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urhoneycombwitch · 7 months

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imagine being loved by me

🍯 honey flavour: your love has stood the test of time, thus far, but a party fit for a rockstar brings up some bitter emotions.

🐝 the bees: rockstar!Eddie x jealous!Reader

wc: 8k

cw: drugs and alcohol consumption, mentions of weight gain (eddie’s, in a positive manner), R has panic/anxiety attack, jealousy (talked about and resolved tho), softdom!Reader, softdom!Eddie, oral (E and R receiving), R has breasts + a V and referred to with she/her pronouns, P in V sex, cumming inside w/out protection

foreword: timeline is wobbly and may not align perfectly w canon bc I’m bad at math so shhhh suspend ur disbelief. based on this anon thank you v much anon <3

___

It’s the coldest January Hawkins has seen in ages. Snow banks sit high on the roadsides, air thick with snowflakes, three-AM fog brought in courtesy of the bitter wind chill.

Under the yellow floodlight of a nearby streetlamp, your boyfriend is sucking down the last of a joint while you stamp your feet against the gravel parking lot.

“C’mon, Eddie,” you whine, crossing the arms of your fleeced puffer jacket, bouncing on your heels to keep the blood flowing. “My toes are gonna get frostbite.”

“A touch dramatic,” Eddie replies, unbothered. The cherry of the joint between his lips burns orange, casting a warm glow over Eddie’s cheekbones, the twinkle of snowflakes caught in his bangs. “I told you to go in without me, princess. Warmer in there.”

“Without you? As if.” You pull the pity card, and it works, ‘cuz it always does- that boy has got to learn how to say no to you, one of these days.

Not today, though, because Eddie is tamping out the ember on the sole of his boot and crunching up the snowy path to sling an arm around your neck.

“Grub time,” he says against your hair, pressing his cold lips to the side of your forehead as you both make your way into Benny’s Burgers.

The heated air is a welcome relief, and save for a couple of old-timers at a side table, you and Eddie are the only customers in the place.

Benny greets you both from where he’s flipping patties on the kitchen grill, waving a spatula at the corner booth- “All yours, kiddos. Want the usual?”

You and Eddie call out affirmatives as you sink into opposing seats, unwrapping yourselves from all your winter gear as you go.

“God bless Benny Hammond for expanding his night hours,” you say, piling your green scarf on the tabletop. “This is a good tradition for us, y’know. Post-band practice smoking and coffee- very rock and roll.”

“I concur.” Eddie tosses his knit hat at you playfully. “You, my lady, have the most rock ‘n roll soul I ever did see.”

As Benny approaches with two mugs of steaming coffee, you muse aloud, “Not sure if the amount of sugar you’re about to dump in your coffee is very metal, per se...”

“Y’hear that, Benny?” Eddie grabs a fistful of sugar packets and shakes them indignantly. “My girl’s trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. How’s a rockstar s’posed to live in these conditions?”

“Lord knows,” Benny says, sardonic, setting the mugs down and turning back to the kitchen.

Eddie winces as his hands wrap around the heat of the mug, and you notice right away. “Your fingers splitting again? I have that salve that you used last time, but it’s back at the trailer.”

He puts his hand face-up onto the table, and you slip yours into his, the deep fingertip grooves from guitar strings rough against your soft palm.

“I’ll live. Plus, it’s kind of metal, right?” Eddie runs a calloused thumb across the back of your hand.

You squeeze back, give him a wink. “Very metal.”

Eddie’s been working himself to the bone lately. Trying to stay in school and not drop out is a feat in itself, but compounded with the band practices that have only ramped up in length recently, it’s a lot to balance.

He hasn’t complained at all, of course. It’s not really in his nature.

In the past few weeks, however, he’s been imbued with this near-manic energy, a renewed sense of purpose. In between your own fitful sleeps you often wake in the early hours of the morning to find Eddie hunched over his desk, pen flying across his notebook as he reworks an old song or outlines a new one. Not that you weren’t proud of him before, but seeing him apply this newfound passion to his music has been a huge source of joy for you.

And, if you’re being really honest, also a major turn on. I mean, the boy’s got swagger like no other, and you’re so glad he’s finally utilizing it on stage. Even if that stage is in the middle of a piece of shit dive bar. Still counts, in your book.

Benny drops off baskets of hot fries, a burger for Eddie, and a BLT for you. Methodic and familiar, you offload half your fries to Eddie’s basket as he slides his burger towards you for the first bite.

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, Eddie balls up a napkin in his fist and raps the table with his knuckles. “So, uh. Kind of have some news.”

You slot the ketchup bottle back into its metal holder and look up with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks suddenly nervous, knee knocking into the underside of the table as he bounces his leg compulsively. “You remember Paige Warner? Graduated in ‘81, brother is a baseball jock?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath- his unease is kind of setting you on edge.

“What about Paige Warner?” you prompt.

“She moved out to L.A. for a job and she’s working this scouting gig for some bigshot record,” he continues, absently pulling the thin napkin in his hands into pieces, staring vacantly at the mess. “And she wants Corroded Coffin to record and send out a demo to the label.”

As the news sinks in, your jaw drops. “Holy shit. What?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s fidgeting with the paper scraps now, still not making eye contact with you. “She wants us to start recording next week. I haven’t told anyone else, yet, I wanted to make sure you were the first-”

You interrupt him with an excited little squeal (drawing glares from the old guys across the diner) and shove up from your side of the table to throw your arms around Eddie.

“Holy shit,” you repeat, laughing as Eddie pulls you into his lap- “Eddie, that’s amazing!”

“You think so?” he asks, your enthusiasm allowing his own to creep in; He slides his hands to your denim-clad hips, his self-professed favorite stress toy (well, tied for favorite with your thighs).

“How come you were so nervous to tell me?” You ask him, gently, tucking his dark hair behind his ears so you can see his face better. “Were you thinking I’d react differently?”

He looks up at you wide-eyed, shakes his head- “No, no, I wasn’t worried about you reacting a certain way. I just… I’m just worried about what this’ll mean. You know. For us.”

“Us?” You echo, encouraging him to continue.

Eddie squeezes at your hips, presses the crown of his head against your collarbone like he’s mustering up the courage to speak. “Yeah, us. I know L.A. isn’t your dream- shit, I don’t even know if it’s mine- but you didn’t sign up to go on the road like this. You’ve got college to consider, and-”

“So I’ll take a gap year,” you interrupt, putting a hand to his cheek to make him look at you again, and when he starts to protest, you talk over him. “No, Eddie, I’m serious. I don’t know what the hell I wanna do with my life yet anyways. Following my hot rockstar boyfriend to a new town sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

He shakes his head again, and you can feel his dimples spring to life under your hand as he teases, “Gonna be my little groupie?”

“And more,” you confirm, giving him a kiss (chaste, so as not to invoke any more ire from the grumpy other customers) and sliding off his lap to return to your own seat. “I’ll be your assistant extraordinaire, if you want. Or bodyguard. Make sure none of the other groupie chicks get too close.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. “You’re the only groupie I need, sweetheart.”

Settling back into your respective seats, you both work on the last basket of fries while chatting genially about the future. Eddie mentions getting an apartment in Los Angeles, so there’s less of a commute, which branches the conversation into the logistics of a cross-country move, and then on to more important topics such as the alleged coolness of west-coast parties.

“Who’s your celebrity hall pass?” you ask, out of pure interest, dipping a fry into the well of ketchup. “Like, say you’re rubbing elbows at some famous muckety-muck’s party and someone catches your eye. Who’re you taking back to the motel for a slutty roll in the hay?”

Eddie snickers at your phrasing, then says, “I mean, preferably, my super hot girlfriend-”

You throw a fry at his head. “That’s such a cop-out answer. In this hypothetical, Joan Jett is in red leather petting up on you and you’re saying you wouldn’t take her up on a one-night stand?”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie, a real, proper one where he throws his head back. “Are you actively encouraging me to hook up with some bimbo at a random party? Without you? Unlikely scenario on all fronts, babe.”

This earns him another launched fry, and he squawks, trying to shake it out of its place caught in his hair as you reprimand him- “Joan Jett is not some bimbo, watch your mouth! And what I’m saying is, if you didn’t at least try to score us a threesome with her, I’d be pissed.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie soothes you a tad derisively, likely a ploy to avoid more flying food- “if I meet Joan Jett I will do my level best to get her in our bed. Scout’s honor.”

He holds up two fingers and wiggles them obscenely, grinning when you laugh again. “All right, Nosey McGee. Who are you taking home from the party?”

You hum, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, contemplating the options. “I guess I could be talked into a night with Kirk Hammett.”

Eddie’s turn to launch a fry. “You slut,” he chuckles, “That was a way quicker answer than mine.”

“Okay, fine. If I meet Kirk Hammett, I promise to at least make a bid for threesome. Deal?” You extend your pinkie across the table.

Eddie loops his little finger into yours. “Deal.”

____

The memory of that cozy diner evening years ago fades as you shake yourself to the present.

You aren’t two highschool kids with lofty dreams, anymore- after Eddie’s recovery from all that Upside Down bullshit in ‘86, Corroded Coffin took off. Even though Paige didn’t end up coming through with any deals, Eddie and his bandmates fought like hell to get signed- and by the end of that year, a small record label in the heart of downtown Chicago had taken the bait.

Corroded Coffin turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Arken Records; by the spring of ‘87, business was booming thanks to the help of Corroded’s debut album, The Banished Ones- their new single was a chart-topper for over 6 weeks. (Smash Hit magazine’s latest review was titled “Fresh Sound Rises from Dirt Nowhere.” You have the paper clipping saved in your ever-growing folder with “rockstar boyfriend!!!” handwritten in black ink.)

And in a few weeks, the band will set off on their first real tour, starting in Chicago and ending with a bang in an already sold-out show in Hawkins- Dustin, Steve, and the rest of the gang with VIP front-row seats, of course.

As much as you and Eddie have grown and matured in the past few years, the core of you both has remained the same. Eddie is still just as dorky, goofy, and caring as he always has been, while you’ve kept that tenacious spirit and quick wit that he fell in love with back in the early days of dating. Even now, with his popularity rising and his rockstar dreams on their way to coming true, Eddie constantly brings his focus back to you.

Pillow talks in cushy hotel beds, late night ramblings over post-show whiskeys, holding hands in the back of yet another cab- when he could be talking about the thousands of exciting things happening in his own life, Eddie is asking about you.

Did you talk to Robin last night, sweetheart? How’s ‘ol Birdie doin? What do you wanna wear to that dinner thingy tomorrow… could go naked for all I care. In fact you probably should because of feminism and all that. Did you sleep okay last night? Let me look at ya. You thinkin’ any more about those applications you got?

You’d taken a gap year to support Eddie, which you were happy to do, but with ‘87 drawing to a close, he’s been more insistent lately that you take a look at all your college options. Honestly, you’ve been enjoying the adventures that come with touring way too much to consider going back to the rigidity of school.

And plus, having the love of your life nearly bleed out in your arms in a parallel dimension has totally realigned your priorities. If folks thought you and Eddie were attached at the hip before…

He’ll likely argue you into academia, eventually. He always rolls high on persuasion. Damn him.

For now, you’ve got a party to attend.

Arken Records is playing host, on the last night of 1987- in celebration of Corroded Coffin’s success and to kick off the New Year’s festivities, they’ve rented out a house in east Chicago for the event.

Well, house isn’t the right word. More like mansion. Vaulted ceilings tall as a church’s, huge windows overlooking the Chicago river, a grand chandelier with flickering candles in nearly every room.

When you and Eddie had toured the place a few days previous, he’d made a joking complaint low in your ear about not having the time to fuck you on every surface. Your laugh had reverberated off the sweeping mahogany floorboards, mostly at the expense of Eddie’s poor publicist who’d happened to hear his comment. (Melanie had really been putting in overtime lately; you made a mental note to send her a very nice flower arrangement and vouchers for a spa trip.)

The party was in full swing by the time you and Eddie arrived, fashionably late, and he had been folded into the throng of other musicians and partygoers against his will pretty much immediately- which you’d expected. The last hour, he’s been throwing you piteous looks from his spot across the room, where he hasn’t had the chance to move an inch with the amount of people keeping the conversation going. You’ve slipped to his side a few times, refreshing his drink, letting him curl an arm around your waist as you perch on his knee, only half-focused on whatever story some producer is saying as Eddie’s hand trails up your thigh.

You’re back on the nearest wall again, sipping champagne, taking it all in. There are probably over a hundred people crammed into this banquet room, bass thumping through the floorboards, tables shoved to the outer corners making space for a makeshift dance space.

The air is hazy with smoke from various cigarettes and joints; as the night has progressed, the smell of freshly-applied cologne has been replaced with heady sweat as the dance floor calls more people to writhe and grind in groups and partners. Eddie is still stuck in the lone pod of living room chairs, surrounded by a rapt audience of people crammed in to hear him better over the blaring music.

He looks damn good tonight, in a cut-off black tee and his favorite ripped jeans, leather jacket hung on the chair behind him. Silver catches the light from every angle- on the chains at his hips, around his neck, glinting off his rings as he gestures animatedly mid-story. He’d asked you to do his eyeliner at the hotel earlier, and although it’s smudged and blurred at the edges now he’s still pulling it off. Tiny silver stars, hand-drawn with your eyeshadow brush, twinkle across his cheeks like freckles.

Eddie wanted to match with you, whined until you added a belt made of gold-plated stars to your outfit. You went simple, the gold to his silver- belt cinching your short black satin slip dress, delicate brass rings and bracelets around your fingers and bare forearms. The one piece of silver you are wearing is a chain around your neck, Eddie’s guitar pick nestled snug between your breasts.

You still resolutely refuse to wear heels, even after Eddie’s stylist cajoled you into practicing on stilettos for a disastrous media training session last month- tonight you’re in a chic pair of Mary Janes with the slightest suggestion of a heel. Compromise.

There’s a big laugh from the crowd in the corner again as Eddie knocks a hand into Gareth’s chest for emphasis, nearly knocking the younger boy off his seat. You stare unabashedly at Eddie’s forearms, biceps on full display; he’s filled out a bit since leaving home, his usually lean frame boasting a bit more weight and bulk now that he’s got consistent access to well-rounded meals.

He’s looking healthy, down right glowy. You’re thinking about that smattered trail of dark hair that slides down the crest of his stomach, now with extra padding enough to sink your teeth into. As if he knows, Eddie catches your eye from across the room and winks, cheekily.

You shiver and unconsciously press your thighs together, hiding your grin with another swallow of champagne.

The alcohol turns a bit sour going down, though, as a crimped-haired blonde girl worms her way to Eddie’s side, laughing a little too loudly at the joke he just told. When she places a manicured hand on one of his shoulders, the thin stem of your glass nearly snaps in your grip.

The thing about rockstars is they have crazy sex appeal. The thing about your rockstar is he’s only interested in you, something that has been proved many times over.

So why is tonight hitting you so hard? Why do you feel nauseous the longer Eddie lets some random woman’s hand stay on his bare skin when you know he’s going home with you, and only you?

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the overcrowded room, or the memories of Benny’s diner still lingering like a bruise in your mind. Hard to pinpoint exactly. All you know is that jealousy is gnawing like a thing raw and seeking in the pit of your stomach, and if you don’t get out of this stuffy room soon you’re gonna do something tabloid-worthy, like cry in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party.

By the grace of some god you make it across the dance floor and into a side bathroom unscathed, the pulsing sound of the party blissfully dimming as you shut the door behind you. Your mind whirls as you grip the gilded sink for stability, blinking hard at the tears beginning to form.

You love having a boyfriend who’s larger than life. You love that he’s taking up space and getting to use that charm that was nurtured on the DM throne back in Hawkins. You’re so proud of him, you really are.

You’re just starting to hate the way other people’s surface-level love of him makes you feel.

Because that’s what it is, right? Just surface-level, you reason with yourself- the level of intimacy that you and Eddie have is unmatched, something that the newly-formed masses of admirers won’t ever get to experience.

Christ, can jealousy give you hives? You grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in cold tap water, then press the damp bundle to your chest, breath stuttering.

You’ve never been the jealous type, or the overbearing type- it’s a new feeling, and maybe that’s why it feels so scary. The more you try to tamp it down, the more it rears its ugly head, making you, in turn, feel embarrassed for having such a strong reaction in the first place.

It’s a vicious cycle that’s only seeming to gain speed as you realize you haven’t yet managed a full breath since coming to your hiding spot. Your lungs are pinched and burning as you drop the soggy paper into the sink, leaning into the lip of the porcelain to steady yourself.

There’s a knock on the door, and you choke out “Just a minute”, not sure if the person on the other side can even hear you over the music when Eddie’s voice leaks through.

“Baby? That you in there?”

Against your better judgment, you open the door, and he crams in the small space, locking it again behind himself.

“There you are, I saw you leave and thought you were getting a drink or something but then you didn’t come back and- are you okay?”

He interrupts his own stream of consciousness when he notices the state you’re in. You give him a trembly smile, waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, all good. I’ll come back with you, just needed to pee.”

Eddie is not so easily thrown off the scent. He murmurs your name, sliding his hand into yours, looking at you with a wounded puppy gaze- fuck, you can’t have a breakdown. Not here, not on New Year’s in some knockoff-Playboy’s bathroom.

And certainly not in front of Eddie, who’s asking you to tell him what’s wrong, what happened, with an increasingly pleading tone that’s really, really not helping your whole Don’t Cry agenda.

Hoping your voice doesn’t break, you clear your throat and pull your hand from his grasp. “Nothing happened, okay? I just had too much to drink, feeling overly sentimental or something. I’m okay.”

You think your white lie was convincing enough when Eddie reaches back for the door handle, that maybe he’ll rejoin the party and leave you to have a good cry, but after poking his head out the doorway briefly he grabs onto your wrist, tugging you to his side and hissing “Quick!”

And then you’re both making a break for it down the mostly-empty hallway, Eddie pulling you smoothly past a wall of expensive-looking oil paintings before going through a set of double doors that lead to the outside.

It’s December in Chicago, which means a light layer of snow covers the terraced garden that Eddie is leading you through, stopping at a stone bench flanked by two scraggly bushes.

“Made it,” he huffs with exertion, dropping your hand to shrug his leather jacket off in favor of draping it around your own shoulders.

“You’re gonna be cold,” you sniffle, partly from the tears, partly from the crisp night air.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, wrapping you in a hug. You press your forehead to his chest. “Got my girl to keep me warm, though.”

You stay like this for a few moments, his arms solid around you, breaths coming easier as the familiar smell of his tangy skin and that spicy bar soap he uses fills your senses.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, gently, holding you at arm’s length to study your face.

When you shrug, unsure of where to start, he lets go of you and walks backwards, taking an unflinching seat on the snow-covered bench.

You gasp despite yourself, reaching to pull him up even as he twists out of your grasp- “Eddie, jesus, you’re literally gonna freeze your ass off. Get up!”

But he’s solid in his seat, widening his stance, boots planted on the ground- “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, so you better start talking before my jeans freeze to the concrete.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, but he’s giving you that look again, the one that cracks through the tough exterior every time, and you wrap your arms around yourself under the warmth of his jacket as you admit, “Okay, fine. It’s something. I’m just… having an overreaction.”

“To the shellfish?” he deadpans.

“No, asshole, to the blonde girl who was rubbing up on you earlier,” you snap.

Eddie blinks, genuine confusion in his voice- “There was a blonde girl… rubbing up on me?”

“She was petting your shoulder,” you continue, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the ground. “She was touching you, and I got- jealous, I guess.”

“Baby, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember her, at all,” Eddie emphasizes, spreading a palm flat against his chest in a gesture of sincerity, hair shifting across his shoulders as he cocks his head to the side.

His face is too familiar, too earnest for you to be able to say what you’re feeling without bursting into tears, so you turn on your heel, pacing a short loop in front of the bench, your breath hanging in misty clouds as you speak.

“It’s not even about her, necessarily. It’s about me and my stupid emotions. I’m not usually like this- jealous, you know? Like, I’m so proud of you, and everything you’ve accomplished, and I don’t mind sharing you, really I don’t, it’s just…”

You pause in your pacing, let your head drop back to look at the inky black sky pinpricked with stars, and your next words fall out like a confession.

“I just feel like I’m in mourning.”

You can feel his eyes on you still, as you loose the feeling that’s been caught tight in your chest. “It sounds so dramatic, when I say it like that. But I think that’s what it is. I miss when it was just the two of us, in this little bubble where no one knew our names and we just had each other.”

As the words leave your mouth, you scramble to explain, to soften the blow, hands tightening around your upper arms as you turn back to face the boy on the bench. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or, like, a total jealous bitch, because I really love you and I hope you know I’m not- are you laughing?”

Eddie tries his best to stifle the laughter into his fist when he sees how indignant you look. He rises from the bench, still a bit mirthful, pulling you back into his space. “Sorry, honey, I’m not making fun of you, I promise.”

You’re glaring at him now, and he ducks to kiss at the lines between your brow before pulling back and saying, “I think what you’re feeling is normal, and I don’t think you’re overreacting at all. Remember that asshole at the Smith Center party who kept trying to get your number right in front of me?”

“Vaguely.”

“I wanted to punch his lights out. Make a real scene, kiss you sloppy in front of some cameras.” Eddie cups your face in his hands, soothing his thumb against the wetness of your lashline. “What I’m saying is, I get jealous, too. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“But…” there’s a well of emotions that you’re drawing from, and it’s not empty yet, one nagging thought still surfacing. “But these girls that are coming on to you, they’re like… really hot. I don’t look anything like them.”

Eddie frowns. “Are you seriously trying to make a case for yourself on the grounds of not being really hot? That’s not gonna hold up in court, gorgeous. I mean… have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

He lightly taps his knuckle against your head, trying to get you to crack a smile, but you’re not ready to give in yet.

“You don’t think you’ll get bored of me?” you whisper, dropping your eyes from his consuming gaze to the wyvern inked on the inside of his arm.

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. The ink in his skin stretches as he slips a hand to the back of your neck, cold rings against your skin making you shiver. “I couldn’t ever get bored of you. Not in a million years. We've been through too much together for you to think like that, hm?”

He strokes his thumb down the column of your neck, those doey brown eyes on you again. “Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t ever be jealous, ‘cuz god knows it makes me hot under the collar when you are. But I’m sayin’ I never wanna make you feel like you need to earn me, okay?”

His thumb tracks back up to the hollow of your jaw, taps twice questioningly, and you nod, letting out a shaky, “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it feels like every other time- comfortable, grounding, familiar. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you let him lick into your mouth, gripping at his arms, flushing hot as you give it back to him in spades.

With a short groan, he pulls back, a wet click as your mouths separate- “As much as I wanna jump your bones in this wintry wonderland, I think the snow might’ve actually frozen my balls off.”

You giggle, spanning your hands around the meat of his waist, kissing up into his mouth again- “Poor baby. Want me to warm ‘em up in my mouth?”

He gives a solid smack to your ass for that, his palm smoothing over the stinging skin with condescension when you yelp- “All dish and no take, baby? Not exactly fair.”

____

Despite your weak protestations that you both should probably rejoin the party, at least until midnight, Eddie insists on taking you back to the hotel.

“This party blows, anyways,” he says over his shoulder to you as he leads you back through the halls of the house. “If I hear one more Tears for Fears track I might throw myself into the river from one of the hundred balconies in this place.”

He manages to track down Melanie with some effort, winding his way through the throng of people to where she’d been chatting with a reporter, plucking at her elbow to get her away from the crowd and into the quieter hallway with you.

“We gotta scoot, Mel,” he tells her, really hamming up the charm as the young publicist widens her eyes. “Think you can get us a ride outta here?”

“Mr. Munson, you can’t just leave,” Melanie insists, frazzled. “Someone from Rolling Stone has been waiting for the last hour to talk to you, if you could just-”

“No can do.” Eddie shakes his head, mock-apologetic. “There’s been an accident. Of a personal nature.”

You manage to choke down your laughter as Eddie turns around to show off the dark stains on the back of his jeans. They’re just wet from the snow that he sat in earlier, of course, but it looks convincing enough to make Melanie blanch and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll have a cab out front in ten for you both. Please keep a low profile until then.”

Eddie gives a sharp salute and you mouth an apology at her before she retreats to find a phone.

Okay, so maybe add a hefty bonus to that Nice Things for Melanie list of yours.

____

One of the perks of having a rockstar for a boyfriend is the sweet digs- the label shelled out for Chicago’s finest penthouse suite; an entire luxurious upper floor with a private elevator, windows overlooking the far-below city lights, and a sunken bath big enough for two.

Also included? Soundproof walls.

A perk you’re very grateful for as Eddie walks you backwards into the room, sucking a mark with stinging teeth into your neck as you moan, then giggle breathily, admonishing- “Christ, Eddie, slow down. We have all night.”

Eddie pulls back just far enough to frown down at you, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress to squeeze at your ass. His rings are cold against your bare flesh, and he grins when you shiver. “Uh huh. Sure do have all night. You gonna take advantage of that?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, cheekily, but that smirk drops from his face in record time the second you shove him to the bed. As his knees give out in favor of sitting on the mattress, you steady your hands against his broad shoulders to swing yourself into his lap.

Eddie’s looking up at you, cinnamon eyes darkened with lust- it makes your stomach flip something awful. Your skin feels alight with heat as Eddie’s hands drip like water down your sides, then to your parted thighs.

You sigh into his mouth as his fingers trace the front of your underwear, the silk sticky with your arousal.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says, equal parts admonishment and pitying as you squirm into his touch. “What’s got you this worked up, hm?”

He’s asking like he doesn’t know- like he didn’t tease you with filthy whispers and wandering hands in the back of the car the whole way here.

“Whaddya think,” you scoff, not quite ready to give in yet, enjoying the thrill of being cagey as Eddie hooks a finger to tuck your panties to the side.

He grins, simmering, enjoying the chase just as much as you. His middle finger swipes through your folds and you shudder in his arms, hands tightening into the meat of his shoulders as he brings the wetness up to your clit.

Eddie rubs quick, steady circles until you’re mewling, bucking hips grinding down to seek more friction. You can feel the wetness seeping out of your core, dampening his jeans as he licks back into your mouth, capturing the soft noises you’re making as he winds you up.

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has anything to be jealous of.” Eddie noses at the spot under your jaw, and when you let your head fall back on a hinge to grant him access, he sucks another mark into the column of your throat. “‘M all yours, sweetheart. You gonna take what’s yours?”

Truth be told, your mind went fuzzy the second Eddie got his hands on your clit, the consistent build of pleasure sparking between your legs rather distracting. You’d almost forgotten how the night had started, but you let the jealousy and possessiveness creep back in as you push at Eddie’s chest.

He goes down easily, toeing his boots off and lying flat on the mattress; big hands settle on your waist as you rest your weight into him, warm cunt pressing against the bulge of his clothed cock.

At a light drag of your nails against his bare chest and across his nipple, Eddie groans low, squeezing your hips and rucking into you.

“You’re all mine, Eddie, right?”

His pupils nearly eclipsing their soft brown irises, Eddie stares up at you like you hang the moon and stars every night just for him. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘M all yours. Lemme show you.”

Eddie pulls at the backs of your legs, helping you shuffle up his body until your knees are dipping into the mattress at either side of his head. Your core hovers just above Eddie’s mouth- you can feel his breath speed up on the inside of your thigh at this new position.

“Oh, fuck, Eddie- jesus… christ,” the last word ending in a moan as Eddie’s tongue licks a wet stripe through your folds.

He pulls you closer with an arm over each thigh until you’re sitting on his face, his nose hitting your clit with each tilt of his head. You’ve got no idea how he’s able to breathe down there but you’re hardly able to hold onto that thought when his tongue has started plunging in and out of you.

Automatically, your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself- one hand goes to the headboard and the other ends up in his hair, gripping the roots hard. Eddie groans, sending vibrations that make your cunt clench around his lithe tongue.

“Like the taste of my pussy, baby?” you coo down at him, regaining some of your breath to give him attitude.

Reaching a hand back to palm at his cock, you say “No one else can have you like this, hm?”

Eddie catches your eyes as he mouths wetly at your clit, then sucks it into his mouth. Your thighs shake around his ears, your orgasm unfurling in clenching ripples.

“Oh, yeah, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming- just like that, fuck fuck fuck…”

He doesn’t stop suckling at you until you’re gushing around his mouth, then pulling him off by his hair to make him stop.

Eddie heaves in a breath, kissing at the inside of your thigh, his lips and chin shiny with your release. “God, baby. Such pretty noises for me.”

“Mhm.” You shuffle down until your hips are aligned over his, then lean in to lick his mouth clean. “Gonna make some pretty ones for me, now?”

After helping pull his shirt off, Eddie whines softly as you press kisses down his bare chest, and by the time your mouth is pressing over that dark trail of hair that leads into his denim, Eddie’s begging.

“Please, angel, please- need your mouth. Do anything for it, baby, please…”

You rub your cheek against his bulge before pulling back to pop the button on his jeans, then help him shift them down and off his body. Once his black briefs join the growing pile of floor clothes, Eddie’s completely bare and at your mercy.

He gets on his elbows to watch as you mouth at the inside of his thigh, dark hair splayed around his shoulders, chest heaving when you ignore his leaking cock in favor of grazing your teeth against a sensitive spot. “Fuckin’- christ, sweetheart. Come on. Please?”

“Sound pretty when you beg,” you say, mildly, kissing across his heavy sack, hiding a smile when the contact makes him jolt. “Gonna do it some more?”

You keep eye contact as you take one of his balls into your mouth, watching his own eyes roll back so far you can see the whites of them as you use your tongue on him.

“-yeah, baby, yeah- just like that- fucking, fuck, you’re killin’ me…”

Eddie sounds wrecked already, and a hot flush of pride courses through your body at the knowledge that he could come from just this and it’d be you getting him there.

You mouth over to the other side of his sack, rolling the skin wiry with coarse hair against your tongue as Eddie moans above you. When your hand wraps around the base of his cock, starting to move in tandem with the pull of your mouth, Eddie makes a noise like he’s been punched.

A line of drool breaks and hits wet against your chin as you straighten up, settling yourself into the V of his legs and using his thighs as handholds while you begin to kiss up the line of his leaking cock.

He’s got a gorgeous dick, truly. Thick and long, curving slightly to the right, a pretty blue vein snaking up the underside that you lathe your tongue against, seeking out the salty brine at the ruddy head.

Eddie moans, brokenly, white-knuckled hands twisting into the sheets. When your mouth closes around the tip, his elbows give out, leaving him flat against the mattress as you work his length further in.

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck, baby. Please don’t stop. Please. Y’feel so good…”

You hum around the stretch of him in your mouth, relaxing your throat to draw him in a bit more. The spiky jealousy from earlier really is your biggest motivator here; covetous, you’re thinking back to all those first times with Eddie- trembling hands under your bedsheets back in Hawkins, stilted voices and giggles to cover up the awkwardness of trying to learn the other person’s body.

No one will ever know him like you do. No one will ever have all that shared history, those fumbling nights that slowly turned to lovesick days; memories of him on his knees for you, learning all the little things that make you tick, memorizing the song of your body.

The boy is all yours.

Your throat automatically constricts at the intrusion of Eddie’s cock slipping past your soft palate- his hips cant up, which you can hardly fault him for, patient as he’s been with your retrospective and teasing.

Before he can apologize you’re sitting up, wiping at the excess drool with the back of your hand and shucking your dress over your head, letting it and your belt fall to the floor with a soft clunk.

Eddie reaches for you again as you slide your panties down and off, and you let him help you up his body, your knees coming to rest alongside the lightly raised scar tissue at his sides. You stroke a hand down his chest, giving in to a moment of softness before seating yourself fully in Eddie’s lap.

His hands snap to your hips, a near-brutal squeeze as you sink onto his cock. The stretch is always an adjustment, but you’re so wet right now that he slides in easily, a breathy moan from the both of you as the walls of your cunt fit snug around his sizeable length.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” The crown of Eddie’s head is pressed back into the bed, veins in his taut neck on full display as your hips start to swivel, blunt nails scraping into the soft flesh of your waist. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck me.”

With your knees planted on either side of his body, you begin to bounce in steady, rhythmic earnest, going for gold, the desire to bring your boy to the babbling edge overtaking every other thought.

“Feel so good, Eds, so big… can barely fit…” There’s a wet squelch accompanying each bounce now, slick dripping down to the base of his cock, your vice of a cunt flexing with every movement.

“S’all you, baby,” Eddie rasps out, toes curling in the efforts to keep his orgasm at bay for awhile longer. “Got a perfect pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

He’s almost in delirium territory, with you chasing after that bright unwinding pleasure at both of your cores; your hips stutter, hands flat on Eddie’s chest to center yourself, a hunger that you can’t seem to satiate gnawing at the edges.

Eddie notices immediately, feels the falter in your motion and brings his hands to your forearms, rubbing a path up them soothingly- “What’s wrong, angel, hm?”

You’re not sure how to put it into words, wishing (not for the first time) that you could just rest your forehead against his and transmit all the complexities of your emotions through touch alone.

Instead, you sigh out the name that you use when you’re done with taking, a name that lights Eddie up from head to toe as you say it- “Teddy.”

In one swift movement, Eddie slips an arm behind your back and flips you to the mattress, his hair a curtain around both your faces as he leans in to whisper against your mouth- “Teddy’s got you. Arms around me.”

You’re quick to obey, looping your arms around Eddie’s wide shoulders. He slides one hand up the back of your leg, pushing a knee up until it’s at your chest, mouth dropping open briefly when the new angle allows the head of his cock to kiss against that gummy upper wall of your cunt.

“Bored of you,” he huffs, recalling your words from earlier with disdain. “You’re talkin’ to the guy who memorized the first six chapters of The Hobbit just to recite for your bedtime.”

A quick thrust of his pelvis into yours has your stomach clenching in anticipation, brows on a tilt and knitting together as Eddie grins down at you. “Got a wicked attention span, baby. Lemme show you.”

He starts slow, agonizingly so, every inch of his thick cock dragging in and out, wetness pooling down your ass and probably the sheets, too; errant thoughts of housekeeping are rapidly erased as Eddie begins snapping his hips into yours in faster tempo.

He’s working to find that spot, the one that turns your brain to mush and is guaranteed to cause full-body muscle fatigue from the force of your orgasm. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pushing into Eddie’s chest, one arm still supporting your lower back as he laughs hoarsely, half-amazement and half-pride.

“That’s the spot, huh, sweetheart? Atta girl. M’all yours. Take it. Good girl…”

With each thrust, the wiry patch of hair dusted across Eddie’s pubic bone grinds slick and filthy against your clit. You’re so close to the edge now, a wave of pleasure cresting as you look up at Eddie.

There are two thin tracks of black makeup trailing down his face from where tears have made a mess of his eyeliner; rosy spots of flushed color in his cheeks, eyes like twin pools of chocolate, locked with yours as he rocks into you.

He’s learned the song of your body so well, knows every chord to strike- his hand leaves your leg to grasp at your breast, calloused palm against pebbled nipple sending more shockwaves through your body, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you sing for him.

“All yours,” you gasp out, and it feels like victory when his hips stutter and the cresting wave crashes around you both at the same time.

The pleasure roils through your gut, clit throbbing and cunt spasming around Eddie’s cock as he spills into you.

A wrecked, broken string of moans leaves you as you ride out the highs together. Eddie presses his forehead to your collarbone as he chants your name, twitching out the last of his spend, warmth blooming inside.

The quiet that follows is filled with shaking breaths, soft kisses, murmurs of “good job, sweetheart” as you both float back down to earth.

Eddie stays in you for longer than usual, his draped weight a grounding comfort as you trail gentle fingertips up and down his skin, lovingly against the scars that interrupt the smooth flesh of his back. Through the closed windows, you can hear the distant sounds of car horns and the deep boom of fireworks.

Sometime in the last foggy hour of lovemaking, 1987 has given way to a new year.

Eddie pulls his heavy head up from your chest to press kisses to your collarbone. “Happy new year, lover.”

You tuck his hair behind his ears, hands squishing lightly at his cheeks to bring his face close enough for a kiss. “Happy new year to you. Hell of a way to kick it off.”

Eventually, Eddie extricates himself from the intoxicating heat of your body (with minimal whining) and brings a warm washcloth to tenderly wipe away the mess between your thighs. Once you’re both cleaned up, he stretches out against the sheets, pulling the covers up as you hook a leg around his waist and snuggle in.

“So I was thinking,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I wanna take a trip back to Hawkins. Before the tour.”

Your hand stills in its rhythmic circles against Eddie’s chest; heart in your throat, you tilt your chin up so you can gauge Eddie’s reaction. “...yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie picks up your hand on his chest, twining his fingers with your as his other hand settles on your bare hip beneath the sheets. “Could visit Wayne for a few days, fool around in that twin bed like we’re teens again.”

He grins at your giggle, taps playfully at your hip- “Gonna parade you around all our old haunts. You’ve gotten even hotter since we left, babe. Gotta really rub it in the faces of those Hawkins Tigers burnouts whose best dates are their own left hands.”

You snort, and Eddie looks pleased again, but then sobers a bit before saying- “I mean, I’ve got my piece of home with me. But I think it could be good, to visit. Just the two of us.”

You’re quiet for a moment, a longing for home that you’ve managed to ignore these past few years resurfacing. “Can we get high and go to that diner? I mean, Nell’s isn’t as good as Benny’s was, but I’ve been craving a Hawkins milkshake.”

“Christ.” Eddie hides his smile in the crook of your neck, dimples springing to life. “You could ask for the Mona Lisa and I’d find a way to get it to you. Fries and a milkshake, that all I need to keep my girl happy?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a contented noise as Eddie settles against your chest again. “That’s all I need.”

___

thank u thank u for reading if you made it this far have a little kiss from me to you <3 xx lulu

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie

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rubiehart · 6 months

Note

Jj taking care of drunk reader at party or something lol

he’d kept half an eye on you all night, partly for your safety, knowing you have a knack for getting hammered, and partly to watch the way your body swayed to the music, almost in slow motion to jj in the soft orange glow of the bonfire.

he engages in lazy conversation with a group of people, pogues and tourons mixed but he wasn’t too focused on what the conversation was about, watching as you stumbled over to the keg for the umpteenth time that night, licking over his lips as he watched you struggle, concealing his smirk.

leaving the group and making his way over to you, combat boots crunching the sand underneath him as he neared, hearing you mumble to yourself as you fiddled with the tap, chuckling to himself and you turned around with furrowed brows, ready to argue with whatever asshole was laughing at you, liquid courage coursing through your veins.

spinning on your heel with eyes squinted angrily, losing the anger automatically when you see the face of your blonde haired friend, dropping your red solo cup to the sand and practically jumping into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you chirp. “hi jj.”

he pulls you away after a few seconds, keeping his on your upper arms with a soft smile on his face. “someone’s a little drunk, huh?” and you roll your eyes, smiling mischievously and shaking your head, bending down quickly to retrieve your solo cup from the ground, spinning on your heel to attempt to refill your cup again.

before you can even pick up the hose, the cup was plucked from your grip by a tanned arm, holding it high above his head so you couldn’t reach. “hey!” you groan in frustration, spinning back around to look at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“give it back, i need that.” and he just shakes his head, still smiling. “think you’ve had enough of the good shit, yeah?” and you just shake your head, eyeing him up and down as he chuckles.

pouncing on you, lifting you up over his shoulder as you flop down against his muscular back, thumping your fists weakly against his shoulder blades in protest. “put me down! being such a party pooper jayj.”

and he shakes his head, adjusting you on his shoulder, harsh ringed grip on your thigh as he does so, boots crunching as he ventures up the sandy bank back towards where the twinkie was parked, lowering you into the passenger seat and fastening your seatbelt for you as you slump against the seat with a groan.

he rounds the bonnet, sticking his tongue out at you as he slumps down into the driver’s seat, turning the key and stepping on the gas. “loser.” you mumble, arms still crossed over your chest, gaze fixed on where the headlights light up the quiet street.

he grins and raises his eyebrows, reaching for the radio volume and twisting the knob to lower it down. “what was that sunshine?” and you sigh. “nothin’.” he nods his head with a chuckle. “thought so.”

#jj maybank blurbs #anon ꨄ︎*#jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #outer banks #jj maybank blurb #jj x reader #jj maybank headcanon #jj maybank obx #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank fluff

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cherienymphe · 1 year

Text

Basic Training XIII (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

Peter was at work.

It had been some weeks since the inevitable had happened, waking up to find Peter putting on his uniform. You had expected it at some point, but definitely not so soon. Or, at least, soon for you. It had been hard to hide the disappointment on your features when the dark-haired man had glanced at you, his own face falling some as he neared you.

“Hey,” he’d softly said, cupping your face as he leaned over the bed. “It’ll be okay.”

You hadn’t responded, only blinking, and Peter continued.

“I’ll only be gone a few hours, just to get both of us back into the swing of things. I’ll be back in no time,” he’d assured you.

He’d been right, of course. He had only been gone for a few hours that day, but what felt like no time to him felt like an entire day to you. You’d gone through every task like it was indeed nothing more than a chore, merely trying to find some solace in your cleaning and cooking and gardening, trying to find some way to keep your mind off of Peter’s absence.

In truth, all you’d accomplished was counting down the minutes until he returned.

You’d been in the middle of helping Pepper with lunch when familiar hands had settled on your waist. It had startled you, at first, before the familiarity of them set in, prompting you to stop what you were doing. You hadn’t hesitated to turn and wrap your arms around him, feeling so much more at ease with him home.

“What’ya making?” he’d asked after briefly acknowledging the other woman in the room when she’d done the same.

“Thor wanted subs,” you’d told him. “Pepper’s toasting the bread.”

He’d smiled at that, and it was something you did often, now. Unable to hide your relief at having Peter home, telling him about your day, and listening when he did the same. The town struck you as so small, from what you remembered anyway, but you were always shocked by just how much crime and mess Peter and the rest of the station had to deal with.

The day he’d come home with a bandage on his arm was burned into your memory.

“It’s nothing,” he’d kept reassuring you. “Just some asshole trying to rob a bank with bad aim.”

You hadn’t laughed at the joke as Peter had, and he’d quickly swallowed his chuckles down. He’d reached out to touch your face in the hallway, but you’d been intently focused on the light blood that had bled through a bit. He’d been right, of course. It was nothing, a flesh wound, a graze, but it hadn’t stopped you from worrying all the same.

The heaviness in your chest had shocked you. After all, you liked to think that Peter meant nothing to you, but that wasn’t entirely true. You’d hesitantly reached up to graze his arm just below the white gauze, eyes burning. Peter could’ve been seriously hurt, he could’ve died, and that had worried you for more reasons than one.

“Peter,” you’d softly started once in the privacy of your room moments later. “What would happen to me…if something happened to you…?”

Surprisingly, it was a thought that had never occurred to you before. These men were mortal and human just like anyone else, and considering their professions, the possibility of any of them dying should’ve entered your mind at least once or twice. However, as you’d stared at his arm, you realized that this was the first time you’d truly given it some thought.

You’d heard him sigh.

“Don’t think about that,” he’d tried to coax you away from the thought, making you look at him.

“…but you’re a cop…and clearly this town isn’t as boring and safe as I’d initially thought.”

You had multiple reasons to come to that conclusion.

“What if something does happen to you?” you’d quietly asked him.

Peter had stared at you for a while before slowly leaning in and brushing his lips against yours.

“That won’t happen, pretty girl,” he’d slowly assured you, continuing before you could say anything. “…but if that ever were to happen…you’d just still be a functioning part of the household with no title to your name.”

You had frowned at that. So, you’d still be doing as you did but just without Peter around. The thought had terrified you for one reason above all else, and his name was Steve. You didn’t even want to imagine the kind of trouble you’d get into without Peter around to protect you, and you had thrown your arms around him before you knew it.

He’d rubbed your back, making soothing sounds, but you’d shaken your head, burying your face into his shoulder.

“I think I’d rather just die.”

You had said it so quietly you were sure Peter didn’t even hear you, but if the way he’d paused was anything to go by, he’d heard you clearly.

You couldn’t survive in this place without Peter, and he had to know that. You felt like you were barely hanging on when he was around, and God knows that thread only became thinner when he went to work. If you had to face the reality of never seeing Peter ever again, you didn’t doubt that you’d lose all reason under Steve’s wrath and stern discipline.

“Don’t say that,” he’d whispered. “Besides, it’s not going to happen.”

You had to believe that because the alternative wasn’t feasible to you.

“You don’t know that,” you’d murmured back, fingers digging into his side and the uninjured arm.

“You wouldn’t want to live without me…? Even if you had something to remember me by?”

You’d stiffened at that, understanding dawning on you as to what he was hinting at.

Peter didn’t bring up the possibility of kids often. He probably didn’t want to scare you, but you knew what was expected of you…you knew what he wanted. On the off chance that Sharon or Laura brought their sons around or Steve or Margaret stepped out with Sarah, you were no fool. You saw the smile that lit up Peter’s boyish features. You saw the longing in his deep brown eyes, the desire to have children of his own someday…with you.

Of all the men here, if any of them deserve to have a kid, you supposed that it was Peter.

However, you wondered just how true that was. The man had kidnapped you, after all, and clearly had no qualms against his brothers and whatever methods they chose to punish their wives with. Peter wasn’t a good guy, no matter how good he made you feel these days, and so maybe he didn’t deserve any children.

…but you yourself had wanted kids someday…but not like this.

The thought of subjecting your future sons to the same fate as their father or your future daughters to the same fate as you made your eyes water. It seemed like such a cruel thing to do, but giving Peter children was inevitable, you supposed. It’s not like you had any means to protect yourself against the possibility, and since Peter had first had sex with you, he had never not come inside of you.

It was honestly only a matter of time.

“I…don’t know,” you’d honestly answered his question.

Without Peter, any child you had would be far better off with any of the other wives than with you. You doubted that you’d even be able to look after yourself, let alone a whole other person who’d completely depend on you. On the other hand, though, you didn’t know if you could trust your hypothetical child’s wellbeing with anyone but you. Especially with Steve around.

Someone had to make sure they didn’t grow up completely messed up by all of this.

…but then again…maybe you weren’t right to be that someone either.

After all, Peter had kidnapped and raped you, and you greeted him when he came home from work each evening. You smiled as you told him about your day. You clung to him in the dead of night and welcomed his kisses. Even then, as you held him and fretted over his safety and the danger you had never considered he’d be in before…

You yourself were already so messed up by all of this, so how could you keep the same from happening to anyone else?

“You’re doing so good, pretty girl.”

Peter’s soft encouragement went straight to the pit of your stomach, adding to the heat that was already there. The water in the bathtub jostled slightly, small ripples in the water from your movements. Peter’s hands were pressed firmly into your waist, and you could feel his gaze on you.

“So good,” he whispered, leaning up and brushing his lips against yours.

You felt so…full, much fuller than you did when Peter was covering your frame with his own, pressing you into the mattress and pushing his cock into you with a pace that had your breath shortening. Now, you were the one on top of him, lifting and lowering yourself, sliding up and down on his cock with every movement.

A simple bath had turned into something more when Peter’s hand dipped between your legs, a noise of mischief escaping his lips as you’d tried to shy away. He’d been smooth in sliding you back onto him, a hand resting on your back before he’d expressed his desire to see your face.

Peter pressed kisses along the expanse of your throat, tasting you with them and his tongue. Your bare chest brushed against his own with every rise and fall of your hips, your hands pressed into his shoulders to steady yourself. Sex wasn’t new to you, but you’d always thought of it as a chore more often than not. You’d thought it was just one of those things that wasn’t for you.

Peter’s presence proved that the fault lay with bad boyfriends.

Granted, it’s not like Peter gave you the choice to refuse sex, therefore forcing you to engage in something you’d always thought of as meh. He didn’t even allow you to disassociate as you had in the past, forcing you to be present and engaging and taking pleasure that you weren’t all that familiar with. You both hated and loved it.

Peter moaned into your mouth as he kissed you, a wet hand massaging into your back, and you kissed him back, hot and wanton and just as hungry for your climax as he was his. Every time you sank down onto him, your walls stretched, and with Peter’s hand on your hip, rolling it over his, you had to pull away and gasp.

The first time you came around him, you were in the tub, but you were in the bed when you stiffened around him for the second time. Peter talked you through it, whispering sweet nothings to you as explosions burst behind your eyes, one hand twisted with yours and the other tracing patterns into your thigh.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured into your neck, his chest pressed to your back as you lay beneath him. “We both have to wake up pretty early, though.”

He sounded sad as he said that, pulling away from you. You were still catching your breath when you turned to face him, eyes fluttering closed as he reached out to brush his fingers over your face. You were tired, but you still found the strength to stare back at him. Peter was pretty, you’d noted before, but it was something you hadn’t wanted to linger on then.

Your eyes drooped a bit as his hand danced towards yours, taking it and playing with your fingers. It was moments like this that made it so easy to pretend. It was dark outside, and in the room, the only light coming from the glow of the moon outside. The rest of the house was quiet, and the only sounds in the room were that of your labored breathing.

It was moments like this that made it easy to pretend as if Peter hadn’t kidnapped you, as if his brothers hadn’t killed your friends. It was easy to pretend like you were the only ones in this whole house, just basking in each other’s presence and the afterglow of taking pleasure in each other’s bodies under the cover of darkness.

Like a normal man with a normal job simply coming home from work and making love to his normal wife.

Peter’s fingers touched your ring, and you were brought back to reality.

“Not every couple has done it…but some of the others have…had ceremonies…”

Your brows rose at that, and Peter’s gaze remained on the thorned ring around your finger.

“I would really like it if we had one too,” he murmured. “I… I want to declare my love and vows to you in front of the whole family…and have you do the same to me.”

You didn’t know how to feel about that, and so you merely frowned. Your eyes met Peter’s when he finally glanced up, and his tongue darted between his lips.

“…because I do, you know.”

When you didn’t respond, your confusion must’ve been evident to him because he continued.

“I do love you.”

That word made you feel faint, and you quickly sat up. Peter followed, a hand on the back of your neck and the other still playing with your hand.

“I do,” he reiterated, making it hard to swallow. “You’re so open about what’s on your mind, and you’re never afraid to ask me anything you want.”

You hesitantly looked at him, pulling your gaze away from the sheets.

“…and now that you’ve finally settled here, I can see how caring you are. I see how worried you get when you think Jane is straining herself or when you think Margaret might be too tired on her feet. I saw it when you were more worried about your mom than…”

He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish it. Maybe it was silly at the time to worry more about your free mom than your captive self, but you couldn’t help it.

“I knew I chose right, but it’s something entirely different to have it confirmed every single day,” Peter whispered, taking his hand and resting it under your chin. “…and you may not love me yet, but that’s okay because I know you will…just like I love you.”

Peter’s words were so…heavy. You found it hard to believe that he loved you, but then again, Peter had nothing but all the time in the world to observe you and watch you and take note of every flaw and quirk. Who were you to tell him what he felt? No man had ever told you that before, and there were layers to the fact that the first one who did was the same who’d stolen you away.

Something stirred in your chest at that.

“I want to make every promise in the world to you, and I want to do it in front of our family.”

Our family.

That was so strange to hear, but wasn’t it the truth? You had long accepted that you were never leaving, and despite what you personally wanted, this was your family, now…weren’t they?

“You don’t have to give me an answer, now,” Peter assured you, laying back down, fingers grazing over your lower back. “…but you know what I want.”

Yes, but what did you want?

You cared about Peter more than you wanted to admit. The thought of losing him in any way made your chest ache, but that wasn’t love. You knew what it really was, but your heart couldn’t decipher real feelings from ones brought on by circumstances and a means to cope. Your heart only knew that Peter was now in it, and his fingers on your skin and his devotional words made you feel things that you were ashamed of.

He pulled you back down to lie with him, resting your head on his arm as you clung to it. You looked up at him as sleep fought to claim him, his own lashes fluttering as he stifled a yawn. You were going to be with Peter forever, that was indubitable, and declaring that in front of the whole household wasn’t going to make it any more true than it already was.

You tilted your head back down, pressing your face into the arm of the man who loved you.

You had just got done taking the dish out of the oven when a familiar voice outside drew your attention. Peter’s laugh was loud, and you hurried to set the heavy pie and get your gloves off. He had been gone when you woke up, and Sam had told you that he’d had to go in early with Steve. You thought that meant he’d be home earlier, but no. This was one of those rare days where he was gone almost the whole day, and you’d been so anxious.

“Slow down, Y/N,” Christine called as you dashed out of the kitchen.

No other effort was made to stop you, and you practically tripped over your feet as you hurried down the hall. If Peter was having some important conversation with Steve and Tony, he put it on the back burner in favor of catching you as you flew into his arms.

“Woah, hey,” he chuckled, arm tight around you as he held you to him.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” you murmured. “You were gone when I woke up.”

You pulled away just a tad, hand twisting into Peter’s dark uniform as he gave you an apologetic smile.

“I know,” he sadly said. “This one screwed up some paperwork with a guy we arrested, and we had to go in pretty early.”

He jerked his head towards Steve as he said this, and you’d forgotten about the blonde’s presence entirely. Tony too. You barely spared them both a glance, only acknowledging them as evenly and respectfully as possible without putting in too much effort. You were already turning back to Peter when they returned the acknowledgement.

“Jane told me your favorite food,” you told him, pulling and forcing him to come with you.

He threw Steve and Tony a backwards glance as he waved them off, signaling that they’d continue whatever they were talking about later.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I made a cherry pie,” your tone was hopeful, nervous, and Peter’s gaze lit up.

“Really…?” he wondered as he stopped, more excited, now. “All by yourself?”

You nodded.

“It hasn’t been tasted yet, so I hope you like it,” you worriedly said.

The other man softly chuckled, and you briefly glanced up as Natasha walked by.

“I bet it’s perfect,” Peter assured you, kissing your cheek. “…and even if it isn’t, I’ll love it anyway. You made it, after all.”

You weren’t able to linger on his words like you wanted to, worriedly gazing at the redhead’s back.

You’d been worried for her ever since that day she’d told you she thought she was pregnant. She hadn’t brought it up since, and neither had you, too afraid of being overheard by the wrong person. You didn’t know if she was or wasn’t, and if she was, and Bucky knew, the whole house would definitely know by now. Thor had made a whole day of it when he found out Jane was pregnant, and considering what Natasha had told you about all of their efforts, you doubted that Bucky would be any different.

However, there was no word of it, and while Natasha didn’t seem as mopey as she had been, she was still…off. Quieter. She smiled more, now, especially at Bucky, and you’d found yourself wondering if she’d made peace with what he did to your friends so quickly. It seemed…unlikely but considering that she was in the same boat as you, with no chances of leaving, it’s possible she wanted to make peace with it for her own sake.

You wouldn’t fault her if she did.

None of this was easy, and especially so considering her own history with Bucky, so you felt no anger or disgust when their intertwined hands rested on the table between them. You didn’t blame her for the smiles she threw his way, or the soft kisses on her cheek that she didn’t turn away from. After all, you yourself had cut the first piece of pie for Peter, anxious to see how the brunette liked it.

“It’s great,” he hummed.

You’d been skeptical, still unsure of your own cooking skills, but Peter had assured you that he wasn’t placating you. He’d even fed you a piece, and you’d been shocked at just how good it really was. You and Peter had mostly been in your own world throughout dinner. After all, you hadn’t seen him all day, something that only strengthened your animosity towards Steve, and you felt like you had so much to tell him.

So, when dinner was over—and Natasha and Laura were cleaning up—you were disappointed as Peter stood too. The other men were heading towards the den to talk about work and the household as they did every evening after dinner. Peter’s hand was on your lower back as he walked you towards the stairs, and you knew your hesitation was evident.

“You’ve been gone all day,” you whispered, almost afraid to voice your desire to have him come upstairs with you. “…and who knows how long that will take. I don’t want to be asleep when you finally come up to bed.”

Peter tilted his head at you, studying you in a way you couldn’t place. His other hand reached for yours, fingers threading through your own, and you watched his tongue dart between his lips. There was a furrow between his brows, like he was thinking deeply about something before he glanced over his shoulder.

“Do you want to sit with me?”

You hadn’t expected that.

You didn’t quite catch what he meant at first, and then it was your turn to frown. You blinked at him, confusion and apprehension filling you.

“I can…?”

You couldn’t swallow down the small relief you were starting to feel. It would be different—unfamiliar—but at least you’d be with Peter instead of alone in your bedroom.

“Am I allowed to?” you wondered. “I didn’t think any of us could.”

Peter gave you an encouraging smile.

“It’s not common,” he honestly answered, pulling you along. “…but sometimes little Sarah can only be quieted by Steve so Margaret will bring her, or now, with Jane being pregnant and hormonal, she gets her way if she wants to rest in Thor’s lap.”

He chuckled at that.

You’d cleaned the den a few times. It was a large room with no windows, only brightened by the low light of lamps. The furniture was all dark wood and leather, and it had a bar that you’d never been tempted to use. You’d always been able to imagine the men sitting around and discussing police paperwork and what household business needed to take priority over others.

As Peter led you into the room, you realized you’d be witnessing it tonight.

“Peter…”

Steve’s stern drawl of his name reached your ears, half warning, half question.

“She’ll be good,” Peter lightly promised.

There were just enough seats for the men, and you realized why Peter had mentioned Jane sitting in Thor’s lap when she got in one of her moods. You didn’t hesitate to sit by Peter’s feet, curling your legs up underneath you as he took your hand. Truthfully, you didn’t care what they had to discuss, even if it was interesting and consisted of the mention of some woman who’d broken into a house.

You just cared about being next to Peter.

As you’d guessed, you were tired, and you were right to worry that you would’ve been asleep by the time Peter joined you. At some point during the meeting, your head drooped, and you did the right thing in leaning it against the side of Peter’s leg, your cheek resting on his thigh. Your hands curled around his leg, holding onto him as you fought sleep. Your lashes fluttered, and it was easier said than done…

Especially when you felt Peter’s hand on your head.

His fingers gently pressing into your scalp was soothing, and you slowly blinked, fighting fatigue. You were pretty sure Thor was talking, now. Or was it Stephen? Either way, it didn’t help, and you shifted, tightening your arms around Peter’s leg. The feel of his hand in your hair was going to put you fast asleep…if it weren’t for the feel of an oppressing gaze.

When you glanced over, your eyes met familiar blue ones, Steve hardly paying attention to a thing Stephen was saying. His cold blue irises were focused entirely on you. For a moment, you worried that you did something wrong, and you clung to Peter even tighter, and the brunette made an inquiring humming noise. You only shook your head in response, looking away from the blond and desperately wondering why he seemed to hate you so.

It was hours later when sleep evaded you. It was strange. You’d been so exhausted downstairs that you’d passed out almost immediately when you crawled into bed. However, your body had betrayed you in the middle of the night, waking and refusing to go back. Peter’s arm was comforting around your waist when you stirred, and you’d simply laid there for a few moments, basking in the feel and sound of him before making your way to the window.

The moon was only half full, and you used the glow of it to look down at your ring.

You thought about what Peter had said, about a ceremony, and you touched the thorned metal. You had never given marriage a lot of thought before, but you had never imagined it would be in the backyard of a large and beautiful country house, decorations and everything homemade.

You had also never imagined it would be to the man who’d kidnapped you either, but…

You sighed, shifting the ring a tad and blinking. It was true that your friends would want you to be happy, and that your mom, wherever she hoped you were, hoped you were okay. In a lot of ways, you weren’t, but in some ways…you were. No one in your life would’ve wanted this for you, that was sure, but you were in a bad situation, you were never getting out of this bad situation, and so why not make some good of it?

You glanced up, eyes running over the yard briefly, and you were about to look back down at your ring…

…when you saw it.

Movement in the yard made you blink, and it was so late, you almost wrote it off as some animal. You were out in the rural Midwest, hidden away amongst the trees, and so the odd animal here and there wasn’t uncommon. Jane had left a towel on the clothesline one night and something had dragged it off by the next morning.

However, looking closer, the figure was too large to be some animal.

They were moving across the yard, slowly and carefully, as if they were trying to go undetected. There was a sinking feeling deep in your gut, and you took a step closer to the window. You could feel yourself frowning, worry coursing through you as you watched some stranger figure move about. You were just about to call for Peter when the glow of the moon glinted off of hair.

Beautiful red hair.

Your lips parted at the sight of Natasha in the yard. It was too late for anyone to be outside, let alone her, and when she looked over her shoulder, her green eyes lifted right towards your window. You could tell that she saw you, her face falling just a tad, and you both blinked at each other. It didn’t quite click at first, unable to understand why Natasha was outside so late, but then your eyes fell to her clothes, clothes that she wouldn’t be caught dead in in the house.

Bucky’s clothes.

You felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had washed over you, and you placed your hand on the window, your gaze almost pleading. You silently begged her to come back, to turn around before she was caught. You shook your head, disbelief and horror and confusion tearing through you. You shook your head at her again, glancing at your door, trying to silently convey that you’d help her come back inside and lie if need be.

Anything to keep her from being thrown in that basement again.

However, Natasha silently refused, her only response being to step away slowly and continue going. You sharply exhaled, feeling frozen, and you didn’t know what to do. She didn’t look back again as she ran across the yard, and you pressed your hand to your stomach just as a familiar voice reached your ears.

“What are you doing up?”

Peter’s voice was groggy, sleep coating his tone, and you flinched. Blinking, you looked over your shoulder, heart in the pit of your gut as he rubbed his eyes. You stared at Peter with parted lips, eyes burning with tears, but you didn’t know why. You were confused. You were scared, but why did you want to cry?

Was it because you had to tell Peter that Natasha had managed to sneak out somehow, making a break for it? That her entire demeanor this past month had been a farce, a way to be sure Bucky wouldn’t be suspicious? That the discovery of what he did to her friends had indeed been too much for her and had pushed her over the edge to bring all of them down?

Were you crying because you had to tell Peter Natasha had escaped and therefore get her into more trouble than she probably ever had been in before?

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

Peter had seen your face, now, sitting up with concern in his eyes, and you glanced over your shoulder. You could just barely make out Natasha on the other side of the pond, so close to the trees, and you exhaled.

Or were you crying because if Natasha succeeded, your time with Peter would be numbered? Peter was the reason you were here, the sole reason you were in this place, and yet, the thought of him behind bars and forever separated from you was too much to wrap your head around. The man was your sole comfort. Peter was who you clung to, the thought of being away from him enough to send you into a downward spiral.

Peter was all you had, now…

…and yet…

With all of that being true, your eyes finally met his again.

“I… I had a nightmare.”

The lie was said so softly, you almost couldn’t believe you’d said it. You watched his face fall some, scooting to the edge of the bed and reaching for you. Like an obedient lamb, you walked right into his embrace, and more tears spilled over before you could stop them. He shushed you, rubbing your back and soothing you, but you couldn’t be consoled.

The moment to stop Natasha was gone. Who knows how long it would be before Bucky discovered her absence. If Natasha was caught, you did not envy what awaited her, but if she succeeded…you did not envy what awaited the you in the future. You did not envy the version of you that would have to watch Peter be arrested and separated from you forever.

You didn’t envy the version of you that would have to learn to live without him.

You wrapped your arms around him and let Peter pull you into a kiss.

#peter parker x reader #dark peter parker x reader #dark!peter Parker x reader #dark!peter parker #peter parker imagine #marvel imagine #peter parker fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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aptitudeclasses · 4 months

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psibinstitute · 1 year

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eraenaa · 7 months

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Stereotypical (Demi-God AU)

Aemond, Son of Ares x Reader, Daughter of Aphrodite Tag List

Synopsis: The daughter of Aphrodite falls for one of the sons of Ares— the second coming of their parents.

Warnings: Mature, 18+, Dry Humping, Semi-Public Relations, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2, 720

It’s stereotypical, you were aware—a whole cliche. But what were you to do when you realized that you were growing attracted to one of the sons of your mother’s past paramours? It did not help that he was the strongest fighter in camp— the most mysterious and illusive Demi-God there. You watch him by the benches whilst you sit and chat with one of the daughters of the Goddess Demeter, Helaena. “You’re staring at him again,” She teased as her fingers twirled the stem of a dandelion whose buds she blew away. You rolled your eyes and shifted your gaze, denying the accusation. “Just speak to him; I’m sure he won’t be as standoffish as he seems.” Helaena hummed, but you shook your head.

“What are you two talking about?” Aegon, the son of Dionysus, appeared, seemingly intoxicated, even though wine was banned from camp. “No— let me guess,” he quickly said. “I’m guessing… the brooding swordsman? Hm?” He asked you, and you felt color bloom on your cheeks. Were you that obvious? You groaned and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear in frustration. “I do not understand! They… usually fall at my feet, trying to get my attention! But not him,” You complained, making Aegon and Helaena smile in amusement at the expense of your irritation. “Whatever, I’m going for a walk,” You grumbled and stood, trying hard not to let your gaze fly over to Aemond, who trained with a sword.

You find yourself in the woods, threading closer to the lake where you often stare at your reflection in the water. You took in a deep breath and stared at your face blessed by your mother— the prettiest girl in camp, they say. You attracted all sorts of attention, good and bad, but the only attention you wanted was never bestowed upon you. He denied you of his lone gaze. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?” You hear a voice ask. You sighed and cast your gaze upward, landing on Jacaerys, son of Hephaestus. “Hello, Jacaerys,” You say politely.

“Do you mind if I join you?” He asked, dark eyes hopeful. “I… I’d actually prefer to be alone right now,” You reasoned. Watching his face drop. You sigh; if only Aemond were this excited to be in your presence. “Oh,” Jacaerys said, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ll see you at dinner, Jace,” You give him a fleeting smile, and you thank the gods that he actually took the hint and left. You returned to stare at yourself, trying to define which aspect you could improve upon, highlighting them in hopes that it would catch the attention of one of the sons of the God of War.

“What are you doing?” A different voice asked, a reflection joining yours on the surface of the water. You yelped and backed away in surprise. “Gods, Aemond,” You said as he finally cast his eye upon you. “What were you doing?” He asked once again, leading out his hand to assist you to stand. “Staring at myself,” You mumbled, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as he caught you. You hear him scoff, “Of course,” He said and let go of your hand that tingled from touching his. “Best you be reminded by the fate of Narcissus,” Aemond stated. You bit back your tongue; this is what you wanted. He was speaking to you— his attention on you, but now it came; why were you frozen as if you had gazed at Medusa?

“Do you not have to train?” You asked Aemond as you perched yourself upon a log near the river banks. You watch him take a pebble into his fingers, skipping it on the water. “I’ve just finished,” he said and moved to take a seat next to you. You took your lower lip between your teeth as you felt your shoulders brush, the heat of him reaching you. “What do you think we’re doing here?” You suddenly ask as both of you stare off into the orange sun that reflects on the lake. “What do you mean? We’re here to train. We’re here for protection from the outside world.” Aemond stated the obvious, but you shook your head. “Train for what?” You asked, “A war.”

“Is there one?” Your eyes locked upon his. “I… I just do not understand why I was brought here,” You confessed as you saw the confusion in his lilac orb. “They say the world of mortals was filled with danger— but mine wasn’t. I was living comfortably— I do not understand why my mother had summoned me if I am not to do anything here,”

“The gods have a purpose in every action they make— even if we do not understand it,” You hummed at his statement. “Do you truly believe that?” Aemond looked at you with a question once more. “I just… feel like we’re pawns being played here— born to do their bidding. We make the sacrifices; they get the glory. I just think that the minuscule scrap of recognition they throw is not at all worth it.” You saw a smirk rising to his lips despite the seriousness you posed. “What?” Aemond shakes his head; you feel him inch his way closer to you. “My sister seems to think that you’re filled with air in that pretty little head of yours,” You blinked at his statement; should you be offended or flattered?

“And do you agree?” You ask, fearing for his statement. Aemond hummed, gazing at your face. It was the first time in your life that you felt insecure under someone’s gaze— the first time you felt fear that someone might not think you agreeable and comely. “I agree with her when she said that you were pretty… very pretty,” You bit your cheeks as his eyes flew to your blushed cheeks and then ever so quickly to your lips. “But, no, she was completely mistaken to underestimate you,” You feel your lips twitch, catching Aemond’s attention. You inch towards him, your desires swirling with your assumptions. Aemond stayed rooted where he sat; he did not lean in, nor did he pull away. When your nose brushed, you hear him take in a harsh breath. “We should head back,” he said and pulled away, leaving you confused and overly embarrassed and rejected.

You were so close— you took the courage to move first. It was all Aemond wanted— all that he had dreamed of. All his offerings to the gods were for this moment, which was why he was greatly disappointed and infuriated with himself when he backed away and left like a coward. It was too much— it was so much more than he could handle. Ever since you’ve arrived at camp, all he did was try and keep your attention on him. He trained day and night, purposefully choosing grounds where you would pass by. He would relish with each moment that he would feel your gaze upon him. Watching intently as he would fight and show off his skill, hoping that it would impress you. Knowing that it was how his father had caught the attention of your mother.

Aemond’s eye would fly to you during dinner, you sitting with your brothers and sisters. There was no smile on your lips, unlike the previous nights; you sat limply and played with your food, your cheek resting on your palm as a pout formed itself on your luscious lips. What had he done? How could he subject the most beautiful girl his eye has ever seen to such a sullen state? Aemond dug his nails into his palms. You were the daughter of beauty and love, and he was the son of war and strife. He did not deserve anything so precious and delicate as you. He could only offer you ruin and struggle. The thought of bringing you conflict only fortified his decision to back away. To instead protect you from afar— to relinquish his desires to be with you, to hold you, kidding himself that gazing at you was enough. That simply looking at you had to be enough.

Days passed as both you and Aemond avoided each other. You, embarrassed by your wanting actions and him, controlling himself from giving in to his desires. You no longer watched as he would impressively train with the sword, and he would no longer silently trail you wherever you went. Aemond only picked specific moments to follow you and made certain that no danger would find you— even though the two of you were in the safety of camp where no danger could reach, Aemond was just simply cautious.

You traded the lake for the beach. Walking alone on the sanded path, the moonlight shining bright atop the water. Your mind consistently loops your foolish actions, making you cringe at yourself. You called for your mother the other night, trying to find guidance or perhaps comfort, as rejection did not sit well with you. The thought of someone not falling for your charms when everyone so easily did, scared you. She ignored your offerings and pleas, leaving you to face your confusion and fears by yourself, only solidifying your beliefs that you and all the children in this camp were simply pawns by the gods. Expected to answer their call when it first rings whilst they constantly ignore yours.

You sighed heavily, staring off into the sea where your mother was born. Stepping foot into the water, you tried to connect with the woman who disrupted your peaceful, mortal life only to bring you here and ignore you. You took deep breaths, walking deeper into the water, not caring that you were still clothed as you submerged yourself in the sea. Aemond watched by the shore, battling with himself if he should follow. When you disappeared under the water, with each passing second, you did not emerge; it only put forth fear in the bravest demi-god in camp.

Aemond shook his head and ran to the sea, diving to where you disappeared only to catch you resurface, shocked as you realized his presence had joined you. “Aemond,” You breathed out, wiping away the salt water from your eyes, the boy holding your arm, the waves pushing him closer to you. “What… what were you doing?” He asked, concern lacing his deep, silky voice. “I wanted to swim,” You reasoned, hoping that the water would clean you from embarrassment and shame. You feel his eye grow downward, looking at the clothes you fashioned. “In your night dress?” He asked, the silk fabric thin, the cool water clinging to your body. “It was a spontaneous decision,” You mumbled, your gaze shifting away from him as your cheeks heated. The both of you floating in the sea.

“Why are you here?” you asked, realizing that he had gone in the water, fully clothed as well. You met his eye, the sapphire orb shifting around. His thin, pink lips parted as he tried to find a reason. “I… I—“ You bit your lip, as you had never seen him so flustered. The most fearsome son of Ares is at a loss for words when faced with the prettiest daughter of Aphrodite.

Aemond stayed silent, only the crashing of waves reaching your ears. It took a while for the both of you to realize that you floated in each other’s arms— the past events of the other day returning to your mind, both making you conscious. “I’m sorry about the other day,” You whispered as you saw it best to address your actions in order for the both of you to forget it and your mind to free you from the torment of your idiotic presumption. “It was wrong for me to assume… I have misread your intentions and made you uncomfortable; I apologize.” You say sincerely.

You hear Aemond sigh, the waves pushing your bodies closer together, his breath fanning your face, your scent invading his senses. “You did not misread anything,” He admitted. Making your brows furrow. “I… I wanted you to kiss me, wished for it for a while now.” He confessed with a small smile, trying to lighten the tense air with his rare but charming smile. “Oh,” was all you could say as you tried to comprehend his words. “Then why… “ you trailed as you had trouble wording out what had transpired in the lake. Aemond sighed, and you stilled as you felt his arms wrap around your waist, flushing your bodies together as the both of you floated. The moonlight lighted your face, illuminating his silver hair as well as your milky skin. “I got scared,” He admitted, daring to cup your cheek. Your skin was soft against his calloused palm.

“You? Got scared? The favored son of the god of war got scared by the prospect of a kiss?” You asked in confusion, resting your hands on his shoulders. You hear him let out a small chuckle. “I was only frightened because it was you who I would be kissing,” He stated, caressing your cheek. “The most beautiful girl I was ever blessed to see… now, I hope you’d understand why I panicked,” Aemond smiled as the blush on your cheeks deepened. You set your gaze downward, staring at the water that sparkled under the silver light. Your heart stilled when you felt Aemond place a finger under your chin to raise your gaze once more, finally having the courage to place his lips against yours.

Aemond wanted to be slow and cautious, to not frighten or pressure you to succumb to all his desires. But as a sigh left your throat when your lips finally met, all restraint he had disappeared. Pulling you impossibly closer to him, making you wrap your legs around him, letting your arms cling to him. Deepening your kiss, his tongue asked for entrance, which you were hesitant to give but relished the feeling when you did. Aemond’s chest rumbled with a sound as you accidentally nipped his lip, enjoying your mistake that only fueled his desires further.

You pulled away from him, suddenly feeling cautious as the both of you were being so intimate in such an open space where anyone could see. You tried to speak reason, to speak caution that the both of you may be caught, but as Aemond placed his lips on your neck, kissing it and leaving his marks, you no longer had the capacity to speak. Pleasure freezing your mind at the new sensation. Aemond hummed as he heard your heavy breathing, your sweet taste mixing with the salted water as he indulged in the feel of your skin. Aemond closed his eye tightly as you, who had your legs wrapped around his torso started to move your hips. Squirming as you felt urgency for something you were yet to know consuming you.

Aemond’s hand moved downwards from your waist to your bottom, cupping them and aiding your movements that sought for friction. You let go of a shaky breath against his lips, your eyes looking deeply at his sapphire eye that turned dark and glazed with deeper desires and restraint. “Aemond,” You whimpered, filled with anticipation of what was to come. You ground your hips further, making him utter a foul word and turn his head to the heavens. Aemond moved one hand to cup your cheek, bringing you closer to kiss your lips once more. “I… I— Aemond,” was all you could utter as you were uncertain what the sensation was building inside you. It was sharp and urgent and pleasurable— an odd mix. “Are you to come, my pretty girl? Hm?” Aemond gritted as his hips met yours. He bent his head down and placed a kiss atop your chest; his head felt light at the whimpers of his name that your mouth spewed.

“Aemond!” You shrieked as all finally fell, your body feeling alight as you came at the sensation of riding against the boy you had desired for long. Aemond gritted out your name as he, too, came, spilling himself in his trousers. You hummed as he kissed you again, tasting him and the sea that was witness to your desires and pleasures being fed.

Sequel: Jealousy, Jealousy

838 notes · View notes

novaursa · 23 days

Note

Hii

I was thinking about fem! Targaryen who was sent to fight with Guyane and Criston.

She grow up in Oldtown with Gwayne and they fell in love. She’s supposed to marry Aemond before the war and was kinda closed with him ( he’s very possessive of her)

So it happens before Rook’s Rest, you know when they are camping in the wood, she want to wash herself in a river and of course grayne make sure that no one is looking her but then they start their little business and Criston see them.

The battle happend (she also had a dragon) but when they come back everyone know for her and Gwayne, coz you know Criston says everything to the queen…

Alicent and Aemond are against them but when Aegon wakes up he approved their love as a revenge against Aemond 👀

Down by the River

- Summary: After a forgotten betrothal with Aemond, you found love and comfort in your uncle's arms.

- Paring: niece!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Raring: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The air around you is filled with the scent of pine and earth, the quiet hum of nature occasionally broken by the distant rustle of your encampment as soldiers and servants bustle about. The shadows of the surrounding forest stretch long, casting a serene gloom that wraps around you like a cloak. It's a rare moment of solitude, a brief escape from the weight of your lineage and the battles that loom on the horizon.

You make your way toward the river, the cool breeze tugging gently at the loose strands of your hair, which falls freely around your shoulders. The forest whispers in the language of rustling leaves and the distant call of a nightbird, and you savor the rare, quiet moment to yourself. Grey Ghost is near, ever watchful, his presence in the skies above comforting in its familiarity.

The river comes into view, its waters reflecting the dappled light of the fading sun, a shimmering ribbon cutting through the dense green of the trees. You step closer, the soft earth giving way beneath your boots. A sigh escapes your lips as you begin to shed your dragon riding attire, the leather and metal falling away piece by piece until you stand at the water's edge, clad in nothing but the simple shift you wear beneath.

The river is cold as you dip your toes into the shallows, the chill sending a pleasant shiver up your spine. Slowly, you wade in, feeling the water rise up your legs, cool and cleansing. The shift clings to your body as you move deeper, the fabric becoming almost weightless in the water. You close your eyes, tilting your head back, allowing the river to wash away the grime of travel and the tension that knots your muscles.

"Enjoying yourself, my lady?" The voice is familiar, laced with a teasing warmth that pulls a smile from your lips even before you open your eyes.

You turn your head, seeing Gwayne standing at the riverbank, his arms crossed casually over his chest, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, the color of storm clouds on the horizon, linger on you with an intensity that sends a different kind of shiver through your body. There's an easy confidence in his posture, but beneath it, you sense the tension that coils between the two of you, always simmering, always waiting.

"I was, until you decided to interrupt," you reply, your voice carrying a playful edge as you tread water, your shift billowing around you like a second skin.

Gwayne chuckles, the sound rich and low, as he steps closer to the water's edge, his boots sinking slightly into the soft mud. "Then perhaps I should leave you to it," he says, though he makes no move to turn away, his gaze never straying from you.

"And let you miss the sight of me like this?" you counter, raising an eyebrow as you glide a little closer to him, the water lapping softly at your waist. "That hardly seems fair."

He kneels by the bank, close enough now that you can see the glint in his eyes, the way his lips quirk up at the corners. "Fairness has never been our strong suit, has it?" he replies, his tone lighter now, but his words carry the weight of truth between you.

You tilt your head, studying him, the sharp lines of his face softened by the fading light. There's something about him that has always drawn you in, something beyond the bonds of duty and family. A fire that burns as fiercely as your own, a desire that matches yours in its intensity.

"And what will you do while I bathe, Ser Gwayne?" you ask, letting the title roll off your tongue, lacing it with just enough mockery to make him smile. "Stand guard? Ensure no one stumbles upon me?"

He grins, his teeth flashing white in the twilight. "Of course. Someone must keep watch over you, lest the gods themselves be tempted by such a sight."

You laugh softly, the sound carrying over the water, and shake your head. "You always did have a way with words, Gwayne."

Before he can respond, you begin to wade back toward the shore, your movements slow and deliberate, water streaming off your body as you emerge from the river. The air is cool against your skin, but the heat in Gwayne's gaze more than compensates for the chill. His breath catches slightly as you approach him, the shift clinging to your form, leaving little to the imagination.

You stand before him, the last rays of the sun catching in your hair, casting a golden halo around you. He looks up at you, and for a moment, neither of you speaks, the tension between you crackling like a storm about to break.

Then, without a word, you kneel before him, your fingers brushing against the rough fabric of his tunic as you lean in to kiss him. It's a soft kiss, almost chaste, but there's nothing innocent about the way your lips linger on his, about the way you taste him as if he were the very air you breathe.

"Join me," you murmur against his lips, your voice a soft plea that you know he cannot resist.

For a moment, he hesitates, his hands hovering over your shoulders as if he's unsure whether to pull you closer or push you away. But then, with a low growl, he gives in, his hands tangling in your wet hair as he deepens the kiss, pulling you against him with a fervor that makes your heart race.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression fierce, his breathing ragged. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" he says, but there's no anger in his voice, only a hunger that mirrors your own.

"Then we shall die together," you whisper back, your hands working to undo the fastenings of his tunic, the feel of his skin warm and solid beneath your fingers.

Gwayne rises with you, his movements quick and sure as he shrugs off his clothes, his eyes never leaving yours. The moment his body touches the water, you see the tension melt away, replaced by something deeper, something that has been building between you for longer than either of you care to admit.

He steps closer, the water rippling around you both as he pulls you into his arms. The kiss you share now is different, slow and deliberate, a promise of what is to come. The river swirls around you, cool and calming, but the heat between you is undeniable, consuming.

In this moment, with the war hanging and the dragons stirring, nothing else matters but the man before you, the way his hands trace the curves of your body, the way he breathes your name like a prayer.

Gwayne pulls you closer, his hands firm against your waist as he draws you into him, the water lapping gently at your entwined bodies. The river is cool, but the heat between you is a fire that cannot be quenched, a blaze that has been smoldering for far too long. His lips find yours again, and the kiss is all-consuming, his desire mingling with your own as you lose yourself in the moment.

His breath is hot against your skin as he murmurs your name, the sound of it sending a thrill through your body. The world narrows down to just the two of you, the press of his body against yours, the feel of the water swirling around your legs, and the intoxicating sensation of his touch.

The river’s shallows cradle you as Gwayne pulls you down with him, the weight of his body over yours a comforting anchor in the midst of the chaos that surrounds your lives. Every touch is laden with a history of stolen glances, whispered secrets, and unspoken longing. As you join, the world seems to fall away, leaving nothing but the raw intensity of your connection.

Your breath comes in soft gasps as you cling to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, and he responds in kind, his hands sliding along your sides, his grip firm yet reverent. The river murmurs around you, the sound a gentle lullaby, as you move together, each moment a dance of passion and desperation, as if you could both ward off the impending doom by holding each other tighter, by pouring all the love and fear and hope you have into this single, sacred act.

Gwayne's lips brush against your neck, your jaw, your mouth, as if he cannot get enough of you, as if this is the only thing that has ever mattered. You respond in kind, your kisses fierce and desperate, trying to convey all that you feel for him, all that you cannot say aloud. You know this moment cannot last forever, but right now, with him holding you, it feels like it could.

“I love you,” he breathes against your skin, the words barely more than a whisper, but the weight of them is undeniable, as if he is baring his very soul to you.

Your heart swells with the force of your emotions, your own reply caught in your throat as you press your lips to his, letting the kiss speak for you. You love him too, more than you can ever express, more than you should, given the circumstances, but here, in this moment, nothing else matters.

The river flows around you, carrying away the sounds of the camp, the war, the world. For now, there is only the two of you, locked in this dance, this act of love that transcends the boundaries of duty and loyalty.

Criston Cole stands at the edge of the camp, his sharp gaze scanning the treeline. The night is cool, the air is still heavy with the scent of pine and earth, but it does little to calm the storm that rages within him. He had noticed your absence, as well as Gwayne’s, and though he had no real reason to suspect anything amiss, a strange unease had settled in his gut.

Needing to clear his head, Criston had left the camp, telling himself that a walk would do him good. But as he wandered through the trees, his instincts sharpened by years of battle, he found himself following the path you had taken earlier. He had not intended to spy, but something—call it intuition—had led him this way.

The sound of the river reaches him first, a soft, bubbling murmur that seems almost peaceful in the quiet of the night. But as he draws nearer, his eyes narrow, and he sees the silhouettes by the water’s edge. He freezes, the breath catching in his throat as he recognizes you, entwined with Gwayne, your bodies moving together in the shallows of the river.

For a moment, Criston can only stare, disbelief and anger warring within him. His hand tightens around the hilt of his sword, but he does not draw it. Instead, his jaw clenches, and his eyes burn with a fury that he struggles to contain. He had suspected something between the two of you, but to see it confirmed like this, in the open, makes his blood boil.

His thoughts turn dark as he imagines the consequences of this liaison. The Dowager Queen must be informed, of course. Your mother, Alicent, who has always been so careful, so calculating—what would she think of her daughter’s reckless behavior? And Gwayne, his own blood, betraying their cause with this forbidden affair?

But Criston does not approach. He knows that confronting you now would achieve nothing but chaos. Instead, he turns on his heel, his boots grinding into the earth as he steps back into the shadows, his mind already turning to what must be done.

As he walks away, the image of you and Gwayne remains burned into his mind, fueling his anger. He knows what he must do, but it does not make the task any easier. There will be a reckoning for this, and Criston Cole will see to it that the Dowager Queen knows every sordid detail.

The night closes in around him as he returns to camp, his steps heavy with the burden of the knowledge he now carries. In his heart, he knows this will change everything. The war may be fought on the battlefield, but the true battles, the ones that will decide the fate of the realm, are fought in the shadows, where loyalty and betrayal are two sides of the same coin.

Criston breathes in deeply, the cold air doing little to quell the fire inside him. He must remain calm, focused. The Dowager Queen must know, and then… then they will see what must be done.

But as he walks away from the river, the sound of your laughter, soft and joyful, echoes in his ears, a reminder of the happiness you have found, however fleeting it might be. And though Criston does not allow himself to think on it for long, a small part of him—buried deep beneath his duty and his anger—wonders if he is about to destroy something that might have been beautiful.

The morning sun rises over Rook’s Rest, and the men stand ready, swords drawn and shields raised, their eyes darting nervously to the sky. There’s a sense of foreboding, an unspoken understanding that today could be their last. You stand with them, Grey Ghost nearby, his massive form blending with the morning mist that clings to the ground.

Criston Cole, ever the stalwart commander, paces before his men, his expression grim as he surveys the scene. He gives you a brief nod, a signal that the time is near. You can see the anticipation in his eyes, the way his hand rests on the hilt of his sword, ready to give the order that will set everything in motion.

The roar of dragon wings beats above, and your heart quickens as you turn your gaze to the sky. Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was, appears on Meleys, her dragon a brilliant scarlet against the pale blue of the morning. The soldiers around you shift uneasily, fear evident in their eyes as Meleys descends, flames already curling from her jaws.

"Hold the line!" Cole shouts, his voice cutting through the rising panic as Meleys sweeps low, releasing a torrent of fire that engulfs the front lines. The screams of burning men fill the air, and the acrid smell of charred flesh assaults your senses. But you remain steady, your hand gripping the reins tightly as Grey Ghost growls low in his throat, ready to leap into action.

The signal comes—a sharp, commanding gesture from Cole—and you meet Aemond’s gaze across the battlefield. His eye, cold and calculating, locks with yours, and a shiver runs down your spine. There’s something in his gaze, something dark and possessive that chills you to your core. But you don’t have time to dwell on it as you both prepare to launch your attack.

Grey Ghost takes to the sky with a powerful surge, and you feel the familiar rush of wind against your face as you rise above the battlefield. Aemond is beside you on Vhagar, his expression a mask of grim determination. For a moment, the two of you soar together, a united front against Rhaenys and Meleys. But the unity is fleeting, as Aemond’s gaze flicks toward you, his lips curling into a smile that is more threat than comfort.

Then, out of nowhere, a bright golden streak cuts through the sky. Your heart lurches as you recognize Sunfyre and, atop him, your eldest brother, Aegon, his armor glinting in the sunlight as he charges into the fray. He’s come from King’s Landing, against all expectations, to fight alongside you. Your chest tightens with a mixture of fear and hope as you cry out his name.

“Aegon!”

Without thinking, you urge Grey Ghost to follow Sunfyre, to join your brother in his attack on Meleys. Grey Ghost answers your command with a powerful dive, his wings slicing through the air as you race toward Aegon. But behind you, Aemond’s voice rings out, sharp and furious.

“Get back!” he shouts, his tone laced with authority and anger, but you don’t listen. You can’t. Not when Aegon is here, risking everything. Not when you see a chance to end this battle, to save him.

Sunfyre clashes with Meleys in a burst of fire and fury, the golden dragon tearing at the scarlet scales of the older beast with a ferocity that takes your breath away. You can see Aegon, his face set in a grimace of determination as he fights to bring down Rhaenys. Meleys roars, thrashing against the combined assault of Sunfyre and Grey Ghost, and for a moment, it seems like the battle might be yours.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Vhagar, and your heart freezes. Aemond’s dragon, vast and ancient, dives toward the fray, and there is no mistaking the deadly intent in her descent. Aemond is not coming to support you—he’s coming to destroy.

“No!” you scream, but your voice is lost in the chaos as Vhagar’s flames engulf Sunfyre and Aegon. The world seems to slow as you watch in horror, the golden dragon shrieking in agony as fire consumes him. Aegon’s screams echo in your ears, a sound you will never forget, as Sunfyre, ablaze and dying, spirals downward, crashing into the earth with a force that shakes the ground beneath you.

The shock of it rips through you, and for a moment, everything goes silent. Rhaenys takes the chance to flee, and Meleys, despite her injuries, manages to pull away from the wreckage of the battle, disappearing into the clouds. You barely notice, your eyes locked on the smoking crater where Sunfyre has fallen, where your brother lies.

“Aegon!” you scream again, the word tearing from your throat, raw and filled with pain as you urge Grey Ghost to dive toward the crash site. The wind roars in your ears, the ground rushing up to meet you, but all you can think of is your brother, of the fire, of the betrayal.

But Grey Ghost pulls up short, his instincts overriding your command as he veers away from the deadly heat. Your scream dies in your throat, choked by the smoke and the realization that there’s nothing you can do, nothing but watch as the flames consume what’s left of Aegon and Sunfyre.

You clutch Grey Ghost’s reins, your hands trembling, as the dragon hovers above the wreckage. Aemond circles above you, Vhagar’s massive wings casting a shadow over the battlefield, and you know, with a sickening certainty, that this was his doing. That he had chosen this, chosen to burn your brother rather than risk him taking the glory of the kill.

Tears sting your eyes as you look up at Aemond, his expression unreadable as he watches the devastation below. There’s no regret in his gaze, only the cold satisfaction of victory, and it makes your blood run cold.

“Why?” you choke out, your voice barely more than a whisper, lost to the winds as you struggle to comprehend what has just happened. But there is no answer, only the roar of the dragons and the distant cries of the dying.

Grey Ghost pulls you higher, away from the wreckage, away from the unbearable heat, and you realize with a cold, sinking feeling that you are retreating. Rhaenys is gone, Aegon is broken, and the battle—this terrible, bloody battle—is over.

But it is not victory that fills your heart. It is grief, and rage, and a deep, aching sorrow that you know will never fade.

You scream Aegon’s name one last time, a sound of pure anguish that echoes across the battlefield, carried by the winds to where the dead lie in smoldering ruins. And as Grey Ghost bears you away from the carnage, you know that nothing will ever be the same again.

The air in the Red Keep is festers with the scent of burnt flesh and the acrid sting of ash as you stand by Aegon's bedside, your fingers entwined with his charred hand. The once-proud Dragon King, your elder brother, now lies shattered before you. His silver hair, once a symbol of the Targaryen lineage, is singed away in patches, leaving his scalp raw and exposed. His breathing is labored, each inhale a painful rasp that reverberates through the silent chamber.

You try to keep your composure, but the sight of him like this—so broken, so helpless—breaks the dam within you. Hot tears spill down your cheeks as you lean closer, pressing your forehead against his cold, clammy skin. "Aegon," you whisper, your voice cracking. "Please... stay with us."

Beside you, your mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, stands rigid, her face a mask of stoic grief. Her eyes, however, betray her sorrow, glistening with unshed tears as she looks down at her firstborn son. Aemond, your elder brother, looms at the foot of the bed, his single eye sharp and calculating, though his expression remains impassive. There is a distance between you now, a chasm that has only grown wider with time. He is no longer the boy who once protected you, but a man consumed by his own ambition and possessiveness.

Aegon stirs at the sound, a pained groan escaping his cracked lips, but he doesn't wake.

You can’t bear to stay any longer. The weight of it all is too much. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vice, and you can’t breathe in this room any longer. Slowly, you release Aegon's hand and step back. "I need some air," you murmur, your voice hoarse.

Alicent reaches out to you, her fingers brushing your arm in a silent plea to stay, but you shake your head. "I’ll return soon," you promise, though even you aren’t sure you can keep that vow. With one last glance at Aegon's broken form, you turn and leave the chamber, the heavy door closing behind you with a soft thud.

Inside Aegon's chamber, a heavy silence lingers after your departure. Alicent stands at the bedside, her hands clasped together in a desperate prayer. Aemond remains at the foot of the bed, his eye fixed on his brother with a cold, calculating gaze. It is then that Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, enters the room, his expression grave as he looks between the Queen and her son.

"Your Grace," he begins, his tone measured and careful. "I must speak with you both. It concerns your daughter and Ser Gwayne."

Alicent's head snaps up, her brows knitting together in concern. "What is it, Ser Criston? Speak plainly."

Cole hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering to Aemond before settling on Alicent. "I regret to inform you that I witnessed something earlier... in the woods near Rook's Rest. Princess Y/N and Ser Gwayne were... engaged in an intimate act."

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Alicent's face drains of color, her hands trembling slightly as she grips the edge of the bed. Aemond, on the other hand, goes deathly still, his eye narrowing into a slit as fury coils within him like a serpent ready to strike.

"Are you certain?" Alicent's voice wavers, though she already knows the answer. Ser Criston would not lie about such a matter.

Cole nods, his face grim. "I saw them with my own eyes, Your Grace. There is no doubt."

Aemond's hands clench into fists at his sides, his knuckles white with the force of his anger. "She was meant to be mine," he hisses, his voice low and dangerous. "She was promised to me."

Alicent looks at her son, her eyes wide with fear. "Aemond, please—"

But before she can finish, a weak, rasping voice cuts through the tension like a knife. "No."

Aegon's voice, barely a whisper, startles them all. His eyes, bloodshot and filled with pain, open just enough to focus on his younger brother. There is a clarity in his gaze, a sharpness that wasn't there before. He draws a shuddering breath and speaks again, louder this time, though the effort clearly costs him.

"Y/N... will marry... Gwayne."

The declaration hangs in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. Aemond stares at Aegon in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles to process the words. Alicent looks between her sons, horror dawning in her eyes.

"Aegon," Aemond begins, his voice trembling with barely restrained fury. "You cannot—"

But Aegon only smiles—a cruel, vengeful twist of his lips that sends a chill down Aemond's spine. He knows, in that moment, that this is Aegon's retribution, his way of striking back at the brother who attempted to take his life at Rook's Rest.

Aegon, broken as he is, still has the power to take what Aemond desires most.

And he has.

Aemond’s gaze flickers to his mother, whose face is a mask of anguish, and then back to Aegon, who closes his eyes once more, his strength spent. There is no room for argument, no room for defiance. Aegon has made his will known.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #gwayne #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #gwayne x y/n #gwayne hightower

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