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perlelune · 6 months

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Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Staccato breaths mingle with the wild drumming of your heart as Coriolanus takes you to a place unknown, so far from where you live on the outskirts of town.

The freezing air sneaks under your skirt, causing your legs to tremble. Wherever you look, you’re surrounded by darkness, a cluster of clouds cloaking the moon now.

It reminds you how utterly alone you are.

Your tears soak the blue shirt of his uniform but he doesn’t seem to care. In your current upside down position, you can’t see his expression and it scares you even more.

You wonder what he’s thinking, why he’s doing this and, most importantly, what his plans are for you.

“Where are you taking me?” you inquire, your wavering voice dripping fear.

“It’s a surprise,” he announces, readjusting you on his shoulders.

You don’t like his tone, not one bit. It’s taunting with a sliver of resentment.

Somehow, you pissed him off at the bar and he wants to make you pay for it. Punish you for…for what exactly? It eludes you. All you did was dance with some guy and Coriolanus saw red.

You knew the peacekeeper was strange, but this is a step beyond that. He stole you. In public. It’s insane, deranged.

Lights finally pierce through the veil of the night, twinkling through the hazy obscurity. A faint shred of hope glimmers inside you. If there are people here, maybe you could shout for help, appeal to basic human decency. Back at the bar, no one would help you.

Part of you understands. This is the kind of fear the Capitol has instilled in everyone in Panem.

Still, a hint of bitterness lingers inside you. Not even Yara lifted a finger to help you. You thought she was your friend. But you suppose even that is asking for too much for someone like you. Even that is a luxury far beyond your means.

You confine tears. You do not wish to give the peacekeeper the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart.

He enters a building with bright lanterns scattered at its front. The smell of incense, cigarette and expensive perfume engulfs your senses, so overwhelming you can hardly breathe. A woman appears in your line of sight. She’s strikingly gorgeous. Glossy, raven curls frame her heart-shaped face and heavy makeup adorns her delicate features. She wears a low-cut red dress that must cost at least two months of your wages.

You frown, dull remembrance tugging at your brain.

Something about her is vaguely familiar.

Then it dawns on you, and your stomach coils in dread.

You’ve seen her before, at a bar in the northeastern part of town. She was working her charms on a man who slipped her a bag of coins before they disappeared together.

The urge to puke tickles the back of your throat. A brothel. Coriolanus has taken you to a brothel.

“Is our room ready?” he addresses the woman, impatience bleeding through his tone.

“It’s all been prepared like you asked, Mr. Snow,” she trills.

“Help me, please…” you beseech.

She tilts her head, a wide grin unfurling on her crimson-painted lips.

“She’s a pretty thing, your lass. Almost as pretty as you.”

Coriolanus reaches inside his pocket. The clinking of coins resonates as he drops a tiny purse in the woman’s hand. “Don’t disturb us,” he instructs.

She grabs the purse and beams at him.

“Wasn’t planning to.” Her cheerful inflection makes your stomach sink. “Our clients’ privacy is of the utmost priority.”

“Let me go you mon-”

The woman giggles. “She chirps an awful lot, that bird of yours.”

He heaves out a deep sigh, both weary and resigned. “She needs discipline, which is exactly why we’re here.”

His words do nothing to reassure you. You thrash again, legs flailing and hands reaching for any parts of him you can. He groans but doesn’t release you. He stomps upstairs.

Your mind runs wild as your fear grows. Soon, the blond reaches an ornate black door. He kicks it open with his boot. Once inside, he tosses you onto the canopy bed in the middle of the room. He slams the door closed and locks it. Your blood runs cold.

Without much thought, you clamber off the bed, awkwardly getting to your feet and heading straight for the door.

He grabs the back of your neck and yanks you away from the door. A strangled shout leaps from your throat.

Coriolanus peers down at you, bent in an uncomfortable position beneath him.

A look of mild annoyance decorates his handsome face.

“Still trying to run away? You never learn your lesson, pretty bird.”

“Let me go,” you croak, your pleading eyes searching for pity in his icy gaze. But you’re only greeted by contempt. Tears swell under your eyelids. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He snorts, like he can’t believe you’d ask something so ludicrous. He narrows his eyes at you, the fingers clamped around your nape squeezing harder.

“Why? Because you’ve been ungrateful,” he hisses.

Befuddlement trickles within you. “Ungrateful?”

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks.

“I help you, I save you.” A storm gathers in his enraged tone. “I do so much for you but you bat your lashes at some pathetic district scum?”

You cower beneath his accusing stare, in disbelief at what you’re hearing. Your lips clamp shut, your mouth quivering before you retaliate, “I’m district scum too.” You squint at him. “I’m district scum too so what do you even want with me, Coriolanus?”

He chuckles darkly, wrenching your head so far backwards, your neck starts singing in pain. He sinks to one knee, scrutinizing your shaking form on the floor.

“What do I want with you?” he echoes. His hold on your neck loosens to latch around your jaw instead. His scorching blue gaze dives into yours as his voice dips, whisper-soft. “Tell me, sweet bird, am I that repulsive to you?” Puzzled, you blink. Why does he even care what you think of him?

Your silence has him jostle your frame, as if trying to shake a reply out of you.

“Answer me,” he growls.

An hasty, breathless response tumbles out of you. “No.”

You hardly had to think, needing to simply utter the truth. Of course, Coriolanus is handsome, a feast for the eyes like a prince from a fairytale, with his smooth skin, free of any blemish, bright blue eyes and angular features. It’d be hard to deny how beautiful he is.

…But he’s not a prince, and you're not in a fairytale.

As your eyes lower, his fingers dig harshly into your cheeks.

“Look at me.” There’s a sharp edge of authority to his words. You lift your gaze, too terrified to dare divert your attention from him. He continues. “Do you find my face disgusting, my voice unbearable?” His mouth twitches. “Maybe it’s my smell. Is it atrocious?”

Tears dangle at your lashes as you mutter, “No.”

“Then why?” A blend of dismay and anger paints his features. “Why do you always run away from me? Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

“I don’t need you. I never needed you.”

His orbs flare dangerously. You shriek as he hauls you from the floor and hurls you on the bed.

“This is where you’re wrong. You live because of me. Your cousin lives because of me.” He begins removing the blue vest of his uniform, his motions irate and rushed. A lump nestles in your throat as you watch him zip down his pants next. “You owe me, and it’s about time you show me some gratitude.”

This time your attempt to flee is curtailed by a steely grip on your ankle. A knife-like sensation pierces your limb as he twists it cruelly. The pain knocks the wind from your lungs. You freeze and go limp over the sheets.

The blond’s forehead puckers, a contrite look flickering over his features.

“You’re making me do this. I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re making me.”

He squeezes your shoulder and forces you to sit up at the edge of the bed. The air chills around you as he tugs down his white boxers, revealing his long, thick girth, glistening at the tip. You gulp the lump in your throat.

Your fingers clasp around the end of the bed as you gape at his erect cock. The vein along the shaft seems to taunt you. Cupping the side of your face, he nudges his tip against your wobbling lips.

“Open up,” he orders. He sneers when you don’t move an inch, “So stubborn…I can’t tell if I love or hate that about you, pretty bird.”

“Please…” you mumble, your glistening eyes rising to meet his.

He purrs, lust clouding his sky blue orbs. His thumb skims over your bottom lip.

“You’re even prettier when you beg me, birdie.” His tone mellows as he offers, “Open your mouth and I’ll make sure you never want for anything.”

Your mouth remains adamantly sealed.

Studying you, he ponders, “I’ve always found the punishment for thievery needlessly harsh.” He unleashes a dragged out, ponderous exhale. “For shame, I’m not sure your cousin will last very long here without you.” Your heart threatens to spill from your chest. A wicked, lopsided smile blooms on his lips as he fondles your cheek. “It’s a tough world, especially for a little girl all on her own, wouldn’t you say?”

Your chest collapses at his blatant threat. Even if your own fate mattered little to you, you can’t imagine Tilly fending for herself here. You’re all she has now and if she can’t rely on you, who will she be able to rely on?

Besides, she might be better now but she always had a fragile health. Someone needs to look out for her. And it has to be you.

It’s as if Coriolanus could hear every thought bouncing in your head, smugness oozing off him as he observes you.

Your lips part slowly. Victory illuminates his features.

He pumps his shaft, excitement bouncing in his orbs.

As he pushes his tip into your mouth, a hum of pleasure vibrates in his chest. You feel it through your own body and a shudder passes through you.

You quiver as you swirl your tongue around his leaking tip, silently wishing he’ll be quick about it. Maybe if you do it well enough, it won’t last long and he’ll leave you be.

Still, embarrassment pools in your gut. You’re letting a peacekeeper treat you like a common whore. You doubt your dignity will ever recover from this ordeal.

He grabs both sides of your face, impatient, pushing more of himself down your throat. Your mouth aches at the corners, the size of him nearly too much to bear.

“Fuck, your mouth feels good,” he rasps, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

He slides his entire length down your throat until it tickles the back of it. You fight your gag reflex. The salty taste of him spreads on your tongue as you choke on his cock, air flailing in your lungs. He licks his lips, gently stroking your tear-stained cheeks.

“Good girl”, he praises.

He starts fucking your mouth, bruising your throat with each forceful thrust. Tears and spit mingle around your mouth as you take him as well as you can. You grow numb, eyes half-seeing as you let him use you.

Coriolanus’s throaty moans fill the room. The echo of his blunt thrusting reaches your ears. You feel sick.

You close your eyes, hoping to forget, but all you can see is him, hear is him, feel is him.

You wish you could climb out of your own skin.

His pounding turns more feral. Cradling the back of your head, he shoves himself more urgently inside you. His chest ripples as he grunts.

You weep, suffocating on his length. Your stifled cries join the lewd sounds he makes. Your fists tighten around the sheets as your vision dims.

His motions become sloppier as he snarls, a look of sheer bliss decorating his handsome face.

His cock twitches, his eyes rolling back. A warm stickiness glazes the inside of your mouth. A groan leaves him as ropes of him pour down your throat. When you try to pull back, he firmly keeps you there, framing your face so you can’t escape.

The excess trickles on your chin and neck.

You shudder, quaking sobs wracking your body.

A wet sound resonates when his softening cock finally exits your mouth. You inhale a wide lungful, thankful to be able to breathe again but disgusted by the bittersweet aftertaste still coating your tongue. You wish you could bleach the inside of your mouth many times over.

He collects your tears with his thumbs, his smile growing as he basks in the sight of the mess he made on your face.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, my sweet bird,” he croons.

You plunge your hands in the frigid water, roughly rubbing the clothes against one another. You focus on a willful beer stain that won’t come off no matter how much you try. Frustration blooms inside you as the brown lingers on the beige fabric.

You grimace. This was one of your nicer blouses. Now it’s forever ruined, tainted beyond recovery.

Yara wrings her skirt above the bucket, her attentive eyes clinging to you. When she offered to do laundry together this morning, you expected a plethora of questions. Instead, she spent the last hour mirroring your silence.

You’re grateful. While her presence soothes you, there are many topics you’d rather not broach. One in particular. A memory you went to great lengths to bury but won’t let itself be erased. You feel branded, like you don’t belong to yourself anymore.

It’s a ghastly prospect, one you have no desire to mull over too deeply.

You’d rather focus on laundry today. Washing, rinsing, drying and repeating. The tedious routine keeps the scary thoughts at bay. At least for a little while.

“Tilly’s doing a lot better.”

Yara’s abrupt words stagger you. Your head snaps up. Your focus veers to your younger cousin. She’s sitting by the fire playing noughts and crosses with her friend. The two little girls are wrapped up in the thin lines they’re drawing with white chalk on the stone floor, concentration etched on their small features.

She has been doing better. Much better than she has the entire year, though it guts you to admit it. She can laugh, play, run and be a normal kid.

…And you have the little care packages Coriolanus has been dropping on your doorstep to thank for that.

It stuns you that he even found out where you live so easily. You thought you were careful.

Now you don’t even feel safe in your own modest home.

There is nowhere to hide from the peacekeeper.

While he hasn’t shown up in person, his presence hovers over every aspect of your life.

You live because of me.

“Yeah,” you reply tritely.

Hands going still in the water, Yara observes you for a while, hesitation wrinkling her features.

Eventually she dips her head, averting her gaze as she mumbles, “I shouldn’t have let him take you away.”

Guilt bleeds through her tone. Sighing, you peer at her. While you resented being on your own, you’re also keenly aware there is nothing she could have done.

“It’s not your fault,” you reassure. “I’d be scared too. I am scared,”

Though sadness still glistens in her eyes, she nods.

“Did he…” She trails off, sucking in a deep breath as if to gather the courage to speak again. Her gaze meets yours head on. “D-Did he hurt you?”

Goosebumps erupt at the base of your spine, spreading outward as your mouth trembles.

“In a way,” you answer belatedly.

Shock covers her features.

“We should tell Commander Crane…”

You scowl. “We can’t.”

Not only does the ruthless Commander of District 8 harbors little to no sympathy for anyone’s plight, he may be more concerned about your thievery charges than any misdeed carried out by one of his Peacekeepers.

Such are things in District 8. Unjust and bereft of any morsel of hope.

“But we have to do something, report him,” she insists.

Irritation nips at you. You wish she’d drop it. It’s not like anyone will come to your rescue. You’re not some damsel in distress, a precious lady from the Capitol in trouble.

You’re no one. Some might even say district garbage.

“Yara, he’s some rich kid from the Capitol, and I’m…we’re just…” The words shrivel on your tongue, hopelessness cresting within you. “It’s best to leave it alone, trust me.”

“But…”

“It'll only get worse if I fight him,” you snap.

A puzzled expression appears on your friend’s face. “Worse in what way?”

In what way indeed? You’ve no idea how far Coriolanus Snow is willing to go to torment and toy with you. There’s a glint of madness in his blue eyes which haunts your nightmares.

You go quiet.

You pick up the drenched blouse from the bucket of water, wringing it until your hands start to hurt.

Yara’s soft voice rises, encouragement laced in her tone.

“Hey, I’m sure he’ll get bored at some point, move on,” she says. “I mean he has to, right?”

She smiles at you and you return it.

“Right.”

But deep inside, you’re not so sure, dire thoughts of pretty boys with devilish smiles swaying in your mind.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games

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neverevan · 22 days

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I was having thoughts about groomzilla Buck planning the bucktommy wedding and this happened...

“Oh, and did you know that Lucy is now bringing her girlfriend? So I have to change the entire sitting arrangement?” Buck waved his arms around in frustration, taking a deep breath to replace the one he just used for a rant that may or may not have lasted for an uninterrupted minute and a half.

“Could we just pull up a chair at the same table?” Tommy asked naively as he walked out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but the pair of sweats he liked to sleep in and one of Buck’s old, stretched out t-shirts.

“Could w—” Buck gaped at him in disbelief. “Baby, do you understand h-how tight we are with the guest list already? This- this means a whole another meal added to the menu and a new name card a-and I don’t even know if they are coming together. What if she needs a parking space? Do we even have enough space? God, Tommy, we didn’t even ask the venue about parking, I-I gotta call them and—”

“Bello, you gotta relax.” Tommy put his hands onto Buck’s forearms to stop him from flailing. “It’s almost midnight, the venue is closed and you have a shift in the morning. We can worry about the guest list tomorrow.”

Tommy’s voice was like thick honey, soothing Buck’s sore nerves, but still…

“I just want things to be perfect.” He said a little sheepishly, knowing full well how childish it sounded.

“A perfect wedding? I’m not sure that’s a thing.” Tommy gave him one of those wide, closed lipped grins he loved so much and Buck couldn’t help but drop his shoulders as finally, the tension slowly started to seep out of them.

“Okay, m-maybe not perfect, just not li—”

“Not like Chimney’s?” Tommy huffed jovially with a meaningful arch of his eyebrows that told Buck he was having similar thoughts on the matter.

They all went through some truly wild things last year, but his sister’s wedding sure surpassed a lot of them — not the capsized cruise ship though, that definitely defended its title on the top of that list, possibly for years to come. (God, Buck hoped so anyway.)

“Yeah,” he sighed quietly in response, “n-not like that. One hospital wedding was enough.”

“Okay, how about this? I talk to the caterers and the venue tomorrow, while you’re at work. And if I do end up in the hospital on our wedding day, I promise to wait until I’m out to put that ring on your finger.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” Buck swatted at Tommy’s elbow playfully, still unable to help a small huff of a chuckle bubbling past his lips. “B-but uh, okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Buck tipped his forehead against Tommy’s and closed his eyes in contentment, letting the lingering scent of their shared body wash and toothpaste wash over him. “Can you believe it?”

“Hm?”

“We’re getting married in a week.” He whispered it into the small space between them like it was his most cherished secret, only to be shared with someone special. And even though it was most certainly not an actual secret, if anyone was special enough to hear these words, it had to be Tommy.

“Mm.” He ran his hands down Buck’s arms, until he could lace their fingers together, squeezing them lightly. “One week and we’ll be pronounced husband and husband.”

“Husband, huh? I- uh, I like the sound of that.” Buck smiled, tilting his head to the side just enough to press his lips to Tommy’s; lightly at first but soon enough, starting to prod to get him to open up and allow Buck’s tongue into his mouth, gently tugging him towards the bed all the while — it was pretty late, after all.

Maybe things will end up a little messy, or, well… knowing their luck; a lot messy. But Buck decided it didn’t really matter. As long as he got to have this; as long as he got to have Tommy by his side, nothing else could possibly be more important.

#yes i decided that tommy calls buck 'bello'#also i should be working on my actual bucktommy fic but it's already at 7k and the smut is just getting started and it's an unedited beast #so until then here have this tiny little nothing ✨#bucktommy #911 #911 abc #ficlet #my fic #my stuff

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shogunish · 1 year

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𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗺𝗲.

pairing. gojo satoru x f! reader

genre. smut, pwp, friends to lovers

warnings. explicit sexual content, hair-pulling, raw sex, female masturbation, handjob, fingering, mating press, lots of cum, squirting, loss of virginity, uneditet

words. 5k

summary. Gojo Satoru has absolutely no business knowing that you're still a virgin. It will only result in your demise: never-ending comments about your lack of experience until you have no choice to smack him over the head upside-down.

note. special thanks to @cinnamonmon for indulging my fantasies and pouring gasoline into the fire ✨

comments and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

Discussing Shoko's and Gojo's sex life is most certainly not how you expected your day to go.

Gathered at a table on a terrace, surrounded by lovely flowers blooming and the serenity of the Jujutsu Campus, you unhurriedly sip your soda. Depending on who is talking, wide, curious eyes jump from Shoko to Gojo and vice versa.

While you are happy to be spending time with your friends, you can't contribute anything to the conversation.

Apparently Gojo's awkward sex moment was when he was drunk and rubbed a girl's thigh for 10 minutes straight, firmly believing he had found her clit. Laughter bursts from Shoko's lips and you swear her coffee almost came out of her nose.

"No way! That sounds like something you'd do sober, too," she teases once her giggles die down.

Satoru pouts as though he is seriously wounded by his friend's words that stung like needles. "So that's how you think of me? I assure you this was a one-time fuzz up!" He smacks one hand to his chest where his heart is and raises his other hand much like he's vowing to never fuck up so majorly again.

Admittedly, this is one of those stories that have even you grinning into your glass. But the conversation quickly moves on; Shoko talking about the guy who took her virginity, Gojo confessing his favorite position (a string of words you had never heard of) and the several reasons why he liked said position so much.

It is a stretch of time ㅡ or maybe only 5 minutes ㅡ until Satoru puts the spotlight on you.

"You've been awfully quiet, [Name]. Cat got your tongue?" His voice has a teasing lilt to it and a smart comment lies on the tip of your tongue, but Shoko decides to answer in your stead.

She twirls a strand of hair between her delicate fingers. "[Name] can't add to the conversation because she's still a virgin," Shoko deadpan with not even a hint of a teasing tone laced in her voice.

"Shoko!" You look at her, betrayal and embarrassment written all over your face. A jumble of words, or rather letters, spill from your mouth like water from an overflowing sink, trying to save the situation. You flail your hands through the air, making all sorts of wild gestures and attracting quite a few curious looks from sorcerers and students alike.

Gojo Satoru has absolutely no business knowing that you're still a virgin. It will only result in your demise: never-ending comments about your lack of experience until you have no choice to smack him over the head upside-down. If annoying people was a sport, Satoru would definitely win the Olympics with flying colors.

"Are you for real?" Despite the blindfold hiding his eyes, you can tell that he's genuinely surprised. "And here I thought you'd have several men at your feet by now." Ah, there it is. His trademark grin which you can recognize from miles away.

Satoru would never say it out loud, but he thinks you're really pretty. You're blessed with humor, intelligence, strength in battle that even he recognizes and a smile that melts hearts on the spot. All these attributes that he silently adored about you are obvious as day to him. To think that no other man sees it proves that he sees more through his blindfold than some other folks do with a pair of lame glasses.

Yet, Gojo thinks that it's better this way. At least, he doesn't have to worry about someone else sweeping you off your feet.

Shoko rests her cheek on her fist, a warm breeze blows through her chocolate hair. "Right? [Name] most certainly is pretty, but she prefers to stay at home on her days off and play video games. The only thing she pulls is the blanket over her head. It's a shame," she muses.

Has Shoko just..roasted you? You're flabbergasted.

"I'm still here and can hear you, you know!" Heat sits high on your cheeks, threatening to melt you from within, but you have to get a point across. Embarrassed, you gaze to the side; the sliding door to your right is suddenly much more interesting than your oh-so-beloved friends. "There's no shame in not having had an..well..you know..yet," you grumble.

Satoru snaps his fingers. "You mean an orgasm."

Oh, you've just dug your own grave, haven't you? You wish for the ground to swallow you whole and never spit you back to the surface again if it means escaping this ridiculous situation for good. If you could, you would just drop your forehead onto the table and groan in agony.

You will never hear the end of it.

"So not even an orgasm by yourself?" Satoru digs and stuffs a chip or two into his mouth; they're your favorite flavor and usually you would steal 70% of the bag's content, but you have a reputation to defend right now.

A reputation that's crumbling, because lying to Gojo is impossible.

Defeated, you meet his gaze and sigh. "No. But it's no big deal, anyways. I don't have time for any of these things."

"No time, huh..," Satoru echoes your words quietly and slouches back into his seat. It's almost suspicious how easily the 1,90m tall bother on legs drops the subject, but maybe it's because he knows you're lying through your teeth.

The clock strikes 10 in the evening when you're in bed, the lights in your bedroom dimmed and dipping the room in sweet orange hues. Your shirt is pulled over your chest, tits exposed to the air and nipples hardening at the change in temperature. Nimble fingers slide from the valley of your breasts down to your stomach and linger just above your panties.

How stupid, you think. Who couldn't make themselves cum?

Perhaps, the earlier conversation you had with Shoko and Satoru still weighs heavily on your mind and perhaps you have a point to prove that you aren't as clueless as everyone (including yourself) believes.

"Hmph, this is ridiculous," you huff, push your panties to the side and slide your finger through your folds. They're already wet and sensitive, probably glistening in the dim lights. A content sigh escapes your lips.

But when you slide a finger into your pussy and can't reach that oh-so-sweet spot everyone keeps talking about, you groan in frustration. Thrusting your finger into your cunt does nothing but spread the slick and no matter how much you rub at your pussy, it doesn't feel quite right.

Frustrated moans and groans grow in volume. At some points, colorful curses leave your mouth and you give up on pleasuring yourself.

"Fucking hell, this is stupid!," you yell and continue your little rant until a knock on your door interrupts you, ripping you out of your headspace. Once your clothes are back in place and you look acceptable enough to be seen by people, you trot to the door with bare feet. "Coming!"

When you open the door, you certainly don't expect Gojo to be on the other side, a concerned look on his face which isn't obstructed by a blindfold or sunglasses for once. "Are you alright? It sounded like you got injured."

"Injured..? I'm not.." Confused, you look up at the taller man until it clicks and heat explodes on your face. Oh dear lord, no. He must've heard you trying to touch yourself and mistook your pathetic attempt at pleasing yourself for having hurt yourself on accident. "Oh..Oh fuck.."

You drop your forehead against the wooden door frame, not daring to meet Gojo's eyes. The fact that they're not covered makes the entire situation even worse, somehow. "It's not that, I was..just busy."

Gojo cups his chin in thought, mulling over your words and you can visibly see the gears in his head turning. Unfortunately for you, Satoru is smarter than he acts. A smirk graces his lips as he laughs. "So that's it? Oh man. You really suck at touching yourself, you know?"

"What the hell do you know about my body?!" You cross your arms over your chest and turn your head to the side, not sparing your dearest friend another glance. Having this conversation with him in the hallway is embarrassing enough already. "It's not as easy as it sounds! And keep your voice down!"

"You're the one making a fuss right now," Satoru states and pops into your personal bubble, scrutinizing your face from your eyes swimming in embarrassment down to your trembling bottom lip. "Seeing you all pent-up like this almost makes me want to teach you."

The idea popping into your head is the dumbest thing you have ever thought of, but what other choice do you have? At least once, you want to taste the ecstasy everyone keeps talking about and there's no one you trust as much as Satoru, even though he could be annoying.

"Could you?"

"Could I what?"

"Teach me how to touch myself."

To your surprise, Satoru agrees and you invite him into your place. It's exactly this dumb request that lands you in your bedroom with Gojo Satoru sitting on your bed and asking you to strip down first. To his surprise, you're oddly compliant and do as you're told.

"Get comfortable and relax, [Name]. It's just us." Satoru's voice is calming as you lie nearly naked in front of him. Your entire face feels hot as you catch him eying your boobs, the curve of your waist and the cute panties that separate his gaze from your bare pussy.

"Touch your tits. Take your time and don't rush," Gojo says with a slight tilt of his head. "You're supposed to enjoy it."

You gulp down the lump in your throat, muttering a "fine" as your hands slide from your collarbone down to your breasts. Insecurity fills your veins, you hesitate and your eyes flicker up to Gojo who's comfortably watching you and assuring you with a nod of his head. You cup your tits, fondling and squeezing them lightly at first.

For a reason you couldn't quite place your finger on, your tummy is already feeling funny. Is it because Satoru's watching you or..?

"Good. Now go ahead and play with your nipples. No need to go all out just yet, be gentle at first." Eyes blue like the skies intently watch your fingers flick your nipples before rubbing them in slow circles. Gojo would be lying if he said that he isn't feeling himself getting hard merely because you're touching yourself in front of him. "That's it.."

After some time, you pinch and tug at your nipples until a whimper slips your lips and goosebumps are scattered all over your skin. It feels good, you notice. The previous hesitation goes up in smoke as you get comfortable with yourself, with Satoru watching you closely.

"Feels good, doesn't it?," he questions to which you nod your head yes. "It does," you whine.

Oh, you have absolutely no idea how sweet you sound, do you? Gojo has to adjust his sitting position or else you'd sooner or later see the boner in his sweatpants, asking for your attention and sweet release. He doubts his right hand will get the job done tonight.

"You know, it's not fair," you suddenly speak up, voice shaky and uncharacteristically insecure. "I'm nearly naked and you're fully clothed..," you trail off, cheeks burning.

Gojo chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Are you saying you want me to undress like you did?"

In the past, you've seen Gojo shirtless quite a few times and it never fazed you. But now that you are half naked in front of him, pussy wet and aching for some friction, you are painfully aware of the way he's built as he strips down to his underwear.

He's broad and buff in all the right places, the muscles in his arms bulging whenever he flexes his biceps. Not to mention his slim waist and the white happy trail disappearing into his boxers, leading to the erection between his legs.

"Go ahead and touch your pussy, rub on it. Get to know what feels good for you."

Following his words, you shimmy out of your panties and dip your hand between your legs where your folds glisten with your arousal. It's wetter than it was before, allowing you to slide right through the slit and making you sigh in pleasure. You spread your folds, circle your entrance with the tip of your finger and moan at the sensitivity.

Gojo watches your pussy flutter around nothing at the feather light touch and has to ignore the throbbing and twitching of his cock. If he could, he would jerk off while guiding you, but he can't do that. At least not yet.

"Now you rub your clit. Slowly," Satoru instructs. His icy blue eyes are glued to your nimble finger sliding through your slick folds, searching for the bud and glistening in the dim light of your room.

A frustrated huff slips your lips. "I can't find it.."

"Are you serious? It's right there."

"Where..?"

Gojo takes pity on your pathetic attempts of pleasing yourself. Grabbing your knees, he spreads your thighs apart, scoots closer to your heated body and presses his thumb right to your clit. "There."

Immediately, your back arches off the mattress as Gojo draws a high-pitched, pleased moan from your glossy lips. Thighs twitching, you buck your hips into his hand and whine. "Again," you demand through a haze of longing and desire.

Gojo has to take a breath through his nose to compose himself. How often had he dreamed of you asking for his touch underneath him, soaking his fingers and thighs spread apart so prettily? His right hand can't compare to the real thing.

"Are you sure?" He strokes the pad of his thumb over your clit and watches you tremble with mesmerized eyes. White strands of hair frame his face as he tilts his head to the side.

Frantically, you nod your head, but Gojo tuts at this. "Use your words, sweets," he commands and you give in to his every word.

"I-I'm sure," you stumble over your words and catch his gaze, holding it with heat on your face and a softened look resting upon your features. "Please, touch me, Toru.."

"That's a good girl," Satoru smiles to himself as he drags his finger down to your fluttering hole and circles the slick flesh. Slowly, he inserts two of his fingers into your cunt, curves them upwards and rubs that sweet spot within you. "This is the spot that you'd wanna rub when you finger yourself, but now that I look at your hands.." Gojo trails off and takes one of your hands into his own, smirking when you squeeze it. "You probably won't reach it on your own."

Moan after moan spills from you, hips buck into his hand for more, more, more. You throw your head back into your pillow and dig your nails into the sheets until your knuckles go white. Heat pools in your lower abdomen and slides up your spine until it spreads to the very tips of your fingers. "A-ah, Toru! Right there," you whine. "Don't stop.. Feels s'good."

Satoru chuckles. "You're so sensitive, it's cute. I'm so lucky to be the first to see you all wet and needy, ain't I?"

Each squelch of his fingers is followed by a moan or whine, sounds that Gojo could listen to all day if you'd let him. Your slick trickles down to his wrist, stains your inner thighs and leaves a damp spot on your once clean sheets. The heel of Gojo's palm rubs your clit with each precise movement of his hand, leaving you no choice but to squeeze your thighs shut.

"Aw, is it too much for you?," Satoru coos in faux sympathy and uses his free hand to grab your face, making you look up at him through half-lidded eyes with your lips all puckered. "Fuck, aren't you a pretty little thing for me," he groans.

You want to answer, but all that comes out is a string of letters that sound an awful lot like his name, all fucked out and gone.

Gojo forces your thighs open again, watching his fingers disappear into your cunt over and over again until he's pounding them into you, juices dripping down to your ass. Your gummy walls tighten around his digits until Satoru is sure you're about to suck him in.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of your fluttering hole.

"Why'd you stop?," you whine in pathetic tones as the sweet tension leaves your muscles and the knot of warmth disappears from in-between your legs.

Satoru caresses your thighs; from your knee up to your inner thigh and across your stomach until his hands caress the underside of your tits, his thumbs flicking your hardened nipples. Just like that, he draws a whimper from you. "If you're gonna cum, it's gotta be on my cock."

It takes a moment for your brain to process his words, but when they do, your gaze travels from Gojo's stupidly handsome face down his abs and stops at the twitching bulge between his legs. A damp spot of pre-cum rests on the top of his erection, making you lick your lips.

"Your cock, huh..," you echo his words like you're drunk on him, his touch, like you're drunk on love. Absent-mindedly, you sit up and place your hands on Gojo's broad shoulders. You had never realized just how well-built and firm he really is and it makes you gulp.

Slowly tracing your hands down his body, you slide his boxers down his legs and toss them into some corner of your room. Gojo's cock springs free, smacks against his abdomen once and stands at attention. Pre-cum pools from the tip and a delicious vein travels from the base all the way to the red, swollen head.

"Teach me how to touch you," you whisper.

Gojo has a hard time controlling himself when you say these things in that voice of yours and give him those doe eyes. But he also has a hard time saying no to you. "Wrap your hand around the length like this.." Grabbing your hand, he makes you wrap your palm around his cock; a shiver goes down his spine as your fingers nearly don't fit around the girth. He's hot and heavy in your hand.

"Then you wanna rub it and twist your hand a little," Gojo instructs and guides your hand up and down his cock just like he said. His head falls back into the nape of his neck and a groan vibrates deep in his chest. "Rub the tip with your thumb. The slit is fine, too."

And you do just as you're told. Carefully, you rub the swollen tip with your thumb all while gliding your palm along his cock. Sticky pre-cum pools from the slit and when your thumb catches some of it, making the slide so much warmer and wetter, a loud groan escapes Gojo's lips. He wants to thrust into your palm so badly, but just before he could..

You're apologizing and pulling your hand away, shock and guilt written all over your face. "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? I didn't mean toㅡ"

"Hell no." Satoru is quick to wrap your palm around his cock once more and tighten your grip to thrust into your fist. "You feel fucking good. Keep going, sweets."

When his hand releases yours, you nod at him and drag your fist down to the base of his cock and slide it right back up where your palm squeezes the tip. His pre-cum now sticks to your palm, each rub sounding wetter than the one before.

Groans and moans spill from Gojo's mouth. He no longer feels the need to thrust into your hand; not when he rests his forehead on yours, his hot breath fanning your cheeks and basking in the feeling of your hand wrapped around him. Large, calloused hands glide from your shoulders to your arms and cup your tits. Satoru fondles them, squeezing and groping you to his heart's content.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters. His curious hands are now cupping your cheeks, skilled fingers move away some stray strands of your hair before his thumb catches your bottom lip. "Can I ㅡ ah, shit ㅡ kiss you?"

Your grip around his cock tightens, making him hiss. You smile at him like you're in love. "Yes, please. Kiss me, Satoru."

Gojo crashes his lips into yours, one hand keeping you in place by the back of your neck while the other one grabs your ass, pulling you closer to him. You moan at his touch, at the way he bites your bottom lip and sneaks his tongue into your mouth to dance with your own.

Satoru groans into your mouth when your fingers graze his balls, squeezing and fondling the flesh lovingly. He wraps his tongue around yours, sucking on the slippery muscle until a combination of his saliva mixed with yours trickles from the corner of your mouth. Delicate fingers get caught in Satoru's hair, pulling and tugging at the roots and always asking for more.

Gojo pulls you impossibly closer until you're on his lap, your pussy kissing the length of his cock and slicking it up. He can't take it anymore.

Breaking the kiss, a string of saliva connects his lips to yours and you find yourself pushed into the mattress.

"I need to be inside you. Now." Gojo towers over you, easily covering your frame with his buffer one. His eyes, once as bright as the clear skies, are now as dark as the depths of the ocean. Drops of pre-cum land underneath your belly button, pooling there and warming the skin. "Will you let me fuck this pretty pussy? I promise I'll be gentle."

Briefly, your eyes flicker down to his cock and you wonder how he's supposed to fit inside you when you had been clenching around his fingers already. But your need to feel Gojo inside you is greater than the questions floating throughout your mind. "Please. Fuck me, Toru."

Something akin to boyish delight lights up the blue of Satoru's eyes. Grabbing his cock, he makes sure to slide through your glossy folds and groans at the warmth you gift him. When the head catches your clit and Satoru smacks it with the tip, he smirks at the way you arch off the mattress.

"Ugh, stop teasing and fuck me already!"

"Who knew you were so bossy in bed?," Gojo teases and the next smart comment lies on the tip of your tongue, but it's wiped clean when Gojo presses his cock into your sloppy hole.

You dig your nails into his bicep, whimpering at the burning stretch but it feels too good to complain about it. Your pussy sucks him right in until he's nestled within your gummy walls, tip pressing into all the right spots and twitching within you.

"Fuck, you're so tight and wet..," Satoru groans, wraps one of your legs around his waist and drapes the other one over his shoulder. He sinks a bit deeper into you until his balls are pressed to your ass. "It's so much better than I imagined."

Drawing his hips back, Gojo thrusts into your pussy with a groan and sets a pace that makes you wrap your arms around him, digging your nails into his back. His weight pushes you into the mattress, each stroke of his cock making you moan louder than before.

"You're feeling good, huh?" Satoru smirks above you and grabs your hips to hold you in place, picking up the pace. Skin smacks against skin, your pussy squelches and leaves a white ring of cream around his cock. "Gonna turn you into a pretty mess once I'm done with you."

All you can do is take whatever Gojo gives you. The leg draped over his shoulder dangles in the air, your tits bounce in tune with his thrusts. "Fuck, gimme more, 'toru.. Need all of you..," you babble.

"More? You're a greedy thing, aren't you?" But Satoru fulfills your wish regardless. Sneaking a hand between your bodies, his fingers are quick to find your puffy clit, rubbing figure eights into the nub. Tears spring to your eyes, brimming your waterline and blurring your sight.

"Toru! Ah, fuck! Hah..shit, yes!" You chant his name like a prayer, throw your head back into the soft pillows and drag your nails down his back. You'd certainly leave some scratches, but Gojo doesn't mind. Not when it makes his cock twitch within your sloppy walls, leaking of pre-cum.

"There, yes, there! Just like that." Hot tears roll down your cheeks and into the clavicle of your collarbone as Gojo hits that sweet spot which makes you see stars over and over again.

"Right there, huh?" Sweat trickles down Satoru's temple, a few strands of snow white hair sticking to his forehead as he pounds you into the mattress. He grips the back of your thighs, folding your legs up to your chest and putting his full weight on top of you.

You cry his name, grasping at anything that was Gojo; his back, his flexing bicep, his tousled hair. Anything that you could reach as he abuses your poor cunt. "That's it. Take my cock just like this and I'll make sure to fill you up," he praises all while digging his blunt fingernails into the flesh of your thighs. He'd definitely leave his mark on you.

Mewling at Satoru's promise, your hole flutters around his cock and sucks him right in before it clenches down on him.

"T-Toru," you stutter as he drills his cock into you, a sob rocking your shoulders. "H-How do I know I'm about to ㅡ fuck ㅡ cum..?"

And when Gojo pinches your clit, his cock pressing into your sweet spot and your eyes rolling into the back of your skull, your orgasm comes crashing down on you in waves.

A loud scream of Satoru's name is ripped from your throat and your back beautifully arches off the mattress. Clawing at his back, several sobs spill from your chest and it's so fucking wet. Your pussy is gushing all over his cock, wetting not only his lap but your stomach and sheets as well.

Satoru rubs your clit in hard circles, letting you ride out the waves of your high. "That's fucking nasty, baby. When I said I wanted you to wet my cock, I didn't think you'd squirt," he laughs and pounds into your spent cunt until you're moaning again, begging him to stop.

"Too much..Toru, 's too much!" Your squirm underneath Gojo but all he does is hold you still as he presses his hips flush to your own. He buries his face in your neck, holding you so close that your tits get pushed up against his chest.

"Shh, let me fill your pussy, pretty girl," he shushes you and with one final thrust, thick ropes of cum fill up your insides until it leaks out from where his cock plugs you. Gojo groans right into your ear, grinding his sticky cum deep into your cunt before he slowly pulls out.

His tongue sticks out to sweep over his bottom lip as he admires the creamy mess he's made of you; covered in not only his but your cum alike, lips swollen from his kisses and the several prints of his fingers on your skin. Satoru smiles at his handiwork.

"I don't think you've ever looked prettier," Gojo swoons, a soft look in his eyes.

"Ugh..," you groan, feeling full of his cum that seeps out of your cunt. "Shut up, Satoru.."

Contrary to popular belief, Gojo Satoru has the decency to take care of you after he has folded you in half and drained every last bit of energy from your body. He is gentle when he cleans you up with a warm washing cloth, but still an asshat about it when he says "Whoops, there's more coming out. You should really focus on keeping my cum in, love."

You want to slap the grin off his face, but lack the strength to do so.

So instead, you let him dress you into a fresh pair of panties and a hoodie that was several sizes too large. Gojo is dressed in casual sweatpants and a loose shirt. The bed is made and a couple of snacks are now in front of you and Satoru, the heat of the moment gone just like the Earth-shattering high he gifted you.

"Satoru..What does this make us?," you cautiously ask with a mouth full of a couple of gummy bears. There is nothing else that you cherish as much as his friendship and trust in you, but sex destroys every friendship, right? Fuck, you shouldn't have gotten carried away.

"Hmm..," Gojo hums an leans back, supporting his weight with his hands behind him on the soft mattress. A pair of pitch black shades now rests on the bridge of his nose, yet you can clearly see the playful glint in his annoying, beautiful eyes. "I guess I gotta think of a way to introduce you as my girlfriend now."

Your head whips towards Satoru, owlishly staring at him. "Eh? Are you serious?"

"I, Gojo Satoru, would never lie about this!" He raises his hands like he's surrendering, like he's about to whip out a white flag and it makes you chuckle. "So, what do you say?"

With your knees tucked underneath your hoodie and pulled to your chest, you let a pout grace your lips. "I guess I would love that.."

"It's official then!," Gojo exclaims, tosses his arm around your shoulder and pulls you flush to his side. Playfulness quickly turns into tenderness as he presses a soft kiss to your hairline.

"You're mine now."

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader smut

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tomshivbaby · 2 months

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hi i hope this doesn't make your dashboard explode.. these were the final proyect for a class. more under the cut :]

hooooooo okay here are the jpg version of the pieces cos i knew making them gifs was gonna butcher the quality but i stil lovingly rendered them

and here's the third one, the not animated version. i do like it but it's a lot IT'S A LOT

and here are some of the gifs on their own. i already posted the flail but it's cool so here it is again

couldn't have done it without flipnote studio everyone say thank you flipnote studio

the assignment was completely free as long as it was like. digital. or involved any technology really. so i just went wild cos it's kind of the only class i'm able to do what i really like which is. idk silly digital illustrations.. so. yeaough

#now comes the insurmontable task of tagging your original work #illustration #digital art #flipnote studio #electric guitar #character illustration #IDKKKKKKKK #original character #original art #character design #> mine #doodles/drawings #tatin.og #flashing lights #pulsing lights #eye strain #gif

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 11: I Know This Hurts, It Was Meant To]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), lots and lots of death and destruction, literally nothing good happens in this chapter don't even read it, a Wolfman sighting, a wild Alys-Whent theory appears, more witchcraft! 🔮

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Only 2 chapters left! 🥰💜

“Why isn’t Aemond back yet?”

You’re standing in the Dragonstone rookery with your arms crossed, brow furrowed, ravens pacing through straw and flapping their dark captive wings inside the cages. Through the window, you are watching the waves break against rocks where the Narrow Sea meets the shoreline. Outside it is overcast, misty, grey, cold. When you stepped into the gardens this morning—while Aegon was still sleeping, something he does with ever-increasing frequency, though you aren’t sure if it is more of a physical necessity or mental escape—frost crunched beneath your boots. Lord Larys Strong has shuffled into the room, his cane tapping on the stone floor; that is why you have spoken.

“Perhaps my sister was wrong about Daemon being at the Gods Eye,” he offers demurely. He is trying to be helpful; he is trying to comfort you. But you remember how vividly Alys showed you Everett being murdered by a mob in King’s Landing. You remember his screams, his flailing arms, men ripping the rings off his fingers and women stabbing the blades of their rusty kitchen knives into his eyes. Alys has never met Everett; she could not possibly have known what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, without gifts beyond what you once believed to be possible. Her sight is true and terrible.

“No,” you reply softly, still gazing at the iron-grey ocean. Any minute I’ll hear Vhagar flying over again. I’ll see her vast, reptilian shadow and know that Aemond has won and the war is all but over.

“Perhaps Aemond felt compelled to go south immediately after defeating Daemon and Caraxes. Perhaps he’s with Prince Daeron now, and they’re burning Northmen in the Reach. Perhaps he wants to return with Cregan Stark’s severed head.”

There’s no logical reason why this can’t be the case; but in place of relief, what you feel instead is a heaviness like stones being piled up, like ships filling with seawater. You turn to Larys. “If the king asks about Aemond, I want you to reassure him the same way you’re speaking to me right now.”

He bows his head. “Of course.”

“But I want you to do it more convincingly.”

Larys startles a bit, then regains his composure. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Is Aegon awake yet?”

“He was just getting out of bed when I checked on him.”

And that’s what you’re always doing now, you and Larys and the maesters and the guards: always looking in on Aegon, always making sure he’s not in too much pain, reminding him to eat, distracting him, soothing him, lifting his spirits. “Good. Have the cooks make something that will give him strength.”

“Not crab?”

“No. Something heavier. Beef, venison.” You recall the feast in King’s Landing to celebrate Rhaenyra’s taking of the city, slabs of rare meat glistening with blooddrops like rubies. Red like war, red like the banner of the house you were born to. “Boar, if the kitchens have any.”

In his bedchamber, the king is gazing out of his own window, but slumped in a velvet-cushioned chair instead of standing. He’s sipping a cup of red wine languidly, glazed eyes and slow blinks. There’s a dagger on the table beside him, the one he uses to cut his hair when it starts to grow too long. There are locks of white-blond hair scattered around him on the floor like a thin dusting of snow. Outside, grey clouds churn and waves shatter when they meet jagged boulders and cliffsides, the earth’s own bones.

Aegon glances over at you and says thoughtfully: “Where’s Aemond?”

“He’ll be back soon. I know he will.” He has to be. We can’t win without him. You go to Aegon and kneel down on the floor beside his chair. You lay a palm on his thigh, light as a feather, like you’re just a ghost or a memory. He places a hand over yours. Seconds tick by, late-autumn wind rattles the glass of the window.

“Aemond used to talk about us not being real Targaryens,” Aegon tells you. His voice is faint and dreamy. His eyes are still cast outside—miles away, years away—where he is willing Vhagar’s monstrous shadow to appear. “When we were very young. The Hightowers don’t have any Valyrian blood, they’ve been here in Westeros forever, since men lived in caves and worshiped…” He gestures flippantly with his wine cup, rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t care, sticks or rocks or whatever. That bothered Aemond. He felt that made us less than Rhaenyra and Daemon. Our father rejected us, he ignored us, he broke every precedent to keep us from the throne. Being a Targaryen…it didn’t matter to me.” He smirks wryly and looks down at the flurry of silver hair around his chair. “I didn’t want it anyway. Sunfyre was the only part of my inheritance I didn’t think was a curse. But Aemond needed that legacy. He always wanted to be a hero. He was willing to put in the work, he had the discipline, he had the skill. It meant so much to him, and I…” Aegon shakes his head, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have said those things before he left.”

“He didn’t think you meant it. He knew you were speaking out of pain and frustration.”

“I have to be able to apologize to him.”

“You’ll get the chance. He’ll be back soon.”

And Aegon’s eyes—huge and shimmering and a tumultuous blue like the ocean—drift to yours. The words are there, though you don’t hear them aloud: Will he really?

You have to divert him. You have to make him smile. “And don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll bring your favorite swamp witch with him.”

Aegon laughs; crinkles spring up around his eyes, pink rushes into his pale cheeks. “Oh, seven hells. He better not expect us to host her here while he flies south to roast the Stark men.”

“You don’t enjoy her company?” you tease.

“I’d throw crab shells at her. I’d make her sleep in a tree.” He sighs. “Borros Baratheon is going to be furious.”

“I suppose we don’t always get much of a choice in who we fall in love with.”

“No,” Aegon agrees. “We certainly don’t.” He sets his wine cup on the table, leans down to cradle your face with both hands, draws you in close to him and kisses you, deep and tender and slow. He tastes like wine, and weakness, and heat that he is fighting desperately to keep kindling. Everything he does now is full of effort, even just speaking, even just love. He moves like his arms weigh a thousand pounds, like his jaw is iron and his spine is lead. But he lifts it all for you, for you.

Your palm skates to the apex of his thighs. He is hard, he is hungry for you; but he breaks the kiss and covers his face with both hands, moaning. “Aegon?” You thread your fingers through his choppy hair, tuck his braid behind his ear, bring your lips to his forehead. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He chokes out: “I’m so fucking pathetic.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I’m just this scarred, crippled, useless man. And everyone I touch is ruined by me. I can’t let anything bad happen to you. I don’t understand how you could still want me.”

“I do want you,” you swear, taking his hands from his face: the tears glistening there, the rough red burn on his right cheek. “You and no one else.”

Aegon stares at you with his wet, wounded eyes. “You can’t just give in because you think it’s something you owe me. We can’t allow this to become something that’s poisoned.”

Poison. You think of the tea you brewed Baela, of the milk of the poppy in the glass bottle on Aegon’s bedside table across the room. You think of the night you surrendered to Aemond for nothing, no gain, no strategy, no heir, just treason that grows heavy and unmistakable within you like a child would. “It’s not poison with you, Aegon. It’s the only time I feel pure.”

Aegon staggers to his feet and kisses you again as the wind howls outside. His tongue darts between your lips; his arms circle around your waist to help him keep his balance. He follows you to the bed, a moon chasing its planet, and helps you shed your gown of emerald green velvet, just one of your many skins. He’s lying beside you, he’s touching you everywhere, he’s nipping ravenously at your throat, your breasts, down to your belly, your hips. He’s parting your thighs like pages in a book. He’s dragging his tongue through your drenched folds. And then it flashes in your skull like lightning: memories of Aemond, of betrayal, shame and nausea and scalding blood rushing into your face.

“Come back,” you murmur, and Aegon obeys. But then he does something strange. He heaves himself up with great effort, repositions himself behind you, kisses the bumps of vertebrae down the back of your neck as the scars that riddle his chest scratch against your shoulder blades. When you try to roll towards him again, Aegon stops you.

“No,” he pleads in a whisper, hushed and desperate through your hair. “Don’t turn around. Don’t look at me.”

And before you can protest, his fingertips have skimmed over your hip to stroke you where you are warm and slick and aching, and you are gasping helplessly, begging for more, and his cock slips into you with slow, powerful thrusts that he battles not to break the rhythm of until you’ve come. But in the midst of the pleasure, you are aware that just like the moon in its withering phases, Aegon is somehow less, and so are you, and so is everyone, and so is the world itself.

When it’s over, Aegon doesn’t hold you like he usually does. He doesn’t sink into sleep like deep water. He rolls over, fumbles for his bedside table, pours himself a cup of milk of the poppy with shaking hands.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit on the bottom steps of the stone staircase, your bare feet in cool wet sand. Your gown is scarlet velvet, a bear fur cloak clutched around your shoulders. You are reading a book from the castle library about the medicinal uses of berries. Across the beach, Aegon is trying to coax Sunfyre into eating a goat that the guards have brought for him. The dragon is sluggish and flightless, and his own blood stains his muzzle; but he peers at Aegon with pained golden eyes like he wants so desperately to please him. And for the first time, you are at last able to see dragons as something more than animate destruction. You see intelligence in them; you see what might even be love.

There are distinct footsteps approaching as Larys descends the staircase, his cane tapping ever-closer. News of Aemond? News of his victory? You twist around to greet the Master of Whisperers. “Do you bring something to lift our spirts, Lord Larys…?”

But no; his face is grim, and he’s holding a bundle of fabric under one arm. He lowers himself down onto the step where you are perched, sets his cane aside, and grasps the bundle with both hands. He stalls for a moment before he speaks. He is in shock, he is terrified. “I’m afraid, Your Grace, that I must inflict great heartache upon the king.” His eyes flick to you. “Perhaps you could help me. I don’t even know how to begin.”

Your veins feel icy; your pulse is thundering in your ears. Aemond? Vhagar? “What’s happened? Is it…about the Gods Eye…?”

“No.” Larys gives you the fabric, folded into a neat square. You pull it apart to examine it.

“What is this…?” But then you know. It is a cape. It is not a regal emerald color, nor a deep envious viridescence; it is a vibrant seafoam green, bright and bold and showy. The clasp is still attached, a gold that glints like the dragon ring on Aegon’s left hand. And the cape is riddled with dark maroon smudges and places where the fabric was singed away, leaving only a gash like the puncture mark of a fang. It smells like smoke and the coppery sickness of blood. Soot rubs off on your palms. “Daeron,” you breathe.

Larys nods gravely. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“How? How did you get this?”

“I have informants in the Reach. After the battle, one ensured that this made its way to me. It should be preserved. It should be given to his mother when we are reunited with her, I believe. Perhaps it will bring her some small consolation. It is the only relic of him she will have to bury.”

“Daeron,” you say again, and you can see him like he’s standing in front of you: daring, arrogant, brave, capable far beyond his years, cunning blue eyes, a shock of silver hair that he was so proud of. Alicent has lost two children. Can she survive this? Will she want to? “I don’t understand, what battle…?”

“Cregan Stark and his men met the Hightower army at Tumbleton,” Larys explains. “Addam Velaryon returned on Seasmoke to join the Blacks and prove his enduring loyalty to Rhaenyra. Perhaps the bastard was genuine, perhaps he only wanted to convince Rhaenyra to free poor Corlys from the Red Keep’s dungeons. It doesn’t matter which now. The boy is dead.”

“Dead,” you repeat. Addam Velaryon may have been a boy, but he fought for Rhaenyra. He fought for Cregan Stark. And you say before you can stop yourself: “Good.”

“Daeron on Tessarion, Hugh Hammer on Vermithor, and the Velaryon bastard on Seasmoke tangled in the sky above the battle. Vermithor was killed by a scorpion bolt fired by the Northmen. Seasmoke was killed by Tessarion. Daeron fell from his dragon in the midst of the clash. Once the Blacks emerged victorious, Tessarion was found alive but mortally injured, and she was shot to death by Stark’s archers.”

“And Cregan Stark, he’s…he survived?”

“Yes. He is unharmed. But the Hightower army was devastated.”

“What about the other Betrayer? Ulf the White? Could he and Silverwing—?”

“Ulf slept through the battle. Drunk to the point of unconsciousness, I’ve heard. He was slain afterwards. The riderless Silverwing has vanished.”

No Tessarion. No Vermithor or Silverwing. Sunfyre is dying. The only Green dragon left is Vhagar. You can’t believe it. You won’t believe it. “But…but Aemond was supposed to fly south after the Gods Eye, he and Daeron were supposed to fight together, and if Vhagar was there this never would have happened—”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” Larys concurs somberly. “But evidently, Aemond has not yet left the Riverlands.”

You study the cape, this ash-and-blood tapestry of the youngest Targaryen brother’s demise, the fifteen-year-old boy who was so much like Aegon. Where is Aemond? Still waiting for Daemon and Caraxes? Holed up inside the crumbling towers of Harrenhal with Alys? Where the hell is he? We need him. We need him. We can’t win without him.

“Your Grace,” Larys says gingerly, like trying not to creak floorboards. “I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable.”

If the Greens lose, Aegon will be executed. You shake your head. “No.”

“I don’t say this to cause you distress. I do it to save your life if that time ever comes. The king would want you to survive, and so would Alicent.”

You hug the mangled cape to your chest, your throat full of embers and your eyes blurring with tears. “There’s nowhere else for me to go.”

“To Claw Isle?” Larys suggests. “The Blacks believe you to be innocent. Your family would take you back.”

“Clement is the head of my house now. He idolizes Cregan Stark, I think he loves him more than he ever loved me. If Cregan is still alive when the war is over, Clement will give me to him. How can I marry a man who fought against Aegon’s cause? Who murdered Greens?” Who is, at least in part, responsible for his death?

Larys scrambles for another solution. “I could try to send you somewhere far away. Dorne, Essos.”

“And then what?” you demand; and Larys cannot answer. You do it for him. “I’d be a woman alone in the world. I would be vulnerable and friendless. I have no idea how to fend for myself. Autumn knew it.” And you remember what she told you before she accompanied you to Dragonstone, a journey that feels like a lifetime ago: I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.

“You read, you write, you study medicine,” Larys says, rather frantic now. “Perhaps I could arrange to have you taken to the Citadel and you could train under the maesters there…I could try to contact some who are sympathetic to the Greens, and if they agree you should depart immediately—”

“I won’t leave Aegon.”

“Your Grace, if the Greens lose this war…I fear the king will not survive. He is already weak. He is already ailing. There is very little you can do for him now.”

“I won’t leave him,” you hiss fiercely. “As long as he breathes, I belong where he is.” He’s risked his life to save mine. He’s taught me the joy that can be found in marriage. I will never stop repaying that debt.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys concedes. Then you refold the cape and walk barefoot across the beach to meet Aegon.

Sunfyre has at last appeased the king by setting the goat ablaze with a sickly gasp of flames. Now he is gnawing listlessly at the corpse. His golden eyes catch on you and track your steps as you approach, dully curiosity but with no malice. Aegon takes his leave of the dragon with a gentle pat of his angular face, struggles to his feet, and joins you under the bleak grey sky. Once he could not step into the sunlight without it burning him; now the sun rarely shines at all. He knows there’s something wrong. He can read it on you like clandestine letters.

“Angel?” Then he sees the cape that you’re holding. “What is that, a banner? A blanket? My bitch half-sister’s funeral shroud, I hope.”

You give it to him. Aegon shakes the cape open, surveys it, then gasps, a sharp inhale like the whistle of a blade through the air. His knees buckle; the fabric flutters to the wet sand. You drop down beside Aegon and embrace him, shelter him, shield him. He grabs at you desperately, like a drowning man clawing for scraps of buoyant wreckage in the waves.

“It was quick,” you murmur as you hold him. “He fell from Tessarion. He didn’t suffer.” You don’t know that, you have no idea what Daeron’s final moments were like. “The battle happened at Tumbleton. The Northmen are in the Reach.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Aegon rasps. “I don’t want to be the king. I never wanted it. I want to go back to before everything happened. I want to give Rhaenyra the throne. She can have it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it. Can we go back to when my father died? I’ll let Rhaenyra have the Seven Kingdoms. I don’t care what Otto and Mother and Criston say. They wouldn’t fight for it either if they knew what would happen. All of us are dead or broken. It’s not worth it. Nothing could be worth it. I don’t want to be the king. I don’t need the Iron Throne. I need everyone I’ve lost back. And I need you.”

“I’m so sorry, Aegon.” Your fingers are snared in his windswept silver hair; your heartbeat is thudding against his. There’s salt on your cheeks: his tears, your tears, the spray of the ocean. “It’s not your fault. Rhaenyra had the chance to end the war. She was offered terms and she refused them over and over again. Daeron’s blood is on her hands. She will pay the debt.”

And a tiny voice inside you says: Hasn’t she already lost four children? Hasn’t she paid enough?

The answer is dark and resounding. No. Nothing will ever be enough. But her life is a start.

“Where was Aemond?” Aegon sobs. “Where the fuck was he? Daeron wasn’t supposed to face the Northmen without him. He was a kid…just a goddamn kid…”

“I don’t know.”

“Are Daemon and Caraxes still alive? Is Aemond at Harrenhal?”

“I don’t know, Aegon. We haven’t heard anything.”

“I should have been there.”

“You would have been if it was possible. But you’re not able to fight. Sunfyre isn’t either.”

“I’m useless,” he weeps bitterly. “I can’t win the war. I can’t save anyone.”

And you brush his hair back from his face and feel his forehead for fever as you say: “You saved me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s she like?” Lord Bolton asks as he and Cregan Stark warm their large, weathered hands by the fire, their breath foggy in the wind and the stars glimmering in a cold cloudless sky.

The Northmen are still clearing dead and wounded from the battlefield at Tumbleton. Split bones must be forced back into place, infected limbs amputated, gouges scrubbed and stitched, burns treated, corpses buried, soldiers who cannot continue evacuated back to Winterfell via the Kingsroad. All of this must be attended to; Cregan Stark is a man of honor, and honor demands that he care for those who have pledged their lives to him. When the task is done, the Northmen will begin their assault on King’s Landing. The riots must be put down, the rightful queen must be protected, the succession must be secured. And Cregan must find and claim the woman he has been promised and yet denied by the wickedness of the grotesque, amoral, soulless Usurper.

“She’s beautiful, of course,” Cregan says. He speaks in subterranean rumbles, dark and rolling like thunder, booms and quakes, always a little louder than he means to be. He takes up space; he bends the light and gulps down the air. He smiles wistfully, remembering. “But that’s not the important thing. She’s clever, she’s tough. She’s not afraid of gore. I’ve seen her help set a compound fracture that pierced straight through the skin. She had blood all over her hands.” He grins and holds up his own, stained with earth and ash and half-dried maroon that looks as black as ink in the firelight. “We are made for each other.”

Lord Bolton whistles admiringly, his breath like mist. “She is a rarity.”

“Like treasure, like gemstones.” Cregan lays his blade across his knees, a longsword taller than some men and with a hilt carved in the shape of a wolf’s head. He cleans it, he tends to it, it is a part of him as immutable as his spine or his heart. “But she is not prideful. She behaves like a true noblewoman. She is quiet and modest. She defers to her father, to her brother, to me. She obeys.”

“That is essential,” Lord Bolton notes. “Nothing breeds discontentment like a willful wife.”

“She will give me sons with Valyrian blood. She is fertile, surely. Her mother bore six children.” Cregan polishes his blade, his unruly dark hair blowing in the night wind. Now he is pensive. “Her maidenhood was entrusted to me. It was a great honor, a great responsibility. It was something only I ever should have had. It is not her error, but she is less now.”

“You are a good man to still take her, the way she is now. The very best of men.”

“I cannot seem to forget her,” Cregan muses, quiet in a way that is rare for him. “I dream of when I first met her at Winterfell, snow in her hair and pages of books rustling beneath her fingers.”

“What will you do when you capture the Usurper?” Lord Bolton asks; this is the part that most interests him. “Burn him? Gut him? My men have brought their flaying knifes with them from the Dreadfort. They are eager to use them.”

“No,” Cregan says firmly. “No flaying. It is against the laws of war.”

“What use are laws to animals like Alicent Hightower’s children?”

“They preserve us. They safeguard our own humanity, our own honor.” Cregan holds his longsword aloft and scrutinizes it, gazing at his own reflection in the glinting blade. “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

“So you will do it yourself,” Lord Bolton says with grudging awe. His own flaying knives are suddenly very heavy in his pockets; his fingers itch to use them.

Cregan Stark—the Warden of the North, the new Kingmaker—nods under the starlight. “Yes. I will end the Usurper. It can’t be anyone but me.” He sheaths his longsword, gliding it into its leather scabbard, thinking of his long-awaited wedding night with the woman whose purity was stolen from him like pieces of gold thieved from a vault. “And I will enjoy it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In bed, surrounded by candles that flicker when cold drafts blow in through the crevices of the castle, you read to Aegon from a book cataloging all the bones of the human body. He doesn’t care about the content, you know that; he just likes to hear your voice. As you read, Aegon—his arms linked around your waist, his chin resting in the dip of your clavicle—interjects with drowsy commentary. “I’ve broken that bone,” he says. “Oh yeah. That one too.” “Grandsire almost cracked my radius in half when I was ten and I replaced his beard cream with cake frosting. He put it on just before going to sleep and woke up assailed by stray cats.”

You chuckle, a lightness that lasts mere seconds. Now Lord Larys Strong has appeared in the doorway, the orange-gold glow like dusk on his face. He rests both hands on the handle of his cane like he often does, but his expression is one you have never seen before. He is not just mournful. He is paralyzed, he is shattered. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, blank. He swallows noisily. He opens his mouth, but no words escape. He closes it again.

“Don’t tell me that,” Aegon says, deathly quiet, winter still. He pulls away from you. You shut the book and place it on the bedside table beside his glass bottle of pearlescent milk of the poppy. Then you watch Larys.

The Master of Whisperers takes a deep, tremulous breath. “I have received word that both dragons disappeared into the skies above the Gods Eye, and then—”

“No,” Aegon whispers. “No, he’s coming back.”

“Your Grace…”

“No, he’s coming back!” the king roars. “He has to, he has to, you know we can’t win without him!”

Aemond? you think, terror-stricken.

“I have three separate reports. They all agree. Caraxes and Vhagar destroyed each other. They plummeted into the lake and sank, along with their riders.”

“No—”

“Both of their riders,” Larys says.

Aemond??

“The reports are wrong,” Aegon counters. “They have to be.”

You can picture Aemond: smirking, teasing, bitter, brilliant, thoughtful, visionary, blind. How can he be at the bottom of the Gods Eye, eternally chained to Vhagar’s saddle, fish nibbling at his fingers and lips and the gristle between his ribs? “Aegon,” you begin, reaching for his hands; but he flinches away from you.

“No, no, he’s coming back!”

Larys says gently: “Your Grace, I am so profoundly sorry for your loss.” But of course, it is every Green’s loss. Who is left to stand between them and Cregan Stark’s army of archers, cavalry, Boltons with their flaying knives? The Baratheon men? And does anyone truly believe they can defeat the Northmen, assuming they arrive to wage war at all?

“He’s coming back.” Aegon is hysterical. His murky blue eyes stream like riptides. “He has to. We need him, Larys, you know how much we need him. It’s a mistake. Aemond is okay, he’s coming back, he’s coming back, we can’t win without him!”

You try to take his hands again. “Aegon, it’s not over yet, we’ll—”

“Don’t touch me!” he cries, breaking down in breathless sobs. Then he covers his face, ashamed, broken. “Everyone I touch dies. I’m a curse, I’m a monster. I ruin people.”

Larys rushes to comfort the king. You retreat from the bed, watching Aegon as he howls and moans, feeling that although there is one of Alicent’s children left alive, all of them have already been taken from you.

The witch, you think, poisonous, venomous, bloodthirsty. She led Aemond to the Gods Eye, and now he’s gone. He’s dead, he’s nowhere, he’s doomed us all.

What had Alys said before she returned with Aemond to Harrenhal? I can appear and speak to you briefly, perhaps for five or ten minutes. I will be like a mirage, a ghost. Find a closed door and write my name upon it in blood. Then knock three times and open the door. I will be there.

You dart to the table beside Aegon’s favorite chair, cushioned with deep red velvet, and snatch the dagger he uses to cut his hair. Clutching the hilt of the weapon, tears searing in your eyes, you bolt from the room and out into hallway. Dragons of stone and steel, fire crackling in their gaping jaws, watch as you flee past them towards the bedchamber Aemond always used when he visited the castle. You can’t fathom that you will never see him again. He was a weed that grew into you and put down roots, he became a part of your landscape. He was dandelions, he was clovers, he was ivy, and now he is earth scorched to ash.

I’ll never speak to him again. I’ll never see him again. How is that possible?

Blood. You need blood. Would there be any in the kitchens? Should you have a goat or a boar butchered?

No, no. Your mind is a maelstrom of storms and rage, fire and blood. I can’t wait.

You go to the closed door of the room that was once claimed by Aemond. He never owned anything; he only took things and penned his name to them in void-black ink. You take the blade of the dagger and rip it down the length of your left palm. Then you write on the wood of the door two words in a rust-colored scrawl, one on top of the other: Alys Rivers.

You ball up your bloodied fist and knock on the door three times. Then you throw it open. And in a black mist, there she stands: onyx gown, obsidian hair, black moonstone eyes, tears of blood that fall in a torrent down her alabaster cheeks. She is grief-stricken. But you have no compassion left for her; your mercy was once an ocean and has now receded to a creek, a puddle, sparse raindrops that people pray for during droughts.

“You told Aemond that Daemon and Caraxes would be waiting for him at the Gods Eye. You encouraged him to go.”

Alys shakes her head, an inhumanly slow motion. Her voice is deep and echoing, like a shout through a long tunnel. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

“You see things, don’t you?!”

“Not everything,” Alys sobs. “I saw him take flight. I didn’t see the rest of it. I didn’t know. I never would have let him go if I’d known.”

“And you killed him. You murdered him, you ruined him, you might as well have driven a blade into his heart.”

“Aemond went of his own volition,” Alys says. “I told him the truth of what I saw. He was certain that Caraxes could not meet Vhagar in battle and emerge unbroken. And he was right. Caraxes did not survive. But neither did Vhagar.” Her blood-streaked face crumbles again. “He was stabbed through the eye. His beautiful sapphire eye…”

“You’ve doomed us. Vhagar was our last adult dragon, Aemond was our best warrior after Criston died. You’re a murderer. You’ve killed us.”

Her glare turns hateful. “You are not such a stranger to killing.”

“Careful, witch,” you warn. “Or when Aegon sits the Iron Throne, we will send men to the rubble of Harrenhal to burn you alive.”

“No. My son and I will live. And I’ve seen your children, too,” Alys says, and for all the times she did not intend to be cruel, now she is grinning with savage madness.

Panic rises in you; you try to conceal it. “I don’t believe I’ll ever have children.”

“Oh, you will,” Alys insists gleefully. “You will. I’ve seen it. Snow in your hair, furs around your shoulders, children who are dark and rugged, wolf pups with dirt and ash on their faces.”

The North. The Starks. “No,” you say, horrified. I can’t marry Cregan Stark. If I’m given to him, that means Aegon is dead. “No, no, you’re lying. You’re lying!”

“You are not a woman who motherhood will come easily to. It will take time to conceive, but you will give the Warden of the North heirs. He will enjoy putting them in you. He will have to try often.”

Your voice is hoarse and helpless. “You’re just trying to hurt me, it’s not real—”

“Wolf pups,” she says again, insistent. “After Aemond died, I saw them all in a row. And my son,” Alys continues dreamily, tracing her belly with one palm, not showing yet but full of potential like blue-white lightning flashing from inside a storm cloud. “My son will be a knight of House Whent.”

“There is no House Whent, you lunatic.”

“No.” Alys smiles, leers, gloats. “But there will be. I will be driven from Harrenhal, but they will reclaim it. And a Whent will marry into Tully, and a Tully will marry into Stark, and your blood will mix with Aemond’s after all. Isn’t there a certain poetry in that?”

Your hands have flown up to cover your ears. Aegon can’t die. I won’t survive it. “No, no, no!”

“The blood of wolves will always sing to dragons. And that is because of you, I think. The mind forgets, if it ever knew at all…but the bones remember. Pieces of you threaded into the marrow. Murmurs of your voice in their dreams. Do not attempt to resist it. This is your fate, and it could be far worse. The wheel goes around and around, and we all take our turn being crushed. Be grateful you’ll still be alive. Be thankful you had the time you did with your broken king.”

“No!” You slam the door shut. The blood on your palm is drying; the slit you cut there burns.

She’s lying. She’s mistaken. She’s a witch and a madwoman and I don’t believe a word she says.

And before you can dwell on how little comfort this brings you, you hurry to return to Aegon’s bedchamber.

“Borros Baratheon will expect you to take his daughter as your wife,” Larys is telling Aegon. “He was promised a royal marriage. With Aemond and Daeron both gone, you are the only suitable Targaryen left.”

“I won’t do it,” Aegon says quietly. He looks bloodless and haunted; he looks half-dead.

“Your Grace…please…failure to appease him might inspire Borros to withhold his military support from us. His army is the only substantial force the Greens still possess. It is not a personal decision. It is a strategic one. And without having an heir with the queen, her political utility is minimal…”

“No,” Aegon snaps. “I will not be parted from her. Do not ask me again.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys yields, bowing deeply. You know he does not act out of ill-will towards you. He is an advisor, and he is trying to advise. You are not the logical choice. And if Aegon loses, you will reap no rewards because he chose to call you his queen. The world will end for you as well.

“What is that?” you ask, and they both jolt to see you in the doorway; but you aren’t looking at Aegon or Larys. You are peering out the nearest window at pinpricks of firelight that dance over the waves. Larys shuffles to the window, his cane rapping against the floor. With agonizing effort—though he refuses your help—Aegon crawls out of bed and stumbles across the bedchamber to join you and Larys.

“It’s her,” Aegon says; and you can hear the vicious satisfaction in his voice like glistening strands of saliva dripping from the jaws of a ravenous animal, a wolf or a bear or a dragon. The fire is from the glass lanterns they carry. There are no signs of Syrax or Sheepstealer, not even little Tyraxes, no squeals or shrieks or shadows that pass over the moonlight.

Stepping off a tiny boat moored at the end of the pier—attended by only a handful of servants and tugging her white-haired son along behind her—is Rhaenyra Targaryen.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader

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midgardian-witch · 1 year

Note

could you write about the moon boys coming home to find reader just jamming out to music? like you have earbuds in and are blasting music so loud they can hear it from several feet away, lip syncing along to the song like your life depends on it, eyes closed, making expressive faces, dancing all dramatic, maybe not even so dancing so much as just clenching your fists and bringing them to your chest, then flailing your hands and arms around in front of you, head bobbing/banging over and over ya know? (thats literally what i do all the time) thank you! <3

Thank you for being patient, anon. Your request is so sweet I just couldn't say no. It's less a fic more a drabble but I hope that's alright <3

Like Nobody's Watching

tags: just pure fluff | established relationship | gn!reader (they/them pronouns used and as few descriptors as possibe used for reader)

ships: Moon Knight System/Reader (Steven fronting but all three present)

AO3

Edit: added AO3 link

It's a rare occasion that Steven can leave work early. He thanks whatever deity is listening (except Khonshu, that mean old bird doesn’t deserve any thanks) to be able to return home to you earlier than planned.

Vibrating with excitement Steven opens the door to your shared apartment. With just a few steps in he stops in his tracks, completely enamored with the sight in front of him.

With your back turned towards them you seem to be having the time of your life. Arms waving, hips shaking, head bobbing to a beat Steven can faintly hear even through your earbuds. Normally he would be concerned about potential damage to your eardrums, listening to music so loudly, but right now he can only think about how beautiful you look.

Our ángel is having a good time, hm? Maybe we should join?

Steven can hear the sultry grin in Jake's voice and rolls his eyes in response.

Some of those moves are…bold.

Marc sounds amused and, well, Steven had to agree. You were flailing your arms vigorously and bobbing your head almost violently to the music, still not noticing that your boyfriends had returned.

Not wanting to frighten you with his sudden presence but also not wanting to stop watching you, Steven felt stuck. You look so adorable, carelessly dancing like nobody's watching. And there wouldn't be if Steven hadn't gotten off of work early.

Do they do this often, you think?

It looks like they had a lot of practice at least. We should take them dancing some time.

Steven nods wordlessly. Jake is right, the way you're moving your body they should absolutely go out with you to dance. Why haven't they done that before? Maybe you didn't like having people watch you dance? Steven would ask you. Later.

Meanwhile the music changed from upbeat to something more dramatic - or that is what it sounds like to Steven. You're impromptu dance routine changes from wild flailing to what at first glance looks like dance moves an early 2000s boyband would use.

With a dramatic big jump you turn around to face Steven. Not expecting him to be here already you yelp in shock and tumble backwards. Steven follows you, wanting to make sure you don't fall over or hurt yourself. You clutch your chest right where your heart is and take out your earbuds.

"How long were you just standing there? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

With guilt clearly written on his face Steven looks at you. "I am so sorry, love. I didn't mean to frighten you!"

You calm yourself and shake your head. "It's ok. I know you didn't mean to," you tell him with a gentle smile, "but…how long have you been watching me?"

Steven clears his throat, embarrassed by being caught. "A while. You seemed to have fun," he answers sheepishly.

A started laugh escapes you. You nod, your smile spreading into a wide grin. Gently you take his hand and pull him with you to the nearby couch to sit down.

As Steven sits down next to you he continues holding your hand, his thumb softly stroking the back of your hand.

"Jake wants us to take you dancing some time. He seemed to enjoy the show," he offers and you swear you can see him blush, "Well, we all did, to be perfectly honest." You lean against him, your cheek squished into his shoulder as you look down at your hands.

"I'm glad you were entertained," you tease with a laugh, "And I would love to go dancing with you. Although you may not be able to keep up with my moves. I have a lot of practice."

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight/reader #steven grant/reader #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #moon knight #moon knight fanfic

397 notes · View notes

viviseawrites · 10 months

Text

you know those words you read but never hear so you make up the way they sound based on how you read them? (for instance, stobin, apparently.) have a pre-season 4 pre-relationship steddie thread about one such word:

steve and eddie don’t exactly hang out, but they get along for the kids’ sake. steve waves from his car when he picks the boys up after hellfire; eddie gives steve a nod when he passes in front of family video to meet dustin at the arcade.

slowly, they graduate to the bare bones of conversation:

“hey.”

“how’s it going?”

“can’t complain. you?”

“same here.”

“yeah. alright, see ya around.”

it changes when dustin invites both of them to his birthday party. steve shows up with robin, and eddie shows up alone, intending to say his hellos and bail. but they get trapped at the snack table by mrs. henderson.

claudia thanks them both profusely for watching out for the kids. they side-eye each other, both embarrassed and simultaneously proud, both a little skeptical even as they try to placate her.

“it’s nothing, mrs. henderson. he’s a good kid.”

“yeah, of course, claudia. it’s not a big deal.”

“no, no, you’ve both done so much!” she insists, pulling them each into a warm hug.

she toddles off after a while to take pictures, and they awkwardly glance at each other until finally eddie breaks the silence. “so, what’s she so grateful to you for?”

steve shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “dustin’s been through some stuff. honestly, i was just kinda there for most of it, but she refuses to believe that.”

“hmm,” eddie says. they fall quiet again, but eddie’s still thinking about it, his plans for leaving forgotten in favor of curiosity. because that feels like a half-truth. “i mean,” he says, catching steve’s eye, “henderson talks you up a lot himself.”

steve looks startled, a flush rising in his cheeks. he scrubs his fingers through his hair, glancing away. “oh.”

“yeah. soooo… what gives? what did steeeeve harrington do to impress the dorkiest, nerdiest kid i’ve ever known?”

steve snorts, then realizes he can’t actually explain. “uh.” he scans the room for robin, hoping she can bail him out, but she and max are kicking a soccer ball at the boys while they yell about it. fuck. hopefully dustin catches onto the lie if eddie ever asks him about it. “a couple years ago, i tried to help dustin find his missing cat, and we got cornered by a… pack of… uh, feral dogs? and—”

eddie snorts and quickly covers his mouth with his hand. steve stares at him. eddie flails a little, helpless, and finally says, “sorry, it’s just. did you say FEARAL?”

steve blinks. “yeah, like wild?”

“it’s feral,” eddie says.

steve thinks about it, then shakes his head. he’s pretty sure about it. “nah, because they’re so crazy they strike fear into you, right? so it sounds like fearal?”

now eddie has to think about it, because that kind of makes sense in a weird way. but no. “yeah, dude, it’s feral, like the fair. so, feral dogs.”

“huh.” he considers this, then shakes his head and crosses his arms like he’s disappointed. “well, that’s stupid,” steve mutters. “fearal sounds better than fairal.”

eddie feels a flash of fondness, against his will. he grins and hides it behind a strand of hair. god, is steve harrington, a douchey but hot ex-jock babysitter, actually cute? the world is so unfair.

he decides then and there to start having real conversations with steve whenever he can, just to see what other adorable slip-ups he might make. because ohhh yeah. eddie is screwed.

#vivisea writes #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #i definitely don't pronounce it fearal. anymore.#fun fact: my mom once said penelope as 'pen-eh-lope'#as in rhyming with cantaloupe #so it runs in the family i guess #stranger things #originally a twitter thread

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ashecampos · 3 months

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ANYONE BUT HER

Reader x Janis Imi-ike

Warnings - smoking, alcohol, drugs, swearing, cheating, mentions of anxiety.

there will be more parts to this, make sure to reblog and comment and I will get the next few parts up as soon as I can, happy reading lovelies 🫶🏼

“DAMIEN WE HAVE TO HAUL ASS IF WE WANT TO MAKE IT TO THIS GIG” Janis shouts at her best friend as she grabs his car keys and runs to the door leaving her jacket on the stairs. Not a moment goes until her best friend is also running out of the door behind her, shutting it and jumping in his car.

—

“For the love of Bowie please tell me one of you guys have a spare pick” I say running onto the stage where my band are setting up for the gig. My brother Aaron looks at me, points at my necklace. A guitar pick hanging from a chain. I dramatically place my hand over the pick and point at him “nuh uh this” I point at the pick “this was dads”. He rolls his eyes and throws me a pick.

I look over at my girlfriend who is talking to our bassist over at the bar, rolling my eyes I place my guitar down and go out back for a quick breather.

—

“So Cady what do you know about music?” Damien questions his new neighbour/ future classmate who had only came to the US a month ago. “nothing..but oh I know this really cool African band from my hometown you mig-“ Cady starts talking about Africa as Janis eagerly slaps Damien’s arm, cutting the poor girl off. “Dude look” Janis signals over to y/n after grabbing her two friends’ attention. “who is that?” Cady asks not missing the fact that her new friend is openly eye fucking this random girl whose face is hidden by the cloud of smoke coming from her cigarette. “Oh baby, that right there is the definition of ‘rockstar girlfriend’ also but not limited to hot guitar hero” Damien flails his hands toward the girl in question as Janis just stares. “Oh here we go, doors are open, I repeat lady’s doors are open” he squeals like a little girl going to see a boyband.

Blowing out a cloud of smoke I fiddle with my lighter in my hands, trying to calm my pre show jitters. My mind is somewhere else, as usual. Looking around at the que of people waiting to see us only made my anxiety worse. A warm hand grabs my arm and pulls me back into the venue “dude what the fu-“ shit “cmon we have to be on in five, if your going to be sick do it now and quick” my ever so loving girlfriend states as she drags me to the curtain backstage where the rest of the band is waiting.

One by one we walk out onto the stage.

Aaron goes on first, he’s our drummer and my twin brother. He’s wearing his usual get up of dark blue jeans, a hoodie and a flannel with some airforces.

Then goes Jason, our bassist. Or should I say our token fuck boy. He is wearing black jeans with a white long sleeved polo shirt.

Next is me, the guitar. I’m sporting my favourite black Levi’s, a dark red corset top I was forced against my will to wear by my girlfriend and a leather jacket, my guitar slung around my body so it’s resting on my back. My curly black hair bounces as I walk to my spot of the stage and plugging my guitar into the amp as I sling it around to the front of my body.

Lastly Bea. My girlfriend, our singer saunters out onto stage. She is wearing a black mini dress and heels. She looks plastic. Like a Barbie. She wasn’t like this a few weeks ago. She was just her usual perfect self. But she’s changed.

The crowd goes wild and the lights shine brighter onto us as Bea introduces the band.

The show goes great. Perfect even. We finish our set and the crowd stays, some drifting to the bar a few leaving to catch the late bus home. But a lot stayed to meet the band.

I place my guitar on the stand and straighten Jason’s bass while the rest of the band walk toward the bar, I take a B line towards the exit door, only to be pulled away by my arm. Now I walk to the bar with the rest of them. “What can I getcha baby?” The bartender asks, leaning over the bar a little with a smirk. “Double tequila straight, hold off the rocks and a sex on the beach for the lady please” I say with a smile. “Stop flirting with the sleaze bag of a server” Bea nudges me. “I wasn’t even…never mind” I sigh out, handing Bea her drink and downing my double shot.

We all separate and mingle with the fans. I end up standing in the corner of the room talking to some guys who want tips on how to hold a pick, you know the usual stuff. That’s when I see my girlfriend making out with Jason. I excuse myself and run out of the venue, my breath choppy and my vision blurry. I end up leaning against the stone wall of the bar, tears unknowingly flowing down my face, ruining my makeup.

—

“See I told you these guys were good” Janis shouts over the crowd to state the obvious as the show ends and people start to part ways.

The band comes out to cool off with the audience who is left, Janis, Damien and Cady being a group of them. “Holy shit” Janis says under her breath as she watches the singer and the bassist start making out. “Ohh fuck” Damien finishes Janis’ sentiment of shock as they witness the guitar player stumble out of the bar. “should we go see is they are okay?” Cady asks, Janis and Damien put their drinks down as if the question had restarted their brains and placed them back into reality. The group then follow the girl outside where they find her sat in the floor against the brick wall, her knees up to her chest, hands covering her face.

“Cady go find Aaron, drummer boy and let him know his sister is a mess but to not to worry, Damien go make sure singer or bassist does not come out here” Janis quickly springs into action.

—

She cheated, she fucking cheated with our bassist. Does she even know that I saw? Would she even care? I can’t believe that she che- “hey, is it okay if I touch you?” I girls voice breaks me out of my thoughts suddenly. I slowly take my hands away from my face and nod, observing the girl. She’s from my school, I’ve seen her before.

She slowly sits down next to me and takes a hold of my hand. That’s when it hits me. It’s my brother’s girlfriend’s ex. What was her name? Janine? No Janis? Yes Janis. Why was she at our gig? “Your girlfriends a douchebag” she says with a sad smile “you mean my ex girlfriend” i say barley above a whisper, my voice threatening to crack. “hey why don’t you come with me and my friends, we are going back to Damien’s to binge watch crappy VHS films and drink shitty beer. You down pretty girl?” She says reeking of confidence and hope that she can lift my spirits. Shrugging I agree before I am swept off of my feet and into a car with two new people and Janis.

—

Y/N SAMUELS is sat next to me right now. Definitely not something I expected to be saying. She’s like a goddess. She’s worse than plastic, she’s like stained glass. Fragile as fuck but so breathtakingly beautiful. I don’t know much about her but I know I need to have her.

—

I’m sleepy upset and now in a car with two randoms and Janis Imi’ike, not that I’m complaining. She’s really pretty the more I look at her. She rocks a cropped mötley crüe T-shirt with some black baggy jeans and docs. Her style has got to be one of the best I’ve seen even at school she somehow manages to catch my eye in the hallways or in classes. The car comes to a halt and I look at her again, now she is looking back at me with a grin, her hand held out ready for me to take it.

Damien’s basement is really nice, it’s been converted into a makeshift cinema room with two sofas, one of which being a two seater the other being a one seater. “Nice place” I say nodding my head at Damien “why thankyou my new pocket sized lesbian friend” he quips back. “Rude, for your information you’re just freakishly tall” we all laugh a little, his and Cady sit on the two seater while Janis who is still holding my hand guides us to the one seater. Putting a blanket over us to keep us warm she then places her hand on my waist while Damien starts playing a movie. I instantly recognise it as the conjuring 2013. Smiling I look up at Janis and say “it’s like he knew I would end up here tonight” she chuckles and shakes her head.

Never in my life did I think Y/N would be here hanging out with the three of us in Damien’s basement, a week before junior year, watching the conjuring. We are about half way through the movie when she moves so she is laid on top of me straddling my waist and cuddling me, her face nuzzled into my neck. I can smell the alcohol and weed on her but I’m not one to complain. She’s had a really rough night on top of the douchebag cheating on her. The movie eventually ends not that I was taking notice of it as all I could think about was her, I didn’t take my eyes off of her the whole time. Damien stands up from the other couch and I give him a death glare warning him not to wake her up. He smiles and comes over, gently tapping her shoulder, waking her up. “Hey fun sized, wanna play a game with us” he says smirking, I look over at Cady, she too has a shit eating grin on her face. What were they scheming this time? She rubs her eyes and nods a little. “Mh. What game?” She asks a valid question “dare or drink” he goes back to behind the couch and pulls out a cooler full of ice cold drinks. Like a switch has flipped she removes herself from my body. And sits on the floor next to the small coffee table. We all do the same, grabbing drinks and opening bottles. “Cady I dare you to make an Instagram account under the name ‘Caddy Heroin’ and follow the first five people who pop up” I start off strong, to this Cady puts the drink to her mouth and takes a big gulp. Earning a boo from the latter. A few turns go by and Damien turns to me and y/n pointing at us. “You two seven minutes in heaven right now or drink the rest of your bottles” he says with a smirk. Laughing y/n gets up with a stumble and holds her hand out for me. Her bracelets glistening under the dark light, I take her hand and pull her with me to another room in the basement. As soon as the door shuts I place my hands on her waist and push her body trapping her between me and the door.

Maybe I was drunk or maybe it was just the fact that Bea cheated on me but I decided to be reckless. When Damien proposed seven minutes in heaven I decided to take the offer up, Janis pulled me into the next room, pinning me against the door and attacking my lips, then that turned to my neck and I think you know what happened after that, we had Damien knocking on the door declaring we haul our asses out of the supply closet before he comes in and drags us out. Once out of the closet ;) we played a few more rounds before I ended up asleep on Janis again. By 2am we were all asleep.

7am the next day

I wake up to the sound of someone snoring, looking around the room I see Damien and the new girl on the other couch sprawled out, an ungodly sound coming from the boys mouth. Looking up I see Janis Imi-ike my longtime crush and Regina George’s ex girlfriend with her arms wrapped around my waist. I use the fact that everyone is asleep to make my escape. Before leaving I write my number down on a piece of paper and place one of my bracelets on Janis’ wrists.

part 2

#mean girls #meangirls2024 #Janis #Janis imike #reader insert #x y/n #Janis x reader #Janis x y/n #Janis Imi-ike #aaron samuels #damien karras #cady heron

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neverchecking · 1 year

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hello! would it be possible to request yandere sage to a reader who got split from the chain but has a switch with them?

I adore your headcanons for him and I honestly would just love to see some more of him, perhaps he's trying to figure out if they're yiga or not since y'know only they see him as link without zelda and they just show it off reluctantly?

SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE-YOU ABSOLUTELY FUCKING CAN.

Ahem. Yes, you very much can request my precious baby boy.

For those of you who don't know, Sage is the Hero of the Zonai, A.K.A. The Link from Tears of the Kingdom-- if we go down the route that he's a different guy from Wild. So TotK spoilers.

Anyway, look whose got his own banner! SAGE DOES-

CW: Talk of death, but nothing happens (Bc Sage won't let it happen)

He was very...unsure of you, to put it lightly.

Which was rare in and of itself since he knew most things. He knew how the Gloom hands would react should he hit them with a Dazzlefruit. He knew the exact force he would have to throw a splash fruit for it to burst in a splash of water. He knew the exact amount of force required to bend a Yiga's arm before it snaps a lot.

But he didn't know anything about you. Which put him on edge.

You came out of this weird...void thingy that he had never seen before and you dressed weirdly. You had began to call out desperately for names the second you had collected yourself (He had no clue who Wild or Twilight or Wind were, but whoever named those poor fools needed to be fired. Those names were awful.) . He watched you stumble like a newborn fawn, full of naive innocence and blind trust in the world around you.

What a fool you were.

Still, he couldn't look away. He didn't move from his place perched in a particularly tall tree, but he didn't let his attention wander from you. He couldn't. It was like you were...magnetic, drawing him in to your orbit just to keep him there.

Somewhere above him, the light dragon let out a warble. His ears flickered in that general direction, but otherwise he paid it no mind, clicking the claws on Rauru's hand against the bark of the tree.

You seemed so hopelessly lost, wandering about. It certainly didn't seem like you were the traveling type, so why you were out here, he had no idea. You would killed before long. He wondered how you would die. Something fast and quick? An electric arrow from a Lizalfos? (They had been getting unexplainably stronger now that he thought about it.) Maybe one swift hit from a Horriblin? Or maybe it would be something long and drawn out. Maybe a Frost Gleeok would freeze you so badly Hypothermia took over your limbs before freezing your lungs. Or maybe a Fire Gleeok would roast you alive before you even had the chance to register they were there. Perhaps the King himself would do both before shocking your battered form to hell and back. Or maybe the Gloom hands would grab at your flailing arms and legs, holding you still while they drained the life force right out of you.

Something full of anger lit up in his gut at just the thought of you getting hurt. He had no reason to get so livid at even a scratch on your form, but for some reason it had him snarling to himself, as if daring the universe to test him.

He wouldn't put it past Hylia at this point, that vengeful bitch.

It seemed she took his challenge to heart anyway, just as you slipped out some strange device about the same size as his Purah pad. You were so immersed in the damned thing that you didn't even hear one of the trees moving around behind you. Which was beyond him since they weren't quiet.

You didn't even look up until the shadow was looming over you and he was jumping from his tree. Riju's power sparked to life as he pulled out his bow, stunning the tree with enough power it fell with a pull of purple smoke. Something began leaking out of the discarded log, black and viscous, as it always seemed to do these days. It didn't make any difference to him, they all died the same anyway.

You had fallen onto your ass as he approached, watching him like prey would watch the predator. Nothing but wide eyes leaking with fear as he loped upon you. It made his gut swing with something foreign as he eyed you. He wasn't stupid. He knew the Yiga would go to some, frankly, extraordinary lengths to have his head on a stick. Whose to say they wouldn't set up some form of act where they attacked each other just to garner his attention?

He held out his weapon towards you, the Lynel horn glinting in the light as it prodded against your neck. You vulnerable and fragile little neck. You looked like you were about to cry at the action.

Unrelated, he pulled back just a bit. His snarl remained just the same. "Who are you?" He barked, daring you to avoid his question. Your...device was discarded at your side, which you quickly grappled onto as some form of protection. He'd have to remain weary of that. If it was anything like his Purah pad, it would be of an annoyance. Especially if you were a Yiga. They were able to replicate the Thunder Helm for Din's sake. (That was a mess and a half to retrieve.)

You swallowed hard, wincing away from him before fighting the urge to look up at him. His heart stuttered at the positively broken look you showed. You were so scared and so frightened.

He was supposed to be a hero.

(A part of him argued that he was the hero. Had been the hero. And look where it got him? Right back at the start. Fighting for his life once more. Fighting for someone who wouldn't do the same for him. Fighting for a Goddess who only used him as a pawn only to discard him when he was done.)

There was no way you were Yiga. You couldn't have been. None of them would've ever looked up at him like that. Nor could you have been a puppet of Ganon. Puppets and Yiga would burst out into an offensive attack the second they caught sight of him.

You didn't pose a threat.

But that didn't clear your name. "I asked you a question. I expect an answer." He allowed ultrahand to light up Rauru's arm in a warning red.

You blinked before shakily swallowing, holding your device to your chest. "...Y/N."

So that was your name. It was a nice name. Suited your features well and rolled off the tongue. Each syllable seemed built for your very being. He repeated it, using the tip of his weapon to tilt your chin up to face him again. That same, Goddess damned, look was sprawled on your features as he looked over you. You didn't seem injured outside of a bandaged wrap around your lower neck and left shoulder.

You had been hurt. Perhaps it was under that Wild's watch, whoever they were. They were unfit to care for you it seemed. He would happily take over if it meant you didn't get hurt any longer.

"You're...Link, right?"

He blinked, weapon staggering for a second. How did you know who he was? No one knew who he was anymore. Not without that wretched Zelda beside him, giving him a title he felt disgraced his very being. The swordsman. it was all Mineru called him and it burned something bitter in him.

He pushed the weapon further against your skin, watching it turn a harsh red before flashing to white. "What's it to you?" His teeth were bared as you tried to pull away, if only to breath just a little. He didn't let you. While it made his gut rot and knot at the thought of hurting you, he couldn't risk his own life. Not when he had a duty, Not when he had a vengeance. A vendetta.

"I can explain!" You hurriedly called, making him pull back once again.

"I would do so quickly."

You shook in your spot as your showed him the device. It seemed to have a selection of boxes, each holding a different picture. The one you hovered over read something in a language he couldn't read, but there was a picture of him. Right there. This was your explanation? It was pitiful. He almost did away with you, if only to move on, but you spoke before he could.

"You're Link. The wielder of the Master Sword. I- I'm from some other world. I, along with a group of others, are travelling to fight a dark magic that has been effecting many Hyrules across time. It's evidently effected yours." You gestured to the log, which now had an inky puddle beneath it. "We're here to help."

He pulled the weapon away, but didn't raise his glare from your form. "I don't need help."

"I never said you did." You let out a sigh full of relief. "But sometimes having someone watch your back is nice. I know you haven't had that person for you, which breaks my heart. This adventure is your second, third if we count...Ya'know..." You trailed off as his eyes narrowed. Were you talking about the Calamity? The Calamity he fell to? "You haven't had help, which I can only imagine as exhausting."

You were speaking nonsense. Nonsense that made him bubble with understanding of a sort. It was a clumsy attempt, but you were trying to offer support to him. Support he had never had previously.

He could kick his past (Three minutes ago) self for ever dreaming of hurting you, even if it was for his own personal safety. The thought of having someone offer just a tad bit of help to his battered and broken from, riddled with gloom, had him feeling a bit lighter.

He wouldn't trust you right away, he had gotten burned one too many times from doing that, but he would get you to a stable. Ensure you were safe from infection and whatever else before he made a decision regarding you and him in any sort of capacity.

Maybe take you to your group if only to see if those filth were worthy of your presence.

He would ensure you were safe in his, nevertheless. If he had to do away with the others, then so be it.

If he wanted to keep something, he would need to cling to it.

And this was just the start of his grip on you. Whether you knew it yet, or not.

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alloftheimaginesblog · 1 year

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almost lost you {s.h}

Plot: You're Steve Harrington's best friend so of course you're going to follow him into the depths of the lake and into the Upside Down. He's pissed that you've risked your life for him but when he sees that you're injured, your relationship shifts.

Character: Steve Harrington x Plus Size Female Reader

Warnings; MDNI, 18+, SMUT, NSFW, blood, wounds, gore, sex, soft sex

Word count: 11.6k

this is my favourite thing i've ever written

Of course you'd followed him down here, of course you weren't just going to leave your best friend to drown and/or be taken to the Upside Down and be killed. You were never a strong swimmer but you'd be damned if you weren't going to save that stupid boy. Reacting on blind adrenaline, you abandon your jacket in the boat, grab an oar and then you dive into the lake.

The water is freezing, prickling your skin like needles, but you barely register it. You have to get to him. It's a lot deeper than you expected and by the time you reach the red, glowing gate your lungs burn for sweet oxygen. Grimacing, your hand reaches out, pushing through the fleshy gate before you push your entire self through and all you can think in that moment is that you hope there's no more swimming involved.

Your back hits cold hard ground as you lay there gasping for air, thankfully no more water. You'd landed on concrete. It doesn't take long before you jump up, dripping wet and undeniably in the Upside Down, and start hitting everything in sight. They were like bats with big wings and long tails and they swarm you. You whack them with everything you have before they break away and then you see Steve a few metres away. He's being choked, strangled by one of the bat's tails, arms and legs flailing to find something to get it off of him. You spring into action, barrelling over to the bat and hitting with all of the strength you could muster. Bats swarm and attack you with teeth like razors slicing into your skin but you couldn't care about that now. You have to help Steve. With a final thwack! the bat that had been strangling him dropped down, releasing Steve's neck. It lay on the ground, twitching and making a faint screeching noise so you whack it a few more times making sure it's finally dead before dropping to Steve, "Are you okay?!"

"I told you not to follow me!" His voice is a croaky yell as he pants hard, "You shouldn't be in here! Not you!"

"You think I'm not going to follow you into the depths of hell? Oh, Harrington, we're too far into this friendship for that. I'd follow you to Mordor." He rolls his eyes at your Lord of the Rings reference, far too used to you and your nerdy comments.

"It's too dangerous-" he cuts himself off, realising that blood dribbles from various cuts on your arms, "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine," you tell him strongly and honestly you do feel fine. The adrenaline is coursing around your body and right now, you don't feel any of the wounds, "I'm fine. They're just scratches." He accepts this, leaning back to take deep breaths as the rest of your friends appear each more horrified than the last (Eddie's last to come and judging by his scream of 'what the fucking shit is this?!' you can tell he's pretty freaked), "Can you stand?"

He nods and with your outstretched hand, you help him up. Once he's up, he looks around, "You all came down?"

Eddie runs his hands through his wild curls, "Dude, they all came down and I didn't want to be the only one not here."

The five of you look around. It's terrifying down here. The whole place looks familiar but it just feels off; uncanny valley or whatever they call it. It looks like Hawkins but an evil version of it. The sky crackles above you, lightning and thunder casting an eerie red glow over the Upside Down town. You look to the ground and see that the tendrils, the long fleshy veins, are everywhere.

"Be careful where you step," Nancy says, "it's a hivemind so it's all connected. You step on it, it knows we're here." Everyone knows it's more so pointed at Robin who can never seem to keep her balance even when standing perfectly still.

Robin nods, "I can do that," she murmurs to herself as the five of you begin to walk in the direction of the Creel House. You don't know who she's trying to convince more; the four of you or herself.

There's an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Steve's shoulder brushes yours and you immediately feel the dread die down for a moment. You breathe in a deep breath and puff out your chest as you continue walking.

As the lot of you tread through the Upside Down, you begin to feel slightly hazy, just around the edges at first as though you've just woken up and you're trying to shake off the tired and then it wrapped you up all at once. One minute you're beside him and the next, you've dropped to the floor, eyes rolling. Steve yells out, alerting his friends, as he falls beside you, hands on your cheeks. He's shouting your name, shaking you when he realises that your jeans at the thigh are dark and wet... you're bleeding. He pulls back the fabric and sees a large bite wound. He'd known you'd gotten scratched but you'd told him it was fine, not sore and not deep. He mentally curses you.

"I can help," Nancy says quickly as she rips her shirt, pulling a thick part of fabric off, "Move out the way and I'll bandage her leg."

Steve shakes his head, "I have to do it." He can't lose you; he has to be the one who saves you. He has to be the one to do it. He keeps talking to you, asking if you can hear him but you're not waking up. Panic surges inside of him, heart beating quicker as he stares down at you. Why aren't you waking up?

His hands are clumsy and shaking as Nancy hands him the piece of fabric from her now ripped shirt. Four years into this and they'd still never thought to bring a first aid kit wherever they went. The ripped cloth of the t-shirt would have to do and once tied tight, it would at least apply pressure and hopefully stop the bleeding. Steve's eyes dart to your face, scanning your face to see if you're awake. He's talking to you the whole time, panicked and adrenaline fuelled sentences that he doesn't remember.

"You gotta open your eyes, (y/n). Show me those pretty eyes."

"You think I'm really worth all this fuss?"

"You just had to follow me in here, didn't you?"

"I need you to open your eyes and speak to me, (y/n). I need to know that you're okay. Please."

"Please don't leave me."

You can hear him but it's all fuzzy. It sounds like you're underwater, he sounds far away. It feels peaceful but you fight and you fight hard. It takes every bit of strength you have to open your eyelids which feel like they're weighted down, it's brief but it's good enough. He breathes a sigh of relief as he sees your eyes fluttering, you're alive but you're slipping in and out of consciousness, world feeling hazy as you lay on the ground.

"Hey," he says, voice loud enough to wake you up but quiet enough that the rest of the group wouldn't hear, "you gotta keep those pretty eyes open for me, (y/n)."

You blink up at him, wiggling your fingers as the sensations of your body flood back to you, the pain floods back hitting hard and making you groan out. Steve asks if you're okay and all you can respond with is, "M'awake."

"Keep it that way." He holds up the makeshift bandage, "This is gonna hurt."

You're all banged up, covered in cuts scrapes and bites but the bite on your leg is the worst. Between the two of you, you're able to peel back the ripped jeans on your thigh to expose the bleeding wound. Steve grimaces, "That good, huh?" He doesn't respond and instead pulls the fabric around your leg tightly. You wince, hissing out in pain but you let him continue as he tries his hardest to be gentle by wrapping it tightly around your thigh before tying it tight. The pain from your wound is forcing you to be awake and conscious, sending streams of curse words out of your mouth. It hurts and it hurts bad, it burns and stings with every movement. Your whole body wants to sleep but the wound pulsing under the bandage won't let you and you're thankful for it. One of his hands is on your arm, never wanting to part with you, and all he can do is watch as you breathe hard, teeth grit, as you manage to sit up.

"Motherfucker," you hiss, "that hurts worse than that time I catapulted off the wall up behind Benny's and landed on that rock."

Despite everything, he manages a small smile and a breath of laughter, "Your mom never forgave me for that one even though it was your idea." He glances down at your leg, looking at the bloodied cloth, "That should hopefully stop the bleeding."

Nancy glances into the sky and realises that the bats are coming back and there are hoards of them this time, "Uh, guys?" She asks, voice tense.

Steve looks over at her and then follows her gaze upwards. Fuck. You do it too and you know that there's no time. You have to move. All you want to do right now is curl into a ball in bed - in Steve's bed - like that one time when you drunk and you fell asleep wrapped up together cause that's just what friends do, right?

"I'm okay," you tell him nodding and just like Robin not long ago, you don't know who you're trying to convince more, "just... help me up will you?"

Steve's strong hands pull you up and immediately wrap you in a tight hug, "Don't ever do that to me again," he huffs breath tickling your neck, "I thought I was about to lose you."

"You can't get rid of me that easy, Harrington." You thought that joking would help the situation but no, if anything it made him worse. He's shaking; absolutely terrified from the ordeal of thinking he'd lost you. He pulled back, heart hammering in his chest, as he stares down at his hands that are smeared with your blood. His eyes are glassy and he looks like he's about to cry. You take a breath, taking his hands in yours, "Hey," you whisper, forcing his attention away from his hands and to you instead, "I'm here, okay? I'm alright; bruised and bloodied but I'm alive, Steve, okay?"

"I can't lose you." It's an admission of some sort, not a full blown 'I love you' but it's pretty damn close. It makes your heart race and all you can do is hug him again, pulling him in tight. For a moment, just a moment, everything faded away around the two of you and you could close your eyes and pretend that everything's okay.

The moment's over all too soon when Nancy clears her throat from up ahead. You look over to her and she gives you an apologetic smile. It's time to go.

"Out of the frying pan," you say, taking Steve's hand tightly.

"And into the fire."

Walking isn't an easy task, you're slow and unsteady and with every step, you want to yell out in pain. Steve stays at your side, supporting you as much as he can, "I could carry you, you know... At the very least just a piggy back ride." You're holding everyone up and there's not enough time to let you go at your own pace, you have to move quicker but each time you try, the pain burns stronger.

Quickly, you shake your head, "Over my dead body."

"Yeah, well it might have to be if you're walking this damn slow," he snaps half serious, "Seriously, (y/n), let me lift you."

You push back from him. It's been years since someone picked you up, last time someone did they commented on how heavy you were and how you should think about losing some weight. You were humiliated that day so never again. You had a complicated relationship with your body, in some things you really liked the way your body filled out clothes, in other aspects you hated it. It wasn't a secret that you were fat, people had eyes and they could see it obviously, but it's like when your friend has a very obvious massive red spot on their face - you see it but you just don't speak about it. You don't voice things that could very well be an insecurity for some people.

"Steve, I- I'm too heavy." You feel pathetic as you say it and you can't look at him. You hate that you still have these worries and insecurities but after years of society telling you how you should look of course it had an impact on you.

Steve stops.

He ducks his head to look at you with sad eyes. He hates that you're ashamed of yourself in this way when in his eyes you're absolutely perfect. "Let me help you, (y/n), please," he says quietly so the others don't hear, "You won't hurt me, you're not too heavy, I'm strong and I can get us there faster... It'll help your leg, it'll let you rest it even for a while."

"You're not going to... to laugh at me for how heavy I am?"

Something bubbles up inside him in that moment and all he wants to do is wrap you up and keep you away from all the bad things in life. My god, he wants to kiss those insecurities away, make you realise that you're the prettiest goddamn girl in the world. No one comes close. He shakes his head, strands of his perfect hair falling out of place, and he takes one of your hands, "I'd never do that. You're not going to be heavy for me just let me help you."

If it had to be someone, you would've picked Steve so with a sigh, you relent and he crouches so that you can jump onto his back. You almost forget about the pain in your leg as the nerves burn hard in the pit of your stomach. He lifts you with a surprising amount of ease, jumping to readjust you so that his hand isn't anywhere near your injured leg, "Comfy?" He asks as he starts walking.

"If I'm too heavy you can just put me down, it's okay. I'll walk faster, you don't have to-"

"(y/n)," he cuts over your rambling, "I've got you, don't worry. Just take a breath and chill out for a bit." He begins to walk and catches up with the group on their path to the Creel House. Nancy and Robin glance at you both before catching the other's eye and giving the other a knowing smile.

You bury your head in the crook of Steve's neck, breathing long and deep. Steve can't think straight. All he can focus on is the way your breath is hot against his cool skin and the way your lips gently graze his neck with every step. The feelings that he thought he'd buried down long ago burn violently under the surface. Dustin would be screaming 'I told you so' if he was here right now. For years Dustin had been trying to get Steve to realise the true nature of his feelings for you and finally, fucking finally, it was happening. He shakes his head, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart when your lips graze his skin, and instead he tries to focus on the task at hand.

Everything's over, it's done... at least for now.

You manage to get back to Steve's house in one piece, the five of you traumatised and dirty. Steve's house was empty as usual, his parents both working out of state, so the five of you crowded in Steve's car, Steve driving and you in the passenger seat with his hand in yours. The five of you cram into Steve's car, bloodied and bruised and knackered but you're all alive. Steve drives through Hawkins but his focus is entirely on you. Since your injuries, he hadn't stopped touching you; holding your hand, arms wrapped around you... He had to keep touching you, had to keep reminding himself that you were okay. Every now and then, his thumb brushes over the bloodied skin of your hand. Dustin, Lucas and Max had radioed a while back to say that they got home okay, they'd nearly been caught by police but managed to escape so it was just a straight drive to Steve's. It felt strange being back in Hawkins. You hadn't been away for too long in the Upside Down but returning as though life was normal was a weird one. Things weren't normal; things were pretty fucking strange.

As the five of you enter Steve's house, Nancy darts off to the phone. She'll be trying to get a hold of Jonathan. Eddie asks if Steve's got any beer, Steve points him in the direction of the kitchen and Robin follows in search for food.

It's just you and Steve standing in the hallway.

"How's your leg?" He asks you.

"Fucking killer," you frown, looking down at the bloodied state of your jeans. You hadn't realised just how much you'd bled with being in the tinted red Upside Down since it was kind of hard to see but now it was a stark contrast against your light blue jeans even in the darkness of the night.

"You wanna go shower first?"

You nod quickly. The thought of a shower appeals to you, being able to wash off the dirt, grime and blood and getting to properly clean your wound, oh it sounds like bliss. The only thing that halts you - as you attempt to very slowly climb the stairs - is that Steve obviously won't be in there with you. For the entirety of the night, since jumping into the lake and heading into the Upside Down, Steve had been by your side, constantly touching you in some way, and now... you weren't ready for that to stop. Things had changed, things that you weren't sure you could keep a secret for much longer, and you weren't ready to be apart from him, not yet; not ever.

You glance back at him and he seems to know what you're thinking. He can tell by the panicked look in your eye and he quickly nods and says, "I'll be right outside the door, I promise."

He helps you as much as he can upstairs, holding you up while you hiss and curse in agony as pains shoot up your leg, and helps you into his bedroom. He raids his closet and finds an old jersey of his, it's big and baggy and it'll definitely fit you, before he grabs a pair of stretchy gym shorts from his closet, "Here," he says as he hands you it, "change into these and we'll wash your clothes. We'll get everyone's stuff washed actually."

You're quiet as you nod and pad slowly back to the bathroom, Steve behind you. He slides down the wall, sitting on the floor just to the left of the bathroom door, "I'll wait here, take as long as you need." You're hesitant to leave him but you know that there's no way around this so you thank him and close the door behind you. As soon as you're in the bathroom, you want to turn back and find comfort in his arms but you force yourself to move forwards towards the shower. You have no other choice but to shower, you need to get cleaned up and you'd already prolonged that for long enough.

Stripping off your clothes is harder than you thought it was going to be, they're stuck to you, stuck to your skin from dampness, sweat and blood. You manage to peel your t-shirt off before chucking it to the floor. You take a breath as your hands work gently to untie the makeshift bandage around your leg. You curse loudly and Steve's calling out after you, asking if you're alright.

"Fine," your voice is tense as you try and breathe the pain away, "just getting these stupid jeans off. Leg's agony."

"Once you're cleaned I'll get the first aid kit and patch you up, give you painkillers too." He wishes that he could do more, that it could've been him instead of you that got badly hurt but there's nothing he can do now. All he can do is try and help you be comfortable.

"Can you talk to me about something? I need a distraction so I can pull these jeans off."

Immediately, he straightens and starts talking to you about the time in sixth grade when William Denver got a pencil lodged in his ear after a dare gone wrong. It was the distraction you needed as you managed to pull your jeans down with some ease and some pain. You stay standing for a minute just listening to him talking, it's nice; he's nice. You like that he didn't even question it, he just produced a memory from random and started rambling about it. He never made you feel silly or like you were asking for too much, he just did whatever you needed him to.

"Steve?" You say after a minute .

"Yeah?"

"You can stop talking, I did it."

"How does the wound look?"

"Gonna be honest, Harrington, I'm not fucking looking at it." It was the truth. You don't want to look at the wound, not yet. You'll wait until it was clean to do that. If you look now, you'd freak out so instead, you climb into the shower and almost instantly, you feel a million times better.

As Steve sat outside, scraping blood from under his nails, he couldn't get something that Eddie had said to him out of his head.

"It was (y/n), dude. As soon as you were pulled under, she was off like a shot. I've never seen anyone move that fast. She didn't even think about it, just dove in straight after you... You've got a good one there, dude. Can tell she really loves you."

Was that true? Did you love him? The questions whirred around Steve's mind and it was all he could focus on, nothing else except you. Things had changed and it was obvious, even to the two of you.

The water is hot but not too hot that it hurts. You stand in the shower just letting the water rush over you for what feels like forever, you're just enjoying avoiding looking at the bottom of the bathtub. When you finally look, it shocks you that it's still red, that there's still so much blood and grime on your skin that it's still turning the running water red. It makes your stomach flip and makes your eyes fill with tears. You'd hoped that by the time you opened your eyes, the only reminder about what happened that night would be the bite on your leg but when you open your eyes, the reminder is still all over you. You're still caked with dirt and blood, sticking to each and every crevice of you. With outstretched hands, you steady yourself against the wall as the reality of the whole situation hits you. It hits you hard from Steve choking to you passing out to the piggy back to the events in the Creel house... it all hits you like a train and you can't hold back the sobs that wrack your body. All you want to do is curl up and cry and sleep and pretend everything was normal.

It's too much. It's all too much. Steve was used to this life but you weren't, he'd always kept you safe from this world and now here you were, standing in the shower covered in blood; your blood, your friends blood and strange creature's blood. Bile rose in your throat as you desperately try and calm down. Your whole body is shaking as reality hits you, the adrenaline from diving into the lake to save your best friend stayed in the Upside Down, it didn't come back. You don't feel brave anymore but instead weak and scared.

Steve hears you. He can hear the sobs that come from you though drowned out by the shower but he hears and it breaks his heart. He looks at his hands which have dried blood coating them; your blood. He knows the feeling that's crashing over you, he knows how intense and overwhelming those moments are so he does the only thing he can do. He begins to talk loudly so that you can hear him over the noise of the shower, he doesn't know what he's talking about, he's just talking. He needs to fill the space, needs you to concentrate on something other than the panic and dread that's nestled and made its home so very deep inside of you.

You frown as you try and control your crying to listen. He's rambling about the time in eighth grade when he decided to skateboard off of the top of his garage and he ended up with a broken ankle. Rambling about how freaked out he was seeing the blood and the bone and how calm you were, about how you calmed him down told him that he'd be okay. You were the one who calmed him down with jokes in the ambulance ride to hospital and when they told him he'd need surgery, it was you who made him feel better by saying he'd have such a cool scar. It was you who waited hours on him coming out even despite your mom not being happy since it was a school night. It was you who visited first. It was you who signed his cast first.

"You've always been the strong one, (y/n). Always been the one to help me out... Always been you."

You'd been so focused on listening that your body worked in autopilot, scrubbing your skin hard of all of the grime and blood and when he was finished, you realised that you were almost done too. You catch a glance or two at your thigh, the wound is angry and red and it's deep but it's not as bad as it once looked. You scrub your nails furiously, trying to get the blood that's jammed under them out, before turning the water off.

You can hear him talking to someone outside the door, it sounds like Robin. You dry yourself off, careful not to irritate your thigh too much, before pulling on his jersey and shorts. They fit and they fit baggy which surprises you. They must've been huge on Steve. You wipe the steamed up mirror to look at the blurry vision of you. You like it, you like wearing his clothes. They smell like him, a mixture of cologne, pine and vanilla. You love that smell.

It's not much longer before he's knocking on the door, "You alright?"

You don't reply and instead just open the door. He almost can't function as you stand there in his clothes. It's an old jersey and shorts but oh my god, you make them look incredible. Something within him stirs, something possessive and feral inside of him but it's forgotten about after a second when you ask him if he's alright, "You're just staring at me, you good?" You feel self-conscious under his gaze because he's never looked at you like that before, at least not that you've been aware of. You shift in his jersey, self-consciously tugging at the hem to pull it down so it wasn't clinging to your stomach.

"I, uh, yeah. I'm fine." He nods quickly, "Robin came up a couple minutes ago. Her and Nancy are gonna use the downstairs shower so pointed them in the direction of my mom's closet for clothes. Eddie's just showered and is wandering about in his boxers so just don't look." You manage a small smile, "She says that Nancy's making some food if you wanted to go down-" He sees the absolute look of terror in your eyes, "Or you can wait here for me coming out the shower?" You nod quickly, "Okay, that's fine. I'll try to not take too long." He smiles knowing that you don't want to be away from him, he doesn't want to be away from you either. He grabs himself a clean towel and something to change into before disappearing into the hot and steamy bathroom.

You awkwardly manage to slide down the wall without irritating your leg too much as you wait for him to finish. You try and shut your mind off, not wanting to be alone with your thoughts for any longer than necessary, so you distract yourself with any means necessary.

You think back to when you and Steve were twelve and had thrown a party for the two of you in your basement. You'd stolen your dad's old records as the two of you danced around, wired to the moon on sugar and candy. A song had come on, Life On Mars - David Bowie, and the two of you were in total amazement. It swiftly became 'your song' as Steve dubbed it. It wasn't romantic like most couples songs were but it was a song that the two of you would dance around the room and sing loudly in the car to. You began to hum it quietly to yourself trying to stay focused in the memory of that silly party the two of you threw.

He doesn't take too long but it's been long enough when it hits the fifteen minute mark. You feel on edge. You know that he's just on the other side of the door but you don't feel right knowing that he's not there beside you. Your hands fidget nervously with the hem of the jersey as you breathe in his scent from it to keep calm. You long abandoned humming David Bowie as after five minutes, you were driving yourself insane, and instead spent the last ten minutes with your eyes squeezed shut head pressed back against the wall as you try and calm the rising panic.

The door swings open a few minutes later and there he is, standing there freshly cleaned and washed with his sopping wet hair still looking perfect and a clean t-shirt and shorts on. You reach out for him to help you up and when he does, you throw your arms around him tightly. You need to feel him, need to know he's okay and he's safe. He seems to need this embrace as much as you do as he responds by tightly pulling you against him, bodies flush against the other, warm and damp. His hands grip onto the fabric of your material as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, "I almost lost you," he breathes out. His voice is thick and you can tell that he's close to tears. He can't get over how close he came to losing you. It put everything into perspective for him then, made him realise that life was too short to continue pretending that there wasn't obviously something between the two of you.

"I almost lost you," you murmur as tears build in your eyes, lips once again grazing over the skin of his neck, "I saw you go under and I just- I didn't even think I just jumped in after you." Steve closed his eyes briefly, so what Eddie had told him was true.

It almost doesn't feel real what happened tonight. The whole thing, even this standing in the safe arms of Steve Harrington, it feels like you could blink and be back in the Upside Down so you cling to him and he clings back just as hard. Neither of you cry but the fact that you both welled up over nearly losing the other proved the point regardless.

It's not until you hear someone padding upstairs that the two of you break apart, though his hand holds yours, it's Nancy. She's wearing pyjamas that belonged to Steve's mom, loose and baggy on her, "Food's ready," her voice is quiet and her smile is apologetic knowing that she's just walked into something that she shouldn't be seeing.

Steve nods before he gathers yours and his clothes and then he leads you slowly downstairs to go and eat. Steve tells you that you'll eat then he'll patch your leg up. The smell hits you when you walk into the kitchen; pizza, chicken nuggets and fries. Nancy had raided the freezer and put on a feast for everyone. You didn't think you were hungry until you got there and saw the food. Steve bundles together everyone's clothes and chucks them into the washing machine, pouring a healthy amount of detergent in before turning it on. It's only then as the five of you crowd round the table, chairs squeaking as you pull them in, that you feel the hunger. You all eat in silence the only noise that can be heard is chewing and the grumble of the washing machine. Usually you didn't like eating in front of people, you got worried about what they'd think about your portion size or made a comment but right now you didn't care. With Steve's hand on your knee, you couldn't care about anything else right now. It doesn't take long before the food's finished and you're all guzzling on the water bottles that Nancy had placed on the table.

It's then that you look around the table, looking at everyone. Everyone's clean, smelling of vanilla body wash and coconut shampoo, with clean clothes that are a little loose and baggy (aside from Eddie who only wears boxers but he's wrapped the throw from the couch around himself) but the angry red scrapes, scratches and cuts that litter everyone's limbs are hard to hide. Nancy's managed to shower, change, cook dinner and even managed to treat hers, Robin's and Eddie's scrapes and cuts in the time it took you and Steve to shower. Impressive.

Once the food's finished, everyone scatters. No one really talks aside from their 'thank you's to Nancy. Steve gathers the plates up and puts them in the sink. You wait. He'll wash them in the morning he decides before moving to the counter where Nancy had left the first aid box. He grabs it and wiggles it in his hand, "You ready?"

You nod, "Let's get it over with."

He kneels down in front of you as you sit in the chair, "Can I?" He asks as he nods to the shorts you're wearing. You nod. Robin walks into the kitchen and quickly backs away, the scene unfolding far too intimate for anyone else to see. She warns Nancy and Eddie to stay away. Steve hands are gentle as he rolls your shorts upwards to get to your mid thigh. It's then you both get a good look at your wound. It's angry and raw but it looks better. The bleeding stopped a while ago so that's a good sign. Still hurts like hell though.

He rummages through the first aid box, finding a wipe and a large plaster, "It's gonna hurt." He tells you as he tears open the antiseptic wipe. You nod quickly and with a tender hand, he cleans it. It stings and burns but you aren't focusing on the cut, you're looking at Steve. You're looking at the way his hair falls into his vision and he blows it away with an upwards puff of air. You're watching the way his brow furrows in concentration as he gnaws on his lower lip making sure to not cause any further harm to you.

He grabs stuff to dress it with, glancing up at you, doing a double take when he realises that you're staring at him, "I'm not hurting you am I?"

You shake your head, "No, you're fine."

He goes back to gently dressing your wound and before you know it, he's finished. You go to pull away but Steve reaches out, "You forgot the most crucial part of patching up a wound," he chides, that playful tone once again back where it belongs. You frown but before you can ask what he means, his head ducks low and his lips graze the skin above the dressing. It's so soft and gentle that you wouldn't have known he'd done it had you not been staring at him with wide eyes. Where he kisses feels hot but not from the wound rather from him. Your heart beats fast in your chest and your cheeks feel like they're on fire, "There." His breath tickles over your skin. He lingers for a few seconds, too long for a friend, before he pulls back and stands up leaving you sitting there absolutely stunned.

He smirks as he turns away from you, discarding the empty wrappers in the bin, he knows what he's doing to you. Hope burns strong inside him, hope that maybe this is it; this is his chance, your chance. When he turns around you tell him to sit down, "Mine are fine," he says with a shake of the head, "not as bad as yours."

"So?" You ask with a raised brow, "Sit."

He complies.

You grab some plasters that were at the bottom of the box which happen to be some yellow and red plasters with various wild animals on them. Steve laughs slightly, "Seriously?" He asks as you grab a wipe to clean him.

"It's the only plasters you've got, not my fault Harrington."

He rolls his eyes but humours you and lets you dab his cuts carefully before sticking down the plasters. You only plaster the ones that are deeper so he ends up with some on his arms and one on his left temple. He goes to stand up, "Wait," you tell him fighting off a smirk, "you forgot the most crucial part of patching up a wound." His eyes widen slightly and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat. Two can play at your game, Harrington. Slowly, you duck your head to press gentle kisses to the cuts on his arms, lips lingering just as his did. Steve swallows hard. It's taking everything to control himself right now and even then, he's barely controlling himself. He can't stop thinking about the way your lips feel, soft and warm on his skin, and he can't stop thinking about how they'd feel against his own.

Your heart is beating harder but you don't let it show as you lean in close to him. Steve's eyes are trained on you, never wavering, entirely focused on your next move. You press a gentle kiss to his temple, your hand rests on his knee for leverage. Steve swallows hard again and you secretly smile knowing that you're having some form of effect on him. He can smell you, smell the shampoo in your hair that he uses, he can smell his jersey on you and he loves that he can smell himself on you. Again, that primal urge rises in him but he pushes it away as you lean back and sit back down in your chair.

"Uh... thanks," he says as he clears his throat. You like seeing him like this, flustered and flushed, "How's it feel?" He asks referring to your wound.

"Better." Your cheeks feel hot as you replay the moment of him kissing your thigh over and over in your head. He stands up and takes your hand before slowly leading you out of the kitchen and into the living room. You like the way his hand feels in yours, warm and large.

Eddie's set up camp for the night there, laying on the couch under a blanket with a cushion shoved under his head. Robin's curled in the armchair almost half asleep but Steve taps her leg and tells her to go to the guest room, Nancy too who was coming downstairs carrying blankets. Without a word, the two girls nod and head upstairs.

You and Steve aren't far behind them, following them up after he locks the door. There's no question of where you're sleeping, not an utterance of a word about it, instead it's just quiet acceptance. He makes sure that Nancy and Robin are comfortable before leading you into his bedroom and quietly closing the door behind him.

Nerves bubble in your stomach. It's different. You've been in Steve's room hundreds of times over the years of being friends. You'd slept in this room plenty before too on duvets on the floor and once in his bed curled up with him after a drunken party. This time though... it feels different. It doesn't feel like sleeping over with a friend because well, he's not a friend anymore. You aren't sure how he feels about you but you know that this isn't how friends treat each other. You don't want to get your hopes up just in case but they're there, niggling under the surface of your skin.

It's only when you're in his room with the door closed, you're unsure what to do next. Steve's not shy and he knows exactly where you're going to be. He walks to his side of the bed and lifts the duvet to get in, "Well?" He asks, "Hurry up and get in here."

He doesn't need to tell you twice.

Your heart beats fast as you climb into bed beside him. The bed smells like him, it smells like home. Steve watches you the whole time, the words he wants to say are right there on the tip of his tongue, locked behind his teeth but he's not feeling brave anymore so he stays silent. There's a certain tension in the air that you both feel as you lie on your sides, facing each other. Your heart hammers in your chest as your mind whirs with the possibilities of what might be.

The moon seems to be right outside of Steve's open windows, shining in bright so that you can see him, he's a duller and darker version in this light but he's still Steve; your Steve. You look up at him from behind long lashes and you find his eyes boring into yours, roaming and searching, looking for an answer to the question that he hasn't asked. It seems to click then, to both of you, that this was something more than what is once was or maybe this is way it always had been but it was only now you were realising it. He shifts closer and you do too as his eyes switch from your lips to your eyes. The burning desire to kiss someone has never been this strong before.

All you can hear is the beat of your heart in your ears like a drum, faster and faster, as you inch closer to him. He finds one of your hands lost under the sheets and takes it, clasping your fingers together tightly. It's then when you look up and realise that you're almost pressed together. Steve swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, as his breath tickles over your face.

It happens.

You're not sure who moved in first, it was more like a joint effort to meet in the middle. Your eyes flutter shut as Steve closes the gap between your lips, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It's a small kiss, gentle and it doesn't last long but in that moment, everything slots together and you feel like everything's right again. He's testing the waters with this kiss, keeps it short and sweet before he pulls back a few centimetres, eyes scanning your face for some kind of regret or negativity but he doesn't find it.

Your mind reels from the fact that you and Steve just kissed. Your stomach is a jumble of nerves overlapping each other and writhing deep in the pit of your stomach. That few seconds where you're just staring at each other, eyes searching for confirmation, seemed to solidify something for the two of you, a silent agreement, consent and before you knew it, it was a push and a pull of bodies. Your free hand tangles in his shirt, pulling him close as his pulls you in at the waist.

No other kiss has ever felt like this one. It's fast and hard, smashing of lips and clashing tongues. It's hungry and passionate, it's a 'finally' moment, a breath of fresh air, a breath of relief. You've never been kissed like this before; never been kissed with such intensity and passion behind it. He kisses you like it means something because to him, it does; it means everything.

With a swift kick, he shoves the sheets to the floor where they gather in a pile. He rolls you onto your back and shifts without breaking the kiss so that he's over you, hands on either side of your head as you kiss. His knee moves between your legs, parting them, and pushing upwards. You gasp, breaking the kiss, at the sudden friction between your legs.

He snaps back.

His eyes roam your face again as your brow furrows. He worries that he's gone too far, moved too fast, but you grab a handful of his cotton shirt and pull him back down to kiss you. There's a new found confidence within you, allowing you to grab him and kiss him which you wouldn't have done before, you kiss him hard and he seems to get the hint that you want this, that you want him.

You almost feel like you need to be pinched, like at any moment you're going to open your eyes and you'll be somewhere else; that this is all a dream. For years, you'd had a crush on him but you thought it would always just be a secret and never be reciprocated but here he is, kissing you as though his goddamn life depends on it. You. He's kissing you. If 14 year old you could see you now. Well maybe not the scenes that would unfold in the next few minutes but my god, it would be the biggest confidence boost knowing that you, despite your weight and despite your size, would have Steve Harrington fawning over you. It felt good to be wanted, it felt right.

Soon the kiss turns needy and desperate as heat pools between your legs. Your hips push downwards into his knee trying to feel the friction through the cotton shorts that you wear. Steve's lips pull away from yours, extracting an audible whine from you, as he moves to your cheek, your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. He kisses everywhere, peppering small kisses on the soft skin before finding the spot on your neck that makes your gasp and makes your back arch. His hands are on your sides, dancing the hem of the jersey you wear up, and it's then it kicks in. Your hand darts out to catch his, stopping it in its place.

He stops.

"Am I going too fast- dammit, shit, sorry, sweetheart. I-I got carried away-"

You shush his worries and cut off his rambling before you answer him softly, "Self-conscious." Your voice is a mere whisper and Steve's face immediately softens. You'd never really had anyone touch you like this, with so much care and love and it makes you so aware of all of your imperfections. The worry that sits in the back of your mind, too, is that you know Steve's dating history; tiny, petite and pretty girls... Not you. Not fat and curvy and lumpy. Steve's eyes bore into yours and he can see your worries, sitting so openly and plainly in front of him.

"Baby," he murmurs, hand trailing fire over your cheek as he caresses it, "I think you're perfect." You look in his eyes and you know that there's a decade of trust there, a decade of friendship and loyalty, a decade of love, "You don't have to hide from me." You're still not quite there so Steve continues, "Your body, your smile, your laugh; you are perfect to me, (y/n). Beautiful. Your weight and size doesn't make you any less so... I want you, (y/n). Why do you think I only gave you my clothes to wear? I only want you, no one else." You hadn't thought about why you were the only one wearing Steve's clothes. It hadn't really clicked to be honest. He'd sent Robin and Nancy to his mom's closet, Eddie chose to be half naked, and you were the only one wearing Steve's clothes. It was such an honest, sweet, possessive action that it made the heat burn between your legs.

He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the side of your jaw, then another and another before he pulls back, "You want me to stop?"

You shake your head.

"Speak up, babygirl."

"Don't stop," you whisper, "I want you... Fuck, Steve, I need you." Hearing you say it makes his cock twitch in his shorts. It doesn't take much until he's rock hard, pressing against your thigh as he kisses you again, hot and heavy.

His hands resume sliding under your shirt, over the lumps and bumps and curves of your stomach and sides until they find your bare breast, heading straight for your hard nipple. His thumb grazes over it, extracting a soft moan from your parted lips. Steve moans into your neck at the sound of you, "God," he groans, "you even sound so fucking pretty."

Your whole body feels hot, feels like you're burning a fever but in the best way possible, "Take it off," you get a moment of bravery as you push him back and pull off of the jersey, throwing it across the room where it bundles in a pile at the wardrobe. You hoist your lower half up and rather ungracefully tear off your shorts and throw them over to where the jersey resides on the floor. Thankfully Steve was to preoccupied with taking his shirt off to see.

It was when he looked back down at you, ready to move in to kiss your breast, that he stopped.

"Holy fuck, baby."

He looks at you like you're the only thing of importance in the world. The way he stares at you, drinking in your body, your curves, your stretchmarks, it makes you shift and wriggle awkwardly. The way that he looks at you, you've never had anyone look at you like that before. His gaze is so awe-filled and you never want him to stop. He follows every line, every bump, every freckle, every blemish on your body until it leads back to your face and your eyes, "So goddamn pretty."

He bends his head, taking your nipple in his mouth tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, as his fingers press into your hips. The moans that he was pulling from you were like music to his ears, every moan and mewl making his cock twitch with anticipation. Every time you moan, he hums against your nipple. God he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing you or making you feel good. Your back arches and his hand slips over your stomach, groping the curve of it. You shiver and squirm but not because you're uncomfortable. His touch sends tingles down your spine and all across your soft, sensitive skin.

"Steve," you whisper out, back arching as his fingers push apart your thick thighs, "I- I- need you."

Steve growls against your skin, "Never thought I'd hear you say that, baby," he says against your skin before taking your nipple back in his mouth, tongue swirling and circling around it as his fingers trail down your thick thighs to your aching hot sex.

You've never had anyone touch you like this, your hand brushes against his and he stills, raising his head to look at you, "I've never... you know..." You're a virgin. He already knows it, just like you know that he's not and he's not been for a long time.

Steve nods, "I'll be gentle, babygirl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth, "if it hurts or you want me to stop-"

"I'll tell you."

Steve grins, that half grin you love so much, before he attacks your neck again as his fingers continue their agonisingly slow dance down your thighs, "God," he moans into your neck as he hears the way your breath hitches in your throat, "you sound too fucking pretty. I want to hear you moan for me..." His fingers graze over your slick cunt and my god, you're soaked, "God, I want to do this right; I want to take my time with you but- I don't know how much longer I can go." His fingers part you and circle your sex until they brush over your clit.

Your eyes roll backwards as your back arches to a level you never knew possible and Steve grins at your reaction. He presses harder on your clit, pressing and circling lazy circles. Your body twists and convulses, overwhelmed by the new sensations that he's causing, your words are a jumble of moans and curse words crumbling beneath him and he's never witnessed anything so beautiful.

"J-Jesus, Steve-"

His hips involuntarily buck forwards, colliding with your thigh and his head falls as he groans, "Baby, you can't say my name like that," he hisses, "you'll make me- Jesus- I've never had that before- never had this. I'm so- so desperate for you and just hearing you, just seeing you like this is enough to make me- fuck." You love having that effect on him but he doesn't let you enjoy it for too long before a finger is pushing at your entrance. He searches your eyes and you nod as he coats it in your slick heat before slowly, his finger is being pushed inside of you.

You kiss him. Lips open and tongues swirling as he pushes inside of you, you moan against his mouth and he seems to understand what you want. He shifts and slowly pushes another finger into you and it isn't long until your hands are tugging at the sheets, his hair, nails digging into strong shoulders as you come undone beneath him. Your mind is a jumble of everything Steve. All those moments with Steve. The innocent laughter of kids, the secrets of teenagers, the awkwardness of young adults. The inside jokes, the teasing jibes, the playful roll of the eyes, the secret glances when you think he isn't look, his lovesick whenever you laugh.

Steve feels like he could finish right here, right now. Not even inside you and barely started. This moment had been in the works for years and now it was here, years of tension built up into a few lustful, passionate moments. He slips his fingers from you and immediately takes them in his mouth, tasting your natural tang on his tongue. He moans against them as he licks your wetness from them, "Fucking delicious, babygirl." He tugs his shorts down and looks down at you, "Shit, condom-"

"I'm on the pill, Steve," you pant, "we don't need it."

"Are you sure? We can stop-"

"Steve," you cut him off, leaning up on your elbows to give him a quick peck, "I'm sure."

He lines himself up and readies you for him to push into you. You gasp at his size and he gives you a few seconds to adjust before he checks if you're alright and want to continue. It's not sore, it's an unfamiliar sensation but it feels good. You nod to let Steve know you're ready to continue. His finger trails lazily down your thigh, avoiding your wounds, as he looks at you with teasing eyes.

"Words, please."

"More- God, more."

He complies, his pace slow and steady. It takes everything in his to not implode then and there in your slick warmth. It's all a bit of a blur, it feels like you're high or drunk, fuzzy around the edges and tingly. Steve's groaning into your neck, sounds that drive you crazy because my god how does he sound so fucking pretty too? Your legs are tight around him as he kisses you hard, pace quickening with every thrust. It doesn't feel like anything you'd experienced before. It's deep and makes your body squirm and shake, it makes noises you didn't know you could make escape from your throat; it makes you go wild.

"You feel so-" he groans, "so fucking good, babygirl."

The way he speaks to you, voice dark and dripping with lust, could easily tip you over the edge once more but you hang on, wanting to stretch it out just a little longer. Your eyes meet Steve's. You'd always wondered that if you and Steve did ever get together, would it be awkward? Would it be uncomfortable at first? You had your answer. It wasn't awkward, it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like how it should; it felt right. Like two pieces of a puzzle slotting together perfectly.

"Cum for me," Steve pants, peppering kisses all over your face, your neck, your shoulder. Your body involuntarily convulses, gasping at his words, "Cum for me, babygirl."

You couldn't stop yourself even if you tried. One second you're staring into Steve's eyes, the next you're tumbling into the blissful vortex of an orgasm, writhing and wriggling beneath him. The sensations overwhelm you; so much pleasure, so much build up and now you're unravelling at the seams for him; for Steve. Your eyes squeeze shut as your hands go between pulling at his hair to gripping his flesh with your nails, probably adding new cuts to his already bruised and battered body. The moans that come from you, jesus, he barely contains himself. The knowledge that he's the one making you feel this good, he's the one inside you, the one who's making you moan like that... he could explode inside you right now.

"Fucking hell, babygirl," he groans into your neck, "too fucking good, too fucking tight and pretty."

His thrusts slow as you come down from your high, allowing you some time to calm your racing heart and tingly limbs. Your breathing is erratic and you can't seem to form a single word or even a single thought but only Steve. Just Steve. Always Steve.

"I can't hold it, baby," he whispers, "you're too much; perfect but so- so fucking good." He means that you're too much in the highest of compliments. He could've came with just the sight of your naked body, hell just kissing you could've made him explode, the sound of you could've made it happen so the fact he's here, listening to you, touching you, kissing you, inside of you... it's so much; too much but he never wants it to stop. He wants it forever - wants you forever.

Slowly regaining some strength back, your hips rock into his. You're unsure of how to exactly do it but you know you're doing something right when he's cursing and gasping into your ear. The more he reacts, the more confidence you gain.

"Cum for me," you whisper in his ear just as he had done to you.

His moans make you shudder with excitement and it's not long before he's cursing and groaning loudly into your neck and the pillow you lay on, fist clenched around your hand. His thrusts grow quick and sloppy and you continue to talk him through it until he stills and shudders.

Pants fill the humid air as the two of you recover and fall down from your highs. It's a moment later when Steve slowly slides out of your warmth and slides off of you, falling onto the bed next to you. He doesn't give you any time to miss his touch because as soon as he's off of you, he's pulling you in at the waist and pressing soft kisses to your forehead.

You don't know what it is, the rushing tsunami of emotions, the reality hitting you or just the whole day's overwhelming nature but you feel vulnerable in those few moments afterwards and instinctively, your hands scrabble for the sheet, pulling it half over yourself.

"Hey," Steve murmurs, one eye open, "you never have to hide from me again."

You curl into him, "I know... It's just... weird getting used to it." It doesn't feel awkward or uncomfortable or even weird. The only weird thing about it is how normal it feels. You settle into Steve's arms as you feel a question bubbling up inside of you. "How... How was it?" It's a question that you're unsure you want the answer to because what if he hated it? What if it was just okay? It's too late now anyway, the deed has been done and the question has been asked.

Steve pulls a long breath out, "I seriously mean this, babygirl... the best, most intense, most mindblowingly awesome sex I've ever had in my life. No joke. Seriously like-"

You find yourself laughing, cheeks burning and heart racing at the compliments he continued to pour out, "Okay, okay, stop, I get it! I'm the best sex you've ever had in your life and you'll never find anyone like me ever again-"

"I don't want anyone ever again." His mood turns serious, a snap of the fingers and all laughter is gone, "I only want you, (y/n)... This isn't a one-time thing for me." You look up at him and you see that expression back once again, sad and scared, "I almost lost you, (y/n). I'm never letting you go again."

Your heart skips a beat, "So what does that mean for us?"

"it means that I-" the words are right there, locked behind teeth but he doesn't feel brave anymore, "I can't lose you."

"I can't lose you either." It's as good as an admission goes. You know how he feels just like he knows how you feel for him but the two of you have been too brave for today and neither has any intrepidness left in you so you leave it at that. You'll tell him the true nature of your feelings at some point but not right now, not yet. So for now, it's enough and it isn't long before the darkness wraps its arms around you and pulls you to sleep.

Steve settles with you wrapped up around him. He's warm, almost too warm, but he's not letting go of you. He can't. With a deep breath, he does his best to block today's events in the Upside Down out of his mind and focuses on the sound of your breathing to help lull him to sleep.

The lot of you don't get up until well into the afternoon, bodies and minds equally as exhausted. Your body is sorer in the morning, achier and just plain tired, Steve thinks it's his fault and he keeps apologising profusely but kisses work wonders to soothe his worries.

"I'm just bruised and battered. Not from you, Steve. You can't ever hurt me."

When you and Steve finally emerge from downstairs, Nancy's on the phone to Jonathan, Robin's watching TV and Eddie's surprisingly making breakfast. He's quiet and his smile doesn't quite hit his eyes but he tries his best to lift spirits. When the two of you pass Robin, she gives you a warm smile - a knowing smile but not a teasing one. After the events of yesterday, there's no teasing, no jokes; it's a 'life is fucking short so get with the one you love immediately'.

Once more, you crowd around the breakfast table, a little livelier than last night but the bruises, cuts and dark circles under everyone's eyes tells a different story. Everyone's eyes have a darkness to them; a hollow emptiness after the trauma of last night. Eddie fills in the conversation where he can but even he isn't feeling up to it so the sound of silence is something that you've grown to be used to. Steve's hand doesn't leave your hand all morning, he still doesn't want to be away from you.

After breakfast, the five of you glance around at each other and there's a question that you all think but don't say. Steve finds himself answering, "You can all stay as long as you need. My parents won't be home for a week and-"

There's a group sigh of relief.

"Maybe just one more night," Nancy says, "until we can get a proper good night's sleep." She's always been so strong, so fearless but the fact that there's a slight tremor of fear in her voice is oddly comforting to you.

"Thank god because I wasn't going anywhere." Robin says as she finishes the last of her apple juice.

"Me either," Eddie says, "maybe we could extend the invite to Henderson and the rest of the little buddies."

As the rest of the group break off, with Eddie going to call Dustin and Nancy and Robin cleaning up, you and Steve move outside to sit by the pool. Steve's arm is tight around your shoulders, pulling you into his embrace, "I love you." He's not feeling very brave today but he says it anyway. Life's too short, he learned that last night. So even despite his worries and fears, he had to tell you. Why not?

You press a kiss to his neck, smiling. See? Like two puzzle pieces slotting together. His confession makes you feel brave and makes you feel like you could tell him. Last night was a night of firsts; first time into the Upside Down, first time getting wounded, first time having sex so what's wrong with another first? First time telling someone that you love them; first time telling Steve. The boy who you thought was so far out of your league. Years ago you'd accepted your fate of just being friends but now? Now you were here, in his arms, so why the fuck would you let your fears stop you from taking the leap of faith?

"I love you, too." He presses a kiss to your forehead, smiling.

The two of you stay there, curled up together and smiling, until Dustin and crew get there and until Dustin yells at the top of his lungs, "I fucking knew it! Fifty bucks Harrington!"

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