#moving her threads over today <3

[novaursa]

Where Dragons Dare (2/3)

- Summary: After your declaration to marry Alicent in the small council meeting, the day of the wedding finally comes. And so does your first wedding night.

- Paring: male!targ reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️ Battle of the Stepstones is add as a bonus, because I love writing dragon battles. The last part will be posted later tomorrow once it is done.

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

The grand hall of the Red Keep is awash with the glow of thousands of candles. The flames dance across golden tapestries depicting the histories of Old Valyria, but today the storied past pales in comparison to the momentous occasion unfolding before all in attendance. The wedding is one spoken of in whispers and rumors, but now it blooms before the gathered lords and ladies with all the splendor and gravitas worthy of House Targaryen. 

You stand at the altar draped in black and red, the rich silk of your doublet catching the light in subtle ways. The fine Valyrian embroidery at the hems speaks of dragons in flight, each thread imbued with dark crimson that shimmers like fresh blood. A black cloak, edged in deep scarlet, flows from your shoulders, fastened at your throat with a clasp shaped like a coiled dragon. Your hair, the silvery-white of pure Valyrian descent, is tied back, letting your angular features and sharp violet eyes take in every gaze, every emotion displayed openly or hidden away. At your side hangs Blackfyre—your birthright as Prince of Dragonstone—its pommel set with a ruby that gleams like a beating heart.

Before you, Alicent Hightower stands radiant in a gown of deep emerald green. The dress, fitted perfectly to her frame, billows out in layers of silk and fine lace, each shimmering with golden accents as she moves. A delicate crown of silver leaves and pearls rests atop her auburn hair, carefully arranged in elegant curls. Her eyes, a brilliant shade of brown, reflect a mixture of pride, joy, and the quiet steel she’s honed under the pressures of courtly life. There is a softness in her gaze, however, reserved only for you as her eyes meet yours—a silent understanding, a shared relief, and a promise of what is to come.

The Septon's voice rings out, leading the words of the traditional vows. Beside you, Rhaenyra is practically glowing with excitement. Her smile is unrestrained, her eyes darting between you and Alicent with genuine happiness, a sister’s joy at seeing her twin brother embrace his own fate. She wears a gown of pale red, adorned with the colors of House Targaryen and a crown of silver atop her flowing locks, her presence radiating confidence as the heir’s sister and a firm ally to your cause. 

King Viserys is seated in a place of honor, his face full of warmth and pride. His smile is wide as he watches his only son wed the woman who has become a daughter to him over the years. He has the contented look of a father who finally sees his children happy, a rare expression in a court filled with ambition and schemes. He lifts his cup in a subtle toast to you and Alicent, his eyes misting over slightly with emotion.

Daemon Targaryen, your uncle, stands near the rear of the gathered nobles, his silver hair catching the light as he observes the ceremony. His expression is inscrutable, but those who know him well enough can see the slight curve at the edge of his lips, the way his gaze sharpens whenever it falls upon you. For all his unpredictability, there is a flicker of pride there—a satisfaction, perhaps, that you finally asserted yourself against the forces that sought to control you. Daemon has always favored those who carve their own path, and today you have done just that.

As the ceremony draws to a close, you step forward to place a cloak upon Alicent’s shoulders, the symbol of House Targaryen enveloping her as you claim her as your own. The green of House Hightower blends now with the red and black of the dragon, a union that cements alliances but more importantly binds two hearts that have long yearned for this day. When you lean in to kiss her, there is a softness, a tenderness in the way her lips meet yours, and the hall erupts in applause, though the world shrinks to just the two of you in that fleeting moment.

As the applause dies down, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, watches with a carefully controlled expression. His eyes flicker between you and Alicent, a mixture of satisfaction and unease buried beneath his calm demeanor. Though this is a victory for him in securing his daughter’s position, there’s a tension in his jaw—he had hoped to control this outcome more closely, but you’ve slipped from his grasp, a dragon untamed. He studies you with the gaze of a man who sees both a rival and a dangerous ally.

At the feast, Rhaenyra approaches you first, practically throwing herself into your arms. "You did it, Y/N! I knew you would," she beams, her joy infectious. "Alicent looks so beautiful, and you—you were magnificent. I’ve never seen the council so speechless!" Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "And Uncle Daemon, I think he’s actually proud of you for once."

You chuckle, wrapping an arm around your sister. “He probably is. But I didn’t do this for him or the council. This was always for her.” Your gaze drifts back to Alicent, who’s engaged in conversation with a group of highborn ladies, her laughter soft and genuine.

Viserys claps a hand on your shoulder. "You’ve brought honor to our house, Y/N. I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become. Your mother would be so proud, too." His voice carries a slight tremor as he mentions Queen Aemma, but it is quickly overshadowed by his joy.

You offer him a warm smile. "Thank you, father. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that this union strengthens our house."

Daemon is the next to approach, a goblet in hand and that familiar smirk playing on his lips. "I didn’t think you had it in you, nephew," he says, voice laced with amusement. "I was beginning to think you’d let others chart your course forever. But you’ve surprised us all, haven’t you?"

You meet his gaze squarely, your own smile more restrained but no less confident. "Some paths are worth fighting for, uncle. Even if they’re not what others expect."

Daemon raises his cup in a mock salute. “Spoken like a true Targaryen. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than I thought.”

The feast carries on with music, laughter, and the clinking of cups. You and Alicent share dances with the lords and ladies of the realm, but every now and then, your eyes find each other’s, and the world falls away again, leaving just the two of you in this sea of people.

When you finally manage to steal a private moment with her in a quiet corner of the hall, she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “I was so afraid,” she admits in a hushed voice, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “Afraid that we’d never be able to reach this moment. But here we are.”

You brush a strand of hair from her face, letting your hand linger against her cheek. “You’re mine now, Alicent. I’ll fight for you, for us, against anyone who tries to tear us apart.”

A flicker of relief passes through her expression, followed by a warmth that softens her usually reserved emotions. “And I’ll stand by you, no matter the storm we face.”

The words hang between you like an unspoken vow—one more binding than anything recited before the Septon. 

The night deepens as the feast continues, a blur of music and the warm glow of candlelight reflecting off the ornate dishes piled with food. Laughter and the sound of clinking goblets fill the Great Hall. You and Alicent sit side by side at the high table, your hands occasionally brushing against each other beneath the table. The touch is small, but each time it happens, there’s a comforting warmth, a silent reassurance between the two of you. Alicent’s soft smile, reserved just for you, never quite fades from her lips.

As you’re enjoying a brief moment of quiet conversation, the sound of footsteps approaches. Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s brother, strides up, his eyes bright with joy. "Sister! Y/N!" he greets, his voice tinged with the exuberance of youth. His resemblance to Alicent is striking, though his features are more angular, his posture that of a man eager to prove himself. "I couldn’t let the night end without offering my congratulations." He gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder, his grin broad. "It’s about time someone put a spark in this old court! You’ve done well, my friend. I’ve known you since we were boys, and I’ve always believed you’d find your way."

You return his grin, reaching out to clasp his forearm in the familiar gesture of comrades. "Gwayne, your support has never gone unnoticed. I’ve always valued your friendship, even when we got ourselves into trouble as children. But I think this time, we’ve both stepped into something greater than mischief.”

Gwayne chuckles. “You certainly have, Y/N. And Alicent—” He turns to his sister, his tone softening with genuine affection. “I’ve never seen you look happier. I’m glad you’ve found this happiness, even if I’ll be the one who has to keep a closer eye on courtly matters with you from now on.”

Alicent smiles warmly at her brother, her hand gently resting over yours atop the table. “Thank you, Gwayne. Your words mean more to me than you know. And don’t worry, we’ll both make sure to keep you busy in your duties, though perhaps with fewer pranks than when we were children.”

The three of you share a laugh, the ease of old friendships and sibling bonds lightening the mood.

Soon after, the familiar figures of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys approach. The Sea Snake is every bit the powerful figure one expects, his deep blue doublet adorned with intricate silver embroidery resembling the waves of the sea. Rhaenys is resplendent in crimson and gold, her presence commanding yet warm. There’s a certain wisdom in her gaze as she looks between you and Alicent, as if she sees beyond what most do.

“Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent,” Corlys begins, his voice deep and steady. “Congratulations are in order. The union of Targaryen and Hightower is a strategic move, and one I hope will bring stability to the realm. But more than that, it’s clear to see the bond you share.” His eyes linger on you, a hint of approval in his expression. “And perhaps this is the start of a new chapter where the young find their own path amidst the expectations of the old.”

Princess Rhaenys nods, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “It is good to see love and strength walk hand in hand. The history of our houses has often been marked by conflict, but this—” she gestures subtly between you and Alicent, “—this has the potential to change much. You both carry the future on your shoulders now.”

You bow your head slightly in respect. “Thank you, Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys. Your wisdom is always welcome. I hope to earn that respect in time and prove that this union is more than just a political move.”

Rhaenys’ eyes glint with something sharp and approving. “Oh, I believe you will, Y/N. The blood of Old Valyria runs deep, and you’ve shown you’re willing to chart your own course. I, for one, look forward to seeing what comes next.”

As they step away, Lord Tyland Lannister, clad in rich reds and golds, approaches next. His sharp features and keen eyes give away his nature as a man ever mindful of the shifting tides of power. “Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent, it is a joyous day indeed.” His voice is smooth, practiced, yet there’s an undercurrent of genuine intent behind his words. “House Lannister is ever eager to lend its support to the Targaryen line. May your union be fruitful and prosperous. It seems the dragons have found a way to blend strength with the grace of the Reach.”

You nod, ever cautious with Tyland’s honeyed words. “Thank you, Lord Tyland. Your support will be remembered, and I hope our alliance will benefit all corners of the realm.”

He offers a slight bow before moving off, ever mindful of where the winds blow.

The feast begins to wind down, and as tradition demands, there is the looming expectation of the bedding ceremony. The air in the hall thickens with the anticipation of it. Some lords and ladies begin to gather, murmuring and glancing toward you and Alicent with barely hidden excitement. The tension, the ribald jokes, the whispers—it all threatens to reduce the sanctity of this moment to a spectacle.

Before anyone can make a move to initiate it, you rise to your feet, the air of command in your posture silencing the crowd before the teasing can begin. “There will be no bedding ceremony tonight,” you declare, your voice clear and firm, leaving no room for argument. The hall quiets instantly, the murmur of protests caught in the throats of those who thought to see the night end in such a manner.

Daemon, standing with arms crossed at the edge of the hall, lets out a low chuckle, his approval evident in the sharp nod he gives you. “Let the young prince make his own choices,” he says, his voice carrying across the room. “There’s enough spectacle in these halls without turning the most sacred of nights into another charade.”

The crowd hesitates, unsure whether to push the matter. But when you meet your father’s gaze, Viserys nods slowly, an expression of both surprise and respect on his face. Otto Hightower, who had been watching with tension in his eyes, finally relaxes, a subtle sigh escaping him. His face settles into an expression that resembles something close to approval, a rare look from a man who values tradition and order above all.

Alicent looks at you with deep gratitude and admiration, her fingers squeezing yours as she stands. You turn to her, your expression softening as you offer her your arm. “Shall we retire, my lady?” you ask, your voice laced with tenderness.

She dips her head slightly, eyes shimmering with emotion. “Let’s,” she replies, her voice barely more than a whisper as she takes your arm.

Together, you walk down the long aisle toward the doors leading out of the Great Hall, every eye on you both as you leave. There is a certain weight lifted from your shoulders as the doors close behind you, the noise of the hall fading as you enter the quieter, more intimate corridors of the Keep.

As you walk side by side toward your chambers, the echoes of your footsteps and the distant flicker of torchlight create an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Neither of you speaks, the silence between you comfortable, filled with the knowledge that this is just the beginning. When you reach the doors to your shared chambers, you pause, turning to face her fully. You lift her hand to your lips and press a soft kiss to her knuckles, your eyes never leaving hers.

“No more performances,” you murmur. “This is just us now.”

Alicent’s eyes shine as she steps closer, her other hand rising to rest against your cheek. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be with you, like this, away from prying eyes.”

With that, you open the door and guide her inside, the world outside forgotten as the heavy oak doors close behind you both, sealing away the courtly intrigue and the expectations of the realm. In this moment, it’s just you and her, bound together by choice, love, and a shared determination to forge your own destiny.

The chamber is bathed in the soft light of the fire, shadows flickering across the stone walls as the door closes behind you both. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable but full with the awareness of what comes next. For all the warmth you share, the affection that’s blossomed over years of quiet moments and unspoken glances, this is new for both of you. The air is tinged with the sweet fragrance of candles, the soft rustle of fabric as you both stand there, suddenly unsure how to proceed.

You turn to face her, meeting Alicent’s gaze. There’s a nervousness in her eyes, a slight quiver in her breath, but beneath it lies trust, and something more—desire, hesitant but real. You step closer, reaching out to take her hands in yours, your thumb brushing over her knuckles in a gentle, soothing motion. “Alicent,” you murmur, your voice softer than usual, tinged with both affection and concern. “Are you sure? If you’re not ready—”

“I am,” she interrupts softly, her voice a tender whisper in the quiet of the room. Her cheeks flush pink, but her eyes never leave yours. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

You nod, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Slowly, you lean down, capturing her lips in a kiss, tender and delicate. Her lips are warm against yours, the kiss a gentle exploration rather than a fervent rush. You both linger in the simplicity of it, letting it ease the tension from your bodies. When you pull back, you see her chest rise and fall as she steadies her breath, her eyes searching yours for reassurance.

Your hand moves to the clasp of her dress, fingers hesitating for a moment before you look at her once more. “May I?” you ask softly.

She nods, her voice catching slightly. “Yes… I want you to.”

With careful fingers, you undo the clasp and let the fabric slip from her shoulders, revealing the pale skin beneath. The dress pools at her feet, and she stands before you in just her shift, delicate and vulnerable. Her eyes flicker down, shyly avoiding your gaze as you take her in. In turn, she reaches out, her hands trembling slightly as she begins to unlace your doublet. There’s an unspoken agreement between you—a mutual understanding that this moment is as much about trust as it is about desire. You help her with the laces, guiding her hands until your clothing is cast aside, leaving you both bare in the warm glow of the fire.

For a long moment, you simply stand there, your breaths mingling, your eyes tracing the curves and lines of each other’s bodies. There’s a sense of curiosity mixed with reverence, your gazes shyly meeting before drifting again, both of you learning and memorizing the sight of each other.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity. Alicent’s breath hitches at the word, her eyes shining as she looks up at you, her lips parting as if to say something, but words fail her. Instead, she just reaches out, fingers brushing over your chest, her touch sending a shiver through you.

You gently take her hand and guide her toward the bed, the furs soft beneath your feet as you lead her down onto the mattress. You lay her down with the utmost care, your eyes never leaving hers, searching for any sign of discomfort. Her lips part as she draws in a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but her gaze is steady, trusting.

You lower yourself beside her, your hand caressing her cheek as you lean in to kiss her again. This time, the kiss is deeper, a gradual melding of lips as you both begin to relax into each other. Your hand trails down, brushing against her collarbone, then lower, until it rests just above her breast. You pause, your eyes flicking to hers for permission, and when she nods slightly, you continue, cupping her breast gently, your thumb brushing over the soft skin. A soft gasp escapes her lips, her back arching slightly as you explore her.

“You’re so beautiful, Alicent,” you murmur against her lips, and she responds with a soft sigh, her hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer.

Your kisses begin to wander, trailing down her jawline, to the tender skin of her neck. You feel her pulse quicken under your lips, her breath growing more uneven as you move lower. When your mouth finds her breast, she gasps, her fingers threading through your hair. You take your time, savoring each reaction, each soft sound she makes as your lips and tongue explore her.

As you move lower, her breath catches, her fingers tightening in your hair when you kiss the curve of her hip. You glance up at her, seeing the mixture of nerves and anticipation in her eyes. She’s never experienced anything like this, and neither have you—not truly. But you remember the lessons Daemon half-teased, half-instructed you on during that one visit to the brothel, showing you the ways of pleasure in a more practical, if unconventional, manner. While you hadn’t partaken that night, you watched, curious, and the knowledge lingers now, guiding your movements.

You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she lets out a soft whimper, her fingers clutching at the furs beneath her. You murmur a line from an old Valyrian poem, the words ancient and filled with meaning, letting the sounds roll off your tongue as your kisses grow more intimate. “Gevives isse tolvie jelevre—beauty in every breath,” you whisper, your breath warm against her skin.

When your mouth finally finds her core, she gasps, her body tensing for a moment before she melts into the sensation, her hips shifting instinctively toward you. Her breath comes in shallow bursts, her hand gripping your shoulder as you apply what you’ve learned, taking your time, listening to the way her body responds. When she lets out a soft moan, her voice trembling with pleasure, you smile against her, murmuring another line from the poem—words of love and devotion that have been passed down through generations.

Slowly, you trail your kisses back up her body, feeling her trembling beneath you. Her hands reach for you, pulling you close, and when your lips find hers again, the kiss is hungry, filled with the taste of her desire and the passion that’s been building between you both.

You position yourself above her, your eyes locked on hers as you ask one last time, “Are you sure, Alicent?”

Her response is a breathless nod, her hand cupping your cheek as she whispers, “I want this. I want you.”

You enter her gently, inch by inch, mindful of her innocence, watching her every expression for any sign of pain. She winces slightly at first, her brow furrowing, but her fingers dig into your back, holding you close as she adjusts. When she finally opens her eyes again, there’s no hesitation, only trust. “Move,” she breathes, her voice barely audible, but full of need.

You start slowly, each movement careful, deliberate, letting her body adjust, her warmth enveloping you. Her breaths come out in soft, quick bursts, her nails dragging lightly across your skin as she holds on to you. The tension in her body gradually gives way to something else, her hips meeting yours in a rhythm that’s both instinctive and hesitant.

As the moments pass, the awkwardness gives way to a deeper connection. The tenderness remains, but passion begins to take root. Alicent’s breath hitches when she wraps her legs around your waist, her hands pulling you closer. You respond to her need, moving with more urgency as she finds her own rhythm, her body moving against yours in a dance that’s both new and timeless.

When she pushes herself up, shifting into your lap, there’s a sudden surge of boldness in her gaze, something wild and free. You guide her movements, your hands steadying her as she takes control, her breathless gasps mingling with your own. The intimacy between you grows not just in the physical connection but in the way you respond to each other’s needs, desires, and unspoken fears. It’s a union forged in trust, love, and the desire to explore the depths of what you share.

Eventually, when the night reaches its quiet peak, you collapse together into the furs, breathless and spent, your limbs entangled as you hold her close. Here, in this moment, there’s only the warmth of her skin against yours, the sound of her steadying breaths, and the knowledge that this is only the beginning of your shared life together.

As sleep slowly claims you both, you press a final kiss to her forehead, murmuring words of love in Valyrian, promising her with every breath that this night is just the start of what you’ll build together.

The sky is a bruised shade of twilight, thick with smoke and ash. The stench of blood, sweat, and salt fills the air as the waves crash against the jagged rocks of the Stepstones. This place is a wasteland—a battlefield stained with the bodies of the dead and dying. For over two years, the Crabfeeder’s men have held these islands, turning them into a butcher’s yard. But today, you intend to end it. Today, the dragons return in fire and fury.

You sit atop Dallax, your black-scaled beast, perched on a ridge overlooking the main encampment of the Triarchy’s forces. His green eyes gleam in the dim light, and his body shifts restlessly beneath you, eager to unleash his wrath. His teeth, hidden within the dark flesh of his jaws, retract only when his rage is stoked—a menace lying in wait. You run a gloved hand along his neck, feeling the raw power coiled within him. “Soon,” you whisper, your voice firm yet laced with anticipation. “We will end this.”

Below, Daemon Targaryen plays his part to perfection. Clad in soot-streaked armor, a white banner clutched in one hand, he approaches the enemy lines. The Crabfeeder’s forces, a mix of hardened sellswords and conscripts, watch from behind their sharpened stakes and crude fortifications, unsure whether this is truly surrender or another of Daemon’s ruses. The Prince of the City moves with a calculated slowness, his steps deliberate, his head lowered just enough to give the impression of defeat. But you know him better. There’s a fire in his eyes—a fury barely contained behind that facade of submission. The plan hinges on this moment, on the Crabfeeder’s arrogance and greed.

From your vantage point, you spot Lord Corlys Velaryon’s forces hidden in the shallows, ready to pounce the moment the trap is sprung. The Sea Snake commands his men with a veteran’s precision, their silence a stark contrast to the braying jeers coming from the Crabfeeder’s ranks.

Daemon finally stops, mere feet from the Crabfeeder’s line, where a grotesque figure emerges from the shadows. Drahar, the Crabfeeder, is a ghastly sight, his face hidden behind a cracked and twisted mask, his skin mottled from disease. He raises a hand, halting the jeers, and for a moment, silence reigns.

Then, chaos erupts.

Daemon’s false surrender is cast aside as he draws Dark Sister in a blur of Valyrian steel, cutting through the nearest soldier in one swift, practiced motion. Blood sprays into the air, catching the dim light as the battlefield roars back to life. The Triarchy’s soldiers charge forward, desperate to claim the prize they believe within reach, but they are rushing headlong into a trap.

It’s your moment.

With a word in Valyrian, you urge Dallax into a dive. His wings unfurl, dark as midnight, blotting out the dying light. The air screams past you as you plummet toward the battlefield, the ground rushing up to meet you. “Dracarys!” you roar, the command slicing through the din of battle.

Dallax responds with a torrent of flame that incinerates everything in its path. The first line of the Crabfeeder’s men is engulfed in a roaring inferno, their screams swallowed by the relentless fire. Armor melts, flesh sizzles, and bone turns to ash in mere moments. You bank sharply, pulling Dallax into another dive, this time focusing on the siege engines positioned along the ridge. The ballistae, meant to keep the dragons at bay, are shattered under the crushing weight of dragonfire and claws. Timber explodes, splinters raining down on the screaming soldiers below as you rip through their defenses with ruthless efficiency.

You catch a glimpse of Daemon, now fully engaged in the melee, his sword a blur of lethal grace as he carves a bloody path through the Triarchy’s forces. He fights with a savage joy, laughing as he dodges and counters, the battlefield his stage. Corlys and his men surge from the shallows, catching the enemy in a brutal pincer. The once-confident soldiers of the Crabfeeder are thrown into disarray, their lines crumbling under the combined might of dragon and steel.

You circle back, eyes locked on Drahar, who attempts to retreat deeper into the labyrinth of stakes and pits his men have constructed. But there’s no escape. You guide Dallax lower, skimming the ground, his claws gouging the earth as you close in on your prey. The Crabfeeder looks up in desperation, his eyes wide behind his mask as he realizes his end is near.

“End him!” Daemon’s voice echoes in your mind like a phantom’s dare, though the words are drowned out by the roar of battle.

Dallax’s jaws snap open, his teeth glinting as they slide out from their hidden sheaths. With a snarl, he lunges, clamping down on Drahar with a sickening crunch. The Crabfeeder’s mask falls away, revealing a twisted visage frozen in terror before his body is torn apart in a spray of blood and gore. Dallax shakes his head, flinging what remains of Drahar’s corpse into the dirt before incinerating it with a final jet of flame.

Around you, the battlefield is a scene of utter carnage. The ground is slick with blood, littered with the hacked remains of soldiers. Men scream, their limbs severed, or burn as they try to flee, only to be cut down by Corlys’s disciplined troops. The cries of the dying are a symphony of suffering, underscored by the relentless roar of flames. Dallax moves among the survivors like a shadow, crushing and burning any who dare to resist.

As the last pockets of resistance are snuffed out, you land amidst the ruins, stepping down from Dallax’s back. You scan the battlefield, taking in the broken fortifications, the piles of charred corpses, and the men who now kneel in surrender. Victory is yours. The Stepstones are won.

Daemon approaches, blood splattered across his armor, a wild grin on his face. “Well done, nephew,” he says, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “I thought I might have all the fun, but you’ve stolen quite the show.” His eyes gleam with shared triumph, the bond between you strengthened through battle and bloodshed. “The Crabfeeder will feast no more.”

You smirk, wiping sweat and grime from your brow. “Someone had to keep you from getting killed. I couldn’t let you take all the glory.”

He laughs, the sound cutting through the dying echoes of the battle. “You’re learning. Perhaps there’s more of me in you than anyone cares to admit.”

As Daemon moves to rally the remaining men, your thoughts drift, carried away on the winds of victory. The image of Alicent appears in your mind—her gentle smile, the way her hand rests on the curve of her belly, swollen with the child she carries. You think of your son, Aegon, barely more than a year old, his bright eyes so full of curiosity. It is for them that you fight, for the future you intend to build, for the family you have claimed as your own.

The taste of blood and ash lingers on your tongue, but underneath it all is the yearning to return to them, to hold Alicent in your arms and feel the soft weight of your son as he rests against your chest. You think of how you will recount this victory to them—how Aegon will listen in awe, his little hands reaching out as if to grasp the tales of dragons and battles. You smile to yourself, imagining the way Alicent will scold you softly for the bloodshed, though you know she will be proud all the same.

“Soon,” you murmur to yourself, the words almost lost in the wind. “Soon I’ll be home.”

But for now, the battle is done, and the Stepstones are yours. The fires burn low as you gaze out over the broken landscape, your thoughts with your family, even as your dragon’s shadow stretches long over the conquered land, a reminder of the price of victory.

[palioom]

a bond formed of love

summary: ecstatic about finally being married to the love of your life, Oberyn Martell, dread consumes you at the thought of consummating your marriage. will the horrible tales of first nights told to you become reality? or will they turn out to be elaborate lies?

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

word count: 11.1k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n (but many, many nicknames); fluff & smut; first times; wedding night; oral (m & f receiving); unprotected p in v; multiple orgasms; body worship; oberyn being the most devoted husband ever

author's notes: this one goes out to @aurasjournal who not only inspired a huge part of this but also kept pushing me to make this as long as it is. thank you so much <3

part of "the viper and the sun"

• masterlist •

Happiness. It was all that she could feel, consuming her entirely, filling every last inch of her.  Almost euphoric in nature, laughing and smiling as she moved beside him - her love, her husband.

Husband.

The sole reason why she was so happy today, unable to tear her eyes away from him, no one around her mattering in this moment. Looking even more handsome than usual, as if that was even a possibility, his dark eyes crinkling at the corner when he laughed.

Oberyn Martell, her husband.

Finally she could call him that. The love of her life had finally become her husband, making her the happiest woman, the happiest wife, in the world.

Not that she hadn’t been happy before, back when he was simply courting her, when he had asked her to marry him. She had always been happy with him at her side - he made her laugh, he entertained her, he took her out for rides into the most beautiful corners around Sunspear.

Down to the shores, into the deserts.

But she had longed to be his by title, to wear a ring which showed she was his and he was hers. 

All hers.

Just dancing with him here, moving with one another, as if they were connected somehow. As if the Gods had bound a string around them so long ago, pulling it tighter and tighter as they moved towards each other on the wide floor, empty save for them. Tighter still, until they met, his hands finding her hips with a laugh, her hands resting on his broad chest, on the beautiful robe he wore for the occasion, a pale yellow, adorned with golden suns and many intricate details stitched with golden thread.

Their lips found another, pulling them even closer together, the string so tight around them that it expelled the air from her lungs, breathless from kissing and laughing and dancing all day. 

The exhaustion creeped in slowly but surely, replacing the rushed emotions of excitement and euphoria she had been feeling.

“We should retire soon, my sweet dove.” Oberyn said when he parted from her lips, wishing he could just keep kissing her as they spun around. Eyes bright, sparkling with something she had seen often before but could not always place. 

Mischief, perhaps. Desire. 

“I wish to be with you, alone.”

She understood what he meant, a sudden nervosity replacing some of the happiness inside of her, albeit not all of it. Nothing could take this wonderful feeling from her, slowing down in their movements, slowly circling one another.

But she did feel nervous, and had felt so for a long time. 

Because just as excited as she was about finally being alone with him, to be as close to him as was humanly possible, she was just as tense about it.

She knew about his past, about how often and liberally he had taken partners. The Dornish way, all while she had waited for her future husband, had waited even when she had fallen for Oberyn. When she knew she would never love anyone else but him.

Knowing deep down in her heart and deeper still, that this wasn’t just love but that he was the partner promised to her by the Gods.

Oberyn noticed the sudden change in her, saw the emotions on her face, one hand raising to cup her cheek. She could feel the cold of the ring on his thumb as it brushed over her cheekbone. His gaze intense but gentle, their movements coming to a halt.

“What has befallen you, my dove?” He asked, feeling the need to implore what seemed to cloud her mind, unable to stand the thought of her feeling bad on their wedding day. They had both waited far too long for this. “What bothers my beautiful wife?”

His wife.

Warmth spread through her at the words, smiling up at him and shaking her head. She did not want him to worry about her.

“I am just getting tired, my love.” She replied, voice as quiet as his. “Tired but thrilled. Let us go, I wish to have you to myself.”

Leaving the festivities was more difficult than she had imagined, nervousness still sitting deep inside of her as they made their rounds, saying their goodbyes to everyone who had come. Squeezing his warm hand tightly as they went, now walking along the corridors to their new chambers.

Their shared chambers.

It only filled her chest with more tension, knowing these chambers would be where she was to reside with him for the rest of their lives. 

What an odd thought, to leave her childhood rooms behind to find her life with Oberyn.

They did not speak as they walked, his touch doing all the talking through squeezing her hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb. His head turned to look at her with a smile so soft and loving that she could cry from joy, reciprocating it as they walked.

His smile always managed to ease her nerves, and she wished he could smile at her forever somehow. To capture it in a way that she could carry it with her, able to look at it when she was in a foul mood.

Perhaps she could ask the woman who had done their wedding portrait today if she could paint them again, and make a small copy of him for her to carry inside a locket of some sort.

So she could open it and look at his beautiful smile at all times.

She was so in thought, she didn’t notice that they had reached the huge double door, opening them while still holding her hand tightly in his, only reluctantly letting go of it once the doors had closed behind them.

Oberyn watched her take in the large room, their room. 

The big, four poster bed draped in the finest dark red and orange silks and linens, curtains hanging off of it which would shroud them in a sense of privacy. 

The doors leading to a spacious balcony, letting them look out into the sky from their bed. The cushions and chairs in one corner by the bookshelves and strewn throughout the room which was lit with various candles, a vanity at the other side, near the door that led to their private bath. 

Walls decorated with tapestry and rugs. It all felt intimate and warm and welcoming.

She would be happy to live here with him.

“I hope everything is to your liking, my love.” Oberyn said behind her, making her jump a little as she hadn’t heard him walking up to her. Silent like a viper. “I am sure you will give it your touch in due time.”

Her eyes found the telescope standing by the door to the balcony, the books in the shelves including thick volumes about topics she loved. 

All attentively picked by him.

The sweetest gift, his love apparent just by how he had asked the room to be decorated.

His fingers touched her waist when she nodded, her view suddenly blocked by his wide chest as he came to stand in front of her.

“I love it, Oberyn.” She said with a smile. Voice small, so unlike herself.

He smiled back, the gentlest, most loving smile, his hands wandering up her side, slowly and carefully, as if she could break if he was just any faster in his movements. Seeing her slight tremble, hearing it in her voice as she spoke, suddenly so quiet. 

She wasn’t quiet and timid usually, not afraid to give him a piece of her mind, so this worried him, cupping her cheek with one hand, her nervous eyes finding his. 

His eyes became questioning in turn, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone.

“What is ailing you, my dove?” Oberyn asked, so gently that it made her heart burst, making her feel bad suddenly. “Tell me, my sweet.”

The sigh that left her was heavy, loaded with a burden which hurt him to hear. She didn’t deserve to be burdened, no matter what it was, and he did not wish to see her upset, see her nervous and quiet. 

Deserving to be carefree and loud and happy. With him to carry her burdens for her.

“I- I am scared, my Viper.” She admitted, her hands coming to rest on his chest, her gaze casting down as she couldn’t bear looking at him, afraid of what emotion his face would display. “You know I have never… I am simply nervous.”

A compassionate smile curved his lips upward, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling back. 

The hand on her cheek came up to the crown in her hair, carefully untangling it before he placed it on a table next to them. It shimmered in the lights of the candles, the gold and the jewels embedded in it, all for her.

“You do not have to be scared, my sweet dove.” He said, his knuckles running over her cheek. Still gentle and careful, his new wife being the most precious thing in his life at this moment, besides the daughters he already had. “I will show you nothing but tenderness, there will not be anything done that you do not explicitly wish to happen.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she tried to slow her heart, thrumming away in her chest. A tempest of emotions settled within her.

How had she gotten so lucky with him?

“I know, Oberyn. I know, but-” She took a deep breath, trembling. “I am still so scared. I have been told it hurts, it is uncomfortable and… I apologize, my love.”

His brows furrowed, two of his fingers moving under her chin, tilting it upwards. Making her look at him, he saw the fear etched into her features, his heart breaking at the sight.

No one had prepared her properly. She had been told nightmares and nothing more than that. It hurt him, seeing the love of his life so scared. Scared of him, of what he could do to her.

Things which were supposed to be joyous only but had been tainted and marred by the tales told to her.

“There is a possibility of it hurting, my dove. That is, if we rush things.” He said, his voice quiet, soothing. Like a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her safe. “Yet, I do not wish to rush things. We do not have to consummate our marriage tonight, not in the traditional sense.”

Now her brows furrowed in confusion, her fingers running over the embroidery of his robe, feeling the golden thread. She wasn’t sure if his words unnerved her more or soothed her.

What other way was there? He was to take her, to validate their marriage.

Just like everyone had told her a husband would on their first night together.

“What other way? Won’t our marriage be invalid if we do not-” She paused, swallowing hard as tears welled up in her eyes. The pressure of it, their marriage and being good for him, when he has had many partners before, it was terrifying. “If you do not take me?”

He smiled, loving and encouraging as always when he looked at her. Melting under her gaze, her tears tearing at him and his heart.

It was a special sort of pain, to see one's wife with tears in her eyes. A pain unlike any physical one he had ever endured.

“There are many ways to pleasure, and I will not take you if you are scared. This is as much about you as it is about me, my love.” Oberyn said, bowing his head to kiss away the few tears which were rolling down her cheeks, the saltiness of them a displeasure for him tonight. “I will wait until you are ready, and if it takes all eternity to do so.”

She took another shuddering breath. How was he so calm about this? Talking about waiting until all eternity while the guilt of being too scared to give herself to him weighed heavily on her.

Not even his lips on her wet cheeks could help soothe her in this moment.

“But, Oberyn- Isn’t it your right? Isn’t it a husband’s right?” She asked, her voice thick with tears. “To take his new wife, to consummate their marriage, willing or not?”

The smile faded from his face, his expression turning stern suddenly. Only terrifying her more, thinking she had misstepped, had angered him somehow.

She had never wanted to anger the Viper.

“My dove.” He spoke, his voice firm but not cruel, conveying an importance to what he was saying. “Fuck whatever you assume to be my right. I did not marry you to fuck you, my sweet dove. I married you because I love you and my only command as your husband is to banish these thoughts of old customs from your mind.”

Raising his brow, he looked at her, so scared and small in front of him, her bottom lip quivering.

“I am not a brute. If you are too scared tonight, then I will not force you. Nor any night hereafter.”

Her hand reached out to touch his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against her palm. So handsome, so sweet. Such a stark contrast to his reputation in the Seven Kingdoms, the Red Viper. Cruel, cunning.

“But- My Viper-”

Oberyn shushed her, gentle and quiet but not lacking in firmness.

“No, my dove.” His lips found her forehead again, hoping to convey his love and his understanding through the caress of his lips. Soft and tender. “If you allow me to, I wish to show you something different. To ease you into pleasure, to ease you into me.”

She hesitated, biting her bottom lip again, feeling his calming presence soothe her nerves. As he always did, so expertly taking away her worries as if they were nothing.

“What do you wish to show me?” Her voice was as quiet as his, still shaking as she spoke.

Oberyn smiled against her skin, finding the faintest sliver of amusement in her innocence. What a wonderful thing she was, his wife. So willing and devoted and in love with him, but entirely unknowing.

Any man of less honour than him would have taken advantage of her sweetness.

But not him.

His hand went from her chin to her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer to him while his lips stayed connected to her forehead.

“Do you trust me?”

She nodded, the reaction so fast as if it was innate, like there was no doubt about her answer. And she did, she trusted him with everything.

“With my life, Oberyn.”

His lips curved upward against her skin, his fingers curling into her side. 

What a lucky man he was, to have married a woman like her.

“Sit down on the bed for me, please.” He said, feeling her hesitation at his gentle words. 

Taking a moment to steel herself, she took another deep breath before walking away from him, just a little unsure in her footing.

Still, she made it over, sitting down on the edge of the huge bed just like he requested, the silks smooth under her hands. She watched how he followed her, slow, deliberate steps, feeling a tenseness in her abdomen at the sight of him. His gorgeous smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle, coming to stop right in front of her.

Instinctively she reached for his hand, just lightly holding onto it, needing reassurance, encouragement. The motion only made him smile more, squeezing her fingers as he slowly kneeled down in front of her.

He couldn’t hold back the chuckle which left him when he looked at her surprised face, shaking her head.

“What are you doing? You shouldn’t-” She stammered out, confused by his actions. What husband kneeled before his wife? On their wedding night no less. “Shouldn’t I be the one-”

Oberyn slowly shook his head, raising her hand to his lips, giving each knuckle a kiss, dark eyes fixed only on her. His unoccupied hand touched her clothed thigh, making her jump just a little, her eyes never leaving his. 

Like they were bound to him in some way.

“If I wish to kneel before my wife to show my devotion to her, then I shall do so.” He said, his voice calming her nerves, just like his lips did, turning her hand in his, kissing the tip of each finger. Each kiss lingering, an extension of his love for her. 

Moving to her palm, eyes staying fixed on hers as his lips pressed against it, his beard tickling her.

She enjoyed it, watching in awe how attentive he was, feeling warm at his touch.

Then, he leaned forward, capturing her lips with his own and she could feel the desire sleeping within him, holding back for her sake. She allowed herself to close her eyes and simply feel him, aware of his hand on her clothed thigh, the other intertwining their fingers, an anchor for her.

Carefully his lips wandered away from her mouth, kissing the corner of it, then peppering her jaw with fleeting touches, finally reaching her neck. 

The gasp that tumbled from the depths of her chest as he made contact with the sensitive flesh excited him, the sound something he wished to preserve forever.

“Oberyn.” She whimpered, shifting in her place when his tongue darted out to taste her, breathing in the scent of oranges which always lingered with her.

A smile graced his lips, enjoying that she was easing into his ministrations, perhaps even enjoying herself as he caressed her skin.

“Do I have permission to undress you?” Oberyn asked after several more moments, pulling back to look at her face, finding it flushed and her eyes still closed.

The nervousness which had faded a little under his touch came back suddenly, turning her stomach into knots. 

Undress her.

Seeing her naked, completely exposed. When he had been with so many others before her, would he even like what he saw?

She wasn’t self-conscious by any means, but in comparison to his life before her, she could not help but think about the possibilities. Being inexperienced in pleasure already weighed heavily on her shoulders, she didn’t wish to disappoint him in just about everything tonight.

He could see the emotions cross her face, her eyes spoke of all the uncertainty and fear that whirled inside of her at this moment when she opened them. 

And it broke his heart. 

His beautiful, stunning wife, chained up by the expectations which had been placed upon her shoulders by everyone but him.

There was nothing he expected from her, already knowing she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid his dark eyes upon, the most kind and loving wife. All he would ask of her was to stay loyal to him and to love him like he loved her, with all her heart and mind and soul. Like they were bound by fate.

Bound by an invisible string which had led them to one another.

She softly squeezed his hand, taking a deep breath before nodding. Forcing the smallest smile onto her lips, small compared to the one he gifted her in return.

The hand on her thigh moved up to her shoulder, brushing back the hair which had fallen over it, then letting his fingertips wander over the material of her gown. Soft silks, embroidered and beaded with hundreds of thousands of small stones.

Making her shimmer in the candlelight, like a million stars were strewn across her body.

Never losing her eyes when he brushed one strap off of her shoulder, watching for a reaction that she didn’t want this. There was no joy in this if she wasn’t willing.

He let it glide down her arm, not yet exposing her breasts to him, simply letting the swell of one appear in the periphery of his view. Soft skin, the whisper of a sigh leaving her when he leaned forward to kiss her exposed collarbone, to press his nose against the dip above it.

Still holding onto her hand, her fingers nervously flexing against his own as he moved on to the other side, slower this time.

The beat of her heart was visible, shaking the pretty material over where it sat, hoping he would be able to make it beat as wildly for another reason soon.

And as he carefully slid the material off her other shoulder too, she took a shuddering breath looking up at the ceiling. The cool air meeting her heated flesh, nipples perked.

Oberyn repeated his earlier motion, kissing the other side but this time moving down to press his lips against the valley in between her breasts. A low hum vibrated in her chest and he could feel the noise, kissing her again and again.

“You are so beautiful, my dove.” He said, looking up at her but seeing her gaze turned away. Unable to tell if it were simply her nerves or shame. “May I touch you?”

Silence befell them for a moment as she tried to calm herself. His words were encouraging, her heart soaring and the gentleness with which he treated her made her want to cry.

She could feel his lips on her still, like she had been branded by him, hot and searing. A good feeling, a welcome one.

Longing for his touch but still too afraid to speak, her skin yearning for his lips, for his fingers. Yearning for every inch of him, still wondering just what exactly he had in mind for tonight.

“Yes.” She breathed out, shaky and barely audible even in the dead silence.

Then his hands were on her, softly cupping her breasts, feeling the velvety skin of them. Admiring them, his thumbs brushing over the peaks, making her moan quietly. She tilted her head down, taking in the way he looked at her.

With a desire she had never seen in anyone before, mesmerized and needing, but not making her feel like an object for his desires.

He made her feel like art. Like a beautiful painting.

A slight pressure built in her abdomen as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples again and again, an unfamiliar feeling she blamed on his touch. It was pleasant, watching in awe as he bowed his head to take one stiff peak into his mouth. Hot and wet on her skin, her free hand twisting into his hair, a shaky gasp leaving her.

“Oh, Oberyn.” She moaned, concentrating on his tongue repeating the motion of his thumb, a deep groan of his vibrating against her. “It feels good, fantastic. You feel fantastic.”

He looked up at her, not stopping his ministrations but a twinkle appeared in his dark eyes. She rubbed her thighs together, a motion which didn’t go unnoticed by Oberyn, finally releasing her breast with a soft pop. Surging upwards to capture her lips in another kiss, fiery this time but reigning himself in as he felt himself move too fast.

“You’re feeling it, are you not?” He asked, parting from her and staring deep into her eyes. “Pleasure, my dove?”

“I’m not sure, Oberyn.” She replied, his kiss having left her a little breathless, her head reeling. “There is a pressure…”

A soft chuckle fell from his lips, a smile stretching his mustache wide over his lips, revealing his teeth. 

“Right here?” He touched her abdomen, right where the feeling appeared and she nodded. No one had ever thought to teach her a damn thing about herself. “Yes, my dove. Pleasure. Do I have permission to undress you further? I wish to give you more of this feeling.”

Her nod was eager this time, easing into his touch. It filled him with joy, pressing another kiss to her lips which made her giggle.

Oh, how he loved that sound.

“Lay down for me, my sweet.”

She did, their hands finally letting go of each other as she laid back, immediately finding his lips to be back on her sternum, kissing a path further down between her breasts, onto her stomach. Revealing more of her skin as he went.

Peeling the garment off of her like he would with a fruit, revealing the sweet flesh, tasting it, feeling it beneath his fingers.

Feeling her shaky breaths as he lingered over her stomach, her muscles twitching under the caress of his lips.

He lifted her hips, pulling the dress down the rest of the way, letting it fall to the floor. Exposing her entirely to him, his lips pressing against that spot on her lower belly where she felt the pressure building.

Her heart beat in her throat, fighting the urge to cover herself with her hands, knowing he would just move them away. His own hands smoothed along her naked thighs, watching her face as she looked at the ceiling, lips slightly parted.

“You were made in the Gods’ image, my love.” He whispered, letting his lips trail back up her body, feeling himself become drunk on her body, on her beauty. To think she had feared this, feared showing herself to him when she truly was the most beautiful being he had ever laid his eyes on. “No beauty compares to that of yours.”

She smiled, a sound the cross of a sob and a huff tumbling over her lips, overwhelmed by his love for her. Melting into his lips as they found hers yet again, like he couldn’t get enough of her, of the taste of wine and fruit on her tongue.

Suddenly she thought about him, still fully dressed. Shouldn’t she make him feel as good as this, too? Cover his body in kisses, worship him like he worshipped her?

She was curious to see him, wondered if he bore scars. How big they were, how deep. She wanted to see him, longed for it.

Her hands wandered to the hem of his robe, attempting to undress him but he stopped her. Gently taking her wrists in his large hands, he moved them away, shaking his head.

“My Viper-” She began in an attempt to explain before he shushed her again.

“Tonight is about you, my Princess.” Oberyn said, kissing the corner of her mouth. A small whimper escaped her, her lips chasing after his when he moved back again. “You and your pleasure only. I told you, I can wait until all eternity.”

He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, hoping to get her to understand just through his eyes that his words weren’t empty promises. As he breathed with her, one calming breath after the next, he hoped she understood that he would wait a lifetime and beyond for her to be fully ready. Her pleasure alone would be enough to sustain him until the sun had shared its last rays with the world, until the world grew cold and dark.

“I wish to touch more of you, my love.” Oberyn whispered into the silence, his hands moving to her hips. “Will you allow me to?”

She nodded, more firm than at the beginning, feeling a throbbing between her thighs, an unfamiliar wetness.

“Yes, my Viper.” A whisper just as quiet as his, her eyes full of desire, even if he could still see remnants of fear in them.

Oberyn brushed the bridge of his nose along hers, an intimate gesture which made her heart burst with love and joy. Hands coming up to cup his cheeks just for a moment before he slipped away again, down her body.

Calloused hands rested on her knees, his eyes on her face as she sat up slightly, leaning onto her elbows to watch him. She bit her bottom lip, his hands slowly opening her legs, gentle and sweet in his movements.

He kissed the inside of one knee when she was fully spread for him, once again resisting the urge to close them. His beard scratched along the sensitive skin, moving to the other knee as well.

It felt good, the way he kissed her skin, the way his beard felt on the sensitive flesh. How his hands smoothed over her thighs as he inched higher, lifting his head again.

One of his hands moved upwards, ghosting over her mound and feeling the coarse curls covering it, feeling the shiver that went up her spine at the featherlight touch. He watched as he gently spread her lips apart for him, glistening from the wetness that had gathered. 

His thumb just hovered over her clit, like he was unsure. All while she watched, holding her breath in anticipation of where he would touch her next, each touch better than the last.

“Have you ever touched yourself before?” Oberyn asked, eyes moving back up to hers. Knowing fully well that she would answer with a No. She was too responsive to his ministrations to have done so before. “Right here?”

His thumb pressed down, featherlight, like a ghost, drawing a choked gasp from her, her hips involuntarily rolling in response.

It was as if lightning had shot through her, setting her nerves ablaze at his touch. Her skin hot, she felt like she was burning up from the inside, the pressure in her abdomen only becoming worse.

“N-No.” She breathed out. Already longing for more of his touch. Needing more of that buzzing feeling it provided, pulsing faintly where his thumb rested.

His thumb swiped lower, gathering a little more wetness before ghosting over that little peak of nerves again. Carefully, trying not to overwhelm her with these new emotions, coaxing a low moan from her lungs.

It might just become his favourite sound, a sweet symphony sung only for him in this shared intimacy. Sweeter than the choirs which had sung at their marriage celebration which just now seemed so long ago already. Sweeter than the birds, than the bustle of the markets, than the rolling of the sea.

He lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, kissing the inside of it as he lazily rubbed his thumb over her, watching her reactions. Her eyes were dark with nothing but lust and curiosity, only fixed on his moving digit. She tried to hold back more sounds, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her heart still thrumming against it for reasons he liked now.

No longer out of fear but out of desire.

“How does it feel, my dove?” Oberyn whispered against her skin, pressing more wet kisses against it, the hand holding her leg caressing it while his thumb moved away from her clit. Instead, it traced her outer lips, which still made her hips jerk and roll but provided a more subdued sensation. “Tell me all, I wish to know what it feels like for you.”

Her eyes snapped up to his when his thumb moved away, a whiny noise of protest leaving her.

Desperation on her face.

“It feels good, Oberyn.” She whispered, the leg over his broad shoulder trying to coax him to continue. “You feel marvellous. My blood has been replaced by molten metal, I can feel it burning and throbbing.”

Oberyn smirked, lightly nipping at her skin. “Your cunt?”

Watching her discomfort at the word, he chuckled but saw her nod still.

The urge to taste her overcame him abruptly, the urge which had been his plan when she told him she was too scared to have him tonight. Knowing he could show her the heights of pleasure on the tip of his tongue, ease her into it entirely.

“My love, you said you would trust me with your life, did you not?” He asked, keeping his eyes locked onto hers. She nodded again, whispering a shaky Yes. “Please, lay back and close your eyes, I wish to surprise you.”

Her brows knitted together, having half a mind to do as he asked and not beg for more of his touch. Laying back down and closing her eyes, anticipation frightening her but trusting him in whatever he had planned.

It took a moment, a moment in which she heard him shift around, his tunic rustling, feeling him move.

And then, she felt it. Warm and wet against her, his beard scratching against her most intimate parts, her legs threatening to close at the foreign sensation but his broad hands keeping them open.

“Fu- Oh Gods, Oberyn!” She cried out, his tongue circling around her clit again and again, wet, slurping noises accompanying his motions. One of her hands threaded into his hair for purchase, not daring to open her eyes and look at him.

He hummed against her, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, eyes trained on her parted lips, face twisted in lust.

“Say it.” He commanded, finding it amusing that she did not fully give into her desires in favour of appearing proper. What was there to be proper about when he had his face buried inside her sopping cunt? “Say it, my dove.”

Her back arched, feeling him suck at the bundle of nerves which made her cry out once more.

“Fuck!” She moaned, liking how the word rolled off her tongue. “Oberyn, fuck! Oh, Gods.”

A smile crept over his lips, doubling down on his efforts, feeling her fingers tighten in his dark locks. Focusing entirely on her clit, eating her like a man starved all while he looked out for her body’s response.

She could feel something inside of her, the pressure mounting more and more as her whines and moans turned higher in pitch, his tongue driving her closer to something. And he could feel it, holding down her hips in order to lap at her, the obscene sounds in stark contrast to the gentleness with which he pressed against her.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him, the sight making her cunt clench. His head between her thighs, with a stare of lust and determination, his eyes dark and piercing. 

It was a beautiful image.

Maybe she should have this painted instead.

“Let go, my dove.” He whispered, his voice slightly muffled by her, feeling himself hard against his breeches but biting back his own desires for her. Just this was better than the Seven Heavens, he was sure of it. Nothing would be sweeter than this, to bring her to the brink of pleasure and push her over for the very first time. “Let it take you, let it wash over you and just allow yourself to feel me.”

She did. Her body tensing up and expelling all air from her lungs, the cries of his name broken on her tongue as she tried to make sense of the intense feeling surging through her. The pressure releasing, her legs snapped shut around his head again but this time he did not stop her. 

Oberyn wanted to see the full extent of her ecstasy, remember every sound, every little movement of her muscles beneath her skin as she shook.

Needed to memorize her expression as he brought her to completion.

He saw the tears in her eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of him, of the rush inside of her.

She felt dizzy as it faded, as he slowed down his movements until he had fully helped her through it all, pressing gentle, wet kisses against her mound and lower belly, feeling how her deep breaths let it rise and fall.

“More, please, more.” She whispered into the silence after a few moments. Quiet and breathless, his ears perking up at the sound.

Intoxicated by the way his mouth had worked her to completion, by how good it had felt. There was an understanding in her now, for why he had sought out pleasure for all these years before they had found one another.

She never wanted this to end, craving more of him, more of their unity. 

“Ah, my wife is a greedy one, I see.” Oberyn chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I will give you more, my love. My wife shall have everything, I shall give you all you want for - gowns, jewellery, pleasure. I shall spoil you rotten.”

“You already do.” She moaned, his mouth back on her, hissing at the slight sting she felt. “Fuck, you do, Oberyn. You do!”

This time, his tongue wandered lower, and she threw her head back into the sheets at the feeling of his talented tongue licking around her pulsing, aching hole before he pushed inside. His nose bumped against her clit, the wet, vulgar sounds becoming louder. 

Lapping at her like a thirsty man would drink from an oasis in the desert. Like she was the life to sustain him, to keep him breathing.

He groaned against her in an unabashed fashion, letting his pleasure from this be known, mingling into the perfect symphony with her cries.

That sweet pleasure coursed through her, letting tears well up in her eyes as she tried to breathe, trying to form words in between her incoherent sounds.

Delirious and intoxicated.

“Oberyn, please! I’m-” She couldn’t finish her sentence, ecstasy stealing her breath away as he expertly pushed her over again, her hands pushing and pulling at his hair. Too much, too much and yet it was just right, riding wave after wave that crashed into her, washed over her.

Her hips bucked up against him, chasing his mouth as he pulled back, giving her some reprieve, hungrily kissing along her inner thigh with a groan.

“I knew you would enjoy this, my love.” He growled, nipping at her skin with his teeth and making her squeak. There was nothing more he wanted than to be buried inside of her right now, he couldn’t deny that. But he wouldn’t, instead planning to wear her out so thoroughly with his mouth that all of her worries would simply ease away. “My sweet, wonderful wife.”

So he kissed up her thigh to her knee, letting his lips wander over every inch of her, then venturing further over her calf. 

“I do, my Viper. I do.” She whispered, each kiss sending a jolt through her. Until now she couldn’t have fathomed anything to be so intense and all consuming as this. To make her feel like she was on a cloud, drifting away while her new husband worshipped her.

“I am not through with you yet. You will feel the heights of pleasure tonight, I have promised you as such.”

And before long, his mouth found her core again, coaxing another orgasm from her, her voice turning hoarse as she whispered his name over and over like he was one of the Gods. 

Maybe he was. 

With the way he moved about her body, his hands wandering and feeling while his tongue worked her up to another peak and another.

Holding true on his promises and leaving her spent when he finally decided that she had experienced enough bliss. The candles around them long burned down, shrouding them in darkness, illuminated by the faint moonlight.

Oberyn left her boneless on the bed, eyes closed and breathing hard, she drifted in and out of the comforts of sleep, faintly feeling his strong hands manoeuvre her under the covers.

“Oberyn…” She mumbled, hearing him shush her like he had done so often this night. The bed dipped beside her, his heavy form laying next to her body, pulling her close.

Still feeling like she was floating, embraced by his warmth, the happiness from earlier this night returning. His lips pressed against hers, so tender and gentle as if he hadn’t just taken her apart with only his tongue.

“Sleep, my dove. My sweet, wonderful and kind wife.” He whispered, kissing her forehead as she slowly drifted into slumber. Gratefulness and love sat deep inside her chest as she did. “There will be much more to discover. So much more.”

She woke before the sun had risen, her body aching in the most delicious ways as she moved. Oberyn’s arms still embraced her, turning around in his grasp to look at his peaceful form. 

Her husband. 

It still felt like a dream, too good to be true. Even though his strong arms around her body and his handsome face right in front of her reminded her that it was in fact real. She could still feel his hands on her body, etched into her skin like a mark. A mark she would be happy to wear until all eternity.

Her gentle fingers found the bridge of his nose, brushing over it, taking in his features. Thinking about the sight of him between her thighs, worshipping her.

How he had lapped at her, like a thirsty, starving man who had found his paradise between her legs, finally finding it after a seemingly endless journey. Drinking from her to sustain himself, taking as much as he was giving, making said paradise blossom.

She felt warm at the thought, her fingers wandering over his tanned cheek. Never had she seen him like this and she found it strange to see him without his smirk when in her presence. Always smiling, making her laugh.

Breathing in and out at a steady pace. This would be the face which would greet her until all eternity, she realized. The arms which would hold her every night, his warm, firm body pressed against hers, still clothed unlike hers. A welcome image, making her smile wider as she brushed some hair from his forehead.

“My Viper.” She whispered, leaning forward to kiss him, first on the tip of his nose, then his lips. Soft beneath hers, his beard tickling her skin.

Desire awoke in her again at the touch, the vivid feelings from last night at the forefront of her mind. His arms wrapped around her tighter, startling her as he tiredly kissed her back, awoken by her featherlight touch.

Caressing her, chuckling quietly when she drew back. His dark eyes were so beautiful, piercing even when laced with sleep. The most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, full of love and admiration for her.

“My dove, my sweet wife.” He sighed, one of his hands smoothing over her bare hip, moving to her bottom.

Squeezing it gently and making her gasp.

Fanning the flames within her, humming deeply at his ministrations. She thought about his mouth, how he had used it on her, wondering if she could do the same for him.

She wanted to, a strange eagerness to pleasure him overtaking her, her hand wandering to the opening in his robe, feeling his warm, bare chest beneath.

The thought of consummating their marriage seemed more acceptable at this moment, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to fully give into the idea just yet.

Oberyn saw the look in her eyes, recognizing it in an instant. How often he had seen this exact gaze in others, how often had it preceded the most wonderful sensations. Yet here, with her, it made him proud, made him more hungry than it ever had made him before.

Despite that, concern mixed into his excitement. She had been so scared last night, inexperienced and her head filled with terrible tales. The emotion in her eyes seemed real, but he couldn’t help but be worried.

“I wish to give back to you, Oberyn.” She whispered, her hand wandering lower, resting on his covered belly. The tips of their noses were touching, eyes locked onto another. “You made me feel the most incredible sensations, and I wish to pleasure you. Let me use my mouth like you used yours.”

His heart skipped a beat at her words, surprised by her sudden boldness. He had always known that her soul simply needed a gentle nudge to bloom and come alive. That the fierceness he saw in her every day extended into far more facettes of her being.

It was as if a new spirit had taken over her, leaving her more confident. 

“Please, Oberyn. I wish to give to you what you gave to me.” She whispered intently when he hesitated, still scared of the actual act itself, but more than willing to reciprocate his love and devotion the way he had shown it to her.

“My dove, this is about you, not me.” He whispered back, cupping her cheek in his large palm. Rough and calloused from years of training, years of fighting. “I cannot allow this in any good faith.”

“Please.”

The way she looked at him, so eager and determined. How could he say no? She wanted this, even if he wanted these glorious morning hours to be devoted to her only. Devoted to the beginning of their life together, the sun only starting to show the top of its face in the far distance of the horizon.

“Promise me that this wish is not borne out of any obligation you feel towards me.” Oberyn said, needing to rule out that the loving, kind spirit of her being drove her actions instead of her own desire. “This is borne from you, your own heart.”

She nodded, whispering a small Yes back in answer to his question. 

He sighed, kissing her forehead with an affirmative hum. Feeling the excitement grow within him, his cock twitching at the thought of her mouth.

What a wonderful wife he had.

But as he watched her naked body emerge from beneath the covers, his brows furrowed, seeing her move to the side of the bed, attempting to slide off of it.

Oberyn grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks and she looked up at him, confused. Looking so beautiful, with the sun slowly painting the skies behind her a beautiful purple, driving away the darkness. Her hair tousled, shallow lines on her face from sleep.

“What are you doing, my dove?” He asked, sitting up.

Her brows knit together in confusion, mirroring his gaze.

“Getting on my knees, just like you did, Oberyn.” She answered, genuine about her intentions. Watching him shake his head, pulling her towards him.

“No.” He replied, looking at her intently. “I won’t allow you to. My wife will not kneel before me.”

“But, Oberyn-” Her attempt to argue was squashed by the look he gave her.

“I am to worship you, kneel before you on the floor to show you my devotion, to show you pleasure.” Oberyn said, looking at her kneeling on the bed in front of him. She seemed more demure again suddenly, more timid. But the lust still blazed in her eyes. “Far too many wives expect it to be their place, on the floor in front of their husbands. Not you. You will not kneel on the floor today, my dove.”

Her heart warmed at his words, smiling and leaning forward to kiss him, her hands wandering to the thin robe he still wore. His words touched her, so thoughtful of meanings she hadn’t even thought about yet.

She wanted to kneel before him, just as he had done the night before, but she cared deeply for his words.

Slowly she opened his robe as she kissed him, letting her hands wander over his toned chest, down to the soft swell of his stomach. Touching and exploring like he had, her lips mirroring the paths he had painted onto her not too long ago, kissing down his jaw, to that point which had felt so good on her, below his ear.

Revelling in the way his breath hitched when she ventured down further, kissing every inch of him.

In the way his hands threaded into her hair, moving it out of her gorgeous face to watch her.

“You are a fast learner, my dove.” He chuckled and she felt the vibrations ripple through him. A smile broke on her face, feeling encouraged by him, by the way he touched her, the way he loved her.

“I am, am I not?” She giggled, sitting back up when she had reached his navel, the patch of dark hair which travelled into his breeches. Sitting back on her legs, she admired him for a moment, his tan skin glowing in the faintest orange from the rising sun, his beautiful body on display for her, almost as naked as she was.

Littered with scars like she had thought him to be, both small and large in size, some deep and some shallow. Faint and bold, her finger tracing along some of them.

Looking like one of the Gods. Made in their image.

“You look beautiful, Oberyn.” She whispered, her hands wandering to the strings on his breeches, needing to see what lay beneath them. The outline of him was prominent, leaving little to the imagination. “May I?”

He smiled, leaning forward to gently capture her lips with his own. One of his hands smoothed up her arm, feeling her nerves well up again. Attempting to calm her.

“Of course, my dove.”

She smiled, rubbing the bridge of her nose along his just as he had done, her shaky fingers untying the string. Peeling back the dark fabric, she couldn’t hold back the gasp that left her lungs at the sight of him, springing free.

She had been right to be scared, to be nervous and while she felt a strange desire at the sight of his cock, angry and leaking, she couldn’t help but feel nervous all over again.

Oberyn just watched, slowly leaning back once more, her fingers trailing through the dark, coarse hair at the base. Just letting her explore on her own, hissing softly when she touched him, featherlight as if she was unsure.

Soft like velvet, throbbing and bouncing. The dark tip glistened with something. 

She ran her finger over the prominent vein at the underside, then drew back, deciding to take his trousers off entirely first. Needing him fully exposed like she was, she tugged them down his legs, revealing his toned thighs and calves, hardened from years of training.

Like the Gods.

Wrapping her hand around him, she looked up to his face, seeing the intense gaze of his as he watched her fingers before his dark eyes met her own. Upon seeing the uncertainty in her, Oberyn gave her an encouraging smile, her touch setting him on fire unlike anyone had ever done before.

“You’re doing well, love. Keep going.” He said, his heart fluttering at her smile, his legs opening a bit wider. “Just move your hand, if you wish.”

She nodded, doing as he said. Leaning down to take him in her mouth, she was stopped by his hand on her shoulder.

“You best lay down on your belly for that.” He suggested, his voice growing thinner. This woman would rob him of his last sanity and he hadn’t even felt her properly just yet. “It will be easier on your body and I will be able to see your face, my love.”

“Oh.” She replied, the simple sound making him chuckle. Shifting into position between his opened legs, feeling awkward as she did. He beckoned her closer, helping her so her arms were positioned over his hips, her elbows resting on the sheets.

So close to him, her hot breath fanning over his sensitive skin. The hunger clear in her eyes as his cock was right in front of her, still gripped by nervousness. 

Ducking her head, she pressed small kisses against his belly, then over his hip bones. Peering up at him through her lashes only to find him fixated on her, his hand coming up to gather her hair in a loose grip, just to get it out of the way. Watching how she teased him, his aching cock brushing along her cheek, trying to tame his hips which were squirming in anticipation.

Excruciatingly slow she moved back a little, lifting her head and taking him into one hand again. Oberyn’s breathing became heavier, seeing her lips descend and press against the head of his cock, like she was kissing it. Her tongue darted out, licking over the slit and grimacing a little at the taste of the pre-cum.

He couldn’t help the chuckle, warm and without malice, making her smile and giggle in return.

“Salty.” She remarked curiously, then resumed kissing him. Over and over, pressing her soft lips against the head, trailing them down the length of it. Just following what she thought was right, peering up at him now and then as if to ask for encouragement.

She moved so deliberately and gently that it looked like she was worshipping him. Worshipping his aching cock while laying in between his legs. Making his blood boil hotter than the sun, mesmerized by the sight of her.

“What a sight you are, my sweet dove.” He breathed out, fingers running along her scalp as she moved back up to the head. “My sweet wife. You are doing so well, simply keep kissing it.”

She felt warmth spread through her at the praise, the pressure in her abdomen returning. 

But this was about him.

“Does it feel good?” She whispered in between kisses, letting her tongue dart out again, giving the sensitive tip the tiniest lick.

“Divine.” He moaned, the sight of her too much. She looked beautiful, her contours slowly being bathed in orange hues as the sun rose higher. “You may take it into your wonderful mouth, my dove. If you wish.”

She nodded, doing as he said, opening her mouth just a little to take in the head, already feeling heavy on her tongue. Did she just move her tongue now as he had done with her? 

Or should she take more of him?

She decided on moving her tongue, licking at the head and experimentally sucking on it like he had on her clit, the deep groan that left him making her feel proud. Proud to be able to give back what he had shown her last night.

“By the old Gods and the new, nothing will feel more divine than this, my dove.” Oberyn moaned, his fingers twitching in her hair, clearly trying to hold back. Unwilling to scare her away, just letting her explore as she saw fit. “You feel wonderful, so wonderful. My cock on your tongue, what a sight.”

She took more of him, gently bobbing her head, knowing she was doing right when he kept making those wonderful sounds above her. Groaning and moaning with every movement, ecstasy overtaking his body.

Her own, private melody, her own song.

She wanted to hear more of it, becoming more eager, more assured with her movements, lifting her head to kiss it again, her hand spreading the saliva over what she couldn’t fit into her mouth, stroking him. Liking what she was doing, the heavy feeling of when he was in her mouth, her desire growing by the second but wanting to see what pleasure looked like for him. What his face would look like when he reached the heights that she had at the mercy of his mouth.

And as she continued, alternating between kissing him and bobbing her head on him, she didn’t feel scared or nervous anymore. She wanted him, needed him. Needed to know what his cock would feel like inside of her.

Needed to be one with him, beyond what they were doing right now. She was growing impatient, feeling so safe and so loved in his presence, here between his legs, that she did not want to wait much longer.

“My viper, I want you.” She breathed out when she lifted her head, her hand stilling for a moment. Pupils blown wide, a nearly ravenous expression on her face. “Please, Oberyn, my love.”

It took a moment for him to realize what she meant, finding it difficult to form a coherent thought with how close he was to his own peak, lost in the feeling of her lips around him.

“Are you sure, my sweet?” He asked, cupping her cheeks with both hands as she rose onto her hands and knees, her face close to his. “Do not feel pressured on my behalf-”

Slotting her lips against his, she cut him off, kissing him with such vigour he knew she was firm in her words. She moaned when he kissed her back, his hands on her body as he rose, moving her to lay down onto the silk bedding, never leaving her lips, staying connected to her.

Moving to her neck again as she laid below him, kissing and sucking at that sensitive spot below her ear.

“Oberyn, please.” She moaned, eyes half-lidded, squirming beneath his broad body. Hair splayed out like a halo around her head, tinged in orange sunlight. “Do not tease me, please.”

As he hovered above her, he took a moment to take her in. All of her, all his but not owned by him. Still as free as a bird for he would never cage her, make her submit, but this sight of her only for him to enjoy. The curves of her body, the way she breathed heavily, squirmed in anticipation and desperation.

All his. His wife.

Still unbelieving that this was reality, settling himself between her spread thighs. He was able to see her heart beat against her ribcage once more, just as he had wished to see it, pumping hard because of lust and not of anxiety.

His cock rested against her thigh, heavy and leaking and aching for her, aching to fully become one with her.

“Tell me you want this, my sweet.” He breathed, positioning himself so the head of him pushed against her aching hole. Ready to have him, inviting him in. “Tell me, my love. You want this, you want to become mine in body and heart and soul the way I want to become yours.”

She cupped his cheeks, eyes only on his as she nodded. Her heart swelling with every word that tumbled from his lips in the dawn, his handsome features lined by orange hues.

“Yes, Oberyn. I want this.” Her answer was a whisper but it did not lack in fervour. Smiling up at him, tears in her eyes, knowing what she was doing was right and that she was happy for this to be her life, with him by her side. “I wish to be yours, in body and heart and soul, connected to you until all eternity, until our hair turns grey and our bodies wither with the run of time.”

It was as if they held their very own, private wedding ceremony. Just the two of them to witness their words, to witness their love and passion and pleasure. 

“Until all that remains of us are two stars in the night sky, our names a whispered memory.” He said, kissing her, his hips slowly pressing forward.

It took her by surprise, her gasp swallowed by his mouth as he carefully pushed inside of her, a groan rumbling in his chest. 

A feeling like no other, feeling full as he stilled inside of her, his forehead resting against hers and breathing hard. The smallest laughter shared between them before their lips met again and again, his hands wandering all over her body, grabbing and pulling at every inch.

He could remain here forever, buried inside her, their lips meeting in a fiery passion, fuelled by their love for one another, the desire to feel, to be one.

Her embrace warm and welcoming, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him impossibly closer. She wished she could crawl inside of his skin, mentally cursing herself for having been so scared of this.

Mentally cursing everyone who had told her tales of pain and misery, of simply enduring the first night and every night thereafter. Not one had mentioned the intense love and desire, the feeling of needing another human more than she needed water to drink or air to breathe.

The feeling of completion, like she had found a piece of herself in him which made her feel whole. 

No. Like an addition to herself, an extension.

“Please.” She mumbled against his lips, her hands roaming over his back, feeling the muscles dance beneath his skin. “Oberyn.”

He understood, kissing her cheek when he moved his hips, pulling out of her almost entirely before sinking back in, and the sweet moan that left her was music to his ears.

Sweeter than any of the sounds he had pulled from her before, breathy and high-pitched. 

Looking magnificent in her ecstasy.

“My sweet dove.” He groaned, setting a slow rhythm, trying to hold himself back. Her mouth and hands had brought him close before and her sweet cunt made him feel dizzy, too close to the edge for his own liking. He needed to savour this, drag this out, for her and for himself. Wishing to remember this forever. “Tell me what you are feeling, tell me all.”

A sloppy kiss met the corner of his mouth, trailing to his jaw.

“Complete, full and complete and ecstatic.” She moaned against his skin, her nails digging into his back. Driving in and out of her repeatedly, brushing against spots inside of her that made her feel lightheaded, her toes curling. “I never want this to end.”

He chuckled, kissing her cheek.

“This is what the Seven Heavens must feel like.” Oberyn groaned, his thrusts falling out of rhythm, overwhelmed by her. Her tightness, her embrace, her warmth. “Here, buried in your sweet cunt lies paradise, just for us.”

Nodding, her lips found his again, so close once again.

Tears running down her temples, settling in her hair. Feeling nothing but him, the world ceasing to exist while entangled with him, becoming drunk off the pleasure.

Her peak reached her so suddenly, she couldn’t do much more than whimper against his mouth, her arms pulling him into her. Breathless, her body set ablaze.

The feelings so much more intense than before, feeling him shudder and then still against her through the haze in her mind. Their lips never stopping, her name tumbling from his and right into her mouth, as if he was praying to the Gods above.

Basking in the afterglow, he kissed her cheeks, her temples wet with tears, shushing her gently as she cried. Tears of joy, of happiness unlike no other.

He could not imagine himself with anyone else, everyone that had come before her paling in contrast.

The sun warmed their skin, the sky a bright orange, fading into pinks and purples at the very edges. Dipping everything it touched into its mesmerizing hues.

“I love you, Oberyn.” She whispered, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear. Stroking his cheek, tears still in her eyes, barely open from exhaustion, from bliss. “My sweet Viper, my husband.”

Oberyn smiled, slowly pulling out of her, already missing her warmth and tightness. He rolled them over to the side, carefully guiding her spent body. Admiring the beauty of her in the rays of the sun, casting beautiful shadows across her face, making her look like a fabled creature.

Glowing like the sun itself.

His Sun.

“And I love you, my Sun.” He whispered back, brushing some hair from her forehead. Seeing her brows knit together at the new name. “My wonderful wife.”

“My Sun?” She echoed his words, finding a warmth and safety in the name.

“You are my Sun, my sweet. The centre of my being, my warmth and my light.” He said, smiling gently, cupping her cheek. “Us Dornish worship our sun. She gives us food, she gives us life. A new day in her safety and guidance. She is sacred to us, without her, there would only be darkness and coldness.”

Her heart soared at his words, a sob leaving her, overwhelmed by his gentleness and his affection.

“You are my Sun now. Without you, my life would be dark.” He continued, brushing away her tears, filled with nothing but unbridled love for her in this moment. “And I am your Moon. Shining brightly only in your light, in your presence. Cold without your warmth, without your bright smile.”

She couldn’t find words to match his, everything she thought of seeming inconsequential.

But he was not done. His heart so full for her, as she laid in the light of the rising sun, embracing each other's spent bodies.

“Before you, my life was nothing but the chase for pleasure, to forget what I have lost.” Tears welling up in his eyes as well, a sight she had never seen before, raising a hand to wipe them away as they fell. Knowing somehow he was talking about Elia. “But now, with you by my side, there is no more need for such chases. All the pleasure of the world lies within you. In the warm heart beneath your ribs, your gentle kiss and sweet embrace. In this sweet cunt between your legs.”

She giggled between her sobs. Of course he couldn’t just not mention it.

But she felt sadness, her heart breaking at the thought of his dead sister. Of this sweet, loving man drowned in darkness and sorrow, trying to find something to take away the pain her death had caused.

He hadn’t talked of her much just yet, the memory too painful.

Hoping that he would now, after he had found a light to guide him out of the darkness.

“I wish to show you the world, to experience all the world has to offer us with you by my side. To give you all the children you wish for, tiny viperlings in the image of us.” More words which brought forth more tears. Ever the poet, ever spilling his aching heart. “All that will heal my broken heart. Healing it further as you have already begun to heal it, my Sun, unbeknownst to you. Every moment spent with my daughters, treating them like your own, giving them your love, all of that put another broken piece back into place.”

“Oh, Oberyn. My Viper, my Moon.” She whispered, wiping away more tears as her own continued to spill. Leaning up to kiss them from his cheeks, brushing her nose against his. “I do not have the words to explain what I feel for you. They feel inadequate to everything you have just said.”

Oberyn chuckled, moving to kiss her lips, those sweet, soft lips.

“There is no need, my Sun. Your touch and your smile are enough to let me know just what you’re thinking, what you are feeling. Let me worship you as you ought to be worshipped in this moment.”

Pressing their foreheads together as they lay in the glowing sun, tangled limbs and tangled souls warmed by it.

Just breathing, just feeling.

Connected in their very beings, basking in each other’s presence.

The love they felt was enough to sustain them for a hundred lifetimes.

The Viper and his Sun.

In a bond formed of love.

[gimmethatagustd]

definitely today, satan | knj

After having a strange dream about your hot neighbor, you realize it might be time to finally make your move. Dreams are a sign from the universe, right?

○ Pairing: DILF/Neighbor!Namjoon x f!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Neighbors to lovers, smut, crack

○ 11 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Neighbor)

○ Word Count: 1,076

○ Warnings: It's corny and horribly written and I don't know what the fuck came over me when I wrote any of these fics, cunnilingus (Namjoon eating it from behind while MC wears a skirt, god bless), nipple play, vaginal fingering, I have a really bad sense humor, reference to NSYNC fanfic

○ Notes: This fic was written for @mapleleaf000 . It's actually part 3 of what has turned into a mini-series about the "Demon DMV" LOL. The links for the other parts are below. For those of you who haven't read "Not Today, Satan," you don't have to read parts 1 and 2 to understand this fic, but I highly recommend it, or else this won't be as funny. Also, yes, there is NSYNC fic on AO3. In case you were curious. 💀

○ Post Date: March 12, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Crosspost

○ What was Jai listening to? Dangerous - TEN

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

Honestly, sometimes your ability to pull hot men shocks you. It doesn’t only happen at night when you’re weirdly dreaming about your hot, daddy-dom neighbor being Satan, tempting you with his sexy biceps and boobs. You’re actually here, in his apartment, sitting on said hot, daddy-dom neighbor’s thick thighs as he sucks on your throat and squeezes your tits. 

Namjoon is even hotter in real life than he was as Satan in your dreams, though you can’t help but think about your dream while he’s pulling off your shirt to trail kisses across your collarbones and reaching around you to unclasp your bra. 

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” Namjoon moans against your chest as he drags his tongue across one of your nipples, flicking it repeatedly until it’s hard and soaked with his spit. His tongue isn’t pointy and forked like it had been in your dream, but that’s fine!

“Not as sexy as you,” you insist with your fingers threaded through his hair. 

Namjoon’s hair is short and bleached with highlights, and you think he’s probably the only person in the twenty-first century who can pull off bleached tips without looking like Lance from NSYNC. 

Is there any NSYNC fanfiction on AO3? If there is, it’s probably Lance/Justin. 

Not to kink-shame anyone, but ew. 

You’re pulled from your distracting thoughts by Namjoon grabbing your ass and helping you grind against the bulge in his pants. He’s still wearing his slacks, having just come home from work. You were supposed to go on a dinner date since his daughter is staying with her mother over the weekend. 

As a respectful father (hot), Namjoon has avoided mixing his dating life with his family life. It’s what’s best for now since the two of you are still getting to know each other. Only recently did your dreams of Purgatory and Hell push you to ask Namjoon out. It makes sense that he wants to take things slow with introducing you into his daughter’s life. 

You’re definitely not taking things slow in other areas of your dating life, though. 

“Is it weird if I say that I dreamt about this?” you ask when Namjoon hooks his arms around your thighs and carries you out of the living room. His strength is impressive, even if his bedroom isn’t far from where you’d been. 

“Not at all. I’ve dreamt about you, too.” 

Namjoon seems shy when he confesses, but you suppose it actually is kind of weird, and the two of you are probably just weird together. Which is nice. Sexy or not, you wouldn’t be able to vibe with Namjoon if he couldn’t keep up with your weirdness. 

“Oh, did you?” you purr as Namjoon reaches under your miniskirt to pull your thong down your legs. 

“Mhm,” he hums against your neck when he hovers over you, slotting himself between your legs so he can grind his thigh against your exposed pussy. 

One of the buttons on his white work shirt catches on your nipple. The rough drag makes your body shiver with goosebumps. When you try to unbutton his shirt, he grabs your hand and pins it to the bed above your head. 

“Keep it on,” Namjoon whispers in your ear. 

His breath is hot against your face, and his voice is deep and scratchy. If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine something darker in his tone, something demonic. It’s so hot you feel your pussy throb and slick up even more. When Namjoon pulls away, there’s a dark spot on his pants from how wet you are. 

“Can I eat you out?” Namjoon’s request is more like a plea, a hopeful lilt to his voice when he speaks. He runs his palms up your thighs to push your miniskirt further up your waist to expose more of your body.

“You don’t even have to ask a question like that.” 

“From behind?” 

“Fuck, yeah, oh my god.” You throw your head back with a dramatic groan before rolling onto your stomach and transitioning to resting on your forearms and knees. “Please, I didn’t even get to the fucking in my dream about you, so I need this.” 

Squeezing your asscheeks, Namjoon pulls you apart and uses his leg to push your knees apart more to open you. 

“I definitely got to the fucking part in mine,” Namjoon says with a chuckle as he runs his thumb over your pussy, first gathering your arousal from where it leaks at your entrance and gliding it up to wet your clit even more. 

“What,” you swallow the drool you’re afraid might come out of you when Namjoon picks up the pace, “What was your dream like?” 

“I don’t know if I should tell you. It was weird.” 

He circles your clit, occasionally thumbing at it with gentle flicks at the tip that makes your legs shake. When you start kicking your foot and moaning louder, he finally brings his mouth down to where you throb for him. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan against Namjoon’s bed sheets. 

You’ve got your face pressed into the bed because you can’t keep your head up as he fucks his tongue in you while he rubs your clit with his slick fingers. He moans against your pussy when he switches positions so he’s fingering you while he laps at your clit. His movements are languid, which drives you even crazier than if he’d been fingerfucking you hard enough to make your ass jiggle.

“Good?” he murmurs with his lips slick and his fingers still massaging your walls.

“So good, god, your lips are so perfect, fuck,” you moan and push back against his face. “Tell me your dream. Was it like this?”

Namjoon kisses your clit before bringing his other hand to rub it while he still fingers you. Leaning back on his knees, Namjoon increases the speed of his movements as he admits, “You were the Devil, and I fucked you so good that you kept me as a pet.” 

“I WHAT?” 

You turn around to stare at Namjoon with wide eyes and an inability to say anything more as your orgasm rips a whiny moan out of you, legs shaking and threatening to collapse. Namjoon wraps his arm around your waist and keeps rubbing your clit until you wiggle away from him when you grow too sensitive. 

Namjoon wipes his messy fingers on your thigh and shrugs. 

“I told you it was a weird dream.”

Join the 100 Drabble Challenge taglist.

@jooniesxbby @seokteoksworld @taegeum @dprmoon @chimmisbae @yoonminkookk @joonsmagicshop @shameless-army

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie).

[queen-of-reptiles]

𝚂𝙴𝙲𝚁𝙴𝚃𝚂

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚘

description: the times that convinced the account y/n.bronze that they were right about the captain and Lucy Bronze's relationship

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lucy bronze x female reader

disclaimer: this is all fiction - do not take any of this seriously!

warnings: fluff, slightly suggestive, cuteness

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y/n.bronze: Here is a thread of instances which confirm that Lucy and y/n are together in my mind - the bottom of the thread is where it gets good.

1. How Lucy looked at her during the post match interview after beating Spain??? Like, her eyes were literally heart shaped??? I want that!

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y/n was absolutely knackered, it had been a very eventful game and while victory was in the end a 3-1 win for them, it didn't feel as if the game was easy.

The England captain was being practically held up by her midfield counterpart Keira, the woman well aware their captain would get player of the match, having scored England's first and third goal of the game.

y/n had been everywhere that game, hardly stopping and continously talking and shouting to her girls so much her voice had gone hoarse. She was sipping at her drink slowly, trying to regain some feeling in her body.

"y/n, you and Lucy are up for interviews." Sarina informed her and the captain groaned, her teammates laughing at her as Sarina shook her head playfully.

y/n forced herself away from Keira's warm hold and toward her lover who had her coat in her hands. Lucy and y/n had been dating four years, and while over the past year there had been speculation of their relationship the two had never confirmed it.

They hadn't felt as if they needed to, being happy enough and secure enough to just need themselves and their teams to know. But ever since y/n made the move to Barcelona from her childhood team of Arsenal and her best friend, the rumours had only grew.

The England team adored the two's relationship, finding the 32 year old and 27 year old truly adorable and hilarious in their relationship and had done a considerable amount to help them keep it quiet.

Lucy and y/n made their way over to the interviewer, hands brushing one another's as they smiled at the woman who handed them their microphones and began asking questions.

"No completely." y/n said in agreement to the interviewer, smiling kindly as Lucy paused, her eyes softening as she watched the love of her life discuss their team.

Lucy was looking at her as if she had just placed the stars in the sky, and the camera did nothing to hide the look of pure adoration and love the right-back was looking at her lover with.

"The English are never done, and the girls worked so well today to remind everyone of that, and prove that we have a lot more to give." y/n smiled and her eyes moved to Lucy's.

The look in the older woman's eyes was one y/n say often, and she returned it with just as much love as Lucy began to answer a question, knowing full well, social media was about to go insane.

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2. When y/n was knocked over during the Sweden game and Lucy didn't even hesitate to square up, her face was so worried, and she only stopped when y/n GRABBED HER HAND?!

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y/n knew this game was going to be tough, violent, but she had not quite estimated how much. Her girls were fighting and fighting hard, and they had been rewarded for it. They were 3-0 up, the first goal was her own.

y/n looked up quickly, the ball at her feet as she danced past another player and sent the ball toward Lauren who was making a quick run. Just as Lauren recieved the ball, y/n was thrown.

Her small frame shook and she practically flew to the side as the shove and ankle which caused her fall threw her onto the ground harshly, rolling in the grass y/n coughed out, the air sucked from her lungs.

The whistle blew but Lucy was seeing red. The older woman had always been protective of her girlfriend, the small midfielder usually the victim of harsh tackles as she was too quick to catch.

Lucy's body was instantly covering y/n's her eyes glaring at the Swedish player who had made the tackle, Lucy wasn't foolish enough to do anything, but it didn't stop the anger rolling off her.

"What the hell was that?" Lucy spat at her, the Swedish player trying to come up with an answer as the referee finally made her way over, a harsh look on her face.

y/n groaned as she heaved a breath in, Lucy still shouting at the player in anger, the referee trying to keep the players crowding around her calm.

The medics helped y/n to her feet, the woman confirming she was okay, just momentarily winded. Lucy stepped forward in anger but y/n darted forward.

Her hand gripped Lucy's fingers, turning the right-back to face her as the referee carded the player who had tackled her, her teammates trying to convince the referee for a red.

"Hey, I'm okay, Calm down." y/n whispered to her lover, her own hand gripping her hand tightly.

Lucy's eyes scanned her, trying to see if she was lying or trying to hide any discomfort, but when their eyes found one another Lucy knew she was telling the truth.

"Okay." Lucy whispered, squeezing y/n's hand before walking away, the two both aware that everyone will have noticed the interaction.

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3. Ellie, in a livestream for City YESTERDAY saying that she would stay with Lucy and y/n, confirming they live together - which we already thought!

Then going on to say they have a spare room - even though Lucy has said multiple times she lives in a two bed apartment and y/n has never said anything about her 'place'!

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Ellie Roebuck and Lauren Hemp sat on two chairs, doing a video for the man city women's you-tube of being asked questions and answering them on whiteboards.

The two had just been asked out of all their teammates international and club level who would they like to live with most. Both turning their boards around, Lauren saying 'Alex Greenwood' because she was motherly and cooked well.

Ellie on the other hand had said 'y/n and Lucy' the two in Barcelona but on the same international team as the blonde goalkeeper, Lauren laughed in agreement.

"Well, they have a spare room, y/n cooks such good food and I feel like I would be looked after." Ellie laughs, Lauren chuckling along.

"Their spare room is lush, super homey with all the blankets." Lauren agreed.

"And the weather in Barcelona is all hot and nice." Ellie added. "So yeah, definitely the skipper and Luce!" Ellie adds smiling.

It was only as the two blondes walked away from the end of filming did they realise what they had done, because Lucy had stated several times she lived in a two bed apartment.

And the two had managed to spill the fact the two lived together and they had a spare room, they instantly facetimed their captain, but the woman wasn't worried.

Both her and Lucy weren't overly worried about hiding their relationship anymore and to Ellie's relief she was invited to stay with them during the off season to taste more of her captain's delicious cooking.

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4. The fact when y/n scored in the Sweden game she ran at Lucy first??? AND JUMPED ON HER

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It was ten minutes into the semi-finals of the euros. Sweden were a fantastic side, everyone knew it and as y/n waited on the outside of the box, she hoped one of her team had the ability to head this corner in.

The ball was sent in, it bouncing from a Swedish head and landing at y/n's feet. The woman hardly thought, she just reacted and fired it at the top corner, the net shaking from the strength of her goal.

y/n grinned, shouting in happiness as she ran at her lover, to estatic to care in the moment as she jumped at Lucy, the brunette catching her easily.

y/n's legs locked around her torso as Lucy's hand went under her arse and the other around her back to keep her stable. Lucy buried her head into her stomach as the team swarmed them.

y/n jumped back down the team crowding her in a hug, and as they ran back to restart she shared another loving smile with Lucy, the two both loving the eventual photo which came from that celebration.

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5. The fact y/n left ARSENAL - her childhood team - to go play for Barca only months after Lucy had and she even admitted in an interview LUCY WAS A BIG PART OF THAT DECISION

6 When Lucy called y/n in an interview the other day and she answered with 'hi my love???' LIKE????

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y/n smiled as she listened to the interview asking her how it was to leave Arsenal for her new team, the reds having been such a massive part in her childhood.

"It was so hard, yes, it was great to know Keira and I were going from our respective clubs together, but I definitely left a big part of me in North London." y/n nodded.

"I came through that academy, my best friend is there, my co-captain through it all. So yeah, it was a tough decision." y/n nodded.

"And what helped that decision?" The interviewer asked.

"The sun here definitely." y/n laughed and the interviewer joined her in her laughter.

"Well, you are half Italian. Anything else?" the interviewer asked, but her phone began to ring and y/n muttered an apology as she answered it, Lucy's name on the screen.

"Hi my love. You okay?" y/n asked into the phone, her lover replying with a yes and asking where she was. "i'm just at an interview Luce." y/n hummed.

"Shit, forgot, sorry, I'm going." Her girlfriend gasped before hanging up the phone. y/n chuckled and apologised again, the interviewer waving it off as she asked about the right-back and y/n felt the honesty flow through her.

"Yes, Lucy Bronze was a big part of it too, obviously she has been at Barcelona longer than I and we talked a lot about the move, she was such a help in me deciding." y/n explains.

"She understood my worry, but also helped me ease them and for me it was about learning a new way of football, and Lucy has been such a help in me getting used to it here." y/n smiled again.

And when that interview would eventually come out, Lucy Bronze would be holding her lover, letting the tears fall as she pressed her lips to y/n's continuously telling her how much she truly loved her.

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7. THE FACT THAT THE MOST RECENT BARCA TRAINING PHOTO Y/N HAS LUCY'S TRAINING TOP ON - AND WHEN KEIRA NOTICED SHE MOVED SLIGHTLY TO PLACE HERSELF IN FRONT OF THE NUMBER SO THE CAMERA COULDN'T SEEE

^

fr I need friends that dedicated to hiding my relationship

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y/n huffed as she tugged her shirt up again, the marks on her collarbone hidden well enough for now by the shirt which seemed far to big for her today.

The right-back chuckled as she pulled the car to a stop in the car park, leaning over the console to cup her girlfriend's face. Her hand gripped y/n's jaw, turning her to face her.

"Stop huffing." Lucy chided, leaning forward to peck the pout from her lover's lips.

"If someone sees these Lucia, you won't have any sex for a week." y/n warns the woman.

Lucy instantly whines in protest her hand reaching down to unclip her lover's seatbelt and pull her sideways across her lap, y/n letting out a panicked yelp as she did so.

The two despite being in a relationship for nearly four years, they were still parallel to teenagers, hardly ever able to keep their hands from one's another's body and their lips from each other's mouths.

"I don't remember you complaining last night baby." Lucy hums lowly, her accent thickening with the gruff in her voice, the sound of her lover's moans, the arch of her back engrained in her brain as her favourite movie.

Lucy's lips pecked down the side of y/n's neck, the girl instantly bending her head back to give Lucy more free skin to work with which caused the brunette to smirk at the hold she had over her.

"In fact, I remember the words, 'faster' and 'more' coming from your mouth a few times last night." Lucy continues.

y/n's eyes roll back slightly from the pleasure inducing tension, but she pushes herself up and off Lucy, glaring at her lover who she realises is just trying to seduce her.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" y/n asked as she leans down to get her bag, jumping out of the car, but as she turns she feels herself pinned, Lucy's hips stopping her moving as the brunette leans over her easily.

"Would you like me to seduce you?" Lucy asks, her lips brushing the shell of y/n's ear. The player shivers, leaning up to press her lips against her lover's who matches the fierce force of her kiss.

"Ay ay ay!" a shout echoes and the two pull away to see Mapi and Patri grinning and cheering, y/n rolling her eyes as she drags her lover inside.

"Lovebirds, no having sex in the car park." Alexia warns the two, but there is an amount of amusement in her eyes as she hugs y/n in greeting.

"Too late for that then." Lucy hums innocently, causing Mapi to spit out her water.

"Que??" Mapi shrieks and y/n shrugs at her friend.

what

"It had been a long week." She hums and Alexia wrinkles her nose in disgust.

The group laugh it off and walk to the gym, Keira and y/n discussing the newest episode of Queen Charlotte they had been watching together with bright excitement.

Just as they started working out, the usual social media team moved inside and the group cheered them in welcome, having known them well by this point.

y/n was doing her usual stretches, chatting with Aitana when she felt it. A body behind her, blocking her back from the camera and y/n turned to see Keira.

"Hey, you okay?" y/n asked as she turned to face her friend, the camera moving off them.

"Yeah, just, didn't want anyone to think you've changed numbers." Keira hums and y/n's eyes widen as she looks behind her and sighs at Lucy's number on her back.

"Thought this was too big for me." y/n sighed and Keira chuckled. "Must have grabbed her extra this morning." She adds, before she pauses and looks over at her girlfriend who was grinning happily.

"She gave the top to you this morning didn't she?" Keira asks, already knowing the games Lucy liked the play.

"Yep." y/n sighs before she walks over to her girlfriend and Keira laughs as Lucy shrieks.

"Ow!"

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LASTLY - the fact they went on holiday together after the euros after Ibiza, and the photos ... the PHOTOS

okay, I'm done, they're soooo dating, thank you.

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y/n giggled as Lucy's hand tugged her toward the villa they were staying at. The team who had gone to Ibiza after the euros had rented three villas for them all, and Lucy's and y/n's room-mates were still out partying.

Due to the fact, Leah, Georgia, Jordan were planning on not coming home for several hours, Lucy saw the opportunity to steal her girlfriend away and spend some time truly celebrating her lover.

"Come 'ere." Lucy hums, leaning down and connecting her lips to her lover's. The villa just in sight as y/n sighed into the deep kiss, her hands gripping Lucy's shoulders.

Lucy's hands trailed down y/n's bare back, burning the skin with her soft touch. Lucy nipped at y/n's bottom lip causing her to moan into her lover's mouth.

"Come on, we're nearly there." y/n gasped at Lucy and the woman nodded, fumbling to get the door open and tugging her lover in. Quickly the right-back pressed her lover against it.

With her strength Lucy easily held the power as she pressed a dangerously loving kiss against y/n's lips. As they continued and the noises got louder, neither of them noticed their phones going crazy over a very shadowy photograph.

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"Smile!" y/n chimes, Lucy turning her head just as y/n snaps a photo of her lover, the two now in Spain for a private holiday of their own before returning to their club.

Lucy chuckled as y/n smiled at the photo, leaning over to pull her lover closer, y/n sighed as she settled into Lucy's shoulder, turning on her front to let her back tan for a bit.

Lucy's hand wrapped around her, landing on the skin of her ass which was bare due to the thong swimsuit she was wearing. Once again the two had rented out a small house.

Therefore no one was near, no one could see their back pool or garden and no one could make any noise complaints over the next seven days.

Lucy's hand squeezed for a moment before letting her hand settle, still gripping slightly and y/n huffed, trying to push her lover's hand off.

"Stop, I'm going to get a tan line." y/n scolds, trying to pull Lucy's hand off.

"Is that supposed to stop me?" Lucy asks lazily, y/n scoffs and biting her shoulder in response. "Ow!" Lucy yelps, sitting up.

y/n makes a noise of pride, shuffling her sun bed away from her lover and closing her eyes as she continued to tan, her lover going suspiciously quiet.

Suddenly, there was a faint pull from her back and she was lifted over someone's shoulder. y/n let out a call of shock, especially when she realised the pull was Lucy discarding her bikini top.

"Lucia!" y/n called, but the brunette just ignored her and threw her onto the bed, jumping on top of her quickly so she couldn't scramble away.

"We have a few hours before dinner. I've got time." Lucy said simply, before her mouth found y/'s nipple and the woman lost all fight in her body.

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After dinner, and y/n once more taking photos of her lover who she continuously told was the most gorgeous in the world. The two walked slowly back to their place.

The two walked across the beach, feet sinking into the sand as they talked, hands connected shoes in Lucy's bag. Eventually Lucy pulled her lover to a stop, just outside the house, the sun only just setting as she did so.

"I'm so proud of you love, you know that?" Lucy asks the Lioness captain. "You took us to that win." She adds and y/n sighs as she leans forward.

"I did it for you." y/n said simply, forehead's connected. Lucy did not fight that, because she knew it was completely true.

"I love you." Lucy hums.

"I love you too." y/n replies, leaning up to kiss her lover in the shadow of dusk. The light kiss so quick, it hardly happened, but both felt every spark it created.

Lucy led her in the night being filled with loving and soft touches, whispered nothings and soft moans, neither noticed the camera which had caught the kiss moments ago.

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END

[scorpioriesling]

Jealousy, Jealousy

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Lucien x reader

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Oh the joys that come with being Rhysand's sister... and the priveledges, or lack thereof.

SR’s Note: Ughhh this isn't very long, but it was cute and gave me all the little feet-kicking feelings I needed. <3 Per @hardcoremarvelfan 's request to use prompts #5, #9, #28, and #49 -- enjoy! xo

“So you’re telling me you weren’t staring at Feyre’s chest during the meeting?” You accuse. Lucien rolls his eyes, chuckling at the implication.

“Please, Y/N — you know she’s just a friend, she always has been.” He coaxes. You halt your stride, folding your arms over your chest. A cool, Autumn breeze ruffles your hair over your shoulder, and Lucien gazes lovingly at you. Unfortunately, you can’t return the sentiment.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t look at her sometimes,” you know you sound pathetic, but you know what you saw. “I saw you, Luc. Your eyes were peeking.” Your mind races to the image of Feyre, her chest perfectly sat beneath a thin, lavender gossimer gown that left little to the imagination. Anddddd Lucien’s eyes hovering for a moment too long.

“Dear,” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “With all respect, you weren’t even at this meeting-?” You swat his hand away.

“You do forget my brother allows me to know and see things going on that I’m not technically “invited” to.” You seethe. Lucien’s mouth flattens into a straight line. “You could fix all this, you know,” you imply.

Lucien quickly snakes his hands around the backs of your thighs, fingers clinging to the juncture where your ass meets your legs, drawing you close and gently kissing up your neck. You hate how he can get to you so easily — a soft moan slips from your lips before you push against his chest, his legs braced on the wooden fence line behind you. You growl, looking menacingly into his eyes.

“If you don’t wanna kiss me, I’ll find someone who does.” With a little hmmph, you continue your path, strutting along the fence line, arms crossed over your chest. Lucien’s large hand grasps your bicep from behind, spinning you to face him once more.

“I’d never let another man touch you,” he stares deep into your eyes. “Let alone do this.” His soft lips are on yours in an instant, moving in a rhythm you both know so well. His hands hold your waist tight, and you finally give in, uncrossing your arms and holding his face in your hands.

“Why so worried today, hm?” He asks, pulling back an inch. You sigh — you know he’s right. He didn’t look at Feyre for more than a few seconds, definitely not ogling her as you’d overdramatically accused him of doing. His gaze never even really dipped below her chin, if that.

“Lucien…” you start. His fingers trace up and down the sides of the soft tunic you wore. He places another soft kiss to your cheek before attentively staring into your eyes again.

“I’m sorry Lucie. I’m just… I don’t know. I’m just…”

“Are you jealous?” He tries. Your shoulders sag, and he continues comfortingly tracing lines down your arms.

“It’s not that… well, okay maybe it is.” You start. “It doesn’t matter that I’m the Rhysand’s sister, or a member of the Inner Circle, I’m just… I’m always forced to sit things out. And Feyre, who just got here, gets to wear pretty dresses and sit in on every meeting…” Lucien kisses you once more as you trail off.

“I can give you something else to sit on?” He grins cheekily, and you roll your eyes.

“Lucien! Seriously, I mean I’m trying to be real with you right now and explain-“ He cuts you off by smushing his lips onto yours once more, and you groan under his touch, pulling back moments later.

“Stop trying to kiss me when I’m trying to yell at you!” You say, a hint of playfulness in your tone. Lucien holds you close, threading his fingers through your hair as his lips find your ear.

“Yell at me all you want — no dress that Feyre or any other female has ever worn has brought me to my knees quite like the sight of you, my love.” You melt at his words, allowing for the roaming of his hands to find the underside of your bum, lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist. He sets you gently atop the fence, continuing to kiss down your neck.

“And don’t ever,” he breaks the assault for only a moment, to peer into your eyes. “…feel like you need to be sorry for your feelings. I’m always here to listen, dear….” another soft kiss to your jaw. “…and I love you just the same.”

[headkiss]

single thread (pt. 3)

part 1, part 2, part 3

pairing: spiderman!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: you know steve’s secret, but he has another; he loves you. of course, you love him, too, and things change.

word count: 9.3k

warnings: spiderman!steve au, fluff, smut (thigh riding and a hj), mentions of a car accident (nobody gets hurt), idiots in love!!!!!!

a/n: she’s here!!!! thank u guys so much for ur support on this mini series, i have loved writing it so so much <3 this will be the last long piece, but if you guys have requests for blurbs from this universe, i’d love to have them!!!

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

You’d never been that great at puzzles, at figuring things out quickly without hints. But for some reason, this was something you’re pretty sure of.

Steve is Spider-man. He’s the one who saved you, who saves people every day, and he keeps it hidden. You understand why he does, and you’d never want to pressure him into telling you something he doesn’t want to, you only wish he knew you were ready to listen. Whenever.

You’re not that strong, but you’d take some of the weight off of his shoulders if you could.

The news plays on your TV now more than ever, as more than just background noise. Your eyes focused on the screen whenever Spider-man is mentioned, analyzing the way he moves, the familiarity of the hand gestures when he speaks, the gentleness when he makes sure someone’s okay.

It isn’t only on the news that you notice things, either. Seeing Steve as often as you’ve grown to, you seem to find more tells constantly. How he can catch a glass before it spills without even looking, the way he’s on edge sometimes, like he can’t focus on one single thing.

You see Steve often, and the clues are there, and he still hasn’t told you about it.

It’s not that you expect him to tell you, or that you’re angry he hasn’t. It’s just been hard to pretend like you don’t know why he’s limping or like you’re still clueless to it all. He’ll tell you on his own time, or maybe he won’t, but you’ll have to be okay with that.

You’ve convinced yourself it’d be best not to tell him you knew. He’s probably stressed out enough, and you didn’t want to add to that if you could avoid it. You’ll be there for him either way, that’s what’s important.

Besides, on top of you figuring out he’s Spider-man, you’ve finally acknowledged the feelings that have been there for a while. The serious ones, the four letter ones. They’ve been on your mind more than anything.

You’re in love with Steve, that’s something you could tell him, in theory, but you can’t bring yourself to. You’d hate to ruin the only real friendship you’ve managed to build since moving.

So, he’s not the only one with secrets after all. He’s Spider-man, you know that he’s Spider-man, and you’re in love with him.

Lately, you’ve actually been thankful for how quiet things have been at work. Your head’s been loud enough. The thoughts of Steve, of trying not to give anything away every time you look at him, of whether he might be going to patrol whenever he leaves.

It’s all-consuming. Pathetic, even.

And it’s what’s on your mind—once again—as you walk home from your morning shift at work. The sun’s out, your eyes squinted when it hits your face. The breeze around you is still chilly, but the promise of spring and warmth is nice.

You glance over to the newsstand you always pass going to and from work, checking the picture on the front page to look for a certain mask. Today, it’s there, and you pause to look at it.

‘Spider-man catches culprit behind string of armed robberies.’

Skimming the article, your heartbeat picks up. The danger this boy puts himself in for the sake of other people. The injuries you’ve seen him come home with. You shake your head and keep walking.

“Mom, look!” A little boy says, urging his mother towards the newsstand. “It’s Spider-man!”

You turn around, a small smile on your face as you see the mother buying her son a copy of the paper. You guess you’re not the only person who can’t keep away from that hero.

Then, there’s a little glow in your chest, the reminder that you’re lucky enough to know the person behind the mask, too.

-

Steve thinks that telling Robin about you might’ve been a bad idea, because she looks like she might slap him right now.

“You’re telling me you kissed her, then told her it couldn’t happen again, and yet you still have that look on your face when you talk about her?”

Robin makes it sound very simple. To him, it isn’t.

“Well, yeah, but it’s complicated, okay? And I don’t have a look on my face, Robs.”

“You absolutely do, all moony and shit. If I didn’t want you to find someone so badly, I’d say it’s kinda gross.”

Honestly, Steve can’t even tell her she’s wrong. If the way he thinks about you tells him anything, it’s that he probably can’t keep it off his face. At the very least, he hopes that Robin can only tell because she knows him so well, not because it’s insanely obvious.

“Thanks.”

“Steve, I know you like her,” she says, gentler than before, careful not to scare him from the conversation.

I more than like her, he thinks. There’s a better way to describe it and he knows that. He may not admit it, not even to himself, but he knows it all the same.

Robin continues before Steve can reply, “and I know you’re scared, I do, but we both know you’d regret it if you didn’t give this a shot.”

He shakes his head. Somehow, every time he sees Robin, the conversation always leads to this. To you.

“I’d regret it more if I got her hurt.”

“Steve, I’ve known about you since the beginning and look at me. I’m right here, perfectly fine,” she holds her arms out, like it’s some sort of proof that she’s okay. “The worst I’ve done lately is scrape my knee, and that’s just because I’m clumsy, not because I know about you being Spider-man.”

He supposes she’s right, that she has a point here, but it doesn’t stop him from being afraid, from feeling an uncomfortable clench in his chest when he thinks about even the slightest possibility of putting you in danger.

“It’s different with her, though,” he says.

“Come on! Remember in high school when you had like four different girlfriends in a month?”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Well, still. Where’s that part of you gone?”

“Um…”

“Shut up, I mean the part that was open to that. To trying to make connections.”

“Maybe the venom from the spider made it disappear.”

She huffs and sinks into the couch cushions. Steve’s always been stubborn, quick to deflect with humor or sarcasm when things get too intense. Too much.

Robin’s a good friend, the best one, and she can see him closing up, so she changes her approach.

“I just want you to be happy, you know?”

“Yeah, Robs, I know.”

“Can you just think about it?”

“About what?”

“Asking her out, telling her how you feel,” Robin lays a hand on Steve’s shoulder, gives it a small squeeze. “Don’t close yourself off to it completely.”

Steve’s hand lands on top of hers, squeezes it back before letting go. He may not have that many people in his life, but having a friend like Robin never makes him feel like he’s missing anything.

At least, he didn’t feel that way until he met you. Now, he thinks about what it’d feel like to fall asleep and wake up with his arms wrapped around you, to be able to kiss you and hold you. To have that intimacy that you can only have when you’re in love with someone.

Fuck. In love.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

-

The good thing about being lost in thought while you walk is that it makes time go by quickly. By the time you’re walking up the stairs to your apartment, you’re not even sure how you got there, your feet having been on autopilot.

Just as you’re fishing out your keys, there’s the sound of a door opening, a pair of voices following. One that’s practically engraved in your head. The other is of a girl, who seems to notice you standing by your door very quickly.

“Oh my gosh! Hi!”

You blink at her a couple of times, because she’s talking to you like she knows you, like you should know her. “Hi…?”

Steve’s leaning a shoulder against his door frame behind her, a scrunch in his brows and a shake of his head. It’s all you catch before she grabs your attention again.

“Sorry! I’m Robin, Steve’s totally, completely plantomic best friend-”

“Oh my god,” he mutters.

“You’re the neighbor,” she continues, saying your name to make sure she’s right, even though she seemed plenty sure of that already. “Steve talks about you all the time.”

“Really?” You can’t help but ask. You try to hide the hopefulness in your voice, the happiness at the idea of him talking about you. All the time.

“Oh, yeah. You have made quite the impact on this guy,” she points towards him with a thumb over her shoulder.

“Robs,” Steve gives her a stare, eyes wide and—if the hint of pink spreading over his cheeks says anything—probably telling her to stop embarrassing him.

“What?” She looks back at him, all innocent.

“Don’t you have to get to work?”

“Okay, okay,” Robin turns towards you again, gives you a toothy smile that’s wide enough to have you sending her a small grin in return. “It was so nice to finally meet you.”

“You, too,” you say, and though she surprised you with a whole bunch at once, you mean it.

She pulls you into a hug and says to you quietly, “thank you for taking care of him.”

And with that, she walks away, retreating down the hall. Steve hears her, Robin knows that. Hell, she probably wanted him to.

He scratches at the back of his neck (that habit of his) and huffs, “I’m sorry about her. She can be sort of a lot.”

“Don’t be,” you shake your head. “She seems great.”

“You’d like her, I think. If you got to know her.”

He still seems nervous, like you and Robin meeting was a really big thing for him. And it is. The two most important people in his life meeting. Of course he’d want that to go well.

“Steve, you don’t need to worry, or anything. I already like her, okay?”

Anyone who seems to make Steve happier is bound to win some points with you. He deserves friends like that, especially with everything he has to carry.

“Okay, yeah. That’s good.”

He still seems nervous, so you step over and place your hand on his arm, giving him the lightest squeeze. He probably wouldn’t have felt it if it weren’t for how focused he is on you.

“I was just surprised, that’s all. Promise.”

Steve’s hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers gently, as if he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

“Thank you,” he speaks quietly. Two words he tries to tell you as often as he can.

-

Steve’s been visiting you at work often, sometimes with food, always with enough to brighten your day. Getting to spend that extra time with him is another perk of working when it’s not busy.

Today, he’s decided to surprise you rather than give you a heads-up over the phone. There’s a takeout bag clutched in his hand, and a little ball of nerves in his stomach. He shouldn’t be nervous, it’s only you. Then again, it’s you.

He opens the bookstore door, the small bell above it jingling. For once, there’s a customer at the register. You glance over at Steve from behind the counter, wiggling your hand in a quick wave before helping your customer again.

And just like that, there’s that feeling in his chest.

Steve waits by one of the displays as you finish up, trying not to make it obvious that he’s looking at you. There’s the soft smile on your face, the tone of your voice, the way the lighting hits your skin. It all has his heart going quicker.

“Hi, Steve,” you greet him once the customer leaves. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Hi, honey. Kinda the point of surprising you with food.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Hopefully I picked something you like.”

From the packaging he’s seen before in your apartment, he’s pretty sure he did alright, but he waits for your confirmation all the same.

You open the bag he’d set on the counter, a small happy gasp that he likes way too much leaving your mouth, “yay! How’d you know I liked this place?”

He shrugs, “lucky guess.”

There’s a second stool behind the counter, and you pull it up for Steve without a word, patting the seat for him to sit down. He does, consumed by the brush of your arms as you unpack the food, the touch of your knees when you shift in your seat.

“Thanks again, Steve.”

“You already know I owe you for all the meals you’ve made me.”

“And you already know, you don’t owe me anything.”

You’re a kind person, Steve’s known that since he met you. So much so that you don’t even see the value in what you’ve done for him, like it’s the simplest thing for you. It’s the simplest thing to help him.

It makes him want to do things he said he wouldn’t. Things like kiss you.

“Anyway,” he shakes the thought away. “How’s your day been?”

You lift a shoulder as you finish your bite of food before replying, “been okay. I’ve had a couple more people come in than usual, which is good.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, I love the quiet in here, love getting to just read behind the counter and call it work. But, it’s also nice to feel useful at least some of the time.”

“That’s good. What’ve you been reading?”

This is a question he loves to ask you, because you get excited to respond every time. He loves to watch you grab the book and show it to him, to see your hands flick through the pages as you tell him what it’s about, to watch the way your mouth forms the words you speak.

He loves to ask you, because he loves to listen to your voice when you answer. That word’s been in his head a lot lately. Love.

So much that he’s not sure it ever really leaves. It’s a lingering whisper, growing louder when he’s with you. Even after you eat, after the food’s been cleaned, as he walks out the door, the word stays.

“Bye, Steve, see you later!” You say as he reaches for the door handle.

He lets himself look at you again before leaving, his eyes lingering for a second too long. “Bye, honey.”

The bell above the door rings again as he leaves, but it isn’t loud enough to cover what’s rushing through Steve’s mind. I love her. I shouldn’t, I can't. I love her.

God, maybe he should talk to Robin again, he thinks. Or, maybe he could avoid the lecture he’s bound to get and take his mind off things the best way he can: putting on the suit.

-

Turns out that even when he should be focused on patrolling, his mind still likes to wander. That’s probably why he ends up stationed atop the building across from the bookstore, where your closing shift should be ending soon.

He ends up there most nights he knows you’re closing, really.

Before, when he couldn’t even let himself think about his feelings for you, he’d tell himself he stayed near the bookstore because it was a shadier area, more alleyways and all that. Now, though it sort of scares him, he’s able to acknowledge that it’s purely to make sure you’re safe.

He has a whole city to be protecting, but if his senses aren’t leading him anywhere else, he’ll always end up near you.

It’s sort of ironic. You, subconsciously looking for Spider-man everywhere you go, him being right there, and you don’t even know it. He’s so, so close.

Steve stationed himself across the street from you about twenty minutes before the shop was meant to close. His eyes squinted on his mask to see if there was anyone seemingly dangerous around, just in case.

Sometimes, when he does this, he can’t stop himself from thinking about that night when he found you in that alley. When his ears were filled with pure static until he knew you were safe. When he kneeled in front of you and brought you home. He doesn’t want you to go through something like that ever again.

The click of the bookshop door closing behind you has Steve’s heightened hearing turned on, knowing that you’re about to lock up and head home.

You feel like there are eyes on you as you walk. But, every time you look behind you, there’s nobody there. You’re just being paranoid, you tell yourself. You’re fine. And really, you are fine, because the eyes aren’t dangerous—though you don’t know it—they belong to Steve.

He hops across buildings as discreetly as he can while following your pace. Walking you home in his own, secret way.

The next thing happens in a complete blur.

You’re crossing at an intersection when a car runs a red light, speeding and crashing into another vehicle. You’re in the street, the two cars screeching on the pavement and heading straight for you. Even if you ran, you wouldn’t be quick enough.

But he was.

Steve jumped down before it even happened, his vision tunneling on that car, on you in its path. He just knew he needed to get to you first. He shot the web, swung down, and scooped you up right before the collision reached you. His heart pounding, his grip on you tight enough to knock the air from your lungs.

He lands and sets you down at the back of an alley, hidden from the bystanders that screamed at the sight of the crash, at the sight of him.

It takes you an entire minute of silence, of your chest heaving and your ears ringing to grasp what had just happened. How close of a call it was, how he was there to save you again.

Your vision is blurred by tears when you look up at him, at the red and blue suit, the mask. Your breathing is quick, panicked, but it slows the slightest bit when you look at him. Spider-man. Steve. The best boy ever.

When your eyes lock onto his face, Steve rushes forward, holding your face in a gentle grasp. It’s frantic, the way his hands shake when he reaches for you, the way his head tilts all over to make sure you’re okay. His thumbs brush away the tears that fall from your eyes, back and forth and back and forth.

“Hey, look at me,” he says, dipping his head down to make you focus on him. “Breathe.”

You shake your head, trying to calm down the best you can after coming so close. Fuck, it was so close. If Steve would’ve been a split-second later, you would’ve been hit. The thought doesn’t help you calm down one bit.

Steve can see the fear in your eyes, the quick rise and fall of your chest. It clenches his heart in a tight, uncomfortable fist, and all he wants to do is help you. So he lets it slip.

“Breathe, honey. Come on.”

Honey.

That’s all the confirmation you’d ever need. You were right. This is Steve. It’s Steve holding your face and saving your life.

You surge forward and wrap your arms around his neck, and his go around your waist instantly.

“Steve,” you breathe out so quietly, only he could have heard it.

His heart sinks and flips at the same time, if that’s even possible. It sinks because you know, somehow, and it terrifies him so much, he’s not sure what to say. But then, it flips, too, because there’s a relief that’s clear in your voice.

“How did you-” he starts, but you only squeeze him tighter.

“Steve,” this time, your voice breaks when you say it.

Now isn’t the time to talk about this. Not when you were almost hit, not in public. Not now and not like this, Steve knows that. The break in your voice tells him to push that back for now.

“I’m gonna take you home, okay?”

He can feel you nod against his neck, so he lets go of you with one hand and keeps the other wrapped around you and starts swinging.

Right now, at this second, he’s not worried about how you found out, how you know it’s him. No, he only cares that you’re alive, that he can feel your arms squeezing around his neck, that he can squeeze you back just as tight.

As he swings with you clutching onto him, the realization makes his breathing stutter.

You could’ve died just then. In that fraction of a moment, you could’ve been gone without Steve ever getting the chance to tell you he loves you. He can’t let that happen. He’s gotta tell you.

It scares the absolute shit out of him, but he has to do something. He can’t lose you before working up the courage to tell you how he feels, before having the slightest chance at kissing you again.

He won’t let that happen.

-

Steve’s very gentle with you, even when he’s swinging from building to building with you in his arms. The sure grip he has around your waist and the smell of his cologne buried under the suit help ground you as wind rushes by.

You’re alive, Steve’s got you, and he knows you know.

Your eyes are squeezed shut the entire way, and in only a couple of minutes, he’s hanging onto the side of his building by his window and thanking himself for (once again) not locking it.

“Hey, honey, can you open the window for me?”

You lift your face from his neck and nod, twisting to lift it open. Steve’s supporting you with one arm and holding the both of you up with the other. The strength he has is incredible, especially when you’re seeing it first hand.

He helps you get into his room with a hand on your lower back, and lifts himself in right after you. You watch Steve’s back beneath the suit as he shuts the window, watch his gloved hands remove the web-shooters from his wrists.

Then, slowly, watch those same hands lift up to the edge of his mask and tug it off.

Your breath catches. You knew it was him, but seeing Steve’s familiar face and its prettiest combination of features be revealed is different, it’s real.

“Wow,” you say, though you hadn’t really meant to. It slipped. “Hi.”

Steve’s had a twist in his gut ever since he found out that you knew about him, and it only tangles more now that you’re looking at him with widened eyes. He doesn’t want things to change with you, and he’s so scared that they will.

What if you don’t want to see him anymore because of this? What if you’re angry with him for keeping it from you? What if you end up hurt because someone wanted to get to him?

“Um, hi.”

You step closer to where he stands by his side table, your hands twisting in front of you like you’re nervous, too.

“You saved me.”

“Just, uh, doing my job,” he says, shrugging it off.

“Well, then, you’re really, really great at what you do.”

You’re trying to be light with the subject, to take it at his pace given it’s his secret, his life. Steve’s quiet for a few moments, a flicker of something you can’t distinguish crossing over his face.

“How’d you know?” Is all he says, but you know exactly what he means by it.

“Saw Spider-man with the exact same injuries as you on the news. I guess I just connected the dots from there.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

You reach for his hand and hold it lightly, hoping that maybe, just maybe, your touch can help to ground him as much as his does you.

“Don’t be, okay? I understand why you wouldn’t. I just want to be there for you.”

“I don’t tell anyone, really,” he starts, his grip on your hand tightening as he speaks. “Robin’s the only other person who knows. I don’t want to put anyone in danger so I… I just keep it to myself.”

You squeeze his fingers, trying to show him in any way you can that you aren’t going to run away from this.

“You don’t have to keep it all to yourself, Steve. You can talk to me or knock on my door whenever you’re hurt,” he shakes his head. “You can. I keep my first-aid kit stocked for you.”

“It doesn’t scare you? That you might get hurt because of me?”

“I’m not scared for myself. I’m scared for you. Going out every night and fighting the bad guys. I’m scared that you’ll get hurt, Steve. I’m not worried about me,” he glances down but you step even closer, making him look at you. “If tonight shows anything, it’s that you’ll save me from getting hurt either way.”

Steve’s hand that isn’t holding yours moves up, pushing your hair over your shoulder before landing on your face. The fabric of his glove rests against your jaw, his thumb running over your skin, his eyes searching yours for a single hint of insincerity.

He doesn’t find one.

“You’re really important to me, honey.”

“You’re important to me, too.”

You’re close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips, his forehead a whisper away from yours. Close enough that you catch the way his eyes flick down to your mouth and back up.

“I know I said we shouldn’t-”

“Kiss me, Steve.”

“Okay.”

The hand on your face tilts you upwards, and just like that, he catches your lips with his. You’ve kissed before and still, there’s a rush of butterflies in your stomach, a warmth spreading over your skin the way a blanket of sunlight feels.

It’s slow, it’s delicate, and it means something. There are a thousand words that neither of you can say buried in this kiss, in the gentle press of your lips. Words spoken with the tilt of his head to get closer, the squeeze of his fingers interlocked with yours.

Steve doesn’t ever want to not be able to kiss you again. Not when it feels like this. Acceptance and reassurance, softness and the sort of glowing feeling he’s only ever had around you.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t go far. Your breaths meet between your faces, mingling in the silence that follows. Steve rests his forehead against yours, your noses brushing.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” you say. Because you’re still shaken from earlier, because you need the comfort that Steve seems to provide simply by being next to you, because you’re afraid that if you let him out of your sight, he’ll pull away from you again.

“You want me to stay with you?”

You nod. “Please.”

“Okay, honey, I’ll stay.”

As long as you’ll have me, he thinks, I’ll stay.

-

Steve did stay that night. After you both showered and got ready for bed, there was a moment where he stood—almost nervous—in the doorway of your bedroom. You lifted the covers for him and patted the spot next to you, and that was it.

He stayed for breakfast, too. This time, it was him cooking for you, stood over the stove in your apartment. It’s a sight you could definitely get used to. Then, like he could get any sweeter, he even called into work for you, saying you should at least get a day after what happened the night before. What almost happened.

Really, as scary as the crash had been, what you’d been thinking about the most was the way he kissed you. The way you’d woken up in the middle of the night with his arm around your waist. The way you fell back asleep easily with him there.

It’s what you’ve been thinking about in the days since. What you’re thinking about even now.

You know that something shifted that night, with him finding out that you knew he’s Spider-man, with you being able to reassure him that it won’t push you away. You could feel that shift, like a tectonic plate.

Despite that, things have been quiet and relatively the same with Steve. You haven’t seen him all that much, but when you do it’s still friendly. Friendly with something lingering between you, unspoken and palpable.

It’s dark out now, the evening news playing on your TV the way it so often does. It’s static to you until you see footage of Spider-man from earlier, swinging around and fighting crime again.

Naturally, your first thought is Steve, and whether or not he’s okay. Before, when he didn’t know you knew, you’d keep all this worry to yourself, letting it build and build until you saw him again. Now, though, he knows you know and you can do something about that concern.

You push yourself up from your couch and head to your door. Knocking on his comes easy, and he opens it quickly, like he knew it was you.

“Hi,” he says. There’s a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Hi. Sorry for bothering you, I just- um. I saw the news and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Seeing you on the other side of his door already had Steve’s heart doing this silly flutter in his chest. Knowing you care enough to check on him this way does something else entirely. It floods from head to toe, the feelings he has for you. The ones he’s identified as love.

“I’m okay, promise. Not even a scratch this time.”

You nod, a pressure lifting from your lungs. You breathe a little easier seeing him unharmed. Seeing him in general.

“Okay. Good,” you should probably stop there, turn around and go back to yours, but you don’t. “I was just really worried, y’know, ‘cause I’ve seen you hurt and all, so I just wanted to see you and check-”

“Hey,” he grabs your hand gently, cutting off your rambling and tugging you into his apartment, pushing the door shut behind you. “I swear not every Spider-man thing I do is dangerous.”

“Yeah, okay, because swinging from buildings is super safe.”

“I’m a professional at that. Nothing to worry about.”

The wood of the front door is solid against your back, and Steve’s hand still in yours is the same. Solid, reassuring, sweet. Steve steps just a bit closer to you, so that you’re toe-to-toe and there’s nowhere for you to escape to.

His free hand reaches up to fiddle with the ends of your hair, gentle in a way that almost feels like you dreamt it.

“Did you really only come here to check on me?” He asks.

“Yeah, I did. Is that… okay?”

Steve wants to kiss you for that. He thinks you might want that, too. So, he dips his face closer to yours, lets go of your hand only to hold onto the nape of your neck instead. He hesitates, waits for you to push him away, but you never do.

Instead, you tilt your head and meet him in the middle.

You never knew that kissing someone could be so easy, that you could fit together so well that it just works. But that’s how it is with Steve, and you suppose that’s how it is when you’re in love. The pink haze and heart-shaped touches.

Steve doesn’t think he could ever get sick of kissing you, of feeling so light when things are often so heavy for him. When you pull away, he chases your mouth and steals two, three pecks from you.

Then, to answer your question, he says, “it’s more than okay.”

You only notice now that you aren’t distracted by his mouth on yours that your hands had found their way to his shoulders. It’s impossible not to notice the muscles under his skin, the clear evidence of his strength. Heat spreads through you, and you have to pull your hands away to speak properly.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he tells you. His hand, still on your neck, squeezes so, so lightly. “I know I’ve said that we should only be friends, but that was before. Before you knew, and I was terrified of what could happen to you.”

“What about now?”

“Now…” He takes a deep breath, and focuses his eyes on yours. Whatever he’s about to say, he wants you to know he means it. “Now I can’t stop thinking about you and how it feels to kiss you.”

“I think about you, too.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, and though being honest makes you nervous, the smile that spreads over his face makes it worth it. So does the slight blush of his cheeks.

“I want to take you on a date. If that’s something you’d like.”

“I would really like that, Steve.”

Right then, there’s another shift, a bigger one. You both know there are feelings here. Big, scary feelings that you can’t say out loud yet.

-

Steve took care of planning the date. He wanted to surprise you, to impress you and do something for you this time. You do enough for him already.

Though Robin assured him—after all of her ‘finally’s and ‘I told you so’s—that it would be great, perfect, even, he’s still nervous when he knocks on your door. He’s shuffling on his feet, puffing out a breath as he waits, and then he sees you and the rest sort of melts away.

You open your door to find Steve with a picnic basket in hand and a slightly windswept bouquet of flowers in the other. You smile as he hands them to you and try to hide it by smelling the flowers.

“Thank you, these are beautiful.”

“‘Course.”

“I’ll just put them in water and then we can go.”

Your stomach is a mess of flutters and nerves as you fill up a vase with water and put the flowers in it. Sure, you’ve spent time with Steve alone time and time again, but never like this. It’s exciting and it’s scary, but the welcome kind of scary that comes with new things.

“You’re taking me on a picnic?” You ask, locking your apartment door behind you and then falling into step next to Steve.

“If that’s okay with you?”

“Sounds amazing.”

“My cooking isn’t as great as yours, I have to warn you,” Steve says, holding the door open to the stairwell.

“I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“It’s okay if you don’t, I’m just saying.”

He holds the door at the bottom of the stairs open for you, too. And then the one to exit the building.

As you walk along, Steve leading the way, your nerves fade, replaced with the familiarity and comfort of Steve’s company. Replaced with the feelings that sweep inside you like a huge bubble of pink bubblegum, so close to popping and spilling it all.

You talk aimlessly about anything and everything, and Steve does the same. You both try not to make the little catch in your breaths obvious when your hands brush.

He takes you to a park, one with big trees and a walking trail, with scattered flowers and the fresh smell of nature that makes you feel like you’re not even in the city anymore. He keeps going, and you keep following him, until he finds the spot he’d found before. A small clearing between trees, shaded by their leaves and just enough space for him to spread out the picnic blanket.

“Why have I never found this place myself?” You ask, looking up at the sky through the leaves.

“You like it?”

You nod, sitting down next to him on the blanket he brought. “Thank you for bringing me.”

He shrugs, “thank you for coming.”

You share a smile, a slow spread across your mouths as you look at each other for a moment. A smile saying this is real. Then, like it didn’t even happen, he starts to unpack the food.

Steve can’t even remember the last date he went on, but he knows that it wasn’t anything like this. He’s never felt this light around someone before. Somehow, you turn the bricks that weigh him down into feathers.

You’d thought it before, but you’re sure of it now; Steve is the absolute best boy you’ve ever known. The effort he put into making and packing up the food, the shyness he has about it all, like he should be embarrassed for being sweet to you. You feel unbelievably lucky that you moved into the apartment across from his.

The date goes by in a blink. You and Steve subconsciously moving closer and closer on the blanket, your thighs touching and your arms brushing. The food eaten between conversation and giggles. The picnic basket is now packed up again, the containers empty this time around.

You rest your head on Steve's shoulder and say, “thank you for this.”

Steve’s eyes close for a second, trying to memorize how this feels. He opens them and presses the gentlest kiss onto your head. “You’re welcome, honey.”

You stay that way and breathe each other in, once, then twice. That’s all you allow yourself before you stand and brush yourself off even though you weren’t dirty in the first place. Steve folds up the blanket and places it in the basket, and he stands, too.

This time, as you walk back to your apartment building, when your hands brush, you and Steve feel just a bit more confident, enough to reach your pinkies out to each other and lock them.

Steve’s the one who fully grabs onto your hand, letting your fingers intertwine. It’s how they’re meant to be, he thinks, two pieces of the same puzzle that just happen to fit together. You don’t let go for the entire walk.

Outside your building, neither of you really want to say goodbye, to end the date that feels like the beginning of something really, really good.

But, just as Steve lets go of your hand to reach for the door, he feels it. The tingling over his skin, the goosebumps, the static in his ears. He blinks and turns to you.

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop, it’s okay. Just be safe.”

He’ll never understand how you’re so understanding, how you accept it so quickly. All he knows is he loves you for it and so much more.

“Thank you, honey.”

He presses the quickest kiss to your cheek, sets down the picnic basket, and then runs into the alleyway on the side of the building. When he emerges, he’s in his suit and swinging off.

He’d been wearing it under his clothes. Always prepared.

You pick up the picnic basket and walk up to your apartment half convinced that the last few hours have been some sort of dream. Too good to be true.

-

The issue that had Steve’s senses coming alive didn’t take long to handle. Still, he stayed out to continue patrolling, worried that something else could happen. Worried that it might be too soon to go back and see you again.

Not seeing you didn’t erase you from his thoughts. Not one bit. He spent the hours in the suit waiting for the city to die down, waiting for the moment his senses would quiet down enough to let him know he was done for the night.

All because he wanted to see you, kiss you. God, he’s so fucked.

You were faring pretty much the same. Only, you’d changed into your pajamas rather than a superhero suit, laying around on your bed with a book in hand to hear knocks on your door. Or, at the very least, to hear him get home safe.

When the knock comes, it isn’t on your door. Instead, there’s a tapping on your bedroom window by the fire escape. As soon as you hear it, you shut your book and turn towards your window, and there he is.

Steve hangs upside down, his head level with yours when you open the window to talk to him. If you weren’t so busy being in love with him, the sight would be sort of funny.

“Well hello, Spider-man,” you say, leaning your hands against the windowsill.

“Hey, honey.”

“You aren’t hurt are you?” You ask, moving your hands to hold his face, because you’ve seen him injured enough times to be worried about that, to know it’s a possibility.

“I’m completely fine.”

“You’re really okay?”

“Nothing hurts, I promise,” he says, shaking his head. How could it when you’re holding him like that, looking at him like that. Pain isn’t what he’s feeling in the slightest.

You’re not really thinking when you lean in and peck his cheek over the mask, but it’s enough to scorch his skin, to leave an invisible mark.

And Steve isn’t really thinking when he speaks, “have I ever told you that I think you’re really pretty?”

“You’re upside down,” you tell him, fighting a stupid, lovesick smile. “You must be seeing wrong.”

He ignores that comment and twists himself upright, then climbs through your window into your apartment. You have to back up to make room for him, and when his feet hit the hardwood floors, he’s only inches away.

“I’m right side up now. Still think you’re pretty.”

You’ve never been good at taking compliments, never really thought that people meant them, only that they were trying to be kind. Steve is different. You still don’t believe it yourself, but you can tell that he does. His voice holds enough emotion to do that.

Bashful, you walk around him to shut your window and then lock it. You try to keep your feelings off of your face when you turn back around and find him already facing you, his mask now off and clutched in his hand.

His hair is a mess on his head, his cheeks flushed from being upside down and maybe, just maybe from being so close to you.

“So, what brought you to my window?” You ask.

“I wanted to say sorry,” he says, scratching at his neck. That habit of his. “For leaving the way I did earlier.”

It’s a half truth. He wanted to apologize for that. But, mostly, he wanted to tell you he loves you. He’d been thinking about it his whole patrol. Thinking about when the right time would be then remembering how quickly things can change, how you’d almost been hit not so long ago.

With that, he decided that there wasn’t a right time, that he could lose you just like that and he swore to himself that he wouldn’t let that happen. Especially not without telling you how he feels.

But, he’s always been more courageous with that mask on, and now, he just can’t get the words to leave his mouth. They hover on the top of his tongue, sticky and heavy.

“I told you it’s okay, Steve. I swear,” you step closer to him and reach for his hand, tugging the glove off before lacing your fingers with his. “I know that you had to, that this is a part of you and I’d never expect you to change or ignore it. I-“ love you, you almost say. But the words get stuck for you, too. “I care about you so much. Spider-man included.”

Every time Steve worries, even the slightest bit, that you’ll feel differently about him because of this, you prove him wrong. You say all the right things to make him feel better, to make him want to fall into you completely and never look back.

You’ve proven to him over and over that you’re in this, that you’re this dream of a girl that somehow ended up in his mess of a life. A mess you’re willing to join, helping him clean it without even trying.

You’re a dream, his dream, and he has to say it. He has to say it so he does, those sticky words forced off of his tongue in a breath.

“I love you.”

He squeezes your hand on the second word, like he’s emphasizing it. Love.

“I love you,” he says again, and you realize you’re not dreaming. He really said it, and he’s really looking at you that way with those soft, brown eyes. “You don’t have to say it, I just needed to tell you. I’ve never had someone make me feel the way you do. Never.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Your heart pounds, thumps.

“I love you, too.”

“Serious?” He checks, because he thinks he dreamt it just like you had.

So you repeat it for him, “I love you, Steve.”

He leans in, not so afraid anymore, and places a hand on your neck, his fingers in your hair. The other hand squeezes yours again before letting go to frame your jaw and tilt your mouth to his.

It’s an easy rhythm to fall into now. Kissing him. And you feel yourself melt into him, your muscles relaxing, your body pushing towards his. Your arms are thrown around his neck, and all you feel is him.

It’s a delicate push and pull, a kiss that’s familiar but now has something new behind it. That acknowledged emotion, the reality of it. It has his tongue sweeping against the seam of your lips and dipping in when they part.

His hand is tangled tighter in your hair, and you’re not sure how long it’s been before you both pull away, breathless, chests heaving, matching smiles on your lips. Your noses still brush, and still, it doesn’t feel close enough.

Steve’s hands shift to run down your shoulders, then your arms, and back and forth.

“Does this mean I’m your girlfriend?” You ask, still breathing heavy, still feeling his breath fan across your lips.

“I’d like to think so,” he says, his hands now settled around your forearms. “If that’s what you want.”

You nod, kiss him quick. “Does it also mean you’ll stay the night?”

“As long as I can use your shower first,” he says.

“Good idea.”

“You saying I smell?”

You shrug, shoulder to your cheek. He smiles, and in turn, so do you, and it feels like the closest thing to perfect there could ever be.

-

Steve emerges from your bathroom with damp hair falling over his forehead and your clothes on instead of his suit. You lent him a t-shirt and a baggy pair of sweats that are still a bit too short at his ankles. You grin when you notice that.

And Steve grins when he sees you. My girl, he thinks. And it’s for real this time.

You’re sitting with your back against your headboard, knees bent and your book in your hands yet again. You needed to occupy yourself while he was showering, after all. Otherwise, you’d just think and think and think about him in the next room, his mouth on yours. His voice saying the words ‘I love you.’

He walks over and sits on the bed by your feet, his side facing you, but his head turned to look at you. Seeing him in your clothes, in your space, you think it’s something you’d like to see forever. Seeing you waiting for him in bed, Steve’s thinking the exact same thing.

“Hi,” you say.

Steve wraps a hand around your bare ankle, his thumb smoothing back and forth. “Hi.”

Though everything’s out in the open now, there’s a shyness there. Like two kids with crushes wondering what to do next. You’ve never loved each other out loud before today. It’s brand new territory.

But with that shyness, there’s so much more. There’s the knowledge of how it feels to kiss each other, to hold each other. There’s want to do it all again.

Steve’s other hand reaches for your book and sets it open and face-down on your nightstand. Then, he pushes your knees over so that he can lean in. He’s not fully thinking about what he’s doing, he’s simply listening to this thread that pulls him closer and closer to you until he’s kissing you again.

It starts with a couple of pecks, innocent, soft, quick. It turns into more and somewhere along the way you’re tugged into Steve’s lap, your knees on either side of one of his thighs. And somewhere along the way Steve’s hands have ventured under your shirt, running across your waist and up and down your back. He groans into your mouth when he notices the lack of a bra.

Steve tugs you impossibly closer to him, tugs you down so that you’re straddling his thigh with all of your weight. You inhale sharp and quick through your nose when he does.

It’s not long after that before you’re panting, unable to keep up with his mouth, and though Steve’s chest heaves, too, he doesn’t take the break to breathe properly. Instead, he dips his head to kiss your jaw, then your neck.

Your head tilts for him easily, an arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other tangled in the hair at the bale of his neck. You gasp when his teeth scrape against the skin behind your ear, your hips hurting unconsciously to rut against his thigh.

“Sorry,” you say, worried it was too much. Still, it comes out breathily.

He pulls back from your neck, looks into your eyes, his brown ones just a bit darker than usual. “Did that feel good?”

Your eyes search his face for an ounce of discomfort, of uncertainty. All you see is the kind of warmth that spreads through you, the kind of intensity that only comes with lust.

“Yes.”

“Do it again,” he tells you, his hands slipping down to rest just above the waistband of your shorts. He encourages you to move, his hands pushing and pulling. You move with him, slowly at first, letting out the smallest whimper when the angle is just right. At the sound, Steve says, “keep doing it.”

“Steve.”

“You’re okay,” his hands urge you forward again, his thumbs running back and forth soothingly. “I wanna make you feel good. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, because how could you not when it already feels so good, when he’s looking at you with kiss-swollen lips, messy hair, and wide pupils. When he’s looking at you like it feels as good for him as it does for you.

You move quicker, his hands encouraging you still. He kisses you again, kisses you until you have to pull away, your mouth dropping open, a moan slipping out before you can stop it.

Steve wishes he could bottle up the sound and keep it, listen to it over and over. Because he’s the one who’s making you feel that way, he’s the one who has your hand tight in his hair. Because he’s thought about you before, and it’s nothing compared to the real thing.

The sweatpants you lent him grow a bit tighter, and his hands don’t stop guiding you over him. He wants to hear you make that noise again.

You drop your forehead to his shoulder, your thighs tightening around his, your clit catching on the fabric of your shorts and his (your) sweatpants enough to make you moan again.

“That’s it, baby. Doin’ so good.”

It’s the first time he’s ever called you ‘baby’ and you hope it won’t be the last.

“Steve.”

“I’ve got you.”

The hand that isn’t in his hair trails down his torso and rests above the waistband of his pants for a second. Your hand cups him over his pants, squeezing lightly and finding him hard. Watching you was enough to turn him on, and the thought makes you whimper again.

“Fuck. You don’t have to,” he says, taking a hand from your waist to pull your face from his shoulder, to look at you.

“Want you to feel good, too.”

There’s nothing but honesty in your words, want in your eyes.

“Shit, honey.”

“Will you let me?” You ask, your voice slightly strained from the stimulation you feel, your hips still moving.

“Yeah.”

Your hand slips under the waistband with his consent, and you wrap it around him, your thumb running over his tip. He groans and leans his forehead against yours.

You’re breathing the same air, moving at the same pace, and you don’t think it’s ever felt this right with anyone before. With Steve, you’re not thinking about how you might look and whether or not he’ll like it, you’re only thinking about being with him.

“I’ve thought about you before. Like this,” he says, a quiet confession broken up by heavy breaths.

“Me, too,” you reply in a gasp.

His hands are both on your waist again, squeezing your skin tighter because you have a hand wrapped around his cock and it has his head spinning.

“You getting close, baby?”

“Yeah, Steve. So good.”

“I know. Keep going. I wanna see you.”

His voice is tight, and he’s holding himself back though it hasn’t been long. Your hand is soft, running up and down and he hasn’t been with someone in so long. The fact that it’s you, right now, doesn’t help him last. Just kissing you would be enough, he thinks.

Your rhythm stutters, your eyes squeezing shut, and just like that, you’re tipping over the edge and coming on his thigh.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he hums, low and scratchy. “That’s it. Look so pretty coming on me.”

Your hand pauses where it was jerking him off, too caught up in your orgasm to keep going. You say his name, say it again, and he keeps you moving over him through it all.

“Fuck,” you open your eyes when the last wave draws away, your legs shaking slightly.

It doesn’t take you long to start stroking him again, up and down and back again. Steve grunts and his hips stutter upwards, chasing your touch. It’s your turn to work him through it.

“Gonna come, honey,” he warns you. “I’ll ruin your sweats.”

“Don’t care,” you say, kissing his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I want you to.”

You run your thumb across the tip again and then his fingers are digging into your skin. He’s groaning and you feel the warmth of his come spill onto your hand. Neither of you had taken any clothes off and still, it’s the best you’ve ever had.

“Shit, honey.” This time it’s his head that rests against your shoulder. “I’m gonna need another shower now.”

You laugh breathily and pull your hand from his pants, wiping it off on the thigh you’re not sitting on, ‘cause they’re already ruined, anyway.

“I’ll get you another pair,” you say.

“In a minute. Can’t move.”

A minute is closer to five, and eventually he lets you go. You hand him a new pair of sweatpants, then clean up in the bathroom and change into different shorts. When you come back, he’s laying down under the covers in your bed. Twin smiles spread on your faces.

“You’re cute,” you tell him.

“So are you.”

You shake your head and flick your light off, the street lights flooding through your window the only thing left illuminating your room. You join him under the covers, and he doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you and pull you into his chest.

Your head rests by his shoulder, one of your legs thrown over his. Having him laying next to you is much more comfortable than being alone.

“I love you,” Steve says, his lips pushing a kiss into your hair.

“I love you,” you say right back.

And then, just like you’d imagined so many times before, you fall asleep cuddling Steve. And just like he’s imagined so many times before, you wake up that way, too.

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

thank you guys so much for reading spidey!steve i hope u liked it!!!! pls pls consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought, i promise it makes a difference <333

[crimsonred-hi]

Wash Day

Pairing: Andrew Hozier-Byrne x Reader

Warnings:

Summary: Wash day is Sunday, so Andrew and his girlfriend get in the shower together (not sexually).

He’s just minding his business, siting in the living room of your home, book in hand, glasses on his face. He’s nice and comfy, content, thinking his gonna be sat there for a while,

“It’s wash day!”

There, all ruined in a 3 word sentence, his day of lounging around and reading is destroyed by his girlfriend yelling that today is the day of the week where she washes his hair… because apparently he can’t do it himself.

Begrudgingly, he puts down his book, making his way up to the big bathroom in the house. There’s his girlfriend, smiling at him, with the little (it’s not little who is he kidding) basket of hair products.

Two washes, conditioner, hair mask, a plethora of curly hair products, and other tools she’ll ’torture’ him with. That’s how this will go, that’s how it happens every week on Sunday.

Sunday is wash day, she washes his hair then her own. It’s always wash day, yet every week he forgets how bad it is, then has to do it again.

“Come on, strip.”

She says with a smile, Turing on the shower so it can warm up.

“Wow… what am I, a common whore?”

She giggles at him, before getting undressed herself so they can get in together. A few minutes later, she’s got him sat on the floor, so she can reach his head, in the large shower. First step is getting his hair wet, the shower head is pulled off the wall to make this happen. She points the warm water start at his hair, getting it wet, then for the fun of it she spritz of water into his face,

“Aye!”

“Oh, hush. You spend you mornings in the Irish Sea, a little warm water to the face isn’t gonna kill you.”

He grumbles, at her words, crossing his arms as his girlfriend gets his hair all drenched so it can be shampooed.

And thats the next thing, a shampoo bar is pulled out of the basket, it’s taken out of the case it’s kept in so it doesn’t mould. She scrubs his hair with the bar, until it starts to bubble up, the bar is discarded and she just massages his scalp and rubs the shampoo into his hair.

He leans back into her tummy, his eyes closed, a low hum of pleasure coming from deep into his chest.

“Does that feel good, Bear?”

The reply comes in a soft rumble from his chest, she giggles at his enjoyment, continuing to massage the built up dirt from his hair and scalp.

She grabs the shower head, washing the first round of shampoo out of his hair. The warm water runs over his head and face, dripping down his body, leaving a sweet soothing feeling down his body.

She moves about, putting the first shampoo bar back in the basket,

“Ooo! Do you want to try this honey scented  shampoo?”

He doesn’t care, what she uses on his hair. He’s just mindless, so deep in the soothing pleasure of her touch. He just nods in his mindless state.

She smiles, repeating the acts again. She opens the shampoo bar, except she holds it to his nose before she uses it, its smells great. She scrubs the bar into his hair, then massages it into his scalp and hair. Then washes it out.

“There we go! That’s the first thing done, and we’re only 15 minutes in.”

She says with a smile, kissing his cheek, as if praising him for just sitting still so she could wash his hair.

She moves off to the basket, putting everything back, and finally pulling conditioner out. She move to his hair, slathering the conditioner on her hands, then threading it through his hair, making sure not to get it on his roots. Finally she pulls out, washing off the conditioner on her hands,

“3 minutes wait time, just sit there and look pretty.”

He smiles at her comment, then 3 minutes later she washes the conditioner out, the a hair mask is caked on his hair. She wraps a shower cap around his head.

“Come on, hun… I’ve gotta wash my hair while that mask does its thing.”

“Yes, ma’am”

He moves to a small stone bench kept in their large shower, and he just watches as she washes her own hair.

It’s a lot quicker for her to wash her hair, because she’s been doing this since she was a kid. Washing her hair out, it’s takes all of 15 minutes for her to shampoo her hair twice and condition it. That leaves another 15 minutes for his hair mask, so she puts her own hair mask in.

“Are you done, honey?”

She hums back at him, moving back to him, standing in front of him, her hands on his cheeks, rubbing his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“Hey, do you recon we should shampoo and condition your beard?”

She jokes, the answer is yes, they could shampoo and condition his beard. But he doesn’t want to say yes, because then washing his beard will also become a regular thing.

“……no.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No…”

“Yes, you are… we should wash your beard!”

“Please no…”

It was too late, now their sat on the shower floor, her rubbing the honey shampoo bar along his cheek. Giggling at his little pout. She rubs the shampoo into his beard, her hands moving along his cheeks, smiling at him warmly.

“Why…? You didn’t have to do this to me…”

She giggles, kissing his lips, so some of the shampoo transfers onto her cheeks as well.

“Look at that! No we’re matching!”

She says happily, we do match, both in shower caps with shampoo foam on our cheeks. She smiles at him, grabbing the shower head and washing the shampoo off his and her cheeks. Then she moves in with the conditioner to his beard, and his pout only gets bigger.

“Please tell me we’re not doing this again…”

She laughs, waiting the 3 minutes for the conditioner, then washing off.

“Look, time to wash out your hair mask!”

His sighs, when the shower cap is pulled off his head, just to get slapped in the face with his hair, making his lover laugh.

The hair mask is washed out, and she leaves him to wash his body while she finishes washing her hair and her own body.

___

She now has Andrew sat in her vanity chair, having other products scrunched into his hair. She’s stood behind him, finger coiling his hair, separating his strands of hair and coiling them so she doesn’t have to put his hair in rolls.

“Now, Andy… I’m gonna give you the choice, do you want to defuse your hair or not?”

“No, I just want to get dry and read my book… please.”

She smiles softly, kissing his cheek softly, tying his hair up in an old cotton t-shirt so it can dry naturally.

“Ya know, I should get you a bonnet.”

He sighs, not really listening anymore, he just gets into pyjamas and goes back downstairs to sit in his arm chair with the book he’s been trying to read.

And then, she joins him, making herself comfortable in his lap as he reads.

[trulyhblue]

My Girl

Hayley Raso x Barcelona! Reader

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, drinking, sport rivals, coarse language.

A/N — this photo of her after the Chelsea vs RMA CL game has me in a chokehold. A short but sweet one <3

_______________________

You met Hayley in a drunken embrace, breathing in the earthy chill that contrasted the firey ambience of the club.

You hadn't been starting for your Childhood team for a couple of weeks now, only just making the starting eleven today you went above and beyond in training. Barcelona was your home. You grew up in the city, raised with a football by your feet, and had been a part of the club for as long as you could remember. You were one of the many girls among the team who had never experienced life outside of the Spanish League, with no eminent efforts of changing that anytime soon. You had made your debut at seventeen, and over these past few years, you were lucky enough to see the team expand into one of the greatest women’s team in the world — arguably even the best.

While this came with certain bragging rights, and of course the utmost pride for the club, the safety and security that came with your position on the team were always at stake. Unlike other teams, Barcelona were ongoing in their endeavours to keep their players on their toes in regard to their contracts. This was most apparent in girls like you, who had been at Barca your whole life.

It was a constant battle to the top, but maintaining your status there was harder. You loved football. It was your passion, your dream, but it was also your career — a very demanding one, at that.

You had met Hayley in England when you were visiting Manchester to catch up with your close friend Ona. Ona was at United, thriving at the club in streaks, but her contract was ending with the reds. You were one of the first to know about the girl’s transfer to your club. You were so, so excited.

It was nearing the end of the season, the Manchester Derby being the game you watched, but you couldn't help but catch the eye of one of the girls on the opposite team.

Her name was Hayley, you knew that from the ribbon in her hair and the curls that fell from her flimsy bun. You watched her intently throughout the game, unable to peel your eyes off the woman as she threaded the ball in and out of her position on the wing. As a Winger yourself, you were able to easily admire her skill, despite the fact that you were in fact rooting for the other team. You were quick to make yourself known to her after the game, and everything sort of hit it off from there.

Hayley was kind. Her heart was full of gold, and her precious person was something you fell in utter love with. She made you laugh like no one else. She had a way of making you feel seen, heard, and thought of even if there were a million different things going on around you that looked to be more important. The two of you didn't even think about the physical distance that you’d have to face. The instant connecting made it impossible to break the bond you immediately had.

After a couple of weeks of talking back and forth, you had found yourself hopelessly enamoured with the Australian.

Ona announced her move to Barca in June, and your national team was preparing for the long and apprehensive task of the World Cup. Before, you thought yourself very lucky to be playing in such an important tournament with such talented played. You still think this now, but after meeting Hayley, all thoughts turned to the idea of being in the same country for a whole month together.

Obviously, you did not have much time to spend. Winning the World Cup was a dream come true. It was everything you had ever dreamed of. But your heart was yearning for only one thing.

Hayley had asked you to be your girlfriend on the day you were due back to Spain. Her surprising announcement to Real Madrid just before the Cup was nothing of a shock to you. While you played for the rival team — and maybe, sort of tried to convince the girl to try for Barca — you were over the moon that she was so much closer to you.

Now, months later, you were spending your evening in a bar with Aitana and Keira slung to your hip, slurring your words as you searched for your phone. The Barca girls were in Madrid after a critical match against Atletico Madrid, meaning the next few days were going to be by your Australian’s side.

“Ugh, calling the enemy, I see.” Keira quipped, rolling her eyes. Aitana giggled from beside her, watching your sluggish motions with a smug countenance.

You ignored their antics, ignoring their jokes and finding your girlfriend's contact on your phone. You didn't even register how it took a few seconds for her to pick up, but you realised she had been waiting by the sound of her keys.

“Heyyyyy, Hay.” You splattered, pulling down an inch of your heightening skirt. “Miss you so much, Babyyy.”

“Hello, darling.” You heard your girlfriend chuckle. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?” You asked. You flipped Keira off when she mocked your whines.

“For me to pick you up, Darling.” Hayley replied.

“Hm,” You pondered for a moment, trying to remember why you wanted to call Hayley in the first place. “I'm in a bar, Hay.”

“I know. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Nooo, I've had no drinks.” You whined, pulling yourself up from the secluded corner you and the girls were nurturing. “Why are you calling?”

If you were shit-faced drunk right now, you would've caught onto the Aussie’s continuous patience, and the endearment in her tone as she talked to you.

“You called me, Babygirl.” She spoke, her side of the phone quiet in contrast to the blaring music you were surrounded by. “Maybe it's time for me to pick you up?”

“You can't pick me up, Ribbon.” you giggled, the fond nickname rolling off your tongue in second nature. “You're at home. I'm at a club.”

“Oh, yes, my mistake, Darling,” she responded quickly. Hayley was already driving to your location having been waiting for this call all night. You didn't know this, but she was slightly envious of your team taking you away. While you both lived in the same country now, it was still at least a five-hour drive between Madrid and Barcelona. Furthermore, it wasn't often that teams would stay after away games, so it frustrated her knowing you were spending time with a team you spent every day with when you could be with her.

“I'm on my way now, okay?” She said to the phone, knowing that despite the silence you were waiting for her to guide the conversation. “Do any of the girls need a lift?”

You gave a quick glance over to the group you were with. Alexia was scolding Mapi downing shots. Ona was trying to force water down Aitana’s throat, and Keira was just singing at the top of her lungs, swaying to the beat of the music.

“No, Alexia is here.” You put it simply. Everyone knew that if Alexia was near, everyone would be getting home safe.

Hayley must've heard you from over the music since she hummed back. “Alright then,” She answered, turning the corner towards the club. “I want you to go tell Keira or someone that you're leaving so they know you're going.”

You ran a hand through your hair, crossing your arms over your chest in silent rebuttal. “Keira’s drunk, Hayley.”

“Okay, then don't tell her, tell Aitana.”

“Oh, erm— she's drunk too.”

You could hear the girl’s sigh. “Put Alexia on the phone please, Baby.”

You did as you were told, handing the phone to your captain without managing to explain why you did so. The older woman shared a solemn conversation with your girlfriend before hanging up the call and turning to Ingrid.

With Keira and Aitana yelling out goodbyes, the Norwegian woman held the small of your back, leading you out of the club to make sure you did so without error.

“Love you, Ingrid.” You muttered, holding the back of the girl’s top as she led the two of you out.

“Love you too, Precioso.” She replied, smiling at your dazed expression before finding Hayley’s car pull up beside you. You watched your girlfriend walk out towards you, giving your teammate a slightly awkward, but grateful nod as you breathed in her familiar scent.

“Hey, Hay.” You gasped, grasping onto Hayley’s sweater in replacement of Ingrid.

“Hey, sweet girl.” She uttered, opening the passenger door, aiding your balance as you trampled in.

You made sure to give one last look at Ingrid, smiling as big as you could. “Love you, Ingrid. Miss you so so so so much.”

“Miss you too, y/n/n. See you soon.”

You found yourself relaxing in the passenger seat as Hayley drove off. Her hand sat comfortably on your thigh, drawing small, wistful circles as you hummed a quiet tune.

When you finally arrived home, Hayley helped you take off your makeup, taking off your shoes, and slotting her Matildas trackies and one of her old Portland Thorns shirts over the top of you. You were like putty in her grip, letting her lead you to the bed without a second to protest, engulfing the cool climate of the sheets.

“I'm ‘gonna go get some water and paracetamol for you, Darling. Do you want anything else?”

Your girlfriend held out her hand, lightly stroking the baby hairs that had fallen from her pony and onto her face.

“Do we have any food?” you asked, knowing the answer already but feeling the need to ask anyway.

The Australian nodded and walked out of her bedroom, taking a few minutes to collect everything she needed. When coming back, she noticed the furrow in between your eyebrows. The drunken endeavours of the night were inevitably going to catch up to you and Hayley knew you were starting to release that when you happily accepted the water and medicine in a few gulps.

Once the two of you had settled back into bed, with Hayley changing into her pyjamas, you had almost forgotten about your prior request when you heard the ruffle of a packet sound from beside you.

Your head shot up, eyes darting to the yellow cardboard box and concealed package within it. Hayley’s arm had found its way across your waist, pulling you into her side as she let the scent of the food waft into the space.

You laughed at Hayley’s look of delight — two Cheddar Shapes already popping into the girl’s mouth.

“Where did you get these?” You asked, watching Hayley’s devious smile widen.

“Fan gave them to me.” She replied, shoving three more into her mouth.

You two shared a still and silence as you cracked away at the biscuits one at a time. Madrid had fallen into a quiet city — no longer filled with the connotations of noise and light, the wholesome bubble of your bedroom filling the enmity of home for the night.

“You're so cute, ribbon.” you quipped, glancing over the blush that had dusted your girlfriend’s cheeks. Hayley pulled you closer, the box of the Aussie snack hushed off the bed.

You felt the warmth of her embrace overwhelm you into fatigue, the combination of one another's love steering you two into an eternity of solitude.

“You are too, my girl.”

___________________________

[staarboyyy]

quiet morning

amanda young x gender neutral reader

18+ scenarios / characters - minors dni

tags / warnings ; fluff, sleeping with socks, sleepy morning, buffmanda, pervymanda, straddling, teasing

summary ; amanda insists you both sleep in.

word count ; 930

a/n; gets just a liittle spicy near the end, thank you all for your support !! <3

Amanda groaned dramatically as you managed to pry yourself free from her long constricting arms. "Just a few more minutes," She mumbled into her pillow, legs pulled to her chest while you looked down at her with a small smile. Your's fingers began to thread through her messy hair as you stood by the bed, Amanda managing to bundle herself in the blankets to ward off the vile cold. Her hand poked out from the fabric, digits gently wrapping around your wrist.

"I could just pull you in, y'know..." She grumbled haphazardly, tugging slightly to coerce you back into bed.

"I'd like to see you tr-"

Almost immediately, the words were cut off by a loud cackle as your body was thrown off balance by a single hard yank. You scrambled blindly around the sheets, trying to stand once more, but Amanda's arms were the first to meet you, pulling you tightly to her chest. Your heart thrummed against her forearms as she rested her chin on your shoulder, now caging you in the warmth of the blankets and her abstractly long limbs. You wiggled around her grasp to face her, still grinning as your own hands met her face, leaning in to meet her wry eyes and small smile.

"We have things to do, 'Manda."

You mumbled, bumping your forehead against hers gently. You felt her shrug slightly, your thumbs coasting over her pronounced cheekbones as you sighed, shaking your head. Warm comfortable silence meeting you both, your eyes settling shut, still holding eachothers body with reverberating devotion.

"Stay."

Amanda breathes the word, lifting her head to press cool lips against youe warm forehead. You hummed at this, moving your arms to wrap over her long torso with a contented sigh. Her cold hands met one of your thighs, goosebumps gardening over your skin in response; With ease she slid your leg to also wrap over her body, the weight comforting her in an odd manner. You had been absolutely tangled in the morning air, Amanda's fingers gently pressing small patterns into your shoulder as you reveled in the odd tenderness of her you so rarely got to see.

"You wanna get some more sleep?"

Your eyebrows furrowed at her question, eyes focusing on the girl you now wrapped around her. Her arms snaked over your torso, pulling you to her as she sighed, closed eyes opening just enough to catch your questioning gaze. Your fingers messily combed through the loose dark whisps from Amamda's tied up hair, your free hand holding the weight of your chin with a propped up elbow.

"Hoffman isn't showing up today; John said we could use time together," She adds, making your still expression curve into a satisfied one. Her voice came in a low rippling wave, curtained by the sheen morning haze.

Amanda’s hands rubbed over your back, eyes shutting as she basked underneath your warmth and weight. You let your elbows bend, casting your head back onto her chest, fingertips gently fiddling with the fabric of her loose sweatshirt. A soft grey cotton, worn and only able to reach her navel, her jutting hip bones and exposed light happy trail blanketed by loose pajama pants. You paused suddenly when your foot hit hers.

"You sleep with socks on?" You demanded in a whisper, leaning into her face.

For a moment, a confused quirk of Amanda's brow appeared, eyes still closed, but then melted into an amused one. Your hands met the collar of her sweater.

"Yes or no, be honest," Her slow silent laughter grew underneath you, building in her ribs. She hesitantly shook her head no with a pursed smile, making you jump up and swim amongst the ocean of fabrics that swaddled both of you. You pointed hard at her ankles, exposing mismatched black socks. You straddled her, arm extended back in an accusatory stance, eyes glaring down at the other. Amanda's quiet whispers of chuckles now grew to be an audible laugh, throwing you off slightly. It was rare to hear her express such things, and a suprised smile pushed at the corners of your lips. The odd domestic comfortability was something you had both taken fair time to adjust to, yet being able to see and hear truly how content Amanda was in this moment, was a rarity unlike any other. Her hands slid over your thighs, fingertips passing the hem of your shorts with a tilted grin.

"You're gonna judge me for sleeping with socks on?"

"Not judging."

"I can see you judging," Amanda demanded with another drawn out laugh, exhaling from her nostrils as her hands slid up more. Her fingers now teased the legs of your underwear, thumb gently hooking into one of them to keep you positioned on top of her; In truth, she couldn't get enough of this angle.

"You - Uh, know I do it with the best ... Intentions," Your voice faltered as her cold invasive hands became more apparent on your feverent skin. She had to be doing this on purpose, or atleast be aware of the effect her rougher touch had on you - The slightly smug expression she had gave it away.

"Am I making you nervous?" Amanda didn't miss a beat to respond to your hushed voice, her half lidded eyes barreling into yours with a nearly challenging glint.

"Would it be bad to admit that you are?"

This sparked more laughter from the woman, shaking her head as her colder hands slid over your warm legs.

"No, no... I like knowing how flustered I can make you,"

[lizzieisright]

Moon peppers (3)

(2)

Palestine: what can you do

were!Abby x witch!reader

Summary: Abby runs away from her (former) pack and into your forest. You're not happy with your new (woods?)mate.

Tags: fantasy au, sloppy worldbuilding (fuck it we ball), fem!reader, alpha!abby, witch!reader (so not an omega), sentient forest, stubborn idiots in love who annoy each other.

Notes: near-death experience, Caitvi being the cutest.

Taglist: @abbysbae @poxismind @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @pjmispunk @herdelreydear @lmaoo-spiderman (if you want me to tag/untag you for the whole series dm me please)

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Annoyance prickles you all the way home. You feel a little exhausted after having your shields around yourself for so long, and if it wasn't for the stupid wolf, you'd be fine. You can't shake your irritation: you even offered the wolf peace, and it still attacked you! You keep in mind that the wolf might not be lucid - like it was with the bear, and you had to bring it back to the human form while avoiding getting killed - but on the other hand, it moved away when you threatened it with magic. 

“Fucking weres.” You spit and trip on a root. “Ouch. What, you have a soft spot for them?” 

The woods don't answer and you huff. You're used to the forest’s weirdness and mood swings, but sometimes you don't understand them. Who would have thought you can have an argument with a forest? But you had, on multiple occasions, and it showed that the forest remarkably worse at communicating than an emotionally stunned man.

When you see your hut, you let your shields down and take a long, tired breath. The wolf destroyed your sense of safety in the woods, and it makes your blood boil from fury, but you take another breath and try to calm down.

After all these years your anger is still the hardest to control. You still shake with the desire to just hit something, but it is still better than the desire to choke someone until they go cold and stiff. But it's hard to let go of this irritation and you haven't found a way to let it out-

Oh. Actually, you know a way. 

You sigh and slump on your porch to take a small break and recharge. The shields around the hut are not powered by your flow of magic, rather than by the bunch of stones and threads underground that you have to charge from time to time, so at least this is not draining you right now.

Fucking werewolf. 

You look over the edge of your shields and get angry again at the wolf. Your anger springs you into action, and you go inside your hut to get your things together. You take the fish out and put it in the chest full of ice - you're not cooking dinner today, you have no patience for it. 

You put another bottle of special tincture and head out, eager to go somewhere where there's no crazy werewolves. You're grim and the woods feel it, and they're rightfully offended by your attitude, but you can't bring yourself to care right now. Your mood is not directed at them rather than at one furry monster, and you know the forest knows it too, so you don't bother with sorries or excuses: you are not going to lie about your feelings, and you're tired from bottling up your anger.

As if not feeling anger is a goddamn requirement to be a good person.

When you're out of the forest, the sun gets closer to the horizon, and the evening's lights are beautiful enough for you to forget your spite for a moment. 

Then you continue stomping your way down the path and past the village, until you reach the odd house. 

You knock, shifting from foot to foot, and wait for someone to open the door. It takes a moment, but then Vi opens the door and the suspicion on her face turns into surprise when she sees you. 

“Damn, what happened to you?” 

“Can you spar with me?” You ask impatiently and come inside when Vi lets you in. 

“Is it a bottle in your sac, witch?” The dwarf grins and you roll your eyes. “I'm always happy to kick your ass, don't worry.”

“Thanks.”

Vi leads you to the kitchen where Caitlyn is cooking something and you shiver when you feel her magic: elven magic comes from stars, so it always feels cold. It's unnerving and makes you feel deep loneliness, and you don't know how Caitlyn deals with it. Do all elves feel as lonely as her magic makes you feel? 

But then Vi leaves a quick kiss on Caitlyn’s cheek and you chuckle. Vi, as any other dwarf, works with fire and metal, she always runs hot or is covered in coal, so you guess she balances Caitlyn and keeps her warm. 

“Darling!” Caitlyn smiles and hugs you, sending another wave of shivers down your spine. “You came back earlier than I expected.”

“She is going through some shit.” Vi immediately tells on you and you throw her a nasty look. “Listen, I didn't come here and ask to spar instead of saying hello.”

You huff and sit down on a soft chair, unloading your sac on the table. Vi grabs the bottle right away, but Caitlyn gently takes it and places it on the shelf. 

“Did anything happen?” The elf asks carefully and you let out a depressed snort. Caitlyn pours tea for all of you while Vi grumbles that she wanted her booze, but she still takes a sip.

“Another fucking were.” You say, defeated.

“No fucking way.” Vi groans. She was the one who had to deal with the bear after you brought it back and let's just say, they both didn't enjoy the experience, cursing and cussing at each other nonstop.

“It chased me to the hut, tried to jump me at least five times, refused to change back into human form and took Sevika's den. And when I warned it that she will come back and kill it, it made me walk backwards until I was out of its territory, growling and snarling at me. Un-fucking-believable.” You sigh. “And I'm so anxious my magic became unstable. I almost boiled myself alive.”

Caitlyn's face is so full of sympathy and concern it's hard to look at, so you look at Vi instead. She looks puzzled and just as annoyed as you are. 

“Is it a bear? Again?” Vi asks and it's almost funny how she is still full of spite after the werebear. “Why do you always get the crazy ones?”

“They fucking sense my own crazy.” You grump. “It's a wolf. A giant one, I've never seen them this big.”

“Probably an alpha, then.” Caitlyn says. “It's strange. Wolves live in packs.”

“Well, this explains the aggression.” You try to joke, but you sound more anxious than before. “I fell into the river today because of it.”

Vi cackles and you want to punch her. 

“So I'm angry. This is why I want to spar.”

“I think it is not wise for you to spar with Vi when your magic is unstable. I much prefer my starlight healthy and happy.”

Vi is clearly embarrassed by being called starlight - as always - but Caitlyn's loving look stops her from complaining and you from teasing. Elves are infinite and their love is too big and encompassing for mortals, however long they can live (Vi has another 500 years ahead of her, you think), and it's too much sometimes. 

“Have you been meditating like I showed you before?”

You feel stupid. 

“No.” You sound embarrassed, as you should be, but again - your anger management is still work in progress. 

“Well then. Let us go to the garden and I will guide you through it. Then you can spar with Vi, if you still wish to.”

You nod and follow Caitlyn. 

It's dark when Abby wakes up, and she feels better. The food and sleep helped her recover, and now she can finally change into human form to treat the rest of her wounds. 

The problem is, she doesn't have any supplies, since you took all of the moon peppers. So she will have to find something that will help her before she returns to her human form. 

For a brief moment she considers talking to you, since you are too weak to be a threat, when she gets better, but then she remembers you standing next to her blood stains near the den and the consideration is forgotten. 

So Abby cautiously shows her nose out of her den and takes a long sniff. Thankfully there is no one around who can hurt her, so Abby gets to her feet and goes for her search. 

Her wolf nose is more sensitive and she can smell more plants and animals around her than when she is a human, and it takes her less time to get to a comfrey bush. It's not in bloom, but Abby can still use it on her injuries to help with some of them that still bleed. 

Abby takes a breath and turns into her human form. She stands on her fours, shaking and grunting as the new level of pain washes over her body, but it slowly subsides. Abby is breathing deeply through it until her head stops spinning and the shaking goes away. Then she is able to sit down and check herself. 

Abby slowly raises her shirt up and winces in pain. Her right side has three deep long scratches that have been closing but not fully, so her shirt is soaked in blood, but that is what comfrey can help with. Her left thigh and calf have seen better days, and the hole from the claws stings painfully when Abby tries to move. It might be infected already, and this thought terrifies Abby. She thinks about going into the village to see their healer, but she might give herself away, so she will have to deal with it herself. 

Abby slowly breaks a few stems and starts turning them into mush - it would have been easier if she actually had a mortar, but alas, she has to adapt to her current situation, so she just kneads the stems in her hands until it's as gooey as it could get. Then she applies it to her side and moans in pain. 

“Fuck.” Abby whispers, but the mush helps immediately: her werewolf healing is way faster than anyone's in the world and her wounds finally close for good. It doesn't mean it's healed fully, but at least Abby stopped losing blood and avoided infections. 

Abby smells her former packmates one second, and the next second she is back into her wolf form. They're surrounding her from every direction and Abby tries her best not to panic, but somewhere deep in herself she knows she is not going to make it this time. There are obviously more wolves than before, hell, did Isaac bring the whole pack just to end her?

Abby hears growling from behind and turns around to face her threat, but the blow comes from the side, and Abby falls. She expects them to immediately go for her throat, but the wolves step away, clearly waiting for her to get up. 

Oh, so this is going to be a whole humiliation party, Abby thinks, but stands up anyway. They want to make an example of her - well, she is not going to let it happen. If Abby is going down, someone will go down with her. 

Abby narrows her eyes and tries to pick up Isaac’s scent and attack him, but he is nowhere to be found. Abby then moves to her closest target and attacks the wolf, going straight for their neck - it's a weaker one and Abby is sure she is going to kill it, but they're quick and Abby misses, falls on her feet again.

Someone jumps on top of her and bites into her shoulder, but Abby throws them off and leaves a nasty bite on their stomach - even if they escape, they will die on their way home. That brings her some satisfaction, but it's short-lived: another wolf jumps and bites her scruff. It hurts, but Abby throws them off again.

Then they're relentless: she throws off one wolf and another attacks her. Abby is getting exhausted and it's hard to get up now, but she still does. Her hind legs are shaking and her just closed wounds are open, but she snarls at her previous packmates, not giving up. 

Abby is happy she doesn't pick up Manny's scent among them. 

Suddenly wolves stop and step away, and Abby smells Isaac. Fucking coward waited until his wolves tired Abby out so he would stand a chance against her. He'd never win in an alpha on alpha fight, and everyone knows it. It makes him look pathetic and Abby knows wolves can smell her contempt and feel how Isaac's presence triggers her alpha’s pheromones. Some wolves whine, scared of her even when Abby is so weak she takes two tries to stand up, and Abby's smells like boasting. 

Isaac growls and shows off his own pheromones, but Abby overpowers him by a mile, which in return pisses him off and he lunges at Abby. 

They clash and Abby puts all her strength into most fatal attacks, clawing at his most vulnerable spots, but Isaac gets away from her.

Abby is panting and shaking, she is getting dizzy as her body starts to give up, and Isaac feels it. He lunges again with more force and keeps biting and clawing, waiting for Abby to slip up. 

And Abby slips up. 

Fangs sink into her throat and Abby whines as a piece of meat gets ripped out of her. She can't breathe, she is choking on her own blood as everything starts to fade away. 

Her former pack leaves only when all of them are sure Abby is dead and her heartbeat can't be heard and her scent can't be smelled. 

Isaac huffs in triumph at Abby's lifeless body and leads his pack out of the woods.

“So, do you still wish to spar with Vi?” Caitlyn asks after you finished your meditation. It's not the most comfortable experience and you'd really like to have some hot tea now, but you feel calmer and the flow of magic in your body is more stable. 

“No. Thank you, Caitlyn.”

The elf smiles gently and leads you back to the kitchen where Vi is already sipping your tincture. 

“You can't be left alone, can you?” Caitlyn sighs lovingly and Vi grins. 

“Try it. It's great. Not to your posh elven standards, your majesty, but you will like it anyway.”

Caitlyn huffs, embarrassed, and lightly slaps Vi's bicep. She just chuckles, catches her hand and leaves a gentle kiss on her palm. 

“You're adorable.” You coo and Caitlyn smiles at you. “I think I'll be going now. The forest wasn't happy with me.”

“Just like that?” Vi complains. “Next time bring two bottles.”

You laugh and leave after saying your goodbyes to the odd couple. 

It's dark outside now, and you come back to the forest with a lighter heart than before. The forest is silent, but you don't feel any anger towards yourself, so you're a little puzzled. 

And then your path suddenly makes a wrong turn. You don't question it and just follow wherever the forest leads you: it happens from time to time and you're always happy to help, especially now, when you're in such a good mood. You get suspicious when you recognise the path leading to Sevika’s den, but then it takes a different turn and you calm down. This is the way to comfrey and you walk confidently since it's familiar.

You reach the bushes and then you see blood on the ground. Oh, this is not good.

You follow the blood and you see the big shadow of the wolf on the ground. You flinch, scared it will attack you again, but it doesn't make a sound and it doesn't move. You come closer and now you can see it’s covered in blood and its back doesn't rise like it's supposed to if it was breathing.

“Fuck." You whisper. "Hey!” You call, but the wolf doesn't react. 

You make a few steps closer and then you run to the wolf when you exactly how much blood is there. There's a giant hole where its throat is supposed to be and you feel the cold dread crawl on your back. 

“Fuck. Fuck! What do you want me to do?” You ask the forest angrily. “I'm not powerful enough, I can't do shit!” You're on the verge of tears: yes, the wolf is annoying and scary, but it doesn't deserve to die! 

The woods respond with a gentle warm breeze and you take a deep breath as your fingers grip wolf's fur. Okay. Okay, there is an option which you're afraid to use, but it will work. Well, if the forest agrees, of course.

“Give me one of your trees and I'll be able to save the wolf.” You say quietly, knowing you have no right to ask for it, knowing the woods have no reason to trust you or believe you won't become dangerous again, but it is literally the only way. 

You're also afraid and you don't trust yourself, but the wolf is dead and you can save it. You can bring it back to life. You have no idea what happened to the wolf, but it simply doesn't deserve to die. 

You sigh and go around the wolf to the tree behind it. Your hands are shaking but you firmly put them on the bark and gasp: you feel the life energy flow in it, the forest will let you do this. It's so much your breath hitches but you calm yourself and begin to drain the tree.

You hear the rusting of the leaves as they turn into ash and your body gets filled with the life force of the tree. It's exhilarating and you can't help your surprised giggle when you feel your magic grow. Fuck, it's been so long since you felt so powerful and you feel alive.

The half of the tree is gone and you now notice that your hands are glowing. But it's not your hands that are glowing, these are your tattoos and runes. It makes you flinch in terror as memories flow through your head, but you keep going and try not to pay attention to every line and letter and patch that glows through your clothes. You haven't seen them in years and you'd much prefer not to see them ever again, but alas, the power comes with consequences. 

Everything now is covered in ash and you feel like you're going to burst from this amount of life energy in your body, so you quickly come back to the wolf and hold its head between your hands, and then you start pouring the energy into its lifeless body. Your tattoos stop glowing so violently as time passes and you see how the wolf's throat grows back and gets covered in fur. The wolf finally exhales loudly and inhales again, and you feel its heart restart. 

You sigh, relieved, and sit down, still holding the wolf's head and putting more energy into it, but now you're calm: the wolf breathes and gets warmer with every second. 

You murmur a spell that will let you continue giving the energy to the wolf and then you cast another one that makes the wolf float and follow you to the hut. 

You notice the blood on your hands and take a shaky breath as an ancient temptation gets the hold of you: you can put this wolf in debt, you can make it leave you alone (which is a not a fair price, but you have priorities), you can do whatever you want since you have its blood. 

You swallow sickly and shake your head to calm down. 

When you get to your hut you're not sure where to place the wolf: it will take a night and a day to finish healing, but the moment the wolf wakes up it will try to kill you, so you need to do something. It's not your greatest idea, but you really have no other option except to leave it outside and risk the wolf running away and breaking the bond. So you go to your stillroom, put all the protective spells you know on everything so the wolf won't trash the place, and summon some furs so the wolf won't be lying on the cold floor. You stand there for a second and cast restraints on the wolf - again, stupid idea, but it's for your own safety. Tomorrow, when the wolf wakes up you'll explain everything and release it, of course, but if you want a chance on said explain, the wolf should be restrained. 

When you go to bed you become aware of just how much energy will stay in your body after this, and it makes your heart sink. 

You only hope it won't drive you mad.

[missmonsters2]

Want Your Slow Dance | WDoE Epilogue 2

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wednesday has very little interest going to the Rave'N Dance again. She can tell you're a little disappointed but she's satisfied you'll let her be...until you're considering going with one of the gorgon girls as "friends". Jealous!Wednesday

Warnings: jealous!wednesday. possessive!wednesday. Soft!Wednesday. slow dancing & kisses intimacy, the one time wednesday partakes in pda.

Series Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3

Reminder there’s no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Note: epilogue 2 but could also be read as a stand alone <3

Epilogue 1

Count: 3.1k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wednesday admits she's made a mistake. 

It's seldom that she makes mistakes, and just like all the other ones she's made with other people, she's finding it difficult to make amends. It's even harder because you're not even upset with her. 

This was a problem Wednesday created all on her own, and she was the only one stuck sulking over it. 

"Hi, Wednesday," you grin at her, leaning in to kiss her cool cheek. Wednesday feels the warmth of your lips and threads her fingers through yours, squeezing them firmly. 

You linger, and Wednesday doesn't move to pull away. Your wings unfurl and flutter in excitement at how much you adore your girlfriend.

"Careful," Wednesday sternly warns you. "You'll split open your wounds."

You look sheepish, but only because it would undo all the careful and tender caring Wednesday has poured into healing your wings. 

"Why are you here?" Wednesday asks as she pulls you toward her desk. She was in the middle of her hourly writing when you showed up, and it was the perfect time as she was aware you were supposed to go shopping with Enid and Yoko today.

"I wanted to see you before I left to go shopping," you admit softly. "It just felt like I might not make it through the dresses and frills if I didn't see you first."

Wednesday remains silent. Her eyes move away, looking downwards. If you didn't know Wednesday Addams, you'd think she was losing interest in your words since there was no physical difference to see. But you knew better.

The way she continued to hold your hand and—you lift one hand to caress her cheek as your fingers land on her ear—the hot shell of her ears.

"Cheesy?" You ask, a smile on your lips. 

"Disgustingly so," Wednesday grimaces, but you only laugh. "You're disgusting."

"I think you like it...and me."

Wednesday knows there's no point in denying it ever since you've discovered the horrible secret of her blush being in her ears. She merely sighs, turning her face to kiss the inside of your palm as she looks at you warningly. 

"Tell anyone and—" Wednesday pauses. She takes a deep breath in frustration. She can't even plot your murder, something she typically excels at.

You grin wider as if you know.

"Tell anyone, and you'll be sleeping alone all next week."

Your jaw drops. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Wednesday's typing rhythm has been thrown off since you left. She typically leaves her phone tucked away elsewhere to not distract her during her ritual writing hour, but today was an exception. 

Any day you're not with her during the writing hour is an exception. 

Wednesday types a few sentences before pausing, her mind drifting. She tries to threaten herself with suffering if she doesn't focus, but nothing could make her suffer more than what distracts her.

She thinks back to why you're going shopping with Enid in the first place.

"The Rave'N Dance is coming up."

Wednesday paused her reading but didn't set her book down. The day was still a little cool, with spring not quite in full effect, and the two of you had opted to spend time together near the river under the shade of a tree.

"Is that so," Wednesday answered with no particular interest in her voice.

"Mhm," you hummed, placing your hand over Wednesday's on the grass. "I've never been before."

Wednesday felt the warmth of your hand over hers and was slightly impressed with how you generate and retain heat despite being in the cold. She turned over to look at you, taking in how you didn't hold any singular expression on your face, but Wednesday knew better. She could see the glint in your eye, the way your throat constricted when you swallowed. 

"It's nothing special," Wednesday advised, her voice disinterested as she recalled last year's dance. "Even when someone tried to sabotage it, it was done poorly."

"Oh," you said quietly, and Wednesday turned her hand upwards so you could hold hands, easing your disappointment. You stroked the inside of her palm as you asked softly, "So, you don't want to go this year?"

It was silent momentarily as Wednesday carefully considered her words. "I admit I have no vested interest, but if you're interested, I encourage you to experience it with Enid and her pack of gazelles."

"Gazelles?" You raised your brow at your girlfriend. "And that makes you what?"

"I believe I told Enid last year that I was a wounded fawn."

You snorted, shaking your head at her. "That seems inherently wrong for some reason—I just can't put my finger on it."

"Nevertheless, go enjoy the frivolities if you so choose."

You looked at her, obviously disappointed but doing well to accept it. It was a quality that Wednesday appreciated in you. You never pushed Wednesday to change her answer or forced her to attend things she had no desire to be a part of. 

You kissed her cheek. "Okay," you said. "If you say so."

But what a blunder that was. 

What an inherently foolish mistake to make, and Wednesday only wishes she could turn back time to halt her mouth from opening and rejecting your obvious advances to get her to be your date to the stupid dance. 

Wednesday's used to keeping people at a distance, fully enjoying they wouldn't be brave enough to bother her—except for Xavier, whose offer has been declined with a hollow laugh and walking away—but that wouldn't be the case for you.

The second the student body discovered that Wednesday Addams was not taking her girlfriend to the Rave'N Dance, it was like all hell broke loose.

Every single day for weeks, Wednesday had to deal with some insufferable outcast muster up the courage to ask you to be their date. Watching them physically take a deep breath and drag their feet towards you was aggravating.

Wednesday just wasn't going with you; it wasn't like you were going separate ways forever. 

But it was bearable, especially watching you decline all of them in that polite façade you put on for others. It was a reminder that they would never see the real you. That version of you only belonged to Wednesday, and even on the slim chance someone saw it, they could never have it.

It placated Wednesday into only silently glaring at those stupid enough to approach and ask you. Watching them stutter from her look before being declined by you was adequate—until that gorgon girl you so senselessly continued to be friends with came to ask you.

Wednesday huffs as she types a few more sentences, her mind drifting again.

The clatter of noises rattled around in Wednesday's ear as she refused to move to the side as students filed out of the classroom. She arrived punctually as always to your class so that the two of you could walk to botany together. 

Wednesday spotted you packing your things up with little haste as you usually did. You turned and saw Wednesday, waving as you put the last things in your bag. You were walking towards her, getting closer, when someone stopped you.

That annoying gorgon girl, the one that you insist, was merely enthused and with a firm touch. 

The one that Wednesday had stoned over and over when she put mirrors into the bathroom where the gorgon girls were. 

Wednesday still detested her despite your reassurance and pleading.

You were stopped and listening to whatever was being said to you. You seemed deep in thought after, looking up in contemplation before you looked back at your friend, nodding. 

You continued walking along with her, smiling as she grinned at you.

"Alright, I'll see you later!" 

"Bye," you waved, continuing to smile until the gorgon girl passed Wednesday with an unsure nod of acknowledgment before she kept going. 

Once it was just the two of them, you turned to Wednesday, your smiling shifting into something only Wednesday was allowed to see.

"Hi, Wednesday."

"What was that?"

"What?"

"That," Wednesday deadpanned. "What did that girl want?"

"Oh, Thea?" You tilted your head as you walked, Wednesday following along. "She just asked if I wanted to go to the Rave'N Dance with her."

"I see," Wednesday unclenched her fist. "She's surprisingly chirpy for someone who's just been turned down."

You turned your head to look at Wednesday, blinking as you said, "I said yes."

Wednesday stopped in her tracks, causing you to stop as well.

"What?" Wednesday asked but then followed up with, "Why?"

You shrugged, tilting your head as if you were confused. "We're just going as friends. We'll be hanging out with Enid and stuff."

"Then why did she need to ask you?"

"Well, I'm sure we can do other stuff together when everyone pairs off. Like the games and oh—the slow dancing. As friends."

Wednesday wonders if she still had those mirrors lying around somewhere.

Wednesday stopped typing. She looks at the time and finds the hour has nearly passed. Looking at her paper, she decides she cannot continue writing despite how little work was done, and Wednesday refuses to compromise the quality of her work.

With a reluctant sigh, she grabs her phone and sees she has yet to receive a text from you. Contemplating her options, Wednesday quickly sends you a text before putting her phone back on the table, screen-side down. 

Deciding to go on a walk, Wednesday makes her way around the academy. With it being the weekend, most of the campus was dead, with students out in Jericho town to get shopping done for the dance. 

The school is abuzz with excitement, and Wednesday can't find it more nauseating. She's passing by the greenhouse when she hears a familiar voice.

"Oh, what about this one? This one matches her eyes."

Wednesday peers in and sees the gorgon girl—Thea—with another student and holding a flower.

"Can you turn this into a corsage?"

"Hm, it'll be hard but I probably can. You're really putting a lot into this Rave'N Dance," the other student says. Probably the head of the gardening club. "I thought you said you were going with a friend."

"Yeah, but no reason I can't do the date stuff with her. I'm sure she'd appreciate a corsage—"

More words were coming from Thea's mouth, but Wednesday couldn't hear them over the burning rage building up in her chest and thundering in her ears. 

Mirrors wouldn't cut it, Wednesday decides. Stoned and then shattered into a million tiny pieces, and the ground into dust was the only acceptable answer. 

Wednesday's about to step in when her phone vibrates in her pocket. 

It's from Enid. 

Wednesday reads the words, a plan formulating in her mind. Well, there was only one way to fix this without having to murder someone and be expelled (which was a shame), and also without having to directly confront you about her mistake. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Wednesday hears scuffling approaching the door, and she turns, walking towards the door to open it as she's fully expecting to see Thing back with the dress. 

But all she sees is her roommate.

Her roommate, who looks thoroughly unimpressed with Thing on her shoulder and a clear garment bag with a dress in it, stares at her before passing over the bag.

"Wednesday, if you get Thing to use his five finger discount again, I will put you in jail."

"The fact that you think there's a cell that could keep me locked up is what makes you endearing at times."

"Ha-ha," Enid laughs dryly. She watches as Wednesday inspects the dress a little longer before. "Cutting it a little late, aren't we? Why couldn't you just have said yes when faery berry asked you in the first place. I'm guessing you're just going to crash her date tonight?"

Wednesday ignores the nickname that Enid stubbornly uses for you. "It's a ‘friend’ date," she dismisses. "I'm aware the hierarchy for events like these would have girlfriend at the top."

"You're so insufferable."

"Thank you."

Enid sighs. "Alright, let's just get ready together. I have a feeling your hair will take ages to get right."

"Weren't you going to get ready with Yoko?"

"I texted her to meet me here. C'mon, let's get going. Also, you owe me for this dress."

"I wouldn't have to if you had just let Thing use his discount."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

As Enid predicted, they were late, and the dance started 20 minutes ago. Enid bids Wednesday goodbye the second they arrive before she drags Yoko off to the punch bowl where Ajax and Xavier are. 

Xavier grumpily looks at her again as if to tell her he's annoyed she's at the dance again after turning him down and saying she wasn't going. It's all in jest, but Wednesday raises her brow at him anyway. He merely shakes his head with a chuckle before returning to the group. 

Wednesday sees Bianca talking to Divina, they have boys hanging around them, presumably their dates, but they seem uninterested. 

After that, Wednesday's quick to find you. 

Wednesday feels something crawl into her heart at the sight of you across the dance floor. It was like you were reaching into her chest with your hands, unknowingly dredging deeper to grasp her heart, threatening to take it with you.

There was a part of Wednesday that didn't want to hand it over to you. She didn't want—

You turn sharply and look over at her, somehow always alert to her presence despite being in someone else's company. The way your eyes land on her, seeing Wednesday and lighting up. 

It was yours—her traitorous heart belonged to you. You no longer needed to reach inside her chest because her heart leapt out and crawled into your palms. 

No one has ever looked at Wednesday like that. It wasn't the fact that you were happy, because there were already people who were glad to see her. No, it was—like something was settling in you. 

You look at Wednesday, and it's like you see home. And for someone like you, who has never had a home, Wednesday feels...honored. 

In Spanish, there was a word called querencia: a place from which one's strength is drawn, where one feels at home, the place where you are your most authentic self.

Wednesday would give that to you as long as you stayed with her. 

The song changes, and suddenly, Wednesday feels her feet move toward you. The slow beat reverberates as the sea of students moves out of her way. 

It's almost too long and too short when she reaches you. 

"Hi, Wednesday," you smile, "didn't think you were coming."

"I changed my mind."

"I know."

Wednesday furrows her brows. "What do you mean? I haven’t told anyone I would attend. Enid only discovered earlier today due to Thing’s blunder."

You smile, turning over to your gorgon friend, leaning over to whisper in her ear. Wednesday can't quite make it out over the noise, but she catches parts that suspiciously sound like, "Thanks for asking" and "Enjoy your night," Wednesday has a sinking feeling she's fallen into one of your traps again.

"You tricked me," Wednesday accuses, unsure whether to feel betrayed or impressed. 

"Not really," you smile at her, grabbing hold of her hand. "Thea did ask if I wanted to go as friends, and I said yes, but I later told her that you'd probably show up, and if you did, well," you shrug. "I'd like to spend the evening with you."

"So, you played into my covetousness and practically spurred me into coming to this inane event despite knowing I had no interest?" Wednesday deadpans. 

You shrug, seemingly unsure if Wednesday was actually annoyed or not. 

"I am annoyed," Wednesday confirms, watching your shoulders drop in dread. 

Wednesday smirks. Serves you right. 

She grasps your hand. "But I'm annoyed at the fact that I should've said yes when you were being obvious and attended this event with you, inane or not, because you wanted to go and I strongly despise the idea of you going with anyone else—even as friends." She says the last words with a crinkle on her nose as if she didn't believe your gorgon friend really saw it as just friends. 

You smile, squeezing her hand. "I think this wouldn't be as fun without you here."

"Fun is hardly the adjective I'd use to describe this affair," Wednesday drawls. "But I suppose it's a little better than last year."

"A little?" You say with mock offense. 

"Be quiet and dance with me," Wednesday pulls you closer, lifting your joined hands up, while her other goes to the small of your back.

The two of you sway to slow music, watching others around you dance. You can't help but notice that Enid isn't dancing with Ajax but talking to Yoko against the wall. 

"You're good at this," you comment, returning your attention to Wednesday.

"Of course," Wednesday raises her brow at you. "Dancing is a customary and essential skill in the Addams family."

"Along with torture and mayhem?" You tease but Wednesday smirks.

"And I excel at all."

"I recall Enid telling me you had some unique moves last year," you hum. "Are you going to show me them?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"I can try, but most customary fae dances involve their wings and flying," you tell her, your middle finger stroking the back of Wednesday's hand. 

"Oh?" Wednesday muses. "Sounds intriguing. It's unfortunate someone was idiotic enough to rip open their wings and extend their healing time."

You let out a laugh, a warm feeling passing over Wednesday at the sound, and she is at a loss at how much you've entangled her into you. These things you make her feel are simultaneously enjoying and torture. 

Wednesday is obsessed. 

"You're welcome that someone was stupid enough to do that and save your butt."

"I had it handled."

"Uh huh," you say amusedly, raising your brow at her. 

Wednesday doesn't say anything else. She knows she would've been dead without you. And despite your stupidity, she showed her appreciation to you over and over the weeks you were in the depths of your recovery.

Wednesday rolls her eyes at you, and you lean your face closer, not caring who is watching and staring. 

They would probably never understand how you and Wednesday worked. They would never truly get how someone who smiled as much as you did, drawing those into your gravity, could end up with someone who repelled most people. 

But they were getting a glimpse of it right now. 

A hint of a unique smile and an unfamiliar dangerous glint in your eye—something many will tell themselves, was a trick of the light. 

It's all they can do as Wednesday moves her hands to cup your face, shielding it from view as she closes the unbidden gap, noting your lips and tongue faintly taste like a grape lollipop. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Hope you enjoyed <3

Temp taglist is still open for 25 more people to be notified when the oneshots and sequel is up! Comment or reblog on this post only or part 10 to be added (pls don't send to my inbox bc i will miss it 💔) you can still always follow my library blog for notifs @missmonsters2-library

[atinylittlepain]

Apothecary - Chapter Four

joel miller x witchy!reader

series masterlist

questions are answered and truths are revealed. and they both cross lines they won't be coming back from.

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, angst, canon-typical descriptions of gore, smut (shhhh don't tell anyone) annnd spooky times, of course

a/n | y'all fucking rock for loving and supporting this series so much <3 my inbox is always open and i love to hear your thoughts about it. also i should mention this chapter is just a little bit longer, so get comfy before reading :)

..................................

The sun is only just rising when she sees him out of her house. Joel finds himself squinting in the faint morning light as he steps out on her porch, his eyes bleary from a night without sleep. 

“We’ll talk more later, right?” She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed as she asks him. He can see the worry lining her furrowed expression and he impulsively ducks his head to press a quick kiss to her lips, wanting to smooth out any uncertainty in her.

“Tonight, after my shift. Can I come by then?” Her expression eases into a smile and she nods, untucking her hand from where it was crossed under her arm to offer him a small tin– of what, he isn’t sure. 

“Salve made with comfrey root. For pain and swelling in those knuckles of yours.” Joel is starting to accept that knowing her is being constantly surprised by her, so he just nods and mumbles a soft thank you, taking the tin from her with his hand that isn’t all bandaged up.

“I’ll see you tonight, Joel.” 

“I’ll be here, darlin.” He’s still getting used to it, being able to reach for her and her reaching back, so his motions are a bit disjointed when he shuffles closer in search of another kiss. She makes it easier, though, bringing a hand to his jaw, a steady guide drawing him in. His nose barely brushes against hers when he jerks away in a flash, biting back a yelp as something brushes up against his ankles. He can tell that she’s holding back a laugh as she smoothly scoops Stevie up in her arms, the feline nuzzling up against her chin immediately.

“I think someone might be a little jealous.” Joel finds himself mirroring her easy smile, shaking his head before leaning in to steal that kiss he had been set on. It’s a quick little thing, Stevie letting out an indignant meow between them as he pulls away.

“You better go before Tommy comes looking for you.” One more look, one more smile, it feels like pulling away from a magnet as he leaves. He moves through town not fully there, his mind swirling with everything she told him last night. But the haze he finds himself walking through quickly clears when he makes it to the gate, finding his brother talking to Mason, who is clearly wound up judging by the way he’s in Tommy’s face. As Joel gets closer, Tommy’s eyes dart over Mason’s shoulder to him, prompting the man to turn around, revealing a clearly broken nose. Mason scoffs, looking once between Tommy and Joel before storming past them.

“Got something you wanna tell me, brother?” Tommy cocks an eyebrow at him, eyes glancing down to Joel’s bandaged hand before settling back on his face. 

“He got what he deserved.” Tommy snorts at that, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Oh, I know. It’s the talk of the town. Joel Miller went where no man has gone before– the witch’s lair.” He knows his brother is joking by the way he can barely get the words out behind a laugh, but Joel is having a hard time finding it amusing, huffing as he shoulders past Tommy, heading toward the stables to mount up and head out.

He and Tommy work well together, always have, and today is no different as they ride out for patrol, but what is normally a comforting quiet only gives Joel more time to stew over her dizzying story.

As far back as we could trace it– we’ve always been like this.

It’s energetic, really. Where others are closed, we’re open wide. 

I see the world in threads. Everything is tied together. What I do– what people call magic– is pulling on those threads.

He knows that he still doesn’t fully understand, but he reckons that she doesn’t fully understand either. What she could tell him, she did. 

She told him about growing up in Wyoming with her mother, how she first told her about these abilities when she caught her talking to a bird, and it seemed to be talking back. 

She told him how her mother was both revered and repelled in their small town, much the same way she is in Jackson. 

She told him that her mother had a vision the summer before everything fell apart, and took her out of her senior year of high school and up into the mountains to hide away while the world crumbled. 

She told him how they lived well like that for many years, until her mother had another one of her visions behind now milky eyes. A vision that it was time to go. 

She told him about the night before they were planning to leave, raiders coming in the dark and a stray bullet finding a home between her mother’s ribs. She wandered on her own for weeks, willing death to rejoin her with her family, but was instead found by Maria and one of the Jackson patrol groups. 

She told him about her time in Jackson. The people she helped. The lives she got tangled up with. And the men whom she always kept at a distance, beacons of grief and reminders of what people really thought of her.

She spoke as if in a trance, her eyes and voice unwavering save for the shuddering breaths she took between words. And when she finished, Joel had risen from his seat and coaxed her up with him, pressing her close in his arms until the shake in her shoulders steadied. 

He’s gotten the truth now, and he spins it over and over in his mind, his thoughts flitting up into the thin mountain air.

…

She’s being followed. Has been since she set out on her rounds this morning, paying house visits to folks in Jackson that need her care. Stevie lets out a sour hiss from her place tucked in her satchel, and she chances a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, the black dog is following behind her at a close but respectable distance. If it hadn’t been going on since she left her house this morning, she probably wouldn’t even notice. But it had been sitting right next to her mailbox, head tilted at her as she stepped down from her porch, and she knew then that this wasn’t just a random visitor. It was an omen.

“Go on, get!” She waves her arm behind her, uselessly trying to shoo the dog away, who only looks at her with that same head tilt. 

Four other times this had happened. 

The first time, it had been an inky black crow, squawking and hopping along from house to house, trailing behind her. They brought him back that night, slung over the back of one of the horses, a smear of bullet wounds in his back.

The second time, it had been a rat that skittered along fence posts and wove between people’s feet. He didn’t even make it out of the gates that morning, trampled to death by a newly-trained horse. 

The third time, it had been a beetle, a creature certainly not indigenous to Wyoming. She kept picking it up in a glass jar and taking it outside, but everytime, it found its way back into her shop. A freak accident, people said, for someone so young to have a heart attack so suddenly. 

The fourth time, it had been a black dog, the same black dog following her today, though it’s now much grayer in the face. They didn’t even bring his body back that time, not after he was infected.

Finishing her last house call, she jerkily makes her way toward her shop, trying to ignore the icy prickle shivering up her spine at the sound of paws padding behind her. She’s trying not to look like a freak, but judging by the glances people are giving her as she walks through town, she isn’t doing a very good job of hiding her mounting panic. 

“I said go away.”

“Woah, I thought you told me you needed my help today, but I can go I guess.” She whips around from where she had been scolding the mutt at the sound of Ellie’s voice, finding her waiting in front of the store.

“I’m sorry, Ellie. I wasn’t talking to you, I was– well, I was–” She motions vaguely behind her to the dog that has now sat on its haunches, panting lightly and looking at them. Ellie, however, is entirely unbothered by the animal, walking right over to it and crouching down to pat its scruffy head. The sight makes her feel a bit sick, knowing exactly what the presence of this animal means.

“C-c’mon, that thing probably has fleas. Let’s go inside and get to work, alright?” Ellie smiles up at her, nodding with a sigh as she walks over to where she is unlocking the door to the shop. She keeps her eye on the dog over Ellie’s shoulder, even as she opens the door and motions for the girl to go inside. 

“You’re acting– weird.” She mutters something about not sleeping well, and although Ellie doesn’t seem to buy that, she shuffles inside. Before she follows after Ellie, she sets her satchel down just inside the door, Stevie stepping out and running to the back of the shop in search of the girl. She turns around to face the dog who has now inched closer to her, and does the only thing she can think to do.

The people of Jackson got quite the show that afternoon as she chased the scruffy mutt, her arms waving and muttered curses loosing from her lips, as far away from her shop as she could. 

“You stay. Do you hear me? He’s coming back– h-he is.” With a final huff, she turns on her heel, stomping a direct path back to the shop and slamming the door behind her, Stevie’s and Ellie’s heads whipping up at her blustery entrance. She just huffs at their wide-eyed stares, her shoulders slumping when she glances back through the shop door window and sees that damn dog sitting on the stoop, head eternally tilted.

…

It’s been a slow day of patrol. They rode up around the dam, relieved to not find any raiders, a seemingly perpetual nuisance. It must be late in the afternoon when they decide to start heading back through the thickening woods.

“So, you two are really making a go of it, huh?” Joel glances over at Tommy, grunting at his brother’s prying question.

“Suppose we are.” Tommy chuckles.

“You never did take any of my advice. Good luck, brother. But please, try not to make a habit out of busting people’s faces for her.” It’s meant in jest, but Joel shoots him a hard look from atop his horse.

“You would’ve done the same if you had seen what he did to her.” When Tommy’s brow furrows, Joel lets out a bitter laugh.

“What? Did Mason leave out that detail? I watched that fucker slam her head against a wall, Tommy. If I hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve done much worse.” Tommy mutters a low jesus christ under his breath, shaking his head at Joel’s words.

“Fuck, Joel– I’ll talk to Maria about this–”

“Don’t. Asshole like that– best to just let it go. I think I made my point. But if he tries anything again, I won’t hesitate, Tommy. I just won’t.” Tommy offers him a faint nod, both of them settling back into silence as they continue riding. 

It happens in a flash. Someone– or something– comes bounding out of the trees, spooking Joel’s horse enough that he gets thrown right off. He groans, scrambling to get to his feet as Tommy wheels around, but before Joel can get his bearings, he’s tackled back down to the ground. 

Snapping teeth and garbled shrieks, a disorienting mix as he struggles to push the clicker off of him. He can’t hear anything else, no clue if Tommy is alright, if they have any shot of making it out of this alive. All he can do is flail on the ground with this snarling creature, his bare hands doing little to repel its staggering force.

A cool fear starts to trickle in. A fear that this might be the time he doesn’t make it back.

…

She’s watching the clock, face scrunched into a permanent scowl of worry. The beds of her nails had all been picked raw several hours ago, and she had only stopped when they started to bleed. In her spiraling state, she had sent Ellie off early, not wanting to draw any more attention to her obvious anxiety. Stevie sits in the storefront window, hissing and clawing at the dog who has now laid down in front of the store.

It isn’t her fault. She tells herself this, over and over. She knows that it isn’t her fault. That it hadn’t ever been her fault, not now and not before. Deep down, she knows this, but the nagging voices of Jackson, and what people believe contrarily, seeps in around the edges of her mind, a sour poison that settles thick in her thoughts. And she braces herself for the worst, a full body tensing, waiting for the news to come.

Five o’clock. He should’ve been back an hour ago. But just as the clock rolls over into the new hour, Stevie stops hissing altogether. She gets up from her stool behind the old checkout counter, craning her neck to look out the window, but finds no sign of the dog that had been following her all day. 

She moves before she thinks, leaving the door to the shop ajar as she stumbles out and starts walking briskly toward the town’s gate. When she rounds the corner and the gate comes into her line of sight, the slow creaking of its opening resounding in her bones, her feet kick up into a stilted jog. It barely registers to her that she’s crying, the cool slip of it running down her cheeks. When she only sees Tommy riding in, she stops in her tracks, heart stuttering still in her chest. But she breaks into a sprint when Joel comes into sight, riding in just behind his brother. 

She lets out a yelp of his name, his head jerking up at the sound. A sob breaks in her ribs when his eyes meet hers, and he’s quick to slip down off his horse, taking a few tentative steps forward before she’s crashing right into him. 

A hard breath is pushed out of him as he stumbles back a few paces, his arms wrapping firm around her as she presses her face into his chest, her hands clinging to the fabric of his shirt. When she finally pulls away, she brings her hands to his jaw, holding his face still as her eyes search his.

“Are you– are you ok?” He nods, clearly caught off guard by her frenzied greeting.

“I am, but– how did you– I mean, I’m fine. Just a little bruised. But I’ll live.” His words make a laugh bubble up in her throat, and when she lets it loose he really does look at her like she’s gone crazy.

“The dog was wrong–” She lets out another bright laugh.

“The dog was wrong!” His brow creases in even greater confusion.

“What dog? What’re you talk–” She cuts him off with a hard kiss, a smooch really, the kind that would make a cartoon character’s head explode in a shower of confetti hearts. But Joel’s blush when she pulls away with a sweet smack accomplishes much the same effect.

“I am so glad you’re back.” 

…

“Damn, is this soup magic? Because it’s way better than anything Joel cooks.” 

“Kid.” Ellie looks up at him from where she’s all but face-planted into her bowl of soup, shrugging at his scolding. She takes it in stride, though, laughing at Ellie’s exclamation.

“Not magic– but I’m glad you like it.” It’s a strange sight, her sitting at his kitchen table. It had been even stranger watching her flit around his kitchen, cooking for him and Ellie like she had done it hundreds of times before. But she had insisted after he told her what happened on patrol, not letting him get another word in edgewise as she led him first to her shop to pick up Stevie and that satchel of hers, and then to his house where she had immediately gotten to work with whatever odds and ends she could find in his fridge. Joel would never protest at the promise of a hot meal that he didn’t have to make, and he has to admit that the kid is right, the soup is really fucking good.

The rest of their meal passes quietly, the continuous purrs of Stevie sitting in Ellie’s lap being interrupted only when Ellie finishes her bowl with a contented groan.

“That was so fucking good, seriously. Can you come over more often? Because Joel’s idea of cooking is opening a can of really old chef boyardee beef–”

“Kid.” Joel is entirely mortified, but once again, Ellie just huffs, coaxing Stevie off her lap and standing up to take her bowl to the sink, glancing at them over her shoulder.

“What? It’s true. Anyways, I gotta run– Dina and I are going to movie night together.” Ellie wiggles her eyebrows as she leans back against the sink, but before Joel can even tell her to be safe, she’s already bounding through the house and out the front door with a loud “don’t wait up!” All he can do is slump back in his chair with a huff.

“That nudge you gave Ellie is going to send me to an early grave.” She snorts at that, sitting back in her own chair across from him and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I think it’s sweet– a little young love could do this world some good.” With that, she gets up, grabbing her own bowl as well as his and heading over to the sink. He goes to get up, protesting at her cleaning up after them, but finds himself sitting back down with a wince that catches her attention.

“You feeling alright?”

“I mean– no. Feel like I got thrown off a horse, probably because I did.” She offers him a small smile, tilting her head.

“Let me get this cleaned up, huh? I think I can help with that.”

Just a little while later, when she has him lead her up into his bathroom, Joel reckons that her idea of helping may give him a heart attack.

“Do you like the water really really hot, or just warm?” He has to clear his throat and pull his eyes away from the soft curve of her jeans where she’s bent over the tub, fiddling with the faucet, before he can answer.

“Um, I don’t– I don’t know. I guess I’ve never actually used this thing.” She whips around at that, brow furrowed.

“You’re kidding, right? You have this super nice tub, and you’ve never used it?” When all he does is shrug, she sighs.

“Well, I’ll just have to show you what you’re missing out on then. Can you go grab my bag? I left it right next to the stairs.” He pads out into the hallway, finding her satchel slung over the top of the railing of the stairs just as Stevie comes slinking up the steps. 

“She asked me to get her bag for– Jesus christ, I’m talking to a cat.” He swipes a palm down his face, letting out a long sigh, only slightly shocked when Stevie lets out an inquisitive mrrp that sounds a whole lot like a response. 

“You stay, alright? Go– be creepy somewhere else.” At that, Stevie lets out an indignant mroowww, tilting her head at him. It’s certainly a first for him, having a staredown with a cat, but he assumes he wins when Stevie turns away with another little mrrp, padding silently back down the steps. 

When he reenters the bathroom, a haze of steam has filled up the room, and she’s sitting on the edge of the tub, checking the temperature of the water with her hand.

“There you are, thanks for grabbing that. You didn’t happen to see Stevie out there, did you?”

“Hmm? Oh, um, no, I didn’t. “ Luckily, she buys his answer, shaking her head with a light laugh as she takes her bag from him.

“Probably slinked off to find some trouble for the night. Anyways, let me finish getting this ready for you.” She pulls out a cloth sack from her satchel, digging her hand in and sprinkling what looks like salt over the bath. Before he can even ask, she explains it to him with a smile.

“Epsom salt. There’s a lake up in the mountains that dries out every summer and there’s always tons of this stuff on the lakebed. Mixed with a little lavender and chamomile to calm down inflammation.” He speaks before he can really think about it, feeling like a fool the instant the words leave his mouth.

“You’re amazing, d’you know that?” She laughs, keeping her eyes turned down as she swirls the water a few times with her hand before standing up to look at him.

“It should be all set. I recommend staying in there for at least a half hour, but really, if you can soak for more like an hour that’d be best.” She’s moving and talking so fast, slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading for the door, that Joel can barely stutter out his response, the flush creeping up his neck only burning brighter when he does.

“Wait– I thought you– um, I thought– would you– stay?” Fucking hell, just bury me now, why don’t you? Her eyes widen first, but then soften as a grin crooks across her lips.

“Joel Miller, are you asking me to join you?” 

“Only if you’d say yes.” Her grin broadens, beautiful and blinding. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

…

She realizes a bit too late that she’s nervous, her fingers trembling at the button of her jeans as they both silently undress. Her ears prick to the sound of a belt buckle clinking, the clean sweep of leather being pulled out of belt loops, followed by the quick thrum of a zipper. But she doesn’t look at him, not yet, to save what little nerve she still has worked up.

And then, when they’re both standing in a puddle of clothes, she wills her eyes to peel away from the tiled floor. She sees him in fragments, darting glances over sun-faded skin and soft strength, a thatch of dark curls that she tries not to stare at for too long. She finally looks at his face, and sees that he’s doing much the same, darkened eyes collecting her. She lets him.

“We should, um, we should get in– before the water gets cold.” She mentally kicks herself for the wobble in her voice, but Joel doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, he doesn’t seem to notice at all, his eyes still roaming over her. She says his name, and his focus snaps back to attention.

“Um, right– I’ll just–” There’s nothing graceful about Joel Miller getting into a bathtub, and that’s how she knows she’s really taken with him, because somehow she still finds it endearing. And she just about swoons when he holds a hand out to her over the lip of the tub. 

She doesn’t let herself think too hard about it, sinking into the warm water, her back facing him as she sits down between his legs. A careful hand slips over her hip, causing her to peer over her shoulder at him.

“This ok?” She hums her affirmation, letting him guide her back until she’s pressed up against the warmth of his chest. His palm skates over the top of her thigh, arcing out of the water to rest on top of her bent knee. 

“Just relax, darlin.” “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s supposed to be relaxing.” She feels the vibration of his hummed response running up her spine, and it coaxes her to slump further against him, her head resting back on his shoulder.

“Oh, I am, believe me.” She laughs at that, though it fizzles out when his hand dips back down under the water, fingers curling at the crux of her thigh.

“Can I ask you something?” She’s a little too distracted by the way his thumb is rubbing circles into the soft inside of her thigh to be embarrassed by the breathy uh-huh she responds with.

“Heard a rumor about you from some of the women in town.” That makes her stiffen in his hold, only melting a little when he presses a sweet kiss to the side of her neck.

“I bet you heard a lot of rumors from them.” He hums again, low and gravelly.

“I did– but I really wanna know if this one is true.” She tilts her chin up, neck crooking to look at him and the faint smirk he’s sporting.

“They said they’ve seen you out in the middle of the night, dancing naked in your backyard.” Water splashes up against the sides of the tub as she laughs, squawks really, at his words, quickly turning in his hold and tangling her hands behind his neck. She can feel him, warm and hard, resting along her thigh as she straddles him, and she revels in the pretty flush that spreads across his cheeks. She’s got Joel Miller flustered, and she likes it. Taking him for all he’s worth, she leans in, letting her lips trace the shell of his ear as she speaks.

“Only on Halloween, baby.” His fingers grip a little tighter along the plush of her hips, and she has to giggle at the spluttering exhale he lets out.

“Jesus christ– are you serious?” She sighs, tilting her head at him as she tugs lightly at the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, huh?” He swallows her laugh, lips finally slotting with hers, his palm trailing up her spine to press her closer, and it’s right then that she realizes how badly she had been jonesing for a kiss from him. This one is different than any they’ve shared before. It’s a kiss that takes its time, a slow exploration punctuated by murmuring sighs and wandering hands. She finds that he’s a stubborn kisser, always trying to get the upper hand, his tongue swiping across her lip before licking into her mouth. But she doesn’t let him have it for long, her teeth grazing his bottom lip, reveling in the little groan he lets out and using it to her advantage as she presses closer to him, the peaked slopes of her nipples dragging across his chest. 

He shifts his hips down and away from the back of the tub, giving her space to wrap her legs around his waist, ankles grazing his low back and she thinks briefly that his bathroom is going to be a mess, water sloshing out over the sides of the tub with their increasingly frantic movements. Though she doesn’t have much time to worry about it when he ducks his head down, pressing a sweet kiss to her sternum that is starkly contrasted by the subsequent drag of his lips over one of her breasts, teeth grazing over her nipple before he laves his tongue over the bud. She lets out a gasp of his name when he sucks the delicate skin into his mouth, no longer trying to hold back the grind of her hips into the coarse hair covering his pelvis, his cock brushing up against her ass with the movement. Seemingly satisfied with his ministrations, he pulls away with a sweet little pop, his eyes impossibly darker as he looks at her.

“Want you, darlin, so bad. Can I– fuck– can I have you?” Afraid of what her voice might sound like, her response to him is another bruising kiss, tugging just a tad unkindly on his hair as she shifts her hips back, both of them groaning when her cunt grazes the underside of his cock. 

“Want you too, Joel, please.” She doesn’t care that it comes out like a whine, too preoccupied with chasing the pleasure of his cock rutting against where she wants him most. But she stills when Joel places a firm hand to her hip, her brow furrowing at him.

“We’re not doing this in a fucking bathtub, not the first time.” She splutters out a laugh at his very serious expression, but she realizes he’s not kidding when he gently untangles her legs from around him, tugging her up along with him, water going everywhere as they step out of the tub in a slipping tangle of limbs. She’s finding that she can’t get enough of him, stealing whatever kisses she can get as he pulls her into the bedroom, her lips dragging down the column of his throat and over the top of his chest. And then a quick blur and breathy oof from Joel has them tumbling back onto his bed, her palms splaying out over his chest as she straddles his hips. They don’t stay like that for long though, Joel squeezing her ass and rolling them over in a surprisingly smooth move, slotting himself between her spread thighs. 

All of a sudden, things start to move slower, thicker, as he drags a palm down her torso, flipping his wrist around when he reaches her pelvis and cupping her heat in a flat press. She cants her hips into his hold, sighing at the firm grind of the heel of his palm over her clit. And while it feels good, it isn’t what she really wants.

“Joel– don’t tease. I just, fuck– just want you.” He grins, the bastard, shifting his hand to dip two of his fingers against her entrance, the stretch sweet and stinging when he pushes in. 

“Not gonna tease you, darlin. Just wanna get you ready f’me. Fuck– you’re driving me crazy.” She knows that he’s not just being arrogant, having gotten a good look, and feel, of his cock, but the steady rhythm of his fingers pumping inside of her is only making her want him more.

“Please, please– I’m ready, I swear. Just, fucking–” He shushes her with a quick kiss, and by giving her what she wants, moving his hand away and hovering over her, the heavy heat of his cock resting against the apex of her thighs. 

It’s all quiet communication. He draws one palm along the outside of her thigh, coaxing her leg up, her knee resting against his waist as she opens up even more for him. She drags her hands down his chest, the soft pudge of his belly, before hooking them under and around to press into the shuddering muscles of his back. It’s a languid motion, her hips tilting up to meet his rolling forward, both of them letting out broken sighs as he fills her completely. 

“Fucking– s’perfect- you’re perfect– I can’t– I– christ.” He breathes out a hard exhale, resting his forehead against her sternum, hips still flush with hers. She presses a smattering of kisses to his hairline, coaxing him to look up at her.

“Don’t think christ has anything to do with it, baby.” His chuckle at her smug words turns into a low groan when she flutters around him, both of them going a little sick with the pleasure of it all.

“Can I move, darlin? Shit– I’m not gonna last like this– feels too fucking good.” All he needs is her jerky nod for him to arc his hips away before snapping back, deep and slow, finding a push and pull that has them both sighing with each thrust. It feels like he’s everywhere, his mouth open and hot across her chest, his damp hair tickling the skin over her collarbone, his murmuring groans mixing with each of her sighs, and his throbbing length, every inch of him spreading her open again and again and again. She has half a mind to be embarrassed by how quickly she’s tipping over the edge of pleasure, but she doesn’t care, not when Joel is coaxing her into it with low drawling praises.

“That’s it, honey– so good like this– so beautiful– shit– come for me, please– need to– need to feel you–” He brings a trembling hand down over her pelvis, deft fingers drawing circles over her clit and it becomes too much all at once, his name leaving her lips in a quiet cry as she falls apart around him. He fucks her through it, his pace slowing into more of a deep grind that jostles them further up the bed with each stroke. All she can do is hold on, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades, her hitched heel pressing into his low back as he chases after his own high. She pieces herself together enough to drag her hand through his hair, pulling his face down so she can murmur in his ear.

“Want it so bad, Joel– please, baby– wanna see you come for me– let me see you– let me have it.” He groans out her name, sounding more like pain than pleasure as he pulls away, leaning back on his haunches to sloppily stroke his glistening cock. She moves in a haze of desire, scrambling onto her hands and knees, her face coming level with his flushed length as she drops her jaw and sticks her tongue out, spit pooling from want as she looks up at him through her lashes. 

She watches him closely as he comes with a slur of curses, breathless as the salt of his spend spurts onto her tongue, smudging across her lips and dripping down her chin. His shoulders slump, chest heaving as he runs a trembling hand through his hair, eyes not leaving hers as she sits back and swipes up the stray come on her skin, sucking her fingers into her mouth with a low hum. She’d never call that taste appealing, but the fact that it came from him, a sign of his pleasure which she had been sovereign over, sends a shiver up her spine as she swirls her tongue over her fingers. 

…

She’s trying to kill him, she has to be, with her little smile and the lewd pop of her fingers leaving her mouth.

“You’re fucking unreal, goddamn.” She laughs at his exclamation and he swallows the sound, pulling her in for a kiss, his mind going fuzzy at the taste of what he assumes is himself on her lips. Even though he feels like he just ran a marathon, he can’t help but deepen the kiss, their mouths molding and moving as they lay down in a close tangle. 

When they do pull away from each other, it’s with a shared sigh, and she rests her cheek on his chest, right where he knows she can hear his racing heart. She presses a kiss to that spot before tilting her chin up to look at him.

“I’m really glad you came back today, Joel.” His brow furrows, thinking back to earlier and the strange things she had said, her frantic greeting, and the relief that had been clear in her eyes. Another piece of her that he doesn’t quite understand. But he’s ok with that, with not knowing everything about her, at least not yet. She’s already unfurled so much of her life for him, and he’s prepared to wait patiently for whatever else she’ll offer him. As long as he gets to have her like this, warm and soft, keening into his touch, eyes hooded with a shared pleasure. 

No other words are needed, not right now. He coaxes her chin up with a gentle press of his fingers, stealing one more kiss before they both settle down in each other’s arms. 

................................

taglist (i added some folks i thought would like to be, let me know if you want added or dropped lmao) : @boofy1998 @misspascaliverse @jasminedragoon @beskarandblasters @daddy-din @subconsciouscollapse @avidreader73 @pedgeitopascal @littlelou22 @wannab-urs @hannahlupinblack @whoiscaroline @leeeesahhh

[t-top-apologist]

At the end of the day the average civilian wishes to be catered to like an old money steel baron or perhaps one of those chaps from Downton Abbey. The entirety of modern society has come together to enable this, mass-producing cheap facsimiles of fortunes that should rightly either be built on child labor or perhaps serfdom.

Their lawns, taking up what could otherwise be used to grow crops or serve as "outdoor garage space," exist to ape the wide ranging estates meant for the nobility to chase down a fox while adorned in silly jackets. Their houses sport columns and stupid windows meant to imitate three different classical artforms at the same time because of something called "economies of scale." They even have male-centric social clubs meant for parlour games, discussing sports, and dining with friends, in this case franchised out under such names as "Buffalo Wild Wings."

This aping of the upper class continues to the hire of "artisans" to do relatively simple work deemed too complicated to warrant the time of the average citizen. It's not that the jobs are too taxing for your average person, but rather that the market has crystallized around the desire to live like budget royalty. Therefore they take their wafer-thin computers to artisans (now more commonly called "experts" or "Apple geniuses") for repair and have democratized the position of carriagemen to 22 year old dealership lube techs named Ryan who will turn a 15 minute job into a 30 minute endeavor thanks to frequent vape breaks and a brief brush with what the industry refers to as "a misplaced drain bolt."

The mid-40s project manager and mother of 3 is no less competent when changing oil than her grandfather before her who knew what "Valve Lash" is, but what separates the two is a series of wars in the 1900s that required an entire generation of men to become very familiar with operating and repairing machines better than the Germans and Japanese (an exercise that Chrysler would later abandon in favor of the phrase "if you can't beat em, join em").

This conflict ended with a surge of able-bodied men finding themselves returning to their project management jobs (like their granddaughters after them) but armed with captured German weapons and a comprehensive understanding of tubochargers. Just as a line can be drawn from troop drawdowns to political violence, there's a distinct correlations between GIs returning home and the violence with which Ford Flathead V8s were torn apart by inventive supercharging methods paired with landspeed record attempts.

Give a man a racecar and he'll crash it on the salt flats in a day. Teach a man to repair a racecar and it will sit in the garage of his suburban house for a few years in between complete engine rebuilds required by what can only be described as "vaporized piston rods."

Of course this hotrodder generation created the circumstances we live in today, as the market saw their fast cars cobbled together from old prewar hulks and simply stamped out new ones from factory, faster and more convenient for the next generation than building one from scratch. Now the project manager mother of 3 drives a 4wd barge with climate controlled seats boasting more computing power than the moon mission and an emissions-controlled powertrain with more horsepower than her grandfather's jalopy and her fathers factory muscle car combined. And she doesn't care at all.

Yet Amongst the average civilians there walks a rare breed: people who know how to change their own oil. We the chosen move among you silently, bucking the system, operating outside the cultural helplessness and trading in forbidden knowledge in almost-abandoned forum threads (flame wars over conventional vs synthetic).

While we do have a marked air of superiority about this, I can't say I haven't stooped to imitating the rich myself. I've been known to wear a silly jacket from time to time.

[bidisastersanji]

It's Sunday night so why not read part 3/3 of "Zoro gets lost because he uses the red string of fate like a compass" ? Part 1 here, part 2 here, ao3 here Hope you guys like it ;)

Sanji is being weird. Ever since that day on Thriller Bark, he’s definitely been avoiding him, only interacting with him when strictly necessary (to feed him), never making eye contact for too long, and leaving as quickly as he came. 

Shitty cook. What’s his fuckin’ deal? 

Zoro lets it sit for a couple of days, too injured to move out of the infirmary or to do anything about it anyways, before he comes up with a potential reason for the cook’s strange behaviour. It must be because of the self-sacrifice thing. It can’t be because of that... other thing, he muses. 

Back at the Baratie, when they’d first met, Zoro could immediately tell that Sanji didn’t know. The blonde couldn’t see it, or feel it...nothin’. It was painfully obvious. (It didn’t make him feel hollow at all!) So, he hadn’t said anything- what would’ve been the point? It wasn’t like it mattered to him either way: his goal was already fixed. Become the world’s greatest swordsman. Then, maybe look for the person tied to his soul. 

He didn’t expect to meet them so soon. 

He also didn’t expect for him to come aboard and join the crew. Sure, the ridiculous moron grew on him much faster than he expected, and he took great satisfaction from having someone of comparable strength look over their crew with him, someone who could handle him, his power, his ambition, his rough edges and biting words. He wouldn’t deny that. But he also hated how the proximity made his little...navigation problem way worse. 

Learning that Sanji grew up on a moving restaurant in the East Blue certainly explained why the thread moved around so much. Being on the same boat, however, brought the realisation that the closer they were to each other, the more the thread moved- and when living in such close quarters, stuck on a ship, the thread was constantly bobbing around as the cook moved around his kitchen, the pantry, the bridge, happily serving freshly prepared meals and snacks to his crewmates. 

If there was one good use that he got out of this, it's that he could always find the best time to sneak some booze from the kitchen- the red string a reliable indicator of Sanji being busy elsewhere. The downside was, of course, all the teasing his nakama, especially that witch Nami, made him endure. And it’s not like he could even reciprocate the teasing the day her tattoo turned the exact shade of a certain Miss Wednesday’s hair. He couldn’t risk his debt going up. 

Even when off the ship, Zoro’s sense of direction had never been as comically bad before. Using the red thread to move around was like breathing to him, and it constantly caught his eye, getting him lost- even in the midst of battle- going up the wrong stairs, running off in the wrong direction, finding himself in the most unlikely of places because the damn cook wouldn’t. stop. moving. Around. (Somewhere in his mind, Zoro was aware that he couldn’t expect Sanji to not move- he just was oh so tired of getting lost.) 

He noticed that Sanji never had problems finding him. Zoro’s chest felt light whenever he did. He didn’t linger on it. 

His chest feels anything but light now that Sanji is avoiding him like the plague. 

Strong enough to stand after a few days’ rest, Zoro follows the red thread to the galley. He pushes the door open and catches the sweet smell of Sanji’s stress baking. Of course. 

“I’m not giving you booze, marimo.” Sanji doesn’t look up from behind the counter, hands meticulously working to decorate whatever baked goods he’s whipped up today. 

“’m not here for booze, cook.” 

“Then get the hell out of my kitchen, it’s not lunchtime yet.” 

Zoro regards him cooly, standing between the counter and the dining table, and waits for him to look up. He has time. 

“...You gonna stand here all day, shithead?” 

“Mn.” 

Sanji sighs and meets his gaze with an affronted look, hands finally stilling in his decorating. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Zoro’s not one to beat around the bush. “Is this about what happened with Kuma?” 

Sanji stays silent, absentmindedly worrying his lower lip. 

“Look, I’m never gonna apologise for knockin’ you out and doing what I did- especially since everything turned out ok in the end. The crew couldn’t lose you, curls. This was my burden to bear. How can we move past this-” 

His blue eyes look furious, like burning ice. “We can’t,” he bites out. Sanji reaches for his cigarettes, soothing himself with the familiar motion of placing it between his lips. It wobbles as he speaks. “And the fuck do you even mean, they couldn’t lose me- they can’t lose you, dumbass. You still have to beat Mihawk and become the greatest, right?” 

Zoro sighs, tuning the cook out a bit as he nags him. Why Sanji can never see his own value, his importance to the crew, to him, he doesn’t know. He knows it’s not something he can fix with just a few words. 

“Why would you even,” Sanji starts losing his words from his frustration. His thumb and forefinger pinch his cigarette and he waves it around angrily. “you silly moss- I can’t understand you!” 

“That’s my line. Why did you try to take my place? Spoutin’ all that bullshit about finding another cook, huh?” 

Sanji blanches, mouthing silent words as he looks for a way to answer Zoro’s question. His visible eye flits to Zoro’s hand on his chest. The swordsman notices. 

“Y-you wouldn’t understand...” his face contorts painfully, brow furrowed. 

Zoro takes it all in. Where he’s looking, the way he’s been acting strange...it was more than what happened on Thriller Bark, then. “Oh yeah? Wanna bet?” 

“Not really, no.” 

“All right. Then why don’t I let you in on a little secret.”  

Zoro’s face is impassible as ever, and the cook seems intrigued.  

“...sure, why the hell not.” Then, to break the tension, “You gonna tell me the secret to your ridiculous hair colour?” 

“Better. ‘m gonna tell you why I get lost all the time.” 

“...so you are self-aware. Good job, marimo. Maybe next you’ll figure out basic hygiene.” Sanji’s jeer doesn’t mask how intently he’s waiting for Zoro to reveal his secret. 

The swordsman comes closer to the counter, placing his forearms and hands on the cool granite. Sanji’s eye follows the movement and seems to linger on the thread before returning to meet his own. This helps steel the swordsman in his decision. 

“You see, the reason I get turned around and lost is ‘cause I don’t navigate like most folk do. Growing up, I relied on my inner compass, and it worked just fine- I could always tell where North was, back then. No matter where I was.” 

“What changed?” 

“My north started movin’ around,” he huffs. 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Yeah, didn’t make sense to me either. But then my friend told me that the red string on my finger wasn’t a compass.” 

From how close they’re standing; Zoro hears Sanji’s breath hitch. He grins and brings his hand up from the counter, wiggling his pinky. 

“Y-you can see it?” Sanji’s face is twisted with shock and confusion. 

“Always have.” 

“But then why- why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Could tell that you didn’t see it too. Didn’t wanna make a fuss.”  

Sanji’s mouth opens on an inhale- ready to retort, but Zoro cuts him off before he gets the chance. “Think, cook. How would’ve you had reacted if I’d told you?” 

That shuts him up. Head slightly hanging, his unlit cigarette is in pieces, wrung out by his nervous hands. 

Always a contrarian, Zoro feels calm, his chest now warm and light like bread fresh from the oven. He can feel his lips stretch into a lazy smile despite himself. The shitty cook can see it. He can see the thread. It’s a start. 

“Sanji.” 

His blue eyes are cloudy, distant, deep in thought, and it takes him a few seconds to realise that swordsman said his name. His actual name. Zoro’s chest feels a little tight at the cute blush that dusts his cheeks, spreading to his ears. Tempers the urge to tease him about it, watch it deepen. He should probably say the important stuff first, do what he came here to do in the first place. 

“I won’t apologise for Thriller Bark because I'm selfish. I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Zoro prefers to speak with actions, not words, and he hopes that this action was loud enough. 

Listen, cook. Please listen. 

Sanji ponders his words for a moment, eyes searching his face with an intensity that keeps Zoro rooted to the spot. Under his crisp white button up, his chest rises and falls with a deep, deep sigh. He seems to come to a decision, and Zoro can’t deny his sweaty palms are itching to fidget with his earrings as he watches Sanji join him on his side of the counter. His footsteps suddenly feel quite loud, the light a bit too bright- but Zoro keeps his face schooled in a neutral expression and turns to face his crewmate. 

The thread is short, now, their bodies, close.  

“You won’t apologise.” 

Zoro shakes his head no. 

“Then you better be ready to make it up to me your whole life, you shitty marimo.” 

I hear you. 

Zoro’s heart beats like war drums, victorious and bold and indomitable, blood racing, making his body sizzle with restless energy. He watches in awe as Sanji’s hand- the one with a delicately corded red rope tied to the pinky- reaches for his own, interlocking their hands between them. It looks nice, the red string bright and proud against their skins’ neutral tones. Evidence of their unique bond. 

His face must be saying something because Sanji looks handsomely mischievious, pearly whites peeking out from an idiotic grin. 

“So, you’re gonna kiss me or what?” 

Zoro doesn’t need to be asked twice, and for once, does as Sanji says. 

[cmncisspnandmore]

One Night Stand: part 4

Pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: None? slight angst? Maybe if you squint

Summary: Simon is away on a mission, but things are speeding up back at home.

A/N:....... Hi, sorry. I'm back, i'm sos sorry for the long break between parts. I'm also sorry this is a short part, i started writing it before i went on a break, and i finished it today and its kinda a flop. But i promise to do better on the next part. asdfghjkl, please stick with me, I promise i'll do better.

Word Count: 2.909

New to the series? Catch up here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

It had been almost a week since you heard from Simon. He has sent you a brief text the morning he left. It was vague, didn't give you any details about where he was going, or how long he would be gone. He had promised to contact you as soon as he could. You find yourself staring down at your phone, hoping that maybe if you stared at it long enough he would text you. But it never came. 

Your knee shakes as you sit in the doctor’s office, the nurses coming out periodically to get someone from the waiting room. Your appointment was in 5 minutes, but you had been sitting there for the last 20 minutes. Nervous was an understatement, if you could describe how you felt out loud people would think you were insane. You felt like your lungs were vibrating in your chest, every organ moving at the fast pace of your heartbeat. 

The nurse calls out your name as you stand on shaky legs. The world is out of focus as you walk towards her. She smiles, and leads you back to her ultrasound room, her voice muffled  by the pounding in your ears. A hand touches your shoulder and it takes you a moment to realize that she was talking to you. 

“This is your first?” She asks, sitting in the chair next to the bed, pulling her stool up to the computer. 

“Oh.. yeah..” You lay back on the bed, and look over at her. She was wearing a pair of cartoon character scrubs. Her hair pulled up into a french twist, as she typed on the keyboard. 

“Okay, well lay back, and roll down the top of your jeans, and pull up your shirt as we’ll see if we can get a good look at that baby of yours. Do we need to wait for dad?” She asks, as you lay back against the paper. It crinkles as you roll down the tops of your jeans, your body shifting as you adjust. 

“Oh, no… he’s away,” heat rushes to your cheeks, red hot embarrassment coursing through your veins. 

“Oh no problem lovely, we’ll make sure to get extra pictures and you can even record the heartbeat for him. How does that sound?” She asks as she picks up the wand and rolls closer to you.

“That would be lovely,” 

“This will be a little cold,” she says as she squirts some of the ultrasound gel onto your stomach. The contact makes goosebumps break out along your skin, you watch the screen across from the bed. The grainy black and white picture moving around as she adjusts the wand. After a few moments a small white, baby-like blob takes over the screen.

“There they are! Look at them,” she smiles as she spends time taking measurements, and telling you what you were seeing on the screen. She takes some pictures while shes doing it, before she smiles at you. 

“Okay, ready to record the heartbeat?” she asks, and presses a few keys on the keyboard. 

You take your phone out and record the screen, the baby’s heart fluttering on the screen. After a moment the sound of fast paced wooshing fills the room, your eyes  fill with tears. It was real, you knew about the baby obviously, but hearing the heartbeat made it real. There was a tiny person growing inside you. A part of you and Simon. You stop the recording as you wipe your eyes with one hand. The Ultrasound tech smiles and hands you a tissue, before she hands you another. “Here Love,” she smiles, “wipe that off and then I’ll be right back with your pictures to take home.” 

You wipe the gel off your stomach, swinging your legs over the side as you wait. You open up the text thread between you and Simon. Your fingers tap the screen as you forward him the recording of the heartbeat.

Y/n: I know you couldn’t be here because of work, but I heard the heartbeat today. It was beautiful, they’re developing right on track. *heartbeat*

The nurse comes in and hands you two long strips of ultrasound pictures, you smile down at them. In one picture the baby’s hand is up in the air and it looks as if they’re waving. She added a little caption that says “hi Daddy!” On it and you can’t help the pang of guilt that settles in your gut.

This was Simon’s first child too. He should be able to experience everything with you. But you knew he couldn’t just abandon his post. He was needed, that much was clear, you couldn't ask him to give it up. You wouldn’t. 

As you walk out of the doctors office towards the bus station, you can’t stop looking down at the roll of pictures in your hands. As the bus pulls up to the sidewalk you climb on and take an empty seat. You study the white baby-like outline as the bus pulls away from the curb, you wonder who they would look like. 

Would they have Simon's light blonde hair?

Maybe his dark brown eyes?

Or would they look like you?

Maybe they would be a perfect blend of you both, with your eyes and Simon’s nose. Whoever they looked like, they would be loved. Your heart swells as you look down at the pictures, your fingered tracing outlines. They were only the size of a lemon, which was crazy to you. 13 weeks ago they didn't even exist, they were nothing. Just two cells that had yet to meet, and now they were the size of a lemon. They could move around although you couldn’t feel it yet, some babies even suck their thumb. 

Your thoughts drift back to Simon… Did he know that the baby was the size of a lemon? That it could now suck its thumb and move around?

Sighing you pull out your phone and text the video of the baby's heartbeat to him, along with a picture of the sonograms. You watch as the blue text bubble sends and the word delivered appears under it. You stare at the screen, wishing that it would change to read, but it doesn’t. Your eyes burn from not blinking, as the bus pulls up to the stop by your neighborhood. You quickly tuck your phone away and step off. The brakes of the bus squeal as it pulls away, leaving you standing on the side of the road alone. 

The walk back to your apartment isn’t long, it only takes 5 minutes at most. But today it felt like the longest walk of your life. You couldn't shake the feeling that pooled in your stomach when the tech looked at you, the pity in her eyes when she found out Simon wasn't there. It had done nothing but remind you that you would probably be doing most of this alone. That there was a chance Simon would miss the birth of his child due to having to be on a mission. 

You haven't given it too much thought, because that seemed so far away from the present. But in reality you were already in your second trimester, and time was going to go by a lot faster than you thought it would. Your relationship with Simon was still in its infancy, you barely knew anything about one another. Sure there was the undeniable attraction between you two, the magnetic pull that caused this whole situation in the first place. 

You climb the 3 flights of stairs to your apartment, your boots thudding on each step. The neighbors below you argue loudly, the crash of things being thrown jars you from your thoughts. You really hated them sometimes. It was like their entire relationship revolved around making each other mad. If they werent fighting they were stoned out of their minds, their eyes glazed over from drugs as they leant against the hoof of their beat up car. They had neer done anything to you personally but you had heard them fighting with some of the other residents. Mostly your direct neighbor to your left. She was a small old lady who would get fed up with them fighting and would call the cops on them regularly. 

As you unlock the door to your apartment, the door to the left opens. The old woman steps out of her apartment with a scowl on her face as she looks at you. You pause, and clear your throat. “Can i help you Mrs. Hines?” You ask, stuffing the sonogram into your pocket.

“Those blasted drug addicts, at it again i tell ya! Throwing things, arguing all hours of the day. Outta teach them a lesson,” she mumbles as he heads towards the stairs. Her cane tapped on the floor as she headed down to the floor below. You wait until her white hair is out of sight on the staircase before you push open your apartment door. The apartment is exactly how you left it, your eyes flickering to the couch. Air rushes past your lips as you find it empty, your laptop sitting in the middle just as you left it. 

You settle into your apartment, and hang the sonogram pictures on the fridge, a small smile on your lips. Settling back onto the couch you pick up your laptop and continue where you left off this morning with your article, the words flowing easily. Hours pass as you near the end of the article, your phone pinging on the couch next to you startles you. For a moment a flash of fear races through your body. Like a bucket of cold water was dumped on you, your heart hammers loudly in your chest. With shaking hands you reach over and grab it, tapping the screen with your thumb. 

The small picture of an adorable ghost next to the name eases your anxiety that settled in your chest. You can't help the small smile that spreads over your lips as you read the messages from Simon. 

Simon: Wow, I wasn't expecting them to look like an actual baby just yet. That's kind of insane. 

You: I know.. Did you get a chance to listen to the heartbeat?

Simon: Yeah… Don't tell anyone but I may have teared up… 

You: Your secret is safe with me. 

There's no reply after that, which is expected. Honestly you were even surprised to have heard from him at all. He was out there doing god knows what, god knows where. Given that he had a few moments to reply to your text must mean that he wasn't fighting for his life at that very moment. 

That thought gave you some comfort… Well kind of. Lately not a lot of things could make you feel at ease anymore. You never truly felt relaxed, not even after moving a few hundred miles away from your hometown. You still felt like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. For it to be your turn to meet the same fate as your family. But it hasn't come yet, and that alone was enough to make every noise, every bump in the night send prickles of fear skittering across your body. Like thousands of ants running wild along the smooth plains, making you shift uncomfortably. 

The apartment complex was surprisingly quiet for 8pm, normally around this time most of the residents were arguing. Mainly the couple from downstairs, but you haven't heard anything in a little while. You furrow your brows as you look out the window. Their car wasn't there, maybe they had gone out?. The parking lot was mainly empty save for a few cars that you were sure didn't run anymore. TUrning in your seat you glance down at your phone, the screen still dark. 

Exhaustion pulled at you, over the last few weeks you had been having a hard time sleeping.The constant fighting from the people below you coupled with the raging hormones made sleep hard to come by. This past week is especially hard now that the small voice in the back of your head reminding you that Simon wasn't here. He wasn't just a phone call away right now. For all you know he could be on the other side of the world, and there was no established time he would be back. He very well could be gone for months. 

Taking a deep breath you grab your phone and climb into your bed, pulling the blankets up over your head as you try to block out the small pang in your chest. The small part of you that missed Simon's presence. When he was around it was like someone had closed the doors to the roaring fears inside your head. They were still there, but they were muffled and you could be easily distracted from them. Allowing your body to relax for once, after being wound tight for months. 

A blush creeps up your cheeks as you remember how blissfully blank Simon was able to make your mind that night. The night that led to the unplanned but not unwelcome baby that was currently growing in your uterus. Your eyes grow heavy as your mind drifts back to that night. You missed how his hands felt, skating across your skin. The warmth of his lips on yours, the way his heart pounded in his chest under your hands. 

Your hand drifts down to your lower stomach, your fingers brushing the now taught skin. A small smile on your lips as you drift off to sleep with images of Simon's dark brown eyes and blonde hair dance in your mind. 

~~~~

Smoke.

The first thing to cross your mind when you stir from your sleep is smoke. 

The smell was suffocating as you sit up, and blink rapidly into the darkened room. Thick grey clouds billow under the door of your apartment. The loud creaking of the building settling startling you fully awake. Outside you can hear commotion in the parking lot. Quickly throwing the blankets to the side you pad over to the window. People from the lower floors of your building are filing out, waving their hands in front of their faces as they attempt to run from the building. Thick clouds of smoke follow them, as yellow and orange light flickers across their faces. 

You drop to your knees as your throat starts to burn, the air in the room becoming harder and harder to breathe in. Your knees scrape along the uneven floor boards, scratching the soft skin. Pulling your shirt up over your mouth and nose you attempt to take slow even breaths, as the smoke rises to the top of the room. As you reach the door you lift your hand and place the back of it against the door. Its warm but not hot. Taking one last deep breath you reach up hand grasping the warm door knob as you turn it.

Smoke rushes into the room, stinging your eyes as you crawl forward. The hallways is hazy but you can see the stairs at the end of the hall. They look clear of any fire, and you start to crawl there. As you reach the top of the stairs a sound behind you causes you to stop. The floor by your door creaks and groans before it splinters and falls through. Flames lick up through the hole, heat dancing across your skin. It was hot. So incredibly hot. Your eyes water, as you struggle to pull air into your lungs. 

Your throat burns as tears slide down your cheeks, your lungs ache as you start coughing. Your mind becomes fuzzy from lack of oxygen, as you grasp the railing of the stairs you start to feel your way down them quickly. Your feet blindly hitting steps, a few times you almost slip on the stairs. As you get down to the second floor the smoke is thicker. You can't see your own hand in front of your face. The staircase to the first floor is engulfed in flames, they lick up the stairs as they threaten to singe your clothes. 

The window in the stairwell before it shatters above you front he heat, tiny shards of glass rain down on you where you crouch on the staircase. Your body is sluggish from the carbon monoxide. This was it… 

The way out was blocked and you didn't have the energy to climb back up the stairs to try the back staircase. It had only been a few minutes since you left the apartment, but it felt like a lifetime. Your body ached, your skin hurt from the heat, like the worst sunburn you’ve ever gotten. Your lungs screamed like you were being held under water, each cough that forced its way from your throat felt like razor blades.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving trails through the soot and ash that covered your face. The world is slightly muffled as you put your head on the warm concrete of the stairs. The last of your energy fading as sirens scream in the distance. At least they would find your body, maybe there would be enough to identify, so someone would be able to get back to Simon about what happened. 

Simon.

Your heart aches in your chest.

What if no one ever told him what happened?

Your mind starts to go fuzzy and your eyes slide closed, sweet oblivion pulling you under.

As the world fades out you feel someone's arms wrap around you, lifting you from the stairs, their deep voice vibrating in their chest. “Bloody hell, Love. Trouble just knows how to find you, yeah?”

Next Part: Part 5

[em-prentiss]

on love and anesthesia

----

“Why’r you touching me if you have a husband?” Aaron frowns deeply, a wrinkle forming between his brows as she twists his ring around. Emily slips her hand out of his hair and presses her thumb to his frown.

“Because he’s you.” She tells him.

Aaron’s eyes widen.

In which Aaron undergoes a minor surgery and promptly forgets Emily is his wife.

to @sequinsmile-x, because our brains operated on the same wavelength today <3

Word count: 2.2k

----

The word surgery always sparked panic in her blood. The fact that it’s an outpatient procedure doesn’t ease any of her anxieties, so she chews on her lip and twists her rings around, trying not to tear her cuticles to blood as she waits for Aaron to come out of his cholecystectomy.

“Family of Aaron Hotchner?” A voice rings out.

Emily’s head snaps up. She gets to her feet, the nervous pitter patter of her heart calming slightly when the doctor gives her a reassuring smile.

“Yes,” she clears her dry throat. “Is he okay?” Her nail catches on the skin of her thumb.

The doctor smiles softly. “He’s all done and ready for you to take home.” 

Air rushes back into her lungs. “Oh thank fuck,” Emily mutters, blindly following him to the recovery room.

“The surgery went well,” he says, “we didn’t encounter any issues with his scar tissue like we expected.”

Another brick lifts off of Emily’s shoulders. Her relief is enough to make her blur out the blinding lights of the hospital, the overly sterile walls and the scent of antiseptic. Finally the doctor stops in front of a door, but before Emily can lunge in, he starts talking again.

“He shouldn’t be eating any high fat foods for at least a week, and make sure to get him on lots of fluids for the next 24 hours. He also shouldn’t be performing any strenuous activities—biking, jogging, the like. No lifting anything heavy either, for at least a month.” 

Emily scoffs at that. The doctor doesn’t hear her.

“Walks are good, just nothing too long, maybe a half hour or so. For the incisions—”

“Oh, don’t worry, we know how to take care of those,” Emily smiles wryly. The doctor’s brows raise and he nods haltingly, clearing his throat before continuing.

“There’s a chance he might’ve taken well to the anesthesia, but if he did it’ll fade in a few hours. A nurse will be in to check his vitals and then you’re all set.” 

“Thank you, doctor.” Emily smiles at him, grateful if a little rushed, her hand already on the handle and opening the door before he even leaves.

Her eyes drift to Aaron as the door slams shut behind her. He stirs a little at the sound, brows furrowing but his eyes still shut. Emily walks over to the chair next to his bed and sits down, finally letting out a breath as his lashes flutter. 

The white hospital gown washes him out—the sight is more familiar than she’d like—but his chest rises and falls evenly.

She takes his hand in hers. It’s a little cold so she covers her fingers over his, threads them through his own and hears the clink of their rings together.

Emily rubs her thumb over the back of his hand, slowly warming his skin with her own as he starts waking up. It takes a few minutes before he starts shifting awake, coming to with a groan. 

She squeezes his fingers as his eyes flutter open blearily. Aaron flinches from the bright lights and turns his head, meeting Emily’s gaze as she rests her chin on the handle of his bed.

“Hey handsome,” she whispers, untangling their fingers to brush the messy hair away from his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

The soft bangs slip against her skin and flop back into his face. Emily smiles and moves to push them behind his ear, but Aaron frowns and moves his head further into the pillow.

“No, I’m married,” he mumbles, shying away from her touch. “I have a wife.” He tries to glare at her, but it has little effect with the way his eyes are dazed, his movements uncoordinated and his voice raspy.

The doctor’s words come back to her suddenly—he might’ve taken well to the anesthesia.

Emily bites back a smile and drops her hand from his hair. She grabs a water bottle from her purse, uncaps it and holds it to his lips. “Oh yeah? What’s your wife’s name, sweetheart?” She asks gently, her voice soft and low.

Aaron frowns at her as he drinks. The expression is so unguarded, so deeply genuine that Emily can’t contain her grin this time. He pushes the bottle away clumsily, a few drops spilling down his chin and onto his hospital gown.

“Tha’s what I call her. She’s m’sweetheart.” He slurs, squinting at her. “You…” He waves his finger in her face. Emily catches it and places his hand back in the bed. “You kinda look like her. Pretty. She has dark eyes like that,” Aaron sighs. 

Emily bites her lip. Pretty, huh? “What’s her name?” She asks, fully intending to take advantage of the—rare—situation.

“Em,” he says promptly, his lips turning up in a loopy smile. Dimples dig into his cheeks, deep as she’s ever seen them. 

“She’s my Em.” Aaron mumbles. He digs his head into his pillow, messing up his hair further as he looks up at her with glazed eyes. “We’re married and she’s m’wife. Do you have a wife?” His brows raise into his hairline.

Emily chuckles. “No, baby. I have an amazing husband who’s high off his ass right now,” she reaches a hand out and threads her fingers through his hair.

Aaron leans into her touch, instinctive, his lashes fluttering shut when she scratches her nails along his scalp. He lets out a deep groan-sigh before his eyes snap back open again. His honey brown eyes meet Emily’s and she smiles at him, taking his other hand in hers and kissing his knuckles. 

“Why’r you touching me if you have a husband?” Aaron frowns deeply, a wrinkle forming between his brows as she twists his ring around. Emily slips her hand out of his hair and presses her thumb to his frown.

“Because he’s you.” She tells him.

Aaron’s eyes widen. His pupils are blown wide, though she’s not sure if that’s because of the drugs or the news. “Nu-uh,” he shakes his head, his hair flopping with the vigorous movement. 

“I’d remember it if we were married.” He says confidently. “I couldn’ marry someone as pretty as you.”

Emily’s lips curve upward. “Why’s that?” She whispers.

Aaron looks at her like she’s crazy; as if the answer is glaringly obvious. “’Cause y’d distract me alll the time.” He says, his tone clearly saying duh. “I’d never get anythin’ done. I’m Uni’ Chief, you know,” he tells her solemnly, “I have a very important job.”

“I know you do,” Emily scrunches her nose at him. “It’s how we met, honey. In that god awful office of yours.” She says lightly.

He shakes his head again, firmly in denial as his lips twist downward. “Don’ mess with me,” he frowns. It has about a fourth of the power of a proper Hotch glare.

Emily huffs out a soft laugh. “I’m not messing with you, Aaron.” She gently grabs his left hand and holds it up next to hers. Their rings shine side by side. 

“See?” She tells him as he touches her engagement ring. “We’re matching.”

He’s silent for a few seconds, contemplating. He touches his ring and hers, fingers smoothing over the platinum, before he turns to her again. “I’d remember if we were married, though,” his lips jut out in an honest to god pout. 

Emily can’t help but laugh, too loud and bright, the tension of almost two hours in the waiting room promptly melting off her shoulders. 

“You’ll remember soon, baby, I promise,” she soothes, just barely holding in the urge to kiss his pouted lips. God, she wishes she could snap a picture.

Aaron sighs dreamily, smiling as he reaches for her fingers. “D’you always call me that?”

“What?” Emily tilts her head, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Baby?” She asks. 

Aaron flushes. He nods slowly, red crawling up his jaw.

Emily hums. “Only sometimes. You pretend not to like it, but I know you do, sweetheart,” she coos, cupping his face and gently tracing her thumb over his cheekbone. His skin flames beneath her touch.

His cheeks turn a deeper red. “You call me lotsa things,” he mumbles.

Emily grins. “That’s ’cause I love you so much,” she murmurs, leaning over the handle of the bed and kissing his cheek. A medicinal scent lingers on his skin but she ignores it, peppering his cheek with kisses. 

“I love you so much and I’m so glad this is fucking over,” she sighs into his skin, pressing her love—and relief—into his dimples. 

She feels Aaron melt into the bed, his hand sliding on top of hers as she continues murmuring nonsense, glad to have her highly drugged husband back after hours that passed by slow as honey.

A knock on the door forces her away from him. 

A nurse walks in and smiles at them brightly, her eyes kind. “Hi, Mr. Hotchner,” she chirps. “I’m just here to check your vitals and then you’ll be free to go.”

Aaron is surprisingly compliant as the nurse takes his blood pressure, measures his breathing and heart rate. Emily thinks it has something to do with the way he’s shamelessly ogling her. His gaze is hot on her skin as he completely ignores the nurse poking and prodding at him. Meeting his eyes, Emily arches her brow.

Aaron grins.

She sighs.

“Are you feeling any pain, Mr. Hotchner?” The nurse asks when she’s done. His attention goes back to her, lazy and reluctant.

“No,” he mumbles, frowning down at his gown, scratching at the bandages beneath it, “jus’ itchy.” 

Emily grabs his hand and forces it away from the wounds, loosely linking their fingers together.

The nurse nods. “That’s perfectly normal. Keep the wound dressing on for today and you can take it off tomorrow, alright? No hot baths, though.” She turns to Emily, “If he’s in any pain, paracetamol should cover it, but if it continues after that, you should bring him back here.”

“Okay,” Emily nods, hoping she doesn’t sound too eager at the thought of finally leaving. “Thank you so much.” She smiles at her.

The nurse smiles back. “Of course. Have a great day.” She says, slipping back into the hall before Emily can respond.

She sighs as she turns back to Aaron, her smile spreading when she catches him staring at her unabashedly. Again. His eyes drop to her lips and his cheeks tint pink. 

She would kill for a camera right now.

Emily grins. “Come on, let’s get you dressed so we can go home. I’m sure the kids have turned the house upside down on JJ.” She untangles their fingers and stands up, holding out her palms to help him up.

Aaron’s mouth drops open, his eyes widening in wonder. 

“I have babies with you?” He breathes. A lopsided smile makes its way onto his lips, digging his dimples deep into his cheeks. He beams at her and takes her hands, letting her pull him up to the side of the bed.

It’s Emily’s turn to flush. “You’ll be having more of them if you keep that up,” she mutters. 

Aaron grins, his hands going to her waist, stopping her from bending over and grabbing his change of clothes.

“Do they all have your pretty eyes?” He tilts his head up to look at her, his fingers grabbing at her shirt. Her eyes meet his and he sighs dreamily, “Fuck, thy’r so pretty.” 

Emily’s body heats. She threads her fingers into his hair and bends down to kiss him. Aaron responds immediately, his lips a little chapped against hers, his hands tightening on her waist; he may momentarily forget marrying her, but he’ll never forget this.

“I hate to disappoint you,” Emily whispers, pressing her lips to the tip of his nose, “but they’ve got my nose.”

Aaron immediately frowns, this time his brows drawing together harshly. “Tha’s ridiculous,” he scolds as best he could. “Your nose is fucking cute.”

Emily laughs brightly, warmth spreading through her body. She kisses the top of his head. “Not as fucking cute as you are right now.” She resists the urge to ruffle his hair and moves out of his hold to grab his clothes.

Aaron smiles at her back as she takes out a shirt and sweatpants from a bag next to the chair. “’Mily?” He mumbles.

Her heart warms at the way he says her name, soft and slurred and like she’s never heard it before; his voice hushed, his usually careful syllables crashing into each other.

“Yeah, honey?”

Aaron grins. “I remember marryin’ you. We ate cake for breakfast the next morning. An’ I had to pay for insurance ’cause we broke the bed—”

“Okay,” Emily laughs, her cheeks heating at the memory. She undoes the tie holding his gown together, slipping it down his chest and bunching up his shirt before guiding his arm through it.

“Let’s hope you’ll remember your airtight filter next,” she teases, stretching out the collar of his shirt to help him poke his head through it. He grins at her when his head is finally free, soft hair all messed up and falling into his eyes.

Though she knows she’ll miss this side of him.

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