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say-al0e · 8 months ago

Text

All Too Well

Rating: SMUT, Minors DNI! No one under 18!

Summary: As a girl, you hoped you would someday marry Gwayne Hightower. That hope disappeared with Gwayne the day he was sent back to Oldtown. Now, as Rhaenyra finds a parade of suitors filling the Keep in search of her hand, one arrives just for you. | Ft. Anon request for: "Do you never tire of your own voice?”, “Now you’re just tempting me to do something we’ll both regret.”, “Guess I’ll have to come inside you, then.” Warnings: Potentially slightly off timeline, brief mention of Rhaenyra's wedding incident, Gwayne already thinks Criston's a little unhinged, unprotected PinV. Think that's it. Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x fem!Targaryen Reader (Rhaenyra's twin) [Rhaenyra, Gwayne, Reader are all about 18/19 - Alicent is 20/21] Word Count: 7.3k HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

“Laugh all you’d like, you’ll be next.”

The sight of Rhaenyra dressed in red and gold - gilded, gleaming as a Targaryen princess should - stomping through the gardens, annoyance simmering in her violet eyes, drew your amusement, though you were quick to smother your smile as she drew closer.

Scowling - exhausted and annoyed after a seemingly endless barrage of boastful and presumptuous proposals, all from men who wanted little more than a royal mother for their heirs - she settled onto the plush blanket at your side. Without prompting, you closed the book you’d spent the afternoon reading and placed it on the grass, allowing her space to rest her head as your hand fell to her hair.

“I’m not laughing at you,” you assured her - though the glare she leveled at you adequately conveyed her disbelief.

It was true, you’d spent the morning giggling, not bothering to hide your smile as she was scrubbed and dressed and received a third - or thirtieth, you’d lost count - lecture from your father about duty. But, you weren’t laughing at her.

If anything, you were laughing at the absurdity of it all.

The King, the leader of the realm, was allowing a parade of potential suitors to offer themselves to Rhaenyra - his eldest, if only by a few moments - on a silver platter. The endless stream of lords was one she steadfastly refused to even consider, her heart already in the hands of the Rogue Prince, and you could not help but find amusement in the entire ordeal.

Viserys was going to the greatest efforts to secure a match for her, one that might leave her content - at best - while your own betrothal was not even a consideration.

Such was life.

“I do not believe you,” Rhaenyra insisted, violet eyes narrowing as she huffed. Still, she leaned into the feeling of your fingers carding through the silk strands of her silver hair. “You’re finding great joy in my misery.”

Despite herself, there was no heat to her accusation, no real belief that you found her pain amusing, but you still dutifully attempted to hide your smile.

“Believe what you’d like, sister. However, I do doubt I’ll be next,” you admitted, shrugging as you spared her a glance - somewhat grateful, somewhat incensed by the lack of consideration. “Father’s extended his best efforts to secure a match for you and you’ve succeeded in scarring half the lords in the realm,” you teased - laughing as Rhaenyra lightly pinched your forearm in mock scolding. “My own marriage is of little concern to him or anyone else. Perhaps, instead of a repeat of this spectacle, I’ll be sent away to become a septa,” you mused, only half-joking.

“What a shame that would be.”

Whatever reply lingered on Rhaenyra’s lips was swallowed as you both turned your attention to the young knight, remaining just a few steps from where you sat. Though you had not seen him in years, dressed in the rich emerald green of his house with flaming red hair, there was no question who stood before you.

Gwayne Hightower, once the very object of your girlhood affection, was a rare visitor to the Red Keep these days.

As children, you spent a great deal of your time together, nearly every waking moment you could spare. You, Rhaenyra, Alicent, and Gwayne were never very far from one another, though you, Gwayne, and Alicent spent far more time in the library than Rhaenyra, who enjoyed nothing more than soaring through the sky atop Syrax.

The four of you were certain that you would grow into adulthood together - Rhaenyra and Gwayne riding off to battle and glory; you and Alicent, settling into gentler, happier lives as you awaited their return.

That vision of the future brought you joy, excitement. But the vision that truly sustained you was the one in which you spent the rest of your life with Gwayne, happily married and blissfully lost inside a love you had little hope truly existed.

Unfortunately, that vision of the future disappeared in a plume of smoke.

Though his father had spent more time as the Hand of the King than Viserys had spent on the throne, after the death of their mother, only Alicent remained at court while Gwayne returned to Oldtown to live as a ward of Lord Ormund. He was nearly of age, and determined to become a knight, two prospects that meant he was well on his way to joining the City Watch - an order Otto despised, as deeply as he despised the man who occasionally commanded it.

Rather than allow Gwayne to fall into the hands of Daemon Targaryen, Otto sent his youngest son back to Oldtown.

The very moment Gwayne disappeared from your sight, auburn hair blazing in the sunlight as he began the journey to the Reach and blue eyes glittering as they met yours just before the gates shut, any hope of a shared future dissolved.

And the moment Aemma passed, any hope of peace between the Hightowers and Targaryens disappeared with her.

In the years that followed - the years that brought a union between Alicent and Viserys, babies Aegon and Helaena, and a handful of tourneys he should’ve competed in - you’d only seen Gwayne twice. And you found yourself nearly at a loss for words as you blinked at him.

“Ser Gwayne,” you greeted, offering a smile that, though tight - not the welcoming embrace of a one-time childhood companion - was more than you sister seemed capable of as she scoffed. “What brings you to King’s Landing?”

The tension in your shoulders, the tightness of your smile, the sudden weight that seemed to be pressing on your chest; each one answered the question you had no real need to ask. However, despite the discomfort you felt, you smiled politely as you awaited the obvious reply.

As the son of the Hand, a Hightower, he was a suitable match for a Targaryen princess. He would never be the first choice - the second son of a second son whose only acclaim was his lengthy turn as Hand - but everyone knew Viserys had long given up his desire for perfection and only wanted some measure of decency. He trusted Otto with his life and, if Otto put forth his youngest son, Viserys was apt to accept the offer without thought.

The parade of suitors arrived days earlier, each with a more ostentatious entrance than the last, and you knew he should’ve been among them. As ill as it made you feel, as much as you despaired the idea of Rhaenyra marrying the man you’d long dreamt of, if he’d only arrived with the others, there was little doubt Viserys and Otto would’ve been altogether too invested in making a match. And, despite his tardiness, if the King and Hand were so inclined, there was little anyone could do to prevent the pair from marrying.

No matter the damage that might do to your heart.

Seemingly unaware of your inner turmoil, Rhaenyra sat upright and frowned at Gwayne as he took a tentative step closer to where you sat. Bright eyes met yours, alight with an amusement you could not understand, as he hummed.

“My father sent for me,” he confirmed, seemingly unbothered by Rhaenyra’s narrowed violet eyes and sneer as he stated the obvious. “I’m sure it was to join the parade of suitors but I suppose I’ve arrived too late to be considered for Princess Rhaenyra’s hand,” he mused, sparing you a smile that seemed a touch too bright as he did. “How unfortunate.”

Despite his lament, Gwayne did not sound the least bit concerned, a fact both you and Rhaenyra noticed immediately. And while it struck you as both heartening and curious - you would not have to watch your sister wed a man you once dreamt of marrying, but what man in the realm did not wish to marry Rhaenyra? - it drew her annoyance, as did most things to do with House Hightower, of late.

“I can tell you’re positively beside yourself with grief, ser,” she declared, not bothering to conceal the roll of her eyes as she stood, unwilling to be in his presence any longer. “Perhaps your sister, the queen, may offer you some comfort.”

Rhaenyra, not bothering to spare either of you another glance, pushed past Gwayne - a step too close to be an accident - and retreated to the Keep in a flurry of shimmering gold and red.

Silence lingered for a long moment, something uncomfortable and heavy - something you never would’ve expected to experience with Gwayne - as you watched her disappear. Only then did Gwayne return his attention to you with a thoughtful hum. “Still a sore spot, then?”

The last time you saw Gwayne was at the wedding - both of you silently worrying - and he’d been an unfortunate witness to Rhaenyra’s misplaced anger at Alicent.

Unlike Rhaenyra, you did not blame your friend - you blamed her father, you blamed your father - but there was little you could do to mend the rift that had only seemed to grow ever wider with each day that passed. And, with a frown, you confessed as much to Gwayne.

“Alicent has tried, but Rhaenyra…” With a sigh, heavy and clearly communicating the weight on your shoulders, you moved to stand - nodding gratefully at the hand Gwayne offered. “I understand both, I think,” you confessed, retracting your hand and turning your head so he could not see the flush that lit your cheeks as you swallowed all thoughts about the warmth of his hand in your own and, instead, focused on the seriousness of the chasm you spent your days sidestepping. “I wish we could find peace, somehow,” you continued, hoping he did not hear the hitch in your voice as he took another step closer. “I mislike the tension and miss my friend.”

For just a moment, the statement lingered in the still of the garden. It was honest, as honest as you’d allowed yourself to be with anyone in a long time, and you felt a sudden pang of regret as you quickly pasted on your most polite smile.

“Enough melancholy,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand. “How was your journey?”

Blue eyes met yours, searching in a way most never seemed to be - questioning, analyzing, rather than accepting the answer at face value - and you felt an almost overwhelming sense of vulnerability beneath Gwayne’s knowing gaze. Just as he had when you were children, still growing into yourselves, he seemed able to understand you when few else did.

And, rather than push you to carry on a conversation you were obviously not looking to entertain, he allowed you to shift the line of conversation. “Long,” he lamented, though he answered with a smile. “It was uneventful, and for that, I am grateful.”

“I’m very glad you arrived safely,” you assured him, though your cheeks heated with the admission. When he dipped his head, hiding his smile for your benefit, you carried on quickly. “Though, I’m sorry you arrived after the suitors were dismissed.”

In a way he seemed amused, a thread of humor glinting in his eyes as he continued to assess you in that all-knowing way of his. “Are you?”

Gwayne’s doubt was evident, a playful skepticism that made your skin heat with something not quite strong enough to be considered embarrassment though it came close enough. Regardless of your words, of the well-plotted act you followed without deviation, he seemed to hear the truth.

Though you would never admit it, you were glad Gwayne seemed to hold no interest in marrying Rhaenyra.

“Of course,” you said, anyway - continuing to follow the script and play your part faithfully. “You’d make a fine match for my sister.”

‘An even finer match for me,’ remained unsaid, though you assumed Gwayne heard it just the same.

For a moment, Gwayne allowed the comment - and its unspoken counterpart - to linger. Instead of rushing to reply, to thank you for the compliment or brush it away with the confident, casual air only he seemed capable of wielding without causing offense, he simply stood with you in the quiet of the garden.

It was only when the clink of armor and the click of heels against stone sounded that he made an effort to reply.

“Your confidence is appreciated, princess, but I believe there are many and more, far finer matches for Princess Rhaenyra. I will lose no sleep because of it and hope that neither will you.”

As Gwayne spoke his last word, the sentiment lingering and charging the air with something so tenuous you feared the slightest breeze might destroy any shred of its existence, he met your eyes. It felt as if everything around you ceased to exist, as if nothing else mattered, as hope began to rear its ugly head.

The warmth of a long buried dream, a long dormant affection, began to simmer in your blood - only to be cooled almost immediately by the bright voice of Alicent calling out to her brother.

“Gwayne!”

With hurried footsteps and a smile brighter, and truer, than anything you’d seen from her in longer than you cared to admit, Alicent approached the pair of you. If anything about your moment with Gwayne seemed untoward - a Targaryen princess alone with a knight, unchaperoned and standing too close for the sake of propriety - she gave no indication that she noticed and, instead, simply smiled at you both.

“Father just told me you’d arrived,” she continued, “I apologize for not being there to greet you. I was with the children.”

Alicent’s arrival seemed to shatter the glimmering bubble that enveloped you for just a brief moment - something you pretended, hoped, Gwayne felt, too, as his smile grew regretful before he turned his attention his sister. And, as you returned to yourself, you felt the need to place as much space between yourself and the youngest Hightower as possible.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you began, cutting in before they could begin their conversation or dismiss you themselves, “I’ll go see about Rhaenyra and leave you both to catch up. Welcome back to King’s Landing, Ser Gwayne.”

With a parting smile and a squeeze of Alicent’s hand - a gesture you’d taken to providing when you could - you turned and set off in search of Rhaenyra without sparing Gwayne another glance. And as you wandered through the labyrinthine halls of the Red Keep, you could only allow yourself to wonder how long Otto might permit Gwayne to remain in King’s Landing and how long you might keep yourself from dreaming of a future that could never be.

Much to your surprise, keeping away from Gwayne proved easier than you imagined.

While his mornings were spent in the tiltyard with guards and a few members of the City Watch, yours were spent with Rhaenyra as she struggled to keep Viserys from shipping her off to Casterly Rock. While your father had no desire to see Rhaenyra trapped in a situation that would leave her entirely miserable, his patience had worn thin following the parade of suitors and what he deemed her indiscretions.

And following her dalliance with Daemon - and Criston, the truth of which only you knew completely - his patience dissolved completely.

The wedding was to be a grand affair with a feast and more merriment than Viserys’ own wedding - a much larger, brighter, more exciting affair than the solemn ordeal you’d been forced to witness. And, for a brief moment, it very nearly was.

Rhaenyra and Laenor had no romantic love for one another but as they danced, you felt hope they might at least find happiness and understanding in one another.

Even as Daemon stepped in to dance with Rhaenyra, his intention clear to all, things were fine.

Merriment descended into chaos so quickly that your mind was left reeling. Dancing gave way to shoving, lords and ladies scrambling away from the savagery of Rhaenyra’s sworn sword and the futile attempts of other guards to pull him away. Shouts of joy quickly became shouts of terror, then a stunned silence, followed by a cry of anguish as a man lay dead in the midst of the revelry.

As blood stained Criston’s white cape, Harwin Strong rushed Rhaenyra to safety - easily flinging her over his shoulder and carrying her off as Laenor watched his companion fall - and you were ushered out of the hall by another guard whose face remained hidden in the shadows and flurry of movement.

Confusion reigned for a few long moments and the entirety of the Keep seemed to settle into a stunned silence as you wandered, in something of a daze, into the gardens.

As time passed - just a few moments or, perhaps, even hours - you settled onto a stone bench and attempted to make sense of the scene you’d just witnessed. Though you knew someone would come looking for you sooner rather than later, you savored the silence as you wondered if there was anything you could’ve done to help prevent the misfortune that befell Rhaenyra’s wedding festivities.

And, though you would never admit it, you found yourself wondering if your own wedding - should you have one, after the disaster you witnessed - would be as memorable.

Before you could think too long and hard about the future - about what changes might be made in the event of your own marriage, about who you might be forced to marry to ease now doubtlessly fractured relationships, about how miserable you may someday be - a voice cut through the still of the night.

“Princess.”

Gwayne, auburn hair tamed and eyes shimmering in the light of the moon, approached slowly. There was a concern on his face, joined by a barely concealed hint of amusement, that struck an already frayed nerve as he joined the seemingly endless list of those who found the spectacle of your life to be the highest form of entertainment. However, despite the simmering annoyance you felt, the sight of him was something of a balm for your racing heart.

“I was hoping I might find you,” he continued, stepping closer - now fully illuminated. “Though, through all the ruckus in the hall, I feared another guard had snatched you away. Ser Strong lives up to his family name, it seems.” When you made no attempt at a reply, only exhaled heavily at his attempt at levity, Gwayne continued unbothered. “Cole, Rhaenyra’s sworn sword, is… intriguing. He is skilled but has an unquestionable temper that is easily triggered. But, perhaps -“

“Do you never tire of your own voice?”

The question, spat with a venom you hadn’t known yourself capable of, interrupted Gwayne’s soliloquy. If he took offense from, or was surprised by, the outburst, he hid it well. Instead, he simply ducked his head to hide his laughter before returning his attention to you.

“Mm, I’ve been told my voice is rather charming,” he confessed, lips curving into the ghost of a smirk as he stepped even closer. “Unfortunate that you do not seem to agree, princess.”

With a sigh, you shook your head. “My apologies,” you hummed, tone softer now. “It is not you I am frustrated by.”

Though it was a partial truth - your true frustration was caused by your father, by your sister, by your lot in life - Gwayne did play at least some small part in the unease that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

While it was not his fault that you wanted nothing more than to marry him, to disappear to Oldtown and leave behind the madness of the Red Keep and all its political misery, his presence only reminded you of what you could not have.

Still, Gwayne seemed unruffled. “I take no offense. It has been a rather… exciting evening.”

Scoffing, you nodded. “An understatement,” you huffed, before adding, “I wish for nothing more than a little peace.”

The smile Gwayne now offered was one of understanding, something gentler, as he offered you a hand. “Shall I escort you to your chambers, then? The feast has ended, I’m afraid,” he announced, smile growing just a touch brighter as you accepted his offer.

As you stood, smoothing your gown and inhaling the last breath of cool night air, Gwayne released your hand and waited. It was only when you began to move that he did, too.

Silence had never been one of Gwayne’s strengths - as much as you regretted snapping at him, he did seem to enjoy the sound of his own voice - but he remained quiet at your side for much of the walk through the Keep. It was only as you began the ascent to your chambers that he spared you a sidelong glance.

“Oldtown is most peaceful,” he declared, unprompted, body a respectable distance from your own - though still a step too close for true propriety - as you walked in-step. “Though it is a large city, there is a serenity King’s Landing has not yet achieved.”

“I would love to visit someday.” Much of your life had been spent within the confines of King’s Landing, with only the occasional visit to Drftmark or Dragonstone, and you wished to see more of the realm. “I’ve heard of the beauty.”

“The Red Keep, for all its grandeur, does not offer one a true image of life beyond these walls. There is much to see.” Gwayne’s words, while gentle, held a sadness - a seriousness - you’d never before associated with him. He’d long been bright smiles and sharp jabs, playful taunts and swinging swords. There’d always been a boyishness to him but you were reminded that he was now a man grown as he turned to glance at you. “Do you ever imagine a life lived elsewhere?”

Had the question come from anyone else, you might’ve found offense. Had anyone else asked, you might’ve denied the dreams that often consumed you.

But because it was Gwayne, you felt yourself falter.

“Sometimes,” you began, words trickling out slowly as you attempted to make sense of your own thoughts - of his line of questioning. “I love my sister, my father, Alicent. The Keep is beautiful and King’s Landing has always been my home. But I do wonder what it’s like, what it will be like. I won’t live here forever,” you confessed, casting your gaze to your shoes as you approached your door. “Whoever I marry, surely I’ll go to live with him.”

“Have you given any thought to that?” When you frowned, Gwayne elaborated. “To who you might marry.”

Gwayne’s gaze was intense, searching - overwhelming - as he waited patiently for your answer. There was a glimmer in his eyes, the same one you saw often when you were young, and you swallowed the dreaded hope that dared bloom once more.

“Rhaenyra’s betrothal was more of a concern,” you confessed, tipping your head in an attempt to hide the confession that remained unspoken - the one that told him you often felt an afterthought to your sister.

“My father sent for me,” Gwayne began, pausing only a moment to catch your eye. “It was to be part of the parade of suitors vying for Rhaenyra’s hand but I had no interest in taking part. I have never wanted to marry Rhaenyra,” he confessed, taking a step closer - toeing the line of propriety as he did so. “Surely you know my attention has been drawn elsewhere and has been for a very long time.”

Despite the sincerity, the earnestness with which he spoke, you felt certain that the moment was a dream - or nightmare, depending on whether the person who captured his attention was someone other than you. Though you desperately wanted him to have spent years imagining you would someday be his wife, it felt impossible to believe.

“Rhaenyra is beautiful,” you reminded him, voice small and almost frightened as you waited for him to confess that it was all in jest or reconsider his options.

“No more so than you.” Gwayne stated it as a fact and you blinked.

“She is bolder,” you continued, searching desperately for any reason he might have to want you over your sister - none of which made any sense to you.

“I think you plenty bold.” He took another step closer, now foregoing any pretense of respecting propriety, and offered you a patient smile.

“She will someday be queen.” It was the last reason you could imagine, the one that seemed to draw nearly as many suitors as her beauty, but Gwayne seemed entirely unimpressed as he shrugged.

“I have no desire to be king consort. I’m content with the life I lead, save for my want of a woman who does not seem to recognize her own value,” he mused, tipping his head to meet your bewildered gaze with a questioning look of his own. “What must I do to prove to you that you are the woman I wish to marry, the one I’ve wanted since we were children?”

Without thought, you demanded, “Kiss me.”

Before you could find it within yourself to be embarrassed, Gwayne laughed. “Plenty bold,” he teased, smile soft but real. “However, you are tempting me to do something we’ll both regret.”

“Why is that?”

Gwayne’s lips curved into a smirk, blue eyes glinting with an amusement that you’d always found charming, as he hummed. “I fear if I kiss you now, I may never stop.”

There was little doubt as to what Gwayne meant, little doubt as to why he kept himself a step from you, but you cared little. Despite your upbringing, the teaching of your septa, you cared little about anything other than finally having Gwayne.

“Then don’t.”

Blue eyes flashed with something dark, something hungry, and you could see the restraint it took for him to offer you a placating smile. “I’ve spent my time here waiting for the moment to ask for your hand. When I did, it seemed the Keep erupted in chaos,” he confessed, laughing when you blinked - stunned that he’d already asked. “Neither of our fathers had a chance to answer. If I take you and they choose to deny us, the king will have another scandal on his hands. Two wayward princesses - your jest about becoming a septa may become a reality,” he reasoned, though his hand lifted to your cheek.

“And if the answer is yes?” Unable to help yourself, you leaned into his touch and allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the warmth of his palm pressed to your skin.

“Then they’ll have no choice but to allow us to marry sooner rather than later.”

Gwayne knew the risk was, nearly, entirely your own to take. With his father serving as the Hand, he would not be sent to the Wall for stealing your virtue - you both hoped, anyway - but there was still a lingering fear of the shame that might befall you both if anyone were to see. If both your father and his denied the match, you would be hard-pressed to find a husband and feared you would be left in the same position as your sister.

Despite that understanding, the choice was one you made easily. For as long as you could remember, Gwayne was all you’d wanted, the only man you’d ever considered, and there was little hesitation as you pushed open the doors to your chambers.

“Both are consequences I am willing to accept.”

There was a moment of doubt, a wonder as to whether Gwayne would follow you or if he would allow propriety to dictate his choice, but the moment you stepped into the warmth of your own room, he followed close behind.

The heavy wooden door shut with a finality that seemed to seal your fate, a confirmation that the choice you made in the moment at hand would dictate your future, and you found that there was no fear in what was to come. You would either marry Gwayne, be sent away, or be married for political gain.

At the very least, you would experience his touch before your fate was decided.

Neither of you moved for a long moment, both almost uncertain - you, with inexperience; Gwayne, with a hesitation to potentially destroy your future - before he stepped forward and silenced the endless cacophony of doubt swirling in your mind.

Gwayne’s lips pressed to yours in a kiss softer than you’d anticipated, something almost gentle, as his hands returned to your cheeks.

Warmth bled into you, the heat of his body pressed to your own as he crowded closer - a dizzying sensation that had you clinging to his biceps in an effort to steady yourself. Everything about him overwhelmed your senses, made it difficult to remember anything other than the longing you felt for him, and you were glad of it as one hand fell from your cheek to rest at your hip.

There was no rush, no hurry, and it eased some of the nerves that still rattled you.

So many years had passed, very few of them with contact shared between you and Gwayne, but as he stepped with you, deeper into the interior of your chambers, it felt as if no time at all had passed. He’d always been there, in the back of your mind, and you’d long held hope that he would be there in the future - though, of late, you’d hoped that he would be in front of you.

To finally have him as you’d so long dreamt was nearly as instinctual as breathing and you settled into his embrace easily.

Both of you were content to to linger for a moment, one of his hands on your cheek while the other gripped your hip as your hands held tight to his biceps, and savor the kiss. His lips, warm and chapped slightly, moved easily against your own, chasing them each time you attempted to part to catch your breath. His tongue traced the seam of your mouth, a hum of approval escaping as you parted your lips and allowed him to taste you - wine, honey, lemon.

“If I’m to live the rest of my life apart from you, knowing the feel of your lips - knowing how you taste - I may go mad,” Gwayne declared, breaking the kiss and doing nothing to hide his awe as your chest heaved with the effort of catching your breath.

“Then let us pray we will never be parted.”

It was you who surged forward then, reclaiming his lips in a desperate bid to keep him as close as he would allow, and Gwayne responded in kind.

Hands, calloused from years spent wielding a sword, fell to your hips as he continued to blindly inch you closer to the canopied bed. Though you could only feel the warmth of him, just barely, you shuddered at the thought of feeling his bare skin pressed to your own.

Mercifully, as you stepped beyond the privacy screen with only minimal impact with objects unlucky enough to reside in your path, Gwayne’s hands moved to the laces of your gown.

“As eager as I am to take whatever you will give me, we can stop,” he assured you, voice soft, lips only an inch from your own - warm breath fanning across your face as he met your eyes. There was a look of understanding in his own, a compassion few had ever shown for you, and your heart ached. “We can wait, hope that we will be given leave to marry, and save your reputation if we are not.”

“I don’t care about my reputation,” you promised, lifting your hands to rake through the soft strands of his hair. “If we are denied, I’ll at least have this memory to soothe my broken heart.”

With your blessing, Gwayne reached for the final tie - hands holding the fabric in place for only a moment before allowing it to begin falling. As the red fabric began to slip down your shoulders, those warm hands were there to explore the newly exposed skin.

Gwayne’s attention fell to your body, lips no longer chasing your own as he watched your skin be exposed inch by torturous inch with eyes blown black with a hunger you’d never before seen.

One hand lifted to your throat, fingers brushing along your collar bone and across your shoulder - down your arm, pausing only to lift your hand to his mouth where he pressed a soft kiss to the back, those eyes never leaving your own - as the other moved to continue peeling fabric from your body.

Every inch of skin Gwayne touched, every inch he merely gazed upon, felt warm - kissed by the flames of a desperate need you’d never before felt. Though the room had been comfortable only moments before, it suddenly felt stifling, air thick with a growing want that you nearly feared, as he finally leaned in to press his mouth to your skin.

Soft kisses peppered your skin - delicate, careful things that made you feel revered, worshipped - as he walked you back, helping you step over the pile of fabric pooled around your feet.

The moment the back of your knees pressed to the mattress, Gwayne nipped at the soft skin just beneath your ear. “Lie back for me, my love,” he urged, not bothering to hide his smile as you sighed - just a little lovesick - at the term of endearment.

As you climbed onto the bed, situating yourself amidst the pillows and fabric, Gwayne made quick work of the clothes he wore.

Unable to help yourself, you watched with unblinking eyes as he stripped beautiful green garments and tossed them into a heap beside the red fabric of your gown. He’d always been beautiful, bright hair and eyes a stunning contrast to the dark green he always wore, but he was even more beautiful than you remembered as he stood before you. The pale expanse of his skin emerged, littered with silvery scars from tourneys and training, and you longed to reach out and touch him.

Before you could, however, he settled onto his knees at the side of the bed and reached for your thighs.

“It is my hope that I can spend the rest of my life between your thighs,” he declared, eyes bright as they lifted to meet your own. “Your sister will someday be queen of the realm, but you shall always be queen of my heart.”

The teasing comment was accompanied by a wink, exaggerated and playful, and laughter escaped you immediately. Even as Gwayne worked to pull the fabric of your small clothes from your body, you shook your head. “I fear I may have changed my mind, ser,” you teased, shifting to accommodate his body as his hands stroked your warm skin. “Is it too late to find a more serious suitor?”

“Entirely, I’m afraid,” he hummed, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the inside of your knee. “Though the ladies of the realm owe you a debt of gratitude for saving them from my awful jests.”

“Well, if someone must,” you teased, voice faltering as he continued pressing his mouth to the warmth of your skin.

Gwayne seemed pleased with the beginnings of your reaction, nearly proud at the way your breath hitched and your lips parted the higher his lips ventured, and you found yourself entirely unbothered by the thought of him drawing closer and closer to your most intimate area.

Curiosity and a breathless anticipation lingered in the pit of your stomach, entirely overwhelmed by the warmth now entirely consuming you, as Gwayne inched ever closer. His fingers dug into the plush of your thighs, keeping you still and pliant, as he glanced up at you once more. “And, if someone must taste you,” he hummed, “well, I suppose I cannot refuse my princess.”

There was no time to wonder what Gwayne meant - or where he learned any of what he now used to please you - as he leaned in and began lapping at the slick gathered between your thighs.

The warmth surrounding you was now a full on blaze, a fire consuming you entirely, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care that it could easily burn you alive as Gwayne lifted a hand to your aching cunt. Every sensation was new, overwhelming, and you could feel a tingling at the base of your spine that spread throughout your entire body as he licked at the arousal he’d caused.

Though much of the Keep was likely still making sense of the chaos, returning to rooms and inns and dealing with consequences, you kept enough of your wits about yourself to lift a hand to cover your mouth as Gwayne’s fingers joined his mouth in exploring the most intimate part of your body.

Every touch was better than the last, each one pulling sharp cries of pleasure from your throat, and you could feel Gwayne smile as he pressed a finger to your entrance.

“The next time we lie together, I want to hear you,” he declared, breath warm and sending a shiver down your spine as your skin muffled the words.

Gwayne’s bold insinuation that there would be a next time, that you would be allowed to see one another again - perhaps even have the future you’d long dreamt of - had your hand lifting to his hair. A little sharper than you intended, you tugged at the auburn locks and swallowed a moan of his name as he groaned against your skin.

It was all too much, too overwhelming, and you felt the desperate need to have him impossibly closer settle in the pit of your stomach.

With a tug at his hair, you urged Gwayne up, leaning over you - drawing him into a kiss that knocked him off balance. Laughter bubbled once more at the clumsy gesture, as he tumbled onto the plush mattress atop you, but it was quickly swallowed as you both realized the position you were in.

The warmth of his bare skin against to yours, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the bulge of his cock pressed to your thigh - each realization struck you and rendered you nearly speechless as your fingers tangled in his hair. However, the pause only lasted a moment before Gwayne encouraged you to shift back onto the mattress and make room for him in your bed.

“Last chance to be rid of me, princess,” he whispered, knees pressed into the mattress and caging your hips.

“I want you closer,” you assured him, free hand reaching for his shoulder in an effort to urge him closer. “I don’t want to spend more time without you.”

Assured that your decision was resolute, that you had no doubts, Gwayne leaned in once more. With his small clothes gone and your slick coating your thighs, he pressed his mouth to yours as his hand fell to his cock.

“It’ll only sting for a moment,” he assured you, words whispered against your lips as he notched the head of his cock at your entrance. “But once it’s done, you’ll feel incredible. I’ll make sure of it,” he promised, pressing his forehead to yours as he began to inch forward.

Just as he warned, there was a stretch - a slight pain that stole your breath and made tears sting at the backs of your eyes - but he stilled above you and began pressing kisses to the heated skin of your cheeks, lips, and chin.

“Now that I’ve tasted you, felt you,” he breathed, “I’m ruined for any others. I am yours and yours alone.”

“Being sent away to become a septa would be a kinder fate than being forced to marry another,” you agreed, breathless and nearly lightheaded as you attempted to calm the beating of your heart.

Gwayne did not allow you much of a reprieve, however, as the moment the words left your lips, his hips began to shift.

Though you both felt somewhat clumsy, inexperienced and desperate for the pleasure of the beloved you feared you may never feel again, the tingling at the base of your spine spread across your body. It needled at your nerves in the most pleasant of ways, curling your toes and sending your heart hammering against your ribcage as you focused on the feel of Gwayne pressed to you.

Every drag of his cock, every press of his hips to yours, had you seeing stars and you reveled in the pleasure.

“Gods, I don’t want to imagine a life deprived of this, of you.” Every whispered word of compliment, every grunt and groan of pleasure, chipped away at the negative emotions you’d felt for years and while it felt an awfully vulnerable thing to say - something far more serious than you intended for the moment at hand - Gwayne seemed all too pleased to hear the thought spoken aloud.

“Neither do I,” he promised, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “I suppose I’ll just have to spill inside you, then,” he decided, grin growing bright at the prospect - of what life might be like if there was no one to hand you a cup of moon tea and demand you drink it. “I don’t imagine our fathers will deny me your hand if there is a chance you’ll soon be with child.”

The earlier thoughts you’d had about the kind of match Gwayne would make - that he was not perfect for Rhaenyra - mattered little where you were concerned. Though a princess, you were the second and marriage was all that was required of you. A Hightower, the son of the Hand, would do fine for you.

“I don’t imagine they would deny us regardless,” you whispered, though it sounded far less assured than you hoped it would.

A fact he noticed. “Wouldn’t you rather be certain, princess?”

Gwayne’s hips snapped harder, pressing him even deeper, and you felt the breath disappear from your lungs with every thrust. It was more than you could handle, the heat growing impossible to withstand as it blazed across your skin, and you nodded desperately.

“If certainty means a lifetime of this, then by all means,” you urged, voice an eager rasp as you held tight to Gwayne.

Pleasure enveloped you both, then, a tidal wave dragging you under and refusing to relent for what felt like a lifetime. The edges of your vision blurred and your ears rang as you found your release with Gwayne following suit. The warmth of him settled atop you, buried inside you - spilling inside you - was more than you could bear and you bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out as loudly as you wished.

As he promised, Gwayne filled you - his seed spilling onto the sheets with the evidence of your tainted virtue - before pulling away to lay beside you.

Strong arms wrapped around your body, pulling you tight to his chest, and Gwayne laughed quietly. “I will not accept no as an answer,” he promised, voice quiet but certain as he tipped his head to glance at you. “We will marry and you will find peace in Oldtown, with me. I think you’ll be happy there.”

“If I am with you,” you whispered, offering him a smile, “then I know I will be.”

And, true to his word, the morning after Rhaenyra married Laenor in the quiet of the hall, you found yourself joining hands with Gwayne in a similar affair. While her wedding had been a solemn occasion, the bride and groom both beside themselves with the grief of a life lost, your own seemed a touch happier.

There was the promise of a future with Gwayne, one that brought you an excitement you’d not felt in a very long time, and as you began preparing for your new life in Oldtown, you felt a sense of peace that you knew would suit your new life all too well.

________________________________________________

Author's Note: Clearly, I did not intend for this to get as long as it did. But such is life. Anyway, I have power and internet and water again (hurricanes suck) and am spending my newfound free time writing. Hoping to have a few more pieces up soon. Also first time writing for Gwayne so be gentle. He's younger in this so not quite as sassy and jaded yet. Also I usually try not to write such a specific physical reader and I may not again but this was fun. I don't look like a Targaryen but it's fun to imagine sometimes.

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo, @targaryen-madness, @hangmanscoming, @barnes70stark, @mysticaltwoface, @biqueen20, @lolathebunny221, @nourangul, @darylandbethforever9, @liandav, @r-3dlips

#gwayne x reader #gwayne x you #hotd smut #gwayne hightower smut #gwayne hightower imagine #gwayne hightower x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fic #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower x you

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steveseddie · 6 months ago

Text

‘H’

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: gift | rating: t | wc: 996 | tags: steve is a sweetheart, his love language is gift giving, the return of the battle vest

read on ao3

When everyone starts gathering their Secret Santa gifts so they can go home, Steve asks Eddie to stick around.

“I have a gift for you.”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “But I’m not your Secret Santa.”

Steve already gave Will a bunch of art supplies and his own Members Only jacket, and Eddie himself got the coolest rings and heavy metal tapes from Max. He didn’t expect to get anything else tonight.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve shrugs. “Will you stay?”

Eddie doesn’t even try to say no to Steve’s fluttery eyelashes. “Of course, Stevie.”

While everyone piles into Nancy and Jonathan’s cars, Eddie lingers by the door, waving his friends goodbye.

After seeing everyone off, Steve comes back, smiling when he sees Eddie. “So the gift is in my room–”

“Steve.” Eddie grabs his arm before he starts guiding them upstairs. “You didn’t have to buy me anything. I didn’t buy you anything. I blew through my weed money to get Nancy that curling iron for Secret Santa–”

“Eddie, it’s okay. Besides, I didn’t actually buy it–”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “You made me something?”

Steve purses his lips. “Not exactly.”

Before Eddie can ask what he means, Steve grabs his hand and drags him towards his room.

He tells Eddie to sit on the bed while he goes to his closet. Eddie arches his neck impatiently but he only catches a glimpse of denim before Steve hides the gift behind his back.

“So much secrecy, Stevie.”

Steve fidgets as he approaches. “So, uh, remember when we were in the Upside Down–”

“Vividly.”

“After I got hurt, uh, you gave me your vest-”

“Which you never returned.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, finally showing Eddie what’s behind his back. “Now I am.”

Eddie gasps because in Steve’s hands is Eddie’s battle vest.

“I thought it was ruined,” he says, his eyebrows shooting up his face. He reaches for it, carefully touching the familiar fabric.

“It was, that’s why it took me months to get the blood and the goo out and then I had to fix the rips-”

Eddie blinks at him. “You’ve been working on this for months?”

Steve bites his lip and nods. “Uh, yeah. It’s not perfect. I had to wash it like, a bunch of times and some of the patches came off so I had to sew them back on, and as hard as Nancy tried to teach me I didn’t do a particularly great job–”

“Steve–”

“But Dustin told me how much you worked on it and I know that Wayne got you some of the patches so I tried really hard–”

“Steve!” Eddie says, louder so that Steve stops rambling.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” Eddie says, watching as Steve sighs in relief. “Shit, sweetheart, I mean it. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“You’re welcome, Eds,” Steve says, ducking his head with a shy smile.

Before Eddie can do something stupid like kiss it off his face, he shrugs the vest on and walks over to Steve’s mirror, smiling at the familiar picture he sees there.

He twirls a few times like a little girl showing off a new dress and hears Steve chuckle behind him.

On his third twirl, something on his vest catches his eye. Something new.

He moves closer to the mirror, blinking repeatedly as if waiting for the green ‘H’ to disappear but it stays stitched to the denim, next to a Metallica patch.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, tracing it with his finger. “What’s this?

He catches Steve’s eye in the mirror. He’s looking at Eddie like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh–”

“Did you–”

“Sew the ‘H’ from my letterman jacket onto your vest?” He finishes, hanging a hand from his neck. “Yeah, I did.”

“Your basketball letterman jacket?” Eddie asks, turning around, his jaw dropping a little.

Steve’s face pulls into a wince. “Yeah. And before you go on a rant about your hatred for sports, I know, okay? But I guess I wanted your vest to have a little part of me–”

“Other than your blood?”

“Hey, I washed all my blood off it,” Steve says with a scoff. “Look, if you hate it you can just rip it off. I told you I didn’t do a great job stitching it on.”

“I don’t hate it,” Eddie says, surprising himself. He should be appalled by the idea of having anything related to Hawkins High or basketball on his vest, but he can’t when it’s also related to Steve. “Just– why?”

“I thought it would be easier to get you to wear that than my letterman jacket.”

Eddie freezes. “Why would you want me to wear your letterman jacket?”

A blush creeps onto Steve’s cheeks. “You know why.”

“I most certainly do not,” Eddie says with a voice that is an octave higher. The only reason why he’s seen people wear someone’s letterman jacket is if they’re dating that person, but Steve can’t possibly mean–

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Steve says and oh, Eddie must have said that out loud.

“You– you want me to date you?” he stammers out.

When Steve nods, Eddie nearly passes out. “Holy shit.”

“Do you want that? I feel like we’ve been dancing around it for a while with the flirting and the touching, but if I’m reading this wrong–”

“You’re not!” Eddie blurts out a little too loudly. “Of course I want that.”

Steve’s smile is blinding and it makes butterflies erupt in Eddie’s chest. “Good because I worked really hard on that vest and I tore up my letterman jacket-”

Eddie chuckles. “You didn’t need to do all that–”

“I really wanted to give you something,” Steve says with a shrug.

Eddie gets an idea. “Well, I want to give you something too,” he says, “right now, actually.”

“Eds, you don’t have to,” Steve says with a pout.

“Shut up,” Eddie says, tugging him close by his sweater and kissing the pout off his face.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddieholidaydrabbles #stranger things #stranger things fic #listen i think steve would do cheesy things like this and eddie would LOVE them #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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thefreakandthehair · 6 months ago

Text

cabin.

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompts: cabin | wc: 699 | rating: teen & up | tags: steve pov, steve harrington has a crush on eddie munson, good uncle wayne, sharing body heat, one bed, fluff, getting together

Wayne and Eddie have been so accommodating, so kind, and almost embarrassingly welcoming to him joining their annual ice fishing road trip to Michigan that asking for an extra blanket feels criminal. With how much they’ve opened their arms to him after his parents all but ghosted for the holiday season, he’d rather freeze to death in this fucking cabin than dare to ask for something as stupid as an extra blanket. Besides, the cabin is small enough that he and Eddie are sharing a room; eventually, he’ll come to bed, feel how cold it is for himself, and go grab extra blankets on his own.

He’ll survive for as long as it takes for Eddie and Wayne to finish the spaghetti western they’d been watching when he came to bed.

Steve’s been through worse.

Cool moonlight streams in beneath the thick, plaid curtains and illuminates the far wall, accentuating its wooden details and the knickknacks lining the shelves— a collection of small, handmade stuffed wildlife, framed photos of the lake, books with worn spines well-loved over the years. It’s a quiet space, a sanctuary that Steve’s never had even if he might lose a few toes.

Is the cabin the sanctuary? Or is it the rare time alone with Eddie?

He tries not to think about how many times he’s thought of this over the last couple years, how often he’s laid in bed imagining Eddie coming to bed with him and not just in the ways that make him squirm and sweat. He’s pictured it a hundred times over: Eddie sneaking in beneath the covers, trying not to wake him up but it’s not like Eddie has ever been smooth a day in his life. Steve would wake up from a light sleep, turning over to welcome him in and pull him close, wrinkling his nose against Eddie’s frizzy curls as he buries his face in Steve’s neck. He’d listen to him breathe, feel his body grow heavier and heavier against Steve’s and fall asleep to the even cadence of his heartbeat.

Steve takes a deep breath and shakes his head, focusing instead on the organic spirals and swirls of the logs that make up the cabin walls. With heavy-lidded eyes that grow heavier despite the cold, he traces the markings and imagines patterns and pictures in them the way he had the starts as a kid. One looks like a moose without its antlers, another like an abstract palm tree. He doesn’t find a third one, and falls asleep trying.

When he wakes up a couple of hours later, Steve’s warm.

Extra blankets, soft wool, weigh him down and he sighs into the comforting presence that engulfs him. One tattooed arm rests over his hip and another squeezes beneath his pillow, a hand outstretched with silver rings that cover each finger and gleam in the slivers of light that continue to creep in between the curtains. Blinking his eyes open and biting the inside of his cheek to make sure he’s not dreaming, Steve realizes the warmth he’d woken up chasing is Eddie.

Do I move over? Does he realize I’m not a pillow? Does he actually want this the way I want this? Did I die of hypothermia after all? Does he—

“You think really loud, Steve,” Eddie whispers into the dark, his lips moving against Steve’s hair as he squeezes him gently around the middle. “Is this okay?”

“Mhm,” Steve hums. “You’re so warm.”

“Good, you were shivering when I came to bed.” He feels Eddie chuckle behind him, quiet breaths against his neck. He wants to turn around, to tuck himself into Eddie’s comfort and maybe just never leave.

“Didn’t wanna bother you or Wayne for another blanket. Kinda glad I didn’t now,” Steve admits, words slurring as his shoulders sag. He wiggles back, trying to get impossibly closer.

“We’ll talk more about that in the morning.” Eddie squeezes a knee between Steve’s and tangles their legs together.

Steve nods wordlessly, pulling the top blanket further up beneath his chin.

The last thing he remembers before drifting back to a dream that has no chance of rivaling reality is the feeling of Eddie’s lips against his temple.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steddieholidaydrabbles #myblurbs #missed a few days because life but i'm baaaaack!!#will i ever move these to ao3? who's to say

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mrs-elsie-barnes · 1 year ago

Text

Give Me Shelter, For My Heart | Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader | One Shot? 3k

Things are missing around the Avengers' compound and a newly returned Bucky is acting weirder than normal...Steve and Sam go to investigate and discover more than they bargained for.

Warnings: 18+ for language and suggestion of Hydra violence/torture/experimentation, omegaverse themes including alpha & omega, suggestion of pregnancy/pups, wolf shifting Rated F for Fluff and G for good friends

Challenges & Prompts: @buckybarnesevents Alpha Bucky April with extra prompts - word count, nesting, purring, beta characters, (I'll let mods decide if this hits the breeding/baby fever prompt). And @fandom-free-bingo 'forehead kisses'

Graphic by me and Canva, dividers by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Hmm,” Steve looked around the supply room, surveying the gaps and empty shelves, normally well stocked with blankets and provisions. It was the third time this week he’d found himself at a loss, not just for words but his things too. Everything seemed to be going missing.

First it was a few plates and mugs from the galley kitchen by his office, then it’d been the lunch he’d left for him and Bucky in the fridge. Last night he’d gone into Bucky’s room to make sure he was okay and found the man sleeping on a bare mattress, all the sheets, pillows and blankets were gone and the newly revived Bucky refused to explain what had happened to them or even acknowledge that there was anything wrong at all. He hadn’t even addressed that fact that the window was wide open and it looked as if he was sleeping in his shoes.

Which brought Steve’s thoughts to the man himself. Bucky had been so odd since he’d returned. For a day or two, he’d been something like his old self, despite the awful situation they found themselves in, he’d joked with Steve and reminisced with the few memories he had. They’d enjoyed a beer together and he’d even met with Tony during their mediation and patched things up.

Then, they’d all climbed onto the jet and he’d become distant, pacing like a caged animal until they’d landed. As soon as the doors were open he’d vanished for forty-eight hours and sent the entire compound into mayhem before strolling back in as if nothing had happened, bruised and covered in blood. Judging by the bandages he sported later that day, his cuts and bruises spread under his shirt and trousers too.

Steve knew that he’d changed during his time with Hyrda, back in the 30s they’d both been betas, happy to plod along ignoring the madness of the few alpha’s in Brooklyn. It had been a rare thing then, to be an alpha, now they were considered a dying breed, so when Bruce’s tests had revealed that Bucky was an alpha now, they’d tried to take it in their stride that he might go off on his own sometimes, especially since omegas were even rarer. But there was still so much they didn’t know, so much to unpack and discover about the Bucky they’d rescued, and Steve was so desperate to spend time getting to know this new man that all the time apart was making him worry.

“You okay?” Sam asked from the doorway, leaning in to hand Steve a hot cup of coffee.

“Just doing a stock check.”

“He take something else?” Sam stepped into the small room, lined with shelves and shelves of tents, camping stoves, parachutes, it seemed to go on and on. The bare grey shelves where stock was missing was stark against the white washed walls.

“He?”

“Barnes,” Sam sipped his coffee, matter of fact, and Steve confronted the worry that had been plaguing him.

“It’s Bucky, isn’t it?” Steve dropped his head heavily and Sam patted him on the back, still sipping his drink.

“Sorry man, told you, he’s not right yet. He’s not hurting anyone though, if he hates his bedding, who cares, if he hates your lunches, who could blame him.”

Sam sidestepped Steve’s halfhearted swipe with a grin on his face.

“But what’s he doing with it, Sam? Where’s it all going?”

“Hell, I don’t know, have you asked him?” Sam raised his eyebrows.

Had Steve asked his best friend, who flinched at his touch and shied away from any conversations? Bucky who vanished for hours at a time and came back looking as if he’d been dragged through a hedge? No, he hadn’t. He’d been too scared to confront what might be going on, what latent part of his programming might be at play.

“Look, if you’re too scared to ask why don’t I?”

Now it was Steve’s turn to raise his eyebrow, it wasn’t that Sam and Bucky didn’t get along, they just didn’t get along yet. Steve was working on it.

“What if we…followed him?” He offered instead and Sam laughed again.

“Who knew Captain America was scared of his own friends,” he couldn’t contain the chuckles. “Fine, fine. Let’s keep an eye on him.” Sam turned to the ceiling, more comfortable with the AI than Steve was. “FRIDAY, if Sergeant Barnes leaves his room, please can you alert us - privately?”

“Of course,” the soft voice answered and Steve gave his friend a weak smile.

FRIDAY’S alert went off twice a day, every day, over the next week. But despite their best efforts neither Steve nor Sam managed to catch up with Bucky.

It wasn’t until the following Saturday that they managed to follow him. Bucky was supposed to be at a training session to get his official certifications but they’d both had a feeling he’d try and skip it. As predicted they’d spotted the blue of his new henley edging around the side of the compound, a full backpack strapped to his back.

Bucky ran across the grass and towards the thick forest. His still uncut hair was tied back but tendrils fell out as he sprinted into the wind.

He was surprisingly loud, as he strode quickly between the trees, snapping twigs and branches that Steve knew he could’ve dodge even before the serum and his training. Sam looked at him, both of their feet silent as they followed.

Bucky’s speed increased as he turned his face up into the breeze, his backpack jostled against the trees, bouncing when he began to run.

Steve kept up, sending Sam wide, into the breeze, in case Bucky doubled back.

Just as he was starting to feel lost in the repetition of trees and ferns, Bucky burst into a clearing and Steve slammed to a halt.

The pine trees gave way to a small patch of clear sky, shining down on an old shed. Unlike the other abandoned guard houses, this one had obviously been cleaned recently. The small porch was swept and a pair of Avengers camping chairs were arranged neatly facing into the forest. A line had been strung between the cabin and the trees where one of the missing blankets fluttered in the gentle wind.

Steve crouched down, motioning to Sam on the other side of the clearing to stay out of sight.

Bucky approached slowly, “Cățeluș, are you here?”

At first there was nothing and then a wolf nosed its way out from behind the door, it’s chestnut brown fur almost gold in the sunlight. It leaped forwards from the porch and shot across the clearing, leaping into Bucky’s arms.

Steve whipped his head up to try and find Sam and by the time his eyes found Bucky again the wolf was gone, replaced by a woman pulling on a large t-shirt from Bucky’s backpack.

“James!” Her sweet voice rang out in the otherwise quiet forest.

Swamped by Bucky’s familiar red henley, you shot from the door and into Bucky's waiting arms, the back pack dropped to the floor and forgotten.

She was swamped by Bucky’s red henley and he wrapped you in his arms, one large hand on the back of your head, tucking you into his neck. The other supported your legs, now wrapped around his waist.

In the clearing Bucky's shoulders relaxed as he sank into your embrace, kissing and nipping at your neck. In return you tipped your head, practically purring at the attention and wriggling in his arms.

“Have you been okay, baby.” Bucky asked, pulling away enough to look you over.

“I'm okay, I missed you though, James, please don't leave me again.” You begged cupping his stubbled cheeks in your hands.

Bucky turned into your palm and kissed it, “I know, I know, I’ve been making sure it’s safe for you.”

Steve's heart sank. Bucky didn't feel safe?

“You trust me, don't you, my little omega.” Bucky rubbed his nose into your cheek and you giggled, holding him even tighter, your hands in his hair.

An omega?

Sam stared over at Steve, eyes wide.

It was clear to them both that this was no chance encounter and all Bucky’s odd behaviour suddenly started to make more sense.

Steve motioned for Sam to leave, they could sneak back to the compound and perhaps bring this up tentatively. Perhaps leave some items you might like lying around in the hopes that Bucky would take them and understand that his secret was out, but it was safe.

Sam moved swiftly round the clearing as Steve continued to watch Bucky.

Bucky vanished into the cabin, leaving you on the porch alone, snuggled into his shirt and pressing the collar to your nose.

“She’s cute,” Sam whispered, squeezing up against Steve, still hiding in the overgrown ferns that lined the edge of the cabin.

“We can’t let her sleep out here. She must be hungry and cold.”

Bucky emerged from the cabin carrying two of the missing mugs, balancing them carefully on the railing before scooping you up into his lap. His hand hovered by his mouth, sipping in slow motion as his eyes scanned the tree line and Steve took a breath, sitting back quickly.

“Stay here, Cățeluș,” he was up in a flash, eyes always on the tree line even when he reached into his boot to pull out a familiar gerber knife.

Instead of flipping it into his palm, he balanced it on the arm of your camping chair. Eyes still on the trees he placed his metal hand on top of your head, “stay here and stay safe, follow the plan, do what you need to.” His voice was low, series, almost a growl. Far away from the happy, loving tones he’d been speaking to you with before.

You nodded, and as soon as he felt your head move he was up and off the porch.

Steve and Sam looked up in time to see a wolf leap towards them.

It was true then, the experiments had worked and Steve had the cold feeling that returned every time he discovered something new about his friend during a fight, but he had no time to worry about it now. Not when the wolf was closing in on them.

It was huge, its white fur dusted with fallen leaves, but its teeth gleamed in the afternoon sun as he pounced, snarling. His paws the size of dinner plates slamming into the ground in front of them, teeth bared and snarling.

Steve rolled away, pulling Sam with him and covering his body, regretting not bringing the shield.

“Bucky!” Sam shouted from under Steve’s arm

“Bucky it’s us we don’t want to hurt you!”

The wolf pulled back from the two men pinned beneath him, and something like clarity passed over Bucky’s icey blue eyes and he sat on his haunches, head cocked to one side, ears floppy. Then it stood, rounding the bushes and, in a blink, the man had reappeared still hiding before the foliage to cover his naked body.

“Steve -” Bucky looked thoroughly confused,

“Bucky, we’re so sorry we shouldn’t have followed you.”

“What are you doing here?” Bucky’s voice wavered, his body cold without his fur and with his clothes left behind in the cabin.

“We were worried about you, man, you’ve been so weird - stealing stuff, going missin’, can you blame us for getting creeped out?” Sam raised his eyebrows and Bucky’s brow furrowed.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I just had to -” he gestured back towards the cabin and, as if remembering he’d left you behind with no way of knowing he was safe he turned and ran back to the clearing.

Steve and Sam jumped up, chasing after Bucky once more.

The cabin porch was empty when Steve picked his way down the slope of mud and rocks into the clearing.

A howl rang out as he got closer to the little house, a high, pained sound and then the response came, low and level.

There were two wolves now, hidden at the side of the cabin in the shadows.

The white wolf kept itself half turned towards Steve and Sam, who kept quiet and still, barely daring to breathe, allowing its companion to approach slowly.

The brown wolf dropped in front of the white, ears flat back against its head, and then rolled over, showing a soft belly that the white wolf nuzzled gently before turning back to Steve and barking sharply.

Steve held his hands up and the wolf barked again, turning tail and returning to the cabin.

It took only moments for Bucky to show himself on the porch, pulling his henley back down over his now dirt streaked belly.

“Come in,” he gestured up the stairs and vanished again.

The cabin, though run down, was well kept. The porch was swept of leaves and there was even a little mat by the door.

“Shoes,” you whispered, pulling on Bucky’s sleeve as you entered the main living space, making an attempt to hide behind him. You’d dressed again too, also in one of Bucky’s henleys and a pair of leggings that Steve recognised as Avengers recruit issue.

“Do you mind?” Bucky asked while Steve and Sam stared between you both.

“Shoes,” you turned to look up at Bucky again, eyes pleading in one moment and then flicking to the two new men treading mud into your home.

“Your shoes, take them off.” Bucky helped them arrange their boots neatly by the door while you pottered around the fireplace. “This is her nest,” he whispered, making sure the doormat was straight and the little curtain was neat over the window. “It’s important to omegas, to her,” you turned shooting a glare over your shoulder, “to us-that it’s kept just right and she hates shoes inside.”

In the small living space a camping stove had been set up with a kettle, a portable fridge, and an assortment of mugs, both Avengers field regulation and novelty, which were set neatly on the mantel. You chose four, and placed them next to the kettle while it steamed happily away.

Bucky spoke softly to you in a mixture of English and Romanian, but you didn’t come any closer to the strange men. You’d seen them before, on the television and in Bucky’s notebooks, but now that they were here, so large and imposing, you couldn’t bring yourself to even look over.

“This is Cățeluș, well, that’s not her real name but we couldn’t find that. She - uh -” you watched Bucky struggle for words and lay a hand on his cheek, smiling warmly up at him. Your Winter, your James. “-I don’t want to say the word, it upsets her, but she was with me when I was - him - part of the experiments.”

You poured the tea quietly, watching the steam rise into the darts of sun making their way through the broken knots of wood in the wall, and you took a deep breath. With shaking hands you gave the first man, Sam, a cup. He had a gentle face, a wide smile and he didn’t look at you with pity, as you feared, only interest.

The second man held his breath as you approached, keeping his hands as close to his body as possible until you pushed the cup towards him. Steve. Bucky had lots of pictures of Steve in his notebooks and had told you more stories than you could remember, but he didn’t look sickly, he looked too big for the space, his shoulders drawn in, slouched. You appreciated that he was trying not to look scary, even though your every nerve was on edge.

Bucky took the proffered mug from your hands with a kiss to your forehead and you sighed, allowing him to steer you to the only arm chair in the room and then passing you your own tea.

“We got out, eventually and - I brought her here.” Bucky sat on the rolled arm of the chair, draping his own arm over your shoulders and fitting you into his side.

Steve and Sam could only stare.

“Why didn’t you bring her to the compound? She can stay -” Steve turned to you, “you can stay, either in Bucky’s room or you can have your own room if you’d prefer.”

It took you a moment to process the offer, but eventually you shook your head, turning into Bucky’s side.

“It was awful - in there, with them she, we both -” Bucky struggled for the words, the desire to protect you rising inside

“It’s okay,” Sam said carefully, “I know the transition’s been rough on you, Bucky, I can’t imagine what it’s been like for her, how you even got her out here. But there’s nothing to be afraid of, maybe she’ll come with you? If you suggest it?”

Sam kept looking at you, his eyes soft and encouraging but you turned away, pressed your face into Bucky’s ribs where his scent had soaked through his shirt, reassuring and primal, chanting in your head Alpha, safe, Alpha, safe. You did miss him, when he was gone, but how could he keep you safe in that place.

You’d seen it, once or twice, through the trees when you took a walk, looking for whatever you could find in the forest. Guards left lots of things behind, bottles and coats and jackets, useful things. You collected them all, skirting around the edge of that horrid white building and hoping to never see the terrifying things that flew out of it, men in suits and robots, it was too much.

“You can bring whatever you like with you, and maybe Nat and Wanda could help you with some new things, if you liked?” Steve followed Sam’s lead, keeping his voice steady and low.

“James - my nest.” You mumbled, gripping his henley in your fist.

He dropped a hand onto your head, “we can do whatever you like, baby. You want to stay here, we can stay, you want to go to the compound, we’ll go.”

You felt Bucky’s heart rate pick up, its beat hammering and your anxiety grew too, your breathing more ragged, you turned even further into him, practically climbing into his lap, the henley you’d taken from him riding up.

Instantly you knew it was a mistake, the scars of your time in Hydra were still visible, raised on your skin, yellowing patches of healing bruises and calloused skin from repeated bouts in the chair.

Sam and Steve could barely conceal their inhale of breath.

“Bucky, did you get her checked by a doctor or…” Sam trailed off, Bucky looked angry again, his arms fully surrounding you.

“And what would I have said, Sam?” He growled, “I know she looks like she’s been kept in a cage and beaten but please don’t arrest me, I promise it wasn’t me? Her social security number? Sorry, I don’t have it, we don’t even know her name. I did the best I could.” His anger tipped over into a resigned sadness. Bucky cupped your face in one hand and forced you to look up at him, “I did the best I could, baby, I really did.”

You nodded and his grip loosened so you could nuzzle into his chest again, your own tears running down your cheeks at the memory of those early days. Bucky’s shaking hands patching up your burns and cuts, the whisky you’d slugged before he pulled out a stray bullet from your arm and stitched it with floss. Every touch had been gentle though, every time he’d changed your bandages or cleaned you up, it had been gentle. It had been everything he could give you.

“We didn’t mean it like that, Buck,but we could help, get her checked over and then you can come back here.” Sam’s voice was plaintive, deliberately soothing and it made Bucky’s blood boil.

“I’m not taking her to that place.” He bit back, there was no mistaking the way he curled you into his body, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his arms around your back.

It didn’t hurt anymore, to be touched, but then it’d never hurt to be touched by James. His hands had always been careful with you, his strength used only for protection and it was for that reason that you lay your trust in him completely.

“Don’t make me go, Alpha.” You whispered, your lips brushing the base of his neck where you’d marked him, right over his scent gland, your teeth marks an eternal brand. You nuzzled into him, your chest rumbling again.

“I won’t make you go,” he looked back at Steve and Sam, the finality of his decision sat heavily in the air.

“Can we at least bring some medical things here? Would you let Sam check you out?” Steve offered, he was increasingly concerned by the way Bucky had retreated into the chair, his own legs now curled up on the overstuffed cushion.

Above you, James nodded once, “just you and Sam, don’t tell anyone else. I’ll know if you tell anyone else.” The panic edging Bucky’s voice had Steve raising his hands in surrender.

“I promise, Buck, just Sam and I.”

Sam and Steve left the cabin at dusk while you and Bucky watched from the deck. As soon as they were beyond the trees he pulled you even tighter against his chest, his heat warm.

“Everything is going to be okay, baby, I promise, no one’s going to ever, ever, hurt you again.” His hands slid down your arms and across the slow swell of your belly. “But we should consider their offer, make sure we’re making a choice that’s good for you and me, as well as them.” His palm pushed up under your shirt, splayed on your tight skin and, deep inside, your pup pushed back.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #alpha bucky barnes #alpha!bucky #alpha bucky x reader #alpha bucky x omega reader #omegaverse #bucky barnes events #Alpha Bucky April

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thisapplepielife · 23 days ago

Text

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Overheated

Pop-Up Prompt: School's Out For Summer | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Recreational Weed Use, Language | Tags: Set Post S2, Car Trouble, Crossing Paths, Confident Bisexual Steve Harrington, Jim Hopper is Done With These Two Kids

Eddie scurries down the packed hallway, knocking shoulders with anyone that dares to get in his way. He slams into the push handles of both of the glass double doors, shoving them wide open. The sun is bright, blinding him, but he doesn't give a fuck.

School's out for summer.

School's out forever.

Eddie can't wait to get out of this place. He's pretty sure he failed his last final, but he's not coming back for a third senior year. No fucking way. He's done forever, graduated or not.

He runs across the parking lot, his wallet chain banging into his thigh. Swinging open the van door, throwing his backpack into the passenger seat with a thud.

Firing up the engine of the van, he puts the pedal to the metal and gets the fuck out of Dodge.

There's a box of tapes next to his seat, and he's fiddling around. Looking for the Alice Cooper tape he's pretty sure he has. Somewhere. Joint hanging from his lip. Attempting to pull another hit, unsuccessfully trying to keep it lit while he fucks around.

Being done with school is something to fucking celebrate.

When he looks up, he's rounding the curve of the highway, and right next to the road, barely off the pavement and in a really dumb spot, is Steve Harrington.

Eddie taps the brakes, slowing.

Harrington has the hood up, and by the look of the steam billowing from underneath, that expensive-ass car has overheated. Rich kids really are just like them, it turns out.

And Eddie shifts his foot, aiming for the gas pedal. Planning to press back down on it. Harrington isn't his problem.

But the van overheats all the time. And Steve's got a gallon jug of water in his hand. He really shouldn't do that.

Eddie honks his horn, and Steve looks up.

Fuck it.

Eddie pulls over, dropping the joint in the ashtray, and backs up until he's closer to where Steve's parked.

"Don't do that, dumbass, you'll crack the block!" Eddie shouts, hopping out of the van. Both feet hitting the grass of the ditch. "You need coolant."

"I don't have coolant," Harrington says.

Eddie swings open the back of the van, and starts rummaging. Steve leans over his shoulder, he can feel the heat of him, far too close.

When he gets his hand on the jug, Eddie holds it up, victorious. Spinning around, making Steve take a step back.

"How much is it worth to you?" Eddie asks, grinning with all his teeth.

Harrington puts his hands on his hips, and the look on his face is so goddamn bitchy. Eddie's never seen anything like it on another dude. It's uniquely Harrington, somehow.

"Munson," he says, but reaches for his back pocket, for his wallet.

Eddie laughs.

"Your car is too hot right now, anyway. You need to let it sit."

And Harrington looks dejected.

"Just for fifteen minutes or so. Not forever," Eddie adds.

"Oh. Okay. Thanks."

Eddie puts the jug down by the front of Steve's car, shoulder bumping Steve's on the way down on purpose.

"You smell like weed," Steve says, and Eddie barks out a laugh.

"No shit. I was celebrating the end of this torture we've called high school until I saw your dumb ass getting ready to do dumb shit."

Steve laughs, and it's genuine. Eddie's stomach clenches against his will.

"Got enough to share while we wait?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods even if he knows he should fuck right off and leave Harrington's ass here on the side of the road alone.

But he opens his arm, gesturing towards the van, even against his best judgment.

Steve Harrington's tongue is in his mouth, and Eddie's so fucking hard. His body is traitorous. Steve's hand is in his hair, and—

"Harrington! You in there?"

Eddie jerks back so fast, so hard, at the banging on the back of the van, that he whacks his head. He is so fucked.

"Is that Chief Hopper?" Eddie asks, but Steve's already crawling through the van, swinging open the side door.

"Hop!" Steve yells, "It overheated again."

Eddie straightens his clothes, his hair, and climbs out behind Steve.

Jim Hopper is bent over Steve's hood, pouring in the coolant. Checking the other fluids, and Eddie wonders if he should run while he has the goddamn chance.

"I told you to get it into the shop," Hopper says, and Steve is making excuses. Like a kid.

They've got a weird dynamic.

Hopper straightens up, "Start it for me."

Steve hurries around to the driver's door, and climbs in, doing just that.

Hopper slams the hood closed, gives him a thumbs up, and Eddie hears Steve whoop with delight.

Eddie is just standing there like an idiot. He should have gotten out of here. But no, he's standing around like a fucking fool just because he kind of wants Steve Harrington to kiss him again.

Chief Hopper turns and looks at Eddie, "You smell like marijuana."

"Uh, that was a skunk," Eddie lies.

Hopper rolls his eyes, and takes a menacing step closer, "I know better. You're lucky I'm not on duty, kid."

Eddie nods, swallowing.

Hopper walks over to Steve's driver's door, leaning down, "Have Munson follow you home and park it until you get it into a mechanic. Got it, Harrington?"

Steve nods.

And then Hopper stomps off, back to his truck, slamming the door.

Eddie gets back in the van, and he wasn't asked, just told indirectly, but he follows Steve back to his house. He pulls in the driveway behind him, rolling down his window.

"It get hot again?" Eddie asks.

Steve grins, shaking his head as he jogs over, smoothly hopping up on the running board of the van, sticking his head through the window, pulling himself close to Eddie's face.

"No. But I did."

Then he grins, like a cocky asshole.

Eddie suddenly gets why girls always fawned, as Steve kisses him again.

If you want to write your own, or go see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! ❤️

Note: I don't think Eddie's van actually has a running board. Please accept the vision for what it is, lol.

#steddieholidaydrabbles #prompt: school's out for summer #steddie #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #jim hopper #steve x eddie #steddie fan fic #steddie fic #stranger things #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles

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solxamber · 6 months ago

Note

*slides a briefcase of a million dollars in a shady booth of a late night restaurant*

Pssst… If you do a Ignihyde number 4 with some fluff, this’ll be all yours champ…🫵🏽😼

Your Favorite || Idia Shroud

For the Holiday Event! ; Prompt: "I am NOT jealous", Genre: Fluff

a/n: love the way you sent this in 10/10 i giggled

Idia is sulking. Big time.

You’ve spent the past week fawning over a stray cat that’s made a habit of lounging in front of Ramshackle Dorm. With how often you’re caught petting it, feeding it, or talking to it in that ridiculously cute voice you think no one hears, it’s no wonder Idia has spiraled into a jealous little mess.

“You like that furball more than me,” he grumbles, watching from the doorway as you crouch down, scritching the lucky feline behind its ears. A second cat strolls over to join the first, and then another. Idia glares at them like they’re conspiring against him.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, laughing as one of the cats rubs against your leg.

“Don’t act like you don’t know!” His hair flares up in cyan indignation. “They follow you around like you’re some Disney princess or something. You’ve basically got a cat army. And here I am, just a lowly NPC standing in their way. Great. Just great.”

You rise to your feet, dusting off your knees as you approach him. “Idia…”

“What?” He crosses his arms, staring intently at the floor to avoid your gaze. “I’m NOT jealous, okay? Not of some… cats. That would be ridiculous.”

“You sound jealous.”

“I don’t!”

“You totally do.”

“Shut up.” His cheeks are turning red, and you can’t help but find it adorable.

Smiling, you step closer and place a hand on his arm, forcing him to meet your eyes. “For the record, I don’t care how many cats flock to me. You’re still my favorite.”

Idia freezes like you’ve hit him with a paralyze spell. His mouth opens and closes as if trying to find a retort, but no words come out.

“Cheesy,” he finally mutters, the tips of his ears burning as he looks away. “So cheesy. Where do you even get this dialogue? Some third-rate romance game?”

You laugh, tugging him into a hug despite his half-hearted protests. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

If you could see inside his mind, you’d find Idia’s inner monologue going into overdrive. They like me more than the cats? Me?! THE cats?! Internally, he’s already kicking his feet, twirling his hair, and giggling like he’s in a shoujo anime.

Outwardly, though, he just mutters, “Whatever,” while his hair flickers pink. But the way he leans into your hug gives him away completely.

Masterlist

(yes I finally added a banner)

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #idia shroud x reader #idia #idia x reader #idia shroud #𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 holiday event

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dumpywrites · 10 months ago

Text

Wanna See My Cat? - Min Yoongi / Suga

Prompt: “Do you wanna see my cat?” You're not actually lying but he thinks it's a sexual innuendo.

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Fluff, situationship-ish, clueless reader vs flirty Yoongi

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Word count: 2k

a/n: I was contemplating on whether to actually add smut to this but I decided not to cause it's cuter this way and I think we could all agree there're plenty of bts smut but not enough fluff here! :D

Situationship was a funny concept. Either you commit or not, that was what you believed. Which was why you were not precisely proud to say that you was now in fact in one.

In your defense it had only been what, three? Four weeks? A month or so? Min Yoongi was this nice guy your acquaintance introduced you to. Gentle, could be hilarious when he wanted to, and cute. Although he could be a little emotionless at times, mostly he was a really sweet guy and you liked him a lot. In your other defense, you did not believe what you had with him could be called as a situationship. It was just what your friends had been teasing you about.

In the whole time of knowing him, you had been to total of three dates. The first being a casual “are you free for dinner after work?” kinda date, second a movie date, and third being a very chill cafe date. And in your opinion, you enjoyed all of them, you had the greatest of time chatting and spending quality time with him. But your friend kept teasing you otherwise.

Apparently your dates were considered too boring, too innocent for today’s dating world standard. You had not even had your first kiss yet and one of your friends was already asking about his size. Evidently, wanting to take things slow was a crime nowadays and you were lowkey getting annoyed.

Today though, your park date was cancelled due to the rain. You kept cursing to yourself at home when you saw Yoongi’s text telling you to do a literal rain check, seeing the thunderstorm. The outfit that you bought especially for the occasion failed to see the outside world.

As you stood in front of the mirror, seeing the reflection gave you a weird idea. A small Siamese cat walking past your feet, meowing adorably. Your pet cat, Zuko. A cat whose existence wasn’t known by Yoongi yet. The lightbulb above your head lightened up.

“Do you wanna see my cat?” You sent the text.

Yoongi texted you to let you know that he had arrived at your place. You recalled last time he picked you up it took him around fifteen minutes but this time he only took ten. You wondered what made him arrive a lot quicker.

You were giddy with excitement and took a screenshot to tell your friend. Instead of being excited and giddy for you, your friend sent a bunch of side-eye emojis. Well, they could be just teasing you but the chat bubble following afterwards had you wondering.

“Woo! Give me a rating score later!!!”

You crooked your head in confusion, but there was no time to ponder on your friend’s riddle when Yoongi was already waiting for you to open the front door.

“Hey.”

That hey definitely did not have to sound that deep and hot. You had to gulped your saliva down upon seeing him in his comfortable clothes. Since when did wearing sweatpants and baggy t-shirt looked so good? And did he just had his hair cut or was it just you? So many questions pilling up in your head.

You knew it was game over when he went in for a hug. Heavenly was the only words you could use to describe his smell. It was a mixture of his shampoo and his laundry detergent, and his intoxicating smell. It seemed like he didn’t even use any perfume.

“What should we eat?” You said while smiling giddily.

“I’m kinda craving some instant ramen?” He looked at you while lifting a shopping bag filled with a few packets of noodles.

Your eyes beamed. “That sounds really nice actually with the weather and all.”

“Alright cool.” He nodded. “Let’s cook?”

Yoongi was being extra touchy. You were boiling the water and he would swiftly grab the chopsticks in front of you from behind, making you feel his chest. You fully knew well that he could easily grab the utensils without doing that, but for some reason the demons were working hard at the moment. He even leaned his chin over your shoulder as you were chopping some sausages. At this point he could be doing it on purpose for all you knew.

He did not stop when you both started to eat. From the smooth wiping your lips from food to feeding you. Who was this person and what had he done to Yoongi you might never know.

Right after washing the dishes and escaping a few of Yoongi’s teases, you both chilled on the sofa. As you browsed through Netflix, you could sense him scooting closer to you. You could feel his body warmth that automatically made yours grew hotter as well.

“What are we watching?” He asked with a husky voice. By this point he was hugging your waist and rested his body weight on you.

“I was thinking some action? You love those right?”

“I do.”

You paused. Why was the tone of his voice sounded slightly off and why was he looking at you funnily?

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He broke into a small smile. “Nothing.”

“Stop or I’ll make you watch Puss in Boots!” You whined.

And then it hit you. The cat! You were too busy being swayed, head in the clouds, fantasizing, that you forgot why he was initially visiting you in your apartment.

“My cat!” You exclaimed loudly, which made Yoongi jumped and sat back up from his position.

You missed the look of confusion in Yoongi’s face as you ran quickly to your room to pick up the furball in your bedroom.

“I can’t believe I forgot about him!” You chuckled with your pet now in your arms. “He doesn’t like roaming around, he mostly sleeps in my room.”

Yoongi just looked at you, quizzically. As if he could not believe his eyes.

“Meet Zuko!” You smiled, proudly showing your cat. “Zuko, meet Yoongi.” You giggled and shoved the cat to the man’s hands.

He stared at the cat blankly for a good few seconds before gently petting the creature’s head.

“Uh, hi.” He said, sounding lightly awkward. “He’s actually really cute.”

“I know right!” You grinned. “Do you wanna hold him?”

“Sure.” He said, sounding a little unsure.

The man sat down with your cat on his lap, slowly stroking the soft white fur of its tiny body. You bent down, sat on the carpet on his knee level to pet the cat. Somehow seeing you smile lovingly at the cat made Yoongi’s lips curled into a soft smile as well.

“You’re adorable.” Yoongi said.

“He’s the cutest cat, I know.”

“No, I mean you.”

“Oh.” You shyly looked away, hoping the nervous giggles did not give it away. “Thank you.”

Yoongi chuckled and huffed a sigh. “I can’t believe there’s actually a cat.”

“Huh?” You crooked your head to the side, wondering what the guy meant by that. “Of course there is? What do you mean?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He laughed. “You don’t know?”

“Uh, no?”

He ruffled your hair and laughed again, this time a little bit louder than before. You were still stunned, too confused to process when he quickly pulled you in and kissed your forehead. Suddenly you did not want to protest about how messy he just made your hair.

“It’s alright, maybe next time.”

You covered your face with both of your palms. “What’s with you today?!” You said with your hands still covering your face.

“I like you.” He shrugged. “Might not be the most animated guy out there so I’m just letting you know.”

“Yeah, which is why I’m so confused with you today???” You said with flushed face. “Oh my god, that’s not the point though! I like you too!”

He chuckled. “Let’s just get back to the movie?”

The vibe after that conversation calmed down. Maybe it was the whole letting-the-cat-out-of-the-bag thing on your feelings making the air less thick. You ended up just cuddling, snuggling to each other while watching The Notebook. You both hated romance movies, but somehow finished the entire movie anyway after you misclicked it in the first place. It was nice and warm being in Yoongi’s arms and you were afraid you wouldn’t want to ever let go.

And it was finally time for him to go home. Crazy how you did not notice the time went by so fast. Heck, you didn’t even notice the screen was already playing another movie. How could you when Yoongi was caressing your hair ever so gently? Goodness gracious.

“Hey, I have to go now. Meeting in an hour, remember?” He tapped your shoulder.

“I’m not letting you go.” You whined, hugging him tighter.

He laughed. “Silly, I can come again tomorrow.”

You sat back up and looked at him. “Really???”

“I mean yeah, you don’t have work on Sunday, right?” He smiled. “If you want to, that is.”

“I want to.” You giggled.

He flashed his gummy smile one more time before getting up from your couch. You walked with him to the door and waited for him to grab his jacket. The whole time you were stalling, asking him the most random questions, and made the silliest remarks. You just didn’t want him to go home yet, especially after finding out that he liked you too.

“As much as I’d love to talk more about how much I disliked the whole education system, I really have to go now.” He chuckled.

“Okay.” You pouted. You watched as he got up from tying his shoelaces.

He huffed a sigh and smiled. “Come closer.”

You did as told without thinking and in a quick seconds, somehow you were pulled into a soft kiss. It was a soft peck and you could feel his smile through it. He didn’t gave you a chance to react as he swiftly let go.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Come on…” You whined again and covered your face in awkwardness, and he could only laugh at you. “Go! Before I lock you up!”

“I’ll text you.” He waved and you finally closed your door.

You found yourself giggling and smiling to yourself like an idiot. This was new. Whatever in the fresh hell was that, you couldn’t lie to yourself that you were into this somewhat bold and flirty side of him.

You casually walked back to your couch and switched the tv to youtube. As you let random science podcast video play, you decided to check your phone, realizing you had not text your friend back yet.

“What do you mean by giving a score?”

Your friend replied almost too immediately. You were shocked to see the usage of caps lock.

“YOU DON’T KNOW??????!!!!! WTF???”

“Okay, explain?????”

“Poor Yoongi has to deal with your dumbass 😔”

“Shut up 🖕🖕🖕”

“It’s a code. You say that instead of asking to come over and have sex. Basically the new netflix and chill.”

“… okay. OKAY???!!!!!!”

“Bestie, did something happen though??? 😍”

“SO THAT’S WHY HE TOLD ME HE WAS SURPRISED THAT THERE WAS ACTUALLY A CAT???? OMFGGGGGG!!!!!! ASFDKSPSKSG 😭😭😭”

You put down your phone to muffle your tiny scream with your knuckles. You recalled him mentioning a next time. Then you also recalled him wanting to come over again tomorrow. Needless to say, it was finally time to let out that one cute underwear you had been keeping in your drawer for months.

Thank you for reading! 🐈‍⬛💕

#bts fanfic #bts fic #bts scenarios #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenarios #suga imagine #suga scenarios #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #bts suga #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagine #min yoongi #suga x reader #suga x you

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steddie-island · 11 days ago

Text

Bed-hopping

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo prompt Too Many Beds and @steddiebingo round 1 free space Rating: G | WC: 1,409 | Tags: Too Many Beds, Jeff is a little shit, misunderstandings/ miscommunication, minor Jonathan/ Argyle and Robin/ Vickie

ao3 | Divider credit

The house was dark as Eddie crept inside. He could hear the TV playing in the living room. As he slipped past the open doorway the infomercial advertising the Shirley Temple box set was interrupted by the sound of a snore, followed by the thwap of a pillow connecting with someone's face. He bit down his laugh and crept deeper into the beach house. He could say hi to the rest of the house in the morning.

There was only one person he wanted to see tonight.

Upstairs Eddie found a short hallway with doors lining each side. He made his way to the door where Steve had said he would be sleeping and slipped inside quietly. He was surprised to find the lights off in here, too, had figured Steve would be up reading. Maybe not, since Steve had said they had a lot to do the next day.

In the dim light of the clock radio Eddie was able to find a chair to drop his bag into before he started stripping. He draped his jeans and his t-shirt over the arm and his leather jacket over his bag. In socked feet he crept towards the sleeping form tucked into bed.

"Stevie," he murmured as he slipped beneath the covers. He wrapped his arm around Steve's waist, went in to kiss his neck.

"What the fuck—"

An elbow connected with Eddie's stomach, knocking the air from his lungs as someone who was very decidedly not Steve sat up to turn the lamp on.

Gareth blinked down at him in sleepy confusion. "Eddie? What the fuck?"

Eddie sat up, his hand resting against his stomach. "Good to see you, too, man," he wheezed.

Gareth put down the pillow he'd picked up from the mattress. "What the fuck, man?" he asked for a third time. "I thought you couldn't get here until Friday."

"Change of plans." Eddie got up off of the bed again and made his way to his discarded clothes. "I thought Steve said this would be our room."

"Nah, man." Gareth pushed his hands through his hair and gestured to the door. "He's across the hall."

"Ah, shit. Sorry, man." Eddie picked his boots up off of the floor before shooting Gareth a grin. "Good thing you woke up when you did. You would've hated me in the morning." He dodged the pillow that was thrown at him with a bright laugh before grabbing his bag and hightailing it back out of the room.

There was no clock to help guide him in the dark this time. He was able to feel around for somewhere else to put his things before he made his second attempt at surprising his boyfriend.

"Are you awake, baby?" he murmured. One arm wrapped around a warm waist, the other coming up to stroke through Steve's hair.

"No, but keep that up and I will be."

Eddie found himself jerking out of bed for the second time in however many minutes. He knocked the lamp off of the table and only barely managed to catch it to turn it on. "Jeff?"

Jeff grinned up at him. "What, no pet names now?" he teased. Before Eddie could throttle him he gestured to the wall on the opposite side of the room. "Steve's in there, man. You overshot by one."

"By two." Eddie put the lamp back on the table. "You're positive he's over there? If I end up in bed with all three of you before I find Steve— shut up!"

Jeff was cracking up. "I thought I heard Gareth yelling at someone."

"You were awake? And you let me crawl into bed with you?" Eddie was really rethinking throttling him with the lamp.

"Well, yeah." Jeff lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "It was funny."

"You're an asshole." Eddie was grinning as he shot Jeff a middle finger and once more entered the hallway. Right next door, easy enough to find.

Only when Eddie opened the door it definitely wasn't Steve's voice he heard moaning Robin's name. He pulled the door closed as quietly as he could, made a note to actually lock the door when he did find their room. If he ever found it, that was.

The door across the hallway from Robin and Vickie's room led to a big bathroom, where yet another door closed the toilet off from the rest of the room. Eddie planted his suitcase in the corner so he didn't have to keep hauling it around with him.

There were three more doors for him to choose from. He let the bathroom light spill into the hallway, played a game of eenie meenie miney mo before making his next choice. His hand found the knob, turned, and—

Locked.

This was starting to get ridiculous. Eddie huffed out a laugh, pushed his hands through his hair, wondered if he'd fallen asleep and was still in the goddamn airport. He didn't even think as he made his way to the next door. Fuck surprising Steve, he wasn't just crawling into bed this time. It would still be a surprise if he tiptoed over, reached out and shook Steve's shoulder.

He didn't even get to touch whoever was in bed before they were screaming. Eddie couldn't help it, he started screaming, too, while someone else fumbled on the other side of the bed until the lamp there was turned on.

"What the fuck! Why did you scream like that?" Eddie asked once they'd both stopped screaming. He could hear feet on the stairs, the other doors opening up. So much for surprising Steve at this point.

"Oh thank god!" Argyle put a hand to his chest, his wide-eyes going from Eddie to Jonathan and back again. "I'm so glad it was you, dude. I thought my sleep paralysis demon was back!"

"What are you doing?" Jonathan asked.

"What was I doing?" Eddie asked. "I was looking for my boyfriend!"

"He's not in here, bro." Argyle threw the blanket back like Steve could've been hiding between the two of them in bed, showing off pajama pants that were decorated in what Eddie was pretty sure was various forms of pickles.

"I can see that, thanks!" Eddie practically screeched.

"Eddie?"

Eddie turned around and felt a wave of relief at Steve looking sleep rumpled. His hair was messy, there were pillow lines on his cheek, and— and he was wearing one of Eddie's holey old band shirts over his Hawkins High gym shorts. "Stevie. I've been looking for you."

"I've been right here." Steve gave him a sleepy smile and reached out for Eddie's hand.

"Sorry, guys." Eddie waved to Argyle and Jonathan as he followed Steve out of the room. His eyes found Jeff's in the hallway and he pointed an accusatory finger. "You told me he was in the wrong room, asshole."

Jeff just grinned. "I know."

Oh yeah, Eddie definitely should've kicked his ass.

"G'night, guys," Steve said before they could start fighting and keep everyone awake even longer. He tugged Eddie into their room before both closing and locking the door behind them.

"I thought you said you would be in the room at the end of the hall!" Eddie said, turning to face him.

"I was," Steve said. "But then Gareth wanted to swap with me, said that bed was better for his back."

"He told me you were across the hall!" Eddie said.

"Yeah, Jeff swapped with me, too," Steve said with a shrug. "He wanted the view."

"Those assholes. I ended up in bed with them!" Eddie was pouting and he knew it. He was tired, though, and had had more than enough fun for one day.

"Aww, poor baby." Steve's arms wrapped around his waist and he leaned in for a soft kiss. "Do you wanna tell me about it?"

Eddie tipped his head back as Steve's warm lips started trailing over his jaw and down towards his neck. "…Not really," he murmured. "I'm remembering what else I had in mind before those dickheads tried to ruin it."

"Oh, yeah?" Steve brushed his fingers over Eddie's sides while Eddie's hand found its way beneath the fabric of Steve's shirt to scratch through his happy trail. "You want to let me in on your plans, too?"

Eddie started backing them towards the bed as Steve's lips met his for another kiss.

Maybe he was up for a little more fun after all.

#Corroded Coffin May Mayhem Bingo #steddiebingo2025 #Steddie #Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson #Steddie fic #kintsugi_kid ao3

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theballadofharkness · 4 months ago

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Agatha Harkness VS Salem: The Kittening. Now it’s Purr-sonal

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agatha Harkness X fem!reader

Summary: When you brings home a stray kitten Agatha can’t say no to those big pleading eyes and pouting lips. What she doesn’t know is that she has met her new mortal enemy, transforming her house in a battleground in which she is fighting for your attention.

Word Count: 9.3K

Warnings: very mild smut warning so as always MDNI xo

A/N: Part 2 is finally done! UPDATE: Part 3 is coming soon. Also if you’d like some drabbles or little oneshots in this universe, I’d be down 💜🪻

The warm glow of candlelight danced across the bedroom walls, casting soft golden hues over the deep violet fabric of the sheets. The scent of lavender and rose lingered in the air- Agatha always insisted on lighting a few enchanted candles before a special occasion, their aroma designed to calm the nerves and set the perfect mood. You stood by the vanity, smoothing your hands down the silk robe Agatha had insisted you wear while getting ready. It was loose, slipping down one shoulder as you considered the dresses laid out across the bed- each one more elegant than the last. You’d been trying to decide for nearly ten minutes, but the weight of Agatha’s gaze made thinking a little difficult. She was perched on the edge of the bed, a glass of dark red wine in hand, watching you with that knowing smirk. Her legs were crossed, her free hand drumming idly against her knee, but her eyes… oh, her eyes were doing something else entirely.

“You do realize, my love,” she drawled, tilting her head slightly, “that we’ll be celebrating our third anniversary at this rate.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes even as a smile tugged at your lips. “It’s your fault. You keep looking at me like that, and I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.”

Agatha chuckled, setting down her glass and rising gracefully from the bed. In an instant, she was behind you, her hands slipping around your waist, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Looking at you how, exactly?” she murmured, voice thick like honey.

A delicious shiver ran down your spine. “Like you’re planning on devouring me.” You breathed

She hummed, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over the silk of your robe. “Maybe I am,” she teased, pressing a lingering kiss just below your ear. “But first, let’s get you dressed.”

You barely had time to form a response before she stepped around you, reaching for the dresses on the bed. She ran her fingers over each one, thoughtful, before finally selecting a deep, elegant number-the kind that clung in all the right places, smooth and rich as velvet. Holding it up, she turned to you, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“This one,” she purred. “I want to see you in this one.”

Your breath hitched. It was bold, refined-something that made you feel as powerful as you did beautiful. Agatha knew exactly what she was doing, of course. She always did.

You hesitated, biting your lip. “You just like seeing me flustered.”

Agatha smirked, stepping forward until there was no space left between you. Her fingers found the silk tie of your robe, toying with it lazily as she tilted her head, eyes dark with amusement. “Mmm. That,” she whispered, voice like velvet, “is an added bonus.”

She leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss, one that left you breathless and clutching at the front of her dress before she pulled away, her expression unbearably smug.

“Well?” she prompted, still twirling the fabric of your robe between her fingers.

Heat rose to your cheeks, but you huffed a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. I’ll wear it.”

Agatha grinned, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before stepping back, hands on her hips. “Good girl.”

The way your stomach flipped at those words was entirely unfair.

You turned quickly, hoping she wouldn’t catch the way your face was now practically glowing, but of course, she saw everything. A deep, satisfied chuckle rumbled from her chest as you made your way toward the changing screen, her gaze burning into your back.

As you disappeared behind it, you heard her sip her wine before purring, “Take your time, sweetheart. I’ll just be right here, picturing the final result.”

You groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you married me,” she quipped.

And you wouldn’t change that for anything.

The moment you stepped out from behind the changing screen, Agatha’s eyes darkened, her gaze raking over you like slow-burning fire.

“Oh, darling,” she purred, setting her wine glass aside as she strode toward you. Her fingers traced the fabric along your waist, her grip firm as she tugged you flush against her. “This was an excellent choice.”

You barely had time to breathe before her lips captured yours, warm and insistent, her hands slipping to your lower back, pulling you in until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you. She kissed you like she had all the time in the world-slow, teasing, with just enough pressure to leave your head spinning.

Your hands found her shoulders, then her jaw, tilting her face to deepen the kiss. Agatha let out a pleased hum against your lips, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck as she backed you toward the bed.

You gasped as the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, and Agatha took full advantage of the sound, nipping at your lower lip before pressing a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, her breath hot against your skin.

Then-

“Hey, I’m here!” Billy’s voice rang out from downstairs, echoing through the house like a poorly timed curse.

You barely had a second to react before Agatha pulled away with an exaggerated groan, pressing her forehead to your shoulder as if she could physically will the interruption out of existence.

“You have got to be joking,” she muttered, her fingers tightening on your waist.

You bit your lip, torn between laughter and sympathy. “Billy was supposed to come by to watch Salem, remember?”

Agatha exhaled dramatically, lifting her head just enough to give you a look. “Yes, I remember. I just didn’t think he’d be so punctual about it.”

“Agatha,” you chided softly, running your fingers through her hair. “He has a key, and he’s here all the time. It’s not like he broke in.”

Agatha huffed, straightening up with all the reluctance of a cat being forced out of a sunspot. “We are celebrating our wedded bliss, and we’re being interrupted by a babysitter for a cat.”

You chuckled, smoothing your hands over the front of her dress. “He’s only a baby,” you reminded her gently. “He’s not independent like Señor Scratchy.”

Agatha pulled back, narrowing her eyes. “Señor Scratchy is an esteemed companion. A sophisticated creature of the dark arts.” She gestured vaguely toward the door. “That thing? A menace.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “He’s just a tiny kitten.”

“A tiny menace,” she corrected. “Who ruins my fun.” She gestured dramatically toward the door, where Billy’s voice was still carrying from downstairs. “Case in point.”

You pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Come on, my love. Let’s go say hi before he thinks we forgot he was coming.”

Agatha exhaled through her nose, still clearly put out by the interruption. But as you took her hand and gave it a squeeze, she sighed in defeat, lacing her fingers with yours.

“Fine,” she relented. “But if that tiny menace scratches my good chair again, I will turn him into a teacup.”

You squeezed her hand again, grinning. “You love him, really.”

Agatha muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like not a chance, but the way she was already guiding you toward the stairs suggested otherwise. Agatha still looked mildly put out as she led you down the stairs, her grip firm around your waist.

Billy, of course, was already making himself at home. He was standing in the living room, holding a tiny, squirming Salem against his chest, his face lit up with excitement. “Awh, look at this little guy! He’s so small.”

Salem let out a tiny, unimpressed meow, wriggling in Billy’s hold before promptly climbing up onto his shoulder like a parrot.

“Whoa. Wow. Y/N, you look beautiful!” Billy smiled when he was able to properly focus his attention on the pair of you.

Before you could so much as say thank you, Agatha’s arm tightened around your waist, tugging you firmly against her side. She leveled Billy with a frown, one eyebrow arching in clear disapproval.

Billy stared at her. Then at you. Then back at her. Finally, with a deadpan expression, he sighed. “Agatha. I’m gay.”

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh as Agatha’s frown deepened slightly, though she didn’t loosen her grip. Billy just rolled his eyes, adjusting Salem on his shoulder. “And you look pretty too, I guess.”

Agatha scoffed, finally letting you go to cross her arms over her chest. “Took you long enough.”

Billy just smirked, plucking Salem off his shoulder and cradling him in his arms. “So, what’s the plan? Where’s the food for the little prince?”

You smiled, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Their food is all prepped and labeled, and their next feed is at seven. Their treats are in the cupboard- just don’t let Salem have too many at once.” You explained. “If anything goes wrong, call me,” you finished.

Billy opened his mouth to respond, but Agatha was already shaking her head as she levelled him with a look so pointed it could have been a hex.“Don’t you dare, Kaplan.”

Billy blinked. Then grinned. “Oh, you know I’m calling her now.”

Agatha groaned, rubbing her temples as you laughed, squeezing her hand. “Billy, don’t tease her.”

Billy just winked. “No promises.” He barely had time to say another word before Agatha was tugging you toward the door, her fingers laced tightly with yours. “Alright, Kaplan, don’t burn the house down,” she called over her shoulder.

Billy snorted. “No promises.”

You shot him an apologetic smile as Agatha practically dragged you outside, her impatience palpable. The moment the front door shut behind you, she exhaled like she’d just escaped some great ordeal. “Finally.”

You giggled as the taxi pulled up, its headlights casting a warm glow against the quiet street. “You act like we were held hostage.”

“I was,” Agatha muttered, opening the door for you before ushering you inside. The moment you slid into the seat, she was right behind you, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary. “By him and that tiny menace.”

The taxi driver barely had a chance to confirm the address before Agatha was on you- her hands smoothing over your thighs, her lips pressing against your neck, her voice a pleased hum against your skin.

“Mmm,” she purred, tilting your chin toward her as the car pulled away from the curb. “Alone at last.”

You laughed softly, though your breath hitched as her fingers traced the hem of your dress. “We’re in a taxi.”

Agatha smirked, completely unbothered, her eyes dark with amusement as she studied your face. “And? Do you really think that’s going to stop me from doting on my perfect, pretty wife?”

Your face warmed instantly. “Agatha,” you whispered, glancing toward the driver.

She just chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before murmuring against your skin, “What? You’re mine. And you look divine tonight.”

Her lips brushed against your jaw, slow and deliberate, and you had to fight the urge to melt into her right there.

You swallowed, biting back a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you married me,” she quipped, her hands settling on your waist.

Your heart fluttered as the taxi continued into the glowing center of Westview, the lights of the city reflecting against the windows. The night had only just begun, and if Agatha was going to make sure you felt completely adored every second of it.

The taxi rolled to a stop in front of the restaurant, its golden glow spilling out onto the cobblestone street. The restaurant was elegant but cozy, with warm lighting flickering through the windows and the soft hum of music drifting through the air.

The moment the car door opened, Agatha was there, offering her hand like some old-world gentleman. “Come, my love,” she murmured, helping you out as if you were royalty.

You couldn’t help but smile as she tucked you into her side, her arm settling possessively around your waist. She pressed a quick kiss to your temple before leading you inside, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against your hip. The moment you stepped through the door, something felt… different. The restaurant was busy, but no one so much as glanced in your direction. In fact, it was as if the entire front room didn’t see you at all.

You glanced up at Agatha, arching a brow. “Did you-?”

“Shhh, darling,” she purred, squeezing your waist. “Just enjoy.”

Before you could press her further, the maître d’-a well-dressed man with a strangely dreamy expression-greeted you both with a bow. “Right this way, Mrs. Harkness,” he said smoothly, already leading you toward the back.

As you entered the back of the restaurant, your breath caught. It was perfect. The lighting was softer here, a warm golden hue casting everything in a romantic glow. The tables that had once been scattered around the space were now gone, leaving only one: a beautifully set table for two, complete with candles and an arrangement of your favorite flowers. The band-previously playing some elegant, generic jazz-began to shift into something softer, something familiar. Your wedding song.

You turned to Agatha, your heart swelling. “Oh Agatha…”

She was already watching you, eyes filled with adoration. “Happy anniversary, my love,” she murmured, brushing a stray curl behind your ear. “Only the best for my beautiful wife.”

Your throat tightened with emotion as she guided you to the table, pulling out your chair like a true gentlewoman. You shook your head, overwhelmed. “You are so extra.”

Agatha just smirked, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand as she sat across from you. “Of course I am,” she teased. “You deserve nothing less.”

The candlelight flickered gently between you, casting Agatha’s sharp features in a golden glow. The soft murmur of the band playing in the background blended seamlessly with the low hum of other diners-though, thanks to Agatha’s little enchantment, it still felt like it was just the two of you in your own private world.

And Agatha?

Agatha was adoring tonight.

She reached across the table, delicately cutting a piece of her dish before lifting it to your lips. “Try this, my love,” she murmured, eyes twinkling with affection.

You blushed but leaned forward, letting her feed you a bite. The rich, savory flavors melted on your tongue, and you hummed in approval. “Mmm. That’s amazing.”

Agatha smirked, clearly pleased with herself. “Told you. I do have exquisite taste.”

You rolled your eyes. “In food, or in wives?”

She tilted her head, feigning deep thought. “Oh, both. But my wife? She’s by far my greatest indulgence.”

Your face burned. “Agatha…”

She chuckled, setting down her fork and simply looking at you, taking you in as if you were the only thing that mattered. “I still remember the first time I saw you,” she mused, swirling her wine. “This radiant little green witch walking into my coven, full of life and magic. You were captivating.”

Your heart swelled. “You mean when I tripped over a candle and almost set the altar cloth on fire?”

Agatha laughed. “Yes, exactly that moment. I took one look at you and thought, mine.”

You shook your head, biting your lip to contain your grin. “You are so dramatic.”

“And you love it.”

She wasn’t wrong.

As the main course arrived, Agatha kept the conversation light and playful, telling you old stories from her centuries of mischief, making you gasp at some of the antics she’d pulled over the years.

“Wait, wait, so you were the reason that Duke guy mysteriously ‘disappeared’ in the 1700’s?” you asked, wide-eyed.

Agatha grinned. “Mm-hmm. Turns out, if you start calling yourself a ‘witch-finder general’, you might just wake up in the middle of the ocean.”

You laughed. “You drowned him?!”

“Oh, no, no. Just dropped him there. He probably swam to shore.” She shrugged. “Or not.”

You shook your head, giggling, but the way she watched you-soft, devoted-made you feel warm all over.

And then, just as you were reaching for your wine-

Your phone rang.

Both of you froze.

Agatha’s head turned slowly toward the source of the interruption, her expression darkening instantly. “No.”

You sighed, glancing at the screen. Billy.

Agatha groaned. “I swear to Hecate, if he is calling to tell us that kitten has done something ‘super adorable’-”

You gave her a look before answering. “Billy? What’s-”

“Y/N, okay, please don’t freak out,” Billy said quickly, “but-uh-Salem, um. Salem threw up. And now he looks really sad and sick and I think he’s scared-”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, no,” you breathed, already reaching for your bag.

Agatha sighed, rubbing her temples. “For the love of-”

“He’s so little and I don’t know if this is, like, normal baby kitten stuff or if I need to take him to a vet and I swear I didn’t do anything-” he continued his panic fuelled rant.

You don’t even let him finish. “We’re coming home.”

Agatha was seething. The moment you hung up, she slammed her wine glass down with a force that made the candles flicker. “Unbelievable. Absolutely un-fucking-believable.”

You barely heard her- you were already grabbing your bag, heart racing with worry. “We need to go now-”

Agatha shot up from her seat, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Oh, do we?” she snapped, eyes flashing. “Do we really need to abandon our perfectly romantic, expensive, private anniversary dinner because of that menace?”

You turned to her, wide-eyed. “Agatha, he’s sick-”

“Oh, is he?” she huffed, throwing a few bills onto the table with far too much force. “Or is this just another one of his tiny, kitten-sized schemes to steal more of your attention?”

You groaned, practically dragging her toward the exit. “For Hecate’s sake, Agatha, he’s a baby, not an evil mastermind.”

Agatha scoffed. “Says you.”

She was walking fast, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement as she flagged down a taxi with a single, aggressive flick of her wrist. You could feel her magic practically vibrating with frustration, wrapping around you in possessive waves. You climbed into the cab, bouncing your knee anxiously as Agatha slammed the door behind you.

The driver barely had time to ask before Agatha barked, “Home. Now.”

The car lurched forward. Your mind was racing with worst-case scenarios. What if he’s really sick? What if he needs a vet? What if he’s scared and crying and-

You barely noticed Agatha sitting rigidly beside you, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight it could crack.

She exhaled sharply. “This was supposed to be our night.”

You sighed, squeezing her knee. “I know, love.”

Her frown deepened, but she didn’t pull away. “First, he takes up all your free time,” she grumbled. “Then he steals your affection. And now? Now he’s ruining our anniversary dinner.”

You bit your lip. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

She let out a long-suffering sigh, finally glancing at you. Her expression softened just a little. “Of course not, sweetheart,” she murmured. “It’s that infernal creature I have a problem with.”

You leaned your head against her shoulder, heart still hammering. “I just need to make sure he’s okay.”

Agatha’s fingers twitched in her lap before, begrudgingly, she rested a hand on your thigh. “I know, darling.”

You knew she wasn’t done grumbling. You knew she would absolutely have more to say about this later. But for now, she let you cling to her, let you worry. And even though she was positively furious at the tiny, four-legged interloper that had stolen so much of your time, she still pressed a kiss to your temple and muttered, “Let’s just get this over with.”

The second the taxi pulled up to your house, you barely waited for it to stop before throwing the door open and bolting inside.

“Salem?!” you called, panic still gripping your chest as you rushed through the doorway.

Billy was already there, eyes wide with pure distress. “Y/N, I swear he was acting so off, he threw up, and then he was just sitting there all sad and-”

Before he could finish, a tiny mew sounded from the living room. You turned just in time to see Salem-small, fluffy, and very much alive-perking up and trotting over to you like nothing had happened. His little tail flicked as he reached your feet, looking up at you expectantly with big, innocent eyes.

You blinked. “…Oh,” you breathed, already scooping him up. “Baby, you’re okay…”

From behind you, Agatha let out a slow, lethal exhale.

Billy took one look at her face and immediately backed up. “Okay, I know how this looks, but I promise-”

“Oh, do you?” Agatha hissed, stepping forward with a sharp glare. “Because to me, it looks like my entire anniversary was just hijacked because of that devious little wretch.”

Salem let out a tiny chirp in your arms, rubbing his face against your chin.

Agatha’s scowl deepened.

Billy held up his hands, frantic. “No, no, he was sick! He was all slow and miserable and just staring at me, and I panicked! I didn’t lie- he was acting weird, I swear!”

You bit back a smile, running a soothing hand down Billy’s arm. “It’s okay, Billy,” you reassured softly. “Sometimes, animals eat something that doesn’t agree with them, and they feel off for a bit. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”

Billy still looked hesitant. “…So you’re not mad?”

“Of course not.” You smiled.

Agatha, however, let out a short, bitter laugh. “Well, I’m mad.”

Billy winced. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Agatha crossed her arms, looking at Salem like he was her mortal enemy. “That fiend just ruined our entire night, and now he’s prancing around like he’s innocent-”

Salem purred, curling up in your arms.

Agatha’s eye twitched.

Billy took another cautious step back.

You sighed, pressing a soft kiss to Salem’s head before glancing up at Agatha. “Love, I know you’re mad-”

“Oh, do you?” Agatha cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You wrapped your arms around her. “-but we can still salvage the night.”

Agatha scoffed. “Oh, how? Shall we share a romantic candlelit meal over a pile of cat vomit?”

Billy made a choked noise.

You rolled your eyes, rubbing Salem’s ears. “He’s just a baby, Agatha.”

“He’s a menace,” she corrected.

Billy cleared his throat. “Sooo… does this mean I’m fired as a cat-sitter?”

Agatha snapped her gaze to him. “Oh, without question.”

It was still early when you woke up, the morning light spilling lazily through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the bed. You barely had time to stretch before warm hands slid over your hips, pulling you back against a familiar, curvy body.

“Mm, morning, darling,” Agatha purred, voice still thick with sleep as she nuzzled into your neck.

You hummed, melting instantly as she pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses to your skin.

Her fingers traced along your thigh, teasing, feather-light. “We never did get to properly celebrate our anniversary, did we?”

Your breath hitched. “No, we-ah-never got the chance.”

Agatha smirked against your shoulder, her lips traveling lower. “Mm. Such a tragedy.”

She rolled you onto your back, slotting herself between your legs with ease. The weight of her, the heat of her- it was intoxicating. Her lips were slow and lazy against yours, like she had all the time in the world to savor you, to tease you, to drive you insane.

“Agatha,” you gasped, already dizzy, already needy.

She chuckled darkly. “What is it, my love? What do you need?”

“You,” you breathed, arching into her touch.

Her pupils darkened. “Oh, sweetheart.” She trailed a hand down your body, ready to make you hers-

And then-

“AH!” Agatha jerked back with a yelp, her hand flying to her leg.

You blinked in confusion until you saw Salem, sitting smugly at the edge of the bed, tail flicking.

Agatha gaped at him in outrage. “Did you just bite me?!”

Salem simply stared. Unbothered. Unapologetic.

Agatha turned her arm, revealing a tiny red mark. She gasped dramatically. “He did that on purpose! Attempted murder!”

You? You lost it.

Laughter bubbled out of you, loud and uncontrollable. You clutched your stomach, barely able to breathe as Agatha sat there, stunned and betrayed.

“This isn’t funny, Y/N!” she squawked. “I was attacked in my own bed!”

You wiped tears from your eyes, still gasping between giggles. “Agatha, he’s a kitten-”

“A kitten with a vendetta!”

Salem chirped and trotted over, climbing right into your arms like nothing had happened.

Agatha glared. “Oh, of course. Of course you run to her.”

You bit your lip, stroking Salem’s fur. “I think someone’s just hungry.”

She huffed. “Oh, well, pardon me for not getting up at the crack of dawn to serve his majesty his breakfast-”

Salem meowed expectantly.

Agatha scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

The day had started fine. Agatha had the house to herself-well, herself and Billy, who was currently seated in the living room, focusing on a levitation spell she’d been drilling into him for the past hour. You were off shopping with Lilia, which meant she had no distractions, no interruptions-

Or so she thought.

Because then, of course, there was Salem. Salem, who had spent the morning tearing through the house like a demon. Salem, who had already knocked over a full cup of tea, shredded the edge of one of her books, and was now currently attempting to climb the curtains with his tiny, traitorous claws.

Agatha’s eye twitched.

“That’s it,” she snapped, storming over. She plucked Salem off the curtain before he could bring the entire thing down and marched toward the kitchen. “You- are going in here.”

Salem let out an indignant mew as she placed him gently on the floor and shut the kitchen door.

Billy gawked. “Did you just lock up the cat?”

“Yes,” Agatha deadpanned, storming back into the living room.

Billy gave her a scandalized look. “Oh, come on, he’s a baby.”

“He’s a tyrant,” Agatha corrected, flopping onto the couch with a huff. “I cannot handle that little devil for another second.”

Billy snorted. “Y/N’s gonna kill you.”

Agatha waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. She won’t even know.”

And then-

CRASH.

Agatha bolted upright.

Billy froze. “Uh… that didn’t sound good.”

Agatha was already moving, storming into the kitchen, ready to see what destruction that damned cat had caused-

But then she stopped. The kitchen window was open. The little potted plant on the sill had been knocked over, soil spilled everywhere. And Salem? Gone.

Agatha’s stomach dropped.

Billy peered over her shoulder. “Ohhh, shit.”

Agatha’s breath caught. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no-” She rushed forward, peering out the window. Sure enough, there, in the middle of the garden, was Salem. He was sniffing around, completely unbothered, his little tail flicking in the breeze.

Agatha panicked. She hated that cat, but that cat was your baby. And if anything happened to him? If he got lost, if he got hurt-

Oh gods.

She’d never hear the end of it.

Billy? He was already backing away. “Sooo, do I need to go wait outside so I don’t get hit by any flying objects when Y/N gets home?”

Agatha snapped her head to him, wild-eyed. “Shut up and help me catch that cat!”

Billy immediately scrambled after her as she raced outside, her heart pounding as Salem, the little criminal, simply sat in the grass-completely oblivious to the absolute chaos he had just unleashed.

The second Agatha stepped into the garden, Salem locked eyes with her. And in that moment, she swore he knew. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to be out here. He knew that if she didn’t catch him before you got home, her life wouldn’t be worth living. And so, the little bastard did what he did best.

He ran.

“Oh, for the love of-” Agatha lunged, but Salem was fast, scampering across the yard like a tiny, fluffy demon.

Billy doubled over laughing. “Oh my god-”

Agatha whipped her head toward him. “Teen, get your ass over here and HELP ME!”

Billy snorted, but he jogged forward, attempting to corner Salem between the flower beds. “Okay, okay, here, kitty-”

Salem shot between his legs like a bullet.

Billy yelped, nearly face-planting into the grass.

Agatha groaned. “Are you kidding me?!”

Billy spun around, pointing dramatically. “Oh, he’s evil.”

Agatha already knew that.

They spent the next ten minutes chasing him across the yard-diving, reaching, failing as he danced out of their grasp every. single. time.

Agatha, panting, glared. “That’s it. I’m using magic.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “You can’t!”

“Why the hell not?!”

“Because Y/N will know!” Billy pointed wildly toward the house. “You really think she won’t sense if you throw a binding spell on her precious baby?”

Agatha froze.

Shit.

He was right.

You would absolutely sense it if she hexed Salem into submission. And if you got home and realized she had not only lost him but had also used magic on him?

Oh, she was so dead.

Agatha groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. No magic. But we need to get him now-”

And then… the gate creaked. Her blood ran cold. Slowly, she turned. The garden gate was open. Salem was right next to it. And then he bolted.

“SALEM, NO-” Agatha leapt, just missing him as he squeezed through the gap and took off toward the street.

Billy screamed. “AGATHA HE’S ESCAPING-”

Agatha ripped open the gate and ran-barefoot, chasing a fugitive kitten down the street like some kind of madwoman.

Billy raced after her, wheezing. “I’m-gonna-die-”

“NOT BEFORE WE CATCH THAT DAMN CAT!”

Up ahead, Salem scampered toward a tree, tail flicking as he reached the trunk. Agatha saw one chance. She launched herself forward and finally, FINALLY- she caught him. Panting, drenched in sweat, she curled her arms around his tiny, wriggling body, holding him up like some sort of cursed prize.

“Gotcha,” she wheezed.

Billy collapsed onto the grass. “Ohhh, thank god.”

Salem? He just blinked at her. Like he hadn’t just led them on the most stressful chase of her entire existence.

Agatha glared. “You planned that, didn’t you?”

Salem purred.

Agatha hated him.

Billy, still gasping for air, rolled over and checked his phone. His face blanched.“Oh, shit.”

Agatha tensed. “What?”

Billy turned the screen toward her. A text from you.

< The Other Mrs. Harkness: Just leaving the shops! Be home soon! Love you! xx >

Agatha screeched. “WE HAVE TO GET BACK NOW.” She sprinted up the porch steps, Salem squirming in her arms as she kicked the door open. Billy stumbled in behind her, wheezing.

“We-made it-” Billy gasped, nearly collapsing.

Agatha barely heard him. She was too busy staring at the disaster in her arms. Salem was filthy. His tiny paws were caked in mud, his belly streaked with dirt, and his once-fluffy tail was now a twig-covered disaster.

Agatha groaned in horror. “Oh, hell no.”

Billy finally looked up-and snorted. “Shit, look at him-”

“Teenager, if you laugh, I swear to all that is Holy-”

But it was too late. Billy was howling, doubling over as Agatha stood there, a furious, disheveled witch, holding a mud-covered kitten at arm’s length.

“I hate him,” Agatha declared. “I hate this damn cat.”

Salem just blinked at her.

Billy wiped his eyes, still giggling. “Okay, okay-so what now?”

Agatha sighed, already dreading the answer. “We have to wash him.”

Billy froze.

Then, he took a step back. “Ohhhh, no. I like having my skin intact.”

Agatha glared. “So do I, but here we are!”

Billy grimaced, but one look at Salem’s absolute state and he knew they had no choice.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re holding him.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Like I trust you not to drop him?”

Billy grumbled under his breath, but followed as Agatha marched to the bathroom, Salem still calmly chilling in her grip. That wouldn’t last. They filled the sink with warm water, and Agatha braced herself before gently lowering Salem in…

Chaos.

The second his paws touched the water, Salem exploded into a frenzy of wriggling, splashing, and absolute betrayal.

Agatha hissed as tiny claws latched onto her arm. Billy yelped, dodging a wave of soapy water as Salem twisted like a feral eel.

“He’s fighting for his LIFE!” Billy screeched.

“SO AM I!”

Salem shrieked, flailing as Agatha tried to scrub the mud from his fur. “Hold still, you little-”

Billy was no help, standing at a safe distance, barely containing his cackles.

“Billy, DO SOMETHING!”

Billy, still wheezing, reluctantly grabbed a tiny washcloth and dabbed at Salem’s ears. Salem responded by kicking him in the hand. He snorted. “Oh, he hates us.”

Agatha gritted her teeth. “I hated him first.”

By the time they finally rinsed the little demon off and wrapped him in a fluffy towel, Agatha was soaked, scratched, and one minor inconvenience away from summoning a hellstorm. Salem? He just snuggled into the towel and purred.

Billy grinned. “Awww. Now he’s all clean and cute again.”

Agatha glared. “Get it away from me.”

Billy giggled, scooping up the bundle of fluff. “C’mon, don’t be mad at him.”

Agatha whirled on him. “If Y/N asks, you played with Salem indoors all day, and he definitely didn’t escape, roll in mud, and nearly give me a damn stroke.”

Billy saluted. “Mum’s the word.”

The moment you stepped through the door, you beamed, setting your bags down and immediately making your way to Agatha. “Hello, my love,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around her waist and pressing yourself against her, breathing her in. You pulled back slightly, your brows furrowing.

“Um… Agatha,” you frowned, taking a step back. “Why are you all sweaty?”

Billy exploded. He doubled over, absolutely howling with laughter, clutching his stomach like he’d been physically struck.

Agatha scowled at him. “Shut it, Billy.”

You blinked at her in confusion. “No, seriously, what were you doing?”

Billy wheezed, barely able to breathe. “Oh my god, this is the best day of my life-”

Agatha shot him a murderous glare before turning back to you, attempting to compose herself. “I was-” she paused, eyes flicking to the still-damp Salem in Billy’s arms. “-exercising.”

Billy shrieked with laughter.

You squinted. “…You hate exercise.”

Agatha huffed. “Well, maybe I decided to start a new routine, ever think of that?”

Billy collapsed onto the couch, breathless. “Agatha, please stop, I can’t breathe-”

Your eyes flicked between them. “…Okay, what is going on?”

Billy snorted again, but Agatha grabbed your wrist, steering you toward the kitchen before you could investigate further.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “You must be starving, let’s get you a snack-”

Billy cackled behind you. “Yeah, gotta refuel after all that exercise.”

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the bedroom. You lay still, curled beneath the covers, your chest tight with a weight you couldn’t explain. Nothing had happened. No nightmare, no bad memory, no reason to feel this way.

And yet… you did.

Anxiety sat heavy in your ribs, buzzing under your skin like static. It was familiar, these waves of unease that came and went with no real trigger. You knew it would pass eventually-it always did-but right now, it clung to you like damp air, thick and suffocating. You barely noticed the way Agatha stirred beside you until you felt her shift, propping herself up on one elbow.

“Morning, my love,” she murmured, voice warm with sleep as she pressed a lazy kiss to your temple.

You managed a soft hum in response, but you didn’t turn to her, still staring blankly at the ceiling.

That was all it took for Agatha to pause.

Her hand, which had begun to trace slow circles along your arm, stilled. She frowned slightly, eyes scanning your face, her sharp mind already picking apart your quietness. “…What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice gentle now.

“Nothing,” you whispered, but it wasn’t convincing.

Agatha was silent for a beat. Then, she nudged at your shoulder until you finally rolled to face her. Her gaze softened as she took in your features- the way your brows were faintly drawn together, the distant look in your eyes, the tension you carried in your jaw. She knew that look. That wasn’t exhaustion. It wasn’t sadness. It was that deep, uneasy feeling that crept into you sometimes, the one you couldn’t shake.

She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch impossibly gentle. “Is it one of those mornings, my love?”

You swallowed, nodding hesitantly. Agatha exhaled, her hand shifting to cradle your face. Her thumb brushed against your cheek, grounding, steady. “Okay,” she murmured simply. “Then we’ll take it slow today.”

No teasing. No urging you to snap out of it. Just quiet understanding. Because she knew that sometimes there wasn’t a reason. Sometimes you just felt off, and all she could do was be there, steady and unwavering, until the tide passed. She pressed a kiss to your forehead and then to the tip of your nose, her lips lingering just long enough to remind you that she’s here.

“Stay right here,” she whispered before slipping out of bed.

You blinked after her. “Where are you going?”

“Making tea,” she said simply. “Then getting the furballs. You need both of your emotional support creatures right now.”

A breath of laughter escaped you, the first one of the morning. She’d get you through this. She always did. Agatha returned a few moments later, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and Señor Scratchy nestled in the other. The rabbit gave a lazy twitch of his nose, entirely unbothered as Agatha carefully set him down beside you.

“There,” she murmured, smoothing back your hair with one hand. “Your oldest emotional support animal, delivered.”

You offered a tiny smile, fingers brushing over Señor Scratchy’s soft fur as he settled in beside you.

Agatha left the room to search for your other little beast, but… no sign of him. No scratching at the furniture. No tiny, smug little face peeking around the corner, waiting to pounce on her the moment she got too comfortable.

After a while of searching, she came back to the bedroom, ready to slide back into bed beside you, ready to pull you close again. But the moment she looked over at you she froze. Because there, already curled up against you, was Salem. Tiny, soft, and warm, his small body was tucked neatly against your side. His head rested just over your ribs, ears twitching slightly as he let out the faintest of purrs. Your fingers idly stroked through his fur, comforted by the steady rhythm of his breathing.

She’d been ready to roll her eyes, ready to shoot some snarky remark about how the little devil was always hogging your attention. But now, watching the way Salem stayed glued to you, offering his own quiet brand of affection- she… couldn’t. Because for once she and the cat were on the same side. Both of them watching over you, making sure you were okay.

Agatha’s lips twitched, just slightly. She reached out, fingertips brushing over your cheek before moving down to run along Salem’s back.

The kitten let out a soft chirp at the contact. Agatha rolled her eyes, but it was fond. “Don’t get used to this, furball,” she muttered, but she didn’t move him.

Instead, she lay back down beside you, arm draped securely around both you and the menace. You sighed softly, melting into the warmth of them both.

And for now that was enough.

The coven meeting was already off to a tense start.

Agatha sat at the head of the circle, arms crossed, looking bored as Jen droned on about some new-age magical theory she’d been obsessing over. But-inevitably-the conversation had spiraled into something else. Something snarky.

“So,” Jen mused, idly swirling the wine in her glass, “remind me again how we’re the ones who should be listening to you, Agatha? Last I checked, your leadership skills tend to leave entire covens dead.”

The room froze.

Alice sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Lilia shot Jen a warning look. Billy looked between everyone like he was waiting for a fight to break out. Your stomach tightened.

Agatha, however, barely reacted. She simply leaned back in her chair, a slow, knowing smirk curling over her lips. “Hmm.” She took a sip of her drink, tilting her head. “Well, if you ever want to test my abilities firsthand, I’d be happy to give you a little… demonstration.”

Jen scoffed but said nothing. The tension in the room sizzled. And then suddenly- a sound. A small, delicate trickle of liquid hitting the floor.

Jen frowned. “What the-?” And then she screamed. “OH, MY GODS!”

Every head snapped toward her. She had jumped up from her seat, face twisting in absolute horror- because there, in the very spot she’d been sitting, was Salem. Tiny. Innocent. Tail flicking ever so slightly. And Jen’s dress? Soaked.

Everyone stared.

There was a beat of absolute, stunned silence.

And then Agatha howled with laughter. It was delightful, full-bodied, wicked glee. She clutched her stomach, her head thrown back as pure joy erupted from her like a spell. “Oh-oh, this is brilliant,” she wheezed, swiping at a stray tear. “I-I didn’t even teach him that!”

You pressed your lips together, trying desperately not to laugh yourself. Billy had already lost it. He was howling, nearly tipping over in his chair.

Jen, however, was furious. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” she shrieked, glaring down at the little gremlin who had just ruined her expensive silk dress.

Salem simply blinked up at her. Then, as if to rub it in, he let out a tiny, smug little mew.

Agatha wiped at her eyes, still grinning. “Oh, that’s it. You, my little menace, might actually earn your keep around here.”

You gasped, mocking shock. “Agatha Harkness, are you saying you finally like him?”

Agatha snorted. “I said no such thing.” She smirked, reaching down to scratch behind Salem’s ears. “But I do appreciate a well-timed bit of vengeance.”

Salem purred.

Jen groaned. “I hate this coven.”

Lilia smirked. “Don’t lie.”

And as the conversation carried on, Agatha-without even thinking-scooped Salem into her lap, idly stroking his fur.

You bit your lip.

She was so softening up to him. It only took him peeing on poor Jen.

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the TV, the gentle hum of a movie playing in the background. You were curled up against Agatha, her arm draped lazily over your waist, fingers tracing idle circles against your hip. It was peaceful, warm and perfect. Or at least, it would have been. If not for the relentless meowing from the floor.

You sighed, glancing down to find Salem sitting near the couch, tail flicking, big eyes staring directly at Agatha as he let out another tiny, insistent mew.

Agatha groaned, tilting her head back against the couch dramatically. “Oh, for Hecate’s sake. What do you want now, you tiny beast?”

Salem meowed again.

You giggled. “I think he wants to play.”

Agatha scoffed. “Play? I am not a child, nor am I his personal entertainer.”

You bit your lip, reaching into the side table drawer and pulling out a small, sleek object. “A shame,” you mused, clicking the button and casting a bright red dot onto the floor. “Because I specifically got this for you.”

Your wife eyed the laser pointer with an arched brow.

You grinned. “Come on. Just try it.”

She rolled her eyes but took it from your hand anyway, holding it between her fingers like it was something far beneath her. Then, with a sigh, she flicked the laser across the floor.

Instantly, Salem pounced.

You stifled a giggle as he skittered after the tiny red dot, tail puffed up, eyes wild with determination. Agatha moved it again, this time sending it up the wall, and Salem launched himself upward, scrambling as if he truly believed he could catch it.

You snorted. “Oh baby boy-”

Agatha blinked. And then, to your utter shock, she laughed. A real, genuine, breathless laugh. Not a smirk. Not a scoff. But laughter. “Oh, you absolute fool,” she chuckled, watching as Salem did an entire somersault trying to catch the dot.

You grinned, eyes sparkling as you watched her-really watched her. Her sharp edges were completely softened, her lips curled in pure amusement, her usually cunning eyes filled with something warm. Something fond. And that was when you knew she was gone. Agatha Harkness, powerful, ancient, no-nonsense witch, had been defeated by a kitten.

“You like him,” you teased, leaning into her side.

Agatha sniffed, flicking the laser one last time before shutting it off. “I tolerate him.”

You just smiled. “Mmmhmm.”

She pointed a warning finger at you. “Don’t push it, darling.” But as she tucked the pointer into the table drawer, her free hand absentmindedly reached down- fingertips brushing over Salem’s head in the lightest, quickest little pet like she thought you wouldn’t notice.

You bit your lip to keep from squealing. She liked him.

The air in the room was thick with anticipation as you stepped out of the bathroom, draped in the most sinfully delicate lingerie you had ever worn. You knew Agatha would lose all sense of composure the second she laid eyes on you- her wicked little smirk curling, her hands greedy, her voice slipping into that low, hungry rasp that always made you weak in the knees.

You were ready for her.

You sauntered forward, hips swaying, voice a sultry purr. “Agatha…”

No response.

Your smirk twitched. “Aggie?” you tried again, a little firmer.

Still-nothing.

Your brows furrowed. And then you saw her. Sprawled on her stomach on the bed, head propped up on one hand, while the other absentmindedly twirled a ribbon in front of Salem.

You gawked.

Your wife-the woman who, at any given moment, was seconds away from devouring you whole-was completely, entirely ignoring you.

Because she was playing with the cat.

“Agatha!”

Agatha hummed absently, still not looking at you. “One sec, darling. He’s about to-oh, good boy! Get it, little menace, get it-”

A stunned silence filled the air.

Your wife, the woman who once enchanted a maître d’ into giving her a better table just so she could stare at you under candlelight, was not even looking at you.

You, in this.

You clenched your fists. “Agatha.”

“Mm?” She twirled the ribbon again. “I think he’s figured out he can-ooh, yes, baby, pounce!”

Oh.

You let out a horrified gasp. “Oh my god.”

At last, her head snapped up, her amused expression melting into mild confusion. “What?”

The moment her gaze landed on you, standing in your little lace ensemble, looking every bit the goddess you were meant to be-her lips parted, appreciation flashing in her eyes. “Oh,” she breathed, shifting slightly. “You look-”

But it was too late.

You threw your hands in the air. “Are you serious?!”

Agatha blinked. “What?”

“What? What?!” You gestured wildly between yourself and Salem, who was now gnawing on the ribbon. “I have been in there for thirty minutes getting all dressed up to seduce you and you didn’t even notice me come out because you were too busy playing with the cat?”

Agatha opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. “…Okay, but-”

Your glare darkened, daring her to finish that sentence. She wisely did not.

Instead, she exhaled heavily, sitting up. “Baby, you do look absolutely ravishing, and I will make it up to you in ways that will-”

You huffed, already turning on your heel. “Nope! You can play with him tonight, because you’re clearly not playing with me.”

Agatha’s eyes widened. “Wait- baby-”

You stormed to the closet, snatching your silk robe and yanking it over your shoulders.

Agatha scrambled off the bed in a panic. “Darling, wait let’s not be hasty-”

But you were already out the door.

Her head turned to the tiny mew that sounded from the bed. Agatha slowly turned her head. Salem, now stretched lazily across the sheets, let out a self-satisfied purr. She glared at him. “You did that on purpose.”

Agatha growled under her breath, then bolted after you, her heartbeat pounding as she practically skidded into the hallway.

She had some serious groveling to do.

“Baby wait listen, my love please-”

You ignored her, storming toward the kitchen with all the regal ferocity of a woman scorned, silk robe billowing behind you. You snatched a bottle of wine from the counter, popping the cork with a little huff. “Hope you and Salem have a wonderful night together,” you muttered as you poured yourself a glass, the irony of this situation not lost on you.

“Oh, come on, love-”

You took a slow sip, not even looking at her. “Don’t you have a ribbon to twirl?”

Agatha winced. She deserved that. Desperate, she softened her voice. “My perfect, stunning, goddess of a wife,” she pleaded, looking up at you with her most pathetic expression, hands resting desperately on your thighs. “My heart, my soul, my reason for breathing-”

You scoffed, turning away. A sharp gasp left your lips as she spun you around, crowding you back against the kitchen counter, her hands bracketing either side of you.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” she murmured, voice low, dangerous.

Your lips parted, but Agatha was already there- pressing forward, her mouth ghosting over your cheek, then your jaw, the scent of her dark perfume flooding your senses.

“You’re angry with me,” she mused, her lips brushing against your ear, making you shudder. “Rightfully so.”

You swallowed. “Damn right I am.” You tugged at a lock of her hair. “You ignored me.”

She whimpered dramatically. “I loathe myself for it.”

You huffed, finally glancing up at her. “You should.”

She hummed. Amused. And then, lightning fast, she gripped your waist, hoisting you up onto the counter, stepping between your legs before you could even blink. Heat pooled in your stomach.

“Tell me, Angel…” She traced a fingertip along your inner thigh, barely ghosting over your skin. “What kind of apology do you require?”

You opened your mouth, but Agatha tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at her. Her dark eyes were molten, hungry, the power thrumming beneath her skin almost overwhelming. You ached for her. And she loved it.

Your fingers twitched in the silk of your robe. “I should make you suffer for this.”

Agatha grinned. “Oh, sweetheart…” She leaned in, her breath hot against your lips. “By all means-try.”

And then she kissed you; hard, deep, claiming you with every ounce of dominance and desperation in her being. You melted. Your fingers clawed into her shirt, dragging her closer, but she tut-tutted, pulling back just enough to tease.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she murmured, lips brushing yours. “Not so fast.”

You whined. “Agatha-”

She smirked. “What’s wrong, my love?” Her hands tightened on your waist, keeping you firmly in place. “You were so eager to walk away just a minute ago.”

Your breath hitched. Damn her and her smug, sinful mouth. “Are you going to make it up to me, or just tease?”

Agatha growled. And then she bit your lip. You gasped, and she devoured the sound, her kiss turning filthy-all tongue and teeth and raw, desperate possession. Your head spun. She pulled back, her thumb tracing the damp swell of your lips.

“Let’s get one thing straight, darling,” she murmured, eyes blazing. “I own you.”

You whimpered.

Her smirk was wicked. “That’s what I should’ve been paying attention to.” She squeezed your hips, dragging you flush against her. “My wife, my perfect, beautiful, insatiable wife-”

She kissed your throat, smirking against your skin when your pulse stuttered. “You want my attention?” she murmured, biting down.

You moaned.

She grinned. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purred. “You have it.”

And then she took you.

The coven was rowdy tonight.

Lilia was yelling at Alice about something to do with the rules, Jen was already two drinks in, and you were curled up in Agatha’s lap because, apparently, sitting in your own chair was unacceptable when you had a perfectly good wife to perch on. Not that she was complaining.

But the chaos truly began when Salem decided that game pieces were his mortal enemies. It started with a single, mischievous paw batting at a game piece. Then another. Then total chaos. Lilia yelped when Salem launched himself across the board, sending dice and cards flying.

“Oh, for God’s sake-Salem, you little goblin!” she huffed, scooping the kitten up before he could pounce again. “You menace! I swear-”

“Excuse me.” Agatha’s voice was sharp.

Lilia froze. The entire room went silent. All eyes snapped to Agatha, who was now glaring at Lilia like she’d personally offended her.

“Show some respect to my cat.”

Silence.

Utter, shocked, jaw-dropping silence.

“Holy shit,” Jen breathed, eyes wide.

Alice, meanwhile, looked far too smug. With an almost ceremonial flourish, she held out her hand, palm up. Jen groaned, digging into her pocket before slapping a crisp twenty-dollar bill into Alice’s palm.

“I told you she’d come around,” Alice said, grinning.

“You gambled on this?” Agatha huffed, unimpressed.

Alice grinned. “We knew it was only a matter of time.”

Lilia, still holding Salem, just stared at Agatha in disbelief. “You hate this cat.”

Agatha huffed, reaching over to pluck Salem from Lilia’s arms and pull him into her lap. “I tolerate him.”

Salem immediately curled up, purring against Agatha’s chest. Your heart melted.

“She loves him,” Billy gasped.

“I do not-”

“You so do!”

Agatha groaned, running a hand down her face. But she didn’t push Salem off. She even gave him a little scratch behind the ears. And that was all the proof they needed that your wife had officially been defeated and your precious little kitten had won.

The second the coven left, you pounced. Agatha barely had time to react before you tackled her onto the couch, straddling her waist and capturing her lips in a long, deep kiss. She hummed in approval, hands settling on your hips, gripping you firmly. But when you pulled back, you had a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Say it.”

Agatha blinked. “Say what, darling?”

You smirked. “Say you love him.”

Agatha groaned, letting her head fall back against the cushions. “Oh, for the love of-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” you interrupted, leaning down to kiss along her jaw. “No deflecting, Mrs. Harkness.”

She huffed, tilting her head to give you better access-because, despite her grumbling, she was still weak for your kisses. “I tolerate him.”

You giggled, trailing kisses down her neck. “Say it properly.”

“No.”

More kisses. More sly little touches. Agatha’s fingers tightened on your waist.

“You love him,” you purred against her skin. “I know you do.”

Agatha sighed-long and dramatic, as if she were suffering some great inconvenience. “Fine,” she muttered. “I love the damn cat.”

You squealed in victory, throwing your arms around her neck and kissing her again, all grinning lips and giddy little noises. And despite everything, Agatha laughed. A soft, warm, genuine laugh, as she held you tight against her.

She rolled you over, pinning you beneath her, her blue eyes glinting. “You’re impossible,” she murmured.

You just grinned. “And yet you love me.”

Agatha sighed dramatically. “Yes,” she admitted, brushing her nose against yours. “I really do.”

Bonus Agatha and Salem:

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha x reader #kathryn hahn #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha coven of chaos

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