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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 days ago

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Cannibals [Chapter 2: Roses and Forget-Me-Nots]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence and murder, bodily injury, Aemond needs comfort, Helaena needs to make a choice, Aegon needs revenge, Red needs stitches.

Word count: 6.4k

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Too much to drink, blood on your teeth; you stumbled going up the Grand Staircase and bit your lip and now all you can taste is warm copper. It’s the past, but the recent past. Viserys isn’t dead yet, but not far from it either, an unquiet ghost who groans from rooms cloudy with incense. Criston oversees Aemond’s training and Grandsire sits the Iron Throne when petitioners come begging for relief from taxes or the requisitioning of their livestock. Helaena plays with her children in the garden. Larys Strong dwells in shadowy corners of rooms, lurking, listening. Mother lights candles for her husband in the sept, tries to forgive herself for being so repulsed by him she shivers when her skin brushes his and comes away damp from the weeping sores.

It’s Criston’s nameday, and the court is celebrating as if it is a prince’s. Mother has ordered the kitchen to prepare his favorite foods—lamb marinated with figs and blood oranges, a myriad of olives, spiced wine, roasted eggplant, dragon peppers stuffed with cheese and onions—and the musicians to play Dornish ballads. In the midst of the festivities in the Great Hall, Aemond has been pulled aside by Grandsire to discuss a pressing concern: an idea, proposed by Master of Ships Tyland Lannister, to split the royal treasury and hide it in several different locations should a war of succession break out after Viserys’ death. No one knows what will happen when Father dies. Everybody is moving invisible pieces on an imaginary board, trying to convince themselves they are prepared.

Now the hour is late and guests are vanishing, and everyone seems to be drunk, the world warm and spinning, and you are going to your chambers to wait for Aemond. What you have together is new and exhilarating, and your pulse is thudding in your ears as you stagger down the hallway. You are going to take off all your clothes and wait for him in bed beneath blankets Helaena has stitched with red bats. If Aemond asked you for everything tonight, you’d give it; but you’re beginning to like his idea to wait. You will never fly a dragon into battle like Aegon the Conqueror’s wives, but this is one war you and Aemond can fight together: thwarting all other matches, at last claiming a victory that the realm must witness. Aemond wants a Valyrian wedding ceremony. He has no fear of your blood.

You are passing Helaena’s chambers when you hear muffled voices inside, things you should not listen to but are too drunk to politely ignore. Helaena is whimpering quietly. Aegon says, sounding like he is close to tears: “I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m almost done…”

You should leave, but you don’t. You are trapped there by the poison that slows your thoughts, by the horror that blooms in you like roses, thorny and maroon. You’ve never had to experience intimacy that feels like a violation. You never will. And you’re the only one of Alicent’s children that’s true for: Aemond’s first experiences were with a middle-aged prostitute on the Street of Silk, something Aegon mistook for a favor; Daeron will have to bed a Baratheon girl he barely knows.

After a few minutes the door opens, and there is Aegon swimming in a white nightshirt stained with red wine. He startles when he sees you, then averts his watery eyes. He is ashamed. He says weakly, his hair hanging in his face: “I try to make it good for her.”

“I know you do.”

“She loves the children,” Aegon explains, although you haven’t asked. “She wants more, and she understands how that happens. Now I only lie with her when she invites me. But that doesn’t mean she enjoys it. I just don’t want you to think that I’m…I’m…that I’m a monster.”

You shake your head, profoundly sad. “No, Aegon.”

“How do you not get…?” He rubs his own soft belly, then makes an arc through the air, miming a pregnancy. “We’re fertile stock. And I can’t imagine Mother allowing Orwyle to ply you with moon tea.”

You smile faintly. “We don’t do that, just everything else.”

A raised eyebrow; Aegon is intrigued. “Really? How adventurous. I’m surprised. About Aemond, not so much you.”

“We’re saving it until after our wedding. Something to look forward to.”

“Unless Grandsire and Mother eventually succeed in marrying you off to a painfully uninteresting, Andal-blooded lord with a formidable army or some nice ships or whatever.”

“And then Aemond will murder him.”

Aegon laughs, recedes again and becomes remote, goes out to sea like low tide. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? My marriage is built on obligation, and yours will be the opposite.”

You say like a confession, something you seek forgiveness for: “I’m so sorry, Aegon.”

“No, no, I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to…I mean…” He sighs, then looks at you, dazed drunk childlike honesty. “You and Aemond being miserable wouldn’t make my life better. I have no wish to disrupt your happiness.”

You don’t know how to respond. Aegon doesn’t expect you to. He gives you a drowsy little smirk, then meanders down the hallway. When he spots a maid, he snaps his fingers at her and orders: “Draw a bath for the queen.”

You retreat to your own chambers, where you walk right past your bed—you now feel no desire at all to creep naked into it—and kneel beside the roost by the open window. Most of the bats you call your babies are out flying, but Kingfisher clings to the dark blue velvet you keep draped over the large wooden box. He peers at you with clever black eyes, his ears perked straight up, and when you offer your palm Kingfisher scrambles into it. You pet him as your thoughts wander, slow, dizzy, morose.

Aemond breezes into the room, first swift and famished, then bewildered as he nears you. “Why are you sad?” And then, because he gets glimpses into your mind as well: “Something with Aegon.”

You shrug, not looking away from Kingfisher. You are trying not to cry. “I just wish the world was different.”

Aemond stares at you for a while. And you’re a little afraid, because if he grabs you and you tell him to stop, you don’t know if he’ll listen. But Aemond doesn’t grab you at all. Instead after a moment he says: “I’ll be right back,” and he leaves your bedchamber. He must go all the way to the kitchen across the courtyard of the Red Keep, because when he reappears he is carrying a small glass jar with a piece of honeycomb inside. He sits down beside you and opens the jar, wets his fingertips with honey, and holds them out to Kingfisher so he can lick them clean.

You smile at Aemond. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, he motions for you to dip your fingers in the honey too, and together you feed Kingfisher and watch the others swoop and glide outside, snatching insects from the starlit air like stolen coins.

The only time Aemond touches you that night is to thread your long, silver braid through his hands; and why did you ever begin wearing your hair in a braid at all? Because you heard the reverence in his voice when he told you about Aegon the Conqueror’s wife Visenya.

~~~~~~~~~~

Now you are on the floor of your bedchamber crushing seashells, and the afternoon light cascades in hot and golden, a day that feels more like midsummer than autumn. With each whack of your tiny steel hammer—a gift from Criston on your nameday several years past—a shell breaks into irregular shards to be arranged on the board and then glued down; you have a jar filled with paste made from boiled animal bones and a paintbrush to apply it with. You collect and boil the bones yourself. Helaena and the children went with you to the beach to search for shells this morning, an arduous task as you were on the hunt for rare specimens: blue to mimic Tessarion’s scales. This mosaic is for Mother, a vision of Daeron to hang on her bedroom wall. He was sent away so he might turn out differently from the rest of you, but he will be home again soon. The Hightower army is marching across the Reach to King’s Landing, your youngest brother and his dragon safeguarding it from above.

You don’t have to be in the small council chamber to know that Grandsire rails against Aemond, that Criston struggles to defend him. Killing Luke was a disastrous mistake, no sane person could disagree. Now they debate how to proceed. Grandsire writes his letters: to the Lannisters, to the Baratheons, to the Triarchy. Aemond sees to the gathering of soldiers and supplies, moving tokens around the map laid open on a table in his bedchamber. Aegon wants to fly into battle. Criston tries to negotiate between them, and relays their feuds to Mother. Larys Strong shares the whispers he has heard of the Blacks’ machinations: Rhaenyra sick with grief and struggling to manage her forces from Dragonstone, Daemon abandoning her to take the haunted castle of Harrenhal in the Riverlands. Rhaenyra is a weak queen, and the Rogue Prince cannot stomach bowing to her.

You drop the steel hammer again—whack!—and as the cobalt-colored seashell shatters, Aemond steps into your bedchamber and closes the door behind him. He takes off his sword and his dagger, leaves them on the dresser, then drops to the floor and crawls on his hands and knees to you. He grabs your ankles and drags you under him; you giggle as your hammer tumbles out of your grasp and you wrap your legs around Aemond, pulling him in closer.

Aemond kisses you insatiably, his tongue parting your lips, his long silver hair spilling down to the floor. Then he says: “I have to go away.”

You know this has to happen. He has trained all his life for war, and now it is here. “For how long?”

“A week, maybe. Or a month, or a year. Nobody knows.”

“A year?” You’ve never been away from him for more than a few nights at a time. It is impossible to imagine.

Aemond takes off his eyepatch and flings it aside. His sapphire eye—cold, sharp, glittering fire—unnerves others, but to you it is a talisman of his faithfulness. In the boardgame you played as children, you were always the red bat and Aemond the blue wolf. It was a game of ambition, of cruelty, but sometimes mercy as well, and there were always exactly five players until Mother sent Daeron away to Oldtown. Blue is Aemond’s place in the family. He is cunning, he is arrogant, he is difficult at times…but he knows where he belongs. He would cease to exist without the rest of you. “Rhaenyra is bedbound on Dragonstone,” Aemond says, skating his thumb across your cheek. “Still recovering from childbirth and broken by Luke’s death. Daemon is far away in the Riverlands doing gods know what, there are rumors he’s taken up with some girl there. Now is the time to bring the Crownlands under Green control. House Thorne is already with us, next we will take Massey, Bar Emmon, Rosby, Stokeworth, Byrch, Harte, Hayford, Staunton, and Darklyn. They will bend the knee to Aegon, or they will burn. Rhaenyra will be encircled, and then we can do whatever we want with her.”

“What about the Celtigars of Claw Isle? They are Valyrians, they should honor tradition. The firstborn son always inherits. And Rhaenyra has defiled the bloodline with her Strong boys.”

“They must not see it that way. I’ve heard Bartimos Celtigar is her Master of Coin.”

“Traitors,” you hiss, and Aemond beams and kisses your forehead.

“Don’t worry, I have plans for them. Crabs are delicious when boiled alive.”

So Caraxes is at Harrenhal, Syrax is unable to be ridden and not inclined towards battle anyway, Vermax and Moondancer are both too small to be much of a threat to a dragon as ferocious as Sunfyre, let alone Vhagar… “Where is Meleys?”

Aemond chuckles. “Rhaenys won’t strike on her own. She doesn’t have the courage.”

“She might now that you’ve killed her grandson.” A pause. “Alleged grandson.”

“Luke wasn’t her blood, but Baela and Rhaena are. I’m sure she wants to live to see them grow up. I can’t imagine her flying to war for Rhaenyra and Daemon, the people who murdered Laenor so they could fuck on his grave.”

“He was buried at sea.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“I wish I could help,” you tell Aemond, feeling small and fragile, feeling worthless. If you had a dragon, you could follow him into battle like Visenya.

“Not everyone is meant to have wings,” Aemond says gently, and you wonder—as you have countless times before—if part of him is glad that he’ll always know that you are exactly where he left you, that you’ll always be defenseless. Then he distracts you. “Do you remember how you chased Vermithor all over Dragonstone?”

Of course you do: a trip to the mist-swept volcanic rock arranged while Rhaenyra and Daemon were travelling elsewhere, Grandsire fervently hoping that one of the wild dragons would bond to you and add to the Greens’ arsenal. None of them did, not even the Bronze Fury, the beast you had dreamed of riding as a girl, whose stories gave you a sensation like flying, like falling. “I wanted him so badly.”

“And to show his appreciation, he almost incinerated you.”

You smile up at Aemond, touching the scar that cuts down the left half of his face. After his maiming on Driftmark, he developed a phobia of needles. If he saw Helaena embroidering, he would become nauseous and unsteady on his feet. So he had the maesters teach him how to stitch wounded flesh, and after months of bloody observation and practice he was cured. He is not a man who lets others break him. He makes himself whole again, one brick at a time. “You saved me.”

“I couldn’t have you reduced to charred bones. I like you warm…and wet…and willful.”

Aemond wrenches you over and onto your belly, presses his hips against yours, crushes you into the floor with his weight. His left hand covers yours, your fingers interweaving; his right hand slides under your waist and stops between your legs, stroking you through your scarlet gown. You move with him, laughing, moaning, feeling the chill of the stone floor bleed into your skin.

Aemond whispers: “I need to be inside you.”

It’s a statement that is actually a question; he’s asking for permission. No, he’s begging for it. But you want the same thing. He’ll be gone soon, for a week or a month or a year. “Then do it.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

He lets you up and as he takes off his tunic and trousers, you crawl into your bed, a crimson canopy, curtains that billow in the wind blowing off the ocean. Now Aemond is here too and he’s tearing off your gown so he can possess you: not the sort of coupling that could result in a child, the other way. It’s a sin, of course, but so is incest, and so is murder, and so are pride and envy and wrath, and so at this point what’s one more transgression tossed onto the heap? You aren’t sure if you believe in the Faith of the Seven anyway. Rhaenyra is one of the most immoral people you can think of, and yet she has been abundantly blessed until now: married to the man of her design, absolved of all wrongdoing by Viserys. Why would the Seven shower gifts upon Rhaenyra while your own mother is so cursed? If they exist, they must be brutal masters.

You are lying on your belly on the soft feather mattress, reaching back to touch Aemond’s face and his hair as his lips claim your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder. You lift your hips so he can reach under you more easily, where wetness is pooling for him. His right hand caresses you with rough, insistent motions, making you ravenous and breathless, making you need him. With his left hand, he slips two fingers effortlessly inside; and then, once they are slick and dripping, he pulls them out and travels farther back. There is pressure, resistance, and then: a glorious, forbidden fulness that draws a moan from deep in your throat. Your fingernails bite into your pillows, your body moves in time with Aemond as his fingers thrust into you, first slowly and cautiously and then faster as he feels your muscles relax around him.

“Now,” you plead helplessly.

“Not yet.”

“I’m ready, I promise.”

“No, no, you’re not,” he purrs, and when you turn your face to his, he kisses you in a way that is slovenly, bestial, natural like the dark moist earth or the sea. No one else would understand this. No one else will ever need to.

Aemond’s fingers work on you until there is hardly any tension, then he yanks open the drawer of your nightstand to get the jar of Dornish olive oil he keeps there for exactly this reason. He drenches himself with it—his hardness, his thickness, his length—and spills oil all over the sheets in the process. Then he settles behind you again. It was your idea to try this the first time, one humid sunlit morning when you were desperate for each other, when you had an emptiness inside you his fingers alone could not cure. You needed him closer, just like you do now. And your climax was so intense it felt like it would snap your bones and unspool your muscles like loose threads.

As Aemond’s right hand strokes you—coaxing you closer, flooding your bloodstream with sweltering riptide lust—he positions himself and pushes in slowly, so so slowly, and at first there is a burning like there always is, but the oil eases his entry and your muscles are swift to accommodate him, they are supple and trained, and as he fills you there is an indescribable intensity as his heat melds with yours, and when you are this close to him it’s like you can feel everything he’s feeling, hear every thought that flits through his mind, and he knows exactly when to pause to give you more time, when to begin again, until he is all the way inside and he moans and rests his head between your shoulder blades, drinking you in through his lungs and his pores, his long silver hair whispering over your ribs.

When Aemond is sure he can last, he moves in you carefully, divinely. The fingers of his right hand—still circling, still pressing against you with commanding force—have you panting and powerless. It’s overwhelming, the fullness, the closeness, the warm blossoming euphoria…and if you’re sore tomorrow, you won’t care. Aemond could be gone by then.

“Harder,” you plead.

“No, Red, no, I’ll hurt you.”

Your hips quicken the rhythm, jolting back against him, and as Aemond gasps—taken by surprise, trying not to finish yet—a torrent like a wave of scalding blood rolls through you, and instead of dissipating to a froth like seafoam it keeps going, unraveling you, ruining you, until you can’t stand it anymore, and your spine and ribcage ache, and there is pain where Aemond is thrusting into you as he shudders and cries out in a low rasping voice midway between ecstasy and agony, like someone has buried a blade in him, like maybe he’s dying.

“Enough,” you sigh, and Aemond knows what that means. He withdrawals from you, gingerly and very, very slowly. Then he rolls you onto your back as you gasp for air, staring up at the distorted afternoon shadows on the ceiling. He kisses the side of your face again and again, murmuring through your hair in High Valyrian. Has Aemond ever said that he loves you? Not that you can remember. He acts as if he does, but still…sometimes you wonder.

When your pulse is calm again and the sweat cooling on your belly and your chest, Aemond rises and shuffles to the door, still naked. He opens the door and looks out into the hallway until he spies a maid and beckons her over. You see her silhouette just beyond the threshold.

“Fresh linens for the bed,” he says. “And a bath.”

“Yes, my prince.” The maid peeks in to where you are naked on the oil-stained sheets, and you cannot find it in yourself to act shy or ashamed. You aren’t. You smile wickedly at her and she skitters away, blushing and wide-eyed.

You loll together in a hot bath—Aemond drifting off as he leans against the back of the tub, you dozing with your head on his chest as soap bubbles pop in your hair—then he just barely manages to throw on some nightclothes and stagger back into your bed, not wanting his own room but yours, and he is asleep in just minutes. Outside the sun is setting and the sky is turning from flames to indigo, and the bats are venturing out of their roost to feed. You spend a while with them and then, starving, leave Aemond to rest while you go down to the kitchen to scavenge a plate of dinner, something hearty and satiating: bread, butter, venison pie, an apple tart, a pint of ale. You eat alone in the garden as your bats circle overhead. The members of the small council—with the exception of Aemond, dead to the world—are dining together, and Mother is eating with Helaena. You are avoiding Mother for now; after you and Aemond have sinned, you always feel like she can smell it on you, or see it, or hear the echoes of your moans, and there is such pitiful disappointment on her face you cannot bear to meet her eyes. She deserved a different husband, and children who she could recognize as her own.

When you return to Maegor’s Holdfast, you pass Aegon as he is trotting down the Grand Staircase, a goblet of wine in his hand and escorted by Sir Willis Fell. Aegon grins at you and says: “Aemond is practically comatose. You’ve exhausted him.”

“Well, he does most of the work,” you reply mischievously. “Where are you going?”

“To get my armor fitted. Aemond will have to have his finished tomorrow, I suppose. If he’s recovered by then. Try to keep him off you for a few hours, I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“I’ll let him know about the armor. But I don’t think he’ll want to wear it in the saddle.”

“Try to convince him. It could shield him from dragonfire in combat.”

“Right,” you say, and all at once your mood plummets, because this is real: the war is descending like a storm and your brothers must fight in it, must leave you, must risk their lives. Aegon waves goodbye and strides off to the armory across the courtyard of the Red Keep, Sir Willis Fell in tow and looking disturbed but trying not to show it.

Upstairs, Helaena is in the hallway with her children, and you can tell she’s overwhelmed by them: Maelor is yowling in her arms, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera both shouting and tugging at the skirt of her lemon-colored gown. Helaena is looking around for someone, perhaps a maid; uncharacteristically, she is unable to find one.

“Well hello there!” you say, kneeling and opening your arms so the twins can barrel into you. “What are we playing, huh? Hide and seek? Chase? Tame the dragon?”

“We’re trying to find Aemond!” Jaehaerys answers exuberantly.

“Oh, is that right?” You glance at Helaena, and she smiles awkwardly and shrugs. She must know where he is and is attempting to distract them so he can sleep.

She says, a bit flustered: “Mother went to the small council chamber after dinner, and the maid…I don’t know where she’s disappeared to all the sudden…”

“It’s alright, I’ll help them find Aemond.”

“Really?!” Jaehaera says, overjoyed.

“Of course!” Then you wink at Helaena, and she is relieved. “Let’s go check his bedchamber.”

“But we’re not allowed in there,” Jaehaerys says uncertainly.

And no, they usually aren’t; Aemond has too many relics they might break or maps they could rip or stain or knock his tokens off of. “It’s okay if I go with you. I’ll make sure we don’t touch anything important.”

“Yay!” the twins yell together, and then Maelor joins them between chomps on his own fingers, even though the details of the expedition elude him.

You swish in your gown—a pale drained pink, your wet hair in a fresh braid—towards Aemond’s rooms. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera dash after you, and Helaena trails behind them carrying Maelor. You hold the door open so the children and Helaena can enter, then follow them into Aemond’s bedchamber. The hearth is lit and crackling; papers litter his desks and tables, the wooden shelves are heavy with books. Mosaics you’ve made since childhood freckle the stone walls like birthmarks. You pick up a candle, light it in the fireplace, and begin igniting wicks around the room so the children will have more light. Helaena sets Maelor down so he can wobble after his siblings.

“Aemond, where are you?” Jaehaerys calls with a beaming smile.

You say: “Let’s check in the closets, and under the bed, and behind the curtains—” Then you scream and drop the candle, because there is a man in this room, and he has lunged out from the shadows. He traps you against the wall with a blade at your throat. Another man—huge, broad, towering—has cornered Helaena and the children. He holds a butcher’s cleaver in one monstrous fist. Blood drips from it in dark, viscous threads down to the floor.

He nods to Helaena and tells you: “Scream again and I’ll put this through her windpipe, and we can watch her try to learn how to breathe blood.”

You shake your head franticly. “I won’t scream, I swear I won’t.” You are thinking: Criston and Grandsire and Mother are in the small council chamber, and Aegon is in the armory, and Aemond is sleeping so deeply he can’t be roused…so who is going to save us? Who the fuck is going to walk in and stop this?

“Quiet,” the large man growls at the children. “No noise or Mummy dies.”

“Jewels,” Helaena says, taking off her necklace and earrings. The children cling to her, trembling and sniffling, weeping but trying not to make a sound. “We can give you these.”

“We’re not here for jewels, you dumb bitch,” the smaller man sneers. “We’re here for a boy. A son for a son.”

“No,” you whisper, realizing what he means.

“Aemond killed Lucerys Velaryon,” the large man says. “We’re here to kill Aemond. But Aemond doesn’t seem to be around at the moment, is he? Fortunately, any son of the Greens will do.”

Helaena shoves the children behind her, shielding them with her willowy body. From the Dragonpit, you hear Dreamfyre’s shrill screeches. “You can have me instead.”

“You’re not a son.”

“So which one do you choose?” the small man asks Helaena, raking the point of his blade back and forth across the front of your throat, leaving shallow nicks that glow sharp and searing.

Helaena doesn’t answer—she can’t, of course she can’t—and so the large man reaches around her and drags out Jaehaerys and Maelor. He pushes them to the floor and they cower there, clasping each other and tears streaming down their cheeks. There’s a dead maid over by the bed, you notice, the same one who saw you naked in bed earlier; she must have had the misfortune of stumbling upon the intruders. There is a gaping black hole in the wall on the opposite end of the room, the entrance to a secret passageway to the beach, an escape hatch that almost nobody knows about. But Daemon would.

“Which one?!” the large man demands, glaring hatefully at Helaena. “Choose or we’ll kill them both. We’ll kill all three.”

Helaena covers her ears with her hands and shrinks into herself, trying to disappear. Jaehaera hides behind her mother; Jaehaerys is petrified; Maelor, mercifully, doesn’t fully understand. If he was struck on his tiny blonde head, he would be gone before he had time to comprehend that his short life was over.

The men are assailing Helaena: “Choose or we’ll kill them all, we’ll kill them in front of you, we’ll kill them slow.”

“Helaena, pick one,” you sob.

She shakes her head. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Aemond, can’t you feel how afraid I am? Aemond, you have to wake up.

“All three?!” The large man taunts. “Alright, that’s fine, we can do it that way!” He raises his cleaver above the boys’ heads, and Helaena attempts to stop him.

He’s going to murder her too, he’s going to sever her arm or cut her throat.

“Maelor!” you burst out. “Maelor, the little one, she chooses Maelor!”

“What?” Maelor says, gazing up at you with vast shimmering eyes. And instead, the large man seizes Jaehaerys by his hair and hacks his head off his shoulders.

Blood spurts like a fountain, blood flows over the floor, blood soaks Helaena’s gown when she bundles her dead son into her arms. Forgetting the knife at your throat, you try to get to her; the blade drops and slits your flesh from your collarbone down to the top of your left breast. A river of red flows in a sheet down the front of your gown. Everyone is screaming—you, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor—but it doesn’t matter now; the men throw Jaehaerys’ head into a burlap sack and vanish together into the blackness of the passageway.

“They can’t get away,” you say numbly, and then you bolt after them. You grab a flickering candle off Aemond’s writing desk and plunge into the tunnel. There are blooddrops on the dusty floor, a trail of gore. Jaehaerys’ head must have bled through the sack. You aren’t thinking, you don’t know what you’ll do if you catch up to them. But if there is a boat waiting to ferry the men and their grisly trophy to Dragonstone, somebody must prevent them from escaping.

Jaehaerys can’t be dead, he can’t be, be can’t be, he was just here and he was smiling—

Someone catches your wrist and you shriek, but it isn’t the strange men. It’s Aemond, still dressed in his nightclothes, his sapphire gleaming, blood all over him and clutching his dagger in his other hand.

He tells you, taking the candle: “Go back to my bedchamber.”

“Aemond, they…Jaehaerys…he…they…”

“I know,” he says hoarsely. “Go back to where it’s safe.”

Obediently, knowing that he needs you to, you flee; you are passed by several knights of the Kingsguard with torches, their swords drawn, in pursuit of the murderers. In Aemond’s bedchamber is a nightmare you can’t wake up from: Aegon is wailing and collapsed on the blood-soaked floor with the mutilated body of his son in his arms, Helaena is slumped and paralyzed against the wall, Mother is weeping as she embraces Jaehaera and Maelor and takes them out of the room, Criston has just appeared in the doorway and stands there horrorstruck. You go to Aegon and lay a palm on his shoulder, the words impossible. Without looking—he already knows it’s you—he reaches up to grip your hand, so forcefully it feels like he’ll crush your bones.

“What the hell is…?” Grandsire says when arrives. Then he sees the blood, the body, and he sways and his knees buckle. Maester Orwyle sweeps in behind him, carrying a small wooden trunk of remedies. He comes directly to where you are standing.

“Princess, your mother asked me to tend to you.”

“What?” you reply dully, and he gestures to the bone-deep gash on the left side of your chest. Abruptly, agony flares there. “Oh. Of course.”

Orwyle leads you patiently to the chair at Aemond’s writing desk, then begins to clean your wound. He pours a small amount of milk of the poppy into your mouth, and you accept it passively. You are barely aware of it as his needle pierces your flesh and begins to stitch it back together.

“Is this what your letters have bought us?!” Aegon is shouting at Grandsire, who doesn’t know what to say. “Not safety even here in our own castle, but killers who breach our walls and butcher my son?!”

There are echoing footsteps, and Aemond emerges from the darkness, crossing into the rage-colored firelight of his bedchamber. “We got one of them. The guards are still searching for the other. We’ll find him, I swear we will. There was a boat in the sand, but we’ve taken it.”

“It’s your fucking fault!” Aegon screams at him. “They were here, they were looking for you, you killed Luke so they killed my boy, he was only six years old, he…he…” Aegon breaks down in sobs, then he crawls across the room to Helaena and clings to her, his head in her lap. Despite her shock, Helaena’s hands come alive again and she holds him.

“Aegon, it’s my fault too,” you say.

“What are you talking about?! You didn’t kill Luke Strong, you didn’t start this war!”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says, almost too quietly to hear. “Aegon, I’m sorry.”

“Enough letters,” Aegon seethes, hatred splitting out of him, bloodlust that can never be satisfied. “You’re done, Grandsire. I relieve you of the burden of being Hand of the King. It never sat right with you anyway, did it? Enacting the plans of a degenerate like me. Well, now you can just watch them happen. Criston, we will go to battle now, no more delays. You will lead the infantry and I’ll be in the sky, and when we drag Rhaenyra from her sickbed I’ll let Sunfyre eat her, one limb at a time.”

“Yes, my king,” Criston says, still stunned, gaping at Jaehaerys’ small, headless body.

“I’m going with you,” Aemond tells his brother.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yes you do. And I would never let you fly into battle alone.”

Aegon sniffles and wipes the tears from his face with his bloodied palms, leaving stains of clotting crimson there. Then he stands, touches his forehead to Helaena’s as a goodbye, and stumbles towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Grandsire demands.

“To torture that man to death,” Aegon says, and is gone.

Aemond turns to where you are sitting at his writing desk, Orwyle just beginning your stitches. Your eyes—glazed and drugged, grief-stricken and horrified—meet his, and you know that he is thinking that had the blade hit just a few inches higher, you would have bled to death. Aemond approaches. “Move,” he commands Orwyle.

Maester Orwyle meekly retreats; but first, he hands over the needle. And Aemond finishes mending your flesh, one painstaking, practiced stitch at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond tells you goodbye on a bluff overlooking where Vhagar is waiting for him down on the beach. He keeps you a safe distance away; not only have you no dragon of your own, but the beasts also share an aversion to you, they snarl and slink away like they would in the presence of no other Targaryen. The wind is raging and the sun bright, the sky blue and full of slow-moving clouds. Helaena is curled up in the Dragonpit with Dreamfyre. Alicent is with the surviving children. Maelor shrieks and runs away when he glimpses you.

Under torture, the larger assassin revealed that he was indeed commissioned by a messenger sent by Daemon, and that all he knew of his companion was that he was a ratcatcher. Your brothers paraded every ratcatcher they could find in front of you, but none of them were the man with the knife. Aegon, believing their ranks had nonetheless been perilously infiltrated, ordered all the ratcatchers of King’s Landing to be executed. Now they hang from walls and bridges, attracting crows. Some people weep for the dead men, but many more weep for Queen Helaena, who is known to be gentle and kind. The details have reached every street of the city: beheaded in front of his mother, made to choose between her sons. Rhaenyra has given them yet another reason to hate her. Her mortal enemies grow more numerous by the hour.

“What if something happens here?” you ask Aemond, your hands in his, strands of silver hair raked from your braid by the wind. Under your gown, your bandages loop over your left shoulder and below your right arm; beneath them, your stitches throb and your heart aches. “What if we have to leave the city for some reason? What if when you return you don’t know where I’ve gone?”

“Then I will find you,” Aemond says, as if there is no other possibility. “You belong to me, you always have. That will never change. Here, in Dorne, at the Wall, in Essos or the Summer Isles, anywhere on earth, anywhere you go, you are still mine.”

You smile, and when Aemond kisses you, his long hair trashing in the wind, he is tender and harmless, and you are reminded that he can be this way sometimes. He isn’t always fierce. He isn’t always treacherous. “Take care of Aegon.”

“Of course I will.”

“Don’t come back without him.”

“I’ll carry him the whole way home if I have to,” Aemond says, and then he leaves you, stalking down the hill towards Vhagar.

That night, when you climb into your bed, you find a note there that Aemond has left for you. You unfold the parchment, wincing; each movement pains you, reminds you of the muscles that have been slit by the assassin’s blade. You will carry the scar forever. Aemond’s note reads:

Red,

When you are here…think of me.

Soon we’ll have everything.

In place of a signature, he has finished with a sketch of a forget-me-not in blue ink.

You close the note and hold it to your chest, the parchment scratching against your bandages.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond fanfiction #aemond the kinslayer #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction

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acciofictionalmen · 23 days ago

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she's my alibi

(aou wanda maximoff x female!reader one-shot)

"i just killed a man she's my alibi"

summary: utterly smitten with wanda, you'd do anything for her. including covering up murder.

(inspired by the song 'alibi')

word count: 403

warnings: gory-ish description of a man dying, reference to blood, a little dark, completely whipped reader

"It all happened so quickly." You exclaimed, emphasising your doe eyes as your bottom lip trembled.

Wanda's fingers dragged down his scalp slowly, savouring the feeling of his life ebbing away. She flashed him a sultry smile, the kind that had lured him there in the first place.

Steve and Tony nodded sympathetically, their eyes fixed upon your concerned expression. They'd cornered you on the sofa in the compound living room whilst you'd been watching a horror movie. Without much explanation, they began questioning you on Wanda's mission the previous day. The mission you'd joined her on.

"I didn't see much," you began, looking down with a feigned, thoughtful expression- to conceal the glimmer of smugness that shone in your eyes.

You watched as Wanda twisted her hand, forcing the man to his knees. He looked up, pleading with her through bloodshot eyes as she laughed dryly.

"But I do know that Wanda was with me the whole time and never left my side." The first and only truth you'd told.

You stood by her side as she delivered the killing blow, his body crumpling like a discarded piece of paper. He stilled; lifeless, yet splattered with a vibrant crimson as though his body was a canvas and Wanda, the artist.

Wanda turned to you, eyes shimmering with that testing look as she slyly gauged your reaction. She revelled in the way your eyes widened slightly, devoutly never leaving hers despite the dead body before you. Caressing your face, you didn't flinch as Wanda brushed her fingers down your cheek. The same hand that with a flick of her fingers could easily render you dead. She leant in close, strands of rich, brown hair framing her jaw as she pressed a chaste kiss upon your lips. You could feel her smirking against you as her hands circled your neck; a shark circling its prey.

The two men nodded, Steve's lips drawn in a thin line of disappointment as he surveyed you closely. Your expression was blank, unreadable. Just as she'd taught you. He sighed, placing his hands on his knees as he stood, Tony following with a grunt. "Thank you for your insight."

Wanda pulled away slightly, her intense eyes fixed on yours, remnants of that red glow outlining her irises, "Now don't go telling on me, pretty girl." She cooed, the accent that you loved so much lapping at each word.

"Never."

happy halloween ! 🦇˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

a smaller one today, but in honour of halloween i wanted to post our favourite witch ♡ as always, please share your thoughts as id love love to hear them

take care lovelies, thank you for reading :')

yours, 𝒜

#wanda maximoff #age of ultron #mcu #marvel #marvel mcu #wanda maximoff x reader #tony stark #steve rogers #scarlet witch #iron man #captain america #the avengers #wanda maximoff x you #halloween #happy halloween #alibi #I just killed a man shes my alibiiii

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strangersteddierthings · 2 years ago

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Bad News First, Eddie

Part One 🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇FInal Part

Whew! I don’t think I’ve written this much in such a short amount of time ever in my life. The boys deserve a soft ending, I think. Enjoy!

It goes like this. While Eddie's been lost in his own mind, his body was living. Sort of.

Top secret government assisted living, kinda living. For a secret government hospital one would think the place would be fancier or something but it's just a regular looking hospital.

Eddie's in therapy, both for his body and mind.

He learns that the voice he heard when Eleven helped pull him from the depths of his mind was Mike Wheeler of all people, and he sounds different because he's nineteen and in college. Mike mocks him on graduating before Eddie. He regrets it when Eddie gets him into a headlock.

He gets to meet Eleven, outside of his mind. And he starts calling her El. Part of him can't stop thinking about Eleven as the entity he thought was going to lead him to the great beyond.

She is just a person. Sorta.

Dustin had told him there was a girl with superpowers and Eddie is glad she's real. Not that he thought Dustin would lie about this (actually, he might have thought Dustin was lying just to give him some weird version of a pep talk. Everything said before going through Watergate was suspect if he's honest).

When he's finally well enough to be able to leave, Doctor Owens tells him their plan.

They're gonna convince Wayne to fly to Tennessee. Eddie, El, and Mike Wheeler are gonna be flown there, too. There's a place for them to stay, to meet up with his uncle in private.

They'll stay there a month. Doctor Owens knows a doctor who can do Eddie's final evaluations before he can really go home.

That's the real kicker.

Hawkins fucking sucks. Small town, narrow views, non-conformity gets you called a Freak in the same way his Dad used to call him a fag. Like he said, fucking sucks.

But it's also the sanctuary he escaped to when he was eleven years old. It's the place where his uncle built a home for him.

So, back to Hawkins first. He can always go somewhere else later. Maybe a coastal city. See the ocean.

Eddie hasn't been afraid of a reaction from his uncle since that day in the hospital parking lot after he caught Eddie making out with another guy. He's got that same fear inside now, though, knowing that when El opens that door, he'll see the family he feels like he abandoned. It's not fair to himself to think that, his therapist would say, but he's allowed to have crazy thoughts right now. He's come back from being (not)dead and gets to see Wayne again for the first time. Knowing his feelings are justified doesn't make them fade, though, so he's not surprised his voice shakes when the door finally opens. “Hey Uncle Wayne.”

Wayne takes less than two seconds to reach Eddie, pulling him into a bone crushing hug. “I love you so much, you little bastard. Don’t you ever, ever do this to me again.”

It's all Eddie can do to remain upright and hug him back, clinging to his shirt like he's eleven years old again.

Wayne gives him an overview of what he's missed after the Upside Down came into their world (he heard that part from El and Mike, against the better wishes of Doctor Owens). Learns that Wayne and Steve live in Steve's childhood home because his parents just gifted it to him, apparently. That Wayne is only part time at the plant now due to an accident he had, and how that sparked his current living conditions.

Learns that Steve and Wayne became close because, unbelievably, Steve Harrington goes to his grave in the cemetery and cleans off graffiti on the regular.

Eddie feels a little hot under the collar because his brain reminds him of a fact he’d heard once; that the author of Frankenstein lost her virginity on her mother’s grave and a little voice in the back of his head whispers that it'd be hot for him to do the same thing with Steve on his own grave.

He has to scamper to the bathroom to scold himself in the mirror because he cannot be having these kinds of thoughts about Steve while talking to his uncle!

Wayne asks him, the night before their flight, “what’s something you want to do, once everything is settled and life starts to feel normal again?”

“I wanna go on a vacation. Like, a real, bona fide, family vacation.”

“Where you wanna go?”

“Think I’d like to see the ocean.”

Wayne smiles softly. “Alright. When you feel ready for it, we’ll go.”

“Just give him a chance, Eddie,” Wayne says randomly, as they wait to board their flight to Indianapolis.

“Give him a chance? As if I’d waste it,” Eddie feels breathless at just the thought. It's certainly not helping that stupid crush he's been harboring for years, knowing how Steve’s been treating his uncle. It was one thing to watch Steve defend Jeff that one time in high school; it's an entirely different ball game knowing he's watched over his uncle with care and devotion for years. “He took care of you when I couldn’t. He cares. I don’t think there’s a chance I wouldn’t give him.”

“How long have you had a thing for Steve?”

Eddie's brain screeches to a halt because he was didn't think anything he'd just said would give him away. He can't even think of a reply good enough to throw his uncle off his trail. “That’s not- why would you think- when have I ever!?”

“You think I wouldn’t know this about you?” Wayne chuckles.

No. No, Eddie thinks, of course you could take one look at me and know. His uncle had been able to know everything about him so effortlessly. But Eddie doesn't have to answer, so he won't. “So, we’ll be living with Steve Harrington? Will he… be okay with me being there?”

“Yeah. Steve and I had each other when we needed it. Now I need you, so Steve won’t mind at all," Wayne sounds so sure, so convinced, that Eddie is too.

Eddie smiles, pulling a strand of his hair to hide his face behind as he imagines getting to eat at the same dinner table as Steve fucking Harrington. He doesn't even mind that Wayne gives him a look at says 'you are being so obvious right now' because he is. He knows he is. He's allowed to be. Wayne's not going to mock him for his crush.

On the drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins, Wayne tells him the lie he told Steve. Apparently, Steve thinks Eddie's dad is coming to stay for a while. The mere thought of that sets Eddie on edge, even though he knows Wyatt Munson's still in prison. Will be for a long time, with the list of shit they got him for.

They roll into Hawkins shortly after, and while Eddie may have not been in Hawkins the last five years, and he's willing to admit that things might have changed things up since they did have to rebuild a lot of the town, he's certain that Steve's house is on the other side of it. “This isn’t the way to the Harrington house."

“Steve won’t be there. He comes here when he’s overwhelmed," Wayne says. It's still pretty jarring to hear Wayne talk about Steve like this. Like he knows him. Which, he does, obviously, because they've gotten to know each other.

Still mind blowing to think about.

“The cemetery?” is what comes out of his mouth, though.

Wayne knows what's he's really meaning to ask, though, because he shrugs and says, “we both come talk to you. Steve always starts with the bad news, you know. I think you should start with good news. Just this once." The car is slowing down, and Wayne is pointing out the front windshield, to a figure crouched down near a lone headstone. "Ah. See, there he is.”

Steve. He's too far away for Eddie to be sure sure but if anyone is still wearing bright polo shirts tucked into light wash jeans this far after leaving high school, it'd be Steve Harrington. Eddie's not even sure the car is fully stopped when he all but falls out of it.

He doesn't run to greet Steve, because that's a bit dramatic, but he's not too proud to admit he might be power walking. He slows down when he gets closer, coming to a full stop just close enough to hear Steve talking to his grave. Talking to him.

"Bad news, Eds. I'm too much of a coward to meet your old man. Afraid of what he'll sound like. Because I want him to sound like you so fucking bad it hurts. So instead of being home, I'm hiding here."

"Well, I've some bad news for you, too, Stevie. I got my voice from my mom," Eddie says, and almost instantly cringes because Wayne literally just told him to start with good news and he didn't. Eddie doesn't have much time to soak in his embarrassment, though, because Steve whips around so fast that Eddie's dizzy from the movement.

Steve looks older but it's in the way people who have seen more than their fair share of Hell look older, and less about actual aging. His eyes are wide and stunned. Eddie watches as his jaw moves but no words come out. He looks like he's seen a ghost which... ok, that's fair.

"Umm," Eddie says, a little worried he's broken him when Steve doesn't even seem to be blinking as he stares at Eddie. "Good news, Steve. I, uh, I lived. Kinda. El kinda pulled me back to the surface of my mind, or whatever, and Owens did a good job at patchin' up the goods here," he gestures to his whole body with a sweeping motion of his hand and wishes that a gate to the Upside Down would open beneath his feet and suck him back to Hell because could he be any more embarrassing?

"A-are you," he watches as Steve swallows and takes a deep breath. He's still not sure Steve has blinked yet. "real?"

"Yeah," Eddie nods, taking a few steps closer, "yeah, I'm real. I'm here and alive and real."

Steve launches himself forward then, meeting him halfway. It's so goddamn surreal be witness to how tenderly Steve actually reaches out to him, though, such a contrast to the flurry of movement he'd been just a second ago. Eddie stays still as Steve lifts shaking hands to cup his face with, pushing against his cheeks as if to test whether or not Eddie is solid. Those hands slide down, along his neck, across his shoulders, down his arms where Steve seems to need to pause and collect himself again, hands wrapped loosely around his arms just below his elbows while Steve shuts his eyes and a low, broken sound pulls itself from his throat before his eyes open again, wet with tears, and he releases Eddie just long enough to throw his arms around his neck and pull him into a hug almost as crushing as the one he shared with his uncle.

It's overwhelming in this moment. To see how much he means to Steve and not fully understand how he came to mean anything to him at all.

Doesn't stop him from wrapping his own arms around Steve's waist, though.

It goes like this.

He gets his own room at Harrington's house. Wayne has his own room, too. How strange it is, to not have his uncle sleeping the day away on the couch because the trailer had one room and he'd given it to Eddie.

They adjust to living together so seamlessly. Like they were always meant to be family.

They have dinner together. Real homecooked meals. Which isn't a novelty for Wayne and Steve anymore, but Eddie's memory ends five years ago, when his dinners consisted of microwavable meals or left over snacks from lunch. Wayne cooks on the days when Steve works, and Eddie helps. Gets to be taught how to cook.

For a while, Eddie is afraid to leave the house. Even knowing that Jason Carver bit the dust the same day he was supposed to also doesn’t help. He only goes places with Wayne and Steve, and even then, the double takes people send his way are enough to make him want to shrink into himself.

However, no one says anything to him. He's vaguely aware that everyone here lived through some sort of miniature apocalypse and maybe that's the kind of thing that has to happen to make a small town in Indiana change.

He and Steve dance around each other. He can feel it. There is something here, between them, that neither fully acknowledges.

He tries to talk to Wayne about it, but he won't give him much to go on.

"I won't be the one to say anything about what Steve thinks of you. That's gotta come from Steve. I will say this. He's waiting for you to bring it up first."

"Why does it have to be me?"

"He's had five years to gather his thoughts and emotions," Wayne levels him with a Look, "you gotta have the time to figure yourself out, too."

Well, fuck.

Steve waits until it's almost summer break for the kids (they’re not really kids anymore, though, but Eddie’s adjusting to that still) to ask if he's ready to face them. "It'll be a lot to handle," Steve says as he sits next to Eddie on their couch (their couch. He can't believe that's a truth in his life right now). "Eleven and Mike haven't told anyone yet, but they want to. It wasn't just Wayne and I that grieved for you."

"I know," Eddie says, "I know. I'm good. I'm alive and here and I want them to know about it."

Steve nods slowly, not fully focused on Eddie. Eddie's come to know that means he's thinking, so Eddie waits for him to speak. "Would you prefer to meet with everyone... one at a time?"

"What's the other option?"

"Well, I always host a barbeque when they all come back. Could tell everyone all at once. Like ripping off a Band-Aid."

Eddie crooks a smile because he's a bit mischievous and his mind instantly plays a scene where he walks into a backyard full of all the people he's come to care for, and who care for him, and he's trying to best to be casual about it in this fantasy. "Yeah. Let's do the barbeque thing."

"Bad news, Stevie," Eddie whispers as he leans against the wall next his closed door, trying not to hyperventilate. "I don't know if I can do this."

Steve reaches out and takes one of Eddie's hands in his own, linking their fingers like it's a casual thing they do all the time when it's most certainly not. "Good news, Eds. You don't have to. We didn't tell anyone you're here. You can stay in your room until they're gone, and we'll figure out another way to tell them."

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and thinks he might be crushing all the bones in Steve's hand with how hard he's clenching it. "What if they're mad at me?"

Steve understands the real question Eddie is asking, the one he doesn't know how to phrase. "You were dead, Eds, and no one out in that yard is going to be 'mad' about any time they'd spent grieving over you. There's gonna be a lot of tears, man, like a lot. Maybe even some shouting. None of it done in anger."

"How're you sure?"

Steve lifts his unoccupied hand and cups Eddie's check. Steve’s eyes are watery and his voice is a bit choked, but he says, "because I was there. I saw them through their grief. Everyone in the backyard either loves you already, or they will."

It's so fucking intimate, how close they are, how tenderly Steve touches him. Wayne had said he'd need to take the first step, so he blames Wayne when he blurts out, "what about everyone in this room? They love me, too?"

Steve's eyes go wide in surprise before his whole face lights up in a way Eddie has never seen before. It makes Steve look younger, less haunted, and then Steve whispers, "of course I love you," like there is no other answer Steve could have given.

Eddie grabs a handful as Steve's polo shirt and pulls him close enough to kiss.

Butterflies and fireworks erupt within Eddie. Kissing Steve is so much better than he's ever let himself imagine. They're still holding hands and Steve's still got his other hand resting so softly on his cheek and Steve's lips are kinda chapped but fuck does the briefest touch of their lips together make Eddie lose all his breath.

It's not deep, or all consuming. There's not even an exchange of tongue. Steve kisses him softly, gently, pulls back to pepper little kisses all over Eddie's face that has him blushing more than he's ever done in his life, and Steve places one, two, three more kisses to his lips before pulling back to look at Eddie like he's the answer to every prayer Steve's ever had. It makes his knees weak.

"I think," Eddie pauses to lick his lips, "I think I'll be brave enough to do it if you're holding my hand."

"Just try and pry yourself away, Munson," Steve teases. "Whenever you're ready."

Steve was right about the tears and shouting. He was also right that no one is mad at him.

Dustin hugs him so hard they fall over in the yard and Eddie finds himself part of a dog pile that starts with crying that turns into laughter that leads back into crying, everyone grabbing at him and him grabbing back.

It's emotional. It's overwhelming. It's the best fucking day of Eddie Munson's life.

Doctor Owens reaches out towards the end of summer to let him know they're issuing him a new social security card. Eddie asks if he's allowed to change him name. Owens says yes.

"Bad news first, Eddie," Eddie says to himself as he kneels in front of his own headstone. "You've become so boring and normal, no one vandalizes your grave anymore. Good news, though. Means I can do it myself."

Before him is his headstone, a thick red line painted through his death date. Another more carefully applied line is struck through his middle name. Above it he's painted in block letters 'Wayne'.

"Eddie, come on! This road trip's gonna start without you," Steve calls from where he's leaning against the side of Wayne's pickup.

Eddie is satisfied with his work, so he abandons the paint and returns to the pickup. He slides across the bench seat, one leg pretzeled under himself to be out of the way of the gear shift. Steve follows in after, shutting the door and reaching for Eddie's hand automatically.

He's got Wayne to his left, Steve to his right, and the first family vacation he's ever taken in his life ahead of him.

Good news, Eddie Wayne Munson. Maybe everyday going forward can be the best fucking day of your life.

#steddie #my fic #bad news first eddie #its complete!!!#thank you for all the wonderful comments #i tried to tag everone so im sorry if i missed you!

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strniohoeee · 1 year ago

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Parasite

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader♥️

Synopsis: Somethings wrong with Matt, and it’s scaring Y/N. When she figures out what’s wrong with him.Things take place that alter her life forever🩸

Warnings⚠️: THIS IS SMUTTTT. Vampire Matt, and uhhh some other vampire people can’t spoil anything though🖤. Just some vampire fucking, but nothing crazy🦇

Song for the imagine: Change(In the House of Flies)-Deftones

⚠️This is an 18+ story, so minors do not interact, or do??⚠️

Now you feel so alive

I’ve watched you change

It’s like you never had wings

Something was off with Matt lately he was hanging around with a sketchy crowd, and suddenly he wasn’t himself anymore. Chris and Nick had hung out with this crew too, but they didn’t act how Matt was acting.

He was honestly frightening. All I remember was Chris and Nick had gone away with these guys, and came back, and then Matt went away with them, but when he came back it just wasn't really right.

I would hang out with them, but then they would go through these weird phases of not really talking to me, or being seen. I tried to ignore it because maybe I was trying to make myself believe something was there when it truly wasn’t.

When I didn’t see them they were with those weird guys they were friends with. I honestly thought they were either doing or selling drugs, or maybe both. Whatever it was, I chose to stay out of the way of their life decisions; it wasn't really my business.

I only started to get truly concerned when Matt’s appearance changed. I mean all their appearances changed, but Matt….his was the most noticeable. Everyone noticed it, but never said anything to him about it….they were afraid?

He went from having soft cheeks, and warm blue eyes and heart warming smile to pale, with sunken cheekbones and icy sunken in dead eyes….the dead eyes scared me the most. They were so frightening often times I couldn’t look at him for too long

His personality changed as well; he went from bubbly and bright and talkative to quiet, mean and mysterious. The surrounding girls in our lives found it hot and mysterious. I found it out right, strange and weird….this wasn’t Matt.

I was really scared he was messing around with drugs or something because he completely changed, and it wasn’t for the best.

I hadn’t seen the triplets in a week as they ghosted me and went MIA to go be with those guys. I really wished they’d just stop honestly. I didn’t want to lose my friends over some weird people

I was currently sleeping, and I was having vivid dreams of Matt screaming and pleading for help, but I couldn’t see him in my dreams everything was just black

Suddenly Matt’s face appeared in my dreams with red eyes and a scary grin “WAKE UP” he yelled, and suddenly I jumped out of my sleep

“What the fuck” I said rubbing my eyes, and turning my lamp on that’s on my nightstand

As my eyes were adjusting to the light I looked down at my clock 3AM….chilling, unholy hour. I felt a presence in my room, but I chose to shake it off

“I know you feel me” I heard someone say, and my head snapped in the direction of the person. It was Matt sitting at my window sill

“Matt? How’d you get in here?” I asked rubbing my eyes again to make sure I was awake

“You should really lock your windows” he said deeply

“Matt, I'm on the second floor, how’d you get up here?” I asked getting frightened

“I told you, you should lock the windows” he said again standing up from the window sill

“You’re scaring me okay, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but you’re not the same person I used to know” I said sitting up fully

“It took me a while to figure out what I am too” he said still sitting in the darkness, only the moonlight casting light against him

“What do you mean what you are?” I asked him

“You don’t know?” He asked tilting his head

“Whatever sick joke this is please stop it” I said getting annoyed

“This isn’t a joke…” he said to me

“Matt I’m scared, and if you say one more creepy thing I’m running out the door” I said to him

“Come on don’t be like that, I just want to talk to you” he said in a whisper

“Fuck this” I said and got up running to my door, but before I could open it Matt just appears behind me, and shuts the door

“Matt let me out” I said with my back still to him

“I can’t let that happen” he said sending chills down my spine

“I’ll hurt you” I said

“You can not hurt me” he said chuckling

I turned around to answer him, and when I did I wish I hadn’t. His eyes were no longer blue, but pitch black

“MATT WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU” I said sinking under his arms and running back to my bed

“How do you not know?” He said looking over at me

“Because this is the real world, and I’m so fucking scared right now” I said shaking

“I’m not going to hurt you….” He said walking over to me

“You’ve been acting weird lately, you look different, you disappear and now your eyes are black” I said shaking my head at him

“Exactly…don’t you know what I am?” He said smirking at me

“This isn’t real” I said looking at him

“It is real, say it you know what I am” he said to me

“You’re not a vampire” I said scoffing at him

“I am….and it’s been two weeks since I’ve lasted tasted blood, and yours smells sweet” he said licking his lips

“This is bullshit this is not real” I said pinching myself to try and snap out of it

“We are vampires, and we want you to join us” he said sticking his hand out

“Join who?” I asked him

“Chris, Nick and I….it would be a shame if you didn’t” he said

“You’re not a fucking vampire, vampires are myths” I said pushing his hand away

“Not true” he said shaking his head

“Show me then” I said

He came over and sat next to me looking at me with his dark eyes, opening his mouth and letting his fangs come out

My eyes widened and my mouth got dry

“Real enough for you baby?” He asks tilting his head

“I….I don’t know how to feel” I said looking away

“You feel scared and….aroused?” He said raising his brow at me

“Get out of my head” I said trying to push the feeling away

“It’s hard your thoughts are screaming at me” he said

“What do you want from me?” I asked

“I want to turn you, and maybe fuck you too” he said brushing my hair out of my face

“I don’t know Matt” I said shaking my head

“Oh come on, you can always be with Chris and Nick and I, and you’ll be immortal…sounds stupid but I promise you’ll love it” he said

“And if I say no?” I asked

“I can hold out, but not for much longer” he said looking over my body

“You really want me to fuck you” he blurted out

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD” I said rolling my eyes at him

“I can’t….its literally screaming at me” he said

He pushed my hair over my shoulders, and leaned in kissing my neck

“Come on” he said ghosting his fangs over my neck

“Oh god” I sighed out

“No god here, just me” he said licking my neck

“OK ALRIGHT!” I said snapping out of it

“I’ll let you turn me, but we should fuck first” I said looking at him

“I like the way you think” he said looking at me darkly

He pulled me in by my neck immediately smashing our lips together in a heated make out session, teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance

Matt stood up removing his shirt and unbuckling his belt before coming back down and crashing his lips to mine

I had pulled away to remove my shirt, and scooting back onto my bed laying there in just my underwear

“Mmm so beautiful” he moaned out licking his lips as his eyes got darker

He slid his jeans off and came over to me on the bed crashing our lips together once again before kissing down my neck and to the valley of my breasts, allowing his fangs to skim over my skin

“Fuck Matt” I moaned out

“I know baby” he said against my skin causing me to squirm

He licked up the valley of my breasts till he got to my right breast taking the nipple into his mouth, and swirling his tongue around it

“Matt” I moaned out in a whisper

He went over to my left breast and did the same while rubbing his hands up my sides

He slowly started to kiss my my stomach down to my underwear before laying a kiss to my clothed pussy

“Fuck” I moaned out pulling his hair

This caused him to look up at me “ow” he said as his fangs descended

“Sorry baby” I said easing up on the pulling

“Be careful causing me pain…my fangs naturally come out that way” he said licking over his fangs with his tongue

“My bad” I said biting my lip

He removed my underwear, and grazed the inside of my thighs with his fangs

“So sweet” he said licking my thighs

“Matt please I need you” I said squirming beneath him

He leaned down immediately attaching his mouth to my cunt, licking and sucking at my clit

“shitttt” I moaned out bucking my hips forward

He pulled back allowing his fangs to graze over my cunt

“Matt….” I said getting scared

“Don’t worry baby I would never hurt you” he said looking up at me

He came back up to make out with me

“I need you now” he said pulling away

“Fuck me matt, please” I mewled out

He slid his boxers off, sliding his hand against my cunt to use my arousal as he jerked himself off

“So good to me” he said moaning and throwing his head back

He slowly brought his dick to my entrance sliding in slowly

“Fuckkk” we both moaned out at the sensation

Matt allowed me to adjust to his size before thrusting in out of me. Not too fast and not too slow

“Shit you feel so good” he panted into my ear

“Fuck baby” I said gripping onto his back scratching down

“Mmmm” he said allowing his fangs to come out from the pain

He kept pounding into me, all that could be heard was our heavy breathing and our skin smacking

I started to clench down on him feeling all too good

“Keep doing that baby I’m going to cum” he said as he thrusted into me harder

“Mmm Matt” I moaned out biting my lip slightly drawing blood

Matt’s head perked up, and his eyes got really dark, immediately licking my bottom lip

“Don’t tease me” he said moaning and breathing in through his nose

“I didn’t mean to” I said looking at him

Matt started to thrust into me harder, and he snaked his right hand down to my clit rubbing as he thrusted faster

“Shit I’m going to cum, keep doing that” I said bucking my hips again

He kept thrusting as he rubbed my clit harder and faster

“Shit shit shit” I moaned out letting my jaw fall slack

“Come on baby cum for me” he said letting his jaw fall too as he thrusted hard

“I’m cumming fuckkkk” I moaned out clenching down on Matt dick as I came. My back coming off the bed as my legs began to shake. Holding eye contact with Matt as my mouth fell slack, and I came

He helped me ride out my high before pulling out and stroking his own dick

“I’m gonna cum” he said stroking his dick faster

“Cum for me Matt” I said to him

And within two more strokes he came all over my lower stomach. Moaning my name, and holding eye contact as his eyes grew even darker

We both came down from our highs, and Matt cleaned me off. And then we got dressed. He laid down next to me

“I’m ready Matt” I said looking over at him

“You sure?” He asked looking at me

“Yes Matt I’m sure” I said to him giving him a smile

“I’m going to give you my blood first, and then I’m going to bite you. When I suck your blood you will start to die, but my blood will take over, and turn you. It won’t feel good, but slowly you’ll start to turn within a few hours” he said

“Whatever you have to do, do it” I said to him

He nodded his head, and sliced his two fingers with his fangs, bringing his fingers to my mouth allowing the blood to fall to my lips, and on my tongue

He then sunk his head down to my neck, and bit me

“OW” I kind of yelled out

Matt kept drinking my blood, and my vision was getting blurry as I felt myself slipping away. It all went dark, and then suddenly I woke up

“WHAT HAPPENED” I said shooting up

“You died, and then came back and then fell asleep” Matt said looking at me. His blue eyes coming back

“What time is it?” I asked him

“It’s 10am” he said smiling at me

“I slept for that long” I said shocked

“Well you were dead for a good portion of it” he said laughing

“I don’t want to hear that” I said and then suddenly grabbing my head

“FUCK” I yelled out

“This is the fun part, I’ll sit back and watch you” he said leaning against my wall

My head started to hurt so bad, and I felt sick. My vision going in and out as I saw all my memories flash through my mind

“Oh GOD” I yelled out gripping my head

I jumped out of the bed

“MAKE IT STOP” I said falling to my knees

“It’s almost over” Matt said

Suddenly I felt my fangs coming in, and my eyes twitching. I got up and ran to my bathroom looking at myself in the mirror. My fangs were coming down, and my eyes were black as I was changing

Suddenly it all stopped, and my fangs went away my eyes turned yellow, and suddenly back to my natural eye color

I walked out of the bathroom trying to catch my breath

“How do you feel?” He asked

“Hungry” I said with a blank stare

“We have some stuff to take care of, let’s get ready” he said smirking at me

The End

Aiii bitches how do we feel about vampire Matt. Personally I think it’s hot, but I got my own issues LMFOAOAOA. Hope yall enjoyed this 🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplet smut #matthew sturniolo smut #smut #Spotify

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bloodibambiidoll · 1 year ago

Text

Living Dead Girl

(Steve Harrington x Early 00s Goth!FemReader)

Spooky collab with my baby @reidsbtch here is her part Dripping With Sin🎃🖤🦇

Summary: You just moved back to Hawkins and your bestfriend is having a Halloween party, you’re excited to meet all of her friends, but especially excited to meet one in particular. Wk: 5K (divider used is by @firefly-graphics)

Warnings: Reader is dressed as a catholic school girl, Spanking(with a belt), choking (he also chokes her with her rosary at one point oops.) unprotected sex, outside sex (but it’s secluded), use of “sir”, mentions of alcohol, Oral (m receiving), also just some cutie cheesy fluff. 18+MINDI!!

You smiled at yourself in the mirror as you put the finishing touches on your costume. You spent hours altering your old school uniform and it turned out perfect. The skirt that used to go almost to your knees now barely covered your ass, the white button up top that used to fit a bit loose was now snug against you and tied in the middle to reveal your midriff and the top of your red push-up bra.

You finished off the look with some black thigh highs, the old rosary you had tucked away with your uniform stacked with your signature choker and platform boots.

You were both nervous and excited for tonight. You had just moved back to Hawkins a few weeks ago to be closer to your lifelong bestfriend, Iris. Even though your parents forced you to move states and go to an all girls catholic school when you were 13 your friendship never wavered. You spent hours chatting on the phone, sending each other countless IMs through AOL, and even going as far as to write each other letters if one of you was grounded.

It’s something you had been considering for a while, holding out hope that your college life would get better over time but friends came and went and so did guys. The only constant in your life being Iris from thousands of miles away. She had been suggesting it for about a year now, telling you how amazing her boyfriend and all her friends were and how much they’d love you. So after you had a falling out with the closest friend you had back home you finally decided to pull the trigger.

You’ve been back a few weeks now and while you’ve of course seen Iris several times you hadn’t had time to meet her friends or even her boyfriend Eddie yet. She’s told you a lot about all them but the one that you’ve been most excited to meet was Steve. She’s been talking him up to you since before you even moved, and you were hoping he would be just as good as she made him sound.

When you arrived at Iris’ house the party was already in full swing, you weaved through the crowd in search of your bestfriend. Your eyes finally land on her in the kitchen, filling orange and black plastic cups with the punch you were sure had a generous amount of alcohol in it.

“Pookie!!”

Her head shot up at the sound of your voice and a huge smile spread across her lips.

“Pumpkin! Oh my god! You look so sexy!”

You prance over to her and wrap your arms around her like you hadn’t seen her in ages even though you saw her yesterday.

“Me? Look at you, you look good enough to eat! The uniform turned out perfect!”

You watch her eyes wander towards the door and then light up in a way you’ve only ever seen when she sees NYSNC on MTV. You follow her gaze to the person she’s looking at that you could only assume is Eddie.

“Eddie, baby! This is Quinn.” She gestures towards you like you’re a prize on the price is right and it makes you giggle.

“Hi Eddie, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Our girl here has told me so much about you, I feel like I already know your whole life story.”

“Oh my god, shut up.” She playfully slaps your arm and laughs.

“But I thought you were my girl sweetheart?”

Eddie wraps himself around your bestfriend with a pout on his face and a knowing smirk spreads across yours. Iris told you how clingy he is and you have to stop yourself from laughing as you watch it happen in real time.

“Yeah but technically she was my girl first.”

The pout on his face deepens and his arms around her tighten a little and it makes you laugh.

“Aww don’t be so dramatic, she’s totally obsessed with you.” You tease.

“Me? She’s obsessed with you. She never shuts up about you either!”

“Well I guess that just makes us the two coolest people alive then.”

“Hey Harrington! Come over here, I want you to meet someone!” You abruptly halt your banter with Eddie at the sound of his name.

You look behind you and you swear you believe in love at first sight for a second, because holy shit this man is beautiful. His chestnut hair is shiny and slicked back, a leather jacket adorning his broad shoulders, the white tee he’s wearing underneath is tight against his abdomen and those jeans hugged him in all the right ways. When he approaches he leans on the counter next to where you’re standing, up close you can see that he has a toothpick hanging from his lips, his lips that looked extremely fucking kissable. His face looked like it was made with Greek gods in mind, his brown eyes flecked with green and his nose and jaw prominent, and also perfect for kissing. Damn, he hasn’t even said a word to you yet and you’re already thinking about leaving lipstick marks all over him.

“Steve, this is my bestfriend.” She tells Steve your name before winking at you and letting Eddie drag her off into the crowd.

“Hi, I’m Steve.” He smiles at you sweetly and you can’t help but notice that he seems a bit nervous, which makes you want to laugh because he’s standing in front of you looking like that.

“Hi Steve, it's nice to meet you. Iris has told me a lot about not just Eddie, but you too. She’s been really wanting us to meet.” You giggle and turn towards him, resting your hip on the counter so you can look at him better.

“Yeah? She’s uh - she’s told me a lot about you too. She told me you were pretty but wow.” It would’ve sounded like a douchey pick up line if his face wasn’t red as a tomato, his eyes wide and roaming, but bashful.

“Me wow? Look at you.” Your eyes look him up and down while you bite your lip. “I like your costume, a greaser, right?”

“Yeah, it was kind of a last minute decision because I waited too long and this was easy to throw together. I borrowed one of Eddie’s jackets. But I think it turned out okay.” He put his hands in the pockets of the leather jacket before spinning in a circle to give you the full effect.

“I think it turned out great, I like your hair.” You really wanted to tell him that you wanted to take a bite out of his ass but that seemed a bit forward, for now.

“Thanks honey, I like your costume too. Naughty school girl?.” His eyes roamed your whole body now and you didn’t miss the way they lingered on your cleavage and thighs just a little longer than the rest of you.

“Yeah? It’s my old school uniform that I altered. But I think it turned out okay.” You smirk at him before throwing his actions back at him and giving him a spin, your skirt going up just long enough for him to get a view of your ass.

“Your old school uniform? Fuck…Yeah, I like it. I like your shoes. And your necklace.” But what he really wanted to say was that he wanted to worship every inch of your body and kiss you until he couldn’t breathe anymore but that seemed a bit forward, for now.

You look down at your combat boot clad feet and giggle, your hand subconsciously reaching up to touch the studded choker that adorned your neck.

“Pumpkin!!! It’s our song!!” You hear Iris a second before the fact that Living Dead Girl had just started playing through the speakers.

“Sorry, I’ll be back! Duty calls!” You give him a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving behind a dark red lipstick stain before skipping off to the middle of the living room.

You felt eyes on you as you and Iris’ bodies moved closely together to the beat. You had glanced over your shoulder once to see a very pouty yet adorable Eddie staring directly at your bestfriend but you couldn’t stop looking at Steve. His eyes were locked in on you as your hips swayed and your short skirt lifted with each movement. You look him directly in the eyes and smirk as you back against Iris, grinding your ass against her. Your staring game abruptly ends when Eddie walks over demanding your bestfriend’s attention. You wave her off with a knowing smile before finding your way back to Steve.

“Eddie is such a baby I swear, I can’t believe he was jealous of that, that was fucking hot.” Steve snorts, teasing his friend and complimenting you at the same time.

“Iris told me he was clingy, but damn, that boy is attached. It’s cute though, they’re really cute together. Opposites attract and all that.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure I believed in that until I saw those two. But I definitely do now.” The look in his eyes said more than his words and you felt your cheeks flush.

As the night went on you and Steve got closer, getting to know each other, having a few drinks together. You eventually found your way into his lap on the couch and all you wanted to do was shove your tongue down his throat and grind down on him but you didn’t feel like having your first kiss with him in the middle of a crowded living room.

“You wanna go somewhere with me Stevie?” You bring your hand to his face, running your thumb over the apple of his cheek.

“Yeah. Anywhere.”

“What? Scared of a little trespassing, pretty boy?” You smirk at him as you hike your leg up on the fence that you’ve climbed countless times before.

“Don’t worry, me and Iris used to sneak back here all the time when we were kids, it’s safe, promise. Now come on.”

You climb the fence and drop down on the other side before he even has a chance to respond. The fence rattles and you see Steve’s large hands grasp onto the top, you watch as he pulls himself up and jumps over in one swift motion. Hot.

“Show off.” You snort and roll your eyes.

“I can’t help that I’m not only devilishly handsome but naturally athletic.” Steve smirks and you can’t help it when you bust up laughing.

“Okaaay, someone’s been watching too much Zoolander.”

“Hey! You know what… actually, you’re probably right.” Steve’s face settles in his attempt to pull off “blue steel” and it sends you into a second fit of laughter. His deep laughter joins yours and you can’t help but think you’d like to make him laugh like that again and again.

“Oh noooo, he’s found my greatest weakness!! However will I resist the blue steel? Looks like my only choice is to run!!” You take off running, weaving through the apple trees like you have dozens of times before, platform boots be damned.

“You can’t get away that easily!!” You hear Steve’s converse clad feet crunching the fallen leaves as he chases after you.

You take a sharp left and halt when you see your destination, your favorite tree, quickly ducking behind it.

“Pretty little girls always think they can hide from big bad wolves but that’s often not the case.” He dropped his voice octave and you know it’s meant to sound goofy but it makes your thighs clench.

“Ohhhh cute little school mouse, come out, come out wherever you aaaare.” You hear his footsteps approaching the tree and you feel anticipation grow in your belly.

“GOTCHA!!!” Steve pops up behind you, his hands grab your shoulders and you let out a yelp.

“Oh my fucking god! You scared the shit out of me asshole!!” You turn around and land a playful slap on his chest.

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about teasing me and then making me chase you through a giant apple orchard.”

“I don’t know… I don’t think I’d mind if you chased me around, Steve Harrington.” You bite your lip as your eyes roam over his body. He looks good enough to eat.

“Yeah? You like getting chased, baby? Want me to stalk you like my prey?” He steps closer to you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him and smell the mix of beer and cinnamon gum on his breath.

“Yeah. I think I’d like that.” You bite your lip and your thighs subconsciously rub together.

“Maybe some other time…” He closes the small amount of distance remaining between the two of you and reaches his hand up to push a piece of fallen hair off your face. “Right now, I’d really like to kiss you.”

“Yeah? I think I’d like that too.”

One hand cups your jaw and the other comes to rest on your hip so he can pull you flush against him, Steve’s lips meet yours and he kisses you with passion, he kisses you like a boyfriend would and it makes your knees weak. You bring your hands up to fist the collar of his jacket as he guides you backwards until your back hits the tree. His body presses against yours and you can feel that he’s already starting to get hard.

“Mmm I’ve been wanting to do that all fucking night.” He groans as he pulls away for air, both hands now resting on your hips as his body traps you between him and the tree.

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that all night.”

“Looks like I’ll have to do it again then.” His lips met yours again but this time the kiss was more desperate, his tongue swipes against your bottom lip and you dart yours out to meet his, the taste of him making your pussy throb. You feel his gum glide over your tongue and take it into your mouth before pulling away.

“Don’t you know you aren’t supposed to have gum in class, Mr. Harrington?”

“Mr. Harrington, huh? Don’t the teachers make the rules? If that’s the case then I say we can have gum in class…” He licks his lips as he watches you pull the end of the gum from your mouth and twirl it around your finger.

“You want me to do what you say, Mr. Harrington? Is that what you’re saying?” You swirl the gum all the way around your finger before inserting the digit in your mouth to pull it off.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Have you been a good girl? Did you do last night's homework?” He presses you up against the tree, his cock rubs against your inner thigh and you can feel that he’s huge, his caramel eyes that were flecked with hues of green before look black in the light of the moon while he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive.

“No… but…” you bring your black pointed acrylic nails up to his face and drag them lightly down his neck to his chest. “Isn’t there something I could do for extra credit, sir?” You give him your best ‘innocent girl’ pout and bat your eyelashes at him.

“I’m sure we can figure something out… but first I have to punish you for not doing your work.” He grabs your jaw in his large hand and squishes your cheeks together while he shakes your head from side to side. “Hmmm… what am I gonna do with you, huh little mouse? Maybe I should spank you with my belt till you cry?”

Your eyes roll in the back of your head and you moan, the way he quickly transitioned into this dominant role making your head spin.

“You like the sound of that? You’re such a naughty girl.” He has no idea how crazy this is making you, not only were you getting fucked by a boy dressed as a greaser outside on Halloween in your old school uniform that you altered to show way more skin than would be school appropriate but he was basically role playing with you.

Steve was in a similar boat, he genuinely couldn’t believe this was happening. He was mostly just playing it up, maybe testing the waters a little bit, but if you actually let him spank you right here right now he thinks he might fall in love with you.

“If that’s what you think I deserve, sir…” you give him that look again and Steve actually moans, he hasn’t felt like he was going to cum in his pants for years but right now, with you looking at him like that, he thinks he could.

“Turn around and bend over.” His tone is stern and matter of fact and you wouldn’t dare disobey him, even if you wanted to.

You spin around and place both your hands on the tree with your ass sticking out just enough that your tiny skirt rides up to reveal your ass cheeks and a sliver of your red lace panties.

“Jesus fucking christ, baby, you look so sexy like this fuck.” Steve momentarily forgets about your little game, his brain feeling like it was about to short circuit. “Too bad I have to punish you… I’d love to just throw you down in the dirt and have my way with you right now. But you still have to learn your lesson.”

“Yes Mr. Harrington, please teach me a lesson.” You whine and wiggle your ass, causing your skirt to ride up further. The anticipation is killing you as you wait for him to do something, but then you hear it… the sound of his belt clanking open.

He pushes your skirt further up your ass and he rubs his hand over one of the soft cheeks before harshly smacking it. He bites his lip at the little whimper that escapes your mouth and the way the fat on your ass jiggles. A second smack comes down on the other cheek and you let out a loud moan. His hand leaves you and you almost want to cry but then you’re crying out for a different reason when you feel it snake around your hair and yank your head back.

“You gonna be a good girl and count for me? How many do you think you deserve? I say ten.” You feel him bring his belt up to your ass cheeks and run it across them, he swipes it between your thighs and over your pussy, rubbing it along your slick panties.

“Whatever you think is best, sir.” Your voice comes out syrupy sweet.

He leans over you so his lips are grazing your ear “If you want me to stop say red. Now count.”

He stands back to his full height and without warning a loud smack lands on your ass causing you to yelp and surge forward.

“One.”

“Good girl. Again.” Another smack comes down on the same cheek and the sting is delicious.

“Two.”

Another smack on the same cheek followed immediately by a third on the opposite cheek.

“Three - fuck - four.” He releases his grip on your hair to rub his large hand over your ass before landing another smack.

“F-five!”

The next three came swiftly but you still counted each one.

“Good girl, you’re doing so good for me. Just two more, okay?” The bark of the tree was digging into your hands and your ass was burning, Steve’s hand came up to rub over your reddened cheeks and you sigh.

“Yes please.” Is all you can muster and you hear him practically growl behind you before the ninth smack lands on your ass.

“Nine!”

“Good girl baby, that’s my good girl, just one more.”

You brace yourself for the last smack on your ass but it doesn’t come, instead the belt comes up between your legs and smacks against your pussy through your wet panties.

“Ten! Fuck!” You clench your thighs and throw your head back and Steve immediately steps up behind you, wrapping you in his arms.

“Mmm you were so good for me little mouse, I think you deserve your reward now, what do you say?” His hands wrap around you and come up to grab your tits through your shirt while he rubs his hard cock against your ass.

You turn around in his arms and take his face in your hands, kissing him urgently.

“How do you want me, Mr. Harrington?”

You’re still giving him that look and you have this smile on your face like he just got you the gift you wanted most for your birthday. He’s pretty sure you’re his dream girl.

“First, let’s get this off of you.” He reaches for the knot on your shirt that’s keeping it held together and pulls it, the shirt easily falling open to reveal your red lace push-up.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

The way he was looking at you could only be described as romantic and loving, which was a stark contrast from how he was smacking your ass raw just moments ago. His hands reach up and ghost over your collar bones and down your arms, he snakes them around your back before looking at you with a question in his eyes and you nod. As soon as he gets the go ahead he’s unclasping your bra and letting it fall down your arms in one swift motion. Goosebumps rise on your skin as the cool air hits it, causing your nipples to harden immediately.

“The most perfect tits I’ve ever seen.” He leans down to press hot wet kisses along your throat and collar bones. You feel him sucking a bruise into your throat and you gasp, both at the feeling and at the thought of being marked by him. Without warning you pull away from him and drop to your knees in front of him, looking up at him with big eyes that shone in the moonlight.

“Can I suck you off? Please?”

“You don’t have to say please, pretty girl.”

He smirks down at you as he undoes his button and zipper, pulling his boxers and jeans down enough for his cock to come out. When it springs from his pants you can’t hold in the gasp that leaves your lips. It’s big, long and thick and veiny with a well trimmed patch of brown curls at the base. His tip is leaking precum and he is so fucking hard it almost looks painful. You meet his eyes with yours again, spitting in your hand and bringing it to his cock, pumping him a few times before you lean in and lick the salty cum from his head.

“Fuck baby, you’re so sexy like this. On your knees for me in the middle of an orchard in nothing but that little skirt and those socks.” That fucking choker and those boots that he was sure could crush him, he’d let you crush him if you asked.

You take him in your mouth as far down as you can, letting your throat restrict around him before pulling off again for air. You take as much as you can in your mouth and use your hand to glide along with the movements of your mouth. Spit is dripping down your chin, his cock and all over his balls. When you pull off and look up at him he has to physically stop himself from cumming. You’re still jerking him off when you lean in and take one of his balls in your mouth and hum around it. You switch to the other side and he swears he’s losing his mind, he’s never had someone pay attention to his balls like this and your mouth is so warm and wet and if he looks close enough he can see that drool has started to drip down onto your chest.

“O -oh fuck - fuck - shit!” He grips onto your hair to pull you off of him. “God damn, you’re so good, such a good girl. Why don’t you get on your hands and knees for me so I can reward you?”

Instead of responding with words you turn your back towards him and rest your hands on the soft dirt and leaves that covered the ground, you arch so your ass is in the air and look over your shoulder at him. You bite your lip as you watch him take off the leather jacket followed by his shirt and discard them on the ground. He comes up behind you and gets down on his knees, shoving your skirt up over your ass once more. There’s a moment where he pauses and you figure he must’ve noticed your tattoo. You and Iris went to the tattoo shop a few weeks ago and while she got her nipples pierced, you got a tramp stamp.

“Look at these pretty marks on your ass honey, they go so well with your pretty little tattoo, you’re going to be thinking about me for days after this.” He runs his hands over your hips, hooking his fingers into the band of your underwear and pulling them down so they pooled at your knees.

“I’m gonna be thinking about this for the rest of my life, pretty boy.”

“Yeah? And I haven’t even fucked you yet.” He runs his cock through your slick folds, tapping it on your clit a few times before lining it up with your entrance. He pushes his tip in and out a few times before he starts to slowly thrust into you.

Normally you would appreciate him taking his time to let you adjust but right now he has you outside on your knees in the fucking dirt and you want him to ruin you.

“You don’t have to be gentle, I want it rough.” You push your ass back towards him causing his dick to go a few inches deeper. He thrusts the rest of the way into you pushing his hips flush against yours before starting to fuck into you at a brutal pace.

He’s gripping your hips so hard that you hope you have bruises tomorrow, and the noises coming out of him are making you insane. If anyone heard you guys they might think wild animals were fighting.

“You’re so fucking good little mouse, letting me fuck you on the ground like this? God - fuck!”

You don’t think it can get any better than this and then he proves you wrong, you feel his hand wrap around the beads of the rosary on your neck and tug, choking you with it.

“Oh my god - god Steve, fuck! S-so good it’s so g-good.”

He changes his pace slightly, hitting the exact right spot inside you. He drops the rosary so he can snake that hand around the front of you to rub your clit.

“I’m gonna - I’m gonna c-cum Steve, I’m gonna cum.” Your eyes roll in the back of your head and your pussy clenches around him as your orgasm crashes through you.

“F-fuck FUCK! You’re so fucking good, so so good, fuck!” His thrusts turn sloppy and then he’s spilling into you.

“God fucking damn Harrington, you really know how to introduce yourself to a girl.” You giggle as you turn around, letting his cock slip out of you. After you pull your panties up you stand up with shaky legs, looking down at him with an adoring smile.

“I swear I’m usually more of a ‘take her to dinner first’ kinda guy but that whole ‘Mr. Harrington’ thing you did really got me going. I can't lie.” He chuckled, standing up and buttoning his pants. He reaches down to grab your bra off the ground and does a spinning motion with his finger, indicating for you to turn around. You oblige, and you’re pleasantly surprised when you feel him guiding your arms back through your bra. He does the same with your shirt, spinning you around so he can redo the tie. He gives you a sweet kiss and then picks up his shirt and jacket to put them back on. You smile bashfully at him, after all that the thing that makes you blush is him treating you sweetly.

“Thank you Steve, you’re very sweet. It’s also not too late for you to take me to dinner.”

“You’re right little mouse, it’s not, would you like to go to dinner with me? This weekend? Maybe we can catch a movie. Iris told me you like vampires and I saw that a new one is coming out, damned queen or something?”

“Queen of the damned? I really want to see that! I would love to, Stevie!” Your heart swells at the fact that he remembers that little detail about you and you remind yourself to thank Iris later.

“Shall we head back to the party?”

“Ugh, if we must.” You sigh dramatically and playfully roll your eyes. Knowing damn well you are about to walk back into this party looking absolutely wrecked. Your socks were covered in dirt, your ass was bright red and your skirt did little to cover it, and you hadn’t seen it yet but you know with the way Steve was sucking on your neck you have one or two hickies there. But you couldn’t bring it in yourself to care, you would do it all over again.

When you walk back into the party Iris immediately catches your eye, bounding over to you and whisking you off to the bathroom. You observe her and you can tell you weren’t the only one who just got fucked in the middle of a party.

“Soooo… you took him to the orchard, huh?”

“Oh, I took him there alright, Harrington is a freak. But I guess Eddie is too, huh?” You point to her legs and she looks up at you with flushed cheeks when she sees you’re pointing at the obviously dried cum that had dripped down one of her thighs.

“Well Eddie reaaaaally liked the piercings. It looks like Steve really liked your costume…”

“Oh, you have no idea…”

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