrates through you. 

“Oh my god,” you keen, reaching behind and knotting your hands into his hair. You grind against his face, eyes rolling as his tongue darts in and out of your sopping cunt. Fingers pressing into your clit. 

“Fuck,” he moans, voice gruff. 

His tongue laps at your arousal, middle finger prodding your entrance. You release his head, bracing against the carpet. He stretches you inch by inch before adding another, his digits curling inside you. Slowly, he begins to pump them into you, hitting a spot that makes your breath catch in your throat. You clench around him, the orgasm already building.

“Eddie,” you whine, spurring his movements to quicken. For his mouth to wrap around your clit and flick his tongue against it, eager for you to come undone.

You ride his fingers, desperate for the release and out of your mind with need. Body humming, warmed over from the intensity of your arousal.

“Gonna come for me, Princess?” 

You nod your head, pushing your pussy back against him. Desperate for his tongue on your sensitive bud. 

“S-so close,” you stammer. 

Every muscle in your body tenses, and you bury your face in the carpet as the feeling crashes over you. For a moment, you can’t breathe. The moan trapped in your throat and eyes clenched shut until, finally, your center unfurls. 

Your cunt flutters around Eddie’s fingers, and you moan his name as your legs begin to shake, but he doesn’t stop. He continues to pump his fingers into you, groaning at the noise it makes and the way your pussy grips him. His tongue flicks wildly against your clit, eliciting a loud groan to escape from your lips. Your legs shake more intensely as tears spring to your eyes. Bordering overstimulation. 

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you beg, and suddenly, he pulls his fingers from you. Fat tongue dragging against your wet heat and savoring every drop of your essence. 

He slaps your ass once. Twice. Leaving kisses where his hands were before and trailing them up your back, pushing the fabric of your dress up with him until he pushes it off entirely. 

He’s bent over you, torso pressed to your back. Hard arousal pressed to your sopping center. Warm breath felt against your neck as he whispers.

“Sound so fucking pretty, want to hear you again. Want to watch you.” 

He presses closer to you so you can feel just how badly he wants you, and you shudder. You match his movements, pushing your ass back against him, turning to watch the way his eyes close and his jaw clenches. 

“Do you have a condom?” You whisper, and his eyes open abruptly, searching yours.

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, nodding his head late as though his body was just catching up with his thoughts. 

But he doesn’t move, and it makes you feel shy. A little unsure of yourself. You squirm beneath him and flip over so that you’re face-to-face. 

“We don’t have to,” you rub an absent hand against his face, trying not to think about the fact that you were mostly naked and he was hovering inches from you, fully clothed. 

Eddie shakes his head and leans closer.

“I want to,” he says with more conviction and kisses your cheek, brushing his lips along your jaw. 

“You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted to,” he whispers against your neck. 

His tongue swipes along your neck and nips at your soft flesh. A free hand wanders down your side, creating goosebumps in their path. 

“Have you thought of me?” You ask, dragging a hand down his sternum to the top of his still-open jeans. Your voice is teasing, heavy with a flirtation he’d never heard before, and he nods. No longer cocky, hovering above you but entirely at your mercy. 

“What have you thought about?” You push your hand back into his boxers and begin to stroke him, jaw going slack as you watch his eyes flutter shut. 

Eddie groans, the fingers at your side digging into your skin.

“Y-you in my bed,” he stammers, mind occupied by the feeling of your hand wrapped around his dick. Your grip tightens around him, your grasp firm as you pump his cock faster.

“Is that it?” You whisper against his mouth, nipping at the pout of his bottom lip. He follows your mouth as you pull away, and he shakes his head.

“Thought about how good you’d look as I fuck you,” his words are a little breathless, but they cause your thighs to clench. 

The movement isn’t lost on him. It spurs him on, the familiar cocky grin slotting into place—a glint of mischief in his eye. 

“You’ve thought of it too, haven’t you?” His nose brushes yours, lips hovering over your mouth as he waits for your response.

The shudder that runs through your body gives you away, and you nod. Hand still pumping his cock.

Eddie kisses you more tenderly than you expected. His lips soft against your own, relishing the feel of you. 

“How often?” He questions, mouth still hovering over yours. Hand tracing down your thigh and up again.

You try to concentrate, hand still working him but your rhythm unsteady as you debate to tell him the truth. 

“Every day,” you stroke him again, “sometimes twice a day.”

His mouth crashes against yours, all teeth and tongue. Your hand reaches from his boxers and begins to push at his jeans. He helps you, one hand next to your head, holding his weight above you, and the other helping push his jeans until he kicks them off. Eddie sits up and tugs off his shirt, revealing the expanse of his torso—the dark lines against his alabaster skin. You trace your fingertips over them, lips pressing against his chest as he reaches behind you and unclasps your bra. Eddie tosses the fabric aside, eyes fixated on the curve of your tits. 

“Fucking hell,” his voice is low, appreciative, and he reaches out to trace his fingers along your newly exposed skin. Your back arches into his touch, watching his thumb roll against your nipple and pinch the sensitive flesh between his fingers. A moan falls from your lips, and your head rolls back, legs closing around him.

His head dips to your neck, and he kisses down your chest, over the slopes of your breasts. 

Eddie’s tongue flicks and sucks, pulling your nipple between his teeth. One hand gripping your hip and leading you back down until you’re lying beneath him.

He reaches for his jeans and grabs his wallet, pulling a condom out. 

You stop him before he can unwrap it, “Wait.”

“Are you okay?” He stops and watches you with worry.

“Can we,” you pause, “can we go to my room? To the bed?”  

“Afraid of a little carpet burn, Princess?” He teases, and you swat his bicep, pushing at his chest so you can move past him. 

“Shut up, Munson,” you push his face, but he grabs your hand, standing and pulling you along with him. 

You turn from him to walk to your room, and he slaps your ass, causing you to yelp as you run away from him, your giggles filling the apartment. Eddie chases you, hand reaching out to slap your butt cheeks every so often until you reach the room and suddenly turn to face him.

His chest crashes against yours, and your chuckle dies when you look at him again. The desire in his eyes, the blush that’d crept into his cheeks, and the state of his hair. You reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him as he leads you to the bed.

Your back plops against the soft mattress, and he drags your ass to the edge, legs spread wide for him. 

He unwraps the condom and rolls the rubber down his shaft, one thumb drawing circles against your clit. Gathering your slick. 

You pant as he works you up, whining when he stops, only to jolt when his wrapped length rubs against your slick folds. Your fingers wrap around his wrist as he inches into you, his eyebrows pushing together as your cunt wraps around his cock.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, gripping your hip with his free hand. 

Eddie is a stretch, but the feel of him pushing into you is delicious - every inch making your toes curl. 

“Oh,” you moan, and it’s all you can manage. Words turning to nonsense once he’s fully seated inside of you. 

He leans down and kisses you, lips hard against yours as his hips roll into you. His rhythm starts slow, pumping into you at a languid pace. Savoring the way you feel, the way your moans sound, and your naked chest feels pressed to his. 

His movements quicken, the snap of his hips growing louder as he juts into you. You pull away from his lips and dig your nails into his bicep. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes focused on where your bodies are connected. Watching the way your pussy sucks him in, clenches perfecting around his shaft, and the image of you draws him closer to the edge. 

Eddie pushes off the mattress, straightening your legs until they’re pressed against his torso, one foot resting on either side of his head. He has the perfect view of you; the bounce of your tits as he ruts into you, the way your mouth hangs open, and your eyes are entirely focused on him. 

He pounds his dick into you, one hand moving between your legs and drawing circles against your bud. 

“Eddie, ahh, oh fuck-” you grip his forearm as he continues to thrust every inch of his cock in and out of your sensitive cunt. 

“You like that, baby?” and you nod.

“Say it,” he groans, hips stuttering as he nears his pinnacle. 

“Feel so good, Eddie,” you moan, and the way you say his name makes him clench his jaw. Trying his best to maintain composure until you come.

“Going to come for me, sweetheart?” and it sounds like a demand. Your nails dig into his skin as you nod. 

Your eyes trace down his body, watching the movement of his hips and the way your ass reverberates with each movement. The image of him, the erotic sound of skin on skin, bringing you closer.

“Please,” you beg, back arching off the bed as you get closer. The rubber band at your center stretching thin and ready to snap.

Your legs fall from his shoulders and hook around his waist, pulling him closer. Deeper. Exactly where you need him. The tip of his cock nudges your spongy center, the orgasm building with each rock of his hips until it’s enough.

His name is on your lips like a prayer, vision white as the intensity of the orgasm pulses through you. 

“Baby,” he groans, the grip your pussy has on him causing his hips to stutter and the muscles in his abdomen to tighten as he reaches his peak. His hands grip your thighs, his dick twitching inside you as he spills into the condom.

You come down for your orgasm and watch him through hooded eyes—the flush of his pale skin, the sharp edge of his jaw.

So fucking pretty.

He releases his grip on your thighs and slowly inches out of you. 

You whine at the loss, already needy for more, and he gives you a cocky smirk. Eddie presses a quick kiss to your lips before disappearing down the hall, and you listen as the faucet squeaks, then off before he returns. 

He approaches you with a warm washcloth, and wipes your center before discarding it into your nearby hamper. 

You pull him forward, resting his weight against your body. For a moment, the two of you sit in silence. The only sound filling the room is your heavy breaths and the faint thrums of your hearts. 

“That was-,” and he can’t finish the sentence. Unable to find the right string of words.

Eddie pushes his weight off you, balancing on his hands and meeting your gaze. He leans closer, his nose tracing yours, and he kisses you softly—a hum vibrating against your lips when he releases your mouth.

“Decent,” you shrug and roll your eyes affectionately. Falling into your usual teasing.

“That was some of my best work, babe,” he gasps, feigning shock. Hand to his chest as he stands straight. 

Your heart skips at the nickname, but you try to hide it. Babe. 

“Guess you’ll have to show me again,” you shrug and push yourself further onto the bed. 

Eddie raises a devious brow and follows your movements, his body inching forward as yours inches back. 

“I can show you again,” he kisses you, “and again,” he kisses you once more, “as many times as it takes to convince you,” he promises.

[eupheme]

— from eden

old man logan x mutant!f!reader

rated e - 5k

tags: Logan timeline, sorta divergent/fix-it fic, angst, hurt/comfort, everyone is going through it, wound tending, dark thoughts/references to violence/death (aligning with themes in the movie), neurodegenerative disorders (Charles), multiple pov, established relationship, shower sex, oral sex, PiV, feelings

a/n: still on my druid!mutant kick - reader absorbs the sun via photosynthesis and can transfer that energy to grow plants. no features described but small details & a codename are noted in reference to her mutation.

Every day you wish you could do more. More for Charles. More for him. But the harsh sun eats away at you. You weren’t built for this heat.

You were meant for gardens. For Eden.

But you think… as your fingers trail through the earth, your life force flowing down into the greenery below - if something can grow here, in the desert - then maybe, so can hope.

Logan finds you in the garden.

It's generous to call it that. Carved out with old bits of metal, used like a spade. Scraping through dirt, packed and hard from the burning sun. Dust swirling around you - catching under your nails that are as tough as bark.

The only bit of green for a couple miles, at least. Incongruous to the climate - all you can see is desert around you.

It's only you that keeps it alive.

Your hands pass over each stalk and stem. The low thrum that used to come so easily, siphoning your life force to the roots below, comes slowly now.

Used to be able to make things bloom, just by feeling.

A garden had sprouted your first night together. Blooming lush - vines twining around the bookshelves. Wildflowers in your hair. Moss spreading out across the wooden floor, out and into the mansion.

Everyone had known you were in love.

It feels so long ago now. Another lifetime.

Now you can only tend them. You’re at your strongest in the rain, but it’s day twenty-three of sunny, blue skies. No more than a wisp of a cloud on the horizon.

It leaves you wilting. A half-broken lawn chair, dragged to face the packed-dirt road. Watching for him, as your face tips up to the sky. A slowly-recharging battery, one that hasn't been full in years.

But the sun is unforgiving. The tips of your fingers and toes darken - it's too much.

And not enough.

An eye cracks open, with the slam of a car door. There's a limp to his gait - a hand braced against the limo. Something you notice immediately. The way it takes him longer than usual to reach you.

That severe frown softening at the edges, but still holding a weight he's carried for years. A brown bag held out silently, the top crumpled from his fist.

Your fingers brush his, and you know he can see the burn. The mark between his eyebrows deepens.

"Don't push too hard, blossom," Logan rasps, "'Bout time to go in."

It makes your jaw grit, as you bristle.

You want to protest. Ask him "well, what in the hell do you think you're doing/?" He's the last person that should be lecturing you, as he shifts - a crimson glint of red near his collar.

But you don't. He doesn't mean it that way.

It comes out wrong, you've learned that by now. Misplaced anger - seeping into your roots like poison. Loving him so fiercely that it aches, to see him this way.

The Logan you knew and loved changed that day at the mansion.

"I will." You tamp the feelings down, burying them with the rest, "Let me get these started, and I'll be in."

He lingers, for a long moment.

You rip the seed packets open, scattering them across the earth you've prepared. Essentials, fit to feed Charles.

Carrots, beans, tomatoes, onions. Kale and fresh berries.

A packet of wildflowers.

There's a lump, lodged in your throat. You look over your shoulder, just as he disappears inside.

An inhaled breath, as you begin.

He knows you hate it, all the dust. The heat.

Knows you stay, for him.

Logan always was your sun.

"He's bleedin' again." It's muttered out, in greeting.

Caliban's eyes flick towards the back door, "Don't know if I've got enough peroxide to get it out."

Your smile is weary, "We'll figure it out. Always do."

A fine pair the two of you make. Only the mornings and evenings spent together, in your slow rotation of work-Charles-eat-sleep, and always just out of sync.

He tends to the smelting plant. An attempt at keeping things in place, keeping things running. Something simmering on the makeshift stove, as you empty your apron into the sink.

Outside is your domain - days spent with wind-whipped skin. The desert heat surrounding you.

"Could use some potatoes," Caliban offers, without thinking.

Peeling back the husk and silk on an ear of corn, fished out. Peering down at the kernels beneath - still hesitating, even though it's clean.

Your arms cross over your chest, head tilting, "Well, you're welcome to ask him."

It all comes out hushed, even though you know Logan is out with Charles. He gives shoots a reproachful look your way - he's already taken an earful. Doesn't need another from you.

He's been with you both for a year now. A second set of hands, as the seizures worses. You hadn’t wanted to admit you needed help - but Logan had saw right through you.

Charles’s space feels like a tomb.

Each minute you spend in that dome makes you crave another five outside. Too much for you to handle alone - something that still eats away at you.

Never felt like you were doing enough.

Carried the others with you, as he did. The shame of feeling like you should've done more. That you should have been there with them.

Buried beneath the rose bush that bloomed, when you had first told Logan you loved him.

You had thought that he had been. Had spent two years adrift, so certain he had been lost. That adamantium had not been enough to suppress the force of the seizures - that it ripped through the metal and took him from you.

It's why you cling now. Worried. Seeing how each day changes him, like it does you.

It's why you grow the vegetables for them. Even then, it's not enough. The suppressants they released still worked its way into the water and soil. You'd already ingested enough food to have it affect you.

Used to eat for fun, for pleasure. Haven't had a bite in two years now. Haven't needed to, haven't wanted to. Looking to the sun instead, even if it burns.

Now, you're just maintaining. Trying not to worsen, trying your best to keep them afloat, even if it costs you.

"Sorry." You mutter.

Easing into the routine of ladling out bowls. Chunks of half-stale bread, from the last time he baked. Hadn't harvested as much wheat this season as you would have liked. Pests chewing up a portion before you noticed.

The drought makes you hazy. Running on fumes for a while now. Same as all the rest.

Two bowls set on a plastic tray. A glass of tepid water in a chipped mason jar tucked in the crook of your arm. Fingers swirling in the liquid to cool them, before you're tilting it back - taking a swallow. Just managing to ease your parched throat.

"How is he?" You ask.

Caliban's eyes are slow to meet yours. He looks at you like he knows something you don't. Few secrets between you, except ones like these that he keeps deep. It always sends a twist in your belly.

Curling vines, weaving between your ribs.

"Logan or Charles, dearest?"

"Both." You sigh, "Either."

“Logan is… well. You saw him.” Caliban mutters. His nose twitches. A breath - as if he means to say something.

He falls silent instead, pivoting, “And Charles still thinks he's in Macbeth."

It makes your heart lurch, how so kind and sound a mind had changed. Not his fault and it only makes you love him more, after everything.

“Been asking about someone named Erik lately, too.”

You and Logan had agreed. It was better that Charles didn’t know, if he didn’t have to. That the two of you would bear it - shielding him like he had shielded so many for years.

But it never made the memories any easier.

His head inclines towards the trays, "You want me to take those out?"

Caliban knows you hate it.

You know the sun is still setting, sitting golden on the horizon.

A shake of your head, as the tray tucks under your arm.

“Thanks, Cal. I've got it."

The music comes first - 60s-era jazz, floating through the opened door. Voices come after, as you step into the shadows.

“-sorrow words, the grief that does not speak," Charles's reciting pitches louder, as his chair wheels in front of you, "Knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break-”

Logan stalks after, reaching for the controls.

"Enough."

"Thrice the brinded cat-"

The tray clatters on the top of an old desk. You step in front of them, arms spread wide, "Charles."

The chair halts, going still.

Something scrapes at your brain, when his hazy eyes meet yours. Fingers sifting through files. A dealer skillful hands, l shuffling through cards - snapping them back into place.

Plucking old memories from you like weeds. Dragging them to the surface, long buried.

He doesn’t mean to.

Doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

Your breath coming in a ragged gasp, eyes meeting Logan's. He doesn't need Charles powers to know what you're thinking.

Afraid that he'll see. What he’ll remember.

"Come on." Logan is hoisting him out of his chair. A grunt as he struggles, near dead-weight in his arms, “Enough poking around.”

Depositing Charles in his hospital bed, the last golden rays of sun streaking across the worn blankets. Logan just starts to move away, when a hand fists in his dark tie, dragging him close.

"You're not listening to me. No one listens to me." The words almost seem lucid, with how sharp his eyes suddenly shine, "Liberty, Logan. They're waiting for you. Eden-“

"No one is waiting for me." It's barked out.

Uneasy, tipping towards harsh.

Logan's patience has always ran thinner than a knife’s blade. It's love that keeps him here, you know that as well as you know your own name.

You have to step between them to break the connection. Hand wrapping around Charles' wrists - soothing, easing them down into his lap - as Logan fishes a bottle out of his pocket.

Slipping a needle into his arm. It's fluid, how you move together. Easier to help him together, then when you're alone.

It soothes the seizures. Thoughts slipping between his fingers, as he settles. The anger with it, as you bring dinner over to them. Your hand extended to take the pills that Logan shakes from a bottle.

"Take these, Professor." You coax, handing over a stained mug from the attached tray.

The chalky pills disappear, with the tilt of his head and a swallow of weak tea. Only then does it feel like you breathe. Letting your fingers drift across the makeshift herb garden he has sitting on the desk, something you tend together.

Eyes closing, as you concentrate. Pink petals blooming, plucked from the stem, and placed in Charles' open palm.

Logan's gaze a heavy weight - too tired from the day - you could already hear it in his voice. In the slow shift of his weight, as he eats.

"Only one?" The wizened fingers close like a cage around the flower, "You’ll have to work harder, Crescere."

The name is one that you haven't heard in years. It ricochets through you like a bullet, threatening to rip you open. You must show it in your face - a hand reaches to smooth down your back.

It soothes you, until an edge creeps into Charles's voice.

"If you cannot do more, how will you ever survive without soil?"

Logan goes stiff at the words. Breaking contact as if he'd been burned. A rough tilt of his head, as he pushes himself up.

“I’ll be inside.” It’s gritted out, through clenched teeth.

Leaving you alone, perched on the edge of Charles’s bed.

His mood already shifting, as it often did. The anger and confusion flaring. Melding with the medication that slows his tongue, dulls his thoughts.

“Crescere,” His eyes fix on you, while you watch the door creak shut. The moonlight has just started to stream in now, and it's just dark enough to imagine a breeze, “Have I told you about Eden?”

You tuck him in. The worn quilt tugged up high against his chest. A fingers smooth down to wrap in his - his hands frail with age, but his grip is still strong.

Tears prick your eyes, but you smile - your hand gently squeezing.

“Tell me again.”

His fingers fumble with the buttons. The black tie tugged loose, hanging against his chest. A hiss of breath, as sore shoulders roll. The dress shirt caught against his bicep, the sleeves still pushed up around his elbows.

There’s a hand against his shoulder. Your fingers slipping beneath the fabric, easing it down his arms.

“You gonna stop running from me?”

It’s soft, in the room that you share. A far cry from the mansion - all cozy, stained wood. Home.

Here, it’s sheet metal. Car batteries running a broken coffee maker, blankets stained with sweat. An industrial fan, slowly spinning where it’s mounted into the wall.

Wasn’t trying to run.

Just couldn’t shoulder your hurt, knowing he caused it himself. Knows that the heat eats away at you. Has watched how you struggle, though you hide it so well.

And the open seas - the sun and the salt water - would it be enough? Could you ever be happy, away in a place like that?

You’ve told him all you need is him. But pretty thing like you should be somewhere else.

Somewhere safe.

Knew he was too old for you, even back at the mansion - and that was when his hair was just starting to grey at the temples.

Now, he wishes he could convince you to go. Even if he couldn’t live without you.

But he knows your answer. That set of your jaw. Rooting you in place, unmoving.

It flickers in you here, as your arms wrap around him. Nose buried against the nape of his neck, as he exhales a breath that he’s held all day.

His muscles going lax as he leans into your embrace - letting you move him. Touch gentle as you guide him towards the bathroom. Fitting between spread thighs as he leans against the cracked counter, your fingers tracing the red-stained rips on the white tank beneath.

A cloth, wrapped tightly around his fist.

“Running to you,” Logan husks, “Just lost my way.”

You soften before his eyes.

Unwinding the wrappings to check the wound across his palm. Your lips pressed against scar tissue. Moving to backs of his knuckles, between the angry red slits.

Something in his chest lurches. Calming the beast, as his palm cups your cheek. Letting you lead him into the old ceramic tub, even though the space was narrow.

Lets you strip him down, knowing your eyes flicker over each scar. Looking for ones you missed, though you know them all.

Already knows what you’re going to say, when your gaze catches on the still-healing wound - a bullet beneath his collarbone. In his chest, through his bicep.

“Can’t keep taking hits, baby.” You fingers trace just shy of the wounds. Blood flaking, where he hadn’t washed well enough - two days spent in a shitty motel, each one thinking of you.

Need to shield yourself. Pick your battles.

He’s heard it all before.

Tried to earlier - wanted to gut the Alkali-Transigen fucker who had climbed into his limo. He is trying, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

All he got was a business card burning a hole in his pocket. A lie of omission like a lead weight in his belly.

Another tucked against his chest - the bullet nestled in the pocket of his shirt. Resting against his heart while he drives. Hidden, when he returns home.

It’s insurance - but it would still crush you to find it.

“I’ll ease up when you do.” He counters, though his voice softens, “Pushing too hard, sweetheart. We could stand to eat less, if you need a break.”

You sigh, as you lean into him. Face muffled against his chest, and he only just catches the words.

“When I used to imagine playing house with you,” You breathe, “I always thought it would be a little different.”

It makes his heart jolt.

Something tearing inside him, as his mouth presses against yours. A hand searching to turn the handle - the water stale. A weak spray that only reaches room temperature.

But it’s enough.

You wash the red from him. Swirling down the drain as you coat the washcloth with a sliver of soap. Careful in your movements, as your hair dampens.

As his hands catch at your hips, looking for an anchor.

A little huff when you fingers twirl - when he has to let go, to turn around. Soaping up his back, fingers raking through his hair.

The stress of the day sluices from him. Melts away as your lips press against his back, trailing across his shoulders. Nails tracing against his abdomen, as he leans into your touch.

It’s always been softer than he deserved.

And when your hand drifts lower, swirling soap against the dark trail of hair that leads down, he guides your hand the rest of the way.

A throb, at the soft inhale of your breath. Fingers that close around him, coaxing him to full hardness. His own scrape against the tile, as he props himself up.

Eyes half-lidded, as you nuzzle against his scars. Fist working him from root to tip - he can’t resist bucking into your touch.

His own hand wandering. Hesitant.

Afraid he won’t find you the same.

Reaching behind him, feeling the stretch of healing muscle and sinew as he cups the curve of your ass. A held breath loosened, when he hears the needy sound you make, when his fingers slip to trace between.

Teasing, drifting down to where you’re slick. Honeyed.

Always for him. Only for him.

His eyes fully shut now, as his fingers work inside you. Feeling the clench, the way your hand stutters.

Your breathing turning harsh, panting. His name whined out as your hand dips to cup him - the pressure coiling low in his belly. Hips nudging against his as he pets at your clit, smearing your skin with your need.

Turning, when he isn’t able to take it any longer. Always would be strong enough to do this - to hitch your thigh around his hip.

Lifting you enough to rub his flushed cock against your folds. Your nails biting red marks into his shoulders as he lines himself up-

The water cuts off.

The evenings rations depleted.

Your laugh is more of a whine than anything, but it’s still a sound he treasures.

His own lips curving, and it feels like the first time in days.

The words rasps out, coated with need.

“Let me take you to bed, honey.”

His skin is still damp when he lays you down.

Nestling you against the pillows - ignoring your soft protests of needing to take care of him, as he seeks out the honey between your thigh. Hands tracing up your leg, calf to knee. Up against smooth skin, until he can hitch one over his shoulder.

Letting him bury himself deeper. Tonguing at your clit. Down to dip inside you, a rough groan against your skin as his hips rut into the mattress.

He had you close already. You always unfurled for him, and that hadn’t lessened with his age. Automatic, in the way his fingers fit inside you, finding the spot that has your back arching as you cry out.

Stroking against it again and again, a groan caught in his throat as your fingers twist into his hair and tug.

Logan’s name a soft cry as he tastes you sweeten against his tongue. The tight pulse around his fingers, echoing where his lips shift to suck against your clit.

It’s only when you reach for his wrist does he stop, content to spent the night right here if you’d let him - make up for the time spent away.

Only then does he relent. His arm stretching out behind the pillows as he finally lays back, the tug of a smile as he watches you.

There’s a sweetness about you - all limp-limbed as your thigh lifts across his waist. Straddling him, as you lean - tugging supplies out of the end table.

Squirming, as his head lifts - unable to help mouthing at your breasts. A heady throb down low when he can feel your heart kick up a notch.

Always doing things out of order.

Each shift of your hips rubs your pussy against his cock. Slick and wet and warm, and he catches the curve of your lips.

The slow rhythm, as you pack padding against his wounds. Affixing tape to his skin, a kiss placed against one - as if it would help them heal faster.

His look heated, and he knows you feel it too. The hitch of your hips. The pressure when you grind down - your eyes blown dark when you look at him from beneath your lashes.

He can give you what you need.

A grunt, as a hand grasps at your hips. The loose supplies slipping from his abdomen, as he coaxes you into your knees.

His other hand wrapping around the base of his cock, tilting his hard length up to rest against your belly.

“Need you.” It’s gritted out.

On another day he might have swallowed it down. Let you come to him.

But right now, he can’t take any more teasing, wrapped in your soft touch. He’s already resisting the urge to drive into you, as you angle him against your opening.

The slightest pressure, as you start to give around him - opening up. And when you finally sink down flush against him, he forgets himself.

It’s now and it’s six years ago - all those evenings spent, entwined.

Fitting together, watching the way your brow still pinches as your body makes room to take him - the stretch as your hands curl into fists against his chest.

“Missed you, sweetheart.” It slips from him, when your hips fully meet his.

It only makes you squeeze more tightly around him, his breath caught in a low rumble in his chest.

Your own admission, as you dip down to kiss him, “Missed you more.”

Finding himself transfixed, in spite of the weariness. The ache in his bones that are now a part of him are forgotten in the way you watch him.

Eyes half-lidded, as you find your balance. Starting a slow grind of your hips, a look thrown his way when you feel his muscles string tight beneath you.

The lightest pressure of your palms against his chest, careful of his wounds.

“Want to make you feel good.” It’s a command, tinged with permission. It’s woven with love, and the thought of taking matters into his own hands ebbs.

“Always do, sweetheart,” Logan husks, “Every fucking time.”

Letting himself settle back against the mattress. Losing himself in the tight grip of your pussy. Your soft curves, as his hands wander.

Squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, urging you to ride him harder. Slipping up to tease at your tits, an upward flex of his hips when you cry out his name.

You once told him that you wanted him the first moment you met him. Now, he wishes he had met you sooner.

A year. A day. Even a minute.

The thought pulses in his chest, in time with his heart. Fingers skating over skin as you ride him. A flash of white when he thumbs against your clit, giving you something to grind against.

You’re molten around him. Soft and sweet and it’s all he can do to match the way you bounce on his cock. Feet planting against the bed to help can meet you, urging himself just that little bit deeper.

Melting just a little bit further, when you can’t help but lean down - needing his mouth against yours.

Flattening yourself against his chest, as your rhythm goes needy. Sloppy grinds instead of the sharp slap, taking him deep and keeping him there.

His thumb swirls, and your ragged moan breaks the kiss. Head dipping as you lean back - hips chasing your pleasure, rocking into his familiar touch.

Can smell how much you need it. How you drip around his cock, the coarse hairs matted with your desire.

Teeth clenching, and it only makes him fuck to harder into you, to loosen your tongue.

“Logan, fuck-” It’s whimpered, in that pretty tone that he loves, “Think I’m gonna come-”

The leash he grasps onto slipping between his fingers. A low heat in his belly burning brighter, a pressure ticking down with each slap of his hips.

“Know you’re close. Let go, baby. So fucking good for me-”

Something rasped out, as you flutter around his cock. Taking him deep, spearing him into your belly.

“Fuck, I can feel you coming on my cock.” It comes out ragged, his breath catching, “Gonna make me come, too-”

Your gaze is dark. Hands pressing harder against his chest as you find yourself again, riding him harder. Panting through it, as it tips towards too much - your orgasm still burning brightly.

He's surrounded by you, and he only wants more. Fingers pinching into your hips, driving himself into you.

“Wanna make you come,” You breathe, “Want to feel you tomorrow-”

It’s enough that he forgets himself. A hands tight against your hip, a sharp tug that pulls you flush. The other curls around the back of your neck as he flips you beneath him.

Your gasping laugh pairs with his snarl. An arm hooking under your knee - pushing, opening you up as he holds you in place.

Watching how your eyes glaze. Following the tug of your fingers, bringing his mouth down to yours. Your pulse thundering beneath his thumb, as his tongue licks into your mouth.

He tastes like you, as his eyes slip shut. You linger on his lips, smeared across his beard. A ragged moan as your hips lift to meet the sharp smack-smack-smack of his hips, and then his vision is going hazy.

Your name snarled out, twining with soft sentiments. Hilting himself just as the pressure reaches its peak, his cock throbbing as he spills with a growl inside you.

The tension easing with each flex of his hips, fucking himself empty into your warmth. Into your embrace, your arms wrapping around and keeping him close. The scruff of his beard scrapes your cheek, but you only hitch a thigh around his hips - nudging him deeper.

Logan would stay here forever, buried in you, if he could. It slips from him, then - rasped low into your ear.

“Fuck, I love you.”

He should tell you more often. Would tell you every day, if not for the guilt that twists in his guts each time you say it back.

But tonight, he can only lean into it. The soft whisper, as your lips drag against his cheek. You say it just like you used to. It still comes just as easily.

“I love you too, Logan.”

And when his breathing settles and his eyes open - his chest catches.

You're adorned with your devotion - hair dotted with alyssum. Forget-me-nots and primrose dappled across your shoulders, yarrow and heather blooming around your curves.

Had learned the names of them, long ago. They come back, as his fingers trace over each bloom.

You’re beautiful.

But you always have been.

Prettiest goddamn thing he’s ever seen.

He bites harder, when he’s wounded.

No more than a cornered animal. But the anger - it takes a hold on him. Leaving him to soften, when there’s a hand he knows.

Making words slip from him that he’d tuck inside, on a different day.

“I do it for you, blossom.” It comes out quiet, in the darkened room, “You know that right?”

You shift against his shoulder. Head cradled against his chest, ear pressed to his heart.

“We do it for Charles,” You breathe, half-asleep. Fingers splaying across his sternum, tracing against the dark whorls of hair.

His own brush over petals. Used to help pluck them from you, after stolen moments during missions. Would love the way your face screwed up - a soft veil of embarrassment washing over you. His own lips pulled in a smug smile, as he had tucked one behind you ear.

Logan huffs, the sound low. Almost a laugh.

“I keep going for you.”

His heart would keep beating for a long time, but he thinks it would stop if yours did.

You press yourself tighter against him. It’s mumbled against his skin, “Keep going for you, too.”

There’s salt against his skin, tears you can’t afford to shed. Silent, as the stars creep higher in the sky above you.

Should be out driving, right now. Can’t bring himself to leave.

So he holds you, until your breathing slows. Until the tension eases once again, sleep taking you.

You never were afraid of him. Only for him.

Never hesitated to crawl into bed beside him, even with his nightmares. Can still remember your insisting.

Clip the stem of the flower, and the bloom will fade. Skewer it though, and it will grow around it - oozing golden ichor until it heals.

It's supposed to be a comfort.

But Logan doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s afraid that he plucked you from the earth, long ago.

You just haven’t realized it yet.

Logan finds you in the garden.

Charles is out with you today. Tucked beneath the afternoon shadows of the smelting plant. He would laugh - does laugh - at your excuse of a garden. It pales in comparison to the mansion. The old ivy that crawled up the walls, across the sprawling grounds.

You laugh with him, because - what else is there to be done?

The sound dies, as the limo comes back early. A hand shades your eyes, as he steps out.

Still weary, though not as much as yesterday. Worry set in the lines around his eyes the grit of his jaw.

The reason revealed, when he steps to the side. A girl, stumbling out of the back seat of the limo.

Her eyes are feral, and there’s something so familiar about her that it steals your breath.

“Crescere.” Charles breathes - more lucid than you’ve seen him in days, “That is Laura. She’s the mutant I told you about. The one we have to help get to Eden.”

And for a moment, he’s the Charles he was a decade ago. The one you would have followed to the end.

Something blooms in your chest, at the sight of the girl.

The mutant, when there hasn’t been a new one in so long. A tight knot unfurling inside you, and it feels like a new beginning.

It feels like hope.

and then they all left to find Eden together and nothing bad ever happened again! 😌💖 I'm heading back to Trouble Will Find Me and Come On And Show Me after this, just was struck with this idea and wanted to explore it! thanks so much for reading!!

[k-hippie]

A BRAND NEW SIMS 3 WORLD : SHETLAND HARBOUR

And here we are ... At last :D

10 years ago, Rope crafted a remarkable world, inspired by Starlight Shores, and generously given away to the community : Brightwater.

We embraced this gift, transforming and reshaping it, creating an island to eliminate distant terrain, and thus, Shetland Harbour was born ...

While many creators have fashioned stunning Sims 3 worlds with a Northern charm—like Saaqartoq, Greymont Bay, Lillebror, or Plymouth Isles—ours, stands a little apart.

Shetland Harbour is a unique blend : a touch of Aurora Skies, a hint of Moonlight Falls, and a dash of the unfortunate Barnacle Bay, all interwoven with our own vision of course. It is a vast yet easily navigable world, balanced between lightness and richness, featuring nearly all the Rabbit Holes the game offers.

Our aim was to craft a cohesive and vibrant world, one that feels alive and contemporary, with harmonious architecture and a spirit that invites exploration and delight :)

Welcome to Shetland Harbour, a picturesque coastal town nestled between rolling green hills and a fantastic bay … It is a beautiful medium/large-sized world, a community nestled on its own secluded island, accessible only by ferry. The town is known for its charming cobblestone streets, a vibrant fish market, and a rich history dating back centuries, dotted with quaint cottages, a bustling coast, and a grand lighthouse standing guard at the harbor’s entrance ...

This hidden gem is a haven for sheep, but don't let that fool you – Shetland Harbour is far from a sleepy place. With its rich maritime history, the town offers a unique blend of tradition and vibrant local culture.

Designed to capture the essence of a northern European island, Shetland Harbour offers a self-contained community with 100 lots in total : 65 residential lots + 35 community lots. Each Lot ( except the Old Renovated Factory ) is fully furnished.

In addition, there are multiple sheep ( all by Murfeel ) fields here and there – the latter being especially dear to the local culture, a close-knit community, where the ocean's presence is always felt and the simplicity of rural life is celebrated.

Shetland Harbour combines a lively downtown with peaceful suburbs and serene neighborhoods, featuring quaint cottages, charming gardens, and scenic paths through lush greenery.

The town's historic churches, like Old Church, Albert Church or Lux Chapel, are steeped in tales of ancient rituals and ghostly apparitions ... Albert Church, built on a Druidic site, is haunted by druid spirits, while Lux Chapel is known for the ghost of a sailor, seen on stormy nights ...

The mysterious stone circle inside the Graveyard, Ghost Place, adds to the island's mystical allure. Rumored to be a portal to another realm, it activates during celestial alignments, with visitors reporting strange occurrences. Town elders speak of a prophecy foretelling the return of ancient spirits and the awakening of the island's mystical powers. Signs include a rare star alignment, the stone circle's awakening, and three chosen individuals with the island's ancient bloodline ...

• Harbor Bay : The central feature of Shetland Harbour is its expansive bay. The bay is a natural harbor with calm, crystal-clear waters, making it ideal for fishing and sailing. It is surrounded by gently sloping hills and cliffs that provide stunning vistas of the sea. The marina is bustling with fishing boats, sailboats, and yachts sometimes … It’s the hub of maritime activity, with a fish market ( aka Grocery Store ), boat repairs, and a sailing club ( aka Business and Journalism Center )

• Lighthouse District : Right beside the Harbour, stands the Lighthouse Point, this district features historical homes and buildings, including a Norman cottage, a strange Diner and higher into the Hills, a fantastic museum dedicated to the town’s maritime history and a recent Hospital ready to welcome all the citizens of Shetland Harbour :)

• Beaches : The Coastline is dotted with sandy beaches, perfect for beachcombing, picnics, and bonfires. These areas are popular spots for locals and tourists alike. And you may want building some Coastal Houses for your Sims which is possible almost all alongside the sea ;)

• Old Town : The heart of Shetland Harbour is the Old Town, characterized by cobblestone streets, historic buildings, and a charming town square. Shetland Harbour's downtown area is a kinda picturesque pedestrian square, and quaint paths perfect for leisurely strolls …The Old Town includes the Town Hall, the Old Toad, the Talking Dog, a Fish and Chips, and even a Geek Store, all of them under the shadow of one of the oldest shop of the Island : the Elixirium ...

• Rolling Hills : Surrounding the town are rolling green hills covered in wildflowers and dotted with grazing sheep. These hills are perfect for hiking and offer panoramic views of the town and the bay. Beware of the fog !

• Forests and Woodlands : To the north of the town are more dense forests and woodlands with waterfalls upstream of the river which separates part of the island. These areas are home to various wildlife and provide a natural retreat for the residents. There are several well-maintained trails for hiking and exploring :)

Come and explore Shetland Harbour all your content ... Whether you're building your dream home, running a local business, or simply soaking in the serene atmosphere, this unique town promises endless possibilities and a truly captivating experience ...

Download Shetland Harbour today and start your new adventure!

\o/

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

IMPORTANT : Before downloading Shetland Harbour !!!

Shetland Harbour contains custom content. As much as we try to include them into the world building process, we learned with time the necessity of providing a list those items. No worries, we used the same cc creators as usual and added 2 or 3 more. Such as the grey/dark roof we made, based on the terracotta roof of the game and the Wood walls you'll find on different lots, the same as the ones of Oaksoak Hollow ... Or more important, the boats used in the world and of course ... The sheeps ! All you need should be included and/or available down here ;)

1) the ANTS & CC :)

ANTS stand for Absolute Necessary Things & Stuff to enjoy Shetland Harbour :)

Download ANTS and CC ( both are needed to have all the right textures, the right look and feel of Shetland Harbour )

You will need too some of our Rabbit Holes

Not mandatory but nice : our 88 Patterns mostly brick, masonry, concrete and wood ;) A bit of fabric & paper too ...

ATTENTION : if you have played with one of our Worlds, you might see duplicate files. We try to use the same objects as much as possible. Of course, you don't have to install twice. Skip whatever you already have. We use Blams objects for some Sims 3 objects ... so if you already have those objects from any other means, just skip ;)

CREDITS & THANKS due to all the following creators :

ATS, Noir and Dark Sims, pitheinfinite, Brunnis-2, Blams, CycloneSue, HydrangeaChainsaw, Leroy157, Lisen801, Murfeele, Nilxis, PotatoBalladSims, Qahne, TheJim07, Mammut ( from BlackSimsZoo ) BlueCoco, BuffSumm, JomSims, Ladesire, Mutske

2) the Saved Games

They are in the same page than Shetland Harbour itself. You have the choice between Unpopulated and Half-populated. Whatever you choose, we always strongly advice with a save game ;) But as far we know, once we delivered a World, it is entirely up to you to begin a new adventure and make your own challenges with your own Sims :D

Download a save game

3) the Lots ( both residential & community )

Quite a bursting town, Shetland Harbour has 100 lots : 65 residential and 35 community and very important : many small sheep fields ( visitors not allowed com lots )

Download ALL the lots

Some lots are Maxis ones we modified, some lots are our own creations, and for the others, they come mostly from MTS ;) And we are very grateful to those creators who always offer a special flavor to our Worlds :)

CarlDillynson - Bellakenobi - Bast - MySimRealty - stonee206 - Norn - Cutbacks - Ferguson Avenue - SimplySimlish - hazelnutter100 - PolarBearSims - RubyRed2021 - CircusWolf - Moihi - Lasciel

Well, it is time for discovery now and you are ready for sure ! We wish you all the best, all the fun with your new life in Shetland Harbour !

Download Shetland Harbour World

PS : Shetland Harbour is a medium/large sized world of 88MB, and has been tested 1 week long on both Mac and Pc ;)

xoxo - blackgryffin

[selenezq]

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞MDNI🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

After a long wait, (thanks depression) my fic where Alastor rails you in a sundress is finally here.

Alastor x Reader

Reader is AFAB

CW: dub con, stalking, rough sex, explicit content, porn no plot, plot where, plot who

Sundress Summer

It was a hot, but not unpleasantly so day in hell. 

The perfect time for wearing a sundress to the picnic Charlie had organized for the bonding exercise of the day. The first thing you noticed as you came to the end of the well-maintained stone walkway was the large red and white checkered tablecloths which covered two sizeable wooden picnic tables to your right. The pleasant breeze caused the edges of the fabric to flutter against the sides of the tables. 

A massive spread of food covered both surface areas; it was more than they could all eat truly but it was clear Charlie had tried her best to create another memorable experience for her guests. You smiled from ear to ear with joy at the sight of all your friends together enjoying a day at the park. Husk and Angel Dust were seated on one of the benches lining the massive spread, the spider demon trying his best to get Husk to eat the grape he was attempting to feed him. 

"C'mon, just let me feed ya one." Angel whined at the former overlord pushing the piece of fruit towards him. 

"Cut that shit out, I can feed myself." Husk growled gruffly, as he swatted half-heartedly at Angel's hand before relenting. "Just one, and then leave it alone alright?"

Husk took a surveying glance around to ensure no one was watching the two of them. You quickly looked in the opposite direction to your left, faining interest in a passing butterfly so as not to intrude on their moment. You tried your best to hide a delighted smile. 

With a resigned sigh, Husk let Angel gently feed him a lone grape. "Ah yeah, you like that in ya mouth daddy?" Angel says salaciously with a flirtatious grin. 

"Fucking hell, you just had to go and make it weird didn't you," Husk scolded, before giving the tall demon a small shove. You did your best to hold in a laugh, ensuring not to make eye contact with the duo. Your ocular muscles searched for the rest of the group, coming to a stop when you spotted Charlie, excitedly pointing to something in the distance. 

"Ohmygosh Vaggie look!!" She exclaimed excitedly, her words strung all together in exuberance. "I can't believe this Infernenta plant is flowering!" Charlie said before skipping joyfully over towards the flowering bush. 

She skipped joyfully over towards the flowering bush, her girlfriend watching with a loving expression. Eyes which were usually fierce and full of rage softened before she followed after Charlie. “Yeah, that’s really cool babe.” She said, her voice beginning to fade as she walked further away from you. 

You smiled fondly as you watched them go—the two of them were very sweet together. Niffty quickly took over your vision as she dashed around, pulling your attention away from the two lovebirds. She held her needle high in the air with her little hand; she was on the hunt, chasing a particularly large bug. 

With a small shudder, you turned around and headed towards an opening in the woods, determined to explore. The thoughts in your busy mind dwelled on the members of your unorthodox group of friends until it occurred to you that had not yet seen Alastor. You wondered what he could be up to—though he rarely joined in on bonding activities. 

You pondered deeply on how glad you were to have met them all as your feet took you down a slightly overgrown path, large weeds sprouting between the cracks on the deteriorated stone passage. Lost in your internal musing, you failed to notice a pair of glowing red eyes watching you from the distance; the hunter was tracking your every move. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Radio Demon watched you from the shadows, hidden behind massive amounts of lush, green, foliage. It was a position most familiar to him from his time alive, hiding from plain sight while he waited for the perfect moment to approach his prey. He watched you with an ill-intended gaze, as the short patterned material of your sundress highlighted the beautiful curves of your body. An unfamiliar feeling of desire coursed through him as he feasted his eyes on the sight of you wandering, helplessly alone. You were completely unaware of the danger that lurked behind you—the perfect, irresistible prey. 

Alastor was more than well-adjusted to the way the others at the hotel viewed his presence. He was infamous for the danger he posed, but you seemed content to naively ignore the threat he posed. Perhaps that was why he now found himself obsessed with you, needing to be constantly closer to you. No amount of effort could dissuade his need to be close to you; any amount of distance was simply unacceptable. The very lack of your presence had become most intolerable, to the point he found himself stalking you through the shadows, unable to look away from your gentle form. 

At first, these feelings had angered him. Alastor had tried his best to make you fear him, unused to all of the new sensations you evoked in him. Popping up from the shadows, scaring you when you were alone in the dimmed hallways of the hotel. You had always laughed in response, slapping his chest playfully as you laughed at his joke and were it anyone he would skin them alive for the unwanted touch. He found it most irritating when you would pull away as if your hand should ever be anywhere but on him. 

He started going out of his way to touch you—to make you uncomfortable. It was certainly not because he craved the feeling of your soft, warm, skin under his hand. It became a game he’d play, a way to see how far he could go, how long you would let his hand linger on you. Could he rouse a blush to those beautiful cheeks of yours? Somehow, he rather felt as though he might be losing the game you weren’t even aware you were playing. 

Many nights he spent time thinking about how your soft, shiny, hair would feel when he pulled your head back, locks wound around his claws. What noises your sweet, little, lips might let slip, the sight of your kind eyes widening. 

Would you let him ruin you if he tried? 

The question consumed him as he brought himself back to the sight of his beautiful prey: you. His eyes focused on your radiant presence while your face lit up in delight. You had stumbled upon a beautiful abandoned structure. It appeared this was once a grand gazebo, but time had eroded the marble away. Faint cracks could be seen amongst the vines and foliage that almost concealed it completely from view. 

He watched as you were unable to resist the urge to explore, pushing aside some of the greenery covering the entrance. You stepped inside, your graceful form illuminated by slivers of Heaven’s light, shining like sunlight through the thick canopy surrounding the structure. 

You were almost completely obstructed from the view of anyone who might come along and it sent a shiver down his back—what a delightful thought, to always have you to himself. 

He stalked forward slowly, careful to remain quiet so you would not ruin his little game too early. Hunting for sport was second nature to the demon; hiding amidst the shadows was something Alastor had become quite familiar with. The sight of you blissfully unaware of the potential danger you were in was almost too much to bare; he needed to start the next round of his manipulative little game lest you broke him before he got the chance to break you. 

He materialized behind you, his form becoming more corporeal until he was a solid mass that you bumped into when you took a step back. You let out a most exquisite scream of fear as he startled you and a wide, malicious grin spread across his face. You turned quickly to face him, and he watched as your facial expression melted into relief. He was unsure how he felt about the sensation bubbling in his stomach—he brought you ease. Alastor lived to strike fear into the hearts of others, but he could make an exception—just this once.  

"Oh, it's just you. That's such a relief." You said with a genuine smile. 

"My, my... You are quite a sight for sore eyes. I could just eat you up." Alastor almost purred, his voice thick with his usual filter. Static popped in the air as he stepped closer to you; after such a long hunt, he was so close to getting what he wanted.

"You mean me?" You squeaked in disbelief, insecurity seeping through your voice.

"See here, exactly how fetching I find you, darling." Alastor told you, before grabbing your wrist. 

He guided your soft palm to the hardness barely contained by his trousers, a true test to see how far he could push you. How much you would allow him to greedily take? Would this be the time he finally pushed you too far and you realized the peril you were in, being the object of his dark fascination? 

He watched hungrily as your eyes widened in surprise, a pretty pink tongue darting out to wet your lips. 

“This is all for me?” You asked, voice laced in awe and he wanted to consume you. 

You were a curious creature, a difficult prey to understand. You never gave him the responses he was expecting, and yet always gave him a response he enjoyed. Rather than flee from the evident danger you found yourself in, you seemed quite pleased at his forward and lewd actions—what a foolish girl. 

“Well of course my dear, who else would it be for?” Alastor teased, his voice full of amusement as he gestured to the empty overgrown gazebo. He brought a clawed hand down to cover your own, his large hand dwarfing your much smaller one as he pressed your hand closer to the tent in his pants. He let out a strangled groan at the much-needed contact, his usual composure falling apart every minute he spent in your presence. “The things you do to me, pet. This is all for you, because of you.” 

He thrust his hips up into your touch, chasing your nimble fingers before he allowed himself to regain control of himself. He melted away into the shadows with a quick use of his powers and the warm tension of having him pressed against you was gone. It was amusing to him how evident you made it that you were desperate for his touch. A menacing laugh echoed around the gazebo as he slid up from the pool of shadows at your feet behind you, shoving you back into the siding of the shelter. You fell briefly, your sundress bunching around your hips exposing your cunt and the tiny piece of fabric that covered it from view. 

You were an absolute vision, he noted. He was addicted to this version of you, vulnerable and needy for him and him alone. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, Alastor brought his much larger hand to rest on your leg. His rough scarred skin pressed against your much softer skin, and you shivered against him beautifully. He wondered how long he could stand to do this to you, playing with you simply because he knew you’d let him—could he finally make you snap?

He teasingly brought his hand up your thigh, ghosting a finger along your clothed slit. He swallowed a hungry growl as a fresh round of wetness gushed into your panties at even the faintest touch. Every single stroke, every touch, was methodical and planned—he wanted to watch you come undone. He held himself with tension, holding himself back from ruining you completely. 

You lifted your hips just enough, wordlessly signalling to him just how eager you were. It broke the hold he had over himself, the shred of control he kept in place to protect you. He shredded the flimsy undergarment, letting it drop by your feet as an unusable scrap of fabric. His fingers traced harsh, heavy circles around your swollen clit and it was pure bliss to watch as you threw your head back, releasing a muffled cry of bliss. 

He plunged a dexterous finger into you without warning. A ragged, desperate moan escaped your lips and he watched as your face seemed to glow a bright scarlet in humiliation. He curled his finger inside of you, watching as your body shook for him but it wasn’t enough. He needed to drive his cock deep inside you, to feel your pussy clench around him while you moaned just like that. Despite the fact you should be ashamed, you rutted against him and it was enough to drive the best of men mad—and Alastor was not the best of men by a long shot. 

He pulled his finger out of you, bringing it to his mouth before licking it clean. He swiftly undid his belt, before moving to pull the zipper on his pants down. The sound reverberated in the small hidden gazebo and he watched as you dripped in anticipation for him—he hadn’t hungered like this in centuries. He tugged his trousers down around his firm thighs and his massive cock sprung free. You let out a small whimper as you looked at his cock, a mixture of anticipation and fear shining in your eyes. 

“I can assure you, darling, that it will fit. You’re going to take every single inch of me.” Alastor commanded; the incredulous look in your eyes only spurring him on. 

He watched as your pussy clenched desperately with need around empty air, and his rock-hard cock glistened with precum. You were a marvel to behold. 

“Alastor, please, don’t make me wait any longer. I—I need you.” You admitted with a plea, a blush dusting across your face from the sound of your own needy voice. 

He pushed you further back against the siding of the forgotten structure you had found yourselves in, your back hit the siding with a soft thud. He lifted your leg up to wrap it around his waist as he slotted himself against your dripping pussy, rubbing the swollen head of his member between your folds, before he pushed to be inside of you. 

He moved slowly, inch by inch until his considerable length was seated within you. Your warm walls gripped him tightly and he let out a shaky groan. An aggressive buzz, filled with fizzles and pops, filled the air as he made himself wait, letting you adjust to his large size. His eyes glowed as he gazed down at you fondly. “You’re such a good girl, taking all of me so well. You’re mine now.” He growled possessively, a hand coming up to grip your waist. “Say it, tell me who you belong to.” 

There was a manic edge to his words, a need for you to understand that he owned you. 

“You. I belong to you, Alastor!” You cried out in pleasure, without hesitation, and he picked up his pace in response. You were such a good girl; you knew exactly where you belonged. His hips slammed his cock in and out of you, chasing your delightful cries and screams. 

The final strand of control within him snapped as he looked upon your debauched form. His antlers grew high and heavy above his head, his eyes becoming dials as he lost himself in his desire for you. His cock swelled within you, so large that he feared he might just break you. You released a soft whimper as he felt the head of his cock bumping into your cervix, but rather than push him away, you clawed at him to bring him closer—you were perfection. 

“I never imagined I’d feel so complete being inside you like this, darling.” Alastor confessed, lost in the throes of ecstasy. He brought a hand up, lavishing his attention on your clit as he picked up the pace. He felt your body begin to shake and he knew it wouldn’t be long, he felt you coming undone with every stroke of his digits, every thrust of his colossal member was bringing you closer to the edge. 

“Alastor, don’t stop! I’m getting close!” You pleaded desperately. 

Immediately at your words, he stopped completely. He rested his fingers on your throbbing clit, his dick painfully still inside of your tight heat. You let out a frustrated sob, a lone tear welling up in your eyes and he leaned forward to lick it off your cheek. The sight of you, a desperate and quivering mess was enough to move even the staunchest of sadists. 

“Please, please, please.” You begged, all sense of dignity lost. A tear fell down your cheek and he relished the moment of triumph in his twisted game. The sight of you crying and desperate beneath him brought him a degenerative sense of glee—he needed to make you cry more in the future. “Alastor, I’ve dreamed of this so often! I need to—please let—if I could just cum!” 

“Hmm, I should like to think to think a bright young girl such as yourself could articulate that better, my dear.” He replied, a sadistic smile stretching across his face as he leered down at you. 

“You’re being so cruel.” You cried out, voice dripping with desperation and it fed the hunger deep within him. He had no witty retort to return to your cries—he wanted you to beg. “Please, I’m begging you—I’ve touched myself thinking of you so many times. I never even dreamed you would return my desire. I can’t—I need you to move—to fuck me silly until I cum around your giant cock—please.”

You pleaded sweetly, your voice dripping with desperation and need for him that brought him immense joy and good girls got rewarded. 

“Your pleas are music to my ears pet, I suppose they’ve earned you a reward. You’re so pretty when you beg.” He asserted before resuming his brutal pace. Beautiful euphoric tears fell down your cheeks, painting them so prettily, as he fucked into you. He felt you tighten around him, and in a direct constant to his rough pace, he brought his other hand up to gently cradle your face. He pressed his lips to yours, moaning as your soft lips parted to allow his tongue to explore your mouth. He laid claim to every inch of you he touched. 

“Alastor!” You cried into his mouth, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You collapsed into him, allowing him to support your weight as he continued to fuck into your quivering body. Your cunt clenched deliciously around him as you rocked your hips backwards, chasing the friction he provided desperately. The sight of you so thoroughly debauched combined with the sensation of your walls gripping him tightly sent him over the edge. He shot thick ropes of cum inside of you as he finished with a loud groan, breaking away from the kiss.

The sound of your combined panting and heavy breathing filled the otherwise silent air, and he rested his head in the crook of your neck. “Ma biche, that was even better than I could have possibly imagined.” He praised, mumbling the words into your neck. You both lay intertwined for a while, neither wanting to break the silence and end the moment.

“We should find the others before they find us, but I’d love to do this again.” You said, and he could hear the desperate plea in your voice—good. 

“Of course we will do this again, you belong to me now.” He replied, matter-of-factly. 

He snapped his two fingers together, returning the two of you to your prior state of dress. The mess was gone as if it had never been there, though he loathed to return your undergarments to you. “Shall we, darling?” 

You shot him a contented smile as you linked your arm with his, allowing him to lead you back to where the rest of the group was still enjoying the picnic.

Tag list @cosmiccandydreamer @alastorthirsty @ari-hatake15

[in-som-niyah]

"No, none of that baby. Let me see that pretty pussy of mine."

in which you catch Jason mingling with a girl you think is prettier at a gala, and he reminds you who he belongs to with his face between your thighs...

The night is young and alive. In the four walls of bruce's charity gala, there was expensive champagne, rich people music and gorgeous women.

You were advised, no instructed to come with Jason to his father's galas for a while now. The scene was nothing new.

Bruce would throw millions at a gala for a bunch of rich people 4 times a year to keep himself in their good graces. You would stand in the corner and watch people pretend to like each other with wide smiles and chaste hugs.

Secretly, you hated these events. Well, Jason knew you would rather stay home, but he thought it was because you just find them boring.

He could't be more wrong.

As you claimed your usual spot with your back to the wall in a corner, you watched the skinny, blond-haired girls in their tastefully fitted dresses garner the spotlight of the event. The way they batted their blue eyes up at a mesmerized man was the 8th wonder of the world. They were so effortless in their seduction, so enamouring in their figure.

So stunning.

It wasn't that you weren't pretty, no, it was that you were sorely out of place.

And Jason had no Idea.

How could he, when he stood at six foot something, broad shoulders and a physique to die for. Lush green eyes and prominent yet soft features.

And Gods above, his smile.

Any girl would have won the lottery if she saw his genuine smile.

It was no secret that you didn't match him, not at all.

It is in these moments that you begin to question your relationship. If these are the kinds of women he is surrounded with, why the fuck was he with you?

You scoffed and took a swig of your Champagne as you watched yet another girl wave to him.

Presently, he was doing his job, talking with investors and other important people in Gotham.

He was talking to some high up CEO when a gorgeous girl bumped into his side. He turned around to meet her embarrassed gaze.

Though you were out of earshot, you could make out her flustered apologies and Jason's attempts at reassurance. Out of courtesy, he asked for her name or other surface info and the two seemed to get to talking. She was blabbering on about who she was and what she does for a living and she made a joke. And Jason Laughed.

He laughed. Fully and genuinely. He laughed.

Then so did she, sparkling blue eyes looking up at him once again as they laughed over something you couldn't find funny. You would never find this funny.

Soon enough, the lights dimmed and Bruce called the attention of the crowd to welcome them and thank them for their attendance. His list of thanks and acknowledgements went on as normal.

"...And I'm so glad my son Jason found a friend at these so-called 'boring' events he hates going to." Bruce joked.

The crowd laughed.

But so did Jason.

You took this as your opportunity to leave, slamming your champagne flute down on a nearby table and making a swift exit.

Hot tears threatened to burn rivers down your face as your legs carried you out of the venue as quickly as they could. You found an elevator, and decided to take it up to Jason's bedroom.

Once on the correct floor, the floodgates opened and you began to sob.

You flung open the door to his bedroom and slammed it shut. You took off your expensive heels and pelted them across the tidy room. Everything reminded you of him; the portraits on the wall, his diplomas, old weapons, even the faint scent of him.

This was something you could no longer take. You were so tired of feeling inadequate, silently counting down the days until he found someone better than you. In your mind, that day had come and though it had been in the back of you mind for as long as you were with him, you were damn unprepared.

You undid the zipper on your dress and flung it off your body. Jason picked out this dress for you when he mentioned that he wanted you to come to this last gala with him. You painfully recall how happy and excited you were to be able to wear a dress in his colour that he picked out for you.

How foolish.

Your sobs grew stronger as you began to think that your relationship should have never happened, seeing that he would have found someone prettier, skinnier, funnier smarter-

Knock

Knock

Knock

"Y/N?"

Jason was at the door to his room. Growing bored with the festivities below, he wanted to find you and go back to your place. When he couldn't find you in the crowd, he went up to his room to check something. It was then that he heard your heavy sobs coming from behind his door and panic filled his system.

You stopped crying immediately and moved to dry your tears that have surely ruined your makeup by now.

"Yeah baby. J-just give me a second." you blurted in an unconvincing tone.

He couldn't know how distraught you were about something so trivial. It wasn't his fault that he was so hot, and it wasn't yours that you thought you weren't. There was nobody to blame for your insecurities, and you didn't need him to know how terrible you felt because of your own self-inflicted wounds.

"Can I come in?" He pried gently.

You appreciated his courtesy of asking if he could enter his own room. You scrambled to find a shirt of his to cover yourself with. There was no need for the added anxiety of what you thought you looked like right now. Your heels still splayed across the room and dress slumped against his armchair.

"Sure." you let out with a defeated sigh.

The audible twist and click of the doorknob filled the quiet space. Jason's brow was pinched with worry as the door swung open to reveal you, sitting on his bed in his shirt, in pretty bad shape.

He closed the door and locked it behind him, something you appreciated, and took off his jacket. He made his way to the edge of the bed and sat on the mattress with his back to the edge, facing you.

His soft gaze took in your state, and his shoulders slumped because he didn't like what he saw. He hated seeing you sad, it broke his heart into a million little pieces.

Jason reached out his hand for you to take, but you curled in on yourself and inched further away from him. You were still overwhelmed with your thoughts of his hands all over someone elses' body.

You wanted to vomit.

"Can you look at me, Y/N?" Jason asks cautiously. He doesn't know what you're thinking, and the last thing he wants to do is scare you.

The tears came back and you struggled to keep them at bay.

"C-Can't" your strained voice came through gritted teeth.

"Oh come here pretty girl" he cooed.

You resolve was gone and you moved to throw yourself in his arms.

Jason's strong arms came to wrap around your back, one hand on the back of your head and the other around your abdomen.

Your hands grabbed at his ironed dress shirt. Usually you were courteous, but now you were too hurt to care. Makeup, snot, tears and other fluids rubbed into his clothes as you broke down in his arms.

You were grateful he didn't say anything about his ruined shirt as his hand rubbed up and down your back.

Jason's mind was racing, searching all corners of his brain to figure out what would make you this upset so quickly.

Your sobs began to slow but your breathing remained erratic. There was too much and not enough air at the same time. Jason stepped in quickly to make sure you didn't pass out.

"Hey hey hey slow down baby girl. Follow my breaths alright? In. Out. Keep going sugar. In. Out. Atta girl"

As you breathed with him, you felt calmer, but the guilt of him having to deal with your outburst began to gnaw at you.

You lifted your head from his shoulder and broke out of his embrace. He studies your state, which was much better now, but stayed quiet.

"I-I'm sorr-"

"Absolutely not." Jason sharply interrupted your attempt to apologize

"There is nothing for you to be sorry for sweetheart."

You could tell he was searching your face for any kind of acknowledgement, but you couldn't look at him.

"Look at me baby. Please?" he whispers as his hands roam up your neck to cup your cheeks.

You shook your head no.

Jason tries again, pressing his forehead to yours, looking at your tightly closed eyes.

"You're breaking my heart pretty girl. Please? For me?" he whispers so softly.

Deciding to obey, you look up at him. A single tear escapes your eye as you stare into his worried green ones.

"None of that anymore sugar" he reassures as his thumb wipes away the tear.

You nod in agreement.

Jason and you stay close with your forheads on each others for a while, basking in the intimacy of it all.

He breaks the silence.

"Talk to me love. What happened hm?" he asks, his breath dancing on your lips.

You take a deep breath

"What got my girl so upset?"

Truthfully, you had no idea how to start. How to tell him you've been feeling like a horrible girlfriend since you've been having darker thoughts about your appearance. How can you tell Jason, whose only fault was loving you, that you feel inadequate in his presence. That you feel that it is only a matter of time until he finds someone prettier, skinnier, smarter-

"Baby?"

His inquiry pulls you out of your head.

"It's stupid." You respond in a small voice.

"No. Not if it made you feel this way."

You drop your head again in shame. You don't deserve this kindness after you just questioned his intentions with you.

"But it has nothing to do with you" you mumble.

"It has everything to do with me because I love you. And I cant stand to see you so hurt over something I don't know about or help you with." He countered.

"But-" your voice begins to shake once more

He sneaks his index finger underneath your chin and lifts, giving you no choice but to look at him.

"But nothing." he shuts you down simply.

Jason kisses your forehead, then your cheeks, then your nose, making you giggle.

"There's my girl" he mumbles to no one in particular.

His face lines up with yours once again. This time, it is you who moves closer to capture his lips in yours. It was a soft and passionate kiss, a silent thanks for his patience with you.

Jason broke the kiss before you could and smoothed a braid from out of your face.

"Can you tell me why you're upset? You don't have to if you don't want-"

"I want to." You interrupted him.

After a long period of explaining your feelings with a few more stray tears, you both came to an understanding of how the situation came to be. Jason told you how much he loves you, and that nobody with a smaller figure or more socially "beautiful" than you could take him away from you. You were his girl; his to love, his to smile at, his to laugh with, his to touch, his to feel, his to caress-

His lips were now on yours. He kissed you with a fever of determination, a thousand feelings infused into the union of your lips.

His hands began to roam your body. Up your back and down to your hips. You know he loves seeing you in his clothes.

As the kiss deepens and both of your hands are all over eachother. Your hand roams down his front to find his bulge. He stops you abruptly, and you raise you head to look at him questioningly.

"Are you sure?" Jason whispers.

You chuckle at the question.

"Yes, of course" you answer incredulously.

At that, your hand made its way down again and was stopped once more.

"I want tonight to be about you, princess. Let me prove how much I love you."

You shot him a questioning look.

He smirked.

You have no idea what's coming He thought.

With his hands on your waist, he gently pushed you down onto the bed. He hiked up your (his) shirt to reveal your pretty tits.

Jason pressed open mouthed kisses on your neck, shoulders and chest. A hand came up to massage your breast and play with your nipple. His actions earned a moan from you, which only spurred him on in his antics.

"So beautiful" he murmured into your skin.

He continued down your body, only stopping to catch a glimpse of your head thrown back in painful anticipation.

Once he made his way down to your underwear he kneaded the flesh of your thighs and pressed kisses on the inside of each one.

"Gorgeous" he breathed between kisses

"Can I take these off?" He asks

You nod your head yes, but this is not sufficient for him.

"Need words pretty girl" Jason presses.

You let out a breathy yes and he begins to pull down your panties.

They were his favourite colour, Red.

"No other girl could wear my colour and be a sexy as you are. Understand?"

"Yes" you moan as his hands are at your feet, tossing your panties and rubbing your ankles.

At the cool breeze in the air, you snap your thighs together, unfamiliar with the change in temperature on your heat.

"No, none of that baby. Let me see that pretty pussy of mine."

You swear you could have cum at that statement alone.

Jason takes matters into his own hands as he gently and slowly pries your legs open, while maintaining eye contact to make sure you're still okay with what's going on.

Before he makes his descent, he lifts you slightly to move you further up the bed. A swift hand pulls a pillow and places it under your hips.

Clearly, he meant business.

Before your nerves had a chance to ruin the moment, Jason cuts the tension by turning to your inner thighs, leaving little bites and dark marks.

Without warning, he dives right in, relieving your sopping cunt of its misery.

The flat of his tongue drags up your soaking pussy, eliciting a surprised moan from you.

He continues with his affirmations.

"Nobody's pussy is a perfect as this one right here, yeah?"

You moan out at the praise.

"Need words baby or I'll stop"

"Y-Yes Jason!" you gasp as your hands desperately grip his sheets for relief. His tongue dancing with the devil on your soaked folds.

Briefly, he rises from between your legs and a scene of his saliva and your essence coats his lips and chin. His lips, now puffy, curl into a smirk.

"Now repeat after me. You make a mistake and I'll stop. Understood?" he continued.

"Fuck- Yes, I understand"

"There's my good girl" He affirms.

He goes back down with fervor this time. Jason's tongue wasted no time before lapping up what ended up on your thighs and circling your clit.

He begins. "There is no girl more perfect for Jason than me"

God he's good.

"T-There is- shit no girl- oh" You start, interrupted by his lips sucking on your clit.

"M-More perfect- ugh for J-Jason than me" You finish, proud that you were able to complete your first sentence.

Your success earned a proud "atta girl" from Jason as he continued his mission on your folds.

"There is no woman on this planet prettier than me" He started again, before his tongue resumed his actions.

This one was a challenge. Between his tongue and the suction of his lips, your orgasm was approaching quickly.

"There i-is no shit woman- fuck Jason I'm gonna-" you spit our frantically.

"Not yet. Finish the sentence first. You're almost there." He says as he raises his head from between your legs.

You let out a desperate whine at the sudden lack of stimulation and pushed your hips up against nothing. A strong forearm came to stop you, which your desperate state didn't appreciate.

You are left no choice but to continue.

"on this planted p-prettier than me." You finish.

Before you could beg, he was already there, hot breath ghosting over your need.

"Last one pretty girl. You can do it." Jason whispers. He moves his unused hand to interlock with one of yours that was previously gripping the bedding for dear life.

"Ready?" He asks

You nod weakly, followed by a whiny yes, knowing that only words will get you what you want.

"I am the only woman Jason has ever loved" He speaks over your heat.

You swore you came instantly.

Jason's heavenly mouth got to work again, leaving you a panting, mewling mess on his dark sheets. You were sure there was a puddle where his mouth met your cunt, and lewd, wet sounds filled the room.

Desperately needing your release, there was only one way to get it.

"I am t-the only fuck-" You were stopped by a particularly intense suck on your clit.

Jason's hand squeezed yours in encouragement. A silent "you can do this sugar" was mumbled over your pussy.

"Woman Jason ha-has ever- Ohh I'm so close Jay pleasepleaseplease". Your attempted recitation died with a desperate babble of his name.

His hand squeezed yours tightly, encouraging you once again to continue.

The tight coil in your tummy grew stronger and harder to ignore as Jason picked up the pace between your legs. It was as if he was a starving man, craving only one thing and finally receiving it.

"L-LOVED" You screamed as your release washed over you. Your eyes rolled and your back arched at the sudden sensation. Every nerve in your body was lit ablaze, burning so sweetly as he continued to lap at you through your high.

Nothing but, white-hot bliss filled each of your senses. You were so lost in your own pleasure, it almost hurt to come back down to earth.

When you opened your eyes again, you were met with a panting and disheveled Jason, juices all over his chin, and sweat down his brow. His collared dress shirt was unbuttoned and sinfully wrinkled. You couldn't help but marvel at his beauty in such an unkempt state.

Slowly, he began to remove the pillow from under you and pull your shirt down over your body. You hissed at the fabric dragging across your still-sensitive nipples, for which he apologized with a kiss on your nose.

Aligning his face with yours, he looked deep into your eyes and used his free hand to thumb away the tears of overstimulation on your cheeks.

"Don't you ever feel like you're not worthy of me again without telling me okay?" he remarks as he gives you a small, kind smile.

You nod, and he doesn't press you about it this time.

"I'll repeat this as many times as I need to sunshine, no questions asked."

He continued.

"I love you."

[netherfeildren]

Notes On a Virtuous Affair

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude.

He was the experienced one, you the innocent. It should have been different. Maybe it should’ve felt different. And yet, there was something in him that made you feel very much the conquering one, you the baptizing one.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Post outbreak; Jackson Joel Miller; Dom/sub undertones; Rough Sex; Impact Play; Face Slapping; Spanking; PIV sex; Ass Play; Oral Sex (m!receiving); Come Eating; Throat Fucking; Unprotected Sex; Potentially Toxic Dynamics? (haha?); Complicated Feelings; They Love Each Other in Their Own Weird Way, Ok?; Older Man/Younger Woman; Idk What This Is, I Don't Expect You to Either;

A/N: miss you guys, sorry for the disappearing act <3

Word Count: 3.1K

Read on AO3

Notes On a Virtuous Affair

Sunlight spills over everything, and the pastoral green leads you to him. 

One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude. 

But there’s an incongruity afoot here that only you appreciate.

The secret lies in that there’s a riddle woven through the three miles you pilgrim to see him weekly. The first, a boon, the green lush wasteland, if a thing that’s alive can be wasted. The second, an honesty, I’ll venture this distance for him. The third, a precursor, when your muscles start to tingle, your thighs, hot and itchy, nape, coated in a taste of salt. Your feet crunch along the gravel and dirt, protected by the soft leathered boots inherited from Lucy who’d died last Monday. A good start to the week, with new boots, and a thoughtful gift she’d left you, your friend, when your own shoes were so worn from all the walking you do for him. The end of the world changes death, finds good things within it. 

The sun warms the bridge of your nose, and you tip your face up to the too-bright light, trying your hardest to look straight at the intensity of it. He’s very much like this too. Why would you look directly at the sun if not for the hurting it brings? Your palms splayed forward at your sides, the breeze moving through your fingers, and the world is all around you alive in this apocalypse. 

Jackson is left further and further behind as you move towards him, and what no one understands, not even Joel Miller himself, is that there is something virtuous about this affair.

-

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth now,” he says down at you, bare as the day you were born and kneeling before his clothed and towering height. Nothing but the heavy hanging length of his cock is naked for you, the first you’d ever seen in your whole life. If he had his way, the only one you’d ever see for the rest of it. The wide head is slick and glossy, the way it bobs obscenely from his open jeans looking like the weight of it would hurt, the way it juts from the bed of hair at this groin like a threat to you. 

You know now, after all his focused training, that it only hurts him when you don’t tend to it as he needs, that it’s only a threat when you fail to do the same. He’s shown you the rules of hurting, in all these months you’ve come your three promised miles to him time after time. Shown you how it comes easy, that of hurting someone you love. A running in place sort of thing. You know all the steps that will come, the exact spot you’ll tread in. The way to propel yourself forward to finally leave that same place, avoid it, if you want. 

“Open wider. Won’t fit like that,” he clicks his tongue, voice a burr as he grips his throbbing flesh and with the other too big hand, also like a seeming threat, but not, he gives you a quick, softly stinging slap to the high of your cheekbone. The sound, fast and snapping like his disapproving tongue. You swallow a moan, looking up at him with that look in your eyes you know disturbs him, adoration, letting the hinges of your jaw go loose, saliva pooling beneath the cover of your tongue. “Don’t you want me?” He asks. 

And you blink once, moan crossing the bridge to a laugh if your mouth wasn’t stretched wide as it’ll go. He sees it though, skipping water in your eyes and gives that half smile, the mean one, the one that says he has all the answers in the world, knows all the things there are to know, that one you like best. Good girl, and his voice makes no sound, only the shape of the words on his mouth. You haven’t been good enough yet to hear the real thing of them out loud. This tells you that you must apply yourself to the task at hand, making him come. 

One heavy tap to the flat of your tongue sticking out for him first, and then he’s slicking that fat head against the surface, giving you the first real taste, salt and musk trickle down the back of your throat and you moan again, eyes screwing shut tight, cunt aching something fierce. Leaking just like the tip of his cock leaks too. 

That’s the thing about this thing, the one you see very well and Joel still fails to. The two of you, as disparate as you might seem, are the same in all the basic but most important ways. Too much in common for him to look at in the eye comfortably and still do the things you do. 

“Open your throat. Get me hard.” In your head, he calls you baby. In reality, only sometimes, when you’re extra good, does that happen. But in your imagination, where it matters more, he doesn't ask nice, but you are his baby. 

He slides back, back, hits the end of your throat, pulls out against the wet heat of your tongue. You keep your jaw wide until you feel him harden entirely, until he stretches his neck back, tendons jumping stark, clench of his jaw fluttering with a choked groan. “Suck me,” your permission to savor him like you need to. 

Hands pressed firmly to your bare knees, not digging at your soft wet like you’d like, or pawing at him as you’d like even more, you close your lips around him, cheeks hollowed and suck hard, tonguing at his slit on the pull back so that he’s bearing his teeth at you in a growl and shoving forward again hard, a snarl as the cinch of your tight throat strangles the head of his cock on every one of your swallows. Your eyes water, but he pets softly at the same spot he’d stung earlier with his slap. 

A game you used to play with your siblings, who could slap one another harder until the other gave out. It’d taken a while for you to come to the realization, but eventually, you’d realized the memory of it in your mind as it exists now wasn’t innocent the way it should’ve been. That there had been something you’d liked about it in a strange way—that hurting. That the first time you’d asked Joel to play the same game with you, you’d wanted him to slap you other places just as hard until you gave out also. 

The games were part of the thing. His own strange rules, like the way you couldn’t touch him sometimes—you dig your bitten down nails into the soft skin of your inner thighs—only when he said it was okay was it allowed. The way you were never allowed to touch your cunt unless he said so also. He had weird things about him, turned strange by the dangerous ways of life. Like the solitude, the house out and away, the begging you had to do for him to have you. 

Sameness. 

He wraps his fist in your hair, more sting, “Gonna fill your belly with my come, yeah?” His thrusts pick up pace, pulling your head back as far as your neck allows so that he can fuck your throat in full, jaw hanging wide, and you’re just the wet and willing hole you know he sometimes wishes you could always stay as. 

The thick cock against your tongue throbs once, twice and then he’s spilling hot and heavy down your open throat, sweet salt against the back of your tongue while you try and breathe through his strangling, tears spilling.

When he pulls back, slipping wet and heavy from your mouth you fall forward onto your palms, breathing fast, almost hyperventilating, stinging with the forced will to remain obedient. Your spine burns beneath your skin and your sore jaw hangs unwillingly open, sloppy mouth dripping a string of semen between your splayed palms. 

He crouches before you, dripping cock like your mouth, milked to heavy softness hangs long and sated between his thighs. And he pets your crown, the vulnerable shell of your ear, whole body on fire so that every inch of skin hurts without his touch, hurts worse with it. 

“Good girl,” he says now with voice. 

-

The walk seems longer some days. A thousand miles plus an eon instead of merely three. Especially on the days you’re more desperate than usual. The ones when your stomach feels full of sugar for him and the memory taste of his cock is already aching in your molars. Those days your steps are hurried, look in your eyes frenzied to get to him, to escape the things you leave behind. A too full house, your sister’s squalling, teething baby, your little brothers, and too many mouths to feed and not attention to be had, not enough mother for everyone to get loved. 

There’s reasons for this game between the two of you, you’d had to come out and find your attention somewhere else. 

Your love too. 

And if it comes with a sting sometimes, well, so had your mother’s. You like it like this now. 

The first time he’d touched your cunt: show me that pretty pussy, baby, and he’d had you from that very first sweet word, you gonna let me finger it? You’d spread wide, leaked into the cup of his palm like a whore, you’d needed to make sure he was for keeping from the first try, you see. So you’d done all he’d said, taken four fingers and only cried a little bit but whined a lot. Been all, hurts, Joel, high pitched and dragging his name out on a puppy whimper. 

He’d given you that first lesson in hurt the very first time: Yeah? Supposed to. A real mean man. And then made you gush into that very cupped palm so that he could drink of your sweetness. 

He was the experienced one, you the innocent. It should have been different. Maybe it should’ve felt different. And yet, there was something in him that made you feel very much the conquering one, you the baptizing one. 

The third mile comes to an end, the precursor, over, his house in view. It’s all quiet and slumbering and the long grass pulls you forward with its wind blown sway. The wide door to his shed is propped open, half finished rocking chair up on the workbench that sways with the intruding gust. The grass whispers behind you, the dark woods across the field moan, and he’s nowhere while the Tetons loom in the distance. 

You drag your fingers along the slats of his house as you pass, everything is so quiet, like he’d never been here. Like he’d gone and left you the way he’s promised he’d never do. Your belly feels bloated with heat, heart turned into four incongruous chambers that no longer beat in tune, memories of him rioting between each thump. Your cunt goes soft and drooling in your panties as your fear beats higher and higher, and you come to the mouth of the shed, peering into the cool darkness of this little place where he makes his beautiful things. The things that go into people’s homes to be used by people’s families to be stored in people’s memories.

The gleam of the sun does not cross the threshold, and you brace your palms on either side of the wide door, the air thrums and he’s not here—yet—you slide the toe of Lucy’s old boot across the border of sunlight into sanctuary and peek your closed-eyed face into the shade right before you’re taken bodily to the ground by his heavy weight. Palms catching splinters, his strong chest heaves into the line of your spine, strong arm at your waist to pull your breath from your lungs and your legs from under you. 

He forces you belly first to the ground, other hand circling your throat in the imitation of a strangle lest you lose yourself and decide to struggle for the first time ever. But you dig your fingernails into the dirt, scratching for purchase in preparation of what’s about to come, all the fight going out of you; body, half in shadow, half in sunlight. Your bones feel salt bleached. An over abundance of sodium in the blood that renders you catatonic for him.

He nuzzles soft at your nape while his hand shoves under your dress, ripping your underwear down your legs so that the elastic cuts into your tender skin to hurt. All incongruous movement, this man is. 

“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to go creepin’ ‘round strange men’s homes?” His voice is so deep, drawled, broken up into different notes of lust and anger and temerity. All the strange things that make Joel Miller up. 

Yeah, you sigh into the dirt. “Told me exactly how it’d go for me if I did.”

You hitch your rump up then, presenting your cunt for fucking. The breeze doesn’t do half to soothe the throbbing wet. The sort of ache that’ll only be fixed by something heavy inside the hurting place. The sound of his belt quiets the disparate chambers, the beat in your ears of rushing blood is uniform now, there’ll be a wet spot in the shape of you in the dirt when he’s through. You lift your hips higher, knees scraped rough as you spread wider, face pressed to the ground and your fingers are well and burrowed in their little gouges now. 

He smacks the heft of it against you asshole, spits and presses a little. He likes to scare you sometimes. Nooo, Joel, all whining stutter, but with your back arching deeper like a little babied liar; you don’t mind where he puts it, only that he puts it somewhere.

“Hush,” he soothes all nice, spanks your ass once all not— “Gonna teach you a lesson.” And shoves inside, bumping against your womb on the first try, stretching your hole too wide, too quick. And there’s no prep, no qualm. No need to hesitate when you own a thing. You swallow your animal cry, ah ah ah, you want to hear how good you’ve been out loud. He grips your hips tight enough to bruise which is what you know he wants and fucks hard and fast, each swing whistles with ownership. 

He fucks you in the dirt like an animal, and this affair is virtuous. 

He teaches you the truth about hurting, about ownership, about so many things that only a man like Joel Miller could teach a girl like you. And all the while he tells you that you’re too pretty to take such an ugly fucking. 

The way he works your cunt, hungry, balls swinging wet so that they sting like his slaps, tip battering hard so that it aches like gratitude. 

These are the things three miles give you. A whole man to teach you about the whole world. 

The slick squelch of your overwhelmed cunt sounds loud, no more disparate heartbeat, no more green grassed whispers. Only the sound of his grunting above you like an animal remains. “You’re the perfect little cunt. You know that, baby?” There it is, you sigh. Start to tremble around him like that, like his good baby that you are, desperate flutters, little gash being fucked into obedience like you need. Your overwhelmed pants make little dirt dream clouds before your eyes as you start to come for him, crying his name, crying your love, crying that you’re so, so thankful. 

“Don’t stop, Joel. Not yet.” And he loves it when you beg, loves it when your cunt pulls tight like a knot.  

“Not yet,” he promises because he might be a real mean man, but he loves you like separating salt from blood.

Complicated and precise. 

When he’s through with you, there’s sunlight spilling over everything again. It’s journey goes on and on, and his semen drips from your cunt now. He turns gentle, thrusting still, making sure it’s fucked deep, pulsing in time with your own throb. Rhythms merge between the two of you. 

His rules are strange, his claims over you equally mysterious. He won’t say things out loud, won’t let you touch any real part of him, but his strange truths ring loud anyways, and when your heart isn’t disjointed, you hear him perfectly well. 

When he lays you out bare and trembling across his messy bed, the groaned pains of his age and rutting in the dirt like an animal sound from him as he drapes himself alongside you. Large and hairy, feet hanging off the end of the bed, entirely real with one knee propped up so that his thick cock lays heavy and soft over the swell of his belly. Your heart beats soft and overfull now. 

You watch the sun set across the planes of his chest and bask in the blue dark as the night draws breath around you. The work of meting out obedience to little girls who come searching for it is toiling, and you watch him melt into sleep, but right before he’s just gone away from you, with a single finger petting at the jut of the old broken bone in his shoulder, your whispered plea: Will you give me a falseness? You don’t call it a lie. This is a virtuous thing, after all.

Lies aren’t allowed in this house. 

He breathes a deep sigh, and you watch the fan of his long lashes sweep open, staring up at the shadowed rafters of his home. You swear you can see each and every individual whisker in his thick beard, dark and gray dispersed throughout. You see every single detail. 

He’d told you once there were ghosts here, in this house, and you’d learned later it wasn’t a lie. This became more and more obvious the more you got to know him. 

He stares up at them now. 

When he’d taken your virginity, when it’d left you the way you’d always imagined it would, covered in tears and blood and semen, you’d made that promise to each other. That you wouldn't lie, that he’d have all of you, that you’d not touch all of him. The ghost lay beside you in the damp bed of your lost innocence that day. It’d been just so ever since and over many miles of three you’d come to appreciate the realities of it. Who could be more connected than two people who always tell each other their truths exactly as they are?

“Give me a falseness,” you say again, not a lie. 

“A good kind of a bad kind?”

You flip a mind’s coin, wish you could see the exact ghosts he sees— “Bad.”

He turns to look at you, this half smile he wears is your second favorite one now, the honest one, and it’s all there for you to see. All the disparate chambers of Joel, just like your heart beating in your ears. You suppose the ghosts don’t matter then. 

“I don’t love you.”

And you nod solemn. Bad, like a whisper, like your game. 

You smile back, the one you know he likes best, the one that looks like his.

Netherfeildren’s Masterlist

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[atiny-desire]

God Of War

Pairing: God of war! Mingi x fem! Reader

Summary: You get lost in a snowy winter night. Your horse spooked, and now you're on your own to find your way back home. Instead of your home, you find an old temple belonging to the God of war, Mingi. From now on, this would be your home.

Word count: 3.2k

Disclaimer: I'm in no way condoning, justifying, encouraging nor promoting this kind of behavior. This is not supposed to represent Mingi in any way.

Warning: Dub-Consent (Only touching, no smut.)

◇◇◇

The moon above you was round and full, casting its silver light down on you and your surroundings every time it peeked through a gap between dark clouds. The trees from the forest you were stumbling through were bare. Their branches were decorated by a thick layer of snow instead of green leaves.

You wrapped your bare arms tight around your body, trying to save some warmth, but it did almost nothing. The clothes on your body were a poor excuse of clothing articles and doing nothing to help your body in preserving your body heat. This would be easier if you had a horse, but your horse was the reason why you were in this situation in the first place. It had suddenly spooked at something, completely catching you off guard and threw you off. You could only watch as it bolted away into the cold night

You left deep footprints in the thick snow as you dragged your weakened body forward. Soon, those footprints would be filled up by the fresh snow that was silently falling from the dark sky. You could barely feel your limbs, and your fingers didn't move how you wanted them to. As you stumbled through the forest you longed to be at home where you could curl up in front of a fireplace, fill your stomach with something warm to eat, and finally fall asleep in your comfortable bed. You concentrated on the small misty cloud that formed every time you breathed out. You tried anything to get your mind off of the harsh cold.

Your body was weak, and your eyes began to get a bit droopy when you saw something in the distance, finally something else than snow and trees. A flicker of hope bloomed in your chest when you spotted the outline of a building between the thick forest flora. You wanted to run toward it, but the exhausted state your body was in simply didn't allow it. Your eyes were trained on the grey bricks. The closer you came, the more the building revealed itself to you. At first, you had thought that it was just a small ruin or an abandoned house, something you hoped would give you shelter, but what you found was much bigger than what you had expected. What you found was some sort of temple. A thick layer of snow covered the roof, and naked ivy veins climbed up every inch of the structures walls. The building would have been completely hidden away by the lush green had it been spring or summer.

Stepping into the building, you had to quickly realize that you wouldn't find much protection of the cold here. Time had clearly eaten away at the temple. Lots of cracks and gaps in the walls allowed the wind to howl through the building. At especially large gaps, snow started to pile up, and the ivy that had already covered the outside also partially found its way inside. You walked further inside, even if you were still cold, at least you were protected from the snow. You noticed that the walls were covered in paintings. A lot of the paint had peeled off and chipped away, but some of the artworks were still partially visible. It was mostly art related to war. Armies of men fighting the enemy force and illustrations of losses and victories.

If you weren't on the brink of passing out, you would have gladly taken your time to look at the ancient paintings, but your main concern was staying alive. You walked past an old altar, the stony surface was stained in a dark color. Old blood. A lot of sacrifices must have been made here in order to stain the stone permanently. Behind the altar stood the podium for a statue, but the statue itself was gone. You retreated into the far corner of the temple, snow couldn't reach you there, and the wind wasn't as strong.

You curled up on the ground, your legs were pulled close to your chest and your arms wrapped around them. As mucbas you fought against it, your eyelids still felt heavy, threatening to fall closed at any given moment. You knew you couldn't fall asleep, not if you wanted to keep fighting, but your mind started to play tricks on you. Maybe if you just rested your eyes for a moment, just to get some energy back, you wouldn't fall asleep. As soon as you closed your eyes, you could feel the impending sleep gnaw at you, and your exhausted body was just too happy to give in and slip into unconscious. Your last sleep, you thought.

The next time you were conscious again, you felt warm. Warm? You were confused as to why you felt warm because the last thing you remembered was passing out in that old temple. You kept your eyes closed. You were too exhausted to worry about why you weren't freezing anymore. With a sigh, you pressed yourself closer to the source of heat.

It wasn't until you heard a chuckle from above you that your eyes snapped open in an instant. You tilted your head to look up and were promptly met with the chocolate brown eyes of a handsome man. At first, you only stared at him in awe before you fully came to your senses. You could feel his skin against yours along the length of your body. "There you are, darling. Though I might lose you." The man spoke and let his hand graze over your cheek. His touch was hot, almost burning your skin.

Considering your situation, you were somehow eerily calm. You slowly sat up and pushed his hand away. Till now, you haven't said a word, but one glance down your body was enough to make you gasp. Even if you had felt his skin against yours just a few moments ago, it only now registered in your head that you were naked. Your hand clutched th blanket, keeping it close to your chest to hide your body. Beside you, you could hear the man chuckle again. "Where am I? Why am I undressed?" You moved a little away from him so your bodies weren't in contact anymore.

He hummed and tilted his head as if he had to think about where you currently were. "My temple, darling. The temple of war. Although, mine is a lot more appealing than the one in the human world, isn't it?"

You took a look around you, the abandoned temple you remembered passing out in wasn't there anymore. Instead, you found yourself in a lavishly decorated bedroom. Pillars made of marble carried the unnecessarily high ceiling, golden ornaments were worked into almost everything, even the marbled floor. Two statues of the man beside you silently guarded the large arched double door of his bedroom, both of them almost managed to reach the ceiling. "I don't understand." You muttered when you looked back at him. Nothing he said made sense to you. How could this be the same temple you passed out in? And he still hadn't answered why you weren't wearing your clothes. "And my clothes, where are they?"

"What's there to not understand?" He sighed and shook his head. "My temple, you're in my temple." He repeated, this time a lot slower. He probably thought you were a little dense. "Your clothes? Well, I had to take them off. They were drenched. How could I possibly keep you warm with them on?"

You swallowed hard at the thought of a stranger undressing you. He saw you in your most vulnerablestate while you were passed out. The thought alone made you a little squirmish. "Please give them back, I have to go home."

But the man only shook his head again. "Oh no, you don't have to." He gently pushed you back down by your shoulder. The soft bed molded to your body, almost swallowing you up. This is what you imagined it would feel like if you slept on a cloud. "How about you rest first, hm? I imagine that last night must have taken quite the toll on your human body."

Without resistance, you let yourself be pushed down again. You were far too compliant for a woman who woke up in the bed of a naked stranger, but something about him was soothing. It's almost like a lullaby dragging you into the dreamland or a sirens song luring sailors into the depths of he oceans. "Why do you keep talking like that? Like you're not human."

"Because I'm not. I'm the God of war." His hand landed on your cheek again now that you were lying back down. His fingertips wandered over your cheek, slowly down to your neck and coming to a rest over your pulse point. "Darling, why do you seem so confused? Do you not believe in the Gods."

You were sure that this man was trying to mess with your head. Human realm, a temple that suddenly shined in its old glory, and now the talk about Gods? Most importantly, claiming to be a God himself. So either he was trying to fool you, or he was the one who wasn't right in the head. "It's a lot, isn't it?" The man beside you spoke up again. "I get it. You'll have to get used to it. It isn't every day you meet a God, huh?" Meanwhile, his hand on your neck started to get restless and slowly began to wander. His hand traced from the nape of your neck, slowly down your spine, and over the curve of your behind until his hand came to a halt on the back of your thigh. The entire time his hand wandered over your body, you held your breath. You didn't know this man, but strangely enough, his touch didn't feel unpleasant, quite the opposite, actually. His touch left a warm prickly trail on your skin, his touch just as comforting as resting under the warm sun.

"Breath, darling." His voice lowered into a throaty purr which let his chest vibrate.

His words snapped you out of your trance, and you finally let air fill your lungs again. "Who are you really?" You asked him warily. In your mind, you were thinking about moving away from him to create some distance between the stranger and you. However, your body seemed to have other plans than your mind and stayed glued to your spot on the soft bed with silk blankets covering most parts of your body.

His hand softly squeezed the soft flesh of your thigh, a satisfied hum rumbled in his throat as his fingers dug into your skin. For a moment, he looked a little lost, his mind seemingly elsewhere and his eyes staring off into the distance right through you. Just when you were about to ask again, he answered you. "Well, name is Mingi, if that's what youre asking for." That's all he said. He gave you no explanation as to why you were with him. It was clear that he was too distracted. His fingers twitched to explore more of your body and let them roam freely all over you, but for now, he decided to behave himself a little and keep his hand on the back of your thigh.

You sighed when he really didn't reveal more about your current situation. It looked like you would have to pull the answers out of him. "Why am I here?"

Mingi had previously let his eyes wander over you, watching your form, which was hidden under the blankets. His eyes glued to your chest in particular. His gaze was narrowed at the blanket, which was pulled up just enough to protect your modesty, like it was the bane of his existence. But now his brown eyes met yours, at first glance they were kind and gentle, but with further inspection you could see that there was a storm right beneath the surface and ready to cause destruction, given the first opportunity. "How often do I have to repeat myself, darling? You know where you are, whether you believe it or not, you know it." His answer was less than satisfying. Your face pulled into a frown.

His hand let go of your thigh to reach for your face, his thumb stroked over your forehead, smoothing out the wrinkles that formed there. "Don't frown. I'll give you the answers you want, but it's not my fault if you dont believe them." Mingi sat up and stretched his arms over his head. The blanket had fallen off of his torso, now pooling around his hips and just barely covering his full glory from you. The muscles under his skin rippled with every movement. His body looked like he was sculptured by Pheidias himself.

You didn't mean to stare, but it was hard not to look when you could see how his biceps bulged, as well as the veins prominently running along his arms, and the muscles of his stomach flexing as he stretched his body. You swallowed hard at the thought of what would happen if the blanket slipped just a little lower. Mingi noticed you staring in his peripheral vision, but he chose not to say anything. "As I said many times before, you're in my temple, but you should know that, shouldn't you? After all, you're the one who wandered in here."

Suddenly, he stood up from the bed, a smirk tugged at his lips when he heard a small gasp coming from you. He had his back facing you, but you still quickly averted your eyes elsewhere. "You may think I was the one tugging you into my bed, but it was you who crawled in, really. Curling up against me like a stray kitten almost frozen to death." He spoke. You had no recollection of this. Then he shrugged his shoulders and corrected himself. "I might have guided you a little, but you're the one who came to me first."

While he was talking, he started to get dressed, and you watched. Well, at least he partially got dressed because his torso stayed mostly bare, only covered by a pelt sling with a one-sided shoulder pad. "It's been a long time since someone visited my temple." He mumbled, you swore you could hear some bitterness in his voice. Mingi turned back around to face you again. "But I guess the wait was worth it?"

"But that doesn't answer your question, right?" He chuckled as he began to roam around the lavish bedroom again, searching for something until he found and pulled out a pot with red paint in it. "I'm a God, darling. The god of war mainly, but also a symbol for bravery, virility, and victory." Meanwhile, he began to apply the paint to his body in a neat thick stripe on the side of his torso and over one side of his face. "Stumbled right into the lion's den." He muttered under his breath.

"Do you really think I believe that?" You asked. You couldn't help but scoff at what he had said. "Anyone can say that they're a god! Please just tell me where I am, I am serious, and I want to go home soon."

Mingi sighed and shook his head. "Why do humans always have to be so stubborn?" He muttered quietly. His movements stopped, and his head turned to look at you. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Of course, you didn't know better, but once you enter the realm of the gods, there's no turning back. At least for mortals like you, there isn't." His body followed his head, now facing you completely. "You're in the temple of the God of War. Sacrifices made to me are usually dead or on the brink of it, and guess what you were when you stumbled in here."

He sighed again and walked over to the bed, which was still occupied by your naked form hidden by the blankets. "Hate to break it to you, darling, but you're mine now." His hand reached out to caress your cheek. What he said was nothing but a lie. He didn't feel any remorse about this situation whatsoever. In fact, he relished in it. Finally, he has a pretty thing by his side, keeping his bed warm while he is out and about.

"But my home... I have to get home!" You protested.

"Why?" His head tilted while his hand roamed down to your neck. It was like his hand had a mind on its own because he couldn't keep his hands to himself. "What's there for you? No man, no family, no friends. Why are you so set on going back?"

You were a bit taken aback about his sudden assumptions about you. He wasn't wrong, but it was still surprising how accurate he was. Was it written on your face that you were a loner? It seemed that your surprise was written on your face because a low laugh emitted from deep within Mingi's chest. "I'm a God, darling. Of course I know. I know about everything that happens in my territory, and your little town you call your home just so happens to be part of it." He mused. His eyes were on his hand while he gently caressed your skin. "My time of glory and worship might have been a long time ago, but that doesn't mean that I disappeared. This land is still mine. I'm the one who has fought for this land centuries ago, and I'm the one who still protects it to this day."

Suddenly, his eyes sparkled with mischievous while he looked at you. "It's a shame you couldn't see the glory of the old days. You would've made a pretty war trophy."

Even if you wanted to move, you couldn't. His touch was stronger than the most potent narcotics, easily keeping you in place with feather like brushes of his fingertips. His words made you think, and you had to come to the conclusion that he was right. There was nothing waiting for you, at least nothing worth noting. But it couldn't be this easy, right? You couldn't just stay with a man whose touch was so incredibly tantalizing that you doubted your own sanity, a man who you just met, and a man who claimed to be a God. "Prove it to me. Prove that you're a God."

"Oh, I will, in time." He replied and straightened himself up. His touch left your cheek, and it took everything within you not to follow his hand like a cat begging for pats. "But not now. There's something I have to take care of before the other gods start to bother me about the fact that I'm keeping a human in our realm." He sighed and rolled his eyes. He would much rather spend time with his new pet, but he would have to tell Hongjoong, the father of the gods, about you if he didn't want to be cast out from the ranks of Gods and Goddesses.

He turned to leave, but he was stopped by you just before he could. "Wait! At least give me my clothes back."

He hummed, pretending to think about it before he shot you down with a flat, "No." A small grin spread on his lips when he continued, "I think I'm going to keep you like this, so I know you won't wander around and cause any havoc while I'm not here."

You huffed and glared at him. Your hand, which was holding the blanket protectively to your chest, tightened in the fabric. "You-!" He didn't even wait to listen to what you had to say. With large steps, he walked out of the room. The door shut closed behind him, and you were left alone, sitting on his bed with just your thoughts. This situation was absurd. You should be freaking out, screaming, and kicking, but you were calm. It didn't seem like he had the intention to hurt you. You were safe. Maybe you should listen to him. Maybe you should stay.

It's not like you ever had a choice in the in the first place.

[peachessndreamss]

A Rose by Any Other Name.

Summery : Princes Aegon and Aemond visit Highgarden to broker a marriage contract for the younger brother, while there Aemond finds himself in need of relief and doesn't care who with.

Characters : Aemond Targaryen x f!Tyrell reader

Warnings : Dub Con, abuse of title/rank, oral sex (male receiving), female masturbation, derogatory terms for women, alcohol consumption, cannon divergent, Aegon slander

Word count : 4.5 k

A/N : Sometimes my dreams are the unlimited pasta caste and sometimes they're this, sorry. While English is my first language I'm also profoundly dyslexic, I've done my best to minimise spelling and grammar issues but I'm there still are plenty.

The ground of a Highgarden stable yard was a mess of mud and straw as the eldest Tyrell daughter rode her horse sedately out of the stables and toward the open door of the outer keep. There had been days of fresh spring rains which had soaked the earth, swollen the rivers and brought the Reach alive in a riot of colour, from the azure blue of the sky to the lush green of the grasses in the animal fields and every colour of the rainbow in the food and flowers that grew and ripened under the warming sun. 

“Outriders say the Princes are only a few hours away if the good weather holds so don’t go far,” the horse master reminded her. 

“I’ll not go far,” she replied with an airy wave of her hand, the route she’d already set on in her mind was several hours over the roughest terrain the estate of Highgarden had to offer and would have her coming home a good while after the Targaryen visitors had arrived. She had no desire to stand in the muddy yard with her siblings to greet the princes when their wheelhouse rolled in. 

Her father had started brokering the marriage contract over 9 months before, ravens flew back and forth between Highgarden and Kings Landing as her father bartered, first, with the Hand of the King and then with Queen Alicent. She’d looked through the letters herself, working out just how much she was worth to her father and the Targaryens. Finally the Queen suggested Aegon and Aemond visit the Reach themselves to complete negotiations and hold a formal betrothal. 

If she was going to be sold off to Aemond Targaryen like a cow at a market she would at least spend her final day as an unbetrothed woman in the way she enjoyed the most. As she passed under the gate the horse beneath her gave a shiver of anticipation, as they turned toward the East and the low spring sun that dazzled her eyes the horse gave a snort of impatience. 

Despite the lack of visibility Lady Tyrell angled the horse toward a small cluster of woods she knew were on the horizon, she clicked her tongue and gave the horse a short squeeze with her thighs. At this the horse broke into a trot and soon they were hidden by the sun and quickly disappearing over the horizon. 

In the West, still 10 or so miles from Highgarden, the royal wheelhouse shuddered and bounced over the pitted road, shaking the two occupants and further fraying delicate nerves. 

Aegon groaned and gripped at the set beneath him, his head hanging low and his eyes closed tightly as he tried to stop feeling like his head and body were moving in different directions. 

“I can’t see why we couldn’t come on dragonback,” Aegon groaned as he fought the urge to vomit again. 

Aemond remained in stoney silence, seething at his older brother and the despicable mess he was. The night before they had slept in a tavern on the edge of the Reach. Aegon has drunk his way through an entire barrel of rose wine and was found in the morning asleep in the stable between two sheep. The smell of him, a mix of spilt wine and sheep shit made Aemond's stomach roll. 

“Isn't there some high born hole you can marry in Kings Landing?” Aegon complained as the wheelhouse gave a lurch and bumped over the poorly maintained track. 

“Cease your incessant whining,” Aemond finally snapped, kicking his brother in the leg. 

“Why did I have to come?” Aegon muttered, rubbing at his calf and glaring at Aemond through the lank locks of hair that had fallen over his face. 

“I would have paid good money to leave you behind,” Aemond replied coldly. 

“Why didn't you?!”. 

“Mother insisted,” Aemond shrugged and turned away from his brother, pulling the window cover back with a long finger and watching disinterestedly at the countryside rolling by. If he ended up marrying into the Lords of this land, the first thing he'd insist on was better roads. 

The wheelhouse turned sharply and Aegon groaned again, stuffing his cloak into his mouth to fight the nausea. Once it had passed he spit the fabric out, it tasted like sheep and possibly his piss. 

“I fucking hope she's worth it,” he hissed. 

The lady returned to Highgarden even later than she'd intended and in a far worse state. Her usually sure mount had startled while riding through a wooded area and thrown her off his back into a sticky quagmire, she’d landed mostly on her back and left side, the clothes had become soaked in mud that had been almost impossible to get off when it was wet. She had washed the worst of it off her face and hands  in a small stream but her riding clothes remained caked in the muck. 

“My Lady, what happened?” The horse master exclaimed as she trotted the beast into the stables. 

“He threw me is all, no lasting damage done,” she replied as she dismounted and patted the horse's neck lovingly. 

“Are they here?” She asked after a moment of heavy silence. 

“Your father's taken them to his solar, he's not happy you weren't here to greet them,”. 

She nodded sharply and handed the reins of the horse over to a stableboy.

“Plenty of hay, water and a few of those early golden apples,” she instructed before turning and heading into the yard.

She entered the building through a servants door, knowing she could make a path between there and her own rooms that wouldn't put her anywhere near her father's solar. She could be washed and changed and ready to entertain Princes long before dinner was served. 

She stepped into a small anteroom off the kitchens where she knew she could take off her ruined riding gear, stripping down to her small clothes and riding boots, she left everything in a pile, making a note to tell her maidservant about it as soon as she saw the woman. She couldn't well wander the halls of Highgarden in her shift so she took a clean servants dress from the stack in the corner and pulled the shapeless linen over her head, tying it around the middle with a belt of braided cord. She splashed icy water on her face and did her best to tuck any loose hairs back into their braid before setting off for her rooms. 

She'd almost made it back to her own chambers when a voice from behind spoke. 

“Girl, come here,” it commanded and she stopped in her tracks. 

No one in her father's household would speak to her like that, even if she was dressed as a servant. She turned slowly, the blood racing to her face when she looked at Aemond Targaryen for the first time. 

He was still dressed for travel, with black leather trousers and a similarly hardy jacket with a high collar. The patch over his eye hid most of the damage but the deep red scar extended up his forehead and down his cheek, the only mark she could see on his otherwise glass clear skin. There was no flicker of recognition on his face, he obviously had no idea who he was speaking to. 

“Come here,” he ordered again when she'd not moved toward him. 

She opened her mouth to protest, to ask him who he thought he was speaking to but she stopped, closing her mouth and moving toward him. If she was going to marry this man she wanted to know what type of man he was and how better to learn than to see how he treated servants. 

As she moved toward him she kept her eyes downcast, despite being desperate to look at his face in greater detail.

“What can I do for you, my Prince?” She asked meekly. 

“Come with me,” he replied bluntly and turned, striding down the wide and brightly lit corridor toward the rooms that had been prepared for the two visiting royals. 

At the door to his room he pushed it open and stepped back to allow her inside first before following and closing the door tightly behind the two of them. The sound of the latch clicking into place made her heart pound, she'd never been alone with a man before, she'd always been accompanied by her ladies or sisters but now she was alone in the guest wing behind a closed door. 

She stood in the centre of the main room, a fire burned merrily in the grate and the Prince’s trunk stood open at the foot of the bed. She looked up at him from under her lashes and caught sight of his deep indigo eye watching her. 

“Wh-what can I do for you?” She asked again, he'd catch on pretty quickly she wasn't part of the serving staff if he asked her to do much more than pour a glass of wine. 

“I'm in need of some relief,” he said softly, his left hand moving instinctively toward the laced fount of his trousers and his fingers twitched.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, her eyes following the movement of his hand before snapping back to his face. 

“I don't understand your meaning, my Prince,” she said softly, although she was fairly certain she did. 

She had been raised her entire life in the safety and beauty of Highgarden, her innocence protected at all costs and her exposure to men limited as far as possible, but she still knew what men and women did together in the privacy of their bed chambers. 

“The journey here was long and difficult and my brother is a terrible travelling companion, so before I meet with your sweet lady this evening and make dull small talk for hours I need you to get on your knees, open your mouth and suck my cock,”. 

A shiver crawled across her body, she'd never been spoken to like that before and after the initial shock of his crass words she found herself excited by them. But while his words were exciting the reality of what he wanted was frightening, she could tell him who she really was and face the consequences of running around dressed as a servant and tricking a prince or she could do what he asked and face any additional consequences of sucking his cock and having to make dull small talk with him later. 

“Did you hear me?” He demanded, his voice harsher now, “get on your knees, I've got no time for your wide-eyed innocent act,”. 

“But, my Prince, I've never-,”. 

He cut her off mid-sentence, anger flashing across his face. 

“Get on your knees,” he hissed through clenched teeth. 

The anger on his face and in his voice sent a thrill up and down her spine, making the tips of her toes and fingers tingle with anticipation. 

Slowly she lowered herself to her knees, the thin and rough fabric of the dress rubbed uncomfortably on her knees and the cold of the stone floor seemed to soak into her skin like water. 

“So you do understand, stupid little slut,” he muttered, moving toward her while unfastening the laces of his breeches. 

She watched with wide eyes as he pulled his cock free from the fabric of his trousers and pumped his hand up and down the thick muscle. By instinct her mouth filled with saliva and she felt a rush of wetness and heat between her thighs. 

“Open your mouth,” he commanded. 

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip before doing as she'd been told, parting her lips and teeth as he came to stand directly in front of her, the head of his cock now bobbing directly in her eye line. There was a bead of clear fluid slipping from the thin slit at the head, she fought the urge to lean toward and lick it up. 

The head of his cock was a dark red colour, completely in opposition to the alabaster white skin of his hands, he wrapped his fingers around the base and squeezed. 

“Keep it open,” he said as he angled the shaft toward her lips. 

This was her last opportunity, the very last second she could back out, tell him who she was, run screaming from the room but instead she relaxed her jaw a little and allowed him to push the head of his cock into her waiting mouth. 

His own mouth dropped open in a soft moan as the wet heat of her mouth enveloped his aching cock. He pushed his hips forward, forcing as much of himself between her lips as she could take, the soft, slick slide of her tongue on the underside of his shaft made his toes curl up in his boots. 

Her hands went to the front of his thighs and she braced her open palms against the leather, her fingers moulding to the shape of his lithe legs. He could feel the heat from her hands and the gentle curl of her fingertips through the fabric of his breeches. 

He drew back a little, feeling the warm suck of her soft mouth, he pushed one hand into the soft tangle of her hair and gripped. 

“That's it,” he breathed as he pushed forward again, “take it,”. 

Holding her head steady he pumped his cock between her lips, very quickly he was soaked from root to tip with her saliva and he watched transfixed as it slipped down her chin and wetted the rough fabric of her dress. 

Tears were forming in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks as he fucked her mouth. The musky and masculine smell of him filled her nose as the salty taste of his bare skin on her tongue made her head spin. 

Part of her was disgusted, she was a lady and possibly a future princess but she was on her knees getting her mouth fucked bya man who thought she was a servant. A much larger part of her thought this was the most erotic thing that could ever happen, her cunt was pulsing with the rapid beat of her heart,  she wanted nothing more than to shove her fingers between her legs and bring herself to completion, or even better, take Aemond’s fingers and use them. 

“You cock hungry little slut,” he hissed as he forced his cock deeper than any thrust before. 

She choked, feeling her body suddenly gag at the intrusion so deep into her mouth. She tore herself away from him, gasping for breath. There was pain where he was clinging onto her hair, pulling it hard between his lean fingers. 

“Too much for the little whore?” He sneered, cold laughter on his beautiful face. 

She nodded as he brought the hand that wasn't still tangled in her hair to her cheek and brushed away her tears. 

“Finish me off and you'll be free to go,” he said, pulling her back to him and pressing the head of his cock against her lips. 

She opened her mouth willingly and allowed him to continue, pumping faster but not as deeply as before, he began to pant and groan at every pass of her wet lips. 

“Fucking take it,” he panted, “take it, take it,”.

With a final shuddering, stuttering thrust she felt his cock kick in her mouth before her tongue was flooded with salty, bitter fluid. She kept her mouth closed around his shaft as his seed escaped between her lips and dripped onto her chest. 

“Swallow it,” he whispered, unable to take his gaze from her dripping mouth. 

He watched as her throat bobbed and she swallowed his remaining seed before leaning back and gazing up at him. Her cheeks were marked with the tracks of her tears and her mouth and chin were wet with his spend and her own spit. The tip of her tongue appeared between her lips and gathered a drop of him before disappearing again between her used lips. 

Aemond's cock was now rapidly softening and she watched with fascination as the long, thick muscle seemed to retreat back toward his body, the hot, round head disappearing under a hood of skin. 

He tucked his cock back into his breeches before reaching down and brushing his thumb across her lips, his touch surprisingly tender. 

“You can go,” he said bluntly before stepping away from her and turning his back. 

She sprang to her feet and dashed to the bedroom door, yanking it open and not bothering to close it behind herself as she raced toward the sanctuary of her own rooms. The soles of her riding boots seemed to boom on the hard stone floor and she believed as if everyone in the castle would hear her desperate escape. 

Although she kept her head down and didn't acknowledge anyone she passed she felt as if she'd been branded across the face with the awful names he'd called her. Surely everyone she passed knew what she'd just been doing. 

Her heart was thundering and her cunt pounding, the sensations she'd never felt before were making her head spin. Once she was in the safety of her own room she threw herself onto the bed and drove her fingers between the slick lips of her cunt with an urgency she'd never known. She bit into the feather pillow as she brought herself to orgasm within moments of touching the throbbing and engorged pearl between her legs. 

She lay panting on the bed, the smell of him still clinging to her like perfume, now mixing with the smell of her own arousal. 

Her ears still burned with the names he'd called her, she should feel humiliated and insulted but instead she longed to hear those names again. She longed to taste his cock again and then to explore his body, to take time to undress him, observe him and touch him. She wanted him to do the same with her, call her names, strip her naked and explore her virgin body without restraint.

When her maidservant arrived to get her dressed for dinner she could barely lift her head from the bed. She wanted nothing more than to hide under the sheets and touch herself again and again while images of the prince flashed through her mind. 

She was scrubbed clean in the bath, her hair washed and treated with sweet smelling oils. Her maidservant noted the bruises where she'd been thrown by her horse, but the marks on her knees were harder to explain away. 

She was dressed in a gold and green gown embroidered with roses, the usual soft cotton and silk felt like sand abrading her skin. She insisted her hair be styled in the same way it had been when she went riding, in case the Prince didn't recognise the lady he was forced to make small talk with. 

She waited by the door to the great hall, the princes had been announced and seated, then her father and his wife, her siblings next and finally it was her turn. Her name was called and she stepped into the hall. The room was full of the great and good of the Reach sitting on the tables that filled the room, at the top table, positioned above the others on a dais sat her family and Prince Aegon and Aemond. 

She looked directly at Prince Aemond as she walked toward the top table. There was a flicker of recognition followed by a moment of complete horror before he took back control of his face, a mask of neutral passiveness dropping over his features. She took her seat between the prince and her young sister. 

“My Lady,” he greeted softly. 

“Prince Aemond,” she replied.

“Prince Aegon,” she added, leaning around Aemond to address his brother who only nodded in acknowledgement, he was swaying gently in his seat and his eyes were glazed over. 

Aemond could have throttled his older brother for being drunk before the meal had been served. 

“It's a pleasure to meet you my Lady,” Aemond said softly, drawing her attention back to him. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” she replied politely, “but I do hope my small talk doesn't bore you,” she added, dropping her voice so only he could hear. She enjoyed the look of mild panic that crossed his face before she turned to speak with her sister. 

As the food was served the noise levels in the hall increased and she felt able to return to speaking with Aemond without being overheard. 

“How have you found Highgarden so far?” She asked. 

“Most accommodating,” he replied, taking a sip of rose wine. 

“Please forgive me if this question is indelicate,” she started, running the tips of her fingers up and down the thin stem of her wine glass, “if we're to marry, do you intend on taking your pleasure with the servants or your wife?”. 

The hand holding Aemond's wine goblet visibly shook before he placed it back on the table. He cleared his throat and turned his eye to the woman beside him.

“I would take my pleasure nowhere but my wife, and she would take a great deal of pleasure with me,”. 

“Because if I were your wife and found you'd been sticking your prick in the serving girls I'd bite it off,” she said as softly as possible.

Aemond cleared his throat again and gave a small inclination of his head. 

“Understood, my Lady,”.

After the meal there was music and dancing. As expected of her, she danced with her father and her brothers. She'd expected to have to dance with Prince Aegon  as well but he was too drunk to stand straight let alone follow the steps. Aemond, on the other hand, was everything a prince should be, dancing with her step mother and sisters before asking her to dance. 

The music changed to a fast paced peasant tune that meant they needed to dance in a small circle of others before being paired off. Once alone and moving around the floor they were able to speak again. 

“I just want you to know,” she started as she stepped around him, before coming to face him, their toes almost touching, she looked up at him, taking in the curve of his lips and a sharp shape of his chin, “the way you spoke to me, when you thought I was a serving girl made my cunt ache,”. 

She went to twist away from him to continue the dance with the man beside him but he caught her hand and held her, letting her twirl around him again. The line of dancers they were part of muttered and tutted as they scrambled to sort themselves without the Prince and his lady. 

When they were face to face again Aemond held her still, placing his hands on her waist. 

“When you are my wife, it will be my utmost honour to make your cunt ache every day,” he breathed before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her cheek before adding “my slut,”. 

A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine and settled deep in her belly, making her cunt throb again. If she really was a slut she could drag him away somewhere quiet and make him repay her in kind for earlier but she was a lady, and he was prince and they were in a room full of gossiping courtiers. 

“Is that a formal proposal?” She asked as he straightened. 

“I think it is,” he replied, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips. 

“Then I accept,” she said, before twisting around him again in time with the music. 

The other dancers had moved on, leaving the two of them in their own space on the floor, undisturbed by anyone else. The swirling dancers around them made it feel like they were the only two people in the room, trapped by a colourful snow storm. 

Aemond didn't care that he wasn't in a position to officially offer marriage to her yet, his meeting with her father hadn't straightened out all the details but suddenly the dowry, the lands and the titles of their future children didn't matter anymore, these details were nothing compared to how badly he wanted to take her to wife. 

The song ended in a final flourish and the dancers clapped and called out requests for the next piece of music.

“Another dance? I certainly prefer it to small talk,” she teased with a smile as the music started again and the dancers around them took their places. 

“And is there something else you’d enjoy even more than dancing?” he asked before bowing to her and offering her his hand. 

Her neck flushed with heat as she took his hand and the two of them moved in a slow circle. 

“There are many things I enjoy more than dancing, my Prince, and I suspect you’ll show me a great many more,” 

For the rest of the night Prince Aemond danced with no one else and while it certainly earned some raised eyebrows from the more modest members of the Highgarden court neither Lady Tyrell or Aemond could bring themselves to care. They only had eyes for one another and as they danced the rest of the world seemed to melt away. 

At the top table Lord Tyrell watched his daughter and the prince with great interest. He was thinking he might have saved himself 9 months of bartering, letter writing and hand wringing if he’d just invited the prince to visit in the first instance. 

“They make a fair couple, don’t they?” his lady wife asked from beside him.

“When I met with him this afternoon I’d never have believed he could be so taken with her,” Lord Tyrell said, “he was so cold I didn’t think he could look at someone with anything other than contempt but she seems to have won him over,”. 

It was the small hour of the next morning by the time the music and dancing ended. Lord Tyrell and his lady had gone to bed hours before but the revelry had continued. Prince Aegon had staggered from the table and made toward a door at the side of the hall, he’d only made it through the door before tripping on his feet, falling on his face and deciding to stay there. 

As the musicians played their final notes prince Aemond kissed the back of his lady’s hand, looking up at her and smiling. 

“Until we meet again, my Lady,” he said softly, she opened her mouth to reply but he pulled her toward him, bringing his cheek to hers, his lips touching the shell of her ear, “my whore,”.

additional A/N : this has the potential for a part two if anyone's interested? Just putting it out there, letting the universe know.

[stevieschrodinger]

Steve eats, but only because Robin puts food in front of him. Only because she reminds him it's for the pup.

Like he needs reminding. Steve often rests his hand protectively over his rounded tummy. It's reflexive, to protect the only part of Eddie he has left. He feels like he hasn't slept in months, even though he knows he sleeps often, in broken bits and pieces.

He hasn't spoken for a long time, he knows that. Everyone watches him, and everyone used to tell him the same thing, 'they're just dreams Steve, Eddie is gone.'

Steve knows though, they aren't dreams. Eddie is alive, and he's trapped in the Upside Down because Steve didn't try hard enough, didn't push hard enough, didn't say the right things to get the others to believe him.

It upset Dustin the most at first, but Dustin has also been the most adamant because he saw Eddie die, can't even entertain the idea that Eddie might still be alive, because that means he left Eddie behind. That's a lot of guilt to ask a kid to carry.

Steve knows they're talking about him again, like them whispering in the kitchen makes it any better. Steve's starving himself. Steve isn't sleeping. Steve isn't showering. Steve's mate sick even if Eddie never mated him. It's the pup. It's the trauma. It's the nightmares.

They aren't nightmares though, not when Eddie holds him close, laid on a grassy meadow under a sunny blue sky.

El is here, kneeling in front of Steve, 'do you really think Eddie is alive?'

Steve clears his throats, feels full of cobwebs and sand, 'I know he is.'

Steve's said it a thousand different ways. A million. He's cried it and screamed it and shouted it and whispered it and said it as normal and level headed as he could make it sound, 'I am absolutely certain that Eddie is alive,' no one ever believes him.

She nods, 'we will check-'

'El.' It's Hopper, in the doorway, he said 'El' the same way he would say 'No'. 'We talked about this-'

'No, you talked about this. I am tired of this, for Steve, I will check. We will check, just this once.'

And Steve feels too broken to let himself hope, but he heaves himself up off the couch anyway.

El opened a gate in the pool. There's not been water in the pool for quite some time now, and it just seemed apt. A place where there is already a weakness in the world. Perfect for El.

In the end, just to stop the fighting, everyone has gone back to the Upside Down.

Steve squints at the sunny blue sky, not at all surprised to see it. Everyone else is making suitably shocked noises. The grass is green, the trees lush. From the trees, a demodog watches them. It looks different, like it fits here, healthy and well fed now, it shakes and stretches and then lopes off further into the woods.

Everything is overgrown, like the Upside Down is reclaiming everything that One created here.

Nearby, laundry flaps on a washing line, metal band shirts and torn jeans, 'Eddie,' Steve breathes for the first time in over six months, and heads into the house.

There's a bowl of odd looking fruit on the kitchen counter. In the lounge, books. So many books, all stacked and arranged into strange little towers like they are giants in a city, and the books are skyscrapers.

Upstairs, Eddie has clearly nested in Steve's room; there are guitar bits and tools on the desk, two guitars in parts.

The bed is mounded with soft things, Steve scents a pillow, it smells like Eddie...and not.

'Where the fuck is he,' Hopper grumbles.

Steve wants to snap. Wants to scream at them all. They fucking believe him now don't they? They could have had Eddie home months ago if-

Dustin has books from the living room, in the front of each is stamped 'Hawkins Public Library'. So that's where they go.

Steve doesn't know what to do when he spots Eddie. He's crouched on a table, bare toes gripping the edge. He's pale, even more so than before, skin a pale enough alabaster that Steve can see the shadow of blue veins underneath. He's flipping through a book, back and forth, back and forth, before finally stopping and hopping down from the table, 'Eddie?'

Eddie doesn't answer, eyes trained on Steve. His hair has grown, even longer, thick dark curls that Steve wants to bury his hands in.

There's a ticking noise, a low, growling rumble as Eddie stalks closer. Things happen very very quickly, Hopper raises his shotgun, El screams 'no,' Eddie's face peels apart like the petals of a flower filled with teeth as he roars and charges at them.

Hoppers gun is jerked up by an unseen hand, his shot causing plaster to rain down from the ceiling, and then Eddie is floating in the air, roaring as his face blends back to normal and then peels apart again, furious.

El's nose is bleeding, she wipes it away.

Steve moves closer. Eddie looks strange; taller. Leaner. Just, more, somehow.

Steve reaches for him, and Eddie desperately tries to get to him in return, clawing at the air, 'put him down, El.'

'Do not do that-' Hopper starts, but doesn't finish, because Eddie lands neatly on his feet, catlike in his grace, where El drops him.

He lunges for Steve, and Steve let's himself be pulled close and gathered up, Eddie clicking and chittering quietly in Steve's ear, scenting his neck, a strange sucking sensation on his skin as Eddie's face peels apart into one big mouth.

Steve relaxes. He has Eddie back.

[blueraineshadows]

One Year Later

To celebrate the first anniversary of the release of Hogwarts Legacy on the 10th February, a group of us on Discord decided to create fan work with the theme of One Year Later.

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

Tags: NSFW, angst, depression, fluff, smut

7.5k words.

Just before returning to Hogwarts for 6th year, MC decides to pay a visit to the boy who opened her eyes to the darkness and fire of magic.

Darkness had fallen over the Highlands, the faintest strip of colour still clinging to the horizon as MC glided across the countryside on her broom. The late August air still held a lingering warmth, the breeze pleasant against her cheeks as she dipped lower, aiming for the cosy lights of the little hamlet spread out below.

There was a charm to Feldrcroft. Quaint cottages and beautiful scenery combined with the small community of magical folk made for a warm and pleasant feel. However, MC had memories of this place that still made her spine tingle with apprehension. She felt the tightness of anxiety claiming her chest as her booted feet touched down to the ground, the trees and grass that still had their lush, green foliage looked dark and hulking in the swallowing night. 

With her gaze fixed on one cottage in particular, she wondered if the occupant would be pleased to see her. She had not forewarned him, no letter or laid plans to come and see him. She had not thought to arrange it, thinking he wouldn't want her nearby to remind him of events that took place last spring. The time apart over summer break had been the space needed to try and come to terms with it all, but she had come to realise that she had missed him. 

She missed the boy who had urged her feet onto a path that had been dubiously dark but utterly thrilling. She had not looked for such things, and yet they had to come to her. Pain and suffering had come with it, secrets and darkness that still plagued her. But at the end of it all, she had found people who shared magical abilities. Her people. This was where she belonged. 

The pull of Sebastian Sallow had not weakened since parting ways with him at the end of fifth year. Despite everything, she was unable to forget him. His smile, his eyes, the way he would tease her, his intelligence, and yes, his darkness. If anything, it was the troubled streak that split through him that lured her in the most. There was a thrill about it, a curiosity. It kept her on the edge, but it had kept her alive, too. If she was truly honest about it, she had a dark and troubled streak of her own, and it recognised his, called to it even. A kindred spirit as he had once put it.

So, here she was, standing outside of his small, country home with her palm pressed against the aged wood of his door with her heart in her mouth. Thoughts raced through her head, tumbling together to heighten the tension in her chest. Would he shut the door in her face? Would he push her away, hating the reminder that her face would bring to him? Maybe he wasn't alone inside there, and she would be intruding. The thought made her stomach twist with something cold and slippery. 

She didn't turn away, though. It's better now than on September 1st when school was back in. She wanted to see his face. She needed to know how it would be when face to face with him, without the distraction of everyone else. 

Foolish or brave, she lifted her hand from the door, made a fist, and rapped firmly. The knock sounded loud and final in the quiet dark. Her feet twitched in her boots, tingling with the sudden urge to flee. He won't want her here. This was a mistake. 

The seconds stretched as she stared at the door, fixated on the grain in the wood as her ears strained for the sound of movement behind it. She swallowed, clenching and unclenching her hands until the sound of the latch came. The door opened a crack, and the shadow of a figure appeared against a warm, low light. 

Brown eyes peered curiously through the gap, a tumble of wild brunette locks framing a freckled face that had lost its roundness in their two months apart. His cheekbones were more prominent, shadows had darkened under his eyes, and there was a grim set to his jaw that made him look harder, older. 

His hand gripped his wand, aiming it subtly through the gap as his gaze took her in, his mouth parting softly in surprise as his eyebrows lifted. “MC.”

“Hello, Sebastian,” she said, managing a nervous smile. 

His gaze darted behind her, scanning the hamlet quickly before he returned his eyes to her, adjusting his wand slightly. He was on edge, and she was quick to reassure him.

“It's just me,” she said, holding up a hand. “I… I thought I would surprise you. A little visit before school begins again, but I can leave if you would prefer that. I don't want to intrude.” 

He lowered his wand, eyes still a little wary as he opened the door a bit wider. His dark blue shirt was open at the throat, and the sleeves rolled back. He wore no waistcoat, but braces held up his dark trousers, his shoulders broad, and his hips slim. Her eyes devoured the sight of him, catching up on missed time as he pushed a hand through his messy locks and stepped back, pushing the door fully open before gesturing for her to step inside. 

“Not at all, please, come on in,” he said. His gaze also took her in from head to toe, his eyes almost disbelieving as he moved to close the door behind her. “You will have to excuse the mess, I'm afraid. I was not expecting company.” 

She smiled, her eyes taking in the untidy cottage quickly, noting the cosy fire and huge pile of books stacked haphazardly by the chair. 

“I probably should have sent an owl first,” she said, fiddling with the cuffs of her jacket. “I'm sorry. It was an impulsive idea to come.”

“But a welcome one,” he said softly.

Their eyes met, his lips curving softly as warmth slowly entered his eyes. He looked tired, the boyish look of him long gone, torn away by hardships that nobody should have to endure. But, he looked like he had been eating, his clothes were clean. He had not fallen into a pit of darkness as Ominis had feared. 

Sebastian's eyes, now filled with warmth as he looked upon her, were no longer wary, sparkling with that special something that kept her at his side. It was him, still in there, no sign of any eerie glow of forbidden magic, none of the madness or fury that haunted her secret memories. Just Sebastian. 

“It's good to see you,” she whispered. 

His gaze dipped, shadows flitting across his face as pink coloured his cheeks. He fussed with his hair again and cleared his throat. 

“Let me get you something to drink. I have tea if you would like?” He moved towards the kitchen area, looking for clean cups. 

“Tea sounds perfect,” she said. 

….*....

The sound of his own laughter filled his ears, a sound that had become unfamiliar lately, and yet he welcomed it as he gazed across at the girl sitting cross-legged on the rug before his fire. Strands of her hair had slipped from her braid, framing a face that had haunted his thoughts all summer long. 

Fear as chilling as mountain ice had lingered as he imagined her not being able to bear the sight of him. Despite her hug at the end of last term, her goodbye that had stayed with him for days afterwards, he had been convinced that time apart would lead her to abandon him. As the weeks of summer break had passed, he had convinced himself that he had chased her away, that she would glare coldly at him across the classroom when they returned, or worse, she would ignore him completely.

After all, he was a murderer. He had tempted her into darker and more dangerous acts, led her astray, and shamefully coveted her power for his own selfish wants. Who would want to stay near someone like that? 

Even now, sitting here with her in his own home, her laughter warming that ice from the back of his neck, her eyes pulling at him like gravity that kept him grounded on the wooden floorboards. Even now, he could scarcely believe that she had turned up here. Uninvited, but so very welcome. 

They had not mentioned any of the terrible darkness that had torn through them in the spring. She was chatting about lighter things, funny stories, and urging him to smile and laugh with an ease that was stealing his breath. 

He had not realised just how lonely this summer had been until now. How he craved this interaction and connection. He could not stop staring at her, and his cheeks flamed whenever she caught his gaze lingering too long. He could not be inappropriate and chase her away. Not now that she was here and smiling at him. 

A glance at the clock revealed the hours slipping towards lateness. Soon, she would be gone. He counted himself lucky she was still here at all, flicking through the pages of a book as they discussed what might be in store this school year. He didn't want her to go. He had a feeling this new and welcome warmth would leave with her. 

Going back to Hogwarts tugged at the anxiety in his chest. Another year started with no Anne by his side, his friendship with Ominis strained and distant, his heart almost hollow and shadowed at the thought of being always alone. Dare he hope that MC would remain at his side. Was he asking too much of her again? 

Lost in his thoughts, he jumped when he felt her hand on the exposed skin of his forearm, her fingertips grazing softly over the hairs there. He almost shivered under the touch. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt the touch of another person, and he stared at the delicate shape of her hand. 

“Hey, it will be alright, you know,” she said softly. “We will be alright.” 

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to hers, fearing what he would find in their depths as the shadow of memories began to cluster at the edges of his mind. She was trying to hide her own pain, but he could see it. How could he not when he had shared so much of it? Been the cause of some of it?

“I am so sorry,” he said, shaking his head. His throat tightened, and the backs of his eyes burned. “How do you not hate me?” 

Her eyes widened, and she shifted closer towards him on the rug, her hand lifting to grasp his shoulder. “I don't hate you, Sebastian. Not at all.” 

It was hard to hold her gaze. Such beauty and warmth radiated from her face it made him dip his head, his own eyelids closing as staggering memory began to invade. Those lovely eyes had shone with horror, lit with the flash of spells cast to inflict pain and injury. She had watched him bring down his own uncle, murder a member of his own family in a whirlwind of rage and frustration that replayed over and over in his dreams, taunting him. His evil tendencies could have gotten her killed, too. The very thought made him shudder right there beside the fire. 

Shame coloured his cheeks, his flesh burning with it as guilt clawed at his insides. 

She should go. She deserved better. What kind of friend was he to her? The worst kind, that's what. 

“I wouldn't blame you if you did,” he rasped, pushing his hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the tumbled strands. “I've done some terrible things.”

“As have I,” she said firmly. Her hand cupped his jaw, and he met her gaze, her fingers cool against his flushed skin. He swallowed hard. Her face was so close, so close it made his heart thunder. “We both did awful things, and it's impossible to change that now. But, we also did good things. We helped people, too. And we kept each other alive when it came down to it. You kept me alive with your tutoring and help. I could never regret that, Sebastian. I wouldn't be here if I did.” 

He stared at her, licking his lips and blinking as a tear slipped free from the corner of his eye. “Why did you come?” 

Her eyes, glittering with unshed tears of her own, were deep pools of warmth. He thought he could lose himself and drown in her eyes. He had found them fascinating from day one, felt such a thrill when they would seek him out across the classroom. He couldn't help but stare into them now, wanting to believe with his whole soul that she wasn't going to leave him.

“I missed you,” she whispered, her thumb sliding against the skin of his cheek. She blushed, blinking back her tears. “I wanted to see you before returning to school. Before everything, and everyone became a distraction. Nobody else will ever understand what happened, only you. I just… I needed to see you, I needed to know that you were alright, that we were alright. Does that make sense?” 

He nodded. “I missed you, too.” 

Her arms encased him, and he found himself held against her, his face pressed against her chest as her chin came to rest on the top of his head. Her scent filled his nose, soft floral elements and apples, and he inhaled deeply, his mind spinning as her hands slid through his hair and down his back. He shivered, closing his eyes against the ache of tears. 

“It will be alright,” she whispered again. 

He couldn't stop it. It was like a dam being released. Scalding tears leaked from his eyes and slid wildly down his cheeks, soaking into the softness of her blouse and darkening the fabric. He sucked in a stuttering breath, his fingers clutching at her blouse against her back and wincing as a hoarse sob escaped his mouth. 

“Fuck,” he said, his voice thick and strangled as he thought to pull away, but her arms only held him tighter. 

She was so temptingly soft, so warm, and yet the solidity of her body held against his felt like a life raft in a tossing sea. The fight seeped from him as her warmth began to spread through him. He shamelessly clung to her as sob after sob tore from his throat, and his tears soaked her blouse. She soothed him, held him, her hands gently roaming over him in a touch that he could feel deep in his bones. 

How was he ever going to be able to release his grip on her? To let go would be like being cast adrift. It was terrifying, and he thought he might never be able to breathe properly ever again. He wanted her to stay right here and never leave. No, he needed her to stay. 

“I will, don't worry. I can stay as long as you need,” she said, stroking his hair with gentle fingers. 

Had he said that out loud?

He stilled, fighting to get control of his emotions as her words slowly began to sink through his mind. He swiped a hand over his face and lifted his head to look at her. He saw the flicker of pain, her sadness, and a flash of pity as she stared at him. He must look like an awful sight, red eyed and pathetic, a sad little boy. 

Her fingers ghosted over his face, gently wiping away his tears. His skin craved her touch, and he yearned for it, already missing the warmth of her chest against his face where her heart had thudded so reassuringly near his ear. 

“You'll really stay?” His voice was raw and utterly vulnerable, and he felt so very exposed.

There was no judgement in her eyes as she nodded. “Of course.” 

….*....

It was quiet. So very quiet. The soft sounds of Sebastian's sleeping breaths on the other side of the curtain should have soothed her, but she lay on her back and stared up through the darkness waiting for sleep to come and claim her.

He had made up the bed with clean sheets, his eyes drawn to her constantly as he gave her a shirt to sleep in and tidied up before bed, almost as though he feared she would disappear. Her blouse hung on the dressing screen, the fabric soaked from his tears. Oh, how her heart had broken to hear him like that, the sharp pull of his grip on her clothes revealing the pain he held tight within himself. 

Her own torment had risen up and stuck in her throat as she had comforted him. 

She should have come sooner. She shouldn't have left him alone so long. 

The strange creaks and groans of an unfamiliar house had her wide awake, her thoughts spinning over the last year. She turned her head towards the faded curtain that separated her from Sebastian and realised that in a few days, she would have known him a full year. 

Her life had changed since last September. 

From a well-behaved, decent girl to an ancient magic wielding witch who could deliver death with a flick of her wrist. Here she was, laying in a bed wearing nothing but a man's shirt and her underwear, that same man sleeping in the next bed over with nothing but a flimsy curtain to separate them. Unchaperoned and barely dressed, she thought of the expanse of Sebastian's naked back she had glimpsed when he had readied for bed. He had freckles everywhere, the sight of his shifting muscles bringing a rising heat to her skin as she had skipped her eyes guiltily away. 

The matron of the children's home would have taken the belt to her legs for daring to be so brazen, and yet she stared at the curtain beside her and wished that she could see through it. 

Blushing furiously at the thought of Sebastian's bare skin, she turned in the bed to face the stone wall, her breaths quick and uneven as a fierce ache gathered between her thighs. She squirmed and closed her eyes, trying to think of anything else but him, but his scent was everywhere, and she could still remember the hard heat of his body as she had held him earlier on.

Fighting the fire in her blood and the dark memories in her head, she fell into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning until she was twisted in the sheets. 

Movement woke her, and she blinked against morning sunlight streaming around the thin curtain, taking a moment to remember where she was. Her hair was tumbled about her face, and she reached to brush strands aside, her heart leaping behind her ribs as Sebastian peered around the curtain with a cheeky smile. 

“Good morning, sleepy head,” he said, his eyes drawn to her bare legs that hung out from the twisted sheets. 

Blushing, she tugged the blanket over them, drawing them up closer towards her as that glowing heat in her abdomen nudged awake. 

“Morning,” she mumbled. 

Sebastian held out a steaming cup. “I thought you might like a cup of tea. I'm going to make you breakfast as well. It's the least I can do after you put up with me blubbering all over you last night.”

MC sat up, noting the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks as she arranged the blankets respectfully over her waist. She smiled and held her hand out for the tea. 

“That is very sweet of you, Seb,” she said, taking the cup from him. He was dressed in clean clothes, the fresh scent of soap wafting from his skin. Her gaze lingered over him, and she found herself patting the side of the bed. Fuck propriety. “Sit with me for a moment.” 

His eyes widened slightly, but he sat, turning to face her as she wrapped her hands around her cup. “Everything alright?” 

She smiled. “Let's do something today, something fun. Maybe you could take me exploring around your old childhood haunts. What do you think?” 

A smile twitched his lips, and he fluffed his hair. “There are chores to be done,” he said ruefully. “The wood doesn't chop itself, you know.”

She laughed and gave him a look that suggested she wasn't buying it. They both knew that a simple charm would have the axe swinging all by itself. He grinned at her as she sipped her tea. 

“It doesn't hurt to do things by hand sometimes. It's grounding. It reminds us that we are human after all,” he said. He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Merlin, I sound like my parents. How very boring.” 

“Then I will help you around the house, we can pack a lunch, and then we can go exploring. Is that grounding enough for you, Mr Sallow?” 

He bit his lower lip, the old sparkle she loved appearing in his eyes. “You've got yourself a deal.” 

….*....

With the fresh sea breeze tugging at his hair and filling his lungs, Sebastian felt the foggy, dull ache around his eyes begin to recede. His eyes still felt scratchy and his throat raw after his emotional outburst yesterday, and he couldn't help but feel rather foolish for doing it in front of MC like that, but looking at her now as she searched for sea shells in the sand, he couldn't help but feel some of the heaviness lift from his shoulders and chest. 

The breeze played with her hair, her blouse rippling with it as she picked up a shell with a smile on her lips. She looked like one of those angels painted in muggle murals, the sun glinting off her hair, her cheeks delicately pink from the late summer warmth of it. 

It was so very hard not to stare at her. His gaze was drawn to her, and his whole body pulled towards her gravity, completely caught in her orbit. It stole his breath a little and made his head spin in a dizzying but delightful way. It was one thing to appreciate a pretty girl, but it was quite another to be utterly smitten with one. And he was becoming surer by the moment that he was smitten with her. 

Like the sun peeking through the darkest storm clouds, she had appeared on his doorstep and thrown back the shadows. She had danced in the same darkness as him, held his painful secrets alongside her own, and yet she had come back to him. It was more than he deserved. 

Spotting the delicate curve of a shell in the sand, he took out his wand and summoned it, letting it hover slowly over towards MC. The shell was perfectly intact, soft pink, and white curling into a graceful shape. MC’s eyes brightened as it appeared before her, those heavenly eyes swinging his way with a smile as she held out her palm. With careful precision, he let the shell sit in the cup of her hand, his gaze soft as her fingers turned it over to examine it. 

“It's beautiful!” She exclaimed as she held it up. 

He smiled, slipping his wand into his pocket as he began to walk closer towards her, his boots sinking into the soft sand. “Very beautiful,” he agreed, but he wasn't looking at the shell.  

Her eyes lifted to meet him as he approached, daring to stand rather close so he could get a closer look at her eyes. The breeze blew strands of hair across her face, and they both lifted their hands to tuck them back, their fingers grazing against each other. 

His heart thundered under his ribs at his boldness, his cheeks warming as she stared up at him, and he made to pull his hand away from her hair, but she caught his wrist to stop him. The rapid fire of his pulse made it hard to breathe as her hand slid up to link her fingers with his, their gazes locked on each other as though there was nothing else in the world to look upon. He realised that, even though he was partly terrified of what this might mean, he could quite happily stand and stare at her all day. Forever, in fact. 

She stood on tiptoes, leaning forward as she held his hand tightly, the soft sigh of her breath ghosting across his cheek before her lips pressed against the skin there in a quick kiss. 

He thought his lungs might burst and burn if he held his breath any longer, her eyes now so close he could definitely drown in them. 

“You should smile like that more often, Sebastian,” she said softly. “You have the most lovely smile, quite handsome, in fact.” 

Before she could even think about pulling away, removing herself from this perfect moment, his other hand caught her face in a gentle grip, his thumb sliding along the divine softness of her skin as he lowered his mouth to hers. It was the merest brush of lips, a soft taste in return for the one she had placed on his cheek, the tingle of it still there, along with the desire to feel more. 

“I shall save those smiles just for you,” he promised. 

He kept hold of her hand. Even when they left the beach and headed along the road back towards Feldcroft, their fingers remained laced together. She was a perfect fit, as though her hand had been made to be held by him, and it kept the shadows at bay. His own little ray of sunlight. 

….*....

After a long day of chores and wandering around in the sun, MC had been tired, her muscles aching pleasantly as she sat and ate a simple dinner with Sebastian. It hadn't taken much persuading for her to stay at the cottage another night. With only one day left until the start of term, she would have to fetch her things for returning to school, and yet here she lingered.

A second night of laying in the bed, staring up at the wooden rafters of Sebastian's house as he lay sleeping on the other side of the curtain. This time, her thoughts were on the way he had kissed her on the beach, his lips soft and warm, the touch of them delicate and tempting. There had been a fire in his gaze that called to her. Unspoken glimmers of something that felt like she was balancing on the edge of a discovery. 

He had not tried to kiss her again, but he had held her hand, his fingers grazing against her waist or her shoulder as they had prepared dinner. How many lingering looks would it take before he kissed her again? Did she dare steal a real kiss for herself? 

The very thought made her heart flutter, and her insides flare with aching flame. 

Burying her face into the soft feather pillow, she inhaled deeply and was reminded that Sebastian's scent was everywhere. He was everywhere, burying deeply into her soul until she wasn't sure where she ended and he began. She had not thought her heart could have been stolen so soon. At sixteen, she was fairly innocent in such matters, but there was something very powerful and almost frightening about the intensity with which she felt attached to Sebastian. 

Perhaps it was the trauma, the darkness of their secrets, and the power of being held in the grip of the fallout of them. Like her, he was alone in the world, and they had gravitated towards each other. His eyes had the power to weave threads around her that drew her in tighter and tighter with each lingering glance, the dark glimmer of such gazes a lure more powerful than magic. 

It's why she was here in the first place, was it not? Despite the real concern of how he had been faring, she had longed to be close to him again. 

Drifting on the tide these thoughts were carrying her on, she didn't hear the whimpers at first, the jerking shuffles of Sebastian shifting around on his bed. The sounds of distress began to filter through to her, and she sat up, tilting her head as she gazed at the thin curtain between them. 

Frowning slightly as a distressed groan sounded through the dark of the cottage, MC slipped from the bed sheets and stepped barefoot across the boards to peer around the curtain. 

Sebastian was indeed shuddering beneath his bed covers, pale moonlight filtering through a high window, illuminating him in a ghostly glow. 

“Sebastian?” She whispered, watching him twitch and whimper. 

He didn't answer. His eyes were closed, but moving rapidly beneath his lids, and as she stepped even closer towards him, she could see beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. He was dreaming, and it wasn't a good dream either by the looks of it. 

She bit her lip, sadness clouding her face as she stared down at him, knowing too well the kind of horrors that pulled you down in your sleep from her own night terrors. Worried about startling him, she hesitated before touching him, her hand trembling a little as it hovered above his shoulder. 

Then, he yelled, a shocking, harsh scream that ripped out of his mouth. MC gasped but didn't move her hand quickly enough. When he sat bolt upright in the bed, her hand hit his face, and he was lightning fast as he grabbed her. One hand clamping about her wrist, the other reaching up to fist into the front of the shirt she wore. 

He was like a cornered cat, hissing and frighteningly strong as he shook her, dragging her bodily forward before flipping her onto her back against the mattress. She yelped, her hair fanning out across the twisted sheets as he loomed above her, pinning her to the bed with an iron grip.

She stared up at his flushed face, his eyes wild and unseeing in the pale moonlight. 

“It's me!” She cried, her hands grasping at his bare arms, his muscles rigid under her touch. “Seb, it's me, please.” 

Breathing hard, he stared, his mouth a harsh grimace, his teeth bared as he gripped her. A sharp flash of fear shot through her, realising that he could hurt her if he wanted to, and her wand was beside her bed behind the curtain. She kept still, her own chest heaving with panicked breaths. 

“Sebastian,” she whispered. 

He became eerily still, his eyes subtly widening as he stared at her, really looking at her pinned beneath him. Her pulse was racing, throbbing in her ears, as he slowly came around to the reality of the situation. 

His gaze travelled over her face, moving down to where his hand had fisted the fabric of her shirt, gathering it tightly just below her collar bone. Her arm was pinned up behind her head, his fingers gripping so tightly at her wrist that she could feel her hand tingling from lack of blood flow. 

As a result of the struggle, her shirt was twisted up around her ribcage, exposing her waist and hips, his lower body pinning her to the bed in a rather compromising position. He wore nothing but a pair of undershorts, their bare legs exposed, his knees anchored against the bed. 

“What… how did you… MC,” he stuttered, confusion creasing his brow. He let go of her immediately, straightening up onto his knees as he pushed both hands through his hair with a groan of distress. “Did I hurt you?” 

His voice was strained, a pained wince on his face as he risked another look at her. He pressed his hands to his cheeks as his gaze roamed over her exposed flesh. “Oh fuck,” he whispered. 

MC hadn't moved, her arm still angled up above her head, her other hand hanging limp off the side of the bed as she fought to calm her breathing. “I'm alright,” she murmured. 

Sebastian shook his head, closing his eyes tightly as he moaned. “Oh gods, I'm so sorry.” 

He shifted his weight off her, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. MC sat up slowly, rubbing her wrist as her gaze lingered over the moonlight reflecting off the skin of his naked back. Her fear faded, her lungs relaxing as she watched him. He wouldn't hurt her, not on purpose. She held onto that thought.  

“It's alright,” she said quietly, slowly reaching for him. Her fingers trembled as she touched them against his shoulder blade, his muscles tensing slightly as she smoothed her hand along towards the back of his neck. “I'm okay. You're okay. You didn't hurt me.”

“But I could have,” he said, his voice cracking. He turned his head to look at her, his expression so raw and open it stole her breath. “I could have hurt you. I'd never forgive myself if…” He gulped, raking his fingers through his hair again as he shook his head. “What were you doing out of bed?” 

“I came to check on you,” she said, stroking her hand over the flesh of his back in soothing movements. “You were dreaming. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I'm not sure I will ever be okay,” he said, his voice so lost and empty as he stared at the floor. “These thoughts in my head, I know I'm not supposed to feel them, but they always find me in the quiet of night. I try to fight them away, but I’m scared that one night they might get the better of me, that I will get what I deserve.” 

Her eyes burned, and she bit her lip, her chest tightening at the sheer depth of sadness in his tone. He looked defeated, shrunken, and nothing like the boy who had faced her in their first ever duel in Defence Against the Dark Arts on her first day at Hogwarts. 

“No,” she said firmly, shuffling closer to wrap her arms around him from behind. “That is not going to be your fate.” 

She pressed her face against the flushed skin of his back, smooth and warm against her nose. Her hands snaked around to press against his chest, a slight smattering of hair there tickling her fingertips. She held him tight, imagining all of her body heat and strength of affection for him flowing into him as she did so. She hoped that he could feel it. 

“You are going to be just fine, Sebastian. I will make sure of it.” 

“I'm not sure I deserve it,” he whispered. 

Her heart clenched, and she shook her head. No. He couldn't give up. If he gave up, then she would struggle to keep her own head above the drowning waters of everything that had happened. Together. Together, they could fight it and win, just like they always did.

Her lips pressed against his heated skin, and once she started, she couldn't stop. She needed to show him. He was wanted. He was loved. He did deserve it.  

She kissed up his spine towards his neck, moving to spread more affection with her mouth along his freckled shoulder. She felt the shift in his breathing, the subtle flex of his muscles as she moved back towards his neck and pressed kisses under his ear. 

Her name whispered through his lips, and his hands slid over hers at his chest, their fingers interlocking as he held them tight and close near his thudding heart. 

“Don't give up on me,” she pleaded. “You've got this. Sebastian Sallow never backs down from a fight, remember? And this is a fight. You have to win. Do it for me, do it for Anne, but most of all, do it for yourself.” 

This time, when he pinned her to the bed, she welcomed it, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss so demanding that it stole her breath in the best possible way. Arching her back in a delicate curve, his hands roamed over her waist, sliding up underneath her back to grasp the back of her neck as his hips rocked achingly against hers. 

It was exhilarating to feel his hands against her bare flesh, the shirt riding up to expose the tender peaks of her breasts. He moaned, his mouth moving from her neck to draw one hardening nipple between his lips, his tongue sliding hotly over it in a teasing swipe. 

She had never been kissed or touched like this before, but she wasn't scared at all, not even a flutter of nerves as his hand skimmed her hip, reaching under to squeeze longingly at the curve of her behind. 

“Stop me,” he panted, his tongue swirling against her breastbone. His hand moulded her backside, his fingers brushing underneath in a devastating caress that made her mouth open in a gasp. Heat flared dangerously. 

“No,” she whined, her hand fisting into the softness of his hair. 

His groan was feral, his mouth starved as he drew her flesh into a sharp suck that left her marked, his fingers swiping deeper under the curve of her backside against damp heat. She moaned in response, her legs widening shamelessly to welcome him. 

“Fuck, you shouldn’t make noises like that. I'm not going to be able to stop,” he said, his hips rocking against her, the nudge of his arousal widening her eyes as a shock of excitement blistered through her blood. 

Heart hammering and her breathing ragged, she tilted her pelvis, her body curious and on fire as she rubbed herself against him. He sucked air through his gritted teeth and released it as a groan, his forehead pressed between her breasts. 

“MC…” He warned, lifting his head to look at her. The blazing heat in his eyes sent another thrill through her. 

Heart in her mouth, but her head determined. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him closer, and he closed his eyes with a soft moan. He caught his lower lip with his teeth, his hips rolling against her in a slow, seductive movement that had her utterly lost. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asked breathlessly. “There's no going back from it. I don't want to take advantage of you.” 

“You're not,” she said, shaking her head. “I choose you.” 

The look in his eyes almost had her in tears, the stunned softness that made him go still, his hand caressing her face before he kissed her, slowly and thoroughly. 

It was more than just answering the burn of lust that fired their blood. Each caress, each press of lips, was an affirmation of their need to feel connected. The heat of skin against skin was soothing and arousing at once, what little clothing that formed barriers was discarded swiftly and without care, their sole focus to answer the plea in each other’s eyes. 

It was new and thrilling, each fumbled touch as they explored and discovered opened up new possibilities. The erotic and intimate nature of Sebastian's fingers delving deep into her core drew low moans from her mouth. Her body opened to receive him, her heart racing and her thoughts eager to learn the feel of being joined completely with him. 

The solemn lectures delivered by her matron at the children's home drifted through her mind, snippets about carnal sin and the proper way to behave. As her hands explored the lines of Sebastian's body, she couldn't fathom why anyone should deny themselves this intimacy. 

How could this be so terrible and wrong? The way Sebastian was looking at her, the worship he gave with hands and mouth, it made her feel alive. The bonds that had formed between them strengthened, sharpening to a burning point in her chest as he finally claimed her for his own. The stinging stretch as he filled her made her bite her lip, her fingers digging into his flesh as he began to move, his own moans of pleasure filling her ears. 

This was where she was meant to be. This was no sin. This was home.

Pressing his forehead to hers, their combined breaths mere heated gasps as their bodies found a rhythm together, MC stared into the deep, dark pools of his eyes. Lost in his shadows, utterly claimed by them as the tendrils of black curled around her essence and sealed their fate. 

“You're mine,” he breathed into her mouth, pushing even deeper into her, his grip tightening. “I'm never going to let you go.” 

“And you're mine,” she said firmly. 

His thrusts stuttered, soft sounds falling from his lips as he suddenly withdrew, the slick heat of his arousal rubbing lazily against the inside of her thigh before he came, spilling thick pools of release against her trembling flesh. She glanced down, curious and flushed as it dripped slowly to the bed sheets, his cock still firm and slick from their lust. 

Their bodies couldn't be any closer, arms and legs entwined as their flesh cooled and their breathing began to regulate. With her face pressed close to his skin, she could breathe him in, every lung full was a soothing comfort enhanced by the soft caresses of his hands. 

He was hers, and she was his. Together, they would dance with their shadows, and together they would defeat them. 

….*....

The soft glow of lamps lit up Central Hall in Hogwarts, a few Prefects were chatting in the corner and not really paying attention to the girl leaning on the balcony above them, her eyes lingering over the fountain before fixing on her destination. The library door. 

MC felt her lips curve upwards in a fond smile as she remembered arriving on this very balcony exactly a year ago, her stomach a bundle of nerves as she met the curious Slytherin boy who had no concerns about breaking school rules. She had been the new girl, desperate to impress, and yet, even then, so soon after meeting Sebastian, he had easily led her astray. 

Footsteps sounded behind her on the stairs and she turned to look over her shoulder, her smile widening at the sight of said Slytherin approaching. His gaze was curious, eyes twinkling with familiar mischief as he came right up close to her and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. 

“There you are,” he said quietly. “And what brings us here at this time of night, sweetheart?” 

MC smoothed her hands down the front of his waistcoat, her eyes playful as she looked up at him. “Do you know it's exactly one year, to the day, that you smuggled me into the library so I could snoop in the Restricted Section? I think it was the first bit of rule breaking you taught me.” 

“Is that so?” He arched an eyebrow and glanced over the balcony rail. “A whole year of teaching you how to break rules. How naughty of me. So, are you up for a little more rule breaking, then? Is that why we are here?” 

She nodded, eyes gleaming. “I thought we could sneak back down there, for old times sake, have a nose around. I have it on good authority that there are even some rather naughty books to be found if we look in the right place.” 

“Naughty books?” His smirk was positively devilish. “Do you even have to ask? Count me in.” 

Tugging her closer and kissing her again, his hand clasped hers. His handsome smile combined with the wicked gleam in his gaze was enough to send her tummy into a riot of butterflies as they pulled out their wands. With a cheeky wink, Sebastian cast his Disillusionment charm and he vanished, his faintly flickering outline tugging her towards the stairs as she cast her own charm. 

This time last year she had been shaking with nerves, her palms sweating as they outwitted old Scribner. This year, her pulse flew with anticipation as they made it through the iron gates and hurried down into the Restricted Section. The element of risk added to the excitement of being alone with Sebastian, and it wasn't long before she found herself pressed into a dark corner, his mouth on her skin and his hand under her blouse. 

Their shadows hung in the background, the darkness always there waiting for them, memories coming out to play when they least expected it. But, they had each other. They chased down the shadows with the warmth of their smiles and the heat of their embraces. 

With Sebastian at her side, she felt unstoppable, truly alive, and ready to face whatever came next. She doubted that life would ever become boring. Not with him. 

After all, they did love dark, restricted places, and they both couldn't back down from a challenge. Even when that challenge was each other. 

[undertheorangetree]

Pomegranate Seeds

Summary- A retelling of the abduction of Persephone.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Hades and Persephone AU. Star-crossed lovers vibes. Uncle/niece incest. Making out. Angst. Fluff. Titty sucking. Handjob. Cunnilingus. Vaginal fingering. Soft smut. Mild praise kink. Mildly OOC Aemond.

Author's Notes- Yeah I was a Percy Jackson/Greek mythology kid, thank you for noticing. I'm still playing incredibly fast and loose with the mythology tho so we're gonna have to make our peace with that. This is a beast btw, it's like 9.6K and you can find the rest on AO3 with the link below :)

divider created by @firefly-graphics

It is moments like these, she thinks, that she loves most.

Alone in the meadow, surrounded by wildflowers, the babbling of the creek as it flows over the rocks. Everything green with the exception of the purple, white, and yellow flowerheads but lush and everbearing and alive, the sun little more than a hazy warm glow, not yet hot enough to be overbearing. It is peaceful here, so much more than she is used to. She had come to an agreement with her step sisters, Baela and Rhaena, that they allow her a few hours on her own in this meadow, undisturbed by anyone else. Though her mother much preferred to that she remain alongside her sisters whenever she is out of sight, she, Baela, and Rhaena had come to an agreement that what her mother didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. And besides, they were never too far away from her. Being water nymphs, they could be by her side in less than a moment if she really needed them, so long as she doe does not stray too far from the river. And she has never been more grateful for it than she is right now.

Stretching her arms high above her head, she stretches out along the grass, enjoying the feeling of every blade of grass, the sweet smell of the blooms wafting on the breeze. Admittedly, this meadow had not been quite so plentiful when they had found it, following along the winding river, but she is the goddess of spring. Flowers bloom at her word and sun shines with her will. It had not been too difficult to turn this meadow into her own personal paradise, away from the chaos often wrought by her mother and brothers and stepfather.

There is a sudden change in the wind that causes her to sit up. Colder than it had been before, something more akin to winter than spring. The ground seems to rumble beneath her, shaking as if the sudden cold has sent it to shiver. Curiously, she turns her head toward the tree line, where the birches and willows keep the meadow shielded from view, only to find a man standing among them. Dressed in all black- breeches, cloak, and the shred of his tunic she can see beneath it- his platinum hair is almost jarring in contrast. He is not a big man, long and lithe, but there is an air to him that feels dangerous, dangerous enough to give her pause. He has not noticed her yet, face turned away, but she can see the long, stern plains of his face from where she sits, looking incredibly serious. That seriousness is only exacerbated by the dark leather eyepatch covering the eye closest to her, a deep red scar carved beneath it.

She does not think she has ever seen anyone here before, not outside of Baela, Rhaena, and herself, and his presence here is almost incongruous. Still, there is an air about him, one that makes it clear that he is a god just as she is, and that alone should make his surprise appearance less shocking.

“Hello.”

The sound of her voice seems to catch him off guard. Quickly, he turns toward her, shoulders tense, but they relax when he takes her in. She cannot imagine that she is intimidating, sitting flat in the grass all alone. “Hello.”

But it is that reminder of the grass that brings her pause. What is this man doing here? Where had he come from? It is not as if this meadow is easy to find, hidden amongst the trees as it is. She feels her brows furrow, head cocking in question. “How did you find this place?”

She had not put a glamour over this meadow, but she did not feel she had too. The forest, though light and airy, was a labyrinth of trees that seemed deterrent enough to keep any unwanted guests away. They were incredibly difficult to find your way through and she had been convinced it would be impossible to try- for God or mortal.

Near impossible, it seemed then.

His eye darts back to the treeline, taking half a step back. “If I am intruding, I can leave.”

“No.” She says it far too quickly and she can see the way his eyebrows raise in response to it, but she can’t find it in her to be ashamed. She is intrigued by this man, more so than she likely should be, and finds she wants to know more. To learn how he came to find this place. “Just because this place is unknown does not mean it is mine alone. You may stay. Beauty like this should be enjoyed.”

“Wise words,” he agrees, coming toward her. He hesitates at the end, torn on whether or not to truly join her, but it seems courtesy wins out as he lowers himself to the ground, joining her amongst the flowers. He looks entirely out of place, black against the blooms, but she says nothing, keeping her observation to herself.

They sit in absolute silence but she does not mind. He sits stiffly, as if uncomfortable, while she continues to take in all that is around her. From here, she can see the way the willows sway with the wind, the white puffy clouds floating by in the soft blue sky.

“I did not mean to,” he says. She looks at him, head tilted once again. “To find this place. It was not my intention. Though I admit I have never seen anything quite like it.”

She smiles, though he could not possibly know that he had complimented her. “It is a rare thing.”

“It feels almost as if it were from a painting,” he adds, looking around the meadow to take it in further.

She joins him in it, finding no shame in admiring her own work. It is a pretty place, though that had always been her intention. Olympus was beautiful in and of itself, but it was stark in that way. Ethereal and otherworldly, but cosmopolitan. Bright white marble, painted statues, stained glass. Everything beautiful, to be sure, but not in the untamed way that she seemed to crave. She preferred the beauty that was found in nature, in heavy branches filled with green leaves, tall grasses and wildflowers and crystalline waters.

“Do you know much about art?” she asks to fill the silence.

He seems caught off guard again from her question, but answers it anyway. “Not as much as I would like, but I can appreciate the beauty in something as well as any man. Though do not tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.”

She laughs. “You needn’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Which periods do you prefer?”

They talk for hours, the conversation unfurling as naturally as a bird’s wing. Art, history, philosophy. There is no subject they do not indulge in. He becomes less awkward with time as he grows more comfortable around her and she almost pulls a laugh from him not once, but twice. It seems quite the feat, for a man as serious as this one seems to be, though she does not let her pride get the better of her. When she asks him how she managed to find her well kept secret, he had simply said that one always finds the best things when you are not looking for them. A non answer, but that was alright. She was sure she could coax the answer from him eventually.

“Forgive me, I never asked you your name,” she says after what must have been hours, half appalled by her lack of manners.

He does not seem to mind, a good natured half smile making its way onto his face. “My friends call me Aemond. You may as well.”

It is not uncommon, for Gods to prefer more earthly names. She is often the same. There is power within a name and for such an innocent encounter, she does not feel the need to have him call her Persephone or Kore or any of those that strike some rumination of power and fear. So she gives him her common name, the one she feels is more true to who she is, and he smiles in response to it, repeating it back to her as if to test it. She likes the way it sounds when he says it, the way each letter seems to roll off him tongue, and somehow hearing him say the word alone is enough to make her flush.

She turns her head to hide it and only then notices that the sun has dipped below the trees, leaving the sky a hazy orange. Her mother will be expecting her home soon and there is no telling how poorly she will react if Rhaena and Baela return home without her. She doesn’t doubt that Rhaenyra will send her great serpent Syrax after her should she be even a moment late.

“I have to go,” she says, unable to keep the apologetic tone from her voice.

Reluctantly, she stands, brushing the dirt from her skirts. His lips had parted at her announcement, but now he ducks his head in an understanding nod. She smiles at him, not truly wanting to go yet, and makes her way toward the creek to call upon her sisters to come and fetch her. She does not make it two steps before he is calling after her.

“Can I see you again?”

She turns back to look at him. The insecurity on his face does not seem to match his features, looking almost out of place there. Still, she finds it entirely endearing and she realizes that she would absolutely like to see him again.

“Yes,” she agrees softly.

“Tomorrow?”

She does not bother to fight the smile itching its way onto her face. “Yes.”

He matches her smile then before standing. He comes forward and takes her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips and placing a chaste kiss there. “Then I shall see you on the morrow, my lady.”

She can do nothing but hope he does not notice how hot her face has become.

“On the morrow.”

Read the rest here

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Work Too Hard, Can You Fuckin' Pay Me?

Part 1 - Y/N moved to escape some of thier looming troubles from Westview, to the place that their best friend said would make a difference. New job, new digs, will Y/N make a change for the better, or leave another city with thier tail between thier legs?

A/N: Mini Series, I guess. Intersex reader, looking for a new life. Smut, Angst, all the fun things. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.7K

Come Get Your Fix, Just Whisper It

The sun beat its way through the cracked windshield of the rental truck as you sighed deeply. Your tanned, inked shoulders pushed back against the scratchy fabric of the seat below, the dull crackle of a shitty radio echoing through the cab as the monotonous click of the blinker indicated your intention. The exit sign for 'Foxwood' blurred into view, its faded letters promising escape from the mind-numbing highway.

You hated moving, you really did. But there was something about Foxwood that called to you, something that felt like home, even though you had never set foot in the place before. The GPS instructed you to turn left onto a narrow, paved road, flanked by tall, ancient oaks that stretched out their branches like welcoming arms.

This purchase was made sight unseen, knowing you had to find something quickly before you began your new job. You had done the whole apartment thing and couldn't do it again. So the moment this house popped up for sale, your agent called, and you bought it blindly, knowing you needed it. You had high hopes for the place, something that would hopefully bring a smile to your face, something that could make you feel alive again.

As you followed the winding road, you caught glimpses of quaint, well-kept houses with flowers blooming in their front gardens. The occasional rustle of leaves whispered secrets as you drove deeper into the town. The quiet was eerie but also comforting, like a gentle hush that promised peace and privacy. You knew you weren't far, your friend was up ahead leaning against his car, waiting for your arrival. As you approached the home, you took in your surroundings more carefully. A few neighbors watched as your brakes squealed, signaling that you had come to a stop in the driveway of your new home.

Some children were walking down the street, backpacks in tote, indicating that school had let out a little bit ago. They were laughing and giggling, as they one by one peeled off of thier group and made thier respective way home. The sound of their laughter was like a breath of fresh air, and it made you feel a bit less anxious about the whole situation. The house was a charming two-story Craftsman, painted a soft shade of grey with brown trim. The porch looked welcoming, with a swing that swayed slightly in the breeze. The yard was a little overgrown, but you could see the potential it had to be a lush, green paradise.

As you climbed out of the truck, the heat of the day slapped you in the face like a wet towel. You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand and walked over to where your friend, Pietro, was standing. He was taller than you remembered, his hair had grown out into a messy mop, and there was a new confidence in his stance. His grin was the same though, wide and welcoming, as he threw his arms around you in a bear hug. "You made it," he exclaimed, slapping you on the back. "Come on, let's get you settled in."

You followed him inside, the coolness of the house a relief after the sweltering heat outside. The interior was surprisingly bright, with sunlight streaming in through the large windows and bouncing off the gleaming hardwood floors. There was a faint scent of lemon in the air, hinting at recent cleaning efforts. Pietro led you to the kitchen, where a woman was unloading a box of dishes and glasses.

"Hope you don't mind, but I asked sis to help," Pietro said as you both walked into the room. She was stunning, with her hair pulled back in a messy bun and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose. She looked up and offered a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat.

"Welcome to Foxwood," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Wanda, your new neighbor and occasional pain in the ass." You took her hand, feeling the electricity between you. Her grip was firm, her eyes a piercing green that seemed to see right through you as they ran up and down your body.

"Thanks," you managed to reply, trying to play it cool despite the sudden surge of butterflies in your stomach. "I'm Y/N. I guess I'll be the new girl in town." You sent her a dashing smile before Pietro interrupted.

"Wands moved before I was able to introduce you two when we were in high school. Too quick to get the fuck out of Westview," he laughed, coming behind his sister and draping an arm around her shoulders. Wanda rolled her eyes playfully and shrugged his arm off.

"I don't blame her," you laugh, catching her glance back over at you. "Westview is a shithole."

Wanda arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Tell me something I don't know," she said, her voice light and teasing.

"Well, Wands," Pietro started, a knowing smirk on his face. "This one seemed to run every woman or daughter out of town. She's always been a little bit of a player."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the playfulness replaced with curiosity. "Is that so?" she said, leaning against the counter. "And what brings you to Foxwood, dare I ask?"

You cleared your throat, trying to find the right words. "A new job," you replied, your voice a bit too high-pitched for your liking. "And a chance to get away from all that drama. Start fresh."

Wanda nodded, studying you with those piercing eyes. "Well, I'm sure you'll fit right in here. Everyone loves a good redemption story," she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. "And if you need anything, I'm just next door. Now, if you don't mind, I need to head home and get ready for dinner with Agatha." she turned, hugging Pietro before throwing the towel on her shoulder into the sink.

Pietro rolled his eyes. "That old hag?" he teased, earning a playful elbow from his sister.

"She's younger than me, Piet. If that is what you think of her, I would hate to know what you think of little old me."

Pietro's cheeks flushed red, but he chuckled it off, slapping his sister on the shoulder. "Wands, you know I didn't mean it like that. I love you, I'm morally obligated to." he laughed, shying away as she punched him in the chest.

"Ass!" she smirked, turning to you. "Y/N, it was a pleasure, albeit a brief one. I'm just next door if you need any help."

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, leaving you with a strange mix of excitement and nerves. You nodded. "Thanks, Wanda. I'll keep that in mind." You flashed her another smile, moving out of her way so she could walk away from you and Pietro, and you watched as she left.

"No, Y/N. Just...No." Piet's voice cut through the air as you watched her leave. "Don't mess with Wanda," he warned, his eyes serious. "She's had enough bullshit in her life without you bringing your Westview drama here."

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "I'm not planning on messing with anyone, Pete," you said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Just here to work and keep my head down." But as you took a sip, you couldn't help but feel the weight of his words. You had a history, and it wasn't exactly squeaky clean.

The rest of the day was spent unpacking boxes and getting the house in order. The place had good bones, but it was clear that the previous owners hadn't put much effort into the upkeep. There were cobwebs in the corners and a layer of dust that had to be thick enough to write your name in. But every time you looked outside and saw the picturesque street, you felt a flicker of hope that this could be your fresh start. Pietro helped you move everything that was left in the truck inside and took it back for you before he went home for the night.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with a warm orange glow, you finally finished setting up the living room. You flopped onto the couch, letting out a sigh of relief that was quickly interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. It was Wanda, dressed in a simple sundress that made her look like she'd just stepped out of a magazine. Her eyes ran up and down your exhausted, sweaty frame, you were in just a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Once she made eye contact with you again, she smiled. "Hey, I hope I'm not interrupting," she said, holding up a tray of food. "I figured you'd be too tired to cook."

Her smile was infectious, and before you knew it, you were inviting her inside. The tray was filled with a mouthwatering assortment of dishes that smelled heavenly—roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables. "Wow, this is amazing," you said, your stomach rumbling. "Thank you so much."

Wanda waved off your gratitude with a casual flick of her wrist. "It's the least I could do," she said, setting the tray down on the kitchen counter. "I know moving can be a real bitch."

You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious in her presence. She had an air of confidence that you hadn't seen in a long time, something you had lost amidst the parties and one-night stands back in Westview. You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered every time she was near, telling yourself that this was just friendship, and Pietro's older sister- nothing more. But as you watched her unpack the Tupperware containers, her slender fingers moving with purpose, you found it harder and harder to keep that thought in your head.

"Here you go," she set everything out, all you had to do was serve yourself. "You can bring me the containers whenever," she said, before heading back to the door. "Have a good night." she winked before turning to walk out the door.

"Thank you," you called after her, watching as she stepped back into the warm embrace of the evening. The door clicked shut, leaving you with the tantalizing smell of the food and a sudden feeling of loneliness.

You filled a plate, the aroma making your mouth water as you took a bite of the chicken. It was tender and perfectly seasoned, the taste exploding on your tongue. You had to admit, that Wanda had skills in the kitchen. You took your dinner to the porch, the swing groaning under your weight as you sat down. The evening air was cooler now, and the street was silent except for the occasional distant laughter of children playing in the twilight. With the slight breeze that was cooling everything off, you decided to open some windows, and allow the house to air out some.

As you sat there, you couldn't shake the feeling that Wanda had left you with. You had never felt so...seen by someone before. It was as if she knew all your secrets just by looking at you. But you weren't about to let that ruin your first night in your new home. You had a job to start in the morning, and you needed to be well-rested. So, you finished your meal and decided to rest, getting yourself ready for bed.

The night passed quickly, and before you knew it, the sun was peeking through the windows, signaling the start of a new day. You dragged yourself out of bed and into the shower, the hot water doing little to wash away the last of your weariness. As you toweled off, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The person staring back at you looked like a stranger—tired eyes and a rumpled expression that told a story of a life lived hard and fast. You vowed to change that, starting now.

You threw on some clean clothes and headed downstairs, the aroma of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen. The house was eerily quiet without the clamor of boxes and the banter with Pietro. Thankful that you remembered to set the timer to the coffee pot, you opened the cabinets until you found the one that your coffee mugs had been put into. You poured a glass of the liquid, putting just a hint of sugar in it and taking a swig.

As you sipped, you glanced out the kitchen window to see Wanda's car parked in her driveway. A part of you was relieved she was home; the thought of seeing her again made your heart race. Another part was nervous. You didn't want to give her any reason to think that you were the same old you. You were here for a new start, after all. You stacked up the now clean containers that she had brought you dinner in and neatly put them in a bag before getting yourself ready for work.

You stepped out of the house, the cool morning air kissing your cheeks and making you feel alive. You walked over to Wanda's house, the bag of containers swinging at your side. As you approached the door, you took a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves that had suddenly taken over your body. You knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet street.

The door swung open, and there she was, dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting shirt that still managed to hug her curves in all the right places. Her hair was down today, cascading over her shoulders in gentle waves. She looked surprised to see you but quickly composed herself. "Morning," she said, her voice a little raspy from sleep.

"Sorry, I know it's early. I wanted to give these back before I forgot." You handed her the bag of containers, trying not to stare at the way the morning light kissed her skin.

Wanda took the bag, a small smile playing on her lips. "No worries, I'm usually up early. I appreciate it." She stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. "Would you like some coffee?"

You shook your head, gesturing to the cup sitting on top of your car. "No, thank you though, and dinner was delicious."

Wanda nodded, her eyes lingering on you for a moment too long before she turned away to set the bag by what you assumed was the entrance to her kitchen. "You're more than welcome, Y/N. Pietro said you're starting work today?"

"Yeah, I am," you replied, your eyes following her as she walked inside and then came back to the door.

"I guess I should have guessed," she insinuated, motioning to the suit you were now wearing. "What do you do, again?"

You took a deep breath, your nerves starting to rise in front of this ethereal woman. "I'm an architect," you said proudly. "Starting at the new firm downtown."

Wanda's eyes lit up with interest. "Oh, really?" she leaned against the doorframe. "That's cool."

"Thanks," you said, feeling a bit more at ease. "I'm hoping to make a name for myself here, maybe even start my own firm one day."

Wanda nodded, her eyes thoughtful. "Well, Foxwood's definitely growing. Could use some fresh designs to spruce the place up," she said with a smile.

You nod, looking down at your watch, realizing you were really cutting it close. "I should get going, I don't want to be late on my first day," you said, taking a step back. "Thank you, Wanda." you smile, stepping backward as you walk toward your car.

"Good luck," she called after you, her voice soothing and genuine. You smiled, before turning around to walk the rest of the way to your waiting Audi. You grabbed the coffee off the roof, settling yourself inside. As you drove off to work, you couldn't help but think back to your brief interactions with Wanda. You had only seen her in pictures, and she certainly grew into her looks.

The office was bustling when you arrived, and the air was thick with the scent of ambition and freshly brewed coffee. You were greeted by your new boss, Mr. Castillo, a man with a firm handshake and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He walked you around, introducing you to the team. Each person you met offered a polite nod and a murmur of welcome, but you could feel the underlying curiosity—who was this new face that had strutted into their well-established dynamic?

The first few days were a blur of paperwork, meetings, and getting acquainted with the projects you'd be working on. You threw yourself into your work, eager to prove that you weren't just a pretty face from Westview. You had skills, and you were here to use them. You found yourself working late, working out, eating small meals, and sleeping. It was this same schedule, on repeat. Before you knew it, Friday was upon you, and Pietro was calling.

"Come out with me tonight," he begged. "You've been holed up in that house and that office all week. You need to live a little. Explore."

"Hello to you too, Piet." You chuckled into the phone, leaning back in your chair at the office. The clock on the wall ticked away the final moments of the workday. "But I'm pretty beat. I don't know if I'm up for a night out."

"Come on, it'll be fun," he said, his voice full of excitement. "I've got a surprise for you."

You hesitated, the thought of a surprise from Pietro sending a shiver down your spine. His ideas of fun tended to land you in trouble. "What's the surprise?"

"That defeats the whole point, Y/N. It wouldn't be a surprise if you knew what it was." His laugh was contagious, and despite your exhaustion, you found yourself smiling. "But I promise, it's nothing crazy."

You sighed, knowing that 'not crazy' for Pietro was still a relative term. But his enthusiasm was infectious, and the thought of letting loose after a week of intense focus was tempting. "Alright, fine," you conceded. "Where and when?"

The whoop of excitement on the other end of the line had you shaking your head. "I'll text you the details!" he yelled before hanging up, knowing you would change your mind if given the chance.

The day dragged on, but the anticipation of the night ahead kept you going. When you finally clocked out, you drove home with a mix of excitement and dread. You knew that going out with Pietro meant you would be meeting new people, and while you weren't necessarily a hermit, you were trying to turn a new page. You threw your coat onto the bench by the door, before stalking upstairs to your room. You sat down on the edge of your bed, peeling your dress shoes off your feet before undoing your tie. As you began to undress, you caught a glimpse of the woman next door. The elder Maximoff, lounged by the pool in her backyard, reading a book in a bikini.

The sight made your thoughts run wild, and your mouth went dry. You tried to shake it off, but the image of Wanda in that bikini was burned into your mind. You decided you needed to hop in the shower, so you quickly turned to get undressed and threw your work shirts into the laundry bin that would soon go to the dry cleaners.

As the hot water cascaded down your body, you couldn't help but replay the moments you had already with Wanda. You felt a stirring in your chest that was unfamiliar, a mix of attraction and something deeper. But you pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. You had a night out to get ready for, and you needed to be on your best behavior. You couldn't have any distractions, especially not from your best friend's sister.

After a quick shower and a change into a black deep-cut tee, black jeans, and a leather jacket, you checked your phone to find the details of the night's plans. "Meet me at The Den at 8," the text from Pietro read. You had just enough time to grab a bite to eat and mentally prepare yourself. You grabbed a granola bar from your snack cabinet and chugged a bottle of water, looking out the back window as you ate the aforementioned snack.

Deciding you would take the bike out instead, you put your helmet on before starting your blacked-out Harley. You smiled at the feel of the familiar rumble between your legs, and made your way out of the garage, propping it up on the kickstand before walking back to shut the garage door.

"Be careful, Y/N," Wanda called out from her porch as you climbed onto your bike. She had changed into a short, floral dress that highlighted her toned legs and a pair of sandals that made you wonder if she had ever worn shoes that weren't designer. You nodded, giving her a subtle salute as you accelerated down the street past her house.

The sun had already set by the time you pulled into the crowded parking lot of 'The Den', a popular local hangout spot. The music thumped in the distance, a bass that you could feel in your chest. The anticipation grew as you stepped off of the bike, straightening your jacket and running a hand through your hair. It had been a while since you'd been out, and the idea of a night free from the constraints of your new life was exhilarating.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of spilled drinks and cheap perfume. The lights were dim, and the dance floor was packed with bodies moving in sync with the rhythm of the music. You spotted Pietro at the bar, his tall frame making him easy to find in the sea of people. He waved you over, a wide grin on his face. "You made it!" he shouted over the noise.

"Barely," you said, sliding onto the barstool next to him. He passed you a beer, already cold and sweating. "What's the plan?"

Pietro leaned in, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "First, we grab a drink or two. Then, I introduce you to the Foxwood nightlife."

You took a swig of the beer, the cold liquid sliding down your throat, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling in your stomach. The last thing you wanted was to go back to your old ways, so this night was going to be a challenge. But as you scanned the room, you reminded yourself that you had changed. You weren't that person anymore. You were here to build a future, not rehash the past.

The first few hours were surprisingly tame. You talked with some of the locals, who were surprisingly welcoming despite your outsider status. They asked about your job and your life back in Westview, and you kept your answers vague, not wanting to dredge up any drama. You danced a bit, but it was more about the music than the flirtation. And every time you felt a pair of eyes on you, you couldn't help but look over at the door, expecting to see Wanda walk in.

"Okay, Maximoff. Out with it. What is this "surprise" you drug me out of my cozy night for?" you shouted over the music, now feeling the effects of your beverage choices cloud your brain.

Pietro leaned in, his smile growing wider. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, his voice barely audible over the thumping bass. He looped his arm around your neck, dragging you out of the bar you were at, and walking you down the street to another. "Welcome to heaven, Y/N." he motioned as you walked up to a padded door, the door swinging open as a bouncer checked your ID. The overwhelming scent of booze and perfume struck you, a remixed version of Deftones pumping through the speakers.

You walked in, Pietro high-fiving some people he clearly knew. "Welcome to Velvet, Y/N." Piet gestured around, the purple and red neon casting a dull shadow among all the dancers on thier platforms, and all in various states of undress. You felt like this could be trouble, but you had agreed to this night out, so you followed him through the sea of bodies to the VIP section. There was a table with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses already waiting. "You know how to pick your spots, Piet," you said, taking a seat.

"Isn't it great?" he smiled, his eyes dancing back and forth from one dancer to another.

You nodded, trying to keep your focus on the conversation and not on the... distractions around you. "It's... different from what I expected," you shouted back. His eyebrow shot up, a look of doubt on his face.

"Don't tell me you've gone completely soft on me, Y/N. You would have been all over a metal strip club like this a few years ago." He said, pouring you a glass of whiskey.

You took the glass with a nod, trying to keep your cool as you surveyed the scene around you. The music was loud, the lights were strobing, and the dancers were... mesmerizing. "I'm trying to not be the playboy me anymore, Piet."

He laughed, leaning over to you. "Just because you don't wanna be a fuckboy anymore, doesn't mean you need to be boring." He nudged you, his eyes still on the dancers. "Besides, I own this place," he stated, in the most nonchalant way possible.

"Excuse me?" You turned to him, questioning if you heard him correctly.

"Yeah, you heard me. I own this." he winked as one of the dancers pulled him into the back.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. This wasn't what you had in mind when you agreed to go out. But before you could do anything, a figure caught your eye. Wanda. Dressed in a tight black dress that hugged her curves like a second skin, her hair cascading down in long, auburn waves, she looked like she didn't belong in this place. You felt your heart drop as she moved through the crowd, her eyes searching for something—or someone. She finally came up to someone, another woman, sitting with her at the table.

"Pietro, seriously?" you muttered under your breath, watching as he took the stage with one of the dancers, throwing money around like it was confetti. You watched as he threw himself at one of the dancers, Wanda laughing and shaking her head at his antics before he was pulled off the stage by another dancer.

"Don't worry, he does this every time he brings someone new to Velvet." A waitress dressed in a skimpy dress said as she came to grab your empty glasses. She had a pixie cut, green eyes, and a piercing smile. "I'm Natasha, by the way," she offered a hand.

"Y/N." you smiled, shaking hers in response.

"How do you know Pietro?" she asked, sitting down across from you.

"High school friends," you replied, watching as Wanda rolled her eyes at her brother's showmanship. She nodded, her gaze following yours. "He said he had a surprise for me tonight. I guess telling me he owned a strip club was the surprise." you laugh, shaking your head as you take another sip of your beer.

"Well, he does love to make an entrance," Natasha chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But he's a good guy, really. Really good boss. One of the best I've had."

You nodded, trying to keep your eyes from wandering back to Wanda. "Yeah, he's... something else," you said, your voice trailing off as you watched her. Natasha followed your gaze and smirked. "So, you're here to see the show, huh?"

"More like I'm here to keep an eye on him," you admitted, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "And maybe unwind a bit."

Natasha leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, if you're looking to unwind, I can give you the VIP tour.”

You sat, thinking as the woman stood before you. "Sure. Why the fuck not?" You smiled, deciding that Piet was right. You really needed to let loose. 

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part three

PART I • PART II • PART IV • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 3.1k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U •  P A R T T H R E E 🎶 thick skull ( re: julien baker ), paramore ft. julien baker

❝ GOOD GIRLS DON’T CRY & GOOD GIRLS DON’T LIE & GOOD GIRLS JUSTIFY BUT I DON’T ❞

“Think she’s okay?”

“Shh!”

“What? No way she can hear us back here.”

“Dustin, ‘back here’ is literally a seat behind her.”

Sat quietly at a table seat in the Winnebago, Eddie looking on worriedly across from you, you were still grappling with the fact that you were alive. That you didn’t die. That you were breathing fresh air and free from the dark and free from Him.

For now.

And as the RV bumped down the road out of Hawkins you said nothing. Felt Steve’s eyes on you constantly as he glanced at you in the rearview. Eddie’s hand still holding tight to yours after he helped you up, afraid to lose you again. Dustin and Lucas and Max all talking in not-so-hushed voices behind you about what it all meant and if El could get back in time and was this all gonna be enough?

Voice thick and choked by the sobs that had felt endless, you’d managed to tell everyone what Vecna had showed you. Told them about Hawkins, about the monsters, about your family, about them. Eddie, Robin, Nancy Steve. And no one had said anything at first. The sounds of your cries filling up the RV. Stark against the silence and heavy with the weight of your words and they knew before you’d even opened your mouth that it was going to be bad.

Of course they knew.

But now that Vecna had revealed his master plan, the efforts you were all making just felt hopeless. The munitions stuffed under the bench seats and closets and cabinets, all puny and worthless against Vecna and his army of nightmares.

A big bump in the road brought you out of your thoughts and when you glanced up your eyes met Steve’s as he snuck another look in the rear view. And instead of glaring, instead of flipping him the bird, you looked right back. Held his gaze for moment longer and he didn’t shy away until he came up on a turn-off.

“Alright, shitheads. We’re here.”

“Here?” Lucas asked, more than confused at the thick forest Steve was now driving you all through.

“Yeah, this is it.”

And as the trees slowly thinned out, thick grass and wildflower blooms took their place. Creeping out ahead of you to reveal a meadow, wide and green and lush. A haven that felt so very far away, felt safe, and as Steve parked and the engine quieted you let out the breath you’d been holding.

❝ MAYBE IF YOU JUST GOT SOME GUTS WE’D KILL ‘EM WITH A THOUSAND CUTS AND SAY WE DID IT OUT OF LOVE ❞

Everyone piled out of the RV and got after their tasks. Pretended like preparing for the end of the world was totally normal and routine. Nancy and Robin sawing off the end of a shotgun. Lucas and Erica attempting to make spears from tactical knives and broom handles. Eddie and Dustin shoving each other around in the grass with their garbage can lids full of nails at their feet and none of it instilled you with confidence, but Dustin screaming No wedgies! did manage to pull a little smile out of you.

And for a split second it felt okay.

Laughter, the sound of birds, the feeling of the wind on your bare skin and all the green around you – so unlike the cracked and bitter feeling in the Upside Down and then your smile fell.

You wished He hadn’t shown you.

Wished Vecna had just left you alone. Wished for just a moment that you hadn’t gone to Max’s trailer and put yourself in the middle of all this, but then Eddie grabbed Dustin in a big bear hug and your chest squeezed.

Your best friend.

The reason why you had gone to Max’s trailer.

The reason why you weren’t going to run.

The reason this was all worth it.

“Ah, shit.”

Sat next to you, Steve sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. The funnel in your hands slipping as you lost focus and liquid trickled down your hands and wrists.

“Hold it still,” Steve quickly tipped back his can of kerosene and set it down to grab a piece of ripped towel.

A string of curses were muttered under your breath, so much for homemade molotov cocktails.

Cheeks burning with embarrassment you went to wipe your hands on your sweater, but when you looked back up at Steve he was looking too. Eyes searching yours, unsure and tentative. Moles dotting along his cheeks and jaw like tiny constellations. Skin gold like it held summer and when you blinked away the haze of him, you realized he was reaching out to you.

“Here, get that off so it doesn’t burn,” he said a little softer. Cloth in one hand, he took yours in the other and wiped at the kerosene.

Oh, fell from your lips. Surprised. Unsure. Your skin buzzing where he touched you and you swallowed thick as you felt your pulse flutter against your neck.

“Uh–here, you can get the rest,” Steve said quickly, like he’d felt it too and hastily passed the cloth off to you, dropping your hand to wipe his on his jeans.

“Thanks,” you mumbled back.

It was quiet for a moment as he cleared his throat and picked up his can of kerosene again. You followed suit and grabbed your empty vodka bottle and funnel. Wordlessly he leaned over to hold your hand in his and once it was steady began pouring again, eyes flicking over to look at you.

“I’m an asshole,” he suddenly admitted, breaking the silence, and you had to focus really hard to not fumble the bottle again.

“I didn’t say it,” you started and he chuckled under his breath. A low, warm thing that made the air around you fizzle and crack like bonfires down at the quarry.

“Didn’t say you did,” he gently pushed back, lips still tugged up into a small, wry smile, but it faded the longer he looked at you. “Listen. I know we aren’t…well, I know I don’t have a great track record,” he said and the change in his tone surprised you. Told you he was serious and you had to look away to try to gather yourself back up again.

"No, really?" you said, all sarcasm, and he huffed another laugh.

“Hah hah,” he joked, weakly at first, and then his expression shifted more serious. “I just wanted to say that…well, that you have every right to be here it’s just–” the boy hummed around his words. Dropped his gaze down to where your hands met on the kerosene filled vodka bottle and put the can on the ground.

Talking to you like this, showing weakness and vulnerability, made him feel so exposed. Uncomfortable. Unable to find the right words and his tongue jammed into his cheek as he tried to decide just how honest he wanted to be.

With you.

“It’s just–everything about the Upside Down wants to kill you and it’s like–” he sighed heavy and carded a hand through his already messy hair. “I dunno. How many more people have to die? You know?” and then he was looking at you again. Really looking, really asking, and for a second it made you doubt everything you felt about him.

Jock. Asshole. King Steve.

No second chances, remember?

“Can I ask you something?” you heard yourself say and you could feel the muddled mixture of nerves and frustration and anticipation buzzing under your skin. Everything you’d been holding onto all this time pent up and pushing against the wall you’d built around it. Waiting waiting waiting for you to set it loose.

“Oh–sure, yeah.”

“Why are you really here?”

Steve’s eyes grew wide and he sat back on his milk crate, hands squeezing at the tops of his thighs.

“Why am I here?”

“Yeah. Do you really care about Eddie?”

Steve’s eyes darted back over to where Eddie and Dustin were hammering more nails into their garbage can lids and maybe you were impatient or maybe Steve was stalling, but you didn’t want to wait.

“Cos you didn’t care about him before.”

“B-before? I don’t–what d'you mean–”

Steve was stumbling over himself now, struggling to own the words you put on him and frustration grew warm in your chest, but you tried hard to swallow it down. Tried hard to let him prove Eddie’s theory of change.

“High school, Harrington,” you started, trying to keep your tone even and calm. “Yelled at us in the quad? Tossed people’s books in the hallway? Threw fries at us in the cafeteria.” You paused, debated whether or not you wanted to tack more on, and then you thought of Tommy and it came out all on its own, “Let your friends say really shitty things to me.”

Steve’s gaze dropped down to his feet and he didn’t say anything at first, not a word, and you kicked yourself for even bothering to think he’d be able to handle it. Of course he couldn’t.

“You know what–nevermind,” you mumbled, capping your bottle and moving to stand, but his hand grabbed yours and pulled you back down onto your milk crate.

“Wait. Please?”

And the way he was looking at you was pained, the pinch between his brows deep, and it made you pause. Was Eddie right? The way Steve cared for these kids, for your best friend, showed clearly something had shifted in him, but was it enough?

“Wait for what, Harrington? So you can show me things are different now?” your voice was softer, but hurt, “Because Eddie swears you’ve changed, but you still sound just like Tommy.”

The mention of his ex-best friend felt like getting the wind knocked out of him. He knew Tommy was wrong now. Hell, he knew it back then too. Knew how fucked up it'd been in the parking lot at the school, but he hadn’t had the guts to say anything. Couldn’t stand up to him or tell him off because he ‘had a reputation to uphold’ and what would everyone else say if he went ‘soft on a freak’?

“I–I know. I fucked up. I get it and I don’t know how I can prove it to you, but–” he started truthfully, hand still holding yours, thumb shifting softly against your palm, “–but I am. Really sorry.”

Really sorry.

Finally. After all those years. After everything he’d said and done, but sorry didn’t fix it. Or take any of it back. Was it too late?

Reluctantly you pulled your hand away from Steve’s, his fingers flexing as they fell away from yours, wanting to hold on just a little bit longer but you weren’t ready.

“You know that doesn’t fix it, right?” you said quietly, glancing up at Steve through the long sweep of your lashes and guilt settled heavy over him.

He knew it didn’t fix it. Knew all too well that words didn’t mean shit, but he would be the first to admit he was a slow learner. Crawl before you walk. Hit your head and maybe something will suddenly make sense and when it came to you? Vecna had been like a sucker punch.

You were strong-willed. Didn’t take shit lying down. Were fiercely loyal to your best friend and just wanted to try to help and it had taken Steve a minute to realize – in your eyes he was still bullshit, but he didn’t want to be. It wasn’t going to be easy, not in the least, but just like you he wanted to try.

“I know it doesn’t fix it.”

His eyes squeezed shut so he didn’t have to look at you. Tried to make it easier on himself as he pushed through the discomfort of taking responsibility for his actions. Tongue running along his bottom lip, just like it always did when his brain was working overtime, he finally looked back up at you.

“I’m not asking you for forgiveness or–or to be my friend or anything. I just want you know I really am sorry. For all of it. Okay?”

Sitting there so close to him, your hands inches away from touching, holding each other’s gaze as you listened to the words falling from his lips in sincerity – it was almost too much. The wall you’d built around yourself cracking and straining against this new feeling that had settled in your chest, but the words wouldn’t come to you as your lips parted and you tried and pull yourself together but–

“Dammit, Eddie, no wedgies!”

Dustin’s voice cut through the silence that had settled and Steve reflexively sat up. Pushed himself away from whatever it was you’d waded into together. Away from sorry and the feeling of your hands pressed together and the look you gave him through the long sweep of your lashes and the way you made his heart race. Turned away from you and played it off.

“Hey! Less dicking around, more putting shit together!” he yelled at Dustin and Eddie flipped him off without looking.

“Like you’re doing anything important, big boy!” Eddie hollered back and the way it made Steve’s cheeks grow pink made your lips twitch with a smile you had to work hard to hold back.

“Shut up,” Steve muttered at Eddie, but mostly to himself, and stood from his milk crate to put your filled vodka bottle into the box with the rest.

You watched quietly as he placed the last bottle in and folded the cardboard shut. Muscles tensing and pulling taut as he worked, moving against the fabric of his shirt and you quickly looked away for fear of being caught.

Then your eye caught his nail covered bat tipped against side of the Winnebago and the threat of the Upside Down and all its nasties wrapped around you tight like a vice.

Oh.

Right.

The end of the world.

Just a few yards away Nancy pulled the trigger on her shotgun, the sound making you flinch, and it hit you like a ton of bricks – you had absolutely no clue how to defend yourself against this. Against Him. Against an army from hell. You knew how to throw a punch and knee someone in the crotch and you’d always had an arm on you from playing volleyball, but none of that had anything to do with monsters. Or guns. Or nail covered bats.

“Uhm–” came out mumbled, more sound than word, and it pulled Steve’s attention up from the box.

“What’s that?”

“Can you–er–would you maybe show me how to swing that?” you asked and it made him turn to face you, giving you his full attention.

“What?”

Your cheeks grew hot.

“That bat,” you said shifting uncomfortably on your crate, “I don’t think–I can't shoot a gun.”

Steve’s expression softened as he remembered what it'd felt like the first time he saw a demogorgon. The first time he swung that very bat into the side of a demodog. The first time this world had been exposed to him and he knew how overwhelming and absolutely crazy it all felt.

Grabbing the bat in his hand he gave you a small smile and took the few steps back over to you.

“Sure. It’s not too hard. You know, just aim and swing.”

“Just aim and swing?” your tone was flat, all skeptics, a defensive move against his kindness and it made him chuckle.

“Well, there’s probably more to it than that, but those stupid bats are thick enough when they swarm it’d be hard for anyone to miss.”

Your eyes grew wide at the thought of swarming bats and it made him laugh again, a half-grimace pulling at his features.

“Shit, sorry. Uh–here,” readjusting his grip he bent his knees a bit and dug his heel into the ground. “Just make sure you get a wide stance, yeah? Like, hip width apart? And don’t be afraid to choke up on your hold. It’ll make your swings hit harder.”

He swung the bat and the sound it made as it cut through the air made your breath catch in your throat.

“Wanna try?” the boy held the crude weapon out to you and you swallowed thick. Stood up from your own milk crate and tentatively took it from him.

It was heavy in your hands, heavier than you thought it’d be, but smooth. You did as he said and slid your hands up a little further on the handle and tried a swing, but threw yourself off balance and stumbled forward.

“Ah, that’s okay. Here, uh–” Steve stepped in behind you and placed his hands over yours on the bat, “–try again, but follow through with your hip. Your grip’s good, just don’t throw your full weight forward.”

The warmth of his chest on your back made your cheeks burn again. Made your heart race. Hammering against your ribcage as he slowly took you through the motion again.

“Then when you get to the end of the swing, follow with your hip," his voice was much quieter over your shoulder, words falling into your ear and making you dizzy as he tried so damn hard to keep his focus. Placed a hand on your waist to guide it and toed your foot forward with his shoe as he took a step. “See?”

“Yeah,” was all you could manage, the feeling of his breath on your neck trailing goosebumps across your skin and you couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the way the closeness of him pulled your gaze and when you looked up he was looking too.

“Does that–uh–did that make sense?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper and you nodded. A small thing that barely registered and he was so close now. Close enough his nose nearly brushed your cheek, getting closer by the second and–

“Harrington! Where are those bottles? I gotta get ‘em loaded up!” Eddie yelled from the other side of the RV and the space between you shattered. Both of you stepping away as though you’d touched a hot stove and you pressed the bat into Steve’s hands.

“Should probably get ready,” you muttered and he nodded, cleared his throat and took two big steps back to set the bat down.

“Coming!” Steve called back as he scooped up the box of molotov cocktails, bottles clinking against each other as he walked away and disappeared around the corner of the RV.

King Steve turned Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington turned something else.

Something more.

Something you thought you’d written off.

Something that held you so tightly now it made you want to run, but at the back of your mind, somewhere soft and warm, you couldn’t help wondering what might happen if you didn’t.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART THREE OF A – POSSIBLY – FIVE PART SERIES, PART FOUR AND FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 7: Tell Me That I Won't Feel A Thing]

A/N: Hello besties! Thank you for voting in the poll for Chapter 7. Below are your predictions...let's see how you did! 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is back yay!!!

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Give Me Novacaine” by Green Day.

Word count: 9.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

Billboards ask you as the Tahoe flies across the flat emerald sea of Iowa: Have you heard the good news? Have you been saved? Where will you spend eternity? Are you struggling with same-sex attraction? Do you regret your abortion? Do you fear the Lord? Do you want to end up in Hell?

Aegon snickers, gnawing on a Slim Jim. The sun glare turns his wild hair to gold, etches crinkles into the ruddy skin around his eyes, murky like deep water, oceans you recognize from other corners of the world. “I thought I was already there.”

Jace’s Honda Rebel 300 is left on the shoulder of the highway with its fuel tank uncapped, drained to feed the Tahoe, prehistoric combustion, bottomless mechanical hunger. Rhaena takes over driving so Baela can sit with Jace, touch him, inhale him, convince herself he’s real. Aegon climbs into the passenger’s seat and skips songs on the CD player until he finds the one he wants: In Da Club by 50 Cent. The miles roll by so soft and so infinite that you can’t imagine ever feeling trapped again, warm July air unfurling down the darkest corridors of your lungs, hawks on lifeless power lines and fields dappled with white-tailed deer. And you think: Everything will be better now.

You cross the Missouri River and into Nebraska at Plattsmouth, which—according to a plaque mounted on the outskirts of town—the Lewis and Clark Expedition passed through over two centuries ago. Rhaena follows Aegon’s directions to cut between Lincoln and Omaha, avoiding the roiling wastelands of the cities and keeping well north of Cooper Nuclear Station, where in the absence of a successful manual or computerized shutdown before the power grid collapsed, rods of uranium are melting down and irradiating the surrounding area, anemia, cancer, heart disease, radiation sickness, an affliction that eats you alive.

Rhaena takes Nebraska State Route 66 north and then Route 92 due west, lush fields of corn and soybeans and sorghum planted before the dead began to walk, bones of devoured livestock. You stop for the night in a town called Broken Bow, the sky turning the colors of fire and rust and blood, the Tahoe exsanguinated like a man with a slit throat. Every vehicle you pass already has its fuel cap unscrewed; the farther west you go—the scarcer the resources, the longer it’s been since the world began to end—the less the earth will yield to you: less guns, less gasoline, less food, less human settlements scattered across what was once called the frontier. You commandeer a two-story house: white wood, wraparound porch, a long gravel driveway that winds like a snake. There is a small cornfield and a barn, both of which you sweep for zombies before making yourselves at home. You try not to think about what happened to the family that used to live here.

Helaena lights candles, Luke and Rhaena distribute bowls and silverware, Aemond and Rio gather kindling for the woodstove, Daeron keeps watch on the porch, Aegon picks all the Twizzlers out of a mixed bag of Hershey’s candy for Jace. There is a 12-pack of Ramen noodles in the pantry, gallons of water in the cellar, and a pot large enough to cook it all in one batch. Cregan takes Ice and disappears into the cornfield for half an hour at dusk—something none of the rest of you would ever consider—and reappears with an opossum that he’s nearly decapitated with his axe. He butchers it and you brown cubes of meat in a sauté pan placed directly on the glowing embers. The others are horrified and won’t eat a single bite until you do. It’s the first real food you’ve had since you left Saratoga Springs, and you feel satiated in a way you had forgotten existed.

In honor of Jace’s resurrection, some revelry is in order. There are bottles of Grey Goose vodka in a kitchen cabinet, and Aemond allows a two drink maximum for anyone eligible to participate: Baela is too pregnant, Daeron is too young, Aemond himself is too vigilant, too self-sacrificial, too indoctrinated into the religion of his own martyrdom.

“Daddy loved his screwdrivers,” Cregan says. “I remember being five or six and taking a big gulp of one thinking it was Sunny D or Tang or something. Lord almighty, was that a shock!” He guffaws, then inspects the pantry, scratching at the dark stubble on his cheeks. “We ain’t got nothing like orange juice though.”

“Mama made hers with Hawaiian Punch.” You point: there are several jugs of it on the floor between boxes of Pop-Tarts and Welch’s Fruit Snacks and Cheddar Whales, red like crushed blackberries or fresh blood.

Cregan grins at you over his brawny shoulder. “That’ll work, Miss Chips.”

Luke and Rhaena have first watch, Rio and Aegon will take the second. You are blessedly unburdened tonight. This house is big enough for you to get your own room; you climb the staircase with Grey Goose vodka burning in your throat, your head warm and dizzy, a sensation like freefalling as you lie down on the bed.

I left them, you think, the walls spinning around you, echoes of Mama’s voice through the phone as Rio stood there nodding, encouraging you to hang up. I left them and I never looked back. Can someone commit such an act of ancestral betrayal without incurring a curse?

You are still considering this when you feel Aemond’s weight on the mattress and fold into him, the world going dark and hushed and harmless.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I think it’s safe,” you tell Aemond between sighs, his lips on your throat, his hand between your thighs. Late-morning sunlight slants in through the bedroom windows; goldfinches and blue jays flap by chirping blithely. The dead pillage the misfortunate beasts of the earth, but creatures of the air and water are spared. You can hear geese honking from a distance, and the breeze through the cornfield, and calm indistinct voices beneath the floorboards. You can smell pancakes turning from white to gold in a pan sizzling with Crisco. Cregan must be cooking breakfast in the woodstove.

“How sure are you?” Aemond murmurs, his breath warm on your neck, those small teeth he’s always hiding nipping playfully, and if he leaves marks like stains of ballpoint ink you don’t care. He’s whisked every scrap of your clothing away. Beneath him you are bare and helpless and needing more.

“Like…eighty percent sure.”

“I’ll pull out.”

“Like Jace did?”

He laughs and kisses your mouth, not just ravenous but wild like a storm, and all the rest of the world goes quiet. Your ankles are linked around him, his hips rocking with yours. He is wearing only his boxers, black plaid from a looted Walmart, apocalypse chic. “Hopefully better than that.”

“Just try your best. I trust you. I’m willing to risk it.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s worth it to me.” I could be dead in nine months, he could be dead in nine months. I’m not wasting the time we have left.

“It’s your decision. You would be most affected by the consequences.” He draws away and glances down. “I want to look at you.”

“Ohhh.” You stall. “I’ve been trimming with scissors by candlelight. It’s a hack job.”

“I won’t mind.” He grins. “You don’t mind my hack job of a face.”

“I love your face,” you say as you skim your fingerprints down the length of his scar. And then, when he raises an eyebrow roguishly: “I didn’t break any rules. I didn’t say I love you, just your face. I’m totally using you for your face. Your personality is terrible.”

He snickers, kisses you goodbye, retreats to your hips and pushes your thighs apart as you cover your face and whimper, nervous, exhilarated. And then his lips are on you and the trepidation melts away, puddles pooling and then evaporating, and you have a vision of being home again, shivering and dripping in front of the crackling flames of the woodstove after playing outside in the snow and waiting for the fire to take the cold away. Now the fire is growing over you like ivy, tendrils snaking through veins and leaves opening in your lungs, bones vanishing, muscles turning pliant and weightless. You can feel Aemond’s fingers pushing into you, a fleeting second of tension and discomfort, and then a fullness that is delectable, irresistible, maddening.

“Come back,” you plead, and when he does you clasp his face with both hands, kissing him deeply as his fingers remain inside you, thrusting and bathed in your wetness. You’re finally ready for him, you have to be, you need him so badly: like you’re dying of thirst, like you’re running out of air. “Now, Aemond, please. I want all of you.”

And he wants it too. His boxers are gone and he’s positioning himself between your legs, his tongue in your mouth, one hand cradling your jaw as the other guides his cock to where you are slick and aching and aware of an emptiness that has never felt so dire.

He’s so big…

But you are determined to take all of him. You don’t care if there’s pain, if there’s fear. You want to feel what it’s like to be with him before it’s too late.

Aemond presses himself against you, rolls his hips cautiously…and nothing happens. He is a bit more forceful. There is immense pressure, then the beginning of a stretching that is sharp, searing, dreadful, unfamiliar in a way that is completely disorienting. You gasp before you can stop yourself; a wince ripples across your face too quickly to camouflage. Aemond shakes his head and climbs off you, settling beside you on the bed.

“Fuck,” you exhale in frustration, slapping a palm down on the mattress. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand why…why I’m like this…”

“Shh,” Aemond soothes, kissing you. “It’s okay, it’s fine. I’ll help you finish and then we can try again later.”

“Why isn’t this easier?”

“You’re just nervous,” he says gently, smoothing your hair back from your face, like it’s no big deal, like he’s pointing out a bird or a rabbit or the shape of a cloud.

“I don’t feel nervous.”

“It’s not always conscious, sometimes the body reacts without the mind even being aware of it. You tense up and things become…more challenging. But fortunately for us, the treatment is very enjoyable. We just keep messing around and working up to it until one day you’re so aroused and so relaxed that I can glide in without any discomfort whatsoever, and then your body adjusts to this glorious new experience and you aren’t so nervous anymore.”

“Can’t you just…you know…sorry, this isn’t very romantic, but like…shove it in?”

“I could, sure,” Aemond says. “If I was a horrible person. And then you’d learn to associate sex with pain, which would just exacerbate the situation.”

“The problem, you mean.”

He smiles patiently. “You aren’t a problem. We’ll figure it out, we have time.”

Do we? You stare morosely up at the ceiling, shadows of clouds, shades of wings. “I should have hooked up with that Marine at Corpus Christi. Then I’d have practice. I was so afraid of giving a man the power to hurt me or get me pregnant or otherwise ruin my life, but I didn’t know I’d meet you one day. And now I just want everything to be easy for us, and it isn’t.”

“Hey.” Aemond turns your face towards his. “For me, you are…” He struggles to decide on the words, his eye drifting to the window, sunlight turning the blue of his iris to a shallow, glass-clear river. “You’re like an island, and everything else is a sea of poison, and violence, and catastrophically fucked up situations, and when we’re alone together it all goes away for a little while. The world gets quiet. It’s never been like that for me before. I don’t mind if it takes time for us to figure this out. I just want to be with you.”

“What happens when we get to Nevada, and you’re supposed to turn south for the Bay Area while I go north to Oregon?”

Aemond shrugs, but his expression is contemplative. “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe we’ll all stay together and go to one place, then the other. If Odessa is safe, I can bring my parents, Criston, and Grandfather there. If it isn’t, we can bring Rio’s family south and live in California in that beach house on the cliff.”

“I never thought I’d set foot in a mansion.”

“I never thought I’d eat opossum.”

You laugh and curl up against him, resting your head and a palm on his chest. “How was it?”

“Not too bad, actually. Kind of like dark meat chicken. A little gamey, but I like lamb and venison, so that’s fine with me.”

“Just wait until you try bear.”

“Bear?!”

There is a knock at the bedroom door. Luke’s bashful voice is muted through the wood. “Aemond?”

“Yeah?” Aemond replies impatiently.

This was not an invitation, but Luke doesn’t seem to know that. He opens the door, and as he does Aemond throws the blanket over you so you’re covered, leaving himself completely exposed.

Luke begins: “I’m really sorry, I didn’t want to bother you, but…” His eyes go wide. “Oh, you’re like, all the way naked.” He turns and stares at the wall to be polite. “If it’s a bad time, I could come back in five minutes. Do you need more than five minutes? Wait, that was rude, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sure you can last way longer than five minutes…um…”

Aemond sighs. “What’s wrong, Luke?”

“Jace is sick.”

“Sick?” Aemond sits up straighter, his eye narrowing. “Sick how?”

“He’s been puking since he woke up.”

You and Aemond exchange a startled glance as you clutch the edges of a blanket patterned with wild horses. Illness, virus, plague, curse.

“He hasn’t been bitten or anything,” Luke says quickly. “So it can’t be…you know…that. And he and Baela don’t seem that worried. But you should probably take a look at him.”

Aemond nods, less alarmed now. “I agree. Can I get those five minutes first?”

Luke smiles. “Yeah. See you downstairs.” He leaves and shuts the door behind him.

You look to Aemond. “Why—?”

He yanks the blanket away and drags you towards him. “I said I was going to help you finish,” he says, grinning, a hand slipping between your thighs.

You bite at his lips when he kisses you and tease: “I don’t need your help.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. But it’s better when I’m here.”

And he’s right; it is.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daeron is out on the front porch sharpening sticks into arrows and using goose feathers for fletching, attaching them to the wood with a tube of Gorilla Glue that Helaena found for him. Helaena herself is presently floating through the house—soundlessly, ethereally, traceless like a ghost—and partaking in what you all call “apocalypse shopping,” pilfering the clothes and accessories of the former occupants. She seems to know everyone’s sizes without needing to ask. Aegon, Rio, and Cregan are sitting in the living room and eating pancakes off paper plates, carelessly spilling Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup on hideous 1970s couches ornamented with scenes of pheasants and autumn leaves. Down on the Turkish-style area rug, Ice is merrily chomping her way through a stack of burnt pancakes.

“So Cregan,” Rio says, his bare feet propped on the coffee table. “What did you do before the whole zombie situation?”

“I was a lumberjack.”

“No way!”

“Yes sir. I cut down trees for the power company.”

“What a coincidence,” Rio says around a mouthful of pancakes. “I was an electrician!”

“Well how about that? We oughta go into business together once the world straightens itself out. Where’d you work?”

“All over. Wherever the Navy sent us.”

Cregan sets his fork down on his plate. “You were enlisted?”

“Yeah, me and Chips both. That’s how we met.”

Cregan, much to Rio’s surprise, seizes his hand and shakes it soberly. “Thank you very kindly for your service.”

“No problem,” Rio replies, then turns to Aegon. “No gratitude from you, huh?”

“I showed my gratitude when I let you have the last pancake, you ogre…”

In the only bedroom on the first floor, down a hallway and towards the back of the house, Jace looks worse than you expected. He is heaving into a reusable plastic popcorn bucket, gluey ropes of saliva dangling from his lips; his skin is pale and bloodless, his dark curls damp with sweat. Baela is perched beside him on the bed and holding a wet washcloth to the back of his neck. Rhaena and Luke are loitering anxiously in the doorway, watching Aemond to determine if they should panic.

Jace casts you a bitter glance. “You poisoned me with your poor people food.”

“There’s nothing wrong with eating opossum,” you say, somewhat defensively.

Aemond feels his forehead. “That wouldn’t give you a fever. And everyone else is fine.”

“Maybe I’m extra sensitive. My digestive system has higher standards. I’m built different.” Jace resumes retching into the bucket.

Baela tells Aemond: “He can’t keep anything down. There’s nothing left in him, but he’s still so sick…it has to be a stomach flu, right?”

“Who would he have caught it from?” Luke asks, and Baela doesn’t have an answer.

“Stand up,” Aemond orders Jace when his wave of nausea abates. “Strip down.”

“Aemond, he wasn’t bitten,” Baela says. “I saw his whole body last night. He doesn’t have any scratches or bruises or anything.”

“Fine. But I want to see for myself.”

Jace stumbles out of the bed, pushing away Baela’s hands as she tries to stop him. “Okay, Nick Fury. If you wish to gaze upon the goods, I won’t deny you. I’m not shy.” Aemond rolls his eye. You turn around to give Jace privacy. “What’s the matter, Chips? The only dick you’re interested in belongs to Mike Wazowski over there?”

“Jace,” Baela says, but she’s chuckling. Amused, you stare at a picture on the wall—a haloed Jesus guiding a flock of lambs—as Jace sheds his clothing and follows Aemond’s instructions: lift your arm, turn around, show me the bottoms of your feet.

“No bites,” Aemond confirms, deep in thought. “But the symptoms…”

“It’s not that, Aemond, I’m telling you,” Jace insists, rasping breaths between each clause. “Listen, I got sick when I was alone, before I found you guys again. My stomach, my head. Maybe it’s the same thing now. It didn’t last long, and I thought I was over it, but I guess not.”

“People don’t get better and then worse again after they’ve been bitten,” Rhaena observes softly. “They just get worse.”

Jace lies back down on the bed, his face crumbling with pain. Baela uses the wet washcloth to cool his cheeks and neck. “My head hurts so fucking bad…”

“Because you’re dehydrated,” Aemond says.

“Helaena brought pills, but every time I try to take one I throw it up before it can start working.” There is a gurgling sound in his guts, and then a horrified expression. “Baela, I gotta get outside again.” She and Luke immediately swoop in, grab one arm each, and usher him out of the bedroom, through the back door of the farmhouse, and into the cornfield to allow him some semblance of dignity.

Rhaena gives you and Aemond an awkward smirk. “Helaena found Jace a 24-pack of Angel Soft toilet paper in the basement. So there’s some good news.”

“He needs electrolytes,” Aemond says. “We can’t let him get so dehydrated that his kidneys shut down. IV fluids aren’t an option. Pedialyte would be the next best thing, Gatorade or Powerade if that’s all we can find.”

“We passed a pharmacy on our way here,” Rhaena recalls. “It’s only a mile back, I think.”

Aemond nods. “Then that’s where I’m going,” he says, and walks out of the room.

You say as you follow him: “I want to go with you.”

“No.” Aemond points to Rio, who is now playing Uno with Aegon on the coffee table in the living room. “You and I are going to a pharmacy to get Pedialyte for Jace so he doesn’t die.”

“Cool,” Rio says, standing and fetching his Remington shotgun from where he propped it against the wall. “What’s wrong with him?”

“We don’t know. Maybe food poisoning.”

Aegon says, a hand pressed to his heart: “Personally, I loved the opossum.”

You stare defiantly up at Aemond. “If Rio is going, I have to go too.”

“Aww, so you can protect me?” Rio teases fondly, patting your back with one monstrous palm, an unintentional battering.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Rio looks at Aemond. Aemond looks at you, touching his chin agitatedly. “You are stressing me out.”

“I’m the best shot. I want to be there in case anything happens.”

“Fine, okay, whatever you want. Just stay near Rio.”

“That’s the idea.”

“A pharmacy?” Aegon asks excitedly. “Can I go?”

“No,” Aemond snaps, and continues out onto the porch. In the gravel driveway, Cregan and Daeron are kneeling by the Tahoe and inspecting the front tire on the driver’s side. “What’s wrong now?” Aemond asks, exasperated.

“Got a flat,” Cregan says. “The little fella here noticed it.”

Daeron is mortified. “Please don’t call me that.”

Aemond peers around mistrustfully, out at the road, into the cornfield. “Someone sabotaged us?”

Cregan shakes his head and taps the tire. “Naw, we just ran over a nail yesterday. You can see it right here. A big one too, a masonry nail, I suspect.”

“Can you fix it?” Rio asks.

“I think so. I saw a jack and a lug wrench hanging up on the wall in the barn, now I just need a new tire, a real one. A spare wouldn’t do us much good, not with all the weight we’re carrying. It’d pop in twenty miles.” Cregan gestures to the main road, but westward, the opposite direction from the pharmacy. “Don’t remember seeing a tire place on our way in. Figured I’d try the other direction. I’ll walk ‘til I find a shop or a truck with the right kind of tires to steal from, whichever comes first. Can’t change a tire on gravel, though. I’ll have to drive the Tahoe out to the road and fix it there. I’m gonna need Rhaena’s keys.”

There is an uneasy lull as Aemond studies him. You, Rio, Daeron, and Aegon—who is lingering on the front porch, not yet ready to admit defeat—glance between them apprehensively. Ice is rolling around in the gravel, coating her grey fur with dust. “How do I know you won’t take off without us?”

Cregan’s face goes dark. His brow, heavy and furrowed, settles low over his eyes. “Look buddy, I’ve done a lot of things for you and your people that I didn’t have to. And now I’m fixing the Tahoe so it can take you west, someplace you decided we’re going. If you don’t trust me, do it yourself. Kill your own opossum. Change your own flat tire. But you can’t, can you? Just like I can’t shoot a zombie straight through the eye or tell you how to cure that sick boy in there. We’ve all got jobs here. Let me do mine.”

Aemond glowers at Cregan, knowing he’s right. Daeron averts his eyes; Rio, grinning, eats a handful of Cheddar Whales from a pocket of his cargo shorts. You lay a palm on Aemond’s forearm. “Aemond…he’s trying to help.”

“Sure,” Aemond replies crossly.

“You want collateral?” Cregan says. “Take my dog.” He whistles, and Ice scampers to his side. He points to you. “Go on, princess.” Ice obediently trots over to stand with you, shaggy ash-colored fur, bestial amber eyes like a rattlesnake’s. “She’ll look after you on your way to the pharmacy and back. And if the Tahoe and I have mysteriously vanished upon your return, you can eat her for dinner.”

“You don’t want a warning if you’re about to run into zombies?” Rio asks.

Cregan chuckles as he picks up his axe off the gravel. “Don’t you worry about me. We haven’t heard a peep since we got into town, and I’m just going a little ways up the road. Any less than ten of those abominations, and I can take care of myself.” He gives you and Rio a parting salute and strides into the farmhouse to collect the Tahoe keys from Rhaena.

Aemond turns to Daeron. “Stay here, keep watch. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Daeron nods, glancing to where his compound bow rests on the front porch. “Got it.”

“Aegon will help you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says. “I want to go to the pharmacy too.”

Aemond is losing what remains of his patience. “No.”

“Please?”

“No!”

“Then can you at least bring me something back?”

Rio is confounded. “What do you need?”

“You know…” Aegon gestures vaguely. “Percocet, Vicodin, Oxy, maybe some of that cough syrup with the codeine in it—”

“Grow the fuck up,” Aemond flares, and Aegon falls silent. “You’re thirty years old. Take some goddamn responsibility for something, for anything. I have to go to the pharmacy, Cregan has to fix the Tahoe, someone has to stay here with Daeron to help protect Jace and Baela, and Luke and Rhaena, and Helaena too. Just shut up and do the right thing. You have to start acting like an adult. Who do you think is in charge if I get killed? I’ve never for a single day of my life had the luxury of making selfish choices, and now I feel like I’m not even allowed to die. Leaving everyone else with you would be like leaving them with nobody.”

Aegon gazes up at him, not offended but childishly, mortally wounded. His oceanic eyes are huge and glistening. “But you’re not going to die before me.”

“That’s not the point,” Aemond pitches back, cutting, caustic. Then he starts down the long gravel driveway towards the road. You give Aegon a small, apologetic half-smile and then follow after his younger brother, Ice loping alongside you.

Rio thumps Aegon encouragingly on one shoulder. “See you soon, Honey Bun.” And Aegon watches the three of you disappear, standing in the dazzling midday light with his arms folded over his chest and his hair in hie face, kicking at the gravel with the Sperry Bahama sneakers he once wore on yachts and golf courses.

“Please try to be nice to him,” you tell Aemond when you’re far enough away to be out of earshot. Rio is humming a song you don’t immediately recognize—probably Enrique Iglesias—and acting like he’s not listening. “You don’t know how much longer any of us have. And if that was the last thing you ever said to him, you’d feel awful about it.”

“You have no idea what it was like being his brother. Since I was born all I’ve done is try to plug the holes he blasts into ships. But there’s always water on the floor, I’m never done bailing it out. He needs to learn how to do things for himself.”

“Yes, he does. But he loves you, and he wants you to be happy. He would never intentionally take anything from you. He’ll grow into his purpose, whatever that is.”

“He needs to do it faster,” Aemond says harshly, and you walk the rest of the way without speaking, listening for snarling or lurching footsteps, hearing nothing but birdsong and wind whispering through leaves.

The pharmacy—a diminutive family-owned business, not a chain—has been ravaged. The glass of the large bay window has been broken out and the shelves looted, empty containers and wrappers littering the floor, crystalline shards threatening to gash, stab, infect.

“Stay out here with the dog,” Aemond tells you. Ice is panting calmly, her ears relaxed, her strange yellowish eyes taking in the scenery without any concern. “If she gets her paws sliced up, Cregan will have yet another accusation to levy against me.”

“You’re going to have to get used to him.”

“Not much of an adjustment for you, it seems,” Aemond says, then steps through the shattered window, glass crunching beneath his shoes. Rio gives you a wink and goes after him. They rummage through the remaining merchandise, strewn about randomly and interspersed among trash. Aemond peeks behind the counter where pharmacists once filled prescriptions and climbs over it, searching for any bottles or boxes that were left behind.

“Sorry guys, no condoms,” Rio announces, then laughs at his own joke.

“Be careful,” you urge from outside. “Look underneath, check the bottom racks. Rio? Rio, down low, check them!”

“Relax, ain’t nothing going on in here. It’s silent as the grave.” He laughs again. “Get it? As the grave.”

“Aemond?”

“I’m fine,” he tells you as he squints to read medicine bottles.

“Okay, okay,” Rio says, squatting to examine the shelves closest to the cluttered floor. “I’m checking all the racks. There’s nothing scary under the racks. Happy now?”

“Very. Helaena said something that freaked me out.”

“She can be a bit of an enigma,” Aemond admits. He is taking a tiny box from a drawer to keep.

“Oh, we got Pedialyte!” Rio says, yanking a jug of pink fluid from a pile of debris. “You think Jace likes strawberry?”

Aemond hurries over to help him hunt for more. “Yeah. It’s like a Twizzler, right?”

Ice noses your hand and whimpers softly. You look down at her. “What?”

She whirls and canters around the side of the pharmacy, then returns to make sure you’re keeping up. You go after her, slow and wary, a hand on one of your Beretta M9s. There’s nothing of note to be found in the narrow, shadowy alleyway other than an overflowing dumpster and two skeletons stripped of every shred of fabric and flesh; even the bones were licked clean.

You turn to Ice. “Did I need to see this?” She whines and shifts her weight from foot to foot, ears perked up. Something else? You look down the alleyway. Far behind the pharmacy and the shops that surround it is a church on a jade green slope, old-fashioned, white wood and a belltower. There is a cemetery beside it, and amidst the small grey blurs of headstones are… “Oh,” you breathe. “So that’s where the rest of the town is.”

The graveyard is full of limp, swaying figures that can only be zombies. You are far away and draped in shadows; you retreat back to the pharmacy without any indication that you’ve been spotted, Ice trailing close behind. Aemond and Rio are climbing out of the window just as you arrive. They are each carrying three jugs of Pedialyte in various flavors.

“Where the hell’d you go?” Aemond says; but he sounds more relieved than irritated.

“There’s a church about an eight of a mile away. And there are a lot of zombies in the cemetery.”

Rio sets his Pedialyte down on the sidewalk and reaches for the Remington 12 gauge hanging over his shoulder by its leather strap. “Okay, let’s go clear them out.”

“No, I mean a lot. Like a hundred.”

He freezes. “Oh.”

“We should leave town,” you say.

“While Jace is puking and shitting everywhere? You want to be stuck in a car with that?”

Aemond is thinking, toying with the little box you saw him pick up earlier. “We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

“What’s that?” you ask him.

He shows you the label. “Injectable morphine. All the pills were gone, but I found one vial of this, and I have syringes in my medical kit. It doesn’t need to be refrigerated. It should still be useable.”

“For Baela?” For when she delivers the baby?

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Just in case.” Then he looks at both you and Rio meaningfully. “Don’t tell Aegon I have this.”

“We won’t,” Rio promises. And Ice begins trotting back towards the farmhouse, as if trying to rush you along.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe is at the mouth of the long gravel driveway, still up on a hand-cranked scissor jack. The tire appears to be new, but the lug nuts haven’t been tightened, and the wrench is nowhere to be found.

“Cregan?” Rio says uncertainly, peeking through the cornstalks as they bend in the wind. “Hey, Cregan? Aemond’s sorry he was a bitch to you earlier. He wants you to return ASAP and do manual labor for him.” Aemond grimaces; Rio beams in reply. But Cregan does not appear.

You can hear them long before you reach the farmhouse, muffled chaotic chattering, raised voices and rushing footsteps. As you ascend the steps of the front porch, Rhaena bursts through the door.

“Thank God you’re back,” she says; there is blood on her hands. “It’s Jace, he…he…come look at him. Aemond, you have to do something. He’s sick, he’s really sick. He’s bleeding.”

“From where?” Aemond asks, urgent, bewildered.

“From everywhere,” Rhaena replies, and beckons for him to follow.

The bedsheets Jace is swathed in are blooming with crimson, flowers of doomed gore. Blood drips from his nostrils and his eyes; when he retches into the popcorn bucket, clots of pink and red spew out. Everyone is gathered around him and speaking at the same time, except Helaena. She is crouched on the floor of the hallway just outside his room, her arms wrapped around her bent knees and her face stricken. Ice curls up beside her.

Above the other voices, Baela screams at Aemond, a desperate horrified moan: “What’s wrong with him?!”

Aemond pushes by the others and feels Jace’s forehead, then grabs his wrist to measure his pulse. As Aemond’s fingers tighten, Jace’s skin rips beneath them, the top layer sliding off and leaving only glistening, raw pink. Jace howls, tears of blood streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t know,” Aemond says, his voice unsteady.

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?!” Baela shouts back. “You’re a doctor! Fix him!”

“It hurts, Aemond,” Jace gasps, fresh blood on his teeth. When Baela touches his hair, locks of it fall out into her hand.

“He’s turning, right?” Rio says to you. “This is what happened to Snowflake, the blood and the skin and everything—?”

“He wasn’t bitten!” Luke insists, positioned in front of Jace’s bed as if he’s guarding it.

“I don’t care if we can’t find a bite mark, he’s decomposing for Christ’s sake, what the fuck else could it be?!”

Daeron returns with more blankets and towels. Aegon grabs a strawberry Pedialyte out of Rio’s grasp and tries to help Jace drink it. Cregan is muttering: “I ain’t never seen anything like this…”

Decomposing, you think dizzily. He wasn’t bitten, but he’s falling apart…what else does that to a person?

Baela cleans blood from his lips, a towel turning from snow to rubies. “Jace, baby, it’s going to be okay, we’re going to help you…”

“Could it be rat poison or something?” Cregan is saying. “Rabies? Mad cow disease? Ebola?”

“How the fuck do you think he got Ebola?!” Aemond exclaims. “You think he took a jet to sub-Saharan Africa when he was on his own? Use your brain.”

“I’m just trying to come up with ideas here, doc, and I don’t see you with any bright ones!”

He’s decomposing. He’s decomposing.

And then you remember. You kneel down beside the bed so you can look into his face, so you can make him pay attention. “Jace, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” he replies faintly. He coughs, wet and gurgling. Fresh blood paints his lips. There are blisters beginning to form up and down his arms, you see now, the skin bubbling and separating.

“Jace, do you remember Three Mile Island?”

“What the fuck.” He is baffled, dismissive. “Three Mile what? Huh? What are you talking about…?”

“You’re upsetting him,” Baela says fiercely, tears glittering in her eyes.

But you are determined. “Outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, after we left Fort Indiantown Gap. There were these huge concrete cooling towers. We saw them from the Wawa parking lot.” But he wasn’t there when we talked about radiation. He was still inside searching for guns. “Remember, Jace? Do you remember?”

Now Aemond and Rio are looking at you, petrified, realizing what you must be thinking. No one else understands yet. After a long pause, Jace nods feebly. “Yeah. I remember the towers.”

“Good,” you say, smiling to encourage him. “Okay, this is important. After we lost you at the river, before you found us again, did you see anywhere that looked like Three Mile Island?”

“Yeah,” Jace murmurs as he stares back at you with glazed, bloody eyes; and Rio sighs and shakes his head. “I drove right by it on the Honda. The sign said Byron.”

And it’s been over for him since that moment.

“Alright, Jace.” You want to touch him, to embrace him or cup his cheek. You know it will only make his suffering worse. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to ask.” He begins to gag again, and Baela hurries to place the popcorn bucket so it can catch his liquefying organs. You turn around and walk through the doorway.

“What’s happening?” Aegon asks you, hushed voice, frantic eyes. He has followed you to the living room, along with Aemond, Rio, and Cregan. You nod to Aemond. He knows.

“It’s radiation sickness,” Aemond says, low and bleak.

“What?!” Aegon gapes at him. “I mean, are you sure…?”

“It fits all the symptoms. He was in close proximity to a nuclear power plant, something the rest of us have intentionally avoided. If there was a meltdown, there are miles and miles that are poisoned with radiation. Passing by on a motorcycle could definitely result in a lethal dose.”

“Poor guy,” Rio says. “Not a good way to go.”

“No,” you agree. It isn’t.

“So how do you treat something like that?” Cregan asks Aemond.

“It can’t be treated,” Aemond replies tersely. “Not here, not by me, not by anyone. Not even if the world was normal again.”

“What do you mean it can’t be treated?! Everything can be treated nowadays! Cancer, heart attacks, diabetes, hell, my cousin got testicular cancer and he was fine a month later, he even got to keep one of his balls!”

“Radiation sickness can’t be treated. He’s going to die.”

“But how is that possible when—?!”

“I need you to try to not be stupid for five minutes,” Aemond snaps.

You say quietly: “He’s not stupid, Aemond. He just doesn’t know about this.”

“You are always defending him.”

“Because not going to med school isn’t a character flaw.”

Cregan asks mildly, looking at Aemond: “Could you explain it to me?”

“It’s pennies in a jar, man,” Rio says. “Radiation stacks up and at a certain point it kills you. It destroys your DNA and your body falls apart. You can get it just by going near someplace contaminated, and you might not even feel it happen. And there’s no way to undo the damage. The pennies never leave the jar.”

Cregan raises an eyebrow at Aemond. “Was that so difficult?”

Aemond ignores him. “We have to tell Jace,” he says instead.

Back in the bedroom—a mineral stench in the air, coppery blood and the salt of sweat—Aegon sits on the edge of the bed and takes one of Jace’s swelling, blistering hands carefully in his own.

“Don’t hold my hand, you loser.” Jace mumbles, and Aegon respectfully releases him.

“Jace,” Aegon begins. “We think you have radiation sickness.”

Jace blinks up at him, wincing and disoriented. “Which means…?”

“Which means, um, it’s going to be…not great.”

“Why are you the person explaining this?”

“You’re right, I really shouldn’t be explaining it. Can someone else explain it…?” Aegon glances around hopefully.

“Jace,” Aemond says. “Those cooling towers you drove by were part of a nuclear power plant that melted down when the power grid collapsed. You received a fatal dose of radiation. It’s the only thing that explains what’s happening to you.”

“Fatal…?” Daeron ventures.

Rhaena gasps and reaches for Luke. Baela’s face is a mask of numb shock. Jace stares up at Aemond for a long time before he speaks. “Aemond, fix me.”

Aemond’s words are brittle and fracturing. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking around, man, you’re a doctor. You can fix me. I know you can. You’re a genius. You’re a total freak but you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Give me the pills, give me the shots. Cut me open if you have to. I won’t scream, I promise. Fix me. I trust you.”

“Jace, I can’t do anything. No one can.”

“I have to meet the baby, Aemond,” Jace whispers, scarlet tears bleeding down his cheeks. “I have to be here for Baela and Luke. Fix me, man. I’ll do anything you tell me to.”

“Jace,” Aemond says, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I can’t help you.”

Jace looks to Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and at last back to Aemond. “How long?”

“Not very. A few days, maybe.”

“Days?” he echoes, dazed. “What happens?”

Aemond shakes his head. You don’t want to know.

“Yeah I do. Tell me.”

Aemond can’t respond; clear silent tears snake down the right side of his face. Rio answers for him. “You continue to bleed out of every orifice and the rest of your skin falls off. And eventually you die.”

Jace breaks down in sobs. “I was trying to find you guys.”

Suddenly, Baela turns to you and Rio and Aemond, wrathful, hissing. “This is your fault.”

Aemond pleads: “Baela, please don’t—”

“You made me leave him at the river. I knew he was still alive, but you forced me to leave him. If he’d been with us, this never would have happened. But he was alone, and it was because of you. You did this to him. You stole him from me.”

Rhaena tries to console her. “Baela, no one meant to—”

“I just got him back!” she screams, and then shelters Jace in her arms as he clings to her, the skin of his fingers and palms flaking at the pressure, holding onto her anyway. No one knows what to say; everyone has tears burning in their eyes and embers in their throats. “Get out,” Baela demands. “Leave us alone. This is the last time I’ll ever have with him and it’s your fucking fault. So get out.”

And you leave them to their final moments, failing flesh in a dying world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Only Luke and Rhaena flit in and out of the bedroom, carrying soiled linens and the plastic popcorn bucket to be periodically emptied. The rest of you are engrossed in a grim, thunderstruck deathwatch in the living room. You discuss the inevitable in hushed murmurs. It is cruel to let Jace suffer; it is unspeakably horrible to let Baela witness it. Ice alternates between receiving scratches from Cregan, Helaena, and Aegon, never trying to enter Jace’s room. You can hear Jace and Baela talking in there, his retching and groaning, her sobs.

It is not until dusk that Rhaena summons Aemond. Luke is weeping as he paces back and forth in the bedroom. Baela is still sitting on the bed with Jace, resigned now. She does not apologize, but she doesn’t have any more venom to spit either. The rest of you watch from the hallway, keeping a respectful distance. Ice nudges your hand with her nose, but you ignore her. Jace’s bloody eyes roll to Aemond.

“I’m keeping you here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Aemond replies. There’s no point in lying.

“And I don’t need to feel myself melting like this for days. I get the idea.” Jace looks at Aemond for a while. His voice is anemic but calm; there are fresh blisters on his face and neck. “What can you give me?”

Aemond opens his medical kit and shows Jace the vial of morphine. “I found this at the pharmacy today. It would be painless, like going to sleep and never waking up.”

“Why do you have that?”

“I was thinking a small amount might help Baela during labor.”

“Is it the only morphine in your kit?”

“Yes.”

Jace nods. “Save it for Baela.” His gaze drops to the Glock in the holster at Aemond’s waist. “Can I borrow that?”

Rhaena stifles a dismayed yelp. Baela closes her eyes, but does not protest. Aemond says: “I don’t think you want to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Cyclops,” Jace says, smiling. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“It’s heavy,” Aemond warns. He clicks off the safety and gives the Glock to Jace. “Are you able to use it by yourself?”

“It’s a very simple two-step process. Barrel to skull, finger on the trigger. I think I’ll manage.”

Again, Ice bumps her nose against your knuckles; again, you barely notice. Baela kisses Jace on the mouth, her lips coming away bloody. Rhaena says goodbye to him, then Luke, whispered parting words you don’t try to listen to. Before Aemond exits, Jace grasps his hand.

“Take care of my family, Aemond.”

“I will.”

“Don’t let the zombies eat me afterwards.”

And then it becomes real. Aemond’s composure falters. “Jace…I’m so sorry…”

“Go,” Jace urges him. Then there is a coughing fit, fresh blood and pieces of stomach and lungs. “Right now. Before I lose my nerve.”

Baela is the last one to leave the bedroom; she shuts the door behind her. Almost immediately afterwards is a deafening bang. Baela sinks to the floor and wails, one hand on her belly, the other embracing Rhaena and Luke when they rush to her. Ice is whining and pawing at the floor, her nails screeching on the hardwood. Aemond alone returns to Jace’s bedroom and reappears with his Glock. He places it back in his holster, his scarred face vacant. There’s blood on his fingers, you see. Jace’s blood, the last he’ll ever shed. Aemond hasn’t noticed yet.

You reach for Aemond’s hand; he flinches away. You ask him, pained: “Do you think if you don’t touch me, it won’t hurt you when I die?”

“Please don’t say that,” Aemond responds in a hoarse, splintering whisper.

Ice yowls, and Cregan is abruptly aware of her. “Oh shit, the Tahoe is still up on the jack. I’ll go get it.” He opens the front door. Under the moonlight, there are upwards of a hundred zombies stumbling down the long gravel driveway. Everyone begins screaming. Cregan slams the door shut and shoves one of the couches in front of it. “What now?!”

“We go through the cornfield,” Aemond says as you are all frantically gathering your sparse possessions. “It will be more difficult for them to see us. We kill as many as we can and we make our way to the Tahoe. Cregan, how long will it take you to get it ready to drive?”

“Maybe a minute. But I’ll need someone to spot me while I tighten the lug nuts.”

“Sounds like my kind of job opportunity,” Rio says, pumping his Remington. Helaena gives you a flashlight. Cregan secures the lug wrench under his belt and picks up his axe. Rhaena has her Ruger out and is telling Baela to breathe, to stay focused, to let her and Luke lead the way.

Aemond comes to you and leans in close so the others can’t hear. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Not enough. Maybe fifty.”

“Do what you can. Stay near Rio.”

“I’ll try.”

Now there are zombies at the front windows, beating their spongy swamp-colored palms against the glass. Baela, Rhaena, and Luke are leaving through the back door with Daeron; you can hear the whizzing of his arrows and the sick soft sound they make when they pierce rotting meat. Under the weight of so many hands, one of the living room windows pops from its frame and clatters against the floor. You open fire, bullets exploding skulls and spraying brains, corpses jolting and then diving to the ground. You shoot until both M9s are empty, then pause to reload, boxes of bullets that Cregan gave you back in Iowa.

“Let them in,” Helaena says.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Aegon shouts at her. He’s firing his Marlin .22 beside you, quite poorly; Rio and Aemond are in the backyard killing any zombies that find their way towards the cornfield. “We’re not letting them get through the house!”

“Not through,” Helaena says placidly. “In.”

“Oh.” Aegon understands. “Oh! I get it! Trap them inside!” He races to the kitchen and tears the remaining bottles of Grey Goose vodka out of the cabinet, then begins spilling them onto the wood floor. “Helaena, give me a lighter.”

She places one in his outstretched palm and then leaves with Cregan as he escorts her away, leading her by her fragile hand. They vanish together into the cornfield, Ice on their heels.

“Time to go, Chips!” Rio booms; he can’t be far behind Cregan.

“We’re on our way!”

Zombies are pouring through the front of the house; another window has given way. You pull the trigger over and over again as you move with Aegon towards the backyard, his clear river of vodka drawing a path from one end of the house to the other. You hit the grass before he does, then wait for him by the edge of the cornfield. Aemond and Rio are shouting for Aegon to hurry up. He crosses through the threshold, flicks the lighter to life, and throws it into the house. His plan works—the farmhouse is abruptly aflame, cooking zombies like long-spoiled hams—but he neglected to realize that in his haste, he had also accidentally doused his own left leg and Sperry Bahama sneaker. The fire licks up over Aegon’s skin and blazes there radiantly. He shrieks and falls to the ground. Rio yanks his own shirt off and uses it to smother the inferno, then throws Aegon over one shoulder to carry him.

“Go to Cregan!” Rio tells Aemond, shoving him in the direction of the Tahoe. Rio will be slower now, but no one else could still run with Aegon’s added weight. “You and Daeron spot him until I get there!” When Aemond is gone, Rio glances back at you.

“I’m fine,” you say, felling zombies as they round the house. “Get Aegon to the car!” And Rio listens to you like he always does, vanishing with Aegon through the cornfield.

You weave through the leafy stalks, investigating each growl and rustling with the beam of your flashlight. Grotesque, fetid faces plunge through the greenery, and you demolish them. You’re in the rhythm now, wheeling for a target and locking in, squeezing the trigger and watching ghoulish faces disappear. And then you spy a zombie lurching towards you from fifteen feet away, a twenty-something in a red Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirt making her way down the dirt aisle between two rows of corn; and when you pull the trigger, there is only a dry click in reply. Your other M9 is already empty. You’ve used all the ammo Cregan gave you.

“I’m out of bullets,” you say, but no one hears you; you are alone. Aemond always told you to stay near Rio and you never did. Too late, you realize what an oversight that has been. “Rio? Aemond?!”

There are human voices and gunshots, but reverberating from a distance. Far closer are snarls and groans of the dead. You click off your flashlight, drop to the earth, and crawl until you are as far under a row of corn as you can be, long leaves tickling the back of your neck and damp soil in your nostrils. Clumsy, lumbering footsteps trod by you. From the road, you hear the Tahoe’s engine start with a rumble.

They’re leaving.

You shake your head, here with no one to see you in the dark. Still, the thought persists.

They’re leaving. I left my family and now my family is leaving me.

“Chips, stay where you are!” Rio shouts. “We’re coming back, we’ll find you!”

You wait until they are within ten feet of you, Rio cracking skulls with his Remington—he must be out of bullets too—and Aemond firing his Glock. “I’m here, I’m here!” you cry, and they are lifting you up from the dirt and dragging you towards Tahoe, and Aemond puts his pistol in your hand knowing you can do more good with it. You fire ten rounds before the Glock is empty, and you think with terror: Do any of us have bullets left?

Then you are being helped into the Tahoe, and the second all the doors are shut Rhaena floors the gas pedal, heading west on State Route 92.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I got my drugs after all,” Aegon rasps as Aemond injects him with morphine on the floor of a laundromat on the edge of Merna, Nebraska, far enough to escape the zombies, not so far that the Tahoe risks running out of gas before you reach the next town. His left leg is burned from the knee down, and burned badly: skin, fat, muscle, blood-red scorched ruin. Even through the modest dose of morphine—Aemond is terrified of accidentally killing him—Aegon can still feel what has happened to him. He knows it’s bad. He knows it could be the last mistake he ever makes. “I’m so thirsty…”

“I got you, Honey Bun,” Rio says, and then uses the butt of his Remington to bust open the vending machines and bring him bottles of Powerade. Baela is sobbing in the corner with Luke and Rhaena. Helaena is shining a flashlight on Aegon’s leg so Aemond can see. Daeron and Cregan are keeping watch by the entrance. You don’t even know why. All the bullets and arrows are gone, Aegon can’t walk, the Tahoe’s gas tank is nearly drained. If you are descended upon now, what will you do?

Aegon sobs and clutches for you, links his arms around your waist, rests his head in your lap. You hold him and comb your fingers through his unruly hair over and over again, like a compulsion, like a ritual. You are so afraid to let go of him. You are terrified he’ll disappear.

I wish I knew what to say. I never know what to say.

He’s shaking uncontrollably as Aemond cleans his leg: peeling away dead skin, wiping down the raw flesh with disinfectant. Aegon’s eyes are wide and glassy. There is blood on the white tile floor, pinkish lymph fluid, bits of charred skin. Ice is whimpering, her muzzle propped on her paws and her eyes darting around the room. Aegon manages through the pain, a reedy, gasping whisper: “Tell me about all those places you went when you were in the Navy.”

You can see it like the miles-deep blue of his eyes: the Indian Ocean, the jewel-tone equatorial sky. “On Diego Garcia, they have these birds called red-footed boobies—”

Aegon barks out a weak laugh. “They do not. You’re making that up.”

“No, really, I swear! They’re like seagulls, but they have blue on their face and bright red feet, hence the name. They’re extremely stupid, and one night a few of us were hanging out drinking Guinness and playing pool, and a booby flew in through an open window. We panicked, it panicked, and then it was flying in circles and couldn’t get out. We opened all the doors and windows, and the booby still just flew around banging into the walls. And of course the whole time it was shitting and bleeding and getting feathers everywhere, we knew it was going to take hours to clean up. After thirty minutes of chasing this idiot bird around, Rio snapped, took off his boot, and smacked the booby with it. He was trying to fling it out the window, like hitting a tennis ball with a racket, but he accidentally hit the bird too hard and murdered it. Its beak literally separated from its body and flew across the room. None of us could believe it, we didn’t even know that was possible. Rio felt so bad he started crying. We took the booby—and its beak, of course—out to the beach for a Viking funeral. We made it a little raft of coconut tree leaves, set it on fire with a lighter, and pushed it out into the waves.”

Aegon is cackling. “Bryan Osorio, terrorizer of the homicidal undead and boobies!”

“What else?” Baela says, and you look over at her, startled. The flashlight incandescence turns you all to ghosts, phantoms, half-shadows. At first you don’t know what she means. “What else did they have on Diego Garcia?”

“Oh, tell them about the coconut crabs,” Rio prompts you. He’s settled down beside Aegon and is resting one broad hand on his trembling shoulder.

“Coconut crabs?” Rhaena asks you, wiping tears from her cheeks with her delicate, small-boned fingers.

You are abruptly aware that you have an audience. You can feel yourself shrinking beneath their gazes. “Rio should tell the story. I’m not good at it.”

“Sure you are,” Rio says, smiling kindly beneath dark, wet eyes. “Go on. Tell them.”

So you do.