#( he is more of a subtle kind of fighter ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anika-ann · 3 months ago

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Restless Hearts - S.R.

Type: one-shot, established relationship, next-to-zero plot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 6,2k

Summary: Moving in together with Steve is the dream come true – or it should have been. You didn't exactly have the chance to benefit from that since he shipped off to a mission for days and is only now coming back.

You grow restless. And to make it worse, you only get to reunite with him on this stupid pompous party instead of your home. Well. Just few more hours of socializing to survive.

You could handle that, right?

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, semi-public sex if you squint, unprotected sex, language, Steve being a menace, two idiots in love who can't keep their hands off of each other

A/N: written for the Smutty September Fest hosted by @mercurial-chuckles . Thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to f* and quickie where you don’t take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essentials 🤭

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Sparkling lights. Sparkling drinks. Elegant gowns and sharp suits. Subtle polite laughter and conversation occasionally interrupted by a louder exclamation and a genuine burst of laughter from the groups forming around those who knew how to charm a crowd. A non-descript music, one song bleeding into another, a few couples trying to find space on the dancefloor that had mostly changed into an agora, a space for conversation rather than for moving in well-practiced sync.

The dress skirt brushing over your knees and ankles, a slight chill on the back of your neck as someone opened the balcony doors, letting in fresh April air of New York City. The light stink of alcohol and sweat amongst the hundreds of expensive perfumes and colognes. The rich aftertaste of the sting of bubbles, sweet and spicy on your tongue.

The golden lights shone bright but intimate, reflecting in your champagne glass and prompting you to finish your first – and likely one of the lasts – drink of the night.

You weren’t much of a drinker. You indulged every once in a while, more of curiosity about what fancy brand the host had chosen for the occasion and a thing of courtesy, using the glass like a required social prop.

Such was the case tonight too – a fancy evening for investors and associates of the Earth’s mightiest heroes. Politicians, diplomats, government officials, high-ranking military officials and filthy-rich entrepreneurs – mostly not your crowd, to speak plainly. There was a slightly better company too, even if scarce: former agents and other colleagues – well-vetted beforehand, of course – scientists, non-profit representatives, veterans. Several Avengers too, of course.

But your favourite – the one who had brought you deeper into the world of superheroes – was yet to be found.

Steve Rogers most definitely was your favourite; nearly flawless moral compass, loyal, protective of the less fortunate ones and his own. A fighter who had won and lost all too much; an artist, who saw beauty around him nevertheless. A kind soul with an enormous heart, perhaps a tad too big for his own body despite his impressive physique. Larger than life and yet somehow humble enough in his insistence that he was just a man, ordinary, like most; just lucky enough to had been given a chance to fight and to defend.

And to love.

Steve Rogers certainly was your favourite, as he should be; the goodness of the world distilled into one man, with a face and a body of worth of being sculpted by the masters of ancient arts, the warmest smile and a sparkle to his eye a testimony to his brilliant mind and wicked humour. All that at your fingertips; all that supposedly yours, as incredible as it seemed at most times.

He was yours.

Your boyfriend of four months and seventeen days.

Not that you had been counting; perhaps just a little. You were innocent in the matter, however; it was mostly your and Steve’s friends, teasing you about taking things slow. According to Bucky, had you been taking things at Steve’s desired pace, with how smitten he apparently was, he would have already had a ring on your finger.

You didn’t dare to judge, afraid of raising your hopes a little too much; however, there was something to be said about Steve Rogers in love. He made it clear; so painfully and blissfully clear, letting you feel his much-reciprocated adoration in hundreds if not thousands of little moments.

In his touch. In his words. In his actions.

Your demanding jobs perhaps did slow down your progress a bit, making even the settling on a day of your first date quite the feat; but it was one of those good things that made the waiting worth it.

If Steve was smitten, so were you; and while a proposal would feel rather rash, you certainly not at all thinking about how you’d probably say yes anyway, because you simply knew, you’d settle for moving in together.

You had moved in together, thirteen days ago.

And the move in that had left you with half-unpacked boxes, cold bed and an apartment lacking the true aura of a home, because the person you wished to build it with was godknowswhere in a middle of Siberia, having left after a passionate welcome-to-our-new-home and a message delivered at three damn forty a.m.

Steve had left the pleasant warmth of your bed at four, with a profound sleepy apology and a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Left for an off-grid no-contact mission. Lasting for days.

For all the faith you had in his skill and strength, the worry that came with him being away for so long without as much of a short text was eating at you; and then there was the matter of simply missing him, the empty feeling only accentuated by having expected to be nearer to him at last and getting this instead. You were an independent woman and you could live your life without a man just fine, but goddamn were you also a woman madly in love, missing your boyfriend.

And you were growing impatient.

You were still at your first drink, yes, but knowing Steve should appear at any moment did not help calm your nerves, the slightly uncomfortable but exciting swirl of anticipation of seeing him again – in a suit no less – as intense as the yearning for comfort of actually seeing for yourself that he was safe and sound.

He had texted you, at last, about four hours ago, that he was on his way, nothing but a couple of bruises already healing, looking forward to seeing you.

You had agreed to meet at the venue; he would be running last minute, or perhaps even fashionably late, grabbing a quick shower and a shave at his at-hand quarters at the Tower, just throwing on a suit he kept there for such occasions. You had offered to help – for the completely selfish reason of seeing him sooner and in private instead of in front of hundreds of watchful curious eyes – but he had sweetly refused, argumenting that at least one of you should be on time and promising he would find you first thing upon his arrival.

You would have grumbled if you hadn’t been soothed by the Love you, can’t wait to hold you again, he had texted after. He was a charming loveable bastard like that.

As the infamous murmur of excitement arose around you, bringing you back to the present, your eyes easily found the source of the commotion: Steve Rogers himself.

Your heart rate accelerating reminded you that not being able to meet Steve before the event might have been a blessing. Had you had the chance to get your hands on him, you two would probably end up being very much unfashionably late; a welcome home kiss would have simply not sufficed.

He was breathtaking.

The traditional black suit with navy blue glint was fitted for certain; tight where it should be, accentuating Steve’s absurdly broad shoulders and thin waist, pants no doubt hugging all the right places from behind somehow complimenting his long muscular legs too, pristine white shirt with a bowtie matching the suit; the soft blue reflection emphasized the colour of his eyes as they scanned the room without ever stopping his progress, his polite smile spreading wide when his gaze found yours, the blue of his irises turning warmer; the most beautiful feature to his face battling the magnificence of his sharply cut jaw.

The instant relief washing over you screamed of how anxious you had actually been before you had seen him alive and well; the warmth spreading through your veins whispered of comfort, a tidal wave of feeling at home after a long travel; the heat curling in your belly and sending sparkles through every nerve ending reminded you that your body had been missing him in all different ways.

Your gaze zeroed on his every step. He seemed to move too slow and too fast at once; and suddenly he was standing in front of you, one hand gently grasping yours, the other lightly laying on your waist, a chaste kiss to your temple lingering as your body naturally sought his and carefully leaned into his entirely publicly appropriate greeting. The familiar woodsy notes of his cologne and aftershave had your heartbeat pick up and instinctively move closer into his embrace and breathing in deeply, the scent going straight to your head; but following his lead, you didn’t get too close, letting the gentle timbre of his voice soothe your need for connection instead.

At last; he was home. He was here, with you, and his love, while contained in socially acceptable gestures, seemed to draw a protective circle around your pair, shining brighter and warmer than the lights and all the luxuries around combined.

“Hey sweetheart. It’s so good to see you,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek this time, his eyes lit alive as he retreated, a hint of a smile still playing in the corner of his lips. “And you are absolutely stunning. Almost tripped over my feet the moment I set my eyes on you.”

Resisting the urge to tenderly slap his side at the exaggeration, at making your face burn hot – and something inside you purr with satisfaction since you had chosen your outfit with care, much like your makeup and hairdo – you gathered your composure, straightening your posture and charming a smile for him in return.

In one of many late-night conversations, when he had revealed his artistic side to you, he had admitted he loved to feast his eyes on all kinds of art from the most ordinary ones to the rarest; you had understood then that while a fighter and just a man in his core, his soul was a thing seeking beauty and goodness everywhere. In both things and people. A doodle could make him smile and hum in delight as much as a painting or a sculpture, he had said shyly; a building, an arrangement of flowers, a beautiful dress too. The last one, however, he had appreciated most on a woman as bewitching as yourself, he had told you, a tender finger on your jaw, a glint of dark mischief in his eye, lips slanting over yours and stealing your breath in a matter of a second; proving he was appreciative of you just as much when you were wearing nothing at all.

This time, however, you liked to believe he enjoyed the sight of you in the dress indeed; the top was hugging your curves like a second skin, the dark crimson fabric bled into a breeze-light skirt, shorter at the front, longer at the back, offering a less-than-scandalous but still teasing peek of your legs and clear view of your matching heels.

“It’s really good to see you too, love. And you look quite handsome yourself… I nearly dropped my drink upon seeing you,” you reciprocated with a small smirk, pointedly finishing your drink at last, heat flaring in your core when you caught Steve’s gaze lingering on your lips as they barely touched the edge of the glass, not leaving an imprint despite the dangerously red colour of your lipstick.

As you set your glass on the nearest table, you took a satisfactory note of Steve’s gaze flickering even lower, and bit back a smile.

As high as the neckline of your dress was, actually reaching half-up your throat and barely but chastely covering your shoulders, the oval-shaped cut stretching from between your collarbones down over your sternum was a rather intentional trap.

And your Captain had fallen right into it, his Adam’s apple bobbing before his gaze snapped back to your face, pupils wider, irises having gained just a tad darker shade. The fresh surge of confidence was almost as intense as the swoop of desire in your lower belly, sending your thoughts spiralling far away from a behaviour socially acceptable at an event like this.

It made you want to abandon the event and let it sort itself even if Steve had just barely arrived.

Who cared anyway? Steve deserved a proper rest after a taxing mission; rest and more, whatever his heart desired. And maybe not only his heart; if you were honest with yourself, you were only a hot-blooded human being like the rest of the world and were looking forward to truly greeting Steve home in all the ways imaginable.

You could control yourself in the public, of course, and you genuinely understood the importance of networking. But you should bring up simply taking Steve home for his own good; and you could profit from it all the same. From his proximity, from the privacy of your home, from getting your hands on the insanely handsome man’s body.

Whether he sensed the sparkles in the air you weren’t sure; but he leaned towards your face, his voice dripping slow and rich like honey from his lips brushing your ear, sinful despite the words being perfectly innocent.

“It works well then, honey.” He offered you his elbow, straightening his posture as if he was so damn proud to show off what kind of a woman he had on his arm. “Let’s go fulfil our duty of mingling so we can excuse ourselves as soon as possible.”

With his last words carrying alluring notes of an intimate promise, you conceded.

Nodding, you arranged your face in a polite smile, crafted to nonchalant perfection.

“Let’s go mingle indeed.”

Indeed, let’s work so we can sneak away and go home as soon as possible.

Your plan had gone a little awry.

In the glow of delight at Steve’s arrival, you had underestimated the number of people who found it their crucial mission to meet and greet and catch up with Captain America.

You had kept up the pleasant façade through all the conversations, nodding and chuckling politely when the situation called for it; but you were growing weary and you could feel tension gradually building in Steve’s shoulders as well, the way you remained connected by at least an inch of a touch at all times permitting you to observe the change.

You had thought it would help when you subtly nodded towards the dance floor; his smile turned much more genuine as he asked you for a dance, earning your pair a breather and a moment of shared intimacy for a few songs.

But you had been wrong in your strategy; if it were possible, Steve’s jaw appeared locked even tighter than before once your reprieve was deemed to last too long and you agreed to return to socializing. His touch grew into a hold; at moments, it was but a grip, until you felt him forcefully relax and ease the pressure.

You didn’t blame him one bit.

He must have been exhausted; away from home for so long, physically and mentally drained after an intense, albeit successful mission, forced to put on a mask for everyone else’s benefit, because Steve Rogers, to a point, was a poster boy. As much as he was trying to change that, working on allowing himself to show and accept his humanity, he remained the embodiment of a hero who never gave up and raised others on his own shoulders despite scratching the bottom of the barrel of his own energy.

He remained cordial and polite and a gentleman; he offered to get you a drink as you excused yourself to the bathroom, returning only to find him – visibly annoyed, for once – trapped in a conversation with Tony. A conversation which was probably not at all important, but apparently couldn’t wait, at least in Tony’s mind.

“Such a charming woman, standing here all by herself. How is that even possible?” questioned a voice from your left just as you pondered rescuing your boyfriend, causing you to waver.

It was a very male voice. An unfamiliar voice.

And had it been Clint or Sam or Bucky, you’d laugh at the poor line, which would no doubt be told with a drop of teasing; or in Thor’s case, entirely genuine and fitting to Asgardian but not Midgardian ways. Hearing it from a stranger, though, that made you want to roll your eyes.

You were a strong soldier of God so to speak, however; you turned to the source of the voice with a smile with just a slightly sharp edge – one the tall lanky man was oblivious to, as it turned out – and greeted him with a measured Sir.

As he introduced himself, you learned that Mr. Doctor Bowers PhD. might have had two PhDs but none of them was in taking a goddamn hint. Because now you were sort-of trapped much like Steve was, the written and unwritten rules of courtesy not permitting you to make up an excuse of needing to go to the bathroom after you had clearly just come back.

You counted seconds, pondering how soon you could leave the man behind without appearing too rude. You got to a hundred when your patience truly was wearing thin.

He was still not taking any of the hints you had dropped. Worse, even. You weren’t presumptuous enough – unlike some people in the mostly one-sided conversation – to imagine the flirting. He was clearly attempting to flirt and was failing miserably. He was shameless about it too, even if a little condescending.

Ninety-four seconds later, you had enough of him and far too little of Steve; your skin seemed to be already burning where Steve had last touched you, yearning for the contact to return in a perhaps clingy, but entirely honest way.

And suddenly, as if some miracle provided by Asgardian magic, the touch was back.

Steve’s arm was curling around your waist, his side pressing to your hip, his lips making a gentle – and strangely electric – contact with your hairline.

“I’m sorry about the hold-up, sweetheart. Who’s your… friend?”

It was a little funny, really. The man matched Steve in height, but at the biting note in Steve’s voice, he shrank at least a foot and a half.

He introduced himself after clearing his throat, maintaining the remnants of his composure which all of sudden carried no hint of the wannabe seducer. You wanted to kiss Steve right on the lips right there for that alone.

Mr. Doctor PhD also probably regretted extending his hand for Steve to shake; because at Steve’s grip, no doubt stronger than necessary despite his entirely nonchalant mask of politeness, he actually winced.

You were no supporter of violence, much like Steve, which might seem ironic to some given his profession – but the lick of heat at seeing Steve put the guy into back into his place sent a shudder of undiluted want down your spine and straight into your core, your posture involuntarily shifting in response. Steve’s hold on you tightened.

“I have to talk to my girlfriend now, if you excuse us. See you around,” Steve said, already spinning you towards the exit to drive his point to the end.

You didn’t resist.

If anything, you couldn’t walk fast enough, regretting wearing heels and wishing for a pair of sneakers instead to sneak away from the party altogether at last.

Only when Steve led you further and further away from people, deeper into the complex, your heart began thundering in your chest; you noticed that the tension in his muscles you had worried about had grew tenfold and realized that his announcement about needing to talk to you might be more than an excuse.

“Steve, are you alright?”

“Fine,” he responded flatly, yet in a voice carrying hundred times more warmth than just a moment ago.

Right. And the Sun is blue, the pigs can fly and tachyons had always been proven particles of matter.

You swallowed the snarky response, glancing at him as you barely kept up with his long strides; still, you could tell he was holding back, having seen him march with much more hurry and relentlessness.

“Thanks for the rescue, by the way. Really,” you pipped up, one corner of your lips rising despite your stomach turning tight at the unreadable expression on Steve’s face. “Guy simply couldn’t take the hint that I only have eyes for my Captain.”

An uncomprehensible grumbly noise vibrated in Steve’s chest, his arm sliding from your waist in favour of taking your hand in his instead.

Apparently, your attempt at cheering him up failed; you should have known.

The corridor was now completely devoid of people; you had arrived to the part of the floor with three small conference rooms, one an each of them dark and empty – because everyone was at the party.

Your smile turned truly nervous at that point, your mind racing as much as your heart. Steve wouldn’t have led you here unless he wanted to urgently talk about something important. You were a little baffled as to why hadn’t he opted for the elevator and his former quarters instead; but you didn’t question it as he placed his palm on the scanner and practically threw one of the doors open and all but pulled you in, some of the lights automatically flickering to life.

That was all that your ordinary human brain had time to register.

Because then Steve’s hand found firm purchase of your neck, cupping your jaw, lips slanted over yours with ferocity and passion that had your mind snap blank and set your body on fire, your hands limply landing on his firm chest.

Oh. O-okay.

More than okay.

You were forced to walk backwards, Steve’s other hand pressing against your hip to lead your step and steady you at once; an anchor you desperately needed in the whirlwind of puzzlement and madly stirred desire. Your lips parted in invitation just before your ass hit the conference table, an unvoluntary whimper escaping you when Steve’s body aligned with yours, every single part of him bare his lips tight and wound up, his hardness brushing against your thigh.

At the small sound so willingly consumed by his demanding kiss, he squeezed your hip harder, tongue exploring hundred-times explored with delight, air stolen from your lungs, your hands scrambling to grab his suit jacket to pull him even closer.

Who needed breathing anyway?

You didn’t. And you didn’t care how you got here either, be it desire fuelled by impatience or jealousy or the endless time apart, your choice of a dress or your lipstick which you knew Steve liked so much. You didn’t give a damn.

He was the spoilsport, releasing your lips and pressing his forehead against yours, his quick breaths fanning your face, hand from your neck sliding lower, an almost inhuman sound pushing through his teeth when his fingertips found the exposed skin on your breastbone, petting the soft spot adoringly.

You had not known until that moment how much you craved his touch precisely at that spot and how weak in the knees it could make you.

“Please say y-“

“Yes,” you gasped, instantly rewarded by his mouth on yours again with a muttered but hearty-

“God, I missed you-“

-dextrous fingers sliding under your skirts and hiking the fabric up as they travelled up your thigh, Steve’s pelvis rocking against yours, creating delicious friction against your core.

“I missed you too.”

Your hands went to roam over his freshly shaven jaw, over his shoulders, pushing the jacket off just to make him growl in frustration when he had to stop touching you for two full seconds to get rid of it.

“Sorry, want to feel you,” you apologized nonsensically, every single moment of his touch going straight to your head like a strong sweet wine, intoxicating and addictive, much like his scent, his taste, consuming all of your senses.

“Need to have you-”

“You have me,” you said breathily, a plea and a promise at once, thoroughly appreciated by a squeeze to your ass, fingertips wandering towards where you needed him the most--

And then Steve halted in his progress, body turning into a statue as he came in contact with bare skin, lips stilling on yours.

You gulped, trying to judge his reaction despite your haze.

You had had… a little incident when dressing up to the nines. Your broken nail nicked your thigh-high, sending a run up your calf. Uncharacteristically unprepared, you had found out if was your only pair. And sure. You could have run to a store. You could have express-ordered; stores would trip over their feet to deliver to Ms. Captain America in need. You could have worn a pantyhose.

And yet, your mind had steered you towards the drawer where you had kept tights specifically bought for a wholly different occasion than a social outing.

Why not? Your dress was long enough. And having hoped Steve’s mission would bring him home victorious and excited, having missed all of him terribly, you thought you might at least save some time once you two would be home.

Except you weren’t at home now. But that wasn’t on you – you were completely innocent in that matter.

Except you weren’t and your tights were conveniently sewn with a large enough opening to have Steve fit his hand or other parts of his body through, leaving but a flimsy lace panties in his way.

“Sweetheart?” he rasped, licking his lips as if to tempt you further, to confess your sins born of love and lust. He pulled back just an inch, to meet your gaze, his own pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of your beloved blue remained.

You gulped; not ashamed, not truly, perhaps a little apprehensive of his judgement. You had worn what was pretty much an erotic prop to a high-class event and had you not been careful and had had an accident, anyone seeing or god forbid snapping a picture…

“I… wanted to greet you home… and feel you as soon as possible,” you admitted silently, heart thundering in your chest, in your ears, in your temples, in your fingertips fisting the collar of Steve’s shirt.

A beat of silence.

Several wild beats of your heart.

“Christ, I love you-“

You were hoisted up on the edge of the table in a lightning speed and a mouth-watering display of strength, lips devoured by Steve’s with enough force to bend you backwards, the line of your soaked panties pushed aside to not waste time indeed as Steve’s fingertips dipped into your slick with a mutual groan of pleasure.

“Steve-“

“That’s right, honey,” he whispered, lips teasing the soft skin of your throat now, “I’m here now, all yours.”

He teased your lower lips back and forth, once, twice, three times too many and then he finally entered you with two fingers, a dark chuckle coming deep from his throat at the gasp of his name, stepping closer between your spread thighs to press your legs further apart.

He pumped his fingers with ease, driving you towards the stars at a dizzying speed, pressing a soothing kiss to your sternum when you cried out at him curling his fingers just right.

“That’s it, honey… sing for me. Just for me,” he pleaded, contradicting his plea by claiming your lips again and pushing deeper, faster, wicked,your whimpers swallowed greedily, all his, just like you were, on the brink of ecstasy.

You were trembling; in pleasure, in anticipation of absolute bliss, with Steve’s hand firmly pressed to your lower back to hold you close and annihilate you in the most exquisite way known to man. His words, his touch, the husky notes of his voice, the sheer need radiating off him and still making sure you were to steal the first round of fireworks just for yourself.

It exploded through your body without warning.

You broke with a cry of his name, lips freed just so he could hear the delicious sound, so beautifully seconded by his harsh breaths and so filthily accompanied by the wet sound of your pleasure you had no capacity to be ashamed of but revelled in instead.

You knew he did too. Because he had done that to you, for you. It was his and yours and both was a privilege; and lust incarnate, as he brought you down from your high gently as it be, his hand disappearing from your back in favour of undoing his fly and zipper.

Feel as soon as possible; no time to waste. Pants shoved down only as little as necessary, boxers following, a peek of a mouthwatering – and always a little intimidating – sight was all you got.

A small startled sound escaped you when you were being pulled further towards the edge of the table without a moment of reprieve, a chuckle bubbling in your throat at Steve’s impatience – but with no malice. God knew you understood; the moment the head nudged your entrance, coating him in your slick, your orgasmic bliss was long gone, replaced by even more acute need.

You wanted him. Now. All of him. Wanted to feel him deep inside you, wanted him to fill you so completely as only he ever could, devoured by him, desired and loved.

And you wanted to make him feel as delirious with pleasure as he had made you a moment ago, wanted to make his world so hot it turned white for a moment, make his knees buckle with the force of his release.

Your gaze met his, eyes feasting at the beautiful panting mess he already was, all pristine in his suit and bowtie and ready to ruin and be ruined, lips crimson and kiss-swollen and parting with a groan as he slowly pushed into you.

“Look at me, Steve. Want you to see what you do to me,” you whispered, the little broken sound pushing past his lips the only warning you got before he snapped his hips forward with a curse on his lips and sheeted himself fully inside you at once. God, so fully and suddenly that all air got knocked from your lungs.

His hand grasped your jaw, tender but firm, a dangerous glint in his eye, thumb running over your painted lower lip.

“Oh I’m looking, honey.” His gaze flickered down as he retreated almost all the way out, shining with your arousal, and thrusted deeply again, causing your eyes to flutter shut. “And there’s nothing prettier than you falling apart for me, so let. Me. See you.”

He accentuated every word with a sharp snap of his hips, stroking and stretching your walls over and over, setting a rhythm, teasingly slow and punishingly quick, hand and lips roaming, grabbing and caressing, kisses all teeth and all soft, grip on your hips keeping you still to assure he could take you exactly as he liked and encouraging you to roll your hips at your pace as you balanced on the edge of the table all the same.

“Missed you.”

“Love you.

“Need you.”

“So good for me.”

“I’m so damn lucky.”

“Please.”

“Look at me.”

“Give it me, honey.”

Your head was spinning as you were consumed by bliss, spiralling towards your peak so fast you couldn’t tell anymore which words were yours and which were his, where you ended and he began, clinging to each other as you were carried higher and higher, your ears ringing and still allowing you to hear the clinks of the belt buckle and the sinful sound of your rapid love-making; like a lightning running through yours very being, you shattered with a high-pitched whimper of Steve’s name, an echo of a hoarse voice stringing curses and praise barely reaching your conscience.

You panted against Steve’s shoulder as he curled around you, minuscule movements of hips to ride out both of your highs, soft words spilling from his lips as he was barely caching breath himself.

You took a minute, maybe two or five, still, clinging to him all the same, the heady scent of sex and sweat weighing down the air, your tongue heavy and throat parched, fingers carding through Steve’s damp hair softly.

And still, you chuckled breathlessly as Steve kept running his warm hand up and down your back, the sound causing him to press a kiss to your lips that tasted of apology for some reason.

“Well…”

“I’m sorry for pouncing on you, sweetheart,” he muttered, a genuine note of regret nearly lost in the pleasure carried over to his voice.

Your smiled must have looked exhausted, you thought; but blissed out.

Oh, your sweetheart of a boyfriend. As if you hadn’t just both enjoyed this tremendously. Surely, he didn’t really mean it, did he?

“I’m sorry for sort-of setting a trap then…” you followed suit, the words feeling simply wrong on your tongue. “Except I’m not.”

At that, Steve lifted his head, meeting your gaze, his eyes sparkling with mischief and desire still.

“Me neither.”

You grinned, trying not to be acutely aware of his hardness still stretching you to your fullest.

Of course he wasn’t entirely satisfied. One round had barely even been enough.

“That’s what I thought. Good.”

He mirrored your expression, his grin a little boyish and devilish at once, his expression soft but somehow everything but innocent.

Yet, he caressed your face with his fingertips with tenderness, from your damp temple over your cheekbone to your jaw, gently pressing against your lips.

“I love you. And I missed you. So much. I swear I just wanted to go home – take you home, the moment I walked in,” he admitted, causing your smile to turn sympathetic.

You knew all about that; it was all you had been truly thinking about the whole evening.

“I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh…” you trailed off, sensations slowly returning to your body outside the all-consuming pleasure. You felt like you were burning; sweaty and fucked-out for the lack of a better term, most of your body tingling… You chuckled self-deprecatingly. “God, my legs shake so much… what did you do to me?”

Steve’s hands moved to your thighs as if he needed to feel it and steady the trembling, to help, teeth worrying over his lip, just a hint of guilt – and a whole lot more of something you didn’t dare to decode, because those were some dangerous waters.

You expected him to pull out and help you stand then, clean up; after all, he was a gentleman like that, always supporting you.

He did the former, tenderly so as not to hurt you; but not the latter. When he carefully left your body and you tried to stand, he halted your movements with tightening his hold on your thighs, his gaze roaming all over you as you glanced at him all with puzzlement.

“Steve?”

“Maybe you should lie down,” he suggested lowly, his gaze flickering from your still quaking legs to the opening of your dress on your chest and to your lips and then back.

You swallowed against your dry throat.

The dangerous waters you hadn’t dared to explore roared in the back of your head, a shudder of scalding heat running through your body.

He hadn’t cleaned up. He hadn’t tucked himself in. He was still… as always---he-

You licked your lips, your heart stumbling so hard in your chest it was almost painful.

Wordlessly but with his blown pupils observing you like a hawk, one of his hands moved to your shoulder, gently pushing, encouraging you to lie down on the desk indeed.

And who were you to protest? His gaze was once again pleading and challenging you.

Please, say yes.

Like a fallen angel coaxing you to sin; and you’d all but follow hm straight to hell, because you knew he’d show you heaven unparalleled.

The table was cold and unforgivingly hard against your back, but you didn’t care; all you cared about was Steve looking at you like that, like you were a goddess and a prize he had sworn to win, guiding your leg up to rest your ankle against his shoulder, his hot mouth pressing a kiss to your calf. His other hand pushed his pants and boxes down his legs this time, before he reached for your other leg and wrapped it around his waist, once again nudging your sensitive opening.

“Just one more, honey,” he coaxed you, as if you needed convincing, as if the tremble of your body hadn’t turned from blissful and exhausted to one of anticipation. “Just one more and then we’ll go home…”

He pressed another kiss to your calf and met your gaze as he slowly sank back in with ease, something devilish and painfully alluring flashing in his eyes as a shudder ran through your body, sensitive from your earlier activities.

“And when we’re there, I’ll take you once more… once for every day I would have made love to you, had I been in our home with you as I should have.”

In the haze of your mind, the math didn’t seem to math or even matter, even though you felt it should.

But for now, all you could focus on was Steve, finally with you, and soon coming to your shared home with you, at last.

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

The event's masterlist

*chuckles* I’m in danger��

I hope Steve makes sure she’s hydrated and eats something in between🤭 And maybe gets some sleep; not all of us are supersoldiers 🥹

ANYWAY. Thank you for reading! Drop feedback if you're willing and may September bring you many smutty cozy evenings and peace 💕

#smutty september fest 2024 #indulge with chuckles #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x you #captain america fanfiction #captain america fanfic #restless hearts #anika ann #anika writes

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withlove-angel · 1 year ago

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How would they confess to you ?

(Luffy, sanji, zoro, Buggy, law)

Luffy

I think Luffy would be very straightforward with his confession, he wouldn't want to beat around the bush or cause any confusion. He would be very clear about his feelings for you and how much you mean to him. He might not be the most romantic person in the world but he would try his best to show you how much he cares about you and how important you are to him.

He might start by saying something like, "You know, I've been really enjoying our time together, and I have to say...I'm starting to fall for you!" Then, he might add, "Oh, who am I kidding, I've completely fallen for you! You're the only person who can make me smile like this and I never want that to go away." He might even end his confession with, "So, wanna be my treasure?"

Sanji

Well, Sanji might not confess right away, but he might start with subtle hints. He might drop little compliments or flirt a lot more. He would also make an extra-special meal to impress you. Eventually, he might get up the courage to tell you how he feels, and he would say something like "You're so beautiful and kind, it's hard not to have a crush on you"

That's true! Sanji does like to flirt, but he's also very respectful of women and their boundaries. He wouldn't push if you said no, but he might be a bit... persistent... if you said maybe, or said you wanted to get to know him better before making a decision. He might ask you more questions about yourself and your interests, or try to impress you with his cooking or fighting skills. But he wouldn't force you into anything, even if he does really like you

"I love your smile, and your laugh. Your eyes sparkle like jewels and your hair is like the sun on a sunny day. You're strong and brave, and you don't let anything stop you. I want to be the person who makes you smile the most in the whole world. My heart is yours; will you please accept it?"

Zoro

The way I envision it, he'd confess during a time of quiet, peace, and contemplation. He'd be hesitant, nervous, probably even a little awkward in his own way, but he'd do it without hesitation because it's what he's feeling. He'd want it to be genuine and sincere, and maybe it'd even be a spur-of-the-moment decision. If it's a more emotional moment, his swords might even be discarded to the side, as a symbolic gesture

*deep breath*" Oi. You know it's me, right? There's something I wanna get off my chest. It's not easy for me to put it into words. I don't know if I'm making sense... But here goes. I kinda like you- like like you. A lot. I think I've felt this way for a while now, but I haven't been able to say it. I know it's a lot to just say out loud, and it feels a bit... reckless. But I gotta just get it out. I like you."

Buggy

Buggy likes to present himself as powerful and intimidating. But deep down he's just an insecure guy who worries about what others think of him. In a private setting with someone he trusts, I think Buggy would be a lot more honest and open about his feelings. But he would still do it his own way, maybe in a roundabout way without actually saying the words "I love you".

I think Buggy would be very loyal and protective in a relationship, and he'd make sure that his partner knows that he values their connection deeply.

He would be careful not to say anything overly cheesy or melodramatic. He might try to lighten the mood with a joke, or compliment you in a way that makes you feel special and important to him. He would probably try to impress you with his strength and courage, and show off his abilities as a fighter and leader.

He would probably also be quite thoughtful and sweet, and show that he really cares about your well-being and happiness. But he wouldn't want to be too vulnerable or emotional, so he would likely try to keep things light and playful.

"So.. I.. err.. *cough* you're the most beautiful and amazing person I've ever met. (Turns all red) *cough* I mean... err... you're not too bad I guess. (Tries to smile) Wanna.. err.. be my partner.. I mean... umm... *cough* wanna be my romantic partner? Yeah, that's it. *cough* That was a joke, right? Right?"

Law

Law is the type to give subtle hints that he likes someone while keeping his feelings under wraps. If you like him too, you'd probably have to make a move first. He's the type to deny his feelings until the moment they're expressed. He has a hard time displaying his emotions, although he's quite a warm person internally.

If you confess he would probably be stunned at first. He wouldn't expect this to happen. However, once he processes what's occurred, he would probably say something along the lines of "Oh... hmm. Is that so?" His expression would definitely display his surprised and potentially pleased state. Though, he'll probably keep his answer brief and ambiguous. But the slightly blush and smirk on his face dont lie...

#yandere one piece #one piece imagine #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy the clown #law one piece #law x reader #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #one piece #zoro #sanji #luffy

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chibieggplant · 8 months ago

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Law falls for you slow and steady

Trafalgar law Headcanons | When he has a crush on you

Law's crush on you manifests slowly and subtly. It starts with him noticing the way your eyes light up when discussing something you're passionate about or the kindness you show to others.

He often finds himself stealing glances at you when he thinks you're not looking, only to quickly avert his gaze when you catch him. Law tries to act cool and collected about it, but his crewmates soon start noticing him staring dreamily at you and you can bet they tease him mercilessly about it.

Law's normally precise and focused nature becomes slightly scattered when he's in your presence. He might find himself lost in thought, daydreaming about cute or romantic scenarios involving you, only to snap back to reality with an embarrassed expression.

Despite his tough exterior, Law is not immune to unintentionally blushing furiously or getting flustered around you. Compliment him or praise his skills as a doctor / fighter and he will turn into a stuttering mess.

Whenever you're around, Law's usually calm and collected demeanor becomes a bit more chaotic as he tries to hide his nerves. Suddenly he turns into Corazon and is now tripping over his feet and accidentally bumping into things.

Law's attempts at flirting with you are often hilariously awkward, he's not used to expressing his emotions openly. His deadpan delivery and bluntness don’t help his case either. Penguin tried to give him advice on how to be more romantic but it often comes out wrong. “You’re like the North Star in my chaotic sea of life…except, I’m not lost or anything. Just metaphoricaly…speaking.”

He often attempts to make conversation with you…key word being attempt “So um…did you hear about that new medical breakthrough? It’s fascinating stuff. Way less complicated than…emotions…did you know that the human heart beats around 100,000 times a day?”

He protective side comes out around you, subtly keeping an eye on you during battles or dangerous situations, ensuring you're safe without drawing too much attention to it…Though it’s painfully obvious to everyone else when the poster boy for sticking to the plan diverts his plan just to help you.

Law often overreacts when you have even the slightest injury or ailment, treating it as a major medical emergency. His crewmates find it amusing how he switches instantly into "doctor mode" for the smallest of issues when it comes to you. You have a small cut on your arm? He insists it needs to be sterilised immediately, let him look at it, it might need stitches.

As Law's feelings deepen, he finds himself drawn to your company more and more. He starts seeking opportunities to spend time together, whether it's finally coming out of his office to join you for lunch, or stealing you away to discuss strategies for upcoming missions because he needs your input…he doesn’t, he just hasn’t spoken to you in the past hour and he misses you.

Law's crewmates, particularly Bepo and Penguin, become keen observers of his behavior around you. They notice the subtle shifts in his demeanor, the way his gaze softens when he looks at you, and the genuine smiles that grace his usually stoic face in your presence.

Bepo, becomes his unintentional wingman, trying to nudge him closer to you whenever possible. Though his attempts often just make Law stumble into you. Bepo pushes him to compliment you “Doesn’t y/ns hair look nice today captain? Tell her it looks nice” *cue the adorable bear eyes that Law can’t say no to*

Over time, as your relationship deepens, Law might find the courage to subtly hint at his feelings, although he remains cautious about how you might respond. He’s already lost someone he loves once he can’t lose you too.

He starts leaving small gifts or tokens of affection for you in your room, though he would never admit they were from him. His gifts often end up being quirky or unconventional items that reflect his personality, like a tiny model of the Polar Tang or a cute plushie of Bepo.

Regardless of his reserved nature, Law's crush on you brings out a softer side of him. Over time, as trust and mutual understanding deepen between you and Law, he begins to open up more to you. He find himself sharing personal stories and memories of his past with you.

Despite being a former warlord, Law becomes a bit of a nervous wreck when he tries to confess his feelings to you. He rehearses his lines multiple times in the mirror, only to end up blurting out something completely different.

“You know I’ve performed countless surgeries but trying to fix my heart after meeting you is the toughest one yet…wait, that sounded smoother in my head. What I meant is that it seems that I have a significant affection coefficient towards you…dammit! I mean, I-i really like you a lot!”

Law’s crush on you blossoms into true love, he cherishes the bond you have that’s built on trust, respect and genuine care. You become a source of joy and lightheartedness during his chaotic days, bringing much needed colour and love to his life.

#trafalgar law #law #trafalgar law x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #trafalgar law headcanons #one piece headcanons #headcanons

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lovesickeros · 1 year ago

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☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 2 ]

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ]

This had to be a punishment of some sort – some kind of divine punishment.

She was bored out of her mind just watching the sleeping body – she hadn't blinked once in the past five hours, her eyes were really starting to hurt. Yet they still hadn't moved so much as an inch since she sequestered them away to the only place she had known to be safe.

But it'd been almost a week since then.

The only solace she found was that Teyvat had seemed much less hellbent on collapsing in on itself like a dying star.

That counted for something.

Not much, but something!

..Even if their position was no better then it was a week ago.

There was, after all, still the issue of what to do about the false Creator – the actual imposter – and the Archons following them like blind lambs. The other Archons wouldn't listen if she tried to reason with them, and it would only risk the life of Divine One if she spoke of their location to anyone else.

She also was pretty fond of having her head still attached to her shoulders.

So she avoided them all together. Partially because she wasn't sure she wouldn't have a breakdown at the sight of them..she'd never been a fighter, and fighting an Archon? Easy pass.

Instead she was forced to babysit the sleeping Divine until they woke up while Neuvillette handled taking care of the nation and dealing with the other Archons – and by extension the false Creator.

Really though, she would almost think them dead if not for the subtle rise and fall of their chest.

Though..this also left her with a lot of time to herself. A lot of time to think.

She really didn't like it.

There wasn't a lot to occupy her mind and what little there was only distracted her for a scant few moments before her eyes drifted back to the Divine like she was locked in their orbit, unable to escape.

She closed the same book for the twelfth time – she kept count – and returned it to it's meticulously designed place within her bookcase. A low, barely audible huff of frustration escaped her lips before she could bite it down, her stare boring a hole into the body of the Divine One with a sharp intensity she rarely showed.

She was tired, bored and constantly on edge, fearing that at any moment someone would find out about their presence here.

That, at the drop of a hat, she would be powerless to stop the greatest tragedy of her time play out before her eyes.

Neuvillette would have scolded her for being so petulant, especially around the Divine One, if he were here.

But he wasn't.

He was out running her nation, instead.

And what was she doing? Nothing!

She grit her teeth, nails digging harshly into the palm of her hands as she took a deep breath – now was not the time to think about that. She had..much more pressing matters. Sulking and letting her thoughts spiral helped no one, least of all herself.

Yet her attention was caught by a harsh inhale, the rustle of fabric – were they finally waking up? She was exhausted, but it all vanished at the sudden drop of life within the otherwise deathly still body of the Divine.

Her eyes followed the subtle twitch of their fingers, watching as their brow furrowed and their features twisted in something almost like..pain.

..She wasn't ready.

What was she supposed to say?

Should she even say anything? Would that be considered impolite? Does she wait for them to speak first? Should she kneel? Bow?

She doesn't get much time to find her own answer before their lashes flutter, chest heaving with every strangled breath. Every single thought vanishes from her mind the moment she meets their eyes.

For a long, silent moment she thinks that her heart must have stopped.

Their eyes glow like the cresting of the sun over the horizon, painting the world in hues of gold – yet it also reminded her of the dipping of the moon below the waves, casting the briefest, most gentle of lights upon the world engulfed in darkness. In the depths of their eyes was the birth and death of stars in the infinite cosmos – glittering stars in a sea of empty, blank space that left her feeling lightheaded and breathless.

Beneath the splendor is a spark of recognition in their eyes so vibrant it was like a shooting star piercing through the dark night sky, leaving nothing but the wonder in the eyes of the observer as the only proof it ever existed – brilliant in it's beauty, however brief.

It is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

"Focalors?"

The lilt of their voice nearly made her knees buckle beneath her – euphoria so consuming it left her feeling she was starving swallowed her whole, her mind blanking in a moment of utter bliss. It was..an indescribable feeling that she doubted she could ever hope to put into words – not in a way that could properly express it, try as she might.

She swallowed the words that threatened to spill from her lips – she couldn't make a fool of herself. Not in front of them of all people. She'd never forgive herself.

"Divine One," She rasps, clearing her throat and covering her mouth with a hand to mask both her nervousness and the small smile that creeps across her face. She quickly regains her composure, hand resting on her hip as she puffs out her chest with every bit of pride she can manage. "I am sure you must be confused, but worry not– your most loyal acolyte has seen the truth!"

The silence is deafening.

She opens one eye, peaking at the bewildered and almost distraught expression of the Divine.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

That..she was not prepared for. Surely they knew who they were! Surely they knew. They had to– she's been praying to them for as long as she's breathed, she's dedicated every hour of her life to living up to their ideals, they can't just–!

"Lady Furina?"

Neuvillette, thankfully, spares her the embarrassment of having a meltdown in front of the Divine, the gentle rap of his knuckles against the door making her and the Divine pause, the soft lull of his voice soothing her nerves and yet setting her on edge at the same time.

"Neuvillette." She clears her throat again, her steps hurried as she marches to the door and pries it open none too gently, a forced smile pulling at her lips. She wastes no time tugging the man into the room, shutting the door behind him with a short huff. The silence is, somehow, even worse then before as the three of them stare at each other in absolute exasperation.

Neuvillette, for his part, manages to get his act together with a sharp clearing of his throat, bowing so low even she looks unnerved. She steals a brief glance at the Divine, and she's taken aback by the uncomfortability twisting their features into a grimace.

Their expression is schooled back into one of empty apathy when he stands back to his full height, but she saw it – she knows she did! Did they not like their worship? Were they not respectful enough? For a moment, she feared the Divine would smite Neuvillette down on the spot..but they just stared at him like he was a ghost.

"Why aren't you killing me?"

The defeated, resigned tone combined with the way their voice cracks makes her heart ache in her chest – it feels as though her entire world is crumbling down at her feet, and she cannot explain why she feels such emotions so strongly, but it is suffocating. It is almost as if Teyvat itself is weeping, bearing down upon her shoulders like a heavy weight.

She feels the urge to weep herself, but she powers through, gritting her teeth long enough for Neuvillette to take his place at the side of her – though it feels more like their – bed, kneeling like he was going to pray.

"Divine One," He offers a hand with a quiet rumble of his voice, the words slipping off his tongue like honey. It's like trying to soothe a stray cat..though she'd never voice such comparisons of the most Divine out loud. "I..we mean you no harm. I swear on my authority as the Iudex of Fontaine and Chief Justice that you are safe with us."

The skepticism she expected, but the reverence in which Neuvillette must convince them – or perhaps they are simply so tired that they simply did not care any longer if it was all some ploy to drive a knife between their ribs. She didn't expect them to actually place their hand in Neuvillette's.

He didn't either, judging by the way he visibly brightened – not that they'd notice, but she did.

..Not that she could really blame him, her heels clicking against the floorboards as she shifted her weight to the other foot with a nervous energy that was practically bursting at the seams, more then a little jealous of the attention he was receiving. She was the one who found them, she was the one who stayed with them the entire time..but he gets all the attention?

How unfair.

"O-of course! We would never lay a hand on our creator," She adds, her voice a little higher pitched then she would have liked as she placed her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest and brushing off the sting of jealousy. "Least of all I– your most loyal, most devout acolyte!"

She felt baffled when she heard the sound of their laughter, her shoulders hunching and her cheeks flushing on mere instinct – she was expecting mockery, but the look in their eyes, still dulled by a pain she cannot even begin to imagine, made her hesitate.

..It was, perhaps, the most genuine thing she'd heard from them ever since before the hunt began.

She wasn't sure why her heart hurt at such an idea, but it was enthralling to see the beginnings of a half hearted smile on their lips.

For a moment, her mask of theatrics was forgotten as she stared at them in a mixture of awe and adoration– and though she didn't look at Neuvillette, she could imagine he must've shared such an expression.

Had she any doubts that they were her Creator, that they alone were the most Divine..they would wiped clean now. There was no mistaking the way the world itself seemed to grow clearer as they glanced up at her like she was worth something.

For a moment, she realized how cold the false Creators gaze had been now that she has felt warmth so gentle it almost made her knees buckle beneath her. It felt like a pale imitation, now.

Nothing could compare to the warmth that spread through her body at the mere semblance of a smile upon their lips. She didn't even mind if it was her they were laughing at anymore, she just wanted to hear them laugh again.

She'd make a fool of herself, if she had to.

She'd never felt so..ravenous for such a thing, but just the briefest glimpse was addictive.

She simply couldn't help herself from striding across the room and clasping their free hand in her own, her smile wide enough to unnerve as she leaned her weight onto the bed. For a moment, she considered pulling away at the way they startled, but her mind was made up by then – there was no going back.

"Again."

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #neuvillette #focalors #furina #dont ask what happened here idk #this was. also supposed 2 be neuvi focused and then i.#dont talk 2 me abt focalors i wont ever shut up #got a 300k word essay on hand abt how i feel abt her character/how i interpret her personality and her story #focalors jsut like me fr fr (cries at the slightest inconvenience or the slightest mean comment)#shes so pathetic girlfail im gonna chew on her #what happens when reader gets stuck with two emotionally repressed french bastards?? hell #neuvi is the “emotionless” flavor of emotionally repressed in that hes HORRIBLE at showing emotions at all #ask him to smile and its incredibly unnerving and theres too many teeth but hes trying his best please call him pretty or he will cry :(#furina is the flavor of emotionally repressed where she makes it up by having Too Many emotions #using theatrics and masks to show everyone what they want to see but inside this girl is a MESS #constant anxiety and panic 24/7 #will do random shit and look at you and if u dont compliment her she will think u hate her and cry #compliment her and she'll do even stupider shit to try and impress you more #i love my scrunkly little babies they r so stupid and mentally ill someone get these bitches some THERAPY #i want 2 put them under a microscope #watch this be ooc fr furina when more of her lore drops if shes not girlfail im leaving #anyway see u in a week im going on a trip ill get back 2 u in 6-7 business days

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 years ago

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in the shadow of your heart (part two of two)

Daemon Targaryen x f!Reader

requested by anon: inspired by the plot of the movie Flipped, where the reader openly pines for Daemon, but he always brushes her off until one day, she stops bothering him.

word count: 11.2k ▪︎ part one ▪︎ masterlist

themes: pining, angst, language, Daemon being Daemon, slight Cregan Stark x f!reader, some smut (18+)

“Greetings, Prince Daemon.” Cregan Stark is the first to speak. His genial manner is something that draws everyone to him, warm and earnest. The Lord of the North is much beloved, and with good reason. As he assesses Prince Daemon, he easily notices the agitation in the prince’s stance. The confusion in his eyes. If Cregan also notices the subtle envy collecting in Daemon’s expression, he does not let it show.

“Lord Stark,” he saunters in your direction, slowly, like a predator who has finally cornered his prey. Taking in the competition like a practiced fighter.

“Lady Y/n.” He calls you by name, and you realize how much of a rarity it is. It’s always just You, a statement more than an endearment, or my little shadow. You still don’t know what to make of the latter. Shadow. Does that mean you are indispensable, a part of him he can never shake? Or does he see you as an unwanted presence?

“Daemon. How have you been, my prince?” An attempt at cordiality from you. You know Daemon doesn’t care much for such dialogue, but what else is there to say?

Why did you not show up at my nameday, like you promised?

Have you been finding comfort in Mysaria’s arms?

Have I even crossed your mind, even once, or is my absence something that you welcome?

But you don’t make any of these thoughts heard. You don’t believe there would be a point. Besides, there is no need to air out your grievances whilst in the company of Cregan.

“I don’t know, my lady. Perhaps you could enlighten me. I have roamed nearly every inch of the palace grounds, and I’ve only just found you. You have not come to see me as of late, either.”

“I was not aware that you were expecting me, my prince.”

He scoffs, hating how formal you were being. Was this a show you were putting on for the Stark boy? Where are your throwaway smiles and your playful quips? Your appreciative gaze, drinking him in as if it were always the first time?

Cregan comes to your rescue, “I’m afraid I may be to blame for taking up the lady’s time, Prince Daemon. She makes for excellent company, as I think you know. She’s kindly been showing me around King’s Landing.”

“You’ve been around King’s Landing before, Stark. We were not aware you have taken a particular interest in the ins and outs of the city, but we’d be more than happy to provide you with our best maester to tell you everything you need to know. I’m sure the lady has much better things to do with her time. Besides, after a while, you might like a change of scenery. One that she wouldn’t know how to provide.”

What in the seven hells is that supposed to mean? Of course, the first time you meet in a long while, Daemon has surely stored some kind words to tell you.

“Don’t worry, Daemon. I can assure you that we’ve been making good use of our time together,” you look at him directly, no longer bothering with the niceties. Daemon knows how you really are, after all. He’s seen you flustered, embarrassed, angry. Mostly, he’s seen you pining. Wanting. For him. You’ve always been open around him, not holding anything back. Daemon enjoyed your brazenness, so unlike the other frilly maidens who clamber for his attention. But what changed?

“If you don’t mind, Lord Stark, I’d like a moment alone with the lady.” Daemon readily meets your gaze, barely giving mind to Cregan, who is now halfway covering you from his vision, as if preparing to protect you from him should the need arise. The nerve of this fucking Northern Lord.

“Honour demands that I only leave if this is what the lady wishes, Prince Daemon.” Cregan declares, his voice steady.

Bloody Northerners and their honour. “I was not presenting you with a request, Stark. Try not to get on my nerve.”

“Alright,” you speak up, “it’s okay, Cregan. I’ll come find you later.”

Daemon notes the familiarity with which you addressed the Stark boy, and it doesn’t sit well with him. “Yes, run along, young wolf.” He doesn’t drop your gaze, doesn’t watch Cregan walk away.

So, he also does not notice Cregan throw you a comforting wink as he disappears from view, leaving you with Daemon on the rooftop. Daemon’s mood considered; this is probably for the best.

The air is thick with words unsaid, and while Daemon relaxes his stance, his face betrays a storm of emotion. Ones that he is not equipped to deal with. Jealousy? Unrequited yearning? Uncertainty? What can he possibly say that would be enough? So he settles for, “You look well, my shadow.”

“As do you, my prince. Enjoying the comforts of home, I’d hope?”

“Tell me this,” Daemon impatience flares, “why have I not seen you around? They used to be rare, the days in which you would not simply make your presence known to me.”

“That’s why I got to be called your shadow, was it not? That I was always following you around like a pest, driving you to irritation. There were moments wherein I could swear that I saw you grimace at my arrival - ”

“A pest?” He looks taken aback. He reaches for your arm, but you sidestep and fold your arms behind you, “Y/n, where is all this coming from?”

“I think you know quite well, Daemon.”

“Would it delight you to hear that I may have missed your company, no matter how unreasonably persistent it might have been?” Daemon’s smirk is dangerous, capable of breaking through your icy approach.

“Unreasonably persistent? Is this your way of making amends, my prince? You might need a lesson in tact from your markedly more diplomatic brother.”

“I was never one to bother with needless flattery. Unless directed at me, of course.” His smirk grows even wider, enjoying the resurgence of your familiar banter.

Your tone turns sour, almost angry even, one that Daemon has not heard before, “You promised that you would attend my nameday festivities, and yet you did not. I waited for you, like the stupid little shadow that you have deemed me to be, and for nothing. I don’t know why I even expected you to come, given what you clearly think of me.” Your voice breaks at the end, and it snags at Daemon’s heart.

“I did not think you cared much for such frivolities, and…well, I…”

“No, I did not. I don’t. I only cared whether you would be there, so that I might see you. So that you might greet me with the smug smirk of yours. So that you might even ask me for a dance,” you pace around Daemon, your mind lost in thought of what could have been, “But no matter. It’s all over and done with now. We can keep such nonsense in the past, Prince Daemon. You no longer need to waste your time with me.”

“Y/n,” he says your name with such clarity, such emotion, as he moves to narrow the space between the two of you, “I sincerely apologize if I was not there for your nameday. Had I thought that my presence would mean that much to you, then I surely would have come.”

That’s not enough, Daemon. That’s not what I need.

You notice the sincerity in his eyes as he continues, “I don’t want you to be cross with me. And… I don’t want you to think that I… think little of you. You are not. You are - ”

“You were like my sun, you know. My entire world revolved around you. You were in everything that I could see.” Your face morphs into a mixture of sadness, and longing, and acceptance. Daemon notes that you were speaking of things as if it were already in the past, and he does not like it at all.

He lets you continue, even though it pains him to see the turmoil in your expression, “Daemon, I… I thought about you when I woke, and when I went to bed. You were intoxicating… and fucking infuriating, because you clearly did not share the same sentiment when it came to me. I was simply there.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you fucking expect of me,” he counters, not willing to comprehend that your words can bring him to fold so quickly, “but you know exactly who I am. What I am, my shadow.”

“Did I not make it clear to you just how I felt?” You ask. Your gazes are locked and heated. The distance between you has narrowed, and he can feel your warm breath on his face. He notices the way your chest rises and falls, the slope of your breasts, the furrowing of your eyebrows which he finds endearing. You stand so close, an alluring distraction, nearly making him lose all train of thought.

“For fuck’s sake, of course. Everyone could see it!” He snaps, raising his voice at you.

“And yet, it did not matter.”

“No, it matters - ” he pauses, looking away, “I just… don’t know…”

You straighten, “You know what, it’s perfectly fine, Daemon. Why were you looking for me?”

“I thought I already mentioned. I was wondering where you’ve been all this time. Whatever wrongs you believe I have done to you, it was never my intention. I do not wish to be rid of your presence. It does not…” When his eyes capture yours once again, you see the inner turmoil reflected within, “It does not feel right without you around… my shadow.”

You want so badly to take his hand as you had done so many times before, and reassure him that everything is fine. But Rhaenyra’s advice had struck you, so well that it rings true in your mind as you look at Daemon. “Make him hunger for you,” she had said, eyes glinting mischievously, “so that he may realize what it is he may be at risk of losing, if he does not get his act together. And, well, if he still does not treat you as you deserve, then surely someone else will.”

You would have chased Daemon to the ends of the Seven Kingdoms, but you can only pursue someone so far before you might tip over the edge of the world yourself.

“I understand, Daemon. I am not angry at you. Truthfully, I don’t think I could ever be.” You offer a comforting smile, but it does not reach your eyes.

“Very well, then. On the morrow, I shall once again conduct my training in the courtyard. I expect you to be there.”

When you narrow your eyes at his implication, he adds, softly, “I mean, I want you to be there.”

You smile, and echo his exact words from weeks ago, when you gave word to him about your festivities, “I’d be loathe to miss a good training display of yours, my prince. I’ll be there.”

There may be a lot more than needs to be said, that Daemon wants to say. But he cannot find the words. He is not even certain what it is that compelled him to seek you out today. Or if he is, he is not ready to face it yet.

“I shall take my leave, my prince,” you curtsy, “I’ll be seeing you.”

He watches as you walk away. He is covered in sunlight from where he stands, the wind gently blowing mild and pleasant. And yet he feels cold, and his spirit is strained, as if this unspoken stalemate between the two of you casts a gloom over his days. As if you had taken all warmth along with you.

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

Daemon swings forcefully, toppling his opponent to the ground.

“Again!” He yells, “I thought you cunts are supposed to be decent fighters, at the very least. And yet even the whores in the Street of Silk might make for better competitors.”

Not one of his gold cloaks makes a move, and they all look at him warily. Their commander has been heated all morning, and they have taken the brunt of his rage.

The spectators have created a wider berth around him than usual, while they mostly whisper to each about the prince’s nasty temper.

One of the braver gold cloaks, Maron Tyrell, decides to approach him, “My prince, perhaps we should conclude our training exercise for today. The men are drained and wish to - ”

“We finish when I say so,” Daemon emphasizes every word in his displeasure, “not at your fucking heed.”

Maron persists, forgetting to mind the risk of talking back to Daemon when he is in this state, “We noticed that a certain Lady is not among the spectators, my prince. Your shadow, I think that is what you deem her to be, and rightfully so, I mean… don’t you think that actually made this morning’s activities more bearable, without her needlessly yapping at you at every-”

Maron does not get to finish his jibe about you, as Daemon pummels the young knight into the ground. His fist collides with Maron’s face, again and again, until he is pulled back by several of his struggling men.

“Prince Daemon!” A cacophony erupts around the courtyard – pleas for him to cease, gasps of shock and worry, even some callous laughter at the absurdity of the situation. The rogue prince has assailed one of his very own men. One of his loyal devotees. An undignified act, even for the volatile prince.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” Daemon squirms out of the grip of his men, and storms out of the courtyard, people parting like waves in his path. His knuckle is bruised and partially covered in Maron Tyrell’s blood. Yet, he cannot bring himself to care.

For what is a man without his shadow? He might as well just be gone.

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

"Lord Mathias Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, your Grace." A member of the Kingsguard announces the new arrival, his clear voice resounding in the throne room.

The imposing hall is nearly empty, apart from King Viserys who stands at the foot of the Iron Throne, several members of the Kingsguard, and his Hand, Lord Otto Hightower.

The elderly Tyrell walks in with a dignified air. There is a slight hunch in his posture, but his gaze is trained straight ahead. King Viserys meets him halfway, with a welcoming smile on his face, "My Lord Tyrell, what a pleasure this is, truly."

"My King," Mathias bows his head once, then looks at Viserys again, eager to finally make his appeal known, "I do hope my arrival is not untimely. It has been a while since we last convened, you and I."

"Not at all, Mathias," Viserys says, "I am always at your disposal for any important matter that you wish to bring to my attention, as I understand this is the case at present."

"Yes, well, let me begin by relaying my wife Lady Lenna's well wishes for you, my King. She feels honoured to have been a friend to your late wife Queen Aemma, and we only hope the best for your family."

Viserys nods amiably, accustomed to such flattering declarations from Lords and Ladies alike. He also knows by now that such, while potentially genuine, are usually followed by either a complaint or a petition. As if he was being softened up for what follows.

“Which is why it saddened me greatly to hear that a certain member of your family had attacked one of mine. The inducement of this remains beyond my understanding. My nephew, Maron, a member of your gold cloaks, is currently being attended to by our finest maesters, after suffering several injuries at the hands of Prince Daemon.”

“What?” Viserys’ friendly expression falls, “Daemon?” He looks toward Otto Hightower in hopes of some clarification.

“My King, we have just received word of this incident, and we were planning to discuss this in our council meeting on the morrow. The prince is required to attend, after all, which gives him a chance to elucidate his actions.” Otto explains placatingly.

“Daemon,” Viserys repeats his brother’s name, breathing it out like a curse. It was no longer any surprise to him to hear of such an act committed by his brother. He merely hoped that their occurrences would grow fewer and farther between.

“I knew you would understand the seriousness of this matter, my King. House Tyrell has, after all, always supported House Targaryen since the age of the Conqueror. All I want is for Prince Daemon to answer for what he had done to my nephew, in any way that you see fit.”

Viserys puts on his best placating smile, “Of course, Mathias. It shall be done. Now will that be all? I’m afraid I have some other matters to attend to.”

The Lord of Highgarden does not fail to notice the poorly hidden irritation in the King’s face, and he is quick to be done with the formalities of making himself scarce, exchanging a few choice words before bowing and promptly leaving the throne room.

“Well?” Viserys looks around the throne room, addressing whoever might have answers, “where the fuck is he?”

Otto squirms where he stands, “I can send for him right away, your Grace.”

They will soon realize that Prince Daemon’s whereabouts will elude them that day, as he had taken refuge in the clandestine quarters of the Lady Mysaria after the incident in the courtyard. However, the usual pleasures will not be exchanged between the two. Daemon no longer possesses the eagerness to lose himself in his apparently favoured woman. Mysaria does not press on, letting the prince get some much-needed rest. She does take note of one name uttered from his lips as he succumbs into slumber. Yours.

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

The members of the Small Council settle around the table, each one placing their round totem in front of them. The council meeting has begun.

Each Lord sits alert, ready to present their reports and findings for the week. Lord Corlys on the ongoing war in the Stepstones. Lord Beesbury on lowering the common tax for grain. Lord Lannister on arranging a play for the nobility. And so on. At the head of the table, however, their King does not appear to give off his usual air of graciousness. He leans to the side of his chair, routinely running his hand over his face in frustration.

Lord Beesbury speaks up, “Your Grace, shall we start with - ”

“Where is my brother?” Viserys’ voice is irate, his query directed at Lord Otto.

“We summoned him, your Grace, but he made it clear that he had other pressing matters to attend to.” Otto speaks slowly, clearly, in hopes that Viserys does not take his frustration out on him. “He mentioned having to meet with the Lady Y/n,” At this, Otto looks at your father across the table.

“My daughter?” Your father says, “I assure you, your Grace, I am not aware that she has any pressing matter with Prince Daemon. I would not even go so far to say that they are acquaintances.”

“Oh, Lord, you must know,” Tyland Lannister says, almost mockingly.

“Know what, my Lord?” your father asks, incredulous.

“Your daughter has been openly pining for the rogue prince. It’s common knowledge. She has not been shy about her affections, mind you,” Tyland smirks.

“I know nothing of this. My daughter has just begun a courtship with Lord Cregan Stark himself, and this I approve of. It would be unseemly for her to get involved with Prince Daemon in the way that you are insinuating.”

“What is the truth?” Viserys raises his voice, then turning to Otto, he adds, “Have you heard of this development?”

“I did not believe it to be consequential, your Grace. The prince has his share of admirers, after all.” Otto replies.

Viserys sighs heavily, thinking of how things will never just be simple when it comes to his brother. “Well, has he been receptive of the young lady’s affections?”

Lord Beesbury says, “The consensus has been that the prince has largely ignored them, your Grace.”

“Seven hells,” Viserys lets out a dry laugh in disbelief, “How come everyone knows of this matter except for me, the man in question’s own brother?”

“If I may respond to what Lord Beesbury just claimed, it does not seem that way. At least not anymore. Word has been circulating of yesterday’s incident, and apparently, the reason why Prince Daemon assaulted Maron Tyrell is because the latter brought up the subject of Lady y/n, and not in the nicest way.” Tyland says.

Lord Corlys intervenes, “Might we get on with more urgent business, lords?”

Viserys sits silently for a moment, letting all of the information sink in. He looks around the council table, baffled at the ridiculous scenario in front of him – the highest-ranking officials of the Seven Kingdoms prompted to engage in chitchat all because of this whole affair between yourself and Prince Daemon. “My lords,” he finally says, “Lord Corlys is right. We have better things to do with our time than to fucking gossip. I shall deal with my brother myself.”

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

The same morning, in another corner of the sprawling castle, you stand in your chambers, arranging the books on the shelf. You have just gone on a stroll with Rhaenyra, and are just taking a short rest. You startle slightly when your lady-in-waiting Hestia walks in.

“Good morrow, my lady.”

“To you as well, Hestia.” You smile in return.

“I have a message to relay, my lady,” she timidly says, “Earlier, when you had departed, Prince Daemon visited your chambers.”

You freeze. “Daemon?”

“Y-yes, my lady. I had walked in to change the linens, and he was already sitting there at your desk. Waiting for you, it seemed.”

“And? Did he mention anything to you?” You ask gently.

“He wants to meet you in the godswood, my lady. He said that he will anticipate you there at around noon.”

You note to yourself that noon is fast approaching. “Hmm. I see.” Hestia smiles comfortingly at you, and you can deduce that there is more that she wants to say.

“How did he seem, the prince, whilst he was here?” You engage her further, genuinely curious yourself.

“If I may be blunt, my lady, he seemed quite distressed. He appeared as if he was lacking in rest, and well… he really did seem eager to find you.”

You walk over to your chair and slump down in a dramatic huff, “Ah, it appears that I have found myself in quite the conundrum.”

Hestia smiles, following you, “What a conundrum, though, my lady. Prince Daemon and Lord Cregan vying for your hand? Nearly every eligible lady in all the kingdoms would feel envious of you.”

Your smile is wistful when you say, “It’s not quite the fairy tale that it seems, Hestia. I mean, you know how Prince Daemon is.”

“So it is Prince Daemon whom you favour?”

“What made you think so?”

“Well, I can’t be certain, my lady. It’s just that… he’s the one you chose to mention. His is always the name that you bring up, as opposed to Lord Cregan’s.”

Huh. I really must have been fixated on Daemon, haven’t I, if everyone is still of the impression that I want him, even with Cregan in the picture.

Do I want him?

“My lady?” Hestia’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, “are you alright?”

“Yes,” you clear your throat, and stand, “I think I have somewhere to be.”

“To meet with Prince Daemon?”

How could I ever not want him?

“Perhaps.” You look back at Hestia, eyes glinting in anticipation, before leaving your chambers.

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

You walk through the hallways, still uncertain whether the godswood will be your destination. Whether Daemon will be your destination.

The weather is quite lovely anyway. Why not sit and enjoy some calm in the godswood? Deep down, you know that your reasoning, while sound, is a mere excuse for wanting to see Daemon.

Turning the corner, you see your father coming your way. He calls for you with a wave, and you rush toward him with a smile, “Good morrow, father.” You kiss him lightly on the cheek. “I was just heading to the godswood. Perhaps I shall take a book from the library and - ”

“To meet with Prince Daemon?” Your father's voice is stern, and you become nervous.

You tilt your head, unsure of how to respond. Your father continues, “This matter was brought to my attention, in the council meeting of all places! I felt like a bumbling fool. My own daughter, and I did not know.”

“You’re certainly not a fool, father. And - ”

“How long has this been going on?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Your brows furrow in frustration.

“This affair between yourself and Prince Daemon. Do you not have any mind for decency? How must this look? Cregan Stark is courting you, and here you are, running around with the rogue prince.” He speaks in hushed whispers, as if he is afraid of being overheard, but the anger in his tone can easily be detected.

“I am not sure what you heard, father, but I am not having an affair with Prince Daemon.” You lean back, also growing irate at his tone.

“Everyone knows, my child. I do know that you are intelligent, and that you mean well, but this - ”

“I was quite… smitten with him. Only that. But it is over now.”

“Is it? Then how come he apparently came to your defense yesterday, assailing Maron Tyrell when he spoke out of turn about you?”

“What?”

“Word has spread, and King Viserys has been saddled with the laborious task yet again of having to make amends on his brother’s behalf.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” You remember that you meant to visit the courtyard for his training, but instead opted to read with Cregan Stark in the library. You did not think Daemon would particularly mind, and truth be told, you wanted to give a taste of his own medicine. You made your mistake in believing that Daemon might approach it just like anyone else – with a reasonable amount of impatience and irritation. But of course, it’s Daemon.

You want to appease your father’s worries, so you say, “The next time I see Daemon, I shall make things clear. There will no longer be anything between him and I. Not that there ever was anything before.” You can’t help but look away sadly, but then your father pulls you in for a hug.

“I trust that you will do the right thing. Lord Cregan is a man of true honour and kindness. You deserve someone like him.”

“I know.”

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

Moments later, just before you make a turn into the open area of the godswood, someone catches you by the elbow.

“Hello, lass.” Cregan says. “I am happy to see you.”

“Cregan,” you attempt to hide your surprise with a smile, “ perhaps you were simply following me?”

“That idea did cross my mind, yes,” he jests in return, “but I’d much rather have you aware of my presence so you can indulge yourself in my undeniable charm.”

“Ever so humble, my Lord of the North.” You have grown accustomed to his witty quips, easily shared, making whoever he converses with comfortable. When you had mentioned it, he assured you however that the doting glint in his eyes is reserved for you only.

“Having a good day so far?” He draws you in close by the waist, his sincere gaze boring into yours.

“Very much so, thank you. I was just about to, uhm, spend some time in the godswood.”

“I shall accompany you then, my lady, if you would allow me.”

“Oh, I - ”

“There you are.” You turn towards the familiar voice. Daemon has found you. “I thought I heard you.”

“Ah, Prince Daemon, ever a pleasure.” Cregan loosens his hold on you, but he does not let go. You notice Daemon’s eyes draw downward to Cregan’s arm around your waist, and his jaw clenches.

“Oh, I wish I could say the same, young wolf. But I have been waiting in the godswood for the Lady Y/n, and I can see that you are taking up her precious time. Keeping her from me.” Daemon spits the final words, making his annoyance clear.

“Daemon, I was just about to come see you,” you say.

“I thought you were going to spend time in the godswood?” Cregan looks at you confused.

“Yes, she is,” Daemon chimes in, “with me.”

“Simply to talk.” You start to become anxious with how the two men are sizing each other up, cold expressions plastered on their faces.

“No matter,” Cregan shrugs, “might I accompany you too, my lady?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You and Daemon speak at the same instant, your contrasting responses putting a pause on the whole exchange. The silence is filled with tension, with Daemon staring at you intently. A slight smirk rests on his lips, and you can tell, he is enjoying this. He takes pleasure in being able to get under your skin.

You might be right, but in that moment, Daemon’s mind also wanders to the smoothness of your skin. The fire in your eyes. His stare grazes your decolletage, exposed by your dress, the very same dress he had disparaged weeks prior. How foolish of me. Anything she wears is immediately more refined as a result. Although I’d much see rather that dress on the fucking floor.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that there is still something between the two of you.” Cregan’s voice cuts through the silence. When you turn to him questioningly, he explains, “I have heard whispers here and there about a possible mutual affection that you share.”

“Prince Daemon and I are merely friends,” you clarify, “and even this I have reason to doubt.” You glare at Daemon, imploring him to not cross the line.

“We are friends,” Daemon grits his teeth, “come with me, Y/n.”

You continue to challengingly stare at Daemon, and any passer-by would immediately feel the tension. They would also be quick to assume that the connection lies between yourself and Daemon, not Cregan. Not that you would be willing to admit it straightaway.

“Forget about the godswood,” you look between both men, “Rhaenyra tells me of a travelling theatre troupe that will be conducting their show in the Red Keep this afternoon. I think I fancy heading over and seeing it for myself.”

You start to walk away, not paying mind to either the dragon or the wolf.

I’m done with this bickering. Let them follow me if they wish.

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

After a short period of deliberating and preparing, you find yourself walking the streets of the Red Keep, with Daemon walking close to one side and Cregan to the other.

Hestia follows suit, conversing with Cregan’s young squire, Pod. You had looked back to her to give a comforting smile, and you could tell that she was slightly intimidated by the member of the Kingsguard accompanying your little group. The knight is a looming figure of hunkering armour, walking close behind her and Pod.

Daemon and Cregan both offered an arm for you to hold onto at the start of your stroll, but you avoided the pain of choosing by clasping your hands in front of you, walking forward with your head held high.

You reach the city centre, and Cregan points to a fountain in the middle of the plaza. “I remember when you took me there, darling. We had the most pleasant afternoon.”

Daemon snorts upon hearing that, “The bloody fountain?”

Pod comes up to speak with Cregan about the tasks he has to fulfill for the day, demanding his attention, and they shuffle to the side in discussion.

“Yes, Daemon, the bloody fountain. We sat, had the best lemon cakes, and conversed with the common folk. Activities that are not to your taste, I’m sure,” you matched his sardonic inflection.

“I thought you would have preferred mulberry tarts,” Daemon responds, matter-of-factly.

Your lips part in mild surprise. “How could you have guessed that?”

“You might have mentioned it once, weeks ago.”

“Huh.” You continue to stare at him in disbelief. So he does listen to me.

You had the impression that all those times when you prattled in his ear, your words would simply dissolve into air. Like an incessant tune droning on in the background. Daemon always looked as if he was pondering some other more important thought.

“You continue to surprise me, Daemon.”

“And you never fail to pleasantly disrupt my life at every turn,” he remarks, the corners of his mouth turning upward.

“Since you used the word pleasantly then I shall assume that it’s a good thing. But disrupt? How so?”

He kicks a pebble across the cobblestones, lost in thought, “This is the last thing that I would have ever expected, my shadow.”

You continue to look at him in suspense, your heart thudding in your chest. Try as you might, Daemon still has that effect on you.

He continues, “I never expected to… feel this… about you.”

“Feel what?” He turns to you, and softens at the sight of your innocent expression, your eyes wide and glistening. You’ve always gazed at him in such an open and caring manner, unaffected by the reality of his reputation. Very much unlike other people, who are almost invariably wary or distrustful when dealing with him. He has accepted that he needs someone like you. But recently, it became clearer. He only needed you.

“Prince Daemon,” a familiar soft, accented voice calls out.

The spell is broken. You turn toward the new arrival. The lady Mysaria.

“Good day, my lady,” you greet her reluctantly. You badly wish to move close to Cregan and engage him in conversation, just so you would not be privy to the interaction between Daemon and Mysaria, but something keeps you rooted in place.

“Good day to you as well, lady Y/n.”

“Have you come to watch the performance?” you tilt your head toward the stage that is being set up on one side of the plaza.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time for such frivolities at present, my lady,” she smiles thinly, before turning to Daemon, “I am glad I found you, my prince. I would have waited until you eventually came to see me again, but since you are here, I want to return this to you.”

She reaches out her hand, and in it lies an ornate ring, decorated with an exquisite blood-red ruby. An inscription in High Valyrian is carved on the band.

Daemon snatches it swiftly, “Right. Good eye.”

“I recognized this to be one of your Targaryen heirlooms. You must have dropped it when you spent the night with me.” She steps closer to him, caressing his arm.

Your heart sinks. What did you expect – that Daemon would ever commit to you? He has been making gestures that are unusual for him, giving you just the slightest hint of hope. And now, this.

He was right. You do know exactly who he is. What he is. The lady Mysaria can be taken as confirmation of this.

“Would you excuse me?” you clear your throat, and start to walk over to Cregan.

Daemon notices the drop in your spirits - in the frown that formed on your lips, and the way your shoulders scrunched forward. He knows that you are aware of him looking at you imploringly. You refuse to meet his gaze, and continue to ignore him as he stares daggers at your retreating figure.

Daemon shrugs Mysaria’s hold off his arm, taking a step back. He is not certain what to say, and Mysaria senses his agitation.

“You desire the lady Y/n,” she states, not a shred of doubt in her enticing voice.

“You know nothing of it,” Daemon spits defensively.

“You do. You want her. I can see it in your eyes,” Mysaria repeats, “It’s a novel thing, as you once told me that she is someone whom you merely tolerate.”

And I fucking wish I knew better. “I’ll be damned if I’m not capable of changing my mind.”

“Or perhaps you always wanted her, and you just were not aware of it? You did speak plenty of her even before,” she muses, as she knows that Daemon will not deny her keen eye for observation.

Daemon and Mysaria look over to you, as you stand with the rest of your group. You smile, and stroke Hestia’s back soothingly. Cregan leans over to you, and you laugh at whatever he has whispered.

Daemon sulks, hands firmly clasped in front of him. “Fucking Stark.”

“She wants you too, you know,” Mysaria smiles.

This piques Daemon’s attention, though his face remains sour, “Don’t toy with me. Perhaps she did, but now - ”

“She still does. In time, you will both see the truth of it all. Good fortune, Prince Daemon.” she walks away, her long tresses blowing softly in the breeze, but pauses and turns halfway, “Just don’t be stupid.”

Daemon nods once, feeling hopeful anew.

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

One brisk morning, you sit peacefully in the gardens, a new book in your hands. You sit comfortably, your legs tucked underneath you on the seat. Daemon once remarked of how he liked the careless way with which you sit, to which you rolled your eyes, “Don’t mock me, Daemon. My father has scolded me plenty about how I don’t sit like a proper lady.”

Daemon just snickered at that, and playfully pulled at your ankle. That was one of your more amicable exchanges. Even now, your mind trains back to him, as if his absence is a thing that demands to be felt. Even after you believe yourself to have grown resolute at giving up any romantic notion when it comes to Daemon, after the encounter with Mysaria a few days prior.

Hestia sits beside you, crocheting, her needle deftly held between her slender fingers.

“My lady,” she says, looking to the side at the hedges, “I think you have a shadow.”

You follow her gaze and see him. The prince currently occupying your thoughts. As he always has. Daemon leans against the bark of a tree, evidently watching you. A smirk forms on his lips when he sees you finally notice him.

Your shadow.

You throw him a questioning look from afar. He merely shrugs his shoulders and starts to confidently walk toward you. He reaches you, and you just stare at each other in relative silence.

“You,” you say, as he had always done upon seeing you.

“Excuse me, lady Y/n, Prince Daemon,” Hestia curtsies to the both of you, then proceeds to take her leave. She smiles slyly at you over her shoulder, and you know she will want to be filled in about what happens later on. You consider yourself fortunate that your lady-in-waiting grew to become one of your closest confidantes.

“My shadow,” he says smoothly, then sits beside you.

“I might go so far as to say that the tables have turned. You are my shadow now, Prince Daemon.”

“Hmm,” he sneers, “No Stark boy today?”

“He’s visiting his sister, but he shall return soon. He promised me.”

“I’d much prefer it if he were to never set foot in King’s Landing ever again,” he comments casually.

“Jealous are we, my shadow?” you look at him teasingly through your lashes, realizing in that split moment, how easy it is. Being around him feels natural, despite the flares in his disposition and his offhand remarks.

You also realize that it is not completely the same with Cregan, as sweet and perfect as he might be. There is a sense of trying to fulfil your duty as a lady from a noble house, when it comes to your courtship with the young wolf.

But you have always chosen Daemon. If only he would choose you in return.

“I could ask the same of you. I saw the way you were glaring at Mysaria,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows tauntingly.

“I was not glaring at her.”

“Oh no, apologies, not glaring,” he raises his hands in faux surrender, “Not glaring. Seething.”

“Can you honestly blame me?” your face turns gloomy as you look off into the distance.

Daemon feels the drop in your demeanour, and his heart sinks. Must I always be the root of her heartache? Have I not done enough?

As if on instinct, he reaches across, and squeezes your hand, “My shadow, you must know, I have not bed any other, have not even looked at any other, ever since…”

You look down at your joined hands, his hand wider and calloused around yours. You’ve always known, when you would hold his hand to give him comfort, that it was always for your sake as well. His touch calmed you, but it was as if you had to steal moments of it for yourself.

This feels different. His thumb lazily strokes the back of your hand. You watch his eyes roam your face, from your eyes to your lips and back.

You wait for him to say the words. To say anything that would validate your longing.

“Now, I’m going to attempt something, my shadow, and you mustn’t be angry with me. Alright?”

“Daemon.”

“Alright?”

“Okay.”

Your breath catches in your throat when he leans closer, close enough that you feel his warm breath on your skin. Even closer, as you feel his lips graze yours, ever so gently. His eyes continue to search yours, gauging your reaction.

Then he presses his lips to yours. The countless times you had imagined that way it would feel, certainly does not do it any justice. Not even a little bit.

You let out a sound of appreciation, a soft little moan against his mouth, overwhelmed by the sensation. He pulls away for a second, hums affectionately, and runs his thumb over your lips. You let out a laugh, feeling light-hearted. He smiles at you, at his little shadow, before motioning towards your lips with a tilt of his jaw.

You kiss him again, and he feels his heart beating faster than ever before. The rogue prince, quite possibly one of the most notorious philanderers in the Seven Kingdoms, feeling flustered over you. You blossom into him, revealing yourself like you never had, his beloved shadow being engulfed and warmed by his sunlight.

His mouth becomes insistent in brushing against yours, his tongue tracing your lips. A shiver runs down your spine, your nerves set completely alight. His tongue mingles with yours, and you savour the taste of peppermint and sweet wine.

Reluctantly, grudgingly, you find whatever little impulse you have to pull away.

Your breath comes out in pants, and you raise your fingertips to feel where his lips were once on yours.

He studies your face, wondering what thoughts fill your mind.

You stand abruptly and begin to pace in front of him.

“Shadow?” he stops you, keeping you still with his hands on your shoulders.

“W-why?” you question.

He is still half-dazed from your taste, your scent all around him, “Don’t you see? I want you.”

“You want me?” your tone rises in disbelief.

“Must I repeat myself?” he nearly rolls his eyes, but keeps his manner sincere, “I’ve never been the sort of man to deny myself the desires of my heart. And my heart only wants you.”

Just give in. Kiss him again, throw reason away to the wind. Forget any doubt, any past grievances. He says he is yours now.

But you remember all those moments wherein you made yourself available to him. To be his friend, his source of comfort, his defender. Any way he wished to have you. You desired him. You wanted him. You loved him.

You love him. But for so long, he turned the other way. You had held your heart out for him to take, and he did not. He merely tolerated it.

“Daemon,” you shut your eyes, needing to clear your head, “what of Cregan?”

“What of him?” he hisses, eyes narrowing.

You become infuriated, “Seven hells, I am in the middle of a fucking courtship!”

“An empty formality.” Of course Daemon would believe so.

“We should not have kissed. It is not respectful to Cregan.”

His hand moves to grip your face, tilting your head, and you are caught up in the passion in his violet eyes, “Did you not enjoy it? Did you not like kissing me?”

“You know I bloody well did.”

“We can speak with your father and end this farce of a courtship. You need not continue - ”

You interrupt, “It wouldn’t be right. Cregan is a decent, and loving man. My father says so himself. He would make for a good husband.”

“And I wouldn’t?” his hands drop to his side, and he takes a step back.

“I don’t know. I have to learn how to trust you again. After everything.”

His eyes are tormented as he looks away.

“Daemon, I need time. I want to be completely certain if I will have to give up a life with Cregan.”

“Because he matters so much to you,” he sighs, appearing dejected.

“I’ve grown to value him for who he is. He’s my friend, and I had entered this courtship in hopes that it would help me forget about you. And I was thinking that perhaps, I could learn to love him… in time.”

“Don’t,” is all he can bring himself to say.

“I did not believe you cared for me, as I did you. It is only now that this,” you gesture between the two of you, “ever became anything. For you, at least. There was once a time wherein there was only you for me, but now, I just need some time.”

Daemon says nothing, letting your words sink in. His jaw clenches, deep in thought.

“Daemon,” you take his hand, “say something.”

He doesn’t. In a flash, he simply connects his lips to yours again, sucking the breath from your lungs. Your worries cease, as you give in to him. You reach upward to entangle your fingers in his silver hair; his hands hold your waist tightly.

In true Daemon fashion, his lusty resolve breaks, and he lets his hands slide downward to grip your backside. You moan, and bite his lip as a result.

He smirks, breaking the kiss, his forehead pressing against yours, “Okay, my shadow. I will wait.”

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

The days are long and languid. Daemon thinks so. He does not have much to occupy his time apart from his duties as Commander of the City Watch. He used to gain just the barest enjoyment from it, from ensuring that the city’s vermin are put to justice. But everything feels gray, devoid of any appeal. Nothing made him incandescent. He merely watched, and waited. For you.

He remembers you as he sits in the courtyard. He remembers the way you cheered for him while he trained, the way you sneered at his opponents, cussed at them even. The intensity in your expression was almost too much at times; you were so invested in his insignificant, little displays of skill. You were always there for him.

He remembers you when he strolls into the gardens, where you first met. You had been reading in solitude that fateful afternoon, your brows furrowed over a passage that baffled you. Something about witches in the histories of Westeros, you told him afterward. He responded, “Why, do you fear you might be a witch yourself? You certainly possess the ferocity.” So crude, you thought, so intriguing. So this is Prince Daemon Targaryen.

“Careful now, my prince. I just might put a spell on you.” you smiled at him, the very first time. He thought you very comely, but then again, he thought the same of several dozen other ladies. You thought him inexplicable, his reputation preceding him. The Rogue Prince, the rebellious second son. The patron saint of delinquents and whores, Otto Hightower once told your father. But you thought him amazing. Different. Dangerous. That very night, he filled your dreams. Since then, Daemon Targaryen became your sun.

On one of these mindless strolls, he comes across you. He cannot help it, and so he trails you, like a shadow. Every step feels heavy, because you are not alone. Your arm is looped around the wolf boy’s, walking too close for Daemon’s liking.

When he sees you kissing Cregan Stark, he sees red. He feels ill, fueled with rage. He saw it unfolding, the Stark boy running his fingers over your cheekbone, and then slowly closing the distance between you two. You stand arrested by the moment, seemingly apprehensive, but you don’t move away. The way the Stark boy curls his fingers firmly on your waist, drawing you close, he wishes he had done that.

He wishes he had pulled you close when you wiped the sweat from his forehead on those days you watched him train. In those moments when he was overcome with emotion and you would hold his hand. He had walked away, or turned to someone completely insignificant, when he could have held you. When he could have kissed you, much better than the Stark boy kisses you now.

Every part of him wishes to end the Stark boy’s life. He wants to strike him down in front of you. He wants to get you back.

But seven hells, Viserys would cast him out for good. He has only just returned to his brother’s good graces, the incident with Maron Tyrell having just been resolved.

And you. You would never forgive him. You would never speak to him again. And he can’t have that. He can’t live with that. He won’t.

He needs you, he knows this now.

He loves you, he is certain.

You had become Daemon Targaryen’s sun. As he was once yours.

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

There is a storm raging over King’s Landing. Heavy rain is pelting against your windows, and thunder echoes across the skies, a blanket of shadow covering the kingdom’s capital.

You sit in front of your mirror, absentmindedly running a comb through your hair. The week has felt long and languid. You certainly think so. You’ve had much to occupy your time – Cregan, duties with your father, lessons with the Septa, poring over books in the great library.

And yet, everything feels gray, as if devoid of warmth, not unlike the state of the city at present.

Daemon has been flooding your thoughts, despite your reluctance. You have been trying to not let your mind flash back to the kiss, without much success. A knot in your belly formed the moment Cregan’s lips touched yours, because you realized that you wish it had been Daemon instead.

It is as if your heart is sound in its resolve, its verdict clear. It is now left to you to either embrace the truth that it speaks, or stifle it, for the sake of an obvious consolation.

Daemon. You close your eyes, in remembrance of how he tastes. What if he loses heart? What if he no longer waits?

A sound catches your ear, one you think to be a faint knock, but it is overshadowed by a crackle of thunder booming outside at the same time.

The knocking repeats, a consistent rapping on the heavy wooden door.

You cautiously walk over, confused as to who would be visiting your chambers at this late hour.

“Who’s there?” you call out.

“Shadow.” You freeze, you would recognize this voice anywhere.

With tentative hands, you push the door open, and you are at once met with the sight of Daemon. His hair is unkempt and he is clad in only a loose white poet shirt, and dark trousers.

Words fail you, and you drink in the sight of him, as if it was the first time.

He rasps, holding your gaze, “I’m done waiting.”

“Daemon.”

He lunges forward, flooding all of your senses, gripping your face tightly in his hands and smashing his lips to yours. It’s different this time. More heated, passionate, greedy. He kicks the door shut with his foot, and he leads you deeper into the room.

“Daemon, what - ” you break away, in an attempt to catch your breath.

His forefinger flits across your lips, silencing you, “Hush, my shadow. I need this. I need you.”

You hum in agreement, and throw all caution to the wind. This is your Daemon. It has always been clear, he is the one you will always want.

Your hands roam, feeling his neck, his collarbone, and his chest exposed by the flowing shirt.

He stands captivated by you, and the gentle way in which you touch him. Your eyes filled with adoration. This is exactly what he needs. The storm might be raging outside, but right now, in this glowing candle lit room, he has his sunshine.

You had gone from being his shadow, to his light.

“I love you,” his voice is a mere whisper, and yet it electrifies your entire being, “I love you, my light.”

You look at him in a daze, and your vision becomes cloudy as a tear threatens to fall, and it does, when he kisses you again. He lifts you up on the table, and you wrap your legs around his waist. You lean backward, pulling him with you, making his pelvis press onto yours.

He groans, his frustration heightening even more when your hands roam under his shirt, gliding across the chiselled plains of his stomach, down to the line of his trousers.

He breaks the kiss, burying his face in your neck, “I want to… do this right.”

He straightens, kissing you once, before declaring, “I shall wed you first, my dearest love. Then, I shall have you.” His hand comes up to squeeze your breast, as if to make a promise, “All of you.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you can feel all this yearning prompting a knot to unravel low in your belly, “I must admit this is not what I expected of you, my prince. You were never one to exercise such restraint.”

“Be that as it may, my light, this is different. You are not like the others. Granted, I am not one to shy away from the pleasures of the flesh.” His fingers caress your ankles, before slithering gradually up your legs. He savours the softness of your flesh, squeezing your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You will soon find, my light, that fucking is a pleasure, and I especially want to show you how satisfying it can be,” his hands slide higher, and higher, “in every way possible.”

“Daemon,” you bite your lip, encouraging him, “my love.”

“Yes, my light?” he taunts.

“For fuck’s sake,” you curse impatiently, guiding your pelvis so that his fingers finally graze your undergarments.

“Impatient are we?” he shifts the cloth to one side, tracing one digit over your folds, “You are exquisite.”

“Mmm,” you tilt your head back, and brace yourself on the table, your hands struggling to keep yourself upright, “please, Daemon.”

Urged by your mewling, sensual music to his ears, he pushes one finger inside your warmth. He pumps it inside, outside, watching you all the while.

With his other hand, he undoes the delicate string on the front of your nightgown. The thin fabric haphazardly falls to your waist, revealing your torso to his hungry eyes.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pushing another finger inside you, picking up the pace. He then moves to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips, before trailing downward, licking and pecking his way until he reaches your breast. His tongue swirls freely on your nipple, and your hand comes up to brace itself onto his hair.

“This is fucking torturous,” he nearly growls, once again kissing you. Daemon wants to lose himself in the sight of your unravelling, as you unabashedly fuck his fingers. He prays to the gods that he might learn to control his lust, his desire to just forego tradition and bury his cock deep inside your pussy threatening to take over him.

“Gods, Daemon, this is so much better than I imagined,” you pant, your lips turning up in a smirk.

“Is that so, my light? Have you touched yourself to the thought of me?”

When you nod, he purrs in your ear, his lips grazing the skin, “Have you dreamed about fucking me? As I have you?”

His thumb circles rapidly around your clit, while his two soaked digits relentlessly plunge into your pussy. “Y-yes, Daemon.” His movement grows ever so careless and wild, fingers curling inside you, eager to bring you to climax. Your eyes flutter closed, as your pelvis begins to feel tense, that familiar spasm gathering below.

“Let go, my light,” he commands, “Release yourself onto me.”

Once more, you pull him by the neck, and taste him. When his tongue collides with yours, you let go, gushing down on his fingers. He feels your juices drip down to his palm, but he makes no move. He leans back, memorizing the sight of you. His shadow, his light, covered in a sheen of sweat, thin nightgown pooled by your waist. Your legs spread wide open for him, your cum still warm on his skin.

He cleans his hand, first sucking some of your orgasm off his fingers, and wiping the rest on the back of his shirt. He leans forward, palms on either side of your thighs on the table.

“Daemon?” you breathe, eyes half-lidded from the aftermath, “What is it?”

“I love you.”

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

Daemon’s arm is wrapped around you, as your head rests on his chest, listening to his faint heartbeat.

You found yourselves lying down on your bed, atop the silken sheets, after that delightful table incident, deciding to call it thus as you now fondly think back to it.

You had been sharing stories of mixed significance, ranging from what you had for breakfast to the culmination of the war in the Stepstones.

“I may have to go into battle,” he confesses, “sometime in the days to come.”

Worry floods you, knowing how reckless he can be when faced with the thrill of war. Violence is not something that deterred Daemon, let alone the pain of death. If anything, he seemed to welcome it, and it frightens you.

You do not want to ever lose him. It was true then, but now, your very being depends on it. With him gone, you are afraid that you would never be whole again.

“Must you go?” you whisper.

“You need not worry, my light,” he kisses the top of your head lovingly, “I will always return to you.”

“But must you go? Is it necessary that you be there?” you prop yourself up on one elbow, so that he may see the sincerity in your expression.

“No,” he decides, “the war is all but won. There are just some loose ends to tie up, and the Velaryon army is more than capable of putting an end to it all. I had just half a mind to proffer aid from myself and a portion of the King’s army.”

“So let the King’s army go, and you can stay here with me.”

“My love?” he grins, “are you truly demanding that of me?”

“Just this once?” you plead, smiling at him, “I don’t wish to forbid you from ever stepping into battle. I just… I’ve only just had you. I prefer not to take any foolish risk, as little as it might be.”

A smile forms on his lips, as he relishes in knowing that you truly must care for him.

“As you wish,” he relents, “I shall stay.”

You kiss him, certain that you will never tire of the feeling of his lips flush against yours.

You look down at him with stars in your eyes, “I love you, Daemon.”

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

The members of the Small Council try to hide their surprise at the presence of Prince Daemon, already sitting comfortably at his chair, as they enter the room and each shuffle to their place around the table.

“My lords,” Daemon casually greets, “I had thought you all had forgotten about the council meeting.”

“Prince Daemon, I assure you that we are exactly on time,” Lord Beesbury responds, failing to understand the jest.

Viserys is the last to walk in, accompanied by his Kingsguard. He pauses upon seeing his brother, but quickly carries on to his seat at the head of the table.

“Brother,” Daemon says, amused, “do try not to look so amazed.”

“Daemon,” Viserys merely nods in acknowledgment, before turning to the rest of the council, “let us begin.”

The minutes seem to pass by at a snail’s pace, at least for Daemon. He unknowingly gazes out the window now and again, as if in a daydream, eliciting several scolding glares from his brother.

Taxes, festivities, tapestries, resources. All these concerns fly over his head, especially since it was only the night before last when he finally claimed you. Or more aptly put, when he surrendered himself over to you.

“Princess Rhaenyra is to embark on a tour to several neighbouring cities, as part of her duties as princess of the realm, and as my heir,” Viserys announces, before addressing your father, “She kindly wishes to have your daughter, the Lady Y/n, as her companion for this particular excursion.”

Daemon’s interest is restored at the sound of your name, and he straightens, eager to hear the rest. Little does he know, Viserys notices this slight movement, peering at him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, what an honour that is, your Grace,” your father beams, “she will surely only be glad to accept the princess’ request. I shall relay the news to her when she returns from Storm’s End, in around a day or two.”

“Y/n is in Storm’s End?” Daemon speaks for the first time since the council discussions began, and all heads turn to him. There is an intimacy with which the prince mentions your name, a genuine curiosity with which he inquires about you, that drew everyone’s attention.

“Yes, my prince,” your father responds carefully, “she wanted to treat with Lord Cregan Stark, who has been visiting his sister Sara, the consort of Lord Baratheon’s eldest son.”

“How goes the courtship, my lord?” Tyland asks purposefully, knowing that it might turn Daemon irate, as he is already sulking in his seat, looking as if the wrong word might set him off.

“I’m afraid she plans to put an end to it,” your father finally says, regret perceptible in his voice, “as she has divulged to me that she might never see Lord Stark as more than a friend.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, my lord,” Viserys expresses genuinely, although he continues to closely watch Daemon’s reactions. His amusement grows at his younger brother’s inability to hide his emotions when it comes to you. First, intrigue at the mere mention of your name, then disappointment upon hearing that you are to see Cregan Stark, and finally the most obvious sense of relief regarding the end of your courtship.

A laugh threatens to escape Viserys. Being the elder brother that he is, he craves the pleasure of playfully taunting Daemon over his increasingly apparent affection for you.

“Nothing to be sorry about, dear brother,” Daemon speaks, breaking Viserys out of his thoughts.

“Oh?” Viserys turns to him in anticipation.

“My wish is to wed the Lady Y/n, as promptly as can be expected.” The entire council falls into silence, and Viserys finally lets out the dry laugh he has been holding back.

“M-my prince?” your father looks as if his heart would cease, and he certainly feels so, his chest significantly tightening at the prince’s declaration. Due to elation, or horror, he is yet to determine.

“Seven hells,” Otto exclaims, turning to Viserys, “won’t this be improper? The Lady Y/n has just ended a courtship with another lord, immediately to be wed to the prince?”

“I don’t suppose so,” Viserys easily counters, placing his hand atop his brother’s, “Daemon, I would hope that the lady is aware of your desire to be wed to her, and that you are not simply about to spring this upon the poor girl?”

“Of course she is,” Daemon confirms, his voice steady, “we are in love, if you cunts must know.” He could not help his less than tasteful remark, growing defensive about you.

“Gods be good,” Lord Beesbury balks at the prince’s crudeness.

“Alright,” Viserys raises a hand to appease the council, “Daemon, brother, I would be glad to see this come to fruition. Your marriage to the Lady Y/n would be exceedingly advantageous after all, for both our Houses.” He addresses your father, “I would assume that you believe so as well, my lord?”

Your father’s thoughts race, and with your best interests in mind, he speaks only to Daemon, “Do you truly love her, my prince?”

There is not a shred of doubt in Daemon’s voice when he answers, “More than anything.”

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

You sit in your usual spot in the gardens, accompanied by Hestia. A book rests on your lap, but you pay it no attention, your mind elsewhere.

Having just returned from Storm’s End, you feel at peace. You already knew that Cregan would accept your choice, but you did not wish to cause him any pain. It may have just been his natural charm, or a sense of ease with which he can hide his displeasure, but when you finally confided in him about Daemon, he was only quick to offer you a smile and pull you into his arms.

“Quite frankly, my lady, it only seemed a matter of time before Prince Daemon would break and accept that he needs you,” he said sincerely, his smile unwavering, “and I can recognize love when I see it, and it certainly exists between the two of you.”

Love. You shut your eyes, thinking of him, and savour the warmth of sunlight on your skin.

“My lady,” Hestia whispers, and your eyes slowly flutter open. You see her looking toward a figure in the distance.

“I think you have a shadow.”

🖤🖤🖤

The longest fuckin chapter I've ever written, gods be good. It did get a bit rushed towards the end. There was meant to be this whole scenario about Daemon heading into battle after hearing that the reader went to Winterfell instead to treat with Cregan Stark. Then I read how long it actually takes to travel from King's Landing to Winterfell and the timing just didn't fit with the events.

The parallels between Daemon and the reader were my favourite parts to write. They really are just two sides of the same coin.

Also, I did not expect myself to be writin' spicy content for this chapter, but I guess it just happened?? Oh well. 🤷‍♀️

I apologize this took aaaages to be put out. The amount of times I altered some parts I'm telling you, y'all would have just wrenched my laptop from me and I would not have blamed you 😂

My inbox was indeed flooded with demands for this chapter and I can only thank you all so much for wanting to read on!!! 🤍

taglist: @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @itscheybaby @my-dark-prince @keep-beating-my-dear-heart @mamamooqa @63angel @azucarmorennna @kate16sstuff @thoughtfulfreakalpaca @alexandra-001 @babywolff @gloryekaterina @writer-lee5 @lockleysgrl @alexa4040 @piceous21 @softtina @bregarc @ramennoodles212 @siriusdumblittlepuppy @captainweirdo42 @thx-rn @merovingianprincess @clarap23 @itisjustwhatitis @blushinyouth @aeisnoa @a-lil-bit-nuts @paprikaquinn @just-some-random-blogger @cantstoptherecs @baybieruth @wondergal2001 @pax-2735 @immyowndefender @moonmaiden1996 @wrendermeuseless @schniiipsel @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @icarusignite @flourishandblotts-inc @siriusdumblittlepuppy @booknerd2004 @just-a-harmless-patato @moni-cah @boofy1998 @huntycola @sanguinalia @thelastcitysposts @daeneeryss

#daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #matt smith #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen smut

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buccini555 · 1 year ago

Text

𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬: "𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.𝟸"

₊˚ ໑ : How would they act after you fought with the girl who flirted with them?

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ H e a d c a n o n s!!

·̩͙ ₊ ᨦ ♡ ᨩ ໋₊ ·̩͙ 𝑭𝒕. Izana Kurokawa, Kakucho Hitto, Sanzu Haruchiyo, Rindou Haitani, Ran Haitani, Kokonoi Hajime, Inui Seishu and Naoto Tachibana

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝.𝟷 | 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝.𝟸 | 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝.𝟹

⋆ ࣪. 𝐈𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 ˖ ࣪⭑

When Izana laid eyes on you and saw you hitting on the girl, he took a while to go get you, since he really thought she needed to learn not to insist on other people's boyfriends.

"Come on! You've hit her enough, don't you think, honey?" When he was finally going to get you off the girl, Izana would say seriously while holding your arm without much strength, deep down, holding himself back so as not to burst out laughing at the whole situation.

"Where did you learn to fight so well? I'm sure it was me, you're my smart girl." He would speak laughing, holding your face and arranging your hair affectionately, despite this, Izana would be extremely angry if you had ended up hurt.

⋆ ࣪. 𝐊𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐨 ˖ ࣪⭑

Kakucho definitely didn't expect such an attitude from you until he saw you hitting the girl. At first, he was so disbelieved that he just remained without reaction, but he soon went to get you out of the mess.

"Baby? What the fuck are you doing..." He would say, pulling you away from the girl, Kakucho would be worried about you getting hurt or something, he would never fight with you, so he just calmed you down for a while.

"Look at me, my princess, don't do that again, okay? You could have gotten hurt, sweet." He would say hugging you and giving you a small kiss on your forehead, Kakucho would defend you and really wouldn't care about the fact that you attacked another girl.

⋆ ࣪. 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐲𝐨 ˖ ࣪⭑

"What the hell?" The first thing Sanzu would do would be to pull you out of all that mess, he would be a little embarrassed because of that fight and he would also become worried, since he really didn't want you to end up hurting yourself for nothing.

"Damn? You're going to end up killing her, that's enough." He would say taking you off the girl and taking you to an empty place, Haruchiyo didn't like the idea of having so many people watching him, so he would take you to a quiet place.

"Listen, you could have gotten hurt, I don't want you to get involved with that kind of bitch again, it's better to obey me..." He would give you a subtle smile, kissing you warmly right after, Sanzu liked to see how far your jealousy could arrive.

⋆ ࣪. 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢 ˖ ࣪⭑

Undeniably, Rindou would be extremely surprised to see you hitting a girl, even more so out of jealousy of him.

"Go! Finish her, baby!" He would shout from afar, Rindou would honestly have a lot of fun watching you win a fight, even so, it really wouldn't take him long to get you out of all that chaos.

"You've done enough here, let's go." He would pull you by the arm, speaking very quietly in your ear as he took you away from the girl.

"I didn't know you were that strong, apparently, you learned exactly what I taught you, you even deserve a reward." Rindou would tell you before pulling you by the waist and rewarding you with a kiss.

⋆ ࣪. 𝐑𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢 ˖ ࣪⭑

Ran wouldn't give a damn about just a girl's fight until he realized that you were the one fighting, immediately, he would go to where you were and watch the whole mess for a while.

"That's enough, love, I believe that bitch has already learned her lesson." Holding you, he would talk laughing about the girl, even if he seemed calm when mocking the whole situation, Ran would be really worried about whether you were hurt.

"Are you hurt? If you are, you can let me finish her off myself." He would question in a threatening tone, then take you to a private place.

"You're a good fighter, hmm? You are for sure, my girl! I'm proud of you." Ran would say, caressing your face slowly.

⋆ ࣪. 𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 ˖ ࣪⭑

Kokonoi didn't waste his time watching other people's confusion, however, he became alarmed at the same moment he realized that the one who was fighting at that moment was simply his own girlfriend.

"I think you've hit her enough, let's get out of here now." He would take you off the girl by pulling you by the arm, being careful not to end up hurting you.

"...Don't ever do that again, understand? You could have gotten hurt, I won't always be here to defend you, my sweetheart." Kokonoi wouldn't fight with you, but would just make you promise not to get involved in confessions again since he was really worried about you getting hurt.

⋆ ࣪. 𝐈𝐧𝐮𝐢 𝐒𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐮 ˖ ࣪⭑

At first, Inui would be completely disbelieved to see you fighting, even so, he would rush to get you away from that girl.

"... Stop it." He would speak in a firm tone of voice, later removing you from the girl, before leaving the place, he would check if you were not hurt, if you were, he wouldn't mind cursing a little at the girl you had just attack onin front of everyone.

"I never want to see you get into fights again, especially because of me, right? I won't do it again..." Inupi would hug you and fill you with caresses until you calmed down, he certainly wouldn't waste time giving you a moral lesson, it would just make you swear never to do anything like that again.

⋆ ࣪. 𝐍𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚 ˖ ࣪⭑

Naoto hates fights and seeing you in the middle of one would leave him truly beyond irritated, completely disappointed.

"Let's get out of here, now!" He would hold you tightly enough to take you off the girl, but still being completely careful, Naoto would take you away from that mess and take you to a private place.

"What did you think you were doing? That was ridiculous! I don't want to see you in that kind of situation again, are we clear?" He would spend some long and cruel hours filling your head with the most diverse moral lessons possible.

"...I love you and I don't want to see you hurt." After the sermons ended, he would speak sincerely, showing how worried he was.

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kaizokuniichan · 1 year ago

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Attention - Part 1: Mossy Musings

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro/Afab Reader (referred to as she/her)/Trafalgar Law

Summary: There’s something going on with you and Law. But there’s also something going on with you and Zoro.

• This chapter is very tame and just kind of sets up the plot. Supposed to take place after Dressrosa so Law is onboard the Sunny. Everyone is pining.

CW: none for this chapter

Word Count: 2k

Next Chapters: Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

*This specific chapter doesn’t have any inappropriate material but the rest of the story will so MDNI

(Divider by @cafekitsune Banner by @/eelnoise)

Zoro knew you had a thing for Law. For someone as perceptive as him, he’d especially mastered reading you. Normally you were very precious with which parts of yourself you revealed, but when you liked something, that preciousness began to slip away.

He wasn’t jealous of Law, far from it actually. He respected the hell out of him, respected his strength and how formidable of a fighter he was, and respected how much he trusted Luffy as an ally despite how tentative that allyship was. But he was curious as to what exactly attracted you to him. He knew objectively he was a good-looking guy, he was older, and he had an underlying angst that seemed to appeal to you. But he was just as guarded as you were, and if your walls were a chain link fence, needing to be rattled to shake off little nuggets of your innermost self, his walls were a 20 foot tall, thick slab of concrete.

Maybe it was the mystery of wanting to figure him out and getting him to open up, something that seemed impossible given the incompatibility of his personality with the raucousness of your crew. But you did have a disarming air, and a penchant for making people comfortable enough to reveal their vulnerabilities. So maybe throughout the time Law spent on the ship you’d began chipping away at that concrete slab.

Law was even harder to read, though not impossible. Zoro saw the way his eyes lingered, intrigue pooling in his irises. How he seemed to anticipate your needs, wordlessly filling your plate with more vegetables and rice during meals; always at the right place and the right time to catch you whenever your clumsiness tripped your feet. How his scowl softened when you came to him with a question about an ailment you’d been plagued with since Chopper wasn’t available. It was subtle, but the tension in his shoulders, and the grit in his teeth (irritated by Strawhat antics) would dissipate as you followed him to extract yourselves from the chaos any time your social batteries depleted. Just like Robin, you were someone he seemed to have found comfort in, but it was different with you. He was different with you.

Zoro observed the two of you, tucked away in your favorite corner of the deck overlooking the glittering reflection of the setting sun. Law sat next to you at an appropriate distance, back against the railing and arms rested on bent knees. He didn’t face you but his body was positioned in a way that suggested he was actively engaged with your presence. A subtle movement of his mouth made you giggle, obviously in relation to something he’d said. Law didn’t say things that were intended to be funny, but sometimes his dry platitudes were so dramatic one could find them quite amusing. Your laughter pulled his attention back to you, eyes shifting to your face and lips curling into a barely perceptible smile. It took him several moments to drag his gaze away from yours to look down at his hands.

You must’ve complimented his tattoos, something you’d not so subtly alluded to liking on more than one occasion, though not to Law directly. To Zoro’s mild surprise Law held his hand out for you to trace your fingers over the ink. He watched as you gushed, biting your lip in concentration as you admired the intricate shapes and patterns. Law’s eyes never left your face, heated pride radiating from his skin. A hint of pink dusted his cheeks as you placed his palm on top of yours, curling and threading your fingers to you compare the sizes of your hands. Zoro snickered; this was your classic move. He’d seen you do it countless times in a local bar with some nameless patron; hell, you’d even done it to him. It always turned the person into putty, and the effect on Law was no different.

Zoro’s snort caught your attention as both your heads snapped over to him. Law discreetly snatched his hand from yours, subtly shifting further away. Zoro took pity on the man, obviously not realizing he’d had an audience, and raised his jug of sake in acknowledgment. While the two of you waffled about, trying to put some space between you, a workout in the crow’s nest suddenly felt very appealing as Zoro took his katanas and made his way back inside. As he approached the door leading to the kitchen he caught sight of Robin sitting at her little table, sipping on a cup of tea. She greeted him with a serene smile and a friendly wave which Zoro returned with another lift of his jug. Just as he was about to pass she turned to him, tinkling voice lilting over the lip of her teacup.

“Does that bother you?” She asked, eyes drifting over to you and Law still pretending to not have been canoodling on the other side of the deck.

Zoro knew it was pointless playing dumb about what she was implying. She was always in tune with everything going on aboard the ship.

“No, not really,” he huffed, already knowing where this was going.

“Just curious?”

Zoro looked back over his shoulder at you, still dragging your fingers along Law’s arm.

“Doesn’t matter,” he sighed, continuing on his journey and ignoring the amused glint in her eye.

“She seems to have a type, handsome and powerful swordsmen.”

Zoro stopped in his tracks as he shook his head, laughing to himself.

“Seems like her attention span is fleeting since there’s a new boy toy around.”

“Are you saying you’re also her boy toy?” Robin prodded, eyebrows raised in mock surprise and still infuriatingly calm and collected as she flustered him.

“I’m not saying I’m anything,” he muttered, grinding his teeth as his ears burned. Robin had a knack for zeroing in on the most humiliating parts of himself. It was why he avoided her as much as he could.

He started to stomp away, but she reeled him back with one final jab.

“If it does bother you, you should act fast. Something tells me he’s feeling more bold the closer we get to Zou. He might want to snatch her up before you get to her first.”

A niggling sense of dread ate at the center of his chest as he pictured you leaving the crew to join the Heart Pirates. To be with him. He knew there was no way that would happen, but the thought still shook him, ice filling his veins. He wasn’t going to let Robin’s predictably dark musings rattle him; he was fine. It’s not like he had anything going on with you anyway, save for some fleeting glances here and there, a lingering touch in passing. You two hadn’t even kissed. Neither of you were the type to commit to anything on a romantic scale, and Zoro wasn’t the type to delude himself into believing that any of it actually meant something. There was too much on the line with him working to achieve his goals, and your relationship as crew mates. A little mutual attraction was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

After a few hours of blowing steam in the gym, Zoro collapsed onto the bench, muscles groaning with relief. He’d brought the jug of sake with him upstairs, and took a healthy swig, gulping down as if it were water.

As trails of escaped sake ran down the sides of his face, your head suddenly appeared above the ladder, eyes meeting his and face blooming into a smile. As more of your body lifted up into the space he smirked. You’d donned an old sweatshirt of his, worn and fraying hem falling halfway to your knees. His mouth betrayed him as he grinned, feeling slightly gleeful that you’d chosen a piece of him to adorn yourself with.

You walked over to where he sat, the sound of your slides slapping your heels echoing against the walls. As you stood in front of him, you thrust your hand out and made grabby motions at his jug.

“Use your words,” he tsked, clutching the sake to his chest.

“Gimme some of that,” you pouted, still offering your hand to him.

He grasped your hand, pulling you down to collapse next to him, dragging you closer.

“You smell horrible,” you huffed, wrinkling your nose.

“You knew that when you came here.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here,” you grumbled, finally snatching the sake from him.

“But you knew it was a 50/50 chance.”

“Hm. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He snickered as he watched you take a sip, gagging at the taste. He’d busted your balls enough times about how you couldn’t actually handle it, so he’d let it slide just this once.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No, I’ve hardly been able to at all this week.”

“Too busy thinking about Tall Broody Sideburns?” He couldn’t help himself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumbled, lip poking out in another pout. Normally you wore an armor of stoicism when you felt exposed but now you weren’t even trying.

“You sure weren’t shy when you were making googly eyes at him earlier.”

“Don’t be jealous,” you rebounded, mushing his face with your hand. He caught your wrist in a loose hold, looking into your eyes.

“You know it’s not a good idea to fraternize with the enemy.”

Your shriek of laughter caught him off guard, but he buzzed with satisfaction for making you smile.

“You’re so annoying you know that?”

He let go of your wrist, stretching his arm along the back of the bench. You shifted closer, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I thought you said I smelled.”

“You do but I’m getting used to it. Color me shocked.”

His hand came down to grasp your shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“You know it’s fine with me right? It’s no pressure you know.”

You turned to look at him, an unreadable expression on your face.

“No pressure about what? There’s nothing going on.”

Zoro knew he’d said something wrong, your body pulling away from his grasp. You stood up preparing to leave when reached for your hand.

“You know how complicated this is though, right? He’s technically our enemy when all of this shit is over with.”

Still standing, you turned back to throw him a conflicted look.

“Yeah I know I just…I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You wanna be greedy and have us both?”

You pulled your hand from his, shaking your head.

“I just want to feel wanted, you know? I can’t help that I like…who I like,” you sighed, briefly catching his eye. “I just. I know none of this, any of this, can become anything. It’s all so fucked.”

Zoro grunted as he straightened up in his seat, wrapping an arm around your waist to plop you back down at his side.

“If you’re worried that this will put a damper on…whatever’s going on, don’t worry about it. It’s up to you to determine what you want. I’m obviously not going anywhere.

“Obviously?”

“You know that.”

His words seemed to melt the tension as you settled back into his side.

“Why are you being so accommodating?”

He nuzzled the side of your face and pulled you closer against him.

“Because. We live together stupid.”

You scoffed, playfully flicking his forehead.

“And because I respect you. And at the end of the day I do care about you.”

You turned in your seat to look at him, curiosity painting your face.

“You know, you’re a lot cuter than you give yourself credit for.”

He rolled his eye but couldn’t wipe the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Being cute isn’t something I strive to be.”

“So you just can’t help it. That makes it cuter.”

Refusing to argue any further, he squeezed your sides, eliciting another one of those banshee shrieks he always teased you about.

You were both unaware of the man at the bottom of the ladder, listening intently and brimming with a new resolve.

#myfic #roronoa zoro x reader #Trafalgar law x reader #forgot to tag this lmfao #zoro x reader #law x reader #attention series

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vilentia · 2 years ago

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If Daryl Dixon had a soft spot for you

If Daryl had a soft spot just for you, he would likely show it through his actions rather than his words. Daryl is not known for being overly expressive or emotional, but he has a big heart and cares deeply about those he loves.

He would prioritize your safety and well-being above his own. Daryl is fiercely protective of those he cares about, and he would go to great lengths to make sure you were safe and taken care of.

He would listen to you and value your opinions. Daryl may not be the most talkative person, but he's a good listener and he takes people's opinions seriously. If you had something to say, he would give you his full attention.

He would show you his vulnerable side. Daryl has been through a lot of trauma and loss, and he can be guarded about his emotions. But if he had a soft spot just for you, he might open up and share his feelings more than he would with anyone else.

He would make time for you, even when things are busy or stressful. Daryl is always on the move and he's used to living a life of constant danger and uncertainty. But he would make an effort to spend time with you and prioritize your relationship, even in the midst of chaos.

He would show you small acts of kindness and affection. Daryl may not be one for grand romantic gestures, but he would show his love and affection through little things like bringing you food or supplies, giving you a comforting touch or a reassuring look, or simply being there for you when you need him.

He would respect your boundaries and give you space when you need it. Daryl is not one to force his presence on others, and he would be even more careful to give you the space and autonomy you need to feel comfortable and secure.

He would be attuned to your needs and feelings. He may not be the most talkative or emotionally expressive person, but he has a strong intuition and can pick up on subtle cues. He would be especially tuned in to your needs and feelings, and he would make an effort to respond in ways that made you feel supported and understood.

He would go out of his way to make you smile. Despite his gruff exterior, Daryl has a playful and mischievous side, and if he had a soft spot just for you, he might indulge it more often. He might crack jokes or make silly faces just to see you smile, or he might surprise you with little gifts or gestures that show he's thinking of you.

He would be loyal and committed to your relationship. Daryl is not one to give up on those he cares about and he would be committed to making your relationship work, no matter what challenges or obstacles came your way.

He would be your rock in difficult times. He is a survivor and a fighter, and he has a strong sense of resilience and determination. He would be a source of strength and support in difficult times, and he would never give up on you or let you down.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon headcanon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl headcanon #daryl imagines #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #daryl x female reader

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srslylini · 9 days ago

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okay in all honesty Sevika's character is so interesting and one of the things I loved the most about season 2 is watching her.

We see her character as soon as act 1 in season 1 and we also know that she used to be loyal to Vander, but because she is a character who rightfully wants to fight she sees Vander as someone who she can't continue to be loyal to

"Vander had his chance"

she hands the people she follows/gives her loyalty to chances. We see it time and time again with Silco. We see her loyalty waver but we also see it strengthen. She is extremely smart and cunning. She knew immediately what kind of powerplay Finn wanted to start and played along with it, so he wouldn't catch on (letting him light her cigar, dusting of his place before he sits down during that scene with Silco where Finn then gets killed)

But she also made a display infront of Silco to show him her patience is running thin. One of the reasons she went along with Finn is to show Silco that, while Finn isn't the one, there is always others. This also shows how damn respected she actually is, like lets imagine basically any other character having such a severe power play with Silco, she knew that he knew that there was a possibility she could kill him.

Her patience for Silco is also mostly running thin because of Jinx. Not because she genuinely just hates Jinx but more so because Jinx is in fact a disaster (sorry sorry) and DOES get in between her missions. And well Silco basically shrugs and goes your fault have fun cleaning that mess up. If we go and only take season 1 it's actually easy to think that Sevika really dislikes Jinx but with context from season 2 I just don't think that was the case and it was moreso frustration.

and now Silco is dead and she has placed her hope in him and his nation of Zaun. That talk with Jinx in season 2 is genuinely one of the best, if not the best, scenes out of that season. Her and Jinx begrudgingly get closer. She is still loyal to Zaun and well they don't give up their people and Jinx is one of them.

As early as act one she is shown to literally be ready to jump to death if necessary to be of use and like??? they utilized her character perfectly in season 2 before they decided to write her out of act 2 for what ever reason (still salty about that)

Their little found family coming because Sevika is admirably loyal and extremely smart but also just unwilling to relent to anyone and still always the fighter is the best the writers could have done.

edit: lol dumb thing to forget, genuinely I'm tired but the continuity of her gambling addiction and it also being a thing Jinx and her bond over in season 2 because Jinx gifted her a gambling arm was genuinely peak writing. Also there is something to be said how she also gambles with the lives of others (Silco in that scene, cause he HAD no idea if he would survive "where you tempted" "not for a worm like him but there will be others" like OKAY DAMN) and how she ALSO uses her own experiences to guide others, sometimes subtle, sometimes not so much.

just in general, I appreciate her character so much and I hope they don't disappoint in act 3

#there is so much more that can be said about her character #genuinely she has become one of my top characters #welp #arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane season 1 #Jinx #Silco #Sevika #Vander #loyalty #arcane spoilers #i wish i wasn't so tired so i could write more #character appreciation

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bradshawsbaby · 1 year ago

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My Birthday Baby

Pairing: Rooster x Wife!Reader

Summary: You always do everything in your power to make sure that Bradley’s birthday is as perfect and special as he is, but it’s much harder to do this year when you’re seven months pregnant with his baby.

Word Count: 5.7k

Author’s Note: I can’t believe it’s been over four months since I’ve written a proper story for the Bradshaws! That feels criminal! Naturally, I couldn’t let Bradley’s birthday pass by without some type of celebration!

Warnings: Pregnancy, implied sex, subtle innuendos, a dash of angst, and a whole lot of signature Bradshaw fluff.

Barring perhaps Christmas, today was one of your absolute favorite days out of the entire year.

To most people, June 27th might not be any particular cause for celebration, but to you, it was one of the most important days on the calendar. If you could, you’d turn it into a national holiday so that everyone could commemorate it. Why, some might ask? Because it was the day your incredible husband had entered the world, and Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw deserved to be honored and celebrated more than anyone else you knew.

For as long as he had been in your life, you had done everything in your power to make sure that each and every one of Bradley’s birthdays was as special as he was, and that he could feel just how loved he was.

“My mom always made a big deal out of my birthdays,” he had told you early on in your relationship, shrugging it off and blushing slightly, like he was almost a little embarrassed about it. “She used to tell me that the day I was born was the best day of her and my dad’s lives, so we had to celebrate big. After she passed, I kind of just pretended like it was any other day. Didn’t feel right celebrating with her and my dad both gone.”

It was then that you realized he wasn’t embarrassed about the big birthday parties his mom had thrown him—he missed them. Even though the two of you had only been dating for a few months, you were coming to know him like the back of your hand and you could pick up on the subtle clues that revealed how he was feeling. The pink hue to his cheeks and ears, the way he shrugged it off like it was no big deal and kept averting his gaze, the tightness in his jaw as he swallowed a few times—he was trying to mask the emotion his admission had dredged up.

“Your birthday is a special day,” you’d told him softly, reaching out and placing your hand over his, your fingertips lightly dancing across his knuckles. “And I think your parents would want you to celebrate that. I know that I want to celebrate it.”

He had just kissed you in response, burying his face in your neck to hide the fact that his dark eyes were wet.

But a few weeks later, when his first birthday as your boyfriend rolled around, you surprised him with tickets to a Padres game and you were certain that you had never seen a bigger smile on anyone’s face. The way he beamed at you, his eyes brimming with the love he never failed to shower upon you, would be engraved on your heart for the rest of your days, you were sure of it.

After that, every time June 27th rolled around, you made sure to make it the big celebration that Carole would have wanted. From weekend trips, to surprise parties, to special gifts that brought your big, tough fighter pilot to tears, nothing was too elaborate or too good for your Bradley.

“Thank you, honey,” he had whispered in your ear on his last birthday, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you held each other close. “Thank you for always making this day better than I could have dreamed.”

And this year was going to be the best yet. It might look a little different than previous years, but you were more determined than ever to shower your husband with all the love and affection that he so deserved.

Rolling over onto your back gingerly, you placed both hands on the rounded mound of your belly and smiled sleepily. A cursory glance at your alarm clock had revealed that it was a few minutes after six, the sun just barely starting to break through the morning clouds outside your bedroom window. Rubbing the underside of your bump tenderly, you felt a small kick and your smile grew wider.

“It’s Daddy’s birthday today, Baby B,” you whispered, poking your belly playfully. “Are you going to help me celebrate?”

As if in response, you felt another firm kick and you had to bite back a laugh to keep from waking up Bradley. At seven months pregnant, you could feel the baby kick all the time now and it always made your heart burst with excitement.

Bradley, knowing how much you always went all out for his birthdays, had been concerned this past week, wanting you to rest instead of tiring yourself out on his account.

“Honey, I mean it,” he’d told you just the other day, his large hand splayed across your belly as the two of you sat together on the couch. “Don’t overdo it this year. We can just have a nice dinner, a little cake, and that’s all I need. You and the baby are the greatest gifts I could ever get. Nothing’s going to top that anyway,” he grinned, kissing the tip of your nose and then dropping a kiss on your stomach.

You knew he was right, but that hadn’t stopped you from spending all day at the grocery store yesterday, picking up all the ingredients you needed for Bradley’s birthday dinner and homemade cake, or from staying up all night last night to prepare and pack a special birthday lunch for him to take to work today.

“Do you really have to go to work tomorrow?” you’d asked him as the two of you were preparing for bed last night. “It’s your birthday!”

Bradley just laughed, wrapping his arms around your swollen middle and pulling you towards him, your back pressed firmly against his broad chest. “Honey, it’s not like it’s a federal holiday,” he grinned, peppering your cheek with kisses. “Can you imagine Cyclone’s face if I requested a day off just because it’s my birthday?”

“It should be a holiday,” you grumbled, erupting into a fit of giggles as Bradley began nibbling playfully on your neck, his mustache tickling your skin.

“It’s still going to be a perfect day, because I have a perfect wife I’m coming home to, and she’s carrying our perfect baby,” Bradley smiled, cupping your chin in his hand and tilting your face towards his so that he could drop a proper kiss on your lips. “Not to mention the perfect birthday cake my perfect wife is baking me,” he teased, pecking the corner of your mouth.

Bradley loved your baking, and every year he liked to request a different flavored cake for his birthday—”They’re all so good, I can’t choose just one favorite!” he’d told you. This year, he’d opted for a chocolate chip cake with vanilla frosting and a fudgy center. You’d made it once for a barbecue at Penny and Mav’s house and Bradley hadn’t been able to stop raving about it. You knew it was the number one thing he was most excited for this year.

“Mmm, really sucking up, aren’t we?” you teased, wiggling your hips against him with a laugh. “Don’t worry, I already have all the ingredients for your birthday cake.”

He groaned softly, kissing your collarbone as a sign of his appreciation. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Yes,” you smiled, snuggling up against him as the two of you fell asleep.

Now you were awake, your internal clock hardly ever allowing you to sleep in late these days. Turning your head on your pillow, you looked over at your husband, still fast asleep beside you—his alarm wasn’t set to go off for another forty-five minutes or so—and felt your heart flood with the warmth of an adoration that had only continued to grow since the moment you had first met him at The Hard Deck all those years ago.

His ruddy cheek was pressed against his pillow, his soft lips parted slightly as he breathed in and out, the soft whir of it a soothing sound. His dark hair, which had turned a shade of golden brown in the heat of the San Diego sun, was rumpled and messy and you had never felt more inclined to tangle your fingers in those tantalizing curls. With his eyes still firmly shut, his dark lashes were kissing the tops of his sunburned cheeks. You had to force back a laugh at the sight of his reddened skin. How many times had you scolded him for spraying sunscreen directly into his face like a madman? And yet, despite his best efforts, he somehow always managed to get burned to a crisp.

Still, he had never looked more handsome to you.

Rolling slowly onto your side, the added bulk of Baby B making you a bit more clumsy, you reached out and traced intricate patterns onto the bare skin of his back, shivering with pleasure at the feel of how warm his body was.

Letting out a soft and sleepy moan, Bradley slowly started to stir and you stilled your hand for a moment, your lips curving up into an affectionate smile. Admiring the way the morning light was cascading down his sunkissed skin, you couldn’t resist leaning forward and pressing delicate kisses to the delicious freckles that were scattered across his shoulders, always made darker after hours spent shirtless in the sun.

At the feel of your warm lips brushing against his back, Bradley stirred further, his dark eyes cracking open as he let out another soft groan, one of pleasure this time.

“Good morning, birthday boy,” you whispered against him, your lips continuing to trail kisses across his upper back as your fingers danced slowly down his side.

“Mmm, happy birthday to me,” Bradley grinned, his voice still raspy and hoarse from just waking up. The deep timbre of it sent shivers all the way down to your toes. He lifted his head slightly, his eyes blinking the last vestiges of sleep away. “What a way to start the day,” he chuckled.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” you apologized, returning to your position on your back as your husband rose up on one elbow to gaze down at you, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

“No apologies necessary, honey,” he assured you, dipping his head low so that he could kiss you more thoroughly, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you knotted your fingers in his messy curls.

“You’ll have to get up and get ready for work soon,” you panted when he finally tore his lips away from yours and began sucking softly on your neck, his large, calloused hands slipping beneath the oversized T-shirt you’d worn to bed last night. You bit your lower lip in pleasure as you wrapped one leg around his, loving the way his body still found ways to meld to yours, even with your growing belly.

“Mmm, soon,” he murmured, nodding in agreement as he nipped gently at your collarbone. “But not yet,” he smirked, reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.

Making love to your husband as the early morning light began breaking through the gossamer curtains of your bedroom window seemed like the perfect way to kick off his birthday celebration this year. Judging from the sated, blissful expression on his face as he collapsed on his back beside you, Bradey certainly thought so anyway.

“Damn, now I really am regretting not asking Cyclone for the day off,” Bradley laughed breathlessly, tugging you closer to his side and kissing you deeply.

“Told you so,” you smirked playfully, nudging his side as you kissed him in return. You sighed as you glanced over the alarm clock and saw that it was almost seven. “You should probably start getting in the shower. I’ll make you breakfast,” you told him, starting to rise up in bed.

“Uh-uh,” Bradley replied, shaking his head and stopping you in your tracks with an arm across your chest. “Forget breakfast. I’m not showering without you,” he grinned, climbing out of bed and scooping you up into his arms.

“But they say breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” you joked, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you to the bathroom.

“You’re the most important meal of the day,” he shot back with a mischievous wink, his face splitting into a huge grin.

You threw your head back laughing at that one, swatting at his chest with one hand. “What a line that was, Lieutenant,” you grinned.

“Did it work?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Only because it’s your birthday,” you giggled, leaning forward and kissing him sweetly.

After a shower that was certainly longer than Navy regulation, Bradley reluctantly got dressed while you hurried to the kitchen to make him some toast and a quick cup of coffee. Grabbing his lunch from the fridge, complete with the little handwritten note you’d tucked inside for him, you handed it all to him as he got ready to walk out the door.

“I love you so much,” he murmured, resting his hand on the back of your head as he pulled you in for a kiss. “This is already an amazing birthday, honey,” he added with a wink.

“It’s just getting started,” you smiled, smoothing down the collar of his uniform and giving him one more quick kiss. “Have a great day at work.”

Bradley nodded, giving you one last squeeze before juggling all his things and heading towards the door. “I promise I’ll be home as quickly as I can.”

“We’ll be here,” you told him, grinning as you rested your hand on your belly and felt another strong kick.

“Don’t let Mommy work herself too hard, Baby B!” Bradley called with a laugh, and then he was gone.

“Listen, I promise I’m not going to overdo it, but we have to make the day special for Daddy,” you whispered conspiratorially, looking down at your growing bump. When you felt a little nudge in response, you grinned. “See? I knew you’d understand.”

Changing into a pair of stretchy yoga pants and one of Bradley’s old T-shirts, you set about pulling out all the birthday decorations you’d secretly ordered to decorate the apartment with. From balloons to streamers to confetti to a large “Happy Birthday, Bradley!” banner, within a couple hours, you’d managed to make your home look like an advertisement for Party City.

“Whew,” you breathed out, pulling your hair back from your now sweaty neck and tying it up into a quick ponytail. You were breathing harder than expected after hanging everything up, and a quick rest on the couch seemed like a good idea. “You’re kind of heavy, you know that?” you teased affectionately, poking at your belly. “Mama used to be able to do all of this without breaking a sweat, but now I feel like I just ran a marathon. But you’re cute, so I’ll let it slide,” you laughed, massaging your stomach as you leaned back into the couch cushions with a sigh.

You didn’t have much time to relax, however. If you wanted everything to be ready for when Bradley got home from work, you had to start working on dinner and his cake now.

“Alright, Baby B, back to work we go,” you murmured, lifting yourself up off the couch with a soft groan and rubbing your lower back as you waddled into the kitchen. After trying for so long to get pregnant, you could honestly say that you loved and appreciated every moment of your pregnancy thus far, but you’d also be lying if you said that it wasn’t taking a lot out of you physically, especially as you headed into the final stretch.

It was also becoming harder and harder to wrap your head around the fact that this would be the last birthday you and Bradley celebrated together, just the two of you. Come next year, you’d have an almost one-year-old, which was still too crazy to think about. It would be wonderful, but different, which was why you wanted to make today so particularly special.

Now that all the decorations were up, you turned your attention towards dinner. Considering your oven was only so big, you had to manage your time wisely to ensure that both dinner and Bradley’s birthday cake would be ready in time. But you’d timed it all down to the last minute, so you were confident everything would be fine.

Since you were making Bradley’s birthday dinner yourself this year, you’d decided on the chicken pot pie that he loved so much. His mom had made it for him all the time when he was growing up, and you’d spent a long time trying to perfect Carole’s recipe until you got it just right. The day Bradley’s face had lit up and he’d told you that it tasted just like his mom’s was still one of the proudest moments of your life. In addition to the pot pie, you were also preparing a fresh garden salad, creamy mashed potatoes, and cornbread.

As all that was finishing baking, you pulled out the ingredients for Bradley’s chocolate chip cake and began mixing them together until the batter was thick and tasted like heaven—you could never resist stealing a little lick. Wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, you moved back and forth between checking on the food and preparing the cake pans until you felt a bit dizzy. Once everything was settled, you told yourself, you’d take a quick rest.

At the sound of your phone buzzing on the counter, you turned and smiled when you saw that Phoenix was texting you a ton of pictures.

Don’t worry, we’re taking care of your boy until he can get home!

Your smile widened as you swiped through photo after photo of the little party the Dagger Squad had thrown for Bradley. The rec room on base was decked out with balloons and a small sign that looked like it had been written in Bob’s firm hand. Bradley was sitting in front of a cake that had come from his favorite bakery, everyone else gathered around him for a big group shot. There were also individual pictures of him with Mav, Phoenix, Payback, Fanboy, Bob, Coyote, Hangman, Hondo and some of the others. You even thought you spotted Cyclone in the back of one photo, a slice of cake in hand.

Amazing! Looks like you guys are having a great time! Thank you for organizing it!

Of course! He’s having a good day, but he can’t stop talking about getting home to you! You’re not overdoing it, are you?

Did Bradley tell you to ask me that?

Maybe. But the question still stands.

I’m fine. I’m going to take a break once dinner is ready and I get the cake started in the oven.

He’s lucky to have you! Talk to you soon!

A few minutes later, dinner was finished, the chicken pot pie and cornbread sitting on the counter to cool while you grabbed the pans full of cake batter and set them on your baking tray in the oven.

Rising up with a slight wince and a yawn, you held your back with one hand while cradling your belly with the other. “Okay, Baby B, time for a short nap while Daddy’s cake bakes,” you murmured, checking the oven one last time before making your way to the bedroom, where you promptly crawled under the covers and passed out.

You had thought for sure that you’d set a quick alarm on your phone before falling asleep, but evidently your exhausted brain had been playing tricks on you because you suddenly woke with a start when the smell of something burning hit your nostrils. Gasping, you shot up in bed and looked at the clock on your bedside table, horrified to see that you’d been asleep for over an hour.

“No, no, no,” you mumbled frantically, slipping out of bed as quickly as your cumbersome body would allow and hurrying to the kitchen, where the smell of burning grew worse, tendrils of smoke starting to drift out of the oven.

Clutching your face in your hands, you let out another gasp before shutting off the oven and hurrying to open all the windows in the apartment, terrified of setting off the smoke alarm. When you walked back into the kitchen, you opened the oven slowly, holding your breath as a ton of smoke was released into the room. As it cleared, you waved your hand back and forth in front of your face and were devastated to see the burnt remains of Bradley's birthday cake, crusted inside your baking pans, the top layer blackened from being left in the oven for more than double the amount of time it should have been.

“Oh, no,” you whimpered softly, feeling your eyes and throat burn with unshed tears as you grabbed a pair of oven mitts and reached for your ruined dessert, your heart plummeting inside your chest as you lifted it up for closer inspection. It was completely beyond salvaging.

You could fix this. There was still time. You could jump in the car, hurry to the store, pick up fresh ingredients, and—

The sound of the key turning in the lock made your heart sink even further as you stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, the remains of Bradley’s ruined birthday cake still in your hands.

“Honey, I’m home! I managed to get out a little early and—honey?!” You could hear the playful tone of Bradley’s voice quickly turn to panic as he clearly smelled the evidence of your disastrous mistake. A second later, he was running into the kitchen, eyes wide with worry. “Honey!” he exclaimed again, rushing to your side and checking you over until he was satisfied you were unharmed. “What happened?”

Your chin wobbled miserably and you couldn’t even look him in the eye as you held out the cake pan you were still grasping onto tightly. “I burned your birthday cake,” you confessed, your voice quaking as you fought to get the words out.

Bradley’s eyes softened and he reached out to cup your cheek gently, brushing his thumb against your skin. “Oh, baby, it’s alright,” he assured you, carefully prying the singed pan out of your hands and setting it down in the sink.

“No, it isn’t!” you burst out, suddenly breaking down in tears, your entire body trembling as you were wracked with sobs. “You were so excited about that cake! And it’s your birthday! I ruined your birthday!” You buried your face in your hands as you cried and turned away from him, so disappointed in yourself for having made such a stupid mistake.

“Hey! No, you didn’t!” Bradley insisted instantly, immediately coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you. “You didn’t ruin anything, honey,” he cooed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and rocking you gently in his embrace.

When you just continued to cry, shaking your head as if to refute his words, he reached for your shoulders and turned you slowly until you were facing him, though you still wouldn’t look at him. “Hey,” he said again, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifting your face until you had no choice but to gaze into his eyes, so warm and compassionate as always. “You decorated this whole apartment for me,” he told you, indicating all the decorations you’d spent hours putting together. “You made me an amazing lunch and an incredible dinner from what I can tell,” he went on, pointing his chin in the direction of the counter where the chicken pot pie and cornbread were resting. “And are you forgetting this morning?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows in an attempt to make you laugh. “That alone made it my best birthday yet. How could you think that you ruined it?”

He was trying to make you feel better. Your sweet husband was always so quick to cheer you up whenever you were feeling down, even if it was over the silliest thing. But you still felt awful. He was so excited about his chocolate chip birthday cake. He’d been talking about it for days. Bradley never asked for anything on his birthday, but he had asked for that. And you’d completely ruined it.

“It was what you wanted,” you replied tearfully, your face crumbling as you began crying anew. “And today was supposed to be special!”

“It is special,” Bradley countered, attempting to thumb your tears away. But they were falling too fast at this point.

“No! It isn’t!” you cried, whirling away from him and hiding your face behind your hands once more.

Bradley sighed, watching you silently for a moment or two. As well as you knew him, and could read everything he did and said, he could do the same for you. And he knew the reason you were so upset wasn’t just about some cake getting burned.

Stepping closer to you, he rested his hands on your shoulders and waited until you lowered your hands slowly before murmuring gently, “Why don’t you tell me what this is really about?”

You let out a shaky breath and looked up at him with watery eyes, and you could practically hear his heart breaking as he gazed back at you.

“Oh, honey,” Bradley whispered, rubbing your back soothingly as he pulled out a chair at the small kitchen table and settled you down in it before crouching in front of you, his big hands resting warmly on your thighs. “What is it?”

“It’s your last birthday with just the two of us,” you told him slowly, feeling a bit silly as you voiced your thoughts aloud. “I just—I wanted it to be special. Next year, things are going to be so different.” You instinctively moved your hand to your rounded belly.

“Baby,” Bradley breathed out, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs slowly. “You’re right, things are going to be different. But it’ll be a good kind of different,” he comforted you, lifting your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You felt your face scrunch up as more tears started to fall. “I know,” you nodded, even as a few fat tears rolled down your cheeks and spilled onto your shirt. “God, I must sound so awful, like I don’t even want our baby around, after how long we spent—”

“I don’t think that at all,” he told you firmly, cutting you off before you could even finish your sentence. “I think you’re exhausted, and that you’ve been pushing yourself way too hard, that’s what I think.”

“I’m just—I’m scared,” you confessed quietly, your voice almost like a whisper, like it was some kind of shameful secret. “I love our baby more than anything, and I’m so excited that we’re starting a family together, but now that we’re getting close, it just feels like everything’s changing so quickly and there’s nothing I can do to control it.”

Bradley chuckled softly, reaching up to cup your face as he looked directly into your eyes. “Honey, there’s nothing in this life we can control. I know you hate to hear that because you love to take care of everything and everyone, but it’s the truth. It’s something I’ve learned over and over and over again. No matter what we do, no matter how tightly we hold onto things, we can’t control anything. We just have to enjoy this life, moment by moment, for what it is and hold onto all the good bits. Our life is beautiful now, and it’s going to be even more beautiful whenever Baby B decides to make his or her grand entrance,” he grinned, tenderly running a hand over your belly. “I know it’s scary. Trust me, I’m scared, too. But we’re in this together. Always.”

Smiling through your tears, you leaned forward and pressed your forehead against your husband’s, holding his precious face in your hands as if you were holding a priceless treasure. “How’d you get to be so smart, huh?” you asked softly, laughing as you pressed a light kiss to his lips.

Bradley smiled as well, resting his hands over yours. “Well, you know what they say. Another year older, another year wiser,” he teased.

Letting out a soft sigh, you wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled your nose against his, trying to soak in how grateful you were for this particular moment in time and for the gift of your husband’s life, which was what today was really all about. “I still feel terrible about your birthday cake,” you admitted, the corners of your mouth turning down slightly as you glanced over at the oven. “I just meant to take a short nap, but I must have forgotten to set an alarm, and when I woke up, I could smell it burning.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” Bradley said seriously, stroking your cheek as if to ensure that you really were safe. “When I walked in and smelled that—well, you had me really scared there for a minute, honey.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, feeling even worse that you’d worried him and then forced him to be the one to comfort you on his special day. “Your birthday is—”

“Honey, my birthday is just a day,” he told you, taking your hands in his and squeezing gently. “What makes it special is how loved you always make me feel. The decorations, the parties, the cake—they’re all amazing, sure, and I’m always so thankful for them, but they wouldn’t mean anything without all the love and the care you put into them. That’s what I love most about my birthday. Just getting to be with you. Everything else is icing on the cake.”

“Ugh, please, no cake references for a little while,” you murmured, your eyes glistening with tears at your husband’s words. Smiling, you leaned forward and kissed him, then laid your head on his shoulder. “I love you so much, Bradley Bradshaw. You deserve to be celebrated every single day. I would be so lost in this life without you.”

“Ditto, honey,” Bradley grinned, rising slowly and lifting you up with him. He smoothed your hair back from your face and dropped a loving kiss on your forehead. “You’ve given me the greatest gift anyone could ever give, just by loving me and walking through this life with me. Not to mention making me a dad,” he said softly, his own eyes glistening as he cradled your swollen stomach with one hand. “I love you more than words could ever describe.”

Wrapping your arms around each other, you and Bradley stood holding one another in the middle of the kitchen, swaying back and forth, for what felt like hours. Or maybe it was only seconds. Time didn’t seem to matter anymore. When you finally pulled back, Bradley smiled and kissed your tear-stained cheeks.

“Not to ruin this moment, but I think that chicken pot pie is starting to call my name,” he laughed, his stomach grumbling as if on cue.

Giggling, you nodded and stepped around him to grab the dinner you’d prepared. “Sit down and I’ll get it all ready,” you told him.

“Nope,” he shot back, stepping up beside you. “It’s my birthday, and I insist on serving you. You sit down and I’ll get everything ready.”

“But Bradley, I—”

“No arguing with the birthday boy,” he grinned, steering you towards the table.

Knowing it was no use arguing with him, stubborn man that he was, you just smiled and sat back as he laid out the chicken pot pie, salad, mashed potatoes, and cornbread. Thankfully, you’d already set the table earlier in the afternoon.

“Happy Birthday, my love,” you told him before the two of you dug into your meal.

“Thank you, baby. It’s been a great one,” he smiled.

You and Bradley enjoyed dinner, Bradley praising your cooking about a hundred times before the meal was through, and then hopped into the Bronco to make a quick trip to the grocery store, where you picked up some birthday cake flavored ice cream.

“This will have to do until I can make you that chocolate chip cake,” you told him ruefully, holding it up once the two of you got home.

“Sounds good to me,” Bradley replied, pulling two spoons out of the drawer with a wink.

Between the two of you, you ended up polishing off the container of ice cream before cleaning up the kitchen and getting ready for bed. You had just finished stripping off your yoga pants and T-shirt when Bradley came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and pressing a kiss to your neck.

“You know,” he whispered, his mustache scraping against your skin as his lips began descending down your neck and across your shoulder. “The ice cream was great and all, but I kind of had another dessert in mind for tonight.”

You smiled as your head fell back against his shoulder, your body already feeling like putty in his hands. “Oh, yeah? Not the chocolate chip cake, you mean?” you asked teasingly.

“Uh-uh,” he mumbled, catching your sensitive skin lightly between his teeth as he nibbled his way back up to your ear. “Something even sweeter.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest as his hands began stroking your sides, and you turned your head to look up at him. “What a line that was, Lieutenant,” you smirked, echoing your words from that morning.

“Did it work?” he smirked in return, clearly catching on to what you were playing at.

“Only because it’s your birthday,” you beamed, giggling as he lifted you up into his arms and carefully laid you out on the bed.

Grinning mischievously, Bradley pulled his shirt over his head and climbed onto the bed a moment later, his arms on either side of you as he hovered over you and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Best birthday ever.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #rooster x wife!reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #miles teller #mr. & mrs. bradshaw

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fallenrocket · 20 hours ago

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My god, Cassian is just so young in season 1 of Andor. On this last rewatch, it kept jumping out at me everywhere. Especially at the start of the show, which makes sense--he goes through a pretty intense education over the course of the season and transforms before our eyes. But there's just so much in Cassian that comes from being young, traumatized, and desperate.

We see it in his moments of unabashed fear, like when he's stopped by the two corpos in the pilot, the first time he sees the TIE fighter fly past on Aldhani, or as the prison transport takes off for Narkina 5. Even when he tries to hide it, we can see it in his eyes, the parts of him that are still that scared kid from Kenari.

We see it in the chip he has on his shoulder, like the attitude he cops with Luthen in their first meeting: "I don't know you." He's not just guarded and distrustful, he kind of actively resents this guy trying to get too familiar with him. When he's scared, uncertain, or guilty, he tends to push others away, a product of having to fight most of his life and of losing many of the things and people he's cared about. I also think of him coldly telling Bix, "You won't have to worry about me anymore," at the end of their argument in "Announcement."

And yet, by the same token, he can also be surprisingly open and earnest in his affections. For me, this is most apparent in his scenes with Maarva in "Announcement." There, we see his naive optimism that the money he got from Aldhani can solve all their problems. He's so buoyant and hopeful and loving as he suggests running away, saying, "What do we need but the three of us?" Later in the episode, we see that same naivety when he insists, "We'll find a place they haven't ruined yet." But it crops up in other places too. On Aldhani, he chooses Clem's name as his pseudonym, even though he already realizes Luthen has a lot of intel on him and will probably recognize it--in that moment, his distrust of Luthen is outweighed by his desire to go into this dangerous mission carrying a small piece of his dad with him. Then there's that beautiful hug with Brasso in "Rix Road," especially those few extra beats past when you'd expect them to part. When he hugs Melshi in the previous episode, Cassian is rushed, on the brink of falling apart and not wanting Melshi to see. But with Brasso, Cassian needs that touch for a few extra seconds, and he's not afraid to hold on a little longer.

Most of Cassian's dumbest mistakes in the season are very youthful ones. He's an incredibly smart and observant guy, so he's not dumb very often, but when he is, it tends to come back to being young, traumatized, and desperate. We see this especially in the opening Ferrix arc: insisting on bringing an unsecured comm to his meeting with Luthen (oh my god, the way he bickers with B2EMO about them beforehand!) and trying to go back for the starpath unit when the shit hits the fan, even after Luthen repeatedly tells him to leave it. With the starpath unit, part of it is naivety--"What if it's just one guy left?"--and part of it is growing up poor and scrappy. This box represents more money than he's ever had at any one time, and he simply can't process the idea that his buyer would just leave it behind.

Finally, every now and then, Cassian has this subtle but impeccable "little shit" energy. We definitely see it when he messes with Timm in the pilot, deliberately goading him instead of trying to defuse the situation when he sees that Timm is jealous. It's a dumb, petty moment of cheap satisfaction that winds up with some intense blowback when Timm IDs him to Pre-Mor. And I love Cassian's refusal to give up on Kino on Narkina 5, always believing he can be brought into the fold no matter how many times Kino tells him to forget about it. It's a great reflection of how Cassian rejects the Empire's attempts to divide the inmates by pitting them against each other, but part of why he's able to keep at it is his annoying-kid tenacity. I love the scene where Kino brushes him off by saying how many shifts he has left and Cassian immediately responds with, "So...tell me what you know before you go."

It's simply wild to compare the Cassian we see in "Kassa" to the one in "Rix Road." He goes through so much in twelve episodes and really comes into his own, and it's fantastic to see some of the qualities he displays in Rogue One starting to peek through. He's already come so far in his character growth--I cannot wait to see how season 2 gets us from "Rix Road" to Rogue One!

Oh yeah, and Diego Luna is simply stunning. You can really feel how he traced Cassian's life backwards to this point, see how different the Cassian of "Kassa" is from the Cassian of Rogue One and yet still fully believe that this is the same character. All the little hints he drops, all the tiny moments where you can see Rogue One Cassian starting to gestate. It's such beautiful, brilliant work!

#fallenrocket #star wars #andor #cassian andor #diego luna

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anar-k3y · 1 year ago

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Yandere Alphabet!

:Lyney

TW/CW: unedited, yandere topics like kidnapping blood, ect

———

Lyney

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Lyney is very affectionate- like we see in game I'd imgine him giving you a rainbow rose among many other gifts like that, chocolates? flowers? jewellery? he's buying it all and giving it to you through some sort of magic trick so he gets to see your smile and laugh- that redness over you cheeks when he compliments you- it makes him happy when you're happy.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Lyney isn't a cruel man, and he isn't much of a fighter- but the rage he felt when he saw another person flirting with you.. well- he is part of the fatui, and he is a magician.. he has ways of making a person vanish without much mess.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Lyney treats you the same- though he's a little more possessive now that you're trapped with him, getting irritated if you ask to leave. but aside from that he's the same sweet, affectionate Lyney you've loved.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Aside from the occasionally need to drag you back home- he does his best to keep you happy, he won't force himself onto you and he won't kill anyone after you're captured. you're his now- he doesn't need to worry, and nor doe he feel the need to do anything against what you'd want.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Lyne gives his person his entire heart- he tells them everything, his plans, his past, his dreams. you wouldn't break his heart, right?

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Lyney would be devastated. He'd be so upset if his darling went back against him- he's doing this for you! to protect you!

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Lyney doesn't see this as a game- this is him loving you, showing he loves you. he hates when you try to leave him- escaping him? ho could you.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

the kidnapping. or if they ever witness him killing someone- though, that wouldn't happen. Lyney tries to be subtle when he takes you to the house of hearth away from all other people- but when you start questioning him on what you were doing there, he becomes flustered and calls Lynette to knock you out. don't worry- he'll make up for it later!

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

in future- Lyney wants a happy and tame life with you, one where he can take you with him to his preformances outside of home, one where you love him as much as he loves you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Lyney is very jealous. though he doesn't take it out on you- he'll often speak to his sister Lynette of ways to remove the issue- like getting rid of whatever was causing you to be distracted from him.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

similar to the affection at the start of this- I think he's very kind and sweet to you, he's telling jokes, flirting, the same old Lyney we see in game.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

When he asks you out to date, he's taking you around fontaine, to a cafe before eventually landing at a place hidden from most overlooking the ocean- watching the sunset, it's cheesy, but he likes it that way. it's just you both- when he asks that question to date him.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else

No, not overly so. Lyney is a magician, he does hide many things from public view, but he's a charmer- and his kind, his dark tendencies are few and far between. Don't worry, he's not an evil fatui like what we're used too.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Silent treatment. He's not speaking to you- leaving you alone with your thoughts whilst trapped in his home- it's cruel to leave you alone like that- and his frown is a face you rarely see- so when you do it's.. uncomfortable.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

not many, he just restricts you. he resticts where you can go- so that he can protect you- and don't go flirt with people or speak to those he doesn't know without him there, is that so hard?

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Lyney is very patient, he will wait forever for you if he has too.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

no.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

he doesn't feel guilty, he does feel bad for upsetting you afterwards, but putting you somewhere safe was necessary!

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Lyney never really loved anyone and when he did, they'd leave, especially finding out he was an orphan and one from the fatui. and now that he has you? you didn't leave him! he can never let you go.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

horrible. Lyney doesn't want you to be sad! he wants you to be happy with him!

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

he's much nicer then most, he's very soft with his tendencies.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

his kindness. he's much more likely to give into your cries and sobbing- if you beg him for something, he can't say no forever..

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

no. he wouldn't.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

he will go to any lengths for you- but, he's patient, so he takes things slow, he'll wait for you, though- that diesn't stop him from gathering you things and maybe sleeping with one of your shirts as a pillowcase.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

y e a r s.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

patience, lots of patience.

#lyney #genshin lyney #lyney x reader #yandere #yandere Lyney

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renlyslittlerose · 1 month ago

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Kinktober Day 22 - Seduction

For @bunnywan~ 🐰

Keep Me Guessing - 4,367 Rating: M Content: Getting Together / Love Confessions / Attempted Seduction / Sexual Tension / Secret Crush / Humor / Fluff / Implied Sexual Content / First Kiss / Anakin Skywalker is Oblivious / Obi-Wan Kenobi is Repressed / somehow they work it out

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Anakin was a smart man. If Obi-Wan were feeling particularly gracious he might even call him wise beyond his years. There was no one Obi-Wan would want by his side in the heat of battle more than Anakin, his natural instincts and abilities making him a capable fighter and an intelligent general. Even having him near during diplomatic missions had its charms, Anakin’s natural honesty giving him insights that Obi-Wan might have otherwise missed.

But Anakin was also completely and utterly oblivious at times. Baffling so.

It was as if he only knew how to communicate with direct bluntness, conversations having to have a certain candour for Anakin to catch on. Subtly was lost on him most of the time, and Obi-Wan had to literally spell things out to him more often than not. It was charming really, especially when Obi-Wan was subject to the daily politicking of Coruscant where senators attempted to hide their true intentions, while fellow Jedi were forced to keep things close to their chests lest they breach protocol. Speaking to Anakin directly and with as much frankness as Obi-Wan could muster was usually a relief.

But as charming as Anakin’s disregard to most social cues was, it was also frustrating.

Especially when it came to Obi-Wan having to actually express his emotions, rather than chew on them till his jaw ached and his insides twisted and curled.

Obi-Wan had developed inescapable, desperate, delirious, perilous feelings for Anakin. The kind that involved holding his hand and kissing his lips and holding him deep within until they both ceased to exist as individuals. He knew it was untoward to desire his former Padawan the way that he did, yet he couldn’t stop the raw need that both exhilarated and frightened him. When he thought of Anakin in all his complex multitudes, sensations would form and multiple deep within Obi-Wan, his connection to the Force spiking and skittering like shocks of lightning, the scent of Anakin mixing with the dense taste of ozone in the air as a storm brewed in the distance.

At first Obi-Wan tried to repress his desires, stamping them down until they only ached when he saw Anakin smile at another person, or touch another person, or let his gaze linger on another. But the repression only worked for a few weeks before it blossomed into a weed that couldn’t be stomped on, couldn’t be cut, couldn’t be ripped out at the root and lit on fire.

He couldn’t pull away from Anakin as he should have. More to the point, Obi-Wan didn’t want to.

But he couldn’t outright tell Anakin how he felt. While Obi-Wan knew he was pitiful, he didn’t want others to know just how desperate he was - especially Anakin. Begging Anakin to let him lick the salt from his thighs and suck on the tip of his cock was a humiliation that Obi-Wan wasn’t quite ready to suffer through, even if the thought of doing just that made his cock twitch and his hands clench until his nails cut into his palms.

And thus Obi-Wan was confronted with a problem: how to subtly seduce a man who probably didn’t even know the definition of the word subtle.

XXX

“Anakin, come here for a moment, will you?”

Anakin dropped his datapad and glanced over at Obi-Wan. “What is it?”

Wiggling a bottle of newly bought cologne, Obi-Wan opened it up and placed a few drops of it on the tips of his fingers. Dabbing it along the corner of his jaw and just behind his ear, Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side and motioned Anakin closer. “I want you to smell this cologne for me.”

With nary a suspicious look or a curious question Anakin stepped forward and ducked his head, nose softly brushing Obi-Wan’s jaw as he breathed in deep. Holding back a groan, Obi-Wan bit his tongue. Anakin pulled away far too quickly, his cheeks pink and his grin large.

“Smells nice,” he said.

“Just nice?”

Not invigorating, seductive, heady, and sweet? Not overpowering to the point where you want me to throw you down on the floor and ravage you right here and now?

Anakin shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, thank you for your input,” Obi-Wan said. Capping the bottle he placed it back on the counter.

He’d spent good credits on it only to come out smelling ‘nice’.

“Trying to seduce someone?” Anakin asked with complete sincerity.

Sighing, Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Something like that.”

XXX

Eying the ice lolly stand, Obi-Wan stroked his beard. Above him the sun bore down on him, heating the back of his neck. Next to him Anakin basked under the heated rays, his head tilted back as he glittered beneath the sun.

“You’re enjoying this weather far too much,” Obi-Wan grumbled.

Anakin smiled and dropped his head, a curl sliding across his brow. When their eyes locked Obi-Wan thought he was going to swallow his tongue. “Not my fault you run hot.”

Obi-Wan was certain Anakin had no clue the sort of signals he was giving out, but regardless of the intent his words made Obi-Wan look away all the same, heat not from the sun spreading out across his cheeks. He looked back at the ice lolly stand and swallowed.

“I’m going to get a treat,” he said as he slipped off the barrier they were sat upon. The clones were still conducting their canvassing of the neighbourhood in search of the local warlord, and Obi-Wan was getting impatient under the sun. He deserved a treat. “Would you like one?”

Anakin shook his head and settled further on the wall, his head once again tilting back to catch the sun on his high cheekbones. With one last longing glance Obi-Wan turned and approached the stand. The owner sent Obi-Wan a bright grin as he approached, her lips pulling back to reveal a set of silver teeth that flashed in the sunlight. Ushering him over, she opened the top of her cooler to show off the vast array of treats.

The lollies were brightly coloured and made from a variety of pureed fruits, bright greens and reds mixing with blues and purples. Some were square in shape while others were long and narrow, some smooth while others ridged. Obi-Wan’s attention lingered on the long, rainbow coloured lolly in the middle.

“This one please,” Obi-Wan said, pointing to it.

The woman nodded and reached inside, plucking it from the rest of its ilk. She wrapped the stick in a small napkin before passing it to Obi-Wan, her free hand held out for the credits. He passed it over before taking the lolly with a grateful thanks.

Obi-Wan was only half-way back to Anakin before it started to melt. Jumping back on to the barrier Obi-Wan began licking the ice lolly. The taste of sugary fruits flooded his tongue, the coldness of the ice sliding along his lips and across the roof of his mouth. He moaned softly and took more of the lolly into his mouth. Sliding it in and out, Obi-Wan sucked on the sweet treat, gaze locked on the narrow street in front of him.

A small trickle of fruit juice slid onto his knuckles, and he slipped the lolly from his lips with a quick ‘pop’ before licking his knuckles, trying to collect the juices before they fell to stain his robes.

“Taste good?”

Obi-Wan tried to hide his smile and turned to look at Anakin. He lost his smirk when he saw the earnestness in Anakin’s gaze. He was staring at Obi-Wan like what he was doing was completely normal and not at all overtly sexual, like he was sucking back on the most delicious cock he’d ever had the pleasure of enjoying.

“It’s nice,” Obi-Wan said, and stuck his tongue out to rub the tip along the side, maintaining eye-contact with Anakin the entire time. “Would you like to try it?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Anakin said. He turned back to the street, hands pressed between his knees. “They used to sell those kinda things back on Tatooine, but I always found them a bit too sweet. I’ve always preferred salty treats.”

I’m sure you do…

“I like both,” Obi-Wan said, and he licked the lolly again, keeping it in his mouth this time and letting it melt across his tongue. He tried to catch Anakin’s attention, but he’d lost him to his memories.

With a sigh, he finished the lolly and pocketed the stick.

XXX

Staring down at the drain in the fresher, Obi-Wan watched the soap and water swirl around before disappearing down into the abyss below. The water was scalding across his shoulders and along the back of his neck, the stinging bite soothing the ache in his muscles from hours worth of katas and sparring. Anakin had managed to get him into one-too-many headlocks, and his neck was already complaining about the abuse.

Speaking of…

Next to him Anakin washed beneath his own spray, a pluck to his mannerisms that spoke more to Obi-Wan’s age than his. He grinned whenever they locked eyes, head tilted away from the water as he lathered soap along his chest and further still. Obi-Wan caught his eyes wandering now and again, falling on various parts of Obi-Wan’s anatomy before quickly snapping to something else, his focus and attention seemingly both deliberate and inattentive to the point where Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if Anakin was checking him out, or just happened to let his gaze linger on Obi-Wan’s soft cock as his mind drifted off somewhere else.

Obi-Wan was used to Anakin looking. In fact, he’d spent the last ten years under what felt like Anakin’s unyielding gaze, dissected and pulled apart until he could hide very little from Anakin.

Save for his apparent attraction to him.

He supposed, however, he could try and drag Anakin’s attention to him; pull on the strands that kept Anakin in his orbit and draw him closer still. Maybe then he’d know if Anakin really was sneaking peeks of his body, or just happened to have no communal fresher manners as Obi-Wan had always suspected.

Grabbing his bar of soap, he squeezed down on it and let it slip from his grasp.

“Oh no,” Obi-Wan said over the rush of water, trying to sound both alarmed but also casual despite the roar of the water.

Anakin turned his head and glanced down, his eyebrows raised slightly as the bar rested on the tiles. But before Obi-Wan could turn around and very slowly, very carefully lean over and pluck it up from the ground, Anakin was kneeling down and scooping the soap up, a grin on his face as he caught it on the first try.

When he stood he was closer to Obi-Wan, skin covered in little water droplets that caressed the sides of his neck and down his chest. Little bumps spread out along his flesh, the cool air between the fresher stalls enough to make Anakin shiver from the cold, but his body still emanated an incredible warmth that felt different than the heat of the water that rushed across Obi-Wan.

Their eyes remained locked as Obi-Wan took the soap, his hand covering Anakin’s for a moment before Anakin dropped his. A moment passed - a flash in their bond that gripped Obi-Wan’s heart and squeezed - before Anakin broke their gaze and returned to his fresher.

Sucking back a breath, Obi-Wan turned back to the spray and shoved his head underneath the water, hands grabbing blindly at the valve to turn it all the way to ‘cold’.

XXX

Obi-Wan stared at himself in the mirror of his bedroom.

He’d gone out and done something terribly uncharacteristic and treated himself to a nice pair of underwear.

Normally he’d buy the packets that were sold at one of the stores next to the Temple, the fabric of decent quality and the style practical. He’d never bothered with anything else, finding that the few times he did have sex his underwear was quickly discarded and forgotten, only to be remembered when he went looking for them. The men and women he’d courted didn’t seem to mind that he wore what could only be described as ‘underwear’ and nothing more.

But what he currently had on was anything but underwear.

It was a jockstrap.

A very revealing jockstrap.

Rather than his customary white he’d opted for black this time, the fabric soft and smooth as it cupped his balls and caressed his cock. It sat tight around his groin, while the wide banding cinched his waist and fit snug against the swell of his ass, almost raising his cheeks like some sort of push-up brassiere. A trail of his pubic hair went from his naval down to the banding, dragging one’s attention to the fabric that did little to hide just how thick Obi-Wan’s cock actually was.

He felt out of sorts in it - as if he were looking at the body of another, someone more dashing and confident, who claimed what he wanted and said what he desired. Not a Jedi Master with an inescapable and embarrassing love for his oblivious Padawan, who only wore underwear that came in packages of twelve and cost only a few credits.

But he was getting desperate.

Eying the time, Obi-Wan noted that Anakin would be returning to their shared apartment in less than five minutes. Ten, if Anakin was late like he usually was.

Heading into the living quarters, Obi-Wan sat down on the couch and tried to position himself in a manner that would both show off his jockstrap, but also give Anakin the impression that he was just casually lounging on the couch as he always did. Grabbing his datapad, he flicked it on and stared at the screen blankly, attention skirting up to the door every now and again.

He could feel Anakin’s presence nearing, an excited little tremble in their bond that grew more intense the closer he got. It only fed into Obi-Wan’s own anxieties, and he found he was holding his breath by the time Anakin slipped through the door and entered the space.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan rushed out in feign surprise.

Anakin didn’t even blink before he was rushing toward Obi-Wan, his own datapad in hand as he collapsed on the couch next to Obi-Wan and presented it to him.

“Take a look,” he said as he wiggled the datapad around in the air.

Obi-Wan swallowed down his disbelief and took the datapad from Anakin, stilling his movements. Anakin was hot next to him and smelled like sweat and motor oil, slick and dense in the back of his throat. He shifted slightly, pushing his hips out as he pretended to get comfortable. Anakin’s gaze didn’t leave Obi-Wan’s face, however.

Looking at the screen he saw a collection of numbers spread out on a grid along with a graph that spikes and then rolled. He tilted it to the side, hoping that it would make sense. It didn’t help.

“What am I looking at?” Obi-Wan asked slowly.

“It’s the sensor readings from that speeder I bought from that junkyard back on Korad.”

Obi-Wan vaguely remembered it. “If I recall correctly, you didn’t buy it so much as do a series of favours for the shop owner, including but not limited to using the Force to bring down all the crates they couldn’t reach.”

“I was doing a service to the community,” Anakin mumbled. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I got the electronics to talk back to me. It’s alive, Obi-Wan. The speeder is alive!”

“It’s not alive,” Obi-Wan said with a sigh. “Speeders aren’t living creatures. It simply works.”

Anakin glared. Obi-Wan glared back. Perhaps he was being uncharitable, but Anakin hadn’t even given his new underwear a second glance. The banding around his ass was starting to chaff.

Grabbing the datapad back, Anakin sank lower in the couch next to Obi-Wan, his bottom lip jutted out in a delicious pout as he scrolled through his findings. “Just because you can’t manage to turn a speeder on let alone fix one, doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole.”

Obi-Wan sighed and stared up at the ceiling. Swallowing back his retort about how he may be technologically illiterate, but at least he wasn’t oblivious as to the finer points of seduction, Obi-Wan fiddled with the banding of his underwear.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a time. When he turned to look at Anakin, he found Anakin staring at his thumb as he dragged it along the top of the banding.

His cheeks were pink, and Obi-Wan watched with fascination as Anakin licked his bottom lip and let out a soft sigh. Excitement rose up in him then, and Obi-Wan shifted slightly to rest the heel of his foot on the edge of the couch, angling his hips just so.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan mumbled.

Anakin’s attention snapped back up. The pink to his cheeks turned into a darker shade, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes - embarrassment or arousal, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure. Shifting again, he tilted his head to the side.

Finally.

“Anakin,” he repeated.

Like a spooked fathier Anakin suddenly snapped back, his breath catching in the back of his throat. Ducking his head he stood abruptly, striding away from Obi-Wan’s desperate grasp as he fiddled with his datapad.

“Sorry,” Anakin said quickly. His attention was still fixed to the floor, his shoulders hunched and knuckles white as he held on to his datapad. “I just realized you were— I mean. I should have knocked before I came in.”

“It’s alright, Anakin, truly. This is both our home and—”

Anakin stumbled toward the door, a nervous laugh on the tip of his tongue that shame soon swallowed. “No, really. I should have knocked.”

Obi-Wan stood but Anakin was already halfway out the door. “Anakin, you don’t have to go. I can put some clothes back on and—”

“No, it’s okay.” Finally Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan knew for certain that all Anakin felt in that moment was embarrassment. “I have to go input this data before I accidentally overwrite it,” he continued, a sheepish smile spreading across his lips.

Obi-Wan smiled tightly back. “You’ve a tendency to do that.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, and the rush of air he let out filled Obi-Wan with his own relief. “Yeah yeah, I know.”

Another moment passed, Anakin’s presence in their bond evening out where it didn’t scald Obi-Wan to hold on too tightly.

“You should go back-up your data, and then maybe you’d like to join me for dinner in the dining hall?” Obi-Wan asked, hating how meek he sounded.

Anakin nodded and smiled. “Sure.”

He slipped away then, the door closing with a resounding ‘swish’. Collapsing back on the couch, Obi-Wan let out a shaky breath and stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the guilt and disappointment that coiled in his guts in equal measure.

He hoped he could return the jockstrap.

XXX

Obi-Wan stopped his poor attempts at seduction after that.

He hadn’t meant to make Anakin uncomfortable in any way. As much as he he wanted to feel the velvet softness of Anakin’s lips, taste the spit along his teeth, and swallow the soft sounds he knew that Anakin would make, he’d rather it remain an unending desire that never saw resolution than place Anakin into another uncomfortable position.

And so he repressed, as he was wont to do. He swallowed down his feelings for Anakin, tossed out the rest of his poorly thought out ideas of on how to seduce him, and shoved the offending jockstrap in the very back of his underwear drawer, hoping that when he inevitably discovered them again he’d have forgotten the whole ordeal that brought him to them in in the first place.

For the first week, things were tense. Anakin blushed any time he saw Obi-Wan, his gaze dropping, his slouch becoming even more noticeable as if to make himself as small as he possibly could. Gone was his newfound confidence and bravado when he was around Obi-Wan, instead replaced with the quiet awkwardness of his teenage years that had strained the pair of them.

But after the second week had come and gone Anakin seemed to relax again, his breath no longer held tight in his chest as they sat next to one another, the tenor in his voice no longer clipped and tense, his smile coming more easily. Soon, Obi-Wan was once again able to admire the blue hues in his eyes, the beauty marks along his jaw and across his cheeks, and relish in every eye-roll and quirked brow sent his way.

So what if Obi-Wan couldn’t bite the swell of Anakin’s ass, grip his cock between his thighs, and make the boy beg in all the ways he knew he could. So what if Obi-Wan couldn’t feel Anakin’s weight above him, the stretch of his length inside, the press of his lips against the back of his neck. So what if he couldn’t indulge in the taste of Anakin’s come, deep and satisfying, thick on the back of his tongue and down the trenches of his throat.

He’d take quiet companionship over the ecstasy of any of those fantasies. Anakin was dear to him in many ways - all ways - and he wanted Anakin to know that his devotion didn’t have to come at a cost.

Finally, by the fourth week, they were back to normal.

Well, normal for them.

“Can’t sleep?” Obi-Wan mumbled as a familiar weight settled on the edge of his bed.

Anakin’s sigh broke through the dark space, followed by the rustle of fabric as Obi-Wan’s blankets were pulled back. Anakin settled next to him, his body warm behind Obi-Wan as he let out another profoundly pitiful sigh. With a sigh of his own Obi-Wan rolled over and looked at Anakin through the gloom. He was staring up at the ceiling, his profile highlighted by the light from outside, cold blue and white washing out the bronze tones of his skin. His brows were furrowed, a deep look of concentration on his handsome features.

Prodding their bond, Obi-Wan was let inside. Anakin was nervous. Frustrated, too.

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin didn’t answer but instead rolled on to his side and surged in close. Immediately Obi-Wan swept Anakin up in a hug, giving him space to curl in close against his chest. Anakin nuzzled his neck, pressing into his pulse point as he gripped Obi-Wan tightly, holding on to him like he did when he was still small enough to fit in Obi-Wan’s embrace. Petting his curls, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and bled comfort and tranquillity through their bond, trying to sooth Anakin and coax away the intrusive thoughts that clouded his mind.

Time passed, the night sky grew darker still, and Obi-Wan drifted toward sleep before Anakin moved again. Raising his head, Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s breath along his face and opened his eyes to see Anakin peering down at him. Their bond shuddered then, a soft flutter that felt an awful lot like love, before Anakin pressed his lips against Obi-Wan’s.

For a moment he didn’t know what to do. Excitement surged with confusion as Anakin continued to push against Obi-Wan, his mouth unmoving, the pressure uneven, his breath stilted and tense. Anakin was kissing him - he was kissing him.

Badly, of course, but that didn’t matter.

It was hard to believe, really. But Obi-Wan believed in a lot of things that were unbelievable.

Cupping Anakin’s jaw Obi-Wan parted his lips and moved them gently against Anakin’s. Immediately Anakin relaxed, a soft moan slipping past his lips as Obi-Wan deepened their embrace. He tasted of toothpaste and his lips were slightly chapped, his tongue uncoordinated and teeth sharp. The entire kiss was so mundane and yet so precious.

Obi-Wan knew then that the embarrassment and the humiliation Anakin had shown when he’d caught Obi-Wan in his ill-fated jockstrap wasn’t because of any shame he felt for seeing Obi-Wan; it was how it made him feel. Raw, hungry, desperate for the same things Obi-Wan craved from Anakin but knew that it wasn’t right - it wasn’t proper. Padawan and Master shouldn’t desire each other in the ways that they did.

And yet Anakin needed Obi-Wan in all the ways Obi-Wan needed him - filthy and profane, perverse and beautiful.

When they pulled away Anakin was breathing quickly, hot stutters of breath splashed across Obi-Wan’s spit slick lips, the sensation of it brilliant. Obi-Wan swallowed down his own excitement and stroked Anakin’s cheek with his thumb, palm pressed against his jaw, fingers curled to keep him locked in close lest he decide to bolt.

But then Anakin smiled, soft and sweet in the dark of the room, and all of Obi-Wan’s fears were swept away.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you to do that,” Obi-Wan whispered.

“You could have just told me.”

“Tell you my feelings? I’d rather go through a robust and elaborate plan of action than admit to you that I’m rather fond of you. Quite a lot, actually.”

“Will you tell me now?”

Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side and tightened his grip on Anakin’s jaw. “How about I just show you?”

Anakin laughed, sweet and soft, and caught Obi-Wan in another kiss.

#obikin #star wars fanfiction #lemon fanfiction #lemon does kinktober 2024 #sorry for those wanting more kinky smut #tomorrow I promise!#I just got into a silly mood when writing this and couldn't be stopped

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