#V: King is Gone but not Forgotten | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

myladysapphire · 6 months ago

Text

High Infidelity

scorned and betrayed by your husband, you find solace in the arms of his uncle.

based of this request

word count: 2,455

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, cheating (both reader and Aemond), p in v, oral (f reciving) fingering, slight violence (legit a single punch), name calling. not proofread!

Gwayne Hightower x fem!reader/Aemondswife!reader

Masterlist

authors note: Gwayne is Alicents youngest brother in the books, but apparently he is the oldest brother in the show, but i’m still gonna make him younger than Alicent, who’s about 34, so in my head gwayne is around 30-32, and reader is older than Aemond.

He was with her again.

every night it seemed he would leave you. His wife. In favour of her.

You didn’t know who she was, were he met or, if she lived in the keep or in flea bottom.

All you knew is that he spent night after night alone with her.

He would come back smelling of wine and her perfume.

The smell seeping into your bedsheets.

The bed he insisted on sharing , even after fucking another woman.

After calling you ugly.

saying he never would have chosen you, not for your brain and certainly not your looks.

It wasn’t that you were ugly. Just that your hair was untamed, your clothes never quite fitting right.

It was the little things he picked on, insecurities you had noticed time and time again. And though you had strived to change these insecurities. Spending the crowns money on dresses from the best dressmakers, on hair oils from Essos. Aemond still found a way to make you feel insecure.

He loved to point out the insecurities, loved to belittle you, loved to bring to light insecurities you never knew you had.

You had been married nearly three years now, had provided him with both a son and daughter and yet to him you were still not enough.

The words of love and kindness he once gave you, in the first few months of your marriage, vanished. And in said cruel tormenting words replaced them.

Instead, those sweet words were now given to her.

And you were left all alone.

But a scorned woman is not a quite one, you did not shout or argue with him, no. you set your sights elsewhere.

To the man you had once know and loved, the man you had met before him. The man you had once longed to marry in Aemond’s stead.

His uncle, Gwayne Hightower.

Had your parents not craved status and the ideas of their grandchildren and princes and princess, you might have been able to marry him.

You were a daughter of house Redwyne, a noble house known for its fleet and riches.

And though you had grown up in the Arbor, your family had sent you away to Oldtown when you became of age, to win the favour of Otto Hightower and the potential match between you and one of his Targaryen grandchildren.

And though it had worked, with you being summoned by him to kings landing where you found yourself courting your now husband, Prince Aemond.

Though you had first, found yourself besotted with Gwayne.

A dashing knight, who had crowned you the queen of love and beauty at your first ever tourney.

He had won your heart only for it to be swiftly pulled form his grasp as you were summoned to kings landing on by Otto hightower.

You had never truly forgotten about him, even in the years you had gone since seeing him.

Then your wedding came, and as uncle of the groom of course he came.

And throughout the whole ceremony your eyes were drawn to his, wishing it was him you were saying your vows to.

But as fleeting as your love for him was, so was his presence. For he swiftly left after the wedding.

But not before whispering the words you had dreamed of hearing.

you swiftly found yourself married to an insecure man, who had too found himself a place in your heart, however small.

In those three years since your wedding, three years since you had seen him. You had thought you had grown to love…if not care for your husband.

And you had thought he had to, the words “I love you” really selling his lies. And now he betrayed you, night after night.

It hurt, and gods were you angry.

Everyone knew of his infidelity.

His lust for this other woman.

And though you didn’t know of it, not truly. For all you wished to do was deny it.

Doing everything in your power to imagine another reason for his disappearance, for his wine-soaked lips and rose scented body.

His drunken remakes about your appearance, how he hated your hair, your eyes. How you weren’t her.

Then as time passed the remakes turned hateful, as if you were keeping him from her.

And so the once words of beauty and love turned to ugly hate.

You had tried to not believe his remarks,

Hoping that a apart of him only craved an old love, just as you did.

Then Aegon came into your room, drunk in grief and yet finding so much humour in your husband’s affair he could barley get the words out.

He and laughed and laughed until he saw the tears in his sister in laws face.

He had regretted it instantly, though you could tell he still found humour in Aemond’s actions.

He claimed it was the woman he paid for Aemond to lose his virginity too, how she must have such a hold on him after all these years.

And as he watched the silent angry tears fall from your face, he had run out of the room, apologising as he did.

A week passed since then.

War was declared.

Lords and knight arriving, preparing for orders.

One knight in particular arrived, Gwayne Hightower.

You watched as he rode into the red keep.

His tired raged, yet no less handsome form, jumping of his horse.

His sister, the queen, greeting him.

You had raced down the steps, far to egar to see him.

And yet it all seemed to happen in slow motion.

His eye turning to you. A soft smile filling his face.

He bowed slightly, smiling even more as you returned with your own.

Lifting your hand to his mouth, in a slow gentle kiss.

Your eyes never leaving the others.

A cough had broken your hazes, his hand still clasping yours as you both turned to Alicent.

“Daughter” she greeted, her gaze questioning as she took you both in.

There was a fair age difference between you both, though you were older than Aemond, Gwayne was still years your senior. You were sure to Alicent it must seem strange almost, how close you seemed, close enough to greet him, to smile and kiss each others hand.

“You know my brother?” she asked, her gaze never leaving your joined hands.

You slowly separated your hand from his, though the slight caress of your fingers was sure to raise Alicent’s eyebrow’s.

“Yes, from my years in old town” you said, finally breaking eye contact with Gwayne.

“ah” she said, uncertain of what to make of your friendship with one another, “I am glad my brother has another friendly face, here at court.”

“As am I” Gwayne mused “it has been years since I last saw you, my lady.”

“Since the wedding I believe” Alicent interjected, finding the need to remined you both of your marital status.

“Ah yes, how is my nephew?” he asked, eyes fixed on your face, taking in every emotion passing between your eyes.

“I don’t know ser, may haps you should check the brothels and tell me yourself” you said, glancing to Alicent to see her reaction.

She pierced her lips, seemingly shocked at the notion “I am sure that- “

“ask the king if you must, I learnt it from him, though the wine and perfume was more than another hint for me” you mused, turning back to Gwayne “I shall show you to your chambers, ser” you said, before Alicent could say anything more in the matter.

Lacing your arm through his, you weaved your way through the red keep. Finding your conversations never ending as if no time had passed at all.

“I have missed you” you breathed as you entered his chambers.

Finally, alone after all these years.

He smiled, a true smile one that he only reserved for you.

Though there was some trepidation, uncertainty, in his gaze.

As if he knew that despite having you first, being your first everything, you would never be his.

“I am sure no more that I have” he mused.

“I doubt that” you whispered, sadness clear in your tone.

“What do you mean?” he said, scowling “has my nephew done something?”

“i-“ you were unsure of what to say.

It had been years since you had seen him. And though you had sent letters back and forth, they were restrained. Finding it hard to talk as you once did, be as open as you once had.

But as you looked at him, you saw everything you had ever craved, ever desired. Everything you had been deprived of for three long years.

“what” he prompted, moving closer to you.

“he is cruel…he has a lover in the city and only hates me for not being her” you sneered.

“And do you hate him?” he asked, his hand reaching for yours once again.

“I resent him…but I understand him. He only treats me how I wish I could treat him; he says the words I crave to say to him, act the way I crave to act…with you” you said, your faces so close that you were sharing your breaths.

“I never stopped wishing I had stolen you away that night, married you in his stead” he breathed, “I hate that he Is cruel…I j=had hoped you found love in his arms not hatred… I cannot but feel guilty” he said, his mouth kissing the corner of yours.

“We should have ran away…gotten married for love and ran from our duty” you agreed as he peppered kisses down your neck, his breath caressing your skin.

He hummed against your neck, his fingers playing with the laces on your back.

“please” you begged, moving his arm to grasp you, to pull you close to him.

Unlacing your dress, he started to pepper kisses down your chest.

“gods, I missed this sight” he groaned, kissing around your breasts.

You were insecure, having had two children, and year of belittling on your appearance. You went to cover yourself, only for Gwayne to tear your arms away from you, pinning them behind your back, as he stripped the remained of your clothes off of you.

He descended down your body, leaving hot kisses as he went, until he finally reached your wet cunt.

He gave a slow, tortuous lick through your folds.

Groaning at the taste of you, he moved his head further into your thighs , locking and tasting your cunt like you were his last meal.

moaning in pleasure, your hands, moved from his hold and reached down to clutch to grip his hair, tightening when he finally found your bud.

Focusing is efforts on your small bud of nerves, he sucked and licked at your bud, slowly bringing his fingers to your entrance.

Slowly pushing into you, your cunt hot and tight, from a year of neglect.

Your hips ground themselves against his face, soon loosing yourself to the pleasure as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

You peaked, as his third finger entered you. The pleasure overwhelming, and near too much as he continued to lap up your juices as you peaked all over his face.

Finaly moving from your thighs, he backed away from you, moving to stand, before pushing you down onto his bed.

Standing back from you, he ever so slowly took of his own clothes, revelling his toned chest and his hard thick cock.

Slowly crawling onto the bed, his body covering yours he finally took your lips with his.

Your first kiss with him in years.

It was hot messy and desperate.

Everything you needed craved and loved.

His tongue danced with yours, as he pulled your legs apart positioning himself between your thighs.

He pulled back from your lips, his eyes connecting with yours as he slowly pushed in side.

He filled you in a way Aemond never had, his cock hitting that one spot of nerves, only he had ever found, again and again as he thrusted his hips into you.

He moved to kiss you once more, his hips pumping faster and faster as he did.

You had never felt so perfect, so lost in pleasure as the sweet spot was hit over and over again.

Your second peak fast approaching, and you had turned into a moaning mess.

Grasping desperate to him as you both peaked, and he spilled his seed inside you.

Your breaths were heavy, your bodies still attacked as you both effused to leave the others hold.

That as until the door open, and her husband strolled in.

“uncle-“ he started, clearing coming to greet Gwayne, only to find you in his arms “wife?!” he sneered.

Gwayne moved to stand, covering himself quickly as he moved to hide you from Aemond, “nephew! How delightful!” he said in mock joy.

“what is she doing here?” he sneered, eyes darting around Gwayne body, trying to reach your eyes.

“what is it to you?” Gwayne drawled.

“she is my wife!”

“is she?” Gwayne laughed, “then perhaps you should treat her as such and not leave her to run of with your little whores!” Gwayne said, tone filled with rage.

Of course he knew of Aemodsn doing, of his treatment of his sweet lady, his siter had told him, ashamed of both her sons treatment of their wives.

And even if she hadn’t told him, the rumours of Aemond’s affairs had long travelled to the reach.

“you forget yourself!”

“I do not, you have treated her like a whore! As if she is worth nothing when she is worth the world!”

“so, you fucked her, because I am such a bad husband?” Aemond sneered, his eyes gleaming with rage.

“gods, are you that vain? This has nothing to do with you Aemond” you interjected.

“Nothing? Nothing to do with me? You are my wife!”

“I am not a broodmare! I am not owned by you just because we are married!” you said, standing from the bed, only a sheet covering your body.

“then what? You mean to say you are in love” he said mockingly.

“yes” you both responded at the same time, your eyes connecting and speaking in only a language you both spoke.

“you whore-” he started,. But Gwayne acted fast, landing a smooth and quick punch at Aemond. Knocking him clean out on the floor.

Your eyes locked in shock, releasing what had happened, and before you knew it your clothes were thrown on, bags packed and your children in your arms as you ran and caught the first both to Essos.

Away from your husband and the gods forsaken war that would have only lead to your doom.

taglist

@apollonshootafar @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @dark-night-sky-99 @zillahvathek @leavesmealobe @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunbl0gs @ka1afbr @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld @RAYNE TARGARYEN 2 @littlebirdgot @eddieslut69 @beebeechaos @jennifer0305 @rosedurin @berightback1409 @barnes70stark @cloboboo @aegonswife

to be added to taglist

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x fem!reader #aemond targeryen #house of the dragon aemond #hotd smut #hotd x you #hotd fanfic #freddie fox #sacha writes ✍️

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damneddamsy · 3 months ago

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second sight | cregan stark x oc (part v)

a/n: on this episode of Stark Fluff, claere gets a visitor, and cregan has mixed feelings about threesomes. also, cregan learns the harp.

Winterfell wore the slow creep of winter like a familiar cloak. The skies had grown paler, casting the looming walls of the castle in a sallow light, while the cold nipped steadily at its people, urging them to quicken their preparations. From the kitchen to the stables, grain stores were replenishing, the last of the harvest before frost could claim the fields. Blacksmiths hammered iron, the women mended at worn cloaks and men bundled hay for the livestock. Winter was not yet here, but its shadow lingered on the wind, always whispering its warning.

In the heart of the keep, the Glass Gardens had begun to take shape. The towering structure Claere had envisioned stood as a defiant tribute to life in a place where death crept so close. As the days passed, the curved iron frames of the brilliant garden grew taller, and panes of glass steadily fitted into place, though fewer hands worked than before. Claere's journey to the Wall and the ominous silence she had shared upon her return had compelled many away. And yet, those who remained—the builders and labourers still assigned to the task—seemed to grow fond of her, drawn to her quiet kindness, the way she listened with impossible patience to the complications.

But today, the hour she usually spent overseeing the glass gardens came and went. Claere was nowhere to be found.

Cregan noticed her absence first, though no one else seemed to. He strode through the courtyard, determined footsteps echoing through the Great Keep as he searched for her. He had asked the guards, the servants—none had seen her. There was concern in his chest, though his outward manner remained calm, and controlled. His pace eased when he finally came across a group of children playing by the kitchens. They must know something.

He crouched to their height and asked, “Have you seen Lady Stark?”

One of the girls, with red cheeks and tangled braids, blinked up at him. "She must be in the crypts, my lord. She's there on the third day of every sennight."

“The crypts?” Cregan frowned, his confusion evident. “Why?”

The girl only shrugged, her young eyes widening with uncertainty. “My lady says it’s of great benefit.”

A vague answer, but there was little else to go on.

The cold air within the cavernous crypts was still, undisturbed by the world above. As Cregan descended into the darkness, his eyes adjusted to the flickering glow of torches, casting long shadows over the stone effigies of his ancestors. He passed the statues of old kings and queens of the North, of Starks long gone, their direwolves carved faithfully at their feet. Their vigilant, stone eyes seemed to follow him as he walked deeper into the crypts, past his forefathers and mothers, the ancient guardians of Winterfell’s legacy.

It was then that he saw her, like a blossom of blue satin and grey furs in the black earth.

Claere sat on the cold stone floor by the statues of his parents, Lord Rickon Stark and Lady Gillianne Glover, her small form dwarfed by the towering effigies. Candles burned softly around her in quiet vigil, casting a gentle glow over the garlands of winter roses she cradled in her lap. A sea of wilted, woven flowers lay swept to the side—a ritual she had tended to every night, and with a pang in his gut, he realized her abnormal habit had all been for his bygone parents.

His breath caught, a warmth spreading through his chest. She had been honouring them. His own parents. In a way that even he had long forgotten to do. Though why would she, of all people, care?

As he approached her, he heard her familiar song, her voice faint, carrying a resonant yet soothing melody through the crypt. They never rhymed anymore; just lines scrambled and sung to confound.

A rose of blue in the cold earth lay, A fire burned bright, Silver threads in the night. A crown of dreams, A heart of flame, Forgotten now, Yet still the same.

"Claere," he called softly, his voice echoing against the stone walls.

But she didn’t answer. She stayed motionless, her fingers deftly weaving the garlands, her eyes distant, lost in a trance-like reverie. Cregan stepped closer and gently cupped her shoulder.

“Love?” he murmured again, more intent.

This time, she stirred, blinking slowly as if emerging from a dream. Her gaze shifted up to him, soft and dazed. She rubbed at her eyes, her fingers stained with the petals of the roses.

As Cregan crouched beside Claere, the silence was thick, broken only by the distant drip of water echoing somewhere in the depths of Winterfell. He took her bare hands into his, startled by how frigid they were. The touch of her skin was like ice as if she'd been sitting there for hours. He blew gently into her fingers, trying to warm them.

"What are you doing down here alone?" he asked, concern lining his voice.

“They like to speak to me,” she whispered, her voice calm, distant, as though her mind were adrift in another realm. “I heard them the moment I crossed the threshold of the castle. They spoke your name.” She waited, eyes wide. "Did you hear that?"

Cregan's brow furrowed. "There is no voice but ours, love."

She looked away, mumbling, "I heard it."

There was a time when her words, her abnormal ways, would have unsettled him deeply. It was woven into their lives like her rose garlands, a constant. Her peculiar way of seeing the world was no longer alien to him—it had become familiar. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a quiet unease stir in his chest.

“Go on then. What else do they say?” he asked, more to humour her than out of belief, but the curiosity in his tone was real.

“I think they're calm,” she replied, her gaze drifting to statues of his parents. “Content. Now that you're here.”

Cregan exhaled, surprised by how much those words affected him. It was comforting in a way he hadn’t expected, though he didn’t believe in such things—spirits, voices from beyond. He wasn’t a man of superstition, but the idea that his parents might be at peace warmed a part of him he didn’t realize had gone cold.

“What do they say about their son? Do they kick up a big fuss?” he asked, his lips curving into a faint, teasing smile. He carefully balled the long garland she had weaved into a neat pile on her skirt.

“They’re proud,” Claere murmured, her voice gentle, as though the words had floated to her on the breeze. “Your mother—she calls you her little wolf. She wants to hold you once more.”

His heart stilled at that. Little wolf. His mother had called him that, when he was still small enough to crawl into her lap after a long day, his face buried in the scent of her hair. His chest tightened, the ache of loss rising up in his throat. Could Claere really hear them? Was there truth in her words, or was it all part of her unconventional mind?

Cregan lifted his gaze toward the stone faces of his parents, his father's chiselled jaw and his mother's serene expression were immortalized in cold marble, watching over him as they had in life. Claere's soft hum floated through the still air, and something in her melody seemed to stir the memories of those long gone. He couldn’t bear the weight of their unblinking eyes. His throat thickened, and he looked away quickly, the familiar ache of loss sharper than he’d prepared for.

“And my father?” he asked, his voice rough now, bearing apprehension now, the question almost catching in his chest.

“He knows you’ve transcended him,” she replied, her tone soft, as if the words were delicate things. “But he’s glad. He wishes he could be here to see you rule the North as he did once."

That broke something in Cregan. He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes, and before he could stop it, one escaped, rolling down his cheek. His father had always been a stern man, proud but distant, and those words, even if he believed they weren't real, cut deeper than he expected. He had been alone since three and ten, sparing no effort in being a man where he should've been a boy. Such was the duty of an early heir, he had grown up between burdening winters and blades.

Cregan blinked rapidly, turning his cheek to her, trying to clear his vision, but Claere saw it. Her expression shifted—confusion flickered across her features. She reached out, her fingers brushing the tear away with the lightest touch.

“Have I hurt you?” she asked, her voice uncertain, innocent in its concern.

Cregan shook his head, sniffing back the rest of his tears. He smiled softly at her, a smile that was half sorrow, half joy. "No, of course not."

"No?" she echoed.

“I’m grateful. I’m very happy.” His voice cracked as he laughed, almost in disbelief at the way she had managed to stir emotions long buried. "Although I'd rather be gelded than have you see me cry again."

Claere tilted her head, watching him with that dream-like gaze, her mind always half elsewhere. “Tears are the sign of a good heart,” she said simply, though there was still a hint of hesitation in her voice.

As Cregan's deep laugh trailed off, Claere’s gaze slipped to the flickering candle before her. She watched the flame, her fingers hovering near its light as though she could shape the glow with her will alone.

“They’ve gone silent,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath. “Since I returned from the Wall… the voices, they’re almost gone now.”

Her words chilled him in a way that had nothing to do with the cold of the crypts. He watched her fingers dance in the flame’s heated tip, and something about the way she spoke—so distant, so lost—made his chest constrict.

“I keep seeing these things. Awful things.” She still wouldn’t look at him, her eyes fixed on the candle’s flame as though it held the answers she sought. “Visions, riddled with frozen fire, no men of women born, blue flames that burned cold, dragons—dead dragons—and spilt blood. Endless dark, unending night.”

Her voice was soft but steady as if recounting some terrible dream. The Wall, the omens, whatever visions or feelings had driven her—they had unsettled her in ways she wasn’t used to conveying.

Cregan swallowed, unable to suppress the shiver that ran through him. Claere rarely expressed her visions with such transparency, yet this time there was something raw in her tone, a dread he had never heard before. If only these people could truly see what she had to bear.

“I believed the lands past the Wall would show me the days of yore,” she continued, her words slipping from her lips like a confession. “I thought it would reflect what I see, but it didn’t. None of it. So now I think—”

She stopped herself, her voice catching in her throat, and for a long moment, she said nothing.

Cregan waited, his heart solemn with tension. Finally, Claere’s gaze lifted from the flame, and when her violet eyes met his, there was a tremor of fear in them, an emotion so unfamiliar in her usually distant, dream-like gaze that it struck him silent.

“I think it is things not yet come to pass,” she whispered, her voice tight, as though it pained her to say it. “I think… they’re coming. I don't know what to do. No one else can see." She shook her head, almost violently, and her hands trembled, her calm veneer fracturing before him. Tears welled at the corner of her eyes. “I cannot stop it, Cregan. It terrifies me.”

The vulnerability in her voice, the aching helplessness, shook him to his core. Claere, who had always been silent and intangible, now stood before him utterly mortal, fragile, and afraid. He had never seen her like this, not in all the time they’d been together. It was as though she carried a brewing storm on her shoulders, and she didn’t know how to face it alone.

Cregan’s instinct was immediate. He gently pulled her toward him with a shush, enfolding his arms around her, and gathering her into his chest.

“No, my love,” he whispered into her hair, his voice soothing. "I'm here. It's alright. They're just dreams."

She melted into him, her body trembling against his, her head resting against his chest. He stroked the side of her head gently, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breath. Her hands clung to the front of his cloak, desperate, as though his warmth was the only thing tethering her to the present. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there, as though willing his strength into her.

“The North has weathered long nights before,” he said quietly, his voice steady, filled with the same resolve that had been passed down through generations of Starks around them. “Stark blood runs deep in these stones. We’ve stood through the darkness, through cold that could break men’s bones. And yet, we stand. Every time, Claere.”

She looked up at him, her wide eyes searching his face, her breath still uneven but slowing.

"What are our house words?" he asked, as if reminding her.

"Winter is coming," she answered breathily.

“Winter is coming,” he echoed, his voice assertive yet tender. He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing against her cheek as he looked into her eyes. “We will do what we must to defend the realm, through whatever comes. As we always have. You have nothing to fear.”

His words sank into her like warmth, thawing the icy fear that had gripped her. She exhaled, long and slow, her body finally relaxing into his arms. Cregan kissed her cheek, softer this time, feeling the shift in her, the tension ebbing away.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, holding each other in the flickering candlelights, surrounded by the silence of the crypts. The dead watched over them, but their presence no longer felt foreboding—it felt calm and peaceful, as though the ancient Starks could see and approve.

She nodded, her face resting against his chest once more, her breathing finally even. He could still sense the undercurrent of fear that rippled through her, but the worst of it had passed. His mind worked quickly, searching for a way to guide her thoughts away from the darkness she had spoken of.

Softly, he murmured against her hair, "There’s news from Dragonstone."

Claere shifted in his arms, lifting her head to look at him. The mention of Dragonstone sparked a flicker of curiosity in her gaze, enough to break the hold of the haunting visions.

"A raven arrived last night," he continued, his voice casual, as though easing her into something lighter. "Prince Jacaerys flies north on his dragon. He’ll be here within a fortnight."

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say more, but the thought seemed to drift away before she could grasp it. Something was grounding in the knowledge of Prince Jacaerys’ arrival—something beyond the shadows she had seen, a thread of the present to hold on to.

He gave her a slight squeeze, his thumb brushing a strand of her silver hair behind her ear, a playful glint in his eye. "We'll find out soon enough. But for now, let's get you warm. You'll turn into a sculpture yourself if you're here any longer."

Claere’s lips quirked, a touch of amusement flickering through the lingering shadows in her eyes. “A lady of ice.”

Cregan smirked. “Not on my watch.”

The fruits of labour are often hard-won, and in Claere’s case, it was quite literal. A month past, she had flown on Luna, disappearing into the night for three days. Although it had endlessly upset Cregan, upon her return, it was with the spoils of her journey—seeds from distant lands, collected with care and intent. These seeds were her gift to Winterfell’s glass gardens, her quiet revolt against the fatty northern diet.

Among them were golden beets from the Reach, hardy winter squash, and sweet, bright carrots from Highgarden. She’d also returned with seeds of hearty cabbages and turnips, the kinds of food that could survive even in the harsher climate of the North. And now, after weeks of tilling and patience, some of the plants had finally sprouted, tiny green shoots peeking through the soil like fragile promises of life.

But her project had not remained hers alone for long. Claere, with her quiet strangeness, had drawn the children of Winterfell into it, gradually involving them in nurturing the new glasshouse. The saplings became theirs as much as hers, and the little Northerners guarded them as fiercely as they did their direwolves. Though they laughed and played around her, tending to the glass gardens with dirt-smeared cheeks and eager hands, the adults stood back—watching with cautious, measured eyes.

Now, it called for a celebration. Claere had returned from an early morning flight on Luna, bringing with her the largest haul yet—sacks of ripe persimmons, plucked from the orchards of the Vale. The children gathered around her, eyes wide and filled with excitement. Persimmons were rare in the North, almost unheard of past the Twins, and to them, this was a treasure trove.

She stood there, composed and aloof, while the children crowded at her feet, clutching at her skirts.

"My lady," one small boy asked in awe, peering into the sack, "what kind of fruit is this?"

“Persimmons,” Claere told them. “From the Vale. If honeycomb were a fruit, it would be this.”

One of the girls hesitated, looking up with wide, curious eyes. "Persimmons. But why do they look like little jewels?"

Claere glanced down at the fruit in the child’s hand. “They are… in a way,” she mused, her fingers brushing the leathery skin of a persimmon. “Jewels of the trees. Careful not to crack your teeth on them.”

The children giggled, their awe unabashed. But from the edges of the courtyard, some of the adults watched the scene with guarded expressions. One of the mothers—an older woman with a stern face—made her way toward them, half-heartedly pulling her child back.

"My lady," the woman began cautiously, her tone respectful but wary, "your kindness knows no limit… but persimmons, foreign fruits—are they not better suited for lords and ladies’ tables? Perhaps the children ought to…?"

Claere turned her gaze to the woman, her eyes calm, as if considering the unspoken reluctance. She did not speak at first, only handed the sack to one of the boys who held it up for the others to reach.

“They’re fruits of the earth,” she said softly, “not gold meant to be hoarded. What grows must be shared. It's why the Glass Gardens are being built.”

There was a pause, tension still lingering in the air. A few of the men exchanged glances, unsure of this Targaryen's ways—so different from the daughters of the North they knew.

Then one of the fathers, a grizzled man with a thick beard, broke the silence with a short laugh. “As long as my son doesn’t bring more seeds to my house, we’ll thank you, my lady.”

His words loosened the air, drawing chuckles from others. The children cheered as they dug into the fruit, but the adults, though warmer now, still watched her carefully. In small, deliberate ways—through her gifts, her gentle efforts to nurture life in this land—she was inching closer, bridging the invisible divide between herself and the North.

"Come now, pups," a young lady led the children away with their happy squalls, "one for each. Share it with the others."

"Arrys took three! Fatty!"

"Hey, that's mine!"

"Mine's a little green!"

It was subtle, this shift. Like the first, almost imperceptible thaw after a long winter, when the snow begins to soften at the edges, and the hard ground yields just enough to suggest that spring might, one day, arrive.

Claere’s eyes lingered on the adults for a moment longer, as though she understood. She wasn’t sure she could ever be loved like one of their own. And while they still watched her warily, with eyes that carried centuries of cold caution, there was a slow, begrudging acceptance in their gaze. The kind of acceptance that wasn’t born out of understanding, but out of recognition—recognition that, for all her strange ways, she was not giving up.

“My lady!” A breathless guard stumbled toward her, his face flushed with urgency. He dropped into a quick bow, his words fumbling as they spilt out.

“Scouts have spotted a dragon. We believe... it’s your brother, the prince.”

Her brother. Jacaerys.

The news sent a ripple through Claere’s thoughts, pulling her out of the quiet reverie she’d fallen into. She nodded, dismissing the guard and strolling away from the castle entrance, and soon turned her gaze skyward, watching as Vermax circled in the distance, preparing to land. Luna twitched behind her, growling low, sensing another dragon’s presence but remaining calm as Vermax descended.

Jacaerys landed some distance away from Luna, cautious not to provoke the larger dragon. Vermax was a mere hatchling in comparison to Luna, poised by her rider protectively.

As her brother dismounted, Claere observed him from afar, her emotions a tangled web. She hadn’t seen him in many long months. The boy she remembered had been full of vigour and promise, but now, standing before her, Jacaerys had grown in ways she hadn’t fully anticipated.

The man who approached her was taller, his shoulders broader, his gait that of a prince who had known the significance of command. His dark hair, tousled by flight, framed a face more serious than it had once been. There was a formality to him, a distance that felt almost like the expanse between them, even though they were blood.

Their relationship had not always been like this—distant, formal. He was once her buffer against her vengeful uncles, Aegon and Aemond, and her safest confidante in the Red Keep. He only happened to sour to her presence after their mother, Queen Rhaenyra, had blissfully betrothed them when they were children of nine, for the strengthening of their bloodline and her irrefutable claim to the throne. It was declared null when her mother faced the threat of dispersion from Lord Corlys on Driftmark that she joined Laena Velaryon's daughters to her prince sons in holy matrimony.

Where Claere had somewhat bonded with her younger brothers Lucerys and Joffrey, Jacaerys had remained like a stranger thereafter. He had never been unkind to her, never prodded at her oddities, only stayed apathetic, their connection one of duty rather than affection. He had always seemed uncertain of how to approach her, and she had never sought him out. They had lived like shadows, passing by each other but never truly meeting.

“Sister,” Jacaerys greeted her upon reaching her, his voice polite, measured. He dipped his head, ever respectful, the heir to the throne. "How you've grown in mere moons. And so has Luna."

She imparted a brief nod. "Brother," she greeted back quietly. Her eyes darted to Vermax, his green-scaled dragon, beady eyes watchful of his rider. "Vermax has come to be formidable."

"Indeed," Jace said, sounding proud of himself, peeking back at his dragon. "You'll also be pleased to know that Tyraxes has finally taken to wing. Ought to see Joff instead of me next time."

Slightly hesitant, she asked, "And this time?"

"I've come to see how you're faring," and quickly included, "upon mother's request. As her envoy."

His eyes flashed down to her flat abdomen for a split second, possibly gauging the extent of a prosperous marriage. So far, he was not convinced. It had nearly been six moons, yet no cries of a Stark lordling sounded in the halls.

“I am well,” Claere answered, her tone just as restrained as his.

His dark eyes flicked toward the great castle, then back to her. “There have been… rumours. Whispers from the North that have reached the Queen’s ears. She was concerned.”

Rumours. She knew what he implied—the discontent among the Northerners, their ever-growing suspicion of her, the whispers of a Valyrian witch who crossed the Wall and lived to tell the tale. It had been expanding slowly, like frost creeping across the ground before winter.

“They matter little,” Claere replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jacaerys didn’t respond at first, his gaze sharp as he studied her. Then, with the smallest hint of reluctance, he responded, “I am still your brother, Claere. Marriage cannot dissolve that. I rule over Dragonstone with Baela and if you wish it, I will gladly have you back home or with our brothers in the Red Keep."

It wasn’t quite an offer, more like a suggestion left hanging in the cold air between them. A way out, should she want it. Simply renounce a vain, hopeless marriage and move on.

Claere’s eyes met his, and for a moment, she wondered if he meant it. Did her dear brother truly want her back, or was this merely a way to ease his guilty conscience? To not have suspected the consequences beforehand, before she was ever traded off to the unaccepting North? She glanced at Luna, standing watch behind her, and then back to Jacaerys.

A brief silence passed between them before he spoke again, his voice lighter, though still formal. “I'd like to speak to Lord Stark. Perhaps he'd have a response for the crown.”

The Great Hall of Winterfell felt colder than usual that evening. The large hearth blazed, but the warmth seemed to be swallowed by the heavy silence hanging between the three nobles seated at the long table. Cregan sat at the head, his posture relaxed yet every muscle tensed beneath the surface, his eyes occasionally drifting toward Claere on habit, who sat beside him, ever the silent enigma. Across from them, Jacaerys Velaryon sat straight-backed, his dark eyes flicking between his hosts, clearly working up to something but holding back—for now.

The tension was palpable, thick enough to slice through with a blade, but neither man addressed the looming unspoken questions yet. Claere seemed unconcerned, as she picked at the modest fare before her, her pale eyes focused on nothing in particular. She was present yet did not seem so, lost in her world.

Cregan noticed her silver crown of braids, how they were styled in the manner of a Southern lady, perhaps to butter up to her brother. He never thought he would infuriated over something as foolish as hair, and ought to chastise those handmaidens of hers who only worked around his cause.

Jace cleared his throat, breaking the silence as he reached for his goblet, swirling the golden ale inside. He offered a polite smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

"This beverage is excellent, my lord," Jace began, a tentative olive branch. "And the pie—'tis the heartiest I've had. Sustains the North, I’m sure. Though I can imagine it’s difficult for... some to thrive on such fare."

His gaze dashed briefly to Claere, lingering on her thinner frame. It wasn’t a pointed stare, but the implication hung in the air. Her weight loss, her difficulty sustaining herself on the limited northern diet—it was not lost on him.

Cregan’s jaw clenched, though his smile remained courteous. "We manage well enough," he said, his voice patient. "The Glass Gardens have begun to yield fresh crops. Our granaries our vast. We make sure every Northerner has everything they require come winter."

There was a subtle challenge in Cregan’s words, a quiet assertion of his control over his household and his care for his wife. The implication was clear: I’ve got it covered.

Jace gave a tight nod, his lips pressed thinly together. The conversation lulled back into awkward silence, the crackling of the fire and the clinking of cutlery the only sounds between them. Claere remained as she had been—detached, her pale eyes drifting from the flames in the hearth to the fruit on her plate.

Jacaerys hesitated before speaking again, as though weighing his next words carefully.

"Has Claere ever told you," he drawled, his tone lighter but carrying an undercurrent of something more, "that she and I are twins?"

Cregan’s gaze shifted to Jace, then to Claere, and back again. It rattled him, if only for a moment. Twins? It seemed impossible. Jacaerys, with his dark ringlets and strong build, bore the hallmarks of House Velaryon though, some whispered, his true father, Ser Harwin Strong. Claere, on the other hand, was the image of Old Valyria—silver hair, pale skin, violet eyes, as if fire and ice had mingled to create her. The stark contrast between them had always been striking, and now it seemed even more so. He simply deemed it unlikely at first glance.

"Yes, we were inseparable," the young prince continued, his tone cautious. "We shared the same womb, weaned from the same breast, and learned together as children. We were even betrothed for a time, like our ancestors before us."

Jace's eyes narrowed slightly as Cregan's fingers fisted, and though his tone remained neutral, there was an edge to his words. "But even after all that, there are things about my sister I still cannot begin to comprehend."

Cregan’s eyes darkened, understanding the implication. Jace wasn’t just talking about family ties; he was probing, testing for weaknesses, for fractures in the foundation of Claere’s place in Winterfell. It was a subtle attempt, cloaked in brotherly concern, but Cregan was no fool.

"Aye, that may be," Cregan replied evenly, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping against his goblet. "But what man can claim to entirely understand a woman, even one he’s known all his life? Claere may be... finding her feet, but that doesn’t make her any less at home here."

Jace raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint, sardonic smile. "You speak as if she’s already oriented herself here, Lord Stark. Though from what I’ve heard, not all in the North share your sentiment."

The jab was delivered mildly, but it hit its mark. Cregan’s expression hardened slightly, his palm tight around his fork, though his tone remained calm. "Winterfell is nearly frozen over. It takes time for new blood to warm itself to these halls. But we’ve had Targaryens here before, and they’ve got by just fine."

"Mm," Jace hummed into his glass, "dragonblood runs hotter than you can imagine."

"Makes it easier then."

Jace leaned forward, setting his goblet down. "That’s just it, isn’t it? Claere is no mere Targaryen. She’s my twin. She has just as much claim to our mother’s throne as I do."

The implicit tension snapped into something sharper, more dangerous. The Iron Throne. The claim. It hung between them like a storm on the horizon, unstated but ever-present. Should sides be drawn in the future, blood could be spilt—not over affection, but over power, the oldest and most treacherous currency. He could imagine it: Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Claere Targaryen, and her king consort, the King in the North, Cregan Stark. It tasted foul on his tongue, withered to ashes as soon as it appeared. Claere was queen, here. She was the winter's queen, a fire that would burn a beacon in the North.

Cregan’s eyes narrowed, though his expression remained stoic. "Are you suggesting something, my prince? Sowing seeds of war in my soil, possibly?" he asked, his voice low, enduring as a mountain before the storm. "Because it sounds as though you’re questioning my lady's fealty to her home."

Jace’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t back down. "I’m simply reminding you of who she is. And that, as much as you may think you understand her, there are parts of Claere that no one can reach." His gaze drifted to Claere then, who sat as still as stone, her eyes on the flickering flame. "Not even me."

Cregan studied Jacaerys for a long moment before turning his gaze to Claere. She had been a quiet, odd presence throughout this verbal sparring match, content to let the two men duel with words over her head. But now, as Jace’s words hung in the air, she finally looked up, meeting Cregan’s eyes with her own.

Cregan leaned back in his chair, a calculated look forming as his hand rested on Claere’s thigh.

His voice lowered, carrying an undercurrent of challenge but framed in civility. "It seems we find ourselves at an impasse. Perhaps a better question, my prince, is not who has known Claere through six moons or sixteen years, but who has tried to understand her the most."

Bitterness flickered in Jace's gaze. He leaned forward, not willing to be outdone. "It’s not the little things that bind people. It’s blood, shared history. We came into this world together."

Cregan’s lips curved into a cold, knowing smile. "Aye, you did. But who stands by you in the darkest hour matters, not who was there when the sun first rose."

Jace’s face flushed with frustration. He glanced at Claere, who sat impassive as ever, and then back to Cregan, clearly at a loss. It seemed like he wanted to argue for a moment, but nothing came. The Stark lord's words had landed.

"Jace is right," she said quietly, her voice soft but collected. "He doesn't know me fully, nor do I know him as I should." Her eyes shifted toward her brother, a faraway sorrow touching her expression. "We've spent years apart—fates pulling us in different directions. He's not wrong about that."

Jace straightened up, a gleam of triumph surfacing in his expression, but before he could speak, Claere turned her gaze back to Cregan, her voice clearer, firmer.

"But that doesn’t imply I am not where I am meant to be."

Jace's smile faded. Her words were simple, undefined as ever, but they carried the gravity intended. It was a quiet reminder that she had chosen Winterfell, that she had chosen Cregan. And though her ways might be unconventional, she was committed to that choice.

Cregan’s expression softened slightly as he looked at her, the tension in his stance easing. Every inch of him swelled with pride at her words.

"I belong here now, Jacaerys," she declared to him.

"These people whisper at you like cravens, sister," Jace told her irately. "They have no regard for the power at your helm. Seven hells, you ride the White Dread. Yet they disparage you and hail you a witch."

"I will not have her leave her home for it," Cregan cut in sharply, his words slicing through the thickening tension.

Jace’s lips pressed into a thin line, his earlier confidence ebbing into frustration. "Home?" he repeated, the word laced with disbelief. “She is of the blood of Old Valyria. She belongs in a throne room, with her dragon soaring over Blackwater Bay—not wasting away in the most forgotten corners of the realm.”

"Wasting away?" Cregan’s voice dropped to a deadly stillness, his eyes narrowing. “She flourishes here, despite whatever Southern comforts you think she’s lost.”

Jace’s gaze sharpened, unwilling to back down. "Look at her, Stark. She's barely a shadow of—"

"Stop."

Claere’s voice cut through the rising tension, abrupt and shrill, though her tone was calm. Both men fell silent.

For a heartbeat, neither Jace nor Cregan moved, their stances locked in defiance, accusations hanging gravely in the air. The room seemed to shrink, the air charged between them as if the two men stood on the brink of war than the moment itself.

Cregan’s jaw tightened, his gaze darkening as he regarded the prince. His voice dropped to a dangerously calm whisper, more powerful in its restraint.

“You speak of power as if it is the only thing that holds this realm together. But it’s not power that keeps this castle standing. It’s hard work, loyalty, honour. Do you think strength alone carried Winterfell through the long winters and centuries?”

Jace’s eyes flicked to Claere, then back to Cregan, the frown on his face deepening. “Loyalty?" he said, his voice tinged with scepticism. "Yes. But loyalty can break as easily as ice, especially when those in the shadows do not see strength."

“They see what I choose to show them,” Cregan shot back, his voice steady, unflinching. “And they see a queen standing beside me. She is spoken for in my name. That’s all they need to know.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy as if the very stones of Winterfell had taken a breath and held it. Jace’s brow furrowed, his jaw tight as he tried to digest what Cregan said. Queen? The word hung in the air between them, a title not formally bestowed, yet it carried a deeper truth.

Jace’s gaze flicked between them—Cregan, with his unyielding confidence, and Claere, with her quiet, ethereal presence. He tried to grasp it, to make sense of how this odd, reserved sister of his had become something more in the eyes of these Northern people. For all their whispered words, all their doubts and suspicions about her, they still regarded her as something more than a mere consort. She had carved out a place here, without needing to raise a sword or a dragon in her defence. She was no longer a pawn at their mother's behest.

Jace exhaled, his hands resting on the table, his earlier edge of confrontation slipping away.

"I have only wanted what's best for her. And to my mother, it was to bring her back to Dragonstone. Live out her days as she wished, rid off calumnies." Finally, he nodded, settling into a reluctant acceptance. “Now I see... she's not alone."

Cregan’s gaze was unflinching as he spoke. “She never was.”

Jace looked between them, Cregan’s words settling over the table like a thick winter’s snow. Claere’s eyes met her brother's in a fleeting but meaningful look.

Jace, for all his formality, nodded, understanding more than words could say. "Then we place our trust in your hands, my lord, and the princess' peace of mind."

And the Stark, ever the wolf in his den, would guard her with teeth bared if need be. Cregan’s hand tightened on Claere’s, his voice low and relentless.

“You’ll leave Lady Stark in the only hands she needs.”

Claere stood in the doorway of Jace’s chambers, her presence barely announced by the soft scrape of her shoes on stone. In her arms, a basket, small and modest, yet unmistakably precious—the glint of warm dragon eggs nestled within.

Jace looked up from his desk, startled by the sight of her, and rose slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Sister."

“For the new princess,” she announced, her voice low, measured.

She offered the basket, her fingers lingering on the handle for a moment before retreating into the folds of her gown. Her gaze remained fixed on the gleaming eggs as if their presence alone carried the message.

Jace blinked, surprise flashing across his face before he laughed, though the sound lacked true mirth.

“Of course. You always seem to know more than most,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “No one’s spoken of the babe—not even to the Queen.”

Her lips barely moved as she responded, her tone distant, almost cryptic. “The winds carry luck and warnings alike.”

"We've named her Laena."

She inclined her head ever so slightly. “An auspicious name. May she prosper.”

Her words were curt and formal, as though there was nothing more between them than this exchange. The air between them felt colder, stretched thin by years and decisions not their own. He had always hoped for more—some kind of familiarity, some bridge between their shared past—but that hope had been dashed time and time again. The rift, born of their mother's scheming and expectations, had only deepened over the years.

“I wish you good fortune, brother,” Claere said finally, her voice flat, the words of courtesy hollow.

Jace sighed, the weight of lost years heavy on him. He had wanted to speak with her, to find some common ground, but she had always been like this—elusive, indistinct, a world apart even when she stood in the same room. Time had slipped away, and no ravens sent across the vast expanse of that distance could ever reclaim what was lost.

"Lord Stark seems quite fond of you," he tried to say, softening his tone. "I am glad you've found someone to treasure. I also hear that you crossed the Wall alone—"

"The hour grows late. I should leave you to your rest." So blunt, a blade cutting through any illusion of warmth between them.

"Claere, wait," he muttered as she turned to leave.

His sister paused, though her back remained to him, her silence stifling. She did not look at him, and yet he felt her eyes upon him, offering no solace, only the unyielding distance that had grown between them.

Jace hesitated, searching for the right words. “The throne… it’s a cage, not a crown. You know that as well as I. You don’t need it. You don’t want it.”

Claere turned, her gaze indistinct, as if she were dissecting his meaning without revealing any of her own. He took a breath, willing her to understand.

“We were born the same. But only one of us can sit up there. And you’ve never belonged in its shadow. You’re beyond it.”

The silence that followed was thicker, heavier than before. His words hung in the air, an unspoken plea for her to step aside, to yield something that, by all rights, was hers to claim.

She said nothing, but her silence screamed louder than words, and in that void, Jace felt the weight of all that had passed between them, the years lost, the closeness forsaken.

"I'm sorry, sister," he admitted, his voice a soft plea. "For all of it. I wish it did not come to this."

She raised her brows, her eyes sharp as violet shards. "Come to what?"

Jace faltered, caught off guard by the calmness of her tone, the way her words sliced through his own hesitation. He swallowed hard, searching for something to grasp onto. "This anonymity. Our own mother's ambition has turned us into strangers."

Claere's lips lifted to a bleak smile. "Our mother did not do that, Jacaerys. You did."

She stood there, her face unmoving, the silence thick between them. There was no anger in her eyes, but neither was there forgiveness. Just that same cool, detached calm. And with that, she turned and left, leaving him alone in the echo of his apology.

He stared after her, the basket of eggs still warm in his hands, and the cold truth of her departure settling like frost, realizing that whatever bridge he had hoped to build between them had crumbled long ago.

As night closed in, Cregan and Claere's bedroom was bathed in darkness, save for the pale glow of moonlight sloping through the windows, casting long shadows over the stone floor.

Cregan lay awake, his mind restless, replaying the tension of the evening with Jace. He’d handled it as he always did—with authority and force. But had he thought of her? Claere had said little at dinner, her quiet presence always hard to read. Yet Cregan couldn’t shake the feeling he should have asked her, should have drawn her into the conversation instead of battling it out alone.

Beside him, Claere stirred. He watched her wake from the pillows, her bare feet silent against the cold floor as she moved, a familiar routine. Her nightdress clung to her form, delicate and flowing, the pale fabric shifting with each step. She drifted toward her harp—a massive, exquisite instrument that seemed to be attached to her as much as her dragon did. He'd watched her do this countless times, slipping into her world of music as if it were the only place where she could find peace.

Cregan’s eyes followed her as she sat, the harp resting between her legs. She flicked her long, silver hair over her shoulder, tucking the loose strands behind her ear before her fingers found the strings. Each pluck sent a soft note into the air, a lulling melody filling the room, soothing and haunting all at once. Her eyes stared unseeingly at the carpet as she hummed, a low, wordless tune that rose and fell with the notes. Her fingers danced across the strings effortlessly, creating music that seemed to be born of the night itself.

She was the vision of every man’s dream—stunning, elusive. And yet, even as she sat there, calm and poised, Cregan could feel her unease, buried beneath that impassive exterior. He knew her anxieties, could sense them in the way her shoulders tensed, in the small tremor in her breath. He should have asked her, should have given her the space to speak her thoughts, to let her feelings surface.

Quietly, he pushed off the furs and moved toward her, sitting behind her on the long bench. His broad hands slid over her waist, firm yet tender, grounding her as he drew closer. Claere’s fingers continued to dance over the strings, but he felt the stillness in her body, the way her breath caught as his presence nudged against her. He straddled her from behind, thighs sweeping hers, his chin resting on her shoulder, carefully sweeping her hair aside to expose the pale curve of her neck. Soft, lazing kisses followed—his lips grazing her skin, teeth teasing in between. The touch was enough to break her concentration; her fingers faltered, missing the next note. Her humming stilled, but she didn’t pull away.

"It's as if you were made to indulge me," he murmured against her skin, the words low and warm as he kissed her ear, drawing her closer to him with every word.

A soft smile tugged at Claere’s lips. "Not long ago, this used to scare you witless."

Cregan chuckled, a low sound that rumbled against her back, his lips pressing more firmly into her cheek. “Maybe earlier,” he admitted, his breath hot against her skin, “but now. Now I think of immensely bold acts I'd like to see play out.”

His hands slid up her sides, pulling her in closer, as though she was the only thing that could still his thoughts. He pushed another kiss at the seam of her jaw, teeth sinking in to tug at it.

"Do you want it, love?" he rasped.

Her fingers idly plucked at the gold strings. "You?"

"You already have me. I meant the Iron Throne."

Claere’s fingers stilled on the harp strings, the delicate melody faltering, as though his offer had reached even the instrument.

Cregan had always been a man of ancient power, cold winds, and the endless stretches of the North—they were in his blood as much as his duty to his people. He had never wanted the games of the South, the crown’s politicking, the endless pursuit of power. All he had ever wanted was to serve his house and to care for the woman he had sworn his heart to.

But as he held Claere close, her warmth seeping into him in the quiet of the room, his mind was at war with itself. For her, he would march on King’s Landing, he would challenge any lord, any crown, if she asked it. And that thought ate at him, for it wasn’t a war he desired—it was her. Only her.

“I'd give it to you when the time comes,” he whispered again, reluctance carefully concealed. He pressed another kiss into the soft curve of her jaw, his breath heavy against her skin. “If you said it, I’d rally all the houses under my yoke, raise my banners and claim what’s rightfully yours. I'll lay all of Westeros at your feet.”

Her body tensed beneath his touch, but she said nothing at first. The silence stretched, and it unsettled him. He felt her thinking, felt her calculating in that quiet way she had. She always had a way of making him question himself without uttering a word.

“You would march south for me?” she finally asked, her voice low, like a ripple across still water.

Cregan's hands gripped her waist more firmly as he processed her quiet words. She hadn't given him a direct answer, not about the Iron Throne, not about power or the realms beyond the North. But there was something in her silence, the way her fingers had resumed their light plucking at the strings of the harp, her eyes half-lidded in thought. His heart clenched, torn between duty and desire.

His voice was a low rumble, roughened by the cold and tension. "Aye."

"Then what?" she mused.

He was evidently thrown. "You... you could have it all—power, praise. No one would ever question your place. They’d fear you, respect you. The entire realm."

She paused, her hands resting against the harp strings, but her face remained unreadable. After a moment, she tilted her head slightly, her silver hair brushing his chin.

"And what would you do then?" she asked. "Once we have seized the Red Keep, and slain my brother and his heir, would you rule by my side, or would you abandon me in that gold cage with bloodstains?"

His jaw clenched as the simplicity behind her cruel words settled.

"There must always be a Stark at Winterfell," she claimed in a mumble, her tone unyielding, almost teasing. "Would you leave me to be poisoned by the court of vipers while you return home?"

He swallowed, his throat tight. The truth of her question was too clear. The North was in his blood, a responsibility that was older than any crown. And yet, for her, he had entertained the unimaginable. He could see it in her eyes now—the depths of her meaning, the question he hadn’t fully understood.

“You fit in here, with me," she said softly, her fingers brushing over his wrist, still resting on her waist. "This is the only place I’ve ever truly felt at peace. The North may whisper against me, but it has been kinder to me than any throne ever was."

Cregan let out a slow breath, his hand sliding up to her throat. The magnitude of her words pulled at him, grounding him in a way no talk of crowns or power could. He urged her cheek against his forehead, seeking warmth in her closeness.

"Here is good," she murmured, cupping his jaw. "Here, where the cold is real and not the cruelty of men."

And for the first time since he had offered her the world, he understood the answer. It was never about gold, crowns, or kingdoms. It was about the home they had made together, in the harsh, unyielding North.

Cregan pressed a lingering kiss against the pulse of her neck as if drawing strength from the steady rhythm beneath her skin. “You’re my queen, always,” he whispered, the words no longer about crowns or thrones.

At that moment, he knew he needed no banners, no throne to claim. He had already won the greatest battle of all—he had her.

Claere's lips curved, her hand tracing the shadow of his beard.

"A queen without a crown," she murmured, more to herself, the playful glint still present. "And without subjects, save perhaps you."

He laughed deeply, the sound rumbling against her skin before he glanced at the harp resting before them. With a grin tugging at his lips, Cregan reached for it, his large frame seemed out of place with the delicate instrument, but he was undeterred.

“Or I presume,” Claere teased, her back leaning against him, feeling the warmth of his chest. "The King in the North who fancies himself a minstrel?"

Cregan plucked a string awkwardly, the sound that followed more of a discordant twang than music. He winced but smiled, undaunted.

“There’s more to me than swords and axes, you know," he pointed out. "I am quite the bard myself. Listen to this."

He cleared his throat to sing out in a low-pitched voice, fumbling with the strings and producing another off-key note. Claere listened eagerly, holding all the stars in the sky captive momentarily.

Claere, oh, sweet Claere, She plays like a queen, Every note is like a spell, And here I am, A loopy fuckin' fool, Breaking her strings Oh, she hides her laugh well!

Claere burst into laughter, hiding her face behind her hands, a rare sound that filled the hushed space between them, and Cregan looked even more pleased with her reaction than his musical attempt.

“You’ve got that laugh locked away like a prize, don’t you?”

“I don’t laugh at just anything,” she said, her voice warm but with that familiar edge of wit.

Cregan arched a brow. “I’m special then?”

"Very much."

Moving close and her hands over his, she guided his fingers to the proper strings, her touch gentle, her movements graceful. Together, entwined, they coaxed a soft, sweet melody from the harp.

Cregan barely cared for the music. His focus was entirely on her—her warmth, the way her fingers danced across his own, the rare smile that hadn’t left her lips for a long time. How wondrous would it be to be stuck here, this way, with nothing but time to keep them apart?

“I admit defeat,” he murmured, his voice low, amused. “I think the harp is yours, love.”

Claere’s smile softened as she continued to guide his hands. "A queen with a harp," she mused, her voice low and warm. "Perhaps that’s all I require."

Cregan, eyes crinkling with a smile, leaned in closer, his breath against her ear. “That, and me.”

"Perhaps..."

Claere laughed, a soft, clear sound, and kissed him, her warmth banishing any lingering tension. He moved his grinning lips with hers, holding her safe in his palms, now truly untouchable.

"I’ll settle for just you," she whispered.

I'm opening my inbox for asks for one-shots on Claere and Cregan! I'm not sure how that works, but I'll learn as I go :)

a question for my kind ones: if Cregan and Claere had a date night, what do you think that would look like? go as wild as you can!

[ taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @beingalive1 , @oxymakestheworldgoround , @tigolebittiez , @cosmosnkaz , @justdazzling , @lv7867 , @piper570 ] -> thank you for your endless support everyone!

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bl00dlight · 6 months ago

Text

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

Warnings - Family trouble, violence, father issues, general suffering, teenagers getting their ass beat by said individuals over 18, not proof read.

Author's note ● Essentially part two of the previous chapter, get ready for some major mischief next chapter.

Word Count ~ 5.4k+

Tags - @mamawiggers1980

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii● viii ● ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

ix - 'The Last Supper'

The supper had gone on in relative peace, a quiet contempt lingering in the background but mostly, it seemed the Blacks and Greens of House Targaryen stuck to their relative side when it came to conversation. A few passing crude comments from Aegon had won the glares of Visenya and her siblings, especially when they were targeted towards Jace and Baela’s betrothal, but a scattering of toasts, seemingly made in good will seemed to draw attention away from the brewing tension.

There were a few moments, Visenya might wonder if such contempt would erupt into something larger, however it seemed to be kept at bay by the King’s presence, most specifically after his speech which although seemed to harbour some kind of effect upon both the Queen and Rhaenyra – his words of familial love landed upon death ears of the younger members of House Targaryen. There was little love to rekindle, if there ever any to begin with – and the wounds that had been made had festered for so long that they had rotted into their very bones. There would be no reconciliation between the two Green Prince’s and the Black siblings. Of course, Princess Helaena being the odd one out in which no one seemed to have any bone to pick with her. It was that in which sparked Prince Jacaerys to offer the lonesome princess a dance. Most specifically after Helaena had made a toast, mentioning her brother-husband Aegon’s neglect.

Visenya had noticed the exchange between her two uncles as they watched their sister dance freely, with her brother. She’d never seen Heleana smile or laugh brightly; it was rather heartwarming in truth.

But such a scene had a dark shadow casted upon it, as Prince Aemond turned his body to face his sister, and Prince Jacaerys – his jaw hardened by the sight of one his half-sister's bastard spawn daring to make such a brazen gesture. However, Aemond’s glare would be brought to a halt, as in his illness, King Viserys grew weary, spawning all eyes to draw upon him as his wife, Alicent called for the old man to be taken back to bed to rest.

As Visenya gazed with a glimmer of sorrow within her eyes upon her withering Grandsire, she noticed the servants pass, holding what seemed to be but a rather large pig, stuffed with an apple in her mouth. The princess had always thought such a sight was particularly gruesome – even more gruesome than any bloodshed she had witnessed earlier that day.

It was a rather cruel gesture, to slaughter something then display it’s cooked corpse with little but an apple shoved into it's mouth. It hardly seemed appetising at all, it seemed brutal. She had supposed it was what she had liked so much about dragons, despite such chaos one could unleash, they were not brutal in the way men were. They do not require their meals be presented so prettily as to draw attention from the fact they had slayed a creature to feed. Death by dragonfire was quick, easy. No apple required.

Visenya’s thoughts were soon brought back to the supper as the small snicker of Lucerys was heard beside her. She followed his gaze as he looked upon the pig, then up to Aemond. One thought in her mind.

The Pink Dread.

The young prince Lucerys giggled again, and his eyes gleamed with mischief. He thought longingly to the prank he had pulled upon his uncle, it seemed after all these years he had forgotten the mischief that had been made in the name of poking fun at his uncle’s lack of a dragon in their youth.

Visenya’s face dropped for a moment, both in amusement and apprehension – as she noted the one eyed stare from across the table. Oh, he knew…

It was clear, Aemond was once again being mocked so subliminally – so underhandly that none else upon the table had noticed the smarmy flicker of Luke’s eyes, nor the raised brow of his harlot sister. The one-eyed Prince had grown rather adapt to people’s expressions, having become suspicious of them for most of his life from the troubles in his youth. The fact that the bastards before him have gotten away with so freely tormenting him, so openly maiming and disregarding him, made Aemond’s blood boil beyond the point of consolation. No, there would be no reassuring, he cannot just break bread and forgive the suffering he has endured. He would not stand for a bastard born of a whore Princess and her lesser House lover to continue to show him no respect. He would not dare to take the mocking of the boy who stole his eye, who was weak and craven. Born of lesser blood, lesser nobility – illegitimacy. Born of his mother’s constant whoring, and the lecherous men who indulged in it.

Nor would he tolerate the half-brained Targaryen bastard beside him snickering in Aemond’s wake either. Another product of the degeneracy of his Uncle Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra. Another abomination to the House Targaryen name. Regardless of how fare Visenya’s face or big her tits – it was all artifice to cover the rotting wench beneath. All sorcery to distract men from the fact she was conceived in a brothel by way of sin, then pawned off as another man’s child. Though, at least she was a bastard of royal blood. At least she had Prince Daemon as a father and not some brute of the Riverlands. That saved her in some regard from Aemond’s ire – but it was not necessarily for anything other than his own envy. Visenya, unlike her brothers was less craven, she had not bothered to pretend to settle any dust between them. Not played into any idea they were capable of making amends. And the only one who had ever bothered to show him some level of acknowledgement, once.

Though he had tried to keep it at bay, he did oft think of his niece in their youth, the time she had found him crying in the Dragonpits. How she did, to some degree attempt to console his humiliation. He had also remembered how she once defended him against Aegon’s torment, how he had not returned the favour – yet… she for some reason unbeknownst to him, went out of her way to punish Aegon.

As he glared across from Visenya, his gaze still hard and temper still soaring, Aemond found himself grow more angered by this. Angered because it had amounted to nothing, amounted to him being pushed back into the dirt by her. Betrayed.

He felt a swarming sense of disgust, he was but a boy and she tricked him. Made him feel the beginnings of kinship or trust. Bewitched him into believing she thought him anything more than pathetic and weak. It was all an elaborate jest, all another way to mock him.

But when it finally came down to it, when she could have proven herself not a traitorous slut, more devoted to her Strong bastard half-brothers, then a Prince born of her House… Visenya had turned away. She had looked away as her snickering little brother ripped Aemond’s very eye from its socket. Looked away when Aemond had coiled upon the ground in pain, blood pooling from his face and she protected the boy. She protected Luke knowing what he had done. Knowing that she could have stopped her foul siblings from beating and maiming Aemond. And for that reason, all traces of the seeds of kinship and affection were lost between them.

She could rise above her bastardy, become a great Targaryen as I, or as her father. But she indulges in her own depravity as they all do.

Aemond’s eye then narrowed upon Luke who still had a vile smile upon his young face, he noted how the boy had let out a harsh snicker as he noticed Aemond’s rising irritation. His mind went from wrathful to blackened.

The bastard mocks me, yet he thinks me the same boy who shall swallow his pride and conceal his temper. They all mock me, yet they think I shall turn the other cheek by virtue of breaking bread and kinship of blood… all know what they are, Strong bastards. They are not of my blood. They do not look like my blood nor behave like my blood. They are stains, lesser bred stains, who mock me to conceal the fact it is they who are outsiders, they who do not belong at a dragon’s table, nor their voices being heard by the realm. They are rats spoiling our line. They are the defect that spoils Targaryen blood. What irony they are 'Strong' when their legitimacy as royals is so weak.

Before Aemond could prevent himself, his temper had made his fist fly upon the table sending him to stand swiftly. He raised his goblet and then,

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise...” His soft voice silencing all idle chatter, all music swiftly stopping and the dancing Helaena and Jacaerys, too, stopped in their tracks.

Aemond watched with satisfaction as the heads upon the table had turned, he relished in their wide eyes, their bated breath. “Hm..” His eye widened, like a shark upon smelling blood, his softened his voice further, “…Strong.”

Visenya took a breath out, at that word. He must think himself terribly clever. She was already exasperated by the scene before her, she couldn’t even be angry at this point for it was only a matter of time before the pretence would be done away with. She sat back, noting the way her little brother’s face had dropped. The princess let her hand fall to Luke’s wrist, as he placed his goblet down, preventing him from exacerbating the situation.

As a bitter silence fell over the table, Queen Alicent brought her hands to her face in concern, her tone low, warning, “Aemond.”

But all warnings were lost upon the prince, as he smiled with satisfaction, gazing at Jace before raising his goblet further, his tone mockingly jovial, “Come… let us drain our cups to these three…Strong boys.”

Below him, Prince Aegon joined his brother in the false toast, his goblet raised as he looked glibly upon Luke and Jace.

To which both dark haired prince’s found themselves beyond the point of anger, and Jace in his rashness found his fists clenched tightly, his voice a dignified bark, “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond turned his head swiftly, “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” Slowly, he stalked towards his nephew, “Do you not think yourself Strong?”

Prince Jacaerys had found himself already moving towards his silver haired uncle, and before he could stop himself, the young prince had slammed his fist against Aemond’s face. Before Visenya had even noticed, Luke escaped her grip sauntering towards Prince Aegon who had gleefully joined the brawl.

Aegon grabbed Luke swiftly, forcing his head into the table, sending herself and her sisters to their feet. “Luke-” Visenya barked.

Her brow furrowed in anger as once again, as she went to charge at Aegon, but she was met with her father’s hand suddenly grabbing at her wrist.

She looked into Daemon's eyes, and the rage that brewed within her fell away as she eased. She could not indulge; she could not get involved once again in such disputes. Not after what had happened last time.

In the corner, Rhaena was forcing her sister Baela back, as the young Lady had watched as her betrothed, Jacaerys was forced to the ground by a snickering Aemond.

“That is enough!” Queen Alicent had shouted harshly at her son.

The one eyed Prince, whom had barely so much as winced after being punched, chuckled gleefully, as he turned away from his fallen nephew. He had pushed Jace with such ease, it was not worth much more of a fight to Aemond, for he would easily beat them, and he took little pleasure in an unworthy opponent. It was no challenge.

Before any could comprehend, the guards had seized the two dark haired princes, pulling them away as now, all members of the table had risen. Daemon had let go of Visenya as they flocked to the detained Lucerys and Jacaerys, who still in their anger struggled to accost their uncles once more.

As Visenya had finally reached her younger brothers, she suddenly gripped at the hand of one of the guards who being particularly rough with Jace, her tone fierce, “OFF!” The princess pulled his thick hand free from her brother, and she gripped his arm.

Jace’s brown eyes seemed red with a dire fury, she gripped his wrist harder her expression giving a fair warning to temper his nerve. Their mother was now at their side, holding her belly as she looked upon her children with a slight despair.

Visenya turned her head and noticed the auburn hair of Alicent whipping around the table as she swiftly pulled Prince Aemond close, reprimanding him slightly out of ear shot.

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” Alicent’s eyes were wide and unsettled as she gazed upon the sharp, satisfied features of her son.

She had always known there was something particularly strange about Aemond, strange of how easily such impulse for inciting such disharmony came to him and how he seemed to be unable to resist all desire to act upon whatever rage dwelled within him.

The prince narrowed his eye upon his mother, her hand gripping at his wrist tightly. He crooned and spoke again, his tone incendiary, “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” Aemond tilted his head, ready to spark a greater fire, “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

With that he had ripped his hand straight from his mother’s grasp with ease, turning sharply as he approached his nephews and Visenya. His eye landing on Princess as she had gripped the arm of Luke too now, putting them both behind her.

Though it was little use, because Jace was far stronger than she and forced his way from her grasp, leading him to charge once more at Aemond as Lucerys had once again been held back.

The sudden sound of her father’s voice, made all come to a stop. “Wait! Wait…”

Daemon raised his finger, stepping in between Jace and Aemond. He gave Jace a look of warning as the dark haired boy slowly retreated and Princess Visenya now gripped Jace again forcing him further back.

“Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.” Rhaenyra spoke sternly, her eyes scanning the flock of young Targaryen’s before her. Visenya had felt Jacaerys force himself from her grip as her siblings moved away. Her eyes came to her mother and father who both gazed upon her and she felt a sudden disturbance fill her.

Visenya then shot a glare at Aemond, who stood with his shoulders peaked – his eye all but narrowing upon the Princess and she stepped forward. She couldn’t believe him, couldn’t believe the arrogance, the foolishness, she had almost wished she had let her brothers loose upon the cunt.

They both stood there for a moment, Prince Daemon separating the two as they glared with all the hatred in the world upon each other. The two knowing of what had transpired in the past, the truth of it, the failure of reconciliation and betrayal that went beyond just what their family’s knew of. The quiet moments between them in which were yes, strained but undoubtedly flickering sparks of trust or understanding. Visenya felt disgust coil upon her face as she looked into Aemond’s lonesome eye, thought it would be hard to say a sense of guilt didn’t follow such feelings.

A hard hand meeting her shoulder forced her from such thoughts, she looked up to meet Daemon’s eyes, her fathers’ eyes and her head bowed slightly as she backed away.

Aemond tilted his own as he watched the princess concede to her father, he almost wanted to laugh, to shout in righteousness. To see her narrowed eyes weaken before Daemon, stirred Prince Aemond in a manner which he didn’t quite understand. He had only ever seen such utter surrender of Visenya to her father, and that was what pleased him the most… she had to pretend such surrender was merely respect of her mother’s husband. She had to restrain the urge to behave as a daughter would to her father, to concede and resist revolting against him. His eye followed Visenya as she walked after her siblings.

The one eyed prince soon found his body stiffening as felt his uncle turning to face him, a small almost glib sigh leaving Daemon’s mouth. An odd tension brewed, a strange comradery he thought. Aemond felt himself buzz, itching to indulge in more of his anger, to show them exactly what he was capable of. What he was so eager to do so and when he looked into the eyes of his uncle, he could’ve sworn he saw the same in Daemon, a match, an equalised opponent. It took the Rogue Prince having to step in to stop me from beating those bastards to a pulp. It took Daemon himself to recognise that I was just a greater threat as any.

Visenya had paused for a moment as she walked, briefly glancing at the interaction of between her father and uncle. The odd tension that brewed thickly between them, her gaze lingered upon Daemon and as she turned away. She recognised the look her father had given Aemond. One of amusement, just as he had given her countless times. That gleam of condescension driven by superiority. As if he were watching a child attempt to yield of sword… a pitiful endearment.

●

The princess hadn’t bothered to wait for her mother or father, she simply returned to her chamber swiftly. Slamming the doors as she soon found herself laying upon her bed and shutting her eyes.

Less than an hour had gone by before the creek of her chamber door filled her room, she sighed, it was likely her mother ready and willing to wag her finger. Visenya muttered, “How come no matter what transpires I am always the one to be lectured, mother?”

“It’s me, sister.” A small voice mumbled.

Visenya sat up and turned her head, her gaze softening at the sight of familiar dark eyes and shaggy black hair.

Lucerys.

The princess tilted her head and waved him over, to which he slowly approached her, sitting upon her bed. As she laid back down, neither of the siblings said anything, she merely watched as Luke hung his head low and sulked.

Visenya sighed and then, tapped his back with her boot, forcing him to turn his head.

“Come.” She said expectantly, rolling her eyes. She sat up, gesturing for him to come lay beside her.

He let out a small breath and mumbled, “I am nearly a man grown. I ought not be coddled.” Luke pouted.

Visenya scoffed, and raised her brow, “So why have you come?”

Then, a small but obvious moment passed between the two siblings, Luke looked down and sighed. She was right, why else would he have come? He was weak, he was not like his elder brother who brimmed with such confidence and self-assurance. Try as Lucerys might, he couldn’t suppress his anguish, his anxiety. He knew he must now, he was to be married to Baela, would then be a father soon after and then named Lord of Driftmark. How could he dare assume such roles if he still needed to be assured his world was not crumbling before him? That he was deserving of his titles and of his position as a man? His mother and sister would not be there forever, and he knew no wife would surely tolerate a weak husband. Especially not a woman as fierce and formidable as Rhaena. She deserved a man who would be the one to soothe her woes, to ease her worries.

Though mayhap, tonight was not the night to try and call upon that man he wished be.

Visenya slowly made her way to the end of the bed, sitting beside him. She gazed upon her young brother, noting the flickering uncertainty within his eyes. She couldn’t help but feel her eyes soften upon him, suddenly struck with how young he was, how he still looked like a boy straining desperately to be a man. Her hand came to his head and gently, she brought him to her shoulder, noticing the bruise upon his forehead from where Aegon had attacked him. Her fingers gently grazing it making him wince.

"You must see a maester." Visenya said, her gaze flickering upon the discolored skin.

Lucerys shook his head, and a moment of silence settled between them before finally, he gained the courage to speak, “I keep making this worse for mother.” He whispered.

She sighed, bringing him closer as she rested her chin about his scalp, “It was no fault of yours, brother.” The princess spoke softly as her fingers grazed his hair.

“Yes it was. I laughed at him, didn’t I? I thought myself clever when I should have looked the other way. I caused trouble and now… now I whine like a babe about it.” Luke suddenly pulled his head from her shoulder, stifling down tears of both sorrow and wrath. “A man takes accountability. A boy cower in his sister’s arms.” His voice firm.

The princess gazed upon the side of Luke’s face, scanning his boyish features. She raised an eyebrow and suddenly a laugh escaped her.

The young prince turned his head in shock, his voice stuttering, “Do… do not laugh.”

Visenya continued regardless, she rolled her eyes and leaned back upon her elbow, forcing Luke to turn his head.

“Brother I laugh because you are boy. I laugh because I cannot tell you how many times I have watched our brother, or my father… or even our un-” She stopped herself, “Even other boys, do the same as you are now. Fighting themselves so foolishly over what is a condition of having a heart, not the weakness of a man.” Visenya rose to sit up once more, taking his hand.

“You took accountability just before, no?” She beckoned.

Luke nodded.

“Well then, you have done what a man would do... recognise you made an error at laughing at our uncle, who himself, made an even greater error by throwing a most bitter tantrum! Precisely after our Grandsire was not there to witness such a thing.” Her voice firm as she ranted.

Lucerys raised his brow as he took in her words, his mind churning, “Yet I doubt Aemond is scuttling off into the arms of his sister.”

“No, he likely to craven to even admit such weakness to his own kin, but one never knows what other methods of comfort he seeks. My point is that it is he who acts more boyishly then you. Aemond who relishes in such causing scenes! Yes you laughed, so bloody what? You are the one who is truly but a boy still. Aemond is but a man grown, he ought have a stronger spine.” The princess lowered her tone, shaking her head as she scoffed with contempt.

As Prince Lucerys looked upon his sister, he felt tears beckon in his eyes his heart aching as he realised how terribly he wished to be long gone from this place, how he wished things could be as they were in their youth at Dragonstone. Yet a sense of doom befell him, that things had changed now.

Slowly his head came back to her shoulder, and Visenya could do nothing but look upon her younger brother with an affection like no other. She brought her hand up to his hair, stroking it and she felt droplets of tears fall upon the fabric of her gown.

“I shall never be like you… or Jace… or even mother. I shall always be afraid.” He whispered.

“Sweet brother. We are all afraid. Fear does not make you weak...and it took me many years to see that neither does the revelation of vulnerability.” Visenya’s voice dropped to a soft, cooing tone. Her hand still gliding upon the mop of his black curls.

Luke shook his head, protesting her words. His voice strained, “You are not vulnerable as I am.”

“Yes… I am. I am, Lucerys... but I feel I must stay strong. I cannot falter as I once did, not when mother depends on me so. Not when you and Jace… and, and Joffrey are in such danger. I did not understand it when I was young, did not see how everything I did reinforced the slander against mother and therefore put you three in greater danger. You are not weak for leaning upon me, it was I who was weak because I resisted being leaned upon.” The princess looked out upon the soft glow of the candles which flickered. She felt her gaze and voice become low. A whirlwind of regret and emotions pooling through her.

“But I must be strong too.” He muttered.

“You are.” She whispered back, the moment paused, which led to the both of them realising what was said, and they let out small snickers. It was nice, to acknowledge the truth.

Luke raised his head, his face turned to his elder sister. In this moment he found his gaze weakening, he needed her strength, he needed her honesty, “Ser Leanor is not my father, is he?”

A soft breath left the princess, her mind was in no state of conflict as she spoke. Her eyes still looking out, “No brother. Nor is he mine.”

And there it was, the clear truth. She had had this moment with Jace once before, and now she would have it with Luke. Slowly, Visenya turned her head, gazing into his simpering eyes, her hand coming to his cheek, “Then at least… now I know that I can be brave. For Ser Harwin was. He cared for Jace and Joffrey… and me. Protected us, even though it put him in danger.” The young prince’s voice beaming with reverence.

Visenya pouted softly and nodded. She felt her eyes weaken and tears beckon as she slowly pulled his head to her heart. Luke’s arms wrapped around his elder sister, and in that moment he realised how much like their mother she truly was. How much he was willing to give to prove himself worthy of his name.

The princess gazed out longingly, tears falling but she did not acknowledge them. She felt a slight pang of jealously but also gratitude. For Ser Harwin despite the world being against him, did not abandon his boys, did everything he could to protect them and see to his mother. She even remembered how he would treat Visenya like his own and would call her fierce like Rhaenyra. She remembered the man who harboured dark curls like her brothers, his sweet kind words and fatherly affection.

As the princess spoke, she found her voice failing her, “You are lucky, brother. To have had such a father… and even luckier to inherit such a good heart. He was but a good man… and I have little doubt you shall be too.”

Luke looked up and furrowed his brow, “You have a good heart too sister.”

“If I have been gifted any goodness… it comes from mother. I feel, as I grow older… more estranged from Daemon. More attune to his ways.” Visenya crumbled, her heart sinking as her voice was no more than a whisper.

“His ways?” The prince asked.

Visenya's gaze drew distant as she muttered, “Coming and going…”

“He married mother. Does that not prove you and her are where his heart truly lies? If as you say… all of us have vulnerability, would you not be one of them?” Lucerys scrunched his nose, contemplating his own words. Even he were not too sure if they were accurate, for it was true Prince Daemon was indeed, an enigma.

“He is impossible to understand. He was not like Ser Harwin, he abandoned me...would barely acknowledge me in public. There was never a moment when he would dare guide or teach me before the eyes of others. Everything was done in the shadows; everything was done where none could see, and it was so rarely he might as well have been just an uncle. Most of the brief moments we shared were him reprimanding me for being a strain upon my mother, and then he would leave again, barely reaching out. Setting out to Pentos to spend the rest of his days when he had little reason not to come to Dragonstone. There were times when... when I could see it in his eyes, that I was something he regrets.” She found herself simpering, looking down. In that moment she felt like a girl again and all she could do was lean in to such heartache.

“Perhaps not. Perhaps he just… kept away because… because he could not risk what may happen to you if he didn’t. Though, I am grateful for Ser Harwin’s affection… it made things all the worse did it not? Many people still think you to be Ser Leanor’s.” Luke mumbled, a quiet wisdom falling unknowingly from him.

Visenya shook her head, bringing her hand to her face as she spoke, “Yes but that is because I-” Her eyes suddenly met Luke’s and they both knew what she was to say. She appears Valyrian.

Lucerys nodded and another quiet moment passed before he found his way into her arms. The two siblings finding a sense of understanding and comfort, just as she did with Jacaerys all those years ago. Mayhap one day even she will have to do the same with Joffrey.

There was then, a small exchange of fumbling and bickering that echoed outside her door, Luke pulled away and raised his brow,

“Just go inside!” One rang.

“What if she with a suitor? I heard another?” A softer responded.

The first scoffed, “Too bloody bad, Luke is missing, and we must leave.”

“Jace!” A third winced.

The sudden opening of her chamber door meant for Visenya to shake her head.

“Sister… I shall give you a moment to, ready yourself… and also any other who may be present.” The awkward voice of Jacaerys bellowed.

“You’ll have to give them all a moment brother.” The princess mocked, waiting for the foolishness to end.

His eyes widened suddenly, and face coiled in horror as he awaited what he thought would be a flock of men, “Them all? How.. how many- “

“Jacaerys just come in!” She snapped slightly, winning a snicker from Luke.

As Jace made his way in, he approached the corner where her bed was. Cautiously his eyes readying to shut before he found himself grimacing in embarrassment as he saw the likes of his two siblings. The prince scoffed and gestured to his younger brother, “Why would you not say you were with him?”

Visenya raised her brow, giving him a “Why would you not knock if you thought me apprehended?” A small laugh escaping her as she watched Jace’s face turn over itself, he raised his brow and nodded.

Soon, the shutting of her door warranted the arrival of Baela and Rhaena.

Baela having huffed and gently nudged at Jace, “Sorry, sister.” She said softly, tilting her head and giving a gentle look to her elder upon the bed. Visenya returned the gesture. “We were merely worried because, Luke had disappeared, and we weren’t so certain if he were with you or…” Baela trailed off.

“Why were you looking for me?” Lucerys turned his head.

Jace stepped forward, “Mother says we are to leave tonight.”

“Tonight…why? When?” Visenya raised her brow.

“After what happened at supper she thinks it best we return to Dragonstone. They are preparing a ship still; we have some time but.. you best be ready.”

The eldest Targaryen shook her head, her voice beaming with frustration “But I came on dragonback?”

“Oh… yes I think Rhaenyra mentioned something of the sorts of having Silverwing readied.” Baela assured.

Visenya rose to her feet, straightening her gown as she collected her trunk, “Hm. Very well, I shall… be ready then. How much time is left?”

“Mayhap… an hour or two?” Rhaena shrugged, “Rhaenyra had just said for us to be ready to leave as hastily as possible, so…” The youngest girl continued.

Visenya nodded, and began to collect her things upon the vanity, swiftly bringing them into her trunk. As she did so, Lucerys had joined his brother as they bid each other farewell.

However, there was but one thing on the mind of the Princess as she hastily shoved her things into her trunk: Blood of Old.

○x○

#hotd #aemond targaryen #targaryen #house of the dragon #got #aemond one eye #daemon targaryen #rhaneyra targaryen #daenerys targaryen #helaemond #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x niece #dark!aemond targaryen x oc #dark! aemond targaryen #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen

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gingernut1314 · 1 year ago

Text

The Hunter and the Hunted

Buggy x F!Reader

Summary: Buggy the clown annoys you. More than annoys you. It's been that way ever since you were both little and as a bounty hunter, it made all the sense in the world to dislike him. When you are captured by the Marines for crimes you had been trying to outrun for years, you find him locked up right alongside you and just as annoying as ever. But when the chance for escape presents itself, it comes with strings attached. Strings that test the very natural order between the hunter and the hunted--an order Buggy seems to have no regard for.

Topics: angst, smut (p in v), canon typical violence, enemies to lovers

Word Count: 5.3K

Commissioned by: @katelynwithpaint (Thank you for commissioning me, it was so much fun to write! ❤️ ❤️)

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You were thrown into the dank brig of a marine vessel, the force of the action enough to send you falling to the ground, your bound hands barking in pain as you tried to keep yourself upright.

The two marines who had been commanded to bring you down here spat filthy insults your way. Insults you should have brushed off and forgotten about, but you have never been good at taking such things. Had always let them get under your skin--get you angry and upset.

Snapping your head around, teeth bared in a nasty snarl, you watched the door slam shut behind you.

“You fucking spoon-fed idiots!” You hissed up at the two marines who had been ready to leave before you had spoken. “You know nothing of--” The taller one slammed his fist against the bars of your prison, causing a loud bang to ring through the metal walls.

You hardly flinched. Hardly bat an eye. You’d dealt with some of the most terrifying big bads the East Blue had to offer. Big bads who thrived off chaos and ate babies for breakfast. These two goody-two-shoes marines would never in their wildest dreams live up to those creatures. Never utterly terrify you.

“We know everything about you. We know of your failed run as a bounty hunter. We know you killed a respected and loved member of our community--you are a criminal. Nothing but a no-good pirate.” He shot down at you in an air of superiority. Like you were nothing but the dirt under his shoes.

A criminal. A no-good pirate. Those few words were worse than any insult one could possibly conjure and spit at you. Worse than physically getting slapped in the face.

You were by no means a good person, but a criminal--you were far from being a criminal. Not in the same sense as those you’d hunted down. Those who had done true evil in this world. Who had hurt innocent people--children.

Criminals like their respected and loved community members. A, now-dead, marine commodore. A commodore who had gone too far in life without getting punished for his crimes.

Crimes you punished him for.

A crackling laugh filled the air before you could spit any sort of slights their way. A laugh that started off low, like a chuckling at oneself, but gradually grew into a wicked, bellowing thing.

It was a laugh you were all too familiar with. One you had first heard as a fresh, new bounty hunter following your former master on her journey to take down Silvers Rayleigh, fearsome first mate of the soon-to-be King of the Pirates.

Your master had been killed not long into the fight, but you had been too busy fighting off a red-nosed boy around your age to notice. You two had beaten the absolute shit out of each other, and would have continued till only one of you left victorious, but Rayleigh had stepped in, stopping you two before that could happen. He had spared you, despite your hot-headed vows of revenge.

You had thought all too much about that red-nosed boy as you continued across the East Blue. Thought about how he had been just as passionate and confident in his mentor’s skills--in his own skills--as you were. How he had been just as reckless and rash as you.

It wasn’t for another five years before you saw him again, still sailing around with your master’s killer, though you had given up on that revenge long before then.

You had at this point in time found three other like-minded bounty hunters whom you joined up with. Hunters who had been tracking down a pirate unrelated to the boy you had battled with, though who just so happened to be celebrating some sort of victory on the same island.

You two almost went head to head once more, had it not been for his calm and collected red-headed friend. A friend who had scared the shit out of you, despite his cool nature, so your fight ended swiftly and you left.

More years passed and the more you ran into the clown. Each time you two found some way to fight--whether it be physical or verbal. A few times that red-headed friend was with him to help break it up, and other times you both were thrown out of whatever bar you had been in.

You ran into him once more in some backwater bar, sitting alone and nursing a large pint of beer. He smirked your way when he spotted you and, to your surprise, bought you a drink. A drink you took reluctantly, waiting for the moment you would have to defend yourself against him. But instead, he merely talked to you. Told you how his captain had dissolved his crew, leaving him adrift.

And there was hurt in his eyes. A sense of abandonment that had you carefully telling him of what had been happening in your own shit-filled life. Of a marine whose name you had just recently crossed off your list. How you had finally gotten him after years--gotten revenge for the lives he had taken from you in your youth.

He’d laughed in something kin to understanding, insisting on buying you another drink to which you declined and went on your way.

The last time you came across that laugh, you had just been left for dead by your so-called comrades--friends. Left to be found by the very marines you had crossed when you stumbled into a seemingly deserted town. A town you quickly found was overrun with freakish pirates. Freakish pirates who had managed to kidnap you in your weakened state and drag you into an equally freakish circus tent.

The boy had grown up, just as you had. Had grown up to be captain of this band of freaks. One who had chained the poor people of that town up and used them for his own, sick entertainment.

But when you saw him, that laugh sounding in your ears, you were reminded of just how much you thought of it. How many of your dreams had been haunted by it’s ring. Of how you, for whatever reason, held a sick sense of respect for him. And his eyes--they were all too bright looking upon you. All too seeing.

After dramatically introducing you to his crew and captives, he had you dragged off into a back room where you were once more surprised when his freaks cleaned your wounds and gave you some water to drink.

It was all very strange. It went against the very natural order of the world. The order between the hunter and the hunted.

It had freaked you out all so much, you escaped before you had to face that haunting laugh and its owner.

But here it was again, spilling from the red-painted lips of Buggy the clown, captain of the Buggy pirates, locked away in this all too wet marine brig pulling haunting ghosts from your past into the forefront of your mind.

You kept your eyes trained on the two marines before you, watching them like a hawk. Watching for a slip-up. Something--anything that would help you in this situation. Something that would keep your eyes off the crazed clown and his grating laugh.

“If she’s a pirate, then that would make me one you shithead.” His gruff voice joked. The two marines shared a look between them. One that almost looked to have uneasy undertones to it.

“You have no right interfering in marine business.” The second shot towards the cell just next to yours, only resulting in more insane laughter filling the air. The first marine just shook his head in growing annoyance.

“Come on. He’s all locked up. That big-nosed freak can’t do a thing.” The laughter cut off sharply.

“What did you just as say?” Buggy asked, his tone becoming all that much more serious. That more threatening--dangerous. The Marines bore shit-eating grins, obviously finding his growing pissed-off nature amusing.

“You know, I never liked clowns. Freaky little fuckers.” The first said as they began heading for the exit once more.

“This freaky little fucker is going to cut your nose off and force you to eat it when I get out of here.” This only seemed to tickle the marines further and they left without so much as another word.

The brig was dead as a tomb for a moment you used to look about the confines of your cell, trying to find any weaknesses or things to make a makeshift weapon with so that you could escape sooner rather than later. Buggy gave an exasperated huffing sigh as your eyes locked onto something in the corner, just by the horrible-looking toilet.

“Yeesh. Some people just don’t know how to have fun.” You all but ignored him, messing with the bit of scrap metal that had been idioticly left unfixed. “Whatcha got there, peach?” He said, using the nickname he had given you after you threw a peach you had mistaken for a rock at him when you had seen him that second time. He had used it ever since then and it’s continued to annoy you.

“Don’t call me that.” You snapped, finally yanking the bit of metal from its last hold on the base of the toilet. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

“That’s no fun.”

“Since when have you ever thought of me and fun at the same time?” You huffed, working on trying to unlock the cuffs that had been slapped around your wrists. It took you a minute to even get the bit of metal into the small keyhole, and with your hands locked together as they were, you hardly saw yourself free any time soon.

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. I think you’re plenty fun. I think you do a fantastically fun job playing pirate bounty hunter.” You again ignored him. Tried not to even hear his all-too-chipper voice as you continued to work. “Playing pirate bounty hunter when you can’t even sail a ship. I think it shows your commitment to the part.”

You finally snapped around to shoot a daggered glare Buggy’s way, whose usual red-painted lips were pulled up in a wide smile. He knelt before the bars separating the two cells, gloved hands clasped together before him. His clown-styled makeup was smudged in a way that told you he must have been here for a few days. You also noted the absence of his hat, which bore his insignia in the center, leaving him in his red and white striped bandana.

You couldn’t help the small part of you that wished he was wearing it--the small part that thought it suited him all too well. A small part of you that you shoved down deep.

Seeing him again after god knows how long was always--staggering. It brought back up such ugly feelings of hatred and utter sadness you’d felt after your master's death. Brought back up how surprised you’d been when he offered you a drink. Brought back up that equally as ugly feeling of respect and misplaced understanding.

Buggy was an actor--a performer. Of course he would play the part he needed to get you to let your guard down--to not beat him into a pulp.

It was all so aggravating.

“It’s not some part.” Buggy rolled his eyes in a dramatic fashion that only made your frustration coil tighter in your chest. “And I can sail a ship.” Buggy let out a sharp mocking laugh.

“I seem to remember my freaks telling me of the struggle you had trying to leave that small island I found you on.”

“I had lost a lot of blood.” You said as if you needed to give him any sort of explanation. As if you needed to keep talking to him. Turning away from this intense green-blue gaze, you went back to work on the cuffs.

“You know, I was rather upset you left without saying goodbye,” Buggy said in fake hurt. “You didn’t even get to see my grand finale.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.” You said in equally mocking tones.

“I accept your--”

“Fuck off, Buggy. I should have beat your ass while I had the chance. I should have killed you and freed those poor people you terrorized.” Buggy pulled a smirk to his lips.

“Beat my ass? I seem to remember it was me who kicked your ass last time.” A scoffing huff spilled from your lips.

“We were ten years old--”

“Ten in a half.” Buggy quickly corrected like it truly mattered. You shot him a look that said as much.

“It doesn’t matter. I had no skill back then. No discipline. I would kill you now without ever batting an eye.” That smirk never once left Buggy’s lips, his eyes shining in utter amusement. Eyes that had your gut doing annoying and tiresome little twists.

“And collect what bounty? Our cheery new friends seem to think you’re nothing but a “no-good pirate” now.” Despite that shot of anger that flared in your chest, you pulled on your own smirking smile.

“It wouldn’t be for any bounty. It would be for my own amusement.”

“Peach, if you're trying to flirt with me, it's working.” He all but purred your way. You rolled your eyes and truly went back to unlocking your cuffs.

No more distractions. No more annoying banter with that clown pirate who grated on your nerves like no other. You couldn’t get caught. Not yet. Not before you got revenge for yourself. Revenge against those who had turned the world against you. “Peach--”

“You truly are horrible.” You snapped, unable to ignore the obvious rise Buggy was trying and successfully getting out of you.

“When I escape and free you,” Buggy started, only for you to cut him off with a scoff.

“You’re delusional.” Buggy rolled his eyes dramatically.

“When I escape and free you, you’ll have to repay me.”

“You aren’t freeing me. I can do that just fine on my own.” You snapped.

“Oh, I think I will.” You shot him a glare hoping he would shut up. He, of course, did no such thing. “And after I get us off this ship, I’m thinking you’ll be so overrun with emotion you’ll do something sweet for me.” You shook your head, shoving the bit of metal this way and that within the keyhole.

“I don’t find your games amusing. I actually find them quite boring.”

“Now you’re just being mean.” The sudden sound of rusting metal squeaking open pulled your attention away from your work and back onto Buggy. Your jaw all but fell open upon seeing Buggy sauntering out of his cell, his hand popping back onto his wrist, a ring of keys laying there.

You had watched those Marines. Hadn’t missed a single twitch or breath, so how had you missed Buggy grabbing those keys from around the holder's waist? How had you missed a flying, dismembered hand?

“How--” You watched him unlock your cell door in utter disbelief. Watched as he took the few steps across the way so he was standing in front of you. Watched with a fluttering, tingling belly as he knelt before you, that all too charming smile on his lips. You covered your strange feelings with that of familiar annoyance for him.

“Peach, I’m gonna let you out, but,” He said, sing-songingly elongating the last word. “I want you on my crew.” That was the last thing you thought you would hear from his lips. It was enough of a shock to squash any and all irritation you held in your chest for the clown.

You two had no like for the other. Every time you saw each other, it was either a fight or a backward attempt to mock and tease the other. You were the hunter and he was the hunted. Why would he ever want you to be near him in such a way?

You laughed in his face. Laughed wholeheartedly in your unbelieving at his words. Laughed so hard it shook your shoulders.

“You’re full of it. I despise pirates. I kill your kind for a living.” You snapped at him once you’re laughter subsided.

“Past living.” You’re disbelief quickly turns back into that of anger. “And you’re perfect.” His words caught you off guard once more. Had you all but freezing up, unable to conquer up your anger.

Perfect. No one had ever uttered such a thing to you.

It was…strange. You and him--it was all too strange.

“I collect outcasts, those thrown away by society. Those hurt and betrayed and left to die, bleeding out on some hopeless island.” You felt your eyes suddenly prick in the remainder of your inner wounds. Wounds created by those you had thought were your friends--family. Those who you had loved more than you had ever loved anything in this world.

Buggy saw all of this with those intent green-blue eyes. He saw this and he understood, despite your many differences. Because he had experienced it too. Had been hurt and left to rot by those he had cared about.

“My freaks--my crew--don’t turn their backs as easily. I don’t turn my back that easily.”

An actor--a performer. That’s all he was--all he ever would be…but damn if he wasn’t speaking to your soul. Wasn’t utterly pulling you into those green-blue eyes and that charming smile of his.

“I--” You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. You should tell him to fuck off. That you would rather stay here and let the Marines drag you off to some prison to be forgotten in. But…but you didn’t say that. Your traitorous heart didn’t let you. “I am no pirate.” You all but whispered. It was a confession rather than a biting hiss.

Buggy smiled, his gloved hand coming up to grab hold of your chin in a grip that was just tight enough to keep you from looking away from him. It was all too much. It felt all too--too right, having the roles switched. Being the frightened sparrow and he the smiling chester cat, ready to snap your neck between his sharp, smiling jaws.

“Oh, I know.” He whispered back as if it was a secret. “But I think you’ll like it. I think your cage door needs to be unlocked so you can fly free.” Before you could even open your mouth to try and pull together a rambling stream of words, the marine ship shook violently, the sound of cannon fire echoing down into the brig. That wickedly charming smile pulled onto Buggy’s lips. “Right on time.” He pulled his hand from your chin, the absence of his warmth leaving you annoyingly wishing for it back--wishing for more.

What a strange, strange predicament you were in. What strange, strange emotions. It was all too confusing. Too much.

Buggy dangled the keys in front of your face as the ship was attacked once more. “How about you think on it while I take care of this, peach.” He said, dropping the keys into your lap before standing to his full, towering height. “Though, don’t strain that pretty little head of yours too much.” And with that Buggy left the cold, dank brig.

You wasted no more time than you had, quickly unlocking the cuffs, which had been rubbing painfully against your skin, and heading in the direction Buggy had disappeared in.

The next few moments went by in a flash. You getting to the deck and finding Buggy’s freaks had boarded and were mowing down marine after marine, leaving no survivors in their wake. Buggy laughing insanely as he fulfilled the threat he had shot their captor's way. You finding where they had stored your weapons, as well as Buggy’s hat. You killing anyone who got in your way as you found yourself heading for the edge of the ship--found your body had a mind of its own as you jumped, landing on the deck of the circus-themed ship Buggy commanded.

This was your best and only escape route, you told yourself as you rushed around the ship, trying to find a place you could keep away from the rest of the world so you wouldn’t be found out. That place ended up being the large tent near the back of the ship, washed in shadow and thankfully empty.

You passed the time by looking around the large area, finding it was very similar to that of the tent Buggy had set up on land all those years ago.

Finding a pair of stairs, you winded up them, finding a singular chair sitting in the center of the raised platform. A throne, you realized. Buggy’s throne. You traced your fingers over the designs engraved in the wooden seat before sitting down, finding it would be the best place to wait out the fighting and think about your strange predicament.

“That's my seat.” Buggy’s gruffing voice sounded in your ear a little less than an hour later. It didn’t startle you, his sudden appearance. You had marked his footfalls when he thought he had been sneaking into the tent to do just that.

“Take it. It’s uncomfortable.” You murmured, pulling yourself from the throne which was, despite your words, rather comfortable. Buggy was much closer than you had originally thought, so close you had to tilt your head up just the slightest bit to look into those green-blue eyes of his. Eyes that never once moved away from your face as he flopped down on his throne, legs spread in some show of dominance.

“So, tell me peach, what is your answer?” You moved your eyes away from Buggy’s intense stare, looking over his hat which you had taken with you off that marine ship.

“Why free me?” You questioned, glancing back towards the pirate, whose eyes never seemed to have lifted from your form.

“Because I’ve been looking for someone to fill the role of knife thrower in my performance. You are good with a blade.” It was a lie. You could tell it was a lie. And it ate at you despite your utter dislike for this pirate. You took a step closer, those green-blue eyes watching your movements.

“That I am…but tell me something; what makes a pirate buy a drink for a bounty hunter?” You took another, calculated step that the clown marked. He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“Why not? Getting you drunk seemed like a fun idea at the time.” He cracked a mischievous smile. “Still does.” You gave a small nod, pausing just before him. “You’re dancing around my question, peach. Maybe that's what I should make you.”

You leaned forward the slightest bit, his knees brushing against your legs, being as close to him as you were.

“You let me out of my chains. You dressed my wounds when you could have let me bleed out, and for those things, I owe you my life.” Buggy gave a small nod of his own.

“I feel a but coming.”

“But I can’t be free yet. Not when those who betrayed me are still breathing.” That smile of his stayed in place, but a seriousness you had never seen before filtered into his eyes. A seriousness that spoke of understanding. Of respect.

Strange--this was all so strange, things between you and him. Between hunter and the hunted.

“And then?” He questioned. You moved ever closer, you’re legs fitting between his in a strange sort of puzzle. Buggy watched and allowed you to gently tug his hat back onto his head, his breath tickling your lips.

You thought of the way his hand on your chin felt. How it had all but drove you crazy. How you had wished, no matter how absurd, to have it back there--to have more.

“Tell me why you saved me.” You spoke softly so that Buggy and Buggy alone could hear. “Why do you want me on your crew? Why, when you should have killed me--when you’ve wanted to kill me ever since we were young?” Buggy’s eyes fluttered down to your lips as they moved. A small action that had that buzzing in your body stirring alive once more.

“I think you know.” He spoke just as softly in that gruffing voice of his. A voice that had been bouncing around in your brain for longer than you liked to admit.

“I don’t think I do.” Buggy’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit like he was annoyed at your comment. An annoyance you wanted to drag out of him. You knew he didn’t want to admit it. Knew that he probably had never had to explain himself before. “Because I am still under the impression that I am the hunter ready to collect that sizable bounty on your head.”

“You think my bounty is sizable?” He smirked, continuing to dance around the topic.

“Enough to get me a ship that floats and an expensive bottle of wine.” You said in an attempt to get under his skin. You saw that flash of irritation in his eyes that made your own smirk pull to your lips.

“A ship you couldn’t even sail?” He teased, moving closer so that his lips were mere inches away from your own.

Your mind raced to wonder what they might feel like fitted against yours. How it might feel to have his hands running over your skin--to feel his skin.

It was all too strange, the things he was able to pull from you. Such strange feelings.

“You annoy me.” You jabbed his way, your eyes fluttered every so often to those red-painted lips of his.

If you kissed him, would your lips come away just as red?

“You’re eyes annoy me, your laugh, your voice.” Buggy looked as if he was trying to figure out if your words were supposed to be meant as an insult or some backwards complaint. You wondered this as well.

“And it annoys me that you understand. Say you understand.” You found yourself saying in a biting manner. The pirate looked over your face, seeming unsure of what to do next. Unsure of what to say even when you had just spelled it out for him.

His hand reached out and took hold of your chin in his solid grip. A grip that sent your stomach fluttering uncontrollably. “I understand.” Was all he said before he was pulling your lips flush against his own.

You hardly had control of yourself as you kissed him back in a frenzy, all sense of self-control and reason flying out the window. A kiss fueled by your strange, strange feelings for this clown. Feelings a mix of dislike, annoyance, understanding, and respect. Feelings you’d been harboring deep within yourself for a long, long time.

His kiss burned through you, had your hands grabbing at his jacket and all but ripping it from his body, feeling over his strong, exposed arms. His skin was warm and felt so nice against your own. Skin you wished to feel covering your whole body.

Buggy hands moved along your body, pulling you closer. His touch sent your skin on fire. A fire that hat engulfed your entire being, demanding to be satisfied.

Your hands moved downward, over his equally strong chest and abdomen until they found the edge of his pants, your fingers fumbling to undo his buttons. Buggy mimicked your actions, finding and unfastening the buttons there.

You pulled away from Buggy long enough to hasten along the process of shoving your pants over and off your legs. A process you had hardly finished before Buggy was grabbing you up once more, claiming your lips in a hot, needy kiss. A kiss that felt more like a fight for dominance. A fight the two of you never could seem to truly finish.

Buggy’s hands took fist fulls of your ass, guiding you up and onto the throne with him, your knees straddling either side of him. Reaching down between the two of you, your hand disappeared into Buggy’s pants, taking hold of is hardened cock and giving it a few good, teasing pumps. He gave a throaty groan that had that heat shoot through your core, making your pussy throb in just as much need as the rest of your body.

As quickly as you could, you pulled his cock free from the confines of his pants, hardly waiting before you were descending downward, a sweet little moan spilling from your lips.

Fuck it was good. It felt so good being connected this way. In a way that was slowly filling that yawning need within you. A need you had been holding at bay for a long time.

“F-fuck, peach.” Buggy moaned into your mouth, his hands moving to hold onto your hips in a near steel-like grip. A grip that guided you further down so that you were fully seated on top of him. “So fucking good.”

You moaned your own pleasure as you began to move up and down, slowly at first so that you might feel every last inch he had to offer. A pace that gradually quickened, finding that need within you all but commanding you to do so. Grabbing hold of one of Buggy’s hands, you guided his gloved fingers to find that small bundle of nerves that all but begged for his attention. Silently told him just how you liked it to be touched and, surprisingly, he was a quick learner.

It was good. Almost too good. Never would you have imagined this happening--you fucking this vastly annoying clown. The very clown you’d fought for years. But then again, this was just another sort of fight. A fight for dominance and submission. A fight you much rather preferred over that of brute force and stabbing words.

Buggy’s lips left yours only to latch onto the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting in a way that drove you crazy. That sent you quickly spiraling closer and closer over the edge.

“Oh god--Buggy, I’m--I’m…” His fingers kept circling your clit, bringing you all that much closer to your finish.

“Come for me, peach. F-fuck--you’re such a sweet little thing.” You moved your face so that you could press your lips against his once more, moan after moan vibrating through your throat.

So much--too much. It was all so good you’re legs began to turn to jelly. Began to give out under your own weight. Buggy seemed to understand this and pulled away from your clit only so he could grab you up in his strong arms. Arms that held you up as he fuck into you mercilessly.

You spiraled up and up and up until your pussy was clutching around his cock and pure bliss was shooting through you. Buggy’s name flew from your lips as you held onto him for dear life. The pirate gave a few last, grunting thrusts before he was spilling into you.

Buggy buried his face in your chest, his chest heaving up and down just as your own, both of you fighting to take in the thick air around you.

The tent was filled with nothing but the sound of your mixing breaths for a long moment. A moment you took the time to run your hands over any and all exposed skin Buggy had to offer. Warm skin that brought you such strange, strange comfort.

“And then?” Buggy asked, taking you by surprise. It was the same question he had asked you only moments ago. A question of what you would do after you had avenged yourself. You pressed your cheek against the side of his head, your lips brushing over his right ear.

“Then I will return,” You breathed, feeling Buggy’s body go just that much more still against yours. “And I will be free.”

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amhrosina · 2 years ago

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Touch Me (Frank Castle x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

A/N: Hi friends! I know I said I wanted to get this out by yesterday, but I ended up at my local(ish?) urgent care yesterday afternoon because ya girl has apparently been walking around with bronchitis for two weeks now. I’m on medicine, and I’ve been resting/editing this all day, but I could not for the life of me get this thing finished yesterday. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! It is literally porn with plot. P.S. - bearded Frank makes me go absolutely FERAL, and the gif I chose for today's fic makes me even MORE FERAL!!!!!!

Request: if requests are open, do you think you could write about Pete/ Frank still works at the construction site and reader is his girlfriend and she visits him for lunch at the construction site and the guys are astonished and you can come up with the rest if you would like.

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: When Frank’s coworkers notice you a little too much after you bring him his forgotten lunch, you want to remind him that he’s the only man for you, but Frank’s a generous lover, and you’re not leaving the truck until he’s made you come at least three times.

(Warnings: oh boy, smut, SMUT, did I mention smut??, porn with plot, v fingering, hand job sort of??, oral (fem receiving), p in v, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie lol, truck sex, soooo much kissing, protective Frank, you save the horse and ride the cowboy – know what I mean??, Frank talks you through it!!!!!, mentions of oral (male receiving), Frank is a consent king, Frank will be damned if anything bad happens to his baby girl!!!)

Frank eyed the clock, a nervous tick he’d developed over the last three hours as he waited for lunchtime to roll around. On any other day, lunch would’ve come and gone without a second thought from Frank, but not today. In his hurry to get to work this morning, he’d left the lunch you’d generously packed for him the night before. It was your fault, technically, but Frank was a gentleman, and gentlemen weren’t supposed to blame their girlfriends for forgotten lunches, especially when it was the incredible head you were giving him that made him late leaving this morning.

He'd gotten shit for it the minute he stepped on the site, barely getting a chance to pour his coffee before the guys were on his ass about his punch card. Frank brushed it off. It was all in good fun anyways, and he was the boss around here, so it didn’t really matter if he was late once in a blue moon. He didn’t divulge the reason for his tardiness, much more inclined to grunt a “fuck off” towards the guys and start his work for the day.

The nervousness set it when you called and told him you’d bring his lunch to him. The guys knew almost nothing about Frank’s personal life, which is what he preferred. They didn’t know anything about his past, and they certainly didn’t know about you. What he had going on before and after work hours was none of their business, you were none of their business, but that would change any minute.

“You got a hot date or something, man?” Antonio, one of the only guys Frank tolerated, asked as they moved a stack of wooden beams towards what would eventually become a master bedroom.

“What?” Frank lifted his head, narrowing his eyes at Antonio.

“You’ve checked the clock more in the last 25 minutes than I do on Friday afternoons. You expectin’ somethin’?”

Frank let out a nervous chuckle, which did little to subside Antonio’s curiosity. Instead, intense concern crossed Antonio’s face, and Frank sighed, shaking his head. His brain felt like it had been rewired, and he had no idea how to respond to Antonio’s question without causing more questions. He didn’t have a chance to respond, though, because the sound of clicking heels had caused heads to turn faster than Frank knew was possible.

Frank turned, relaxing when he spotted you. You smiled and waved, ignoring the men around you that were clearly enamored by your presence. Frank couldn’t blame them – you were beautiful – but that didn’t keep the bubble of anger from welling up inside his chest. You were his, and if he was going to make one thing clear to them today, it was that.

Frank marched up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your body into his chest. He pressed a sultry kiss to your lips, slipping his tongue in your mouth in his way of saying hello. When you pulled away, you were smiling, and Frank couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than that damned smile of yours.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He grinned, slightly ashamed that he’d let his jealousy get the best of him in front of the guys that worked for him. It was definitely unprofessional to make out with your significant other in the middle of an active construction site while the entirety of your team gawked at your display of affection, right?

“That’s lunch.” He called out, not taking his eyes off yours.

The guys filed out, some with smirks on their faces, others with nothing but food on their minds. Antonio was smiling when he walked past the both of you, wiggling his eyebrows at Frank. Frank rolled his eyes, trying to remind himself why he barely tolerated the kid.

“Speaking of lunch,” you smiled, eyes bright and adoring as you looked at Frank, “Where do you want to eat? I’m not sure I can handle the roof.”

You were all too aware of Frank’s frequent lunch spots. Sitting a the top of buildings that were half constructed, legs hanging over the edge, was Frank’s favorite way to spend lunch, much to your chagrin. You were terrified of heights and refused to even think about how dangerous Frank’s lunch activities were.

“You want to stay?” Frank asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Of course! As long as we’re not eating on the roof.” You pointed upwards for emphasis, shaking your head.

“I guess I could change up my lunch spot for the day.” Frank faked an exasperated sigh. “What about my truck?”

“Sounds good to me, babe.” You smiled, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the front of what would eventually be a nice house in a nice neighborhood outside of Brooklyn. A house that Frank wished he could afford to buy for you. Hell, he’d build you a house if he could afford the land to build it on. You didn’t mind the small apartment you and Frank shared, but Frank couldn’t help the incessant desire to spoil you.

It was a brisk 35 degrees outside, and you bundled into Frank’s side as he opened the passenger side door for you. Frank hustled to the other side of the truck, quickly shutting the door behind him and starting the truck. The heat blasting from the vents was a welcome warmth, and Frank couldn’t shake the tiny sliver of guilt that sliced through him when you began blowing in your hands to warm them up. If he’d just remembered the fucking lunch box, you wouldn’t be sitting in the cold right now.

“Damn, the heat works so well in here.” You observed, holding your hands in the path of the hot air.

“One of the perks of being the boss, I guess.” Frank shrugged. The truck was a necessary purchase, especially once Frank’s work picked up, but you still weren’t used to it. You’d spent so many years taking the subway to get places that having access to a vehicle was a foreign concept to you. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here just to bring me lunch.”

“Don’t apologize. I like to see what you’re working on. I wish you’d let me come by more often.”

“You’d be bored. It’s just a bunch of sweaty old guys hammering nails.”

“Sounds like a wet dream to me.” You smirked, clearly joking at Frank’s expense. “I didn’t realize I’d cause such a fuss by showing up.”

Frank shrugged. “If any of them say a single word about you after lunch, I’m gonna break their jaws.”

“Frank, baby, relax.” You ran your hand up his arm. “Even if they do say something, it’s probably just because they had no idea I even existed.”

“I don’t like them knowing about you. You’re mine.”

Frank was aware that what he was saying was insane, but he never cared much about his sanity when it came to protecting the woman he loved. He’d be damned if another person was taken from him, and if that made him crazy, then so be it. Frank Castle would take crazy over mourning any day of the week.

You crept closer to Frank, shifting so that you could lean your elbow against the back of the bench seat.

“Them knowing about me doesn’t change that I’m yours, Frankie.”

Frank grunted, annoyance running through his veins. He knew you were right, but the fact that the guys were probably running their mouths about his relationship with you right now was getting on his nerves. He didn’t want you anywhere near their fucked up thoughts.

“You’re so tense, Frankie.” You mumbled, eyeing the way Frank was clenching and unclenching his fist in an irregular pattern. “Let me help you.”

This got his attention. His head swiveled around, eyebrows raised, as he looked to you for confirmation on what you’d just said. You matched his expression, unwilling to move until he consented to your idea.

“Yeah? You wanna help me?” He asked, already leaning back to make room for you to climb onto his lap.

“You could eat your lunch instead.” You mumbled, “If that’s what you want.”

Frank slowly shook his head, watching the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed.

“No.”

“You’re not hungry?” You asked, inching closer to him.

“Oh, I’m hungry.” Frank conceded, “But I’d rather have you for lunch.”

This omission sent a spark through your body, and you lurched forward, swinging your leg over his hip to straddle him. You looked down at him, enjoying the way his face already seemed more relaxed than moments before. You pressed a soft kiss on the crease of his forehead, the one that always made an appearance when he was stressing about something, and watched as it smoothed itself out.

Frank tilted his chin up, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. His hand snaked up your back, curling his fingers in your hair and gently pulling on it, which elicited the most delicious gasp he’d ever heard slip from between your lips. He decided right then and there that if that sound was the last thing he ever heard, he’d die the happiest death a man could ask for.

He slammed his lips onto yours, unable to constrain himself any longer. His hands found themselves wrapped around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. You grinded yourself against him, moaning against Frank’s lips when you felt how hard he was through his jeans. You couldn’t stop yourself from grinding against him again, letting out a devilish groan when the friction of the movement rubbed against your clit.

“Frank,” you moaned in between kisses, “touch me.”

It wasn’t just a desire to please you; it was a need. Frank was nothing if not generous, and the minute you started begging, he had already unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans, shoving his hand down the front of your pants. Frank let out a loud groan when he realized how entirely soaked through your panties were, clenching the fingers that were fiddling with the waistband of your jeans.

You pushed your hips closer to his hand, dying to feel his fingers. The panting coming from the both of you had fogged up the windows of the truck, obstructing anyone’s view into the truck. The construction site was dead anyways, but at this point, you didn’t think you cared if someone could see in. You wanted Frank so badly that you had lost your ability to care about anything besides Frank’s fingers.

“Want me to touch you, baby?” Frank cooed, “Want me to make your pretty pussy feel good?”

Frank’s breath was hot on your neck, and you nearly came from his words alone.

“I’m supposed to be making you feel good.” You moaned, grinding your hips against Frank’s fingers again. Your actions completely juxtaposed your words, but you couldn’t help yourself. Frank was just so good at making you come.

“Making you feel good makes me feel good, sweetheart.” Frank pressed the pads of his fingers against the fabric of your panties, swirling them around in an achingly slow circle. A shiver worked its way up your spine, and you threw your head back, gasping with pleasure.

“Are you sure?” You panted, unsure if you could stand being clothed for another second.

Frank responded by swiping your underwear aside and running two fingers between the folds of your pussy. When his fingers finally covered your clit, you let out an agonizing moan. Frank resumed circling his fingers around your clit, but his pace was more urgent, like he wanted to see you get off on his fingers just as much as you wanted to come all over his hand.

Your legs began to shake, and you wrapped your arms around Frank’s neck, pulling him into a feverish kiss. His tongue dipped into your mouth, and you began to grind against his fingers in a rhythm that matched the pace of his hand. It was a flurry of passionate kisses and sinful moans as you came apart on Frank’s hand. You breathed through the orgasm as it crashed through you, slumping against Frank’s shoulder in exhaustion.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” Frank pulled his hand away from your clit, wrapping his arms around you and flipping you over so that your back lied against the front seat of the truck, “You did so good.”

Frank hovered over you, pressing a soft kiss onto your nose before gently capturing your lips with his. You were still reeling from your orgasm, content to stay in this position forever, when Frank suddenly sat up. You blinked up at him, wondering if maybe his lunch was already over, but the way he began to pull your jeans down your hips told you he was nowhere near done with you.

You kicked your jeans and panties off, pussy clenching around nothing as the air hit your wet core. You spread your legs further, giving Frank a view of how easily he’d ruined you.

“Fuck baby,” Frank groaned, rubbing his thumb through the slickness that had begun running down your inner thighs, “This is the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

You moaned when he began playing with your clit again, overstimulated but too turned on to stop him.

“Can I taste you?” Frank asked, fully focused on how wet you were. His eyes were glazed over, pupils dilated with desire.

“You’re being too generous.” You sat up, resting on your elbows as he finally locked eyes with you.

“I want to.” He shrugged, already positioning his face near your core. He threw your legs over his shoulders and rested his hands on your stomach, glancing up at you to make sure he had your consent. You spread your legs wider, nodding.

“I need words, baby. Can I taste you?”

Frank’s hot breath coasted over your pussy as he spoke, and the dull throb of desire erupted into a full blown ache.

“Yes, God, please.” You whined.

When his tongue finally met your core, you threw your head back and moaned so loud you were sure the entire neighborhood heard it. Frank was astonishingly graceful at eating pussy, approaching it like it was a dance between his tongue and your clit. He knew exactly when to be gentle, when to roughen it up, and when you were seconds away from coming all over his tongue, he knew exactly how to suck on your clit so that you saw stars for hours afterwards.

Frank normally liked to take his time with this, coaxing multiple small orgasms out of you before finally letting you fall apart around his mouth, but today he was on a time crunch, and he wanted to make you come around his cock before his lunch break was over, too. So instead of going slow and steady, Frank dined on your pussy like a man starved. He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, licking and sucking all throughout your core as you came closer and closer to your orgasm. He teased your entrance with his tongue, coasting over it every time he flattened his tongue against your folds.

“Oh shit, Frank.” You groaned, arching your back.

He hummed against your pussy, which had your legs shaking so aggressively that he had to clamp his hands over them to keep them from sliding off his shoulders. You were so close, and Frank knew it. He smirked against your core, trailing his tongue around your clit before slightly sucking. Your body felt like it was on fire, and when the crux of your orgasm finally hit you, you couldn’t stop yourself from squeezing your legs into the sides of Frank’s head. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs, and no matter how deeply you inhaled, you couldn’t quite catch your breath. The world around you faded, and the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of Frank’s hands gently caressing your thighs.

Frank crawled up your body, hovering over you as you came back to yourself. You hadn’t expected to come that hard, especially not in a cramped space like Frank’s car, but he always managed to surprise you.

You swallowed thickly, blinking up at his swollen and slick lips. He was always beautiful, you thought, but right now, you’d never seen anything as beautiful as him covered in your wetness. You leaned upwards, kissing him with every ounce of yourself that you could. The taste of you was still fresh on his tongue, and he groaned when you swiped your tongue against his, grinding against your unclothed pussy with his denim jeans.

The friction was overstimulating, but you wanted him deep inside you so badly that you began meeting his hips halfway, grinding against him so heavily that you were sure he’d have stains on the front of his jeans later. He shifted his weight onto one arm, reaching down and unbuckling his belt with one had. He was moving at a languid pace, and you couldn’t stop yourself from knocking his hand out of the way and unbuttoning his jeans. He chuckled when you undid his zipper in record time, forcing his jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs.

“Someone’s eager to feel my cock, huh?” Frank cooed, brushing his nose against yours, “You want me to fuck you silly, sweetheart?”

You wrapped your hand around his achingly hard cock, pumping up and down as he teased you. The tip was already wet, drops of precum beading at the head.

“Can I ride you?” You asked, pushing his shoulders slightly.

He raised his eyebrows at your boldness. You were usually so eager to let him control the situation, but the look in your eyes when you spoke told a different story. You wanted to make him feel good, and you weren’t planning on letting him leave until that happened.

“Sometimes,” you started, sitting up and pushing Frank down into the seat underneath you, “I want to be the one to fuck you silly.”

You straddled Frank and lined him up with your entrance. You were not going to waste any more of his break not fucking him. Frank let out a stuttering moan as you lowered yourself onto him. When you were finally full of him, stretched out and pliant, you panted at the overwhelming feeling. No matter how many times Frank fucked you, it always took you a few moments to adjust to his size.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Frank leaned his head against the headrest, grabbing onto your hips in a brutal hold that you knew would bruise later.

You slowly began to rock against him, holding onto the seat behind him for leverage. You moaned when his cock pushed against the spot deep within you that drove you crazy, and couldn’t help the way your breath stuttered out of you. Frank angled his face towards yours, watching in awe as you panted over him, licking your lips and squeezing your eyes closed. He leaned toward you, nipping your jaw with his teeth in a teasing gesture. You ground down on him even harder, and he chuckled.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” Frank hummed, running his nose along the curve of your cheekbone. “Your pretty pussy drives me crazy sometimes.”

“Yeah?” You mumbled, picking up your rhythm as you grinded against him. You yelped when you felt his arm wrap around your waist, bucking up into you so hard that you swore you saw stars.

“Can’t think about anything else some days.” Frank nuzzled his cheek against yours, tightening his hold around you. “You’re fucking perfect, baby.”

You mewled at his praise, even though you had made it clear that you wanted to be the one making him feel good, not the other way around. You couldn’t help but mewl. He always knew what to say to make your chest warm and fuzzy, even when he was fucking up into you so hard that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a week.

“C’mon baby girl,” Frank’s tone was low and delicious, and the tingle that worked its way up your spine told you exactly how much you liked the sound of it, “Give me one more, baby.”

“Frank, I-” You let out a guttural moan when you felt his fingers tracing a circle around your clit. Your legs began to shake again, and you knew you were seconds away from coming again. “I’m supposed to be making you feel good.” You finally panted, quickening your pace as you grinded against his cock and fingers.

“I want you to come on my cock, sweetheart.” Frank smirked as you squeezed around him, “That will make me feel good, baby. Can you do that for me, baby girl? Hmm? I know you can. Make me feel good, sweet girl. Come on my cock.”

Frank was talking you through it, and you could not fathom how incredibly hot it was. The intensity at which your orgasm hit you was earth-shattering, and if the neighborhood hadn’t heard you earlier, they certainly heard you this time. You rocked against Frank, whining and panting and doing everything in your power not to fall apart completely before he could reach his high as well.

“My good girl,” Frank wrapped both arms around your waist, pulling your chest against his so that he could kiss you all over your face, “You did so good, sweetheart.”

His praise made you whine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from slamming your lips into his, quickening your pace as you grinded against him. It was overstimulating, sure, but you couldn’t think of anything you wanted more than Frank coming deep inside you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Frank mumbled against your lips, tightening his arms around you, “’m gonna come.”

“Come in me,” you panted, squeezing around his cock.

“Yeah, baby? Want me to fill you up?” Frank was breathing so heavy against your ear that goosebumps littered down your back and shoulders. You dug your nails into his shoulders as he pounded up into you, and when he finally came, warm spurts of come coating your walls, you both slumped against each other, worn out and sweaty.

Frank’s heart was pounding in his chest, and you subconsciously tapped your finger against his neck in the same rhythm until it finally calmed down. You leaned back, glancing over Frank’s features. His eyes were closed, chin tilted upwards in a relaxed, casual position. The stress creases in his face were long gone, and he looked a decade younger than he did when you’d shown up earlier.

“Wish we could stay like this.” He mumbled, running his fingers along your thighs.

“Me too, Frankie.” You nodded, cupping his cheeks in your hands, and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “How much time until you have to go back?”

Frank slightly opened one of his eyes, checking the clock on the dash before closing it again. “Just enough time to drop you off at home and come back. The guys will appreciate the extended lunch.”

You shook your head. “I can get an uber or take the subway, Frank. You don’t have to drive me.”

“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t drive my beautiful girlfriend home after she came all the way here to bring me lunch and make me feel good?”

“A normal one.” You snorted, rolling your eyes.

“Well then I guess I ain’t normal.” Frank smiled, leaning in to kiss you before tapping your thigh with his hand. “I hate to say it, but I can’t drive with you straddlin’ me like this.”

You lifted yourself off him, rolling over into the passenger seat. Your limbs still buzzed with pleasure, and it took you longer than you care to admit to find your panties and put them back on. You were pulling your jeans over your hips when Frank began to roll the windows down and wipe the windshield off. You and him had emitted enough fog that it was impossible to see out of any of the windows, let alone drive.

When the windows were finally cleared and Frank had texted Antonio to let him know he’d be a few minutes late getting back from lunch (Antonio’s only response was the winking emoji), Frank drove you back to the apartment you shared with him. He walked you to the door, kissed you goodbye, turned, then turned back to kiss you again.

“I left your lunch on the passenger seat, okay? It should still be warm with how hot the truck was earlier.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Frank grinned, pulling you in for a third goodbye kiss.

You finally pushed him off you, chuckling when he tried to chase your lips with his.

“Go to work, Frank. I’ll see you tonight.” You laughed as he rolled his eyes, giving you a final kiss before turning and jogging back to the truck. When you closed the door and locked it, you slumped towards the bedroom, the only thing on your mind being the nap you were about to take.

Frank ate his lunch on the drive back to the construction site, nearly getting choked up when he realized you had gotten him Lombardi’s pizza. You knew how much he loved it, and he vowed to show you how grateful he was when he returned home. When he made it back to the site, he was only half an hour late, but that didn’t stop the guys from joking with him about it.

“Twice in one day, boss? She worth it?”

“Must be. He doesn’t look half as grumpy as he usually does.”

Frank rolled his eyes, counting to ten as a way to manage his anger before outwardly responding.

“If any of you fuckers have anything else to say about her, I’ll bash your heads in with the sledgehammer. Got it?”

Frank glanced at the faces around him. So much for managing his anger. Antonio was the only one that didn’t look utterly terrified as they returned to work.

“So, boss.” Antonio started, smirking as he leaned against one of the structural beams.

“Don’t you start.” Frank pointed at him for emphasis, warning the kid away from any topics he may regret bringing up. He really wasn’t a bad kid, and he was one of the hardest workers Frank had encountered in the business, but he did not want to discuss his love life with his 22 year old employee.

“I was just going to ask how much plaster you think we’ll need for the bathroom.” Antonio pointed behind him with his thumb, gesturing towards the space that would soon be an ensuite.

“Sure you were.” Frank couldn’t wait to end the day and crawl into your loving arms, but he had a shit ton of work to do before then, and he would always be the last one on site for the evening.

Later that evening, after he’d finally trudged through the door, showered, and ravished you, you were caressing his chest as he pressed a kiss to your hair.

“So,” you murmured, “D’ya break any jaws after I left?”

“You’ll be happy to know that I didn’t break any jaws after you left.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“What?” He asked.

“You mean to tell me that you didn’t lose your shit on anyone after I left today?”

“No,” he shook his head, “that’s not what I said. I definitely lost my shit, but I didn’t break anyone’s jaw.”

“Oh, that’s good.” You mumbled sarcastically, rolling your eyes and chuckling.

You nuzzled into his chest, relaxing as he enveloped you with warmth.

“I love you, sweet girl. I’m not ashamed of that. Hell, I’ll shout it from the rooftop if you want me to. I just don’t like people knowing my business. I want to keep you safe.”

“I know, Frankie. I’m not upset about it. I love you too.”

“You promise?”

“That I love you?” You smirked against his chest.

“No, smart ass. That you’re not upset.”

“I promise.” You grinned as he pressed a kiss into your hair.

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hugmekenobi · 11 months ago

Text

Next Steps

A Bad Batch Post S2 Oneshot

Gif by @im-no-jedi

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Summary: Although your return to the Batch has made things better, there are still elements of your past you have to face...

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, made-up timeline and what I imagine what Echo will be doing, limited use of y/n, swearing, my views on mindsets, referenced 'dead' characters and nightmares, mentions/descriptions of torture, detailed scar descriptions, angst, light fluff, nickname 'sweetheart', some emotional hurt/comfort, body and general worship, Hunter being dominant but a consent king, hint of a praise kink, Smut (non-explicit descriptions of making out/kissing, grinding, edging, fingering, oral (f) receiving, overstimulation, handjob, unprotected p in v- not in reality please), reader described as strong and powerful, smart and beautiful, Force-communication and more of my general interpretation of how the Force feels/works

Masterlist for S1 and S2

Word Count: 12.8K

Rating: 18+

Author's note: Once again, a massive thank you to @burningfieldof-clover for helping me when I got stuck and who I am very grateful to have as a friend! Dropping this before S3 graces our screens and I hope you all enjoy!

Chibbier

Echo waited in the forest clearing as the Marauder touched down. “I got your message. It sounded urgent, is everything alright?” Echo asked as soon as the door to the Marauder opened revealing his two brothers.

“Everything is fine, Echo.” Hunter said.

“More than fine.” Wrecker emphasised.

“But we agreed we weren’t to meet until (Y/N) was back with us so unless you’ve found her…” He trailed off as he saw the smile tugging at Wrecker’s mouth and Hunter in particular seemed more at ease than he’d been in the recent months. “Wait a second, you mean-”

“Hey stranger.” You said with a grin as you came into view and stood between Hunter and Wrecker. You laughed as Echo’s expression changed from stunned to happy then to relief in quick succession. You jogged down the steps and embraced him tightly. “Long time no see.”

“I’ll say.” Echo replied with a smile as he mirrored your actions. “You had me worried.”

“Worried?” You queried. It sounded like he had a specific worry in mind rather than the general worries that had plagued the rest of you for months.

“Last news of you I’d heard had me getting ready to tell the boys to launch a rescue mission.” Echo said as he parted from you. “But lucky for us, they found you before I needed to share that.”

If you weren’t so happy to see him, you could’ve punched him. You weren’t far away enough from the other two and you knew Echo’s words wouldn’t go unheard, especially by the clone with enhanced senses. You hadn’t gotten around to sharing that part of your time alone and you weren’t sure that you wanted to either.

Hunter hadn’t forgotten that there was something about your past that you weren’t telling him. He’d noticed small shifts and changes in your behaviour since you’d been back. It was things like you made sure to keep your top layer on at all times and if you had to take it off, you would always go to the refresher regardless of it you were alone or not which was something you never used to do. You hadn’t communicated with either him or Wrecker in the silent way you were able to do where they’d hear your voice in their head which was something you did regularly in the past. You were also more emotionally and physically distant, the latter happening at night in particular and ordinarily it wouldn’t bother him, but he knew the cause was rooted in something you’d gone through. But every time he tried to broach the issue, you refused to talk about whatever it was that was causing it, and it pained him that he could do nothing but watch the negative impact it continued to have on you.

“What’s going on with, Omega? Any new leads?” You asked Echo instead, ignoring Hunter’s hand that now rested on your upper arm.

“(Y/N)-”

“Not now, Hunter. Please.”

Hunter released a quiet and resigned sigh. He wanted to help you if he could, but he also knew he had to wait until you were ready. It was just getting harder to do that.

Echo glanced between the two of you. “I said something I shouldn’t have, didn’t I?”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about it. Just fill us in.”

Echo’s eyes darted to Hunter who only nodded. He took a breath and waited for Wrecker to join the three of you. “Nothing new. Imperial security on Hemlock is tight and any breakthrough just results in more cryptic information.”

“Yeah, we’ve had much of the same.” You agreed irritably.

Echo nodded before he faced Hunter. “I know we said that we’d come together once we had (Y/N) back with us, but I think it’s better if I stay doing what I’m doing. Rex and I are going to meet and try to pool together what we’ve gathered. We can tell you what we find and send you to follow up on other sources since we can’t cover everything ourselves and you can also keep searching on your own.”

Before Hunter could form a reply, the sound of branches snapping grabbed his attention.

The blaster bolt that immediately followed the noise, skimmed the armour on your upper arm.

You all reacted quickly and took cover behind the trees.

The onslaught of fire was being directed towards you and would only occasionally be aimed to your fellow clones as a way to keep them from advancing towards the source. Evidently you were the main target here.

“Hunter!” You shouted over the sound of blaster fire. When he pressed his back against the tree trunk and his helmet looked over to you, you called on the Force and dragged the assailant out from their spot, and a well-aimed shot from Hunter saw to it that the blaster was rendered useless. You kept that link with your ally to Force-push them into another tree, and they crumbled to the floor.

All of you lowered your blaster for the moment. You needed to find out why they were here, killing them immediately wouldn’t get you very far.

You stepped out from behind your tree and observed the bounty hunter carefully. Throughout the firefight, you’d felt yourself being pulled towards them, but you couldn’t work out why and that urge hadn’t gone away.

Stiff and unsteady movements had you readying your blaster again but as the hunter got to their feet and caught your eye, you understood why that feeling was there.

Your heart stopped and you stayed rooted to the spot as you saw the blade ignite from the hilt they were holding. The ground around them illuminated in a pale blue haze and you understood what was calling you to the hunter now. Your feet suddenly began moving of their own accord.

The other three all shared a collective bewildered look at what was unfolding in front of them.

Hunter collected his shock quickly and raised his hand to order the others to halt their fire as you fully stepped out to into the clearing.

The bounty hunter charged for you, but the attack posed little threat to you. Whoever this was had no idea how to use an elegant weapon like this and their grip was heavy and clumsy. It wouldn’t take much for you to disarm them.

You ducked under their reckless and uncoordinated swing, grabbed their wrist, and bent it back until the weapon fell from their grasp. You landed a hard kick to their chest, and they stumbled back. The hood fell loose- now exposing a feminine face- but she wasn’t a bounty hunter you recognised. You didn’t have much time to dwell on that since she grabbed a small knife from her boot and jabbed it towards your stomach. You parried away her strikes before you grew tired of dragging this altercation out. Landing a strong punch to her jaw, you used her dazed disposition to Force-pull her face down to the forest floor and waved the others forward.

Hunter and Wrecker pressed their knees into her back and brought her arms around to firmly hold them behind her.

You paid little attention to what they were doing. You hesitantly walked over to the weapon left discarded on the ground.

“Who hired you?” Hunter demanded as he held her down.

“Fuck off.” She snarled as she fought against their grip, but they were too strong, and she was in a much weaker position than she’d been in ten minutes ago.

Echo merely bent down to reach into her jacket pocket and pulled out the tracking fob and bounty puck. Your holographic image confirming what they’d all suspected.

Upon seeing that, Hunter found himself pushing his knee deeper into her spine, paying little attention to her groans of protest.

“Where did you get this?” You questioned softly, more to yourself than anything. You kept your back turned to her as you knelt down and studied the familiar design on the hilt. You couldn’t pick it up, not yet. You knew what you would feel if you did, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

“What?” The bounty hunter snapped as she went for another attempt to wriggle free, but the two clones kept her tight to the forest floor.

You stiffened your posture as you turned on your heels and strode over to her. You lowered your mask, found your voice, and crouched down to her eye level. “Where did you get the lightsaber?” You pointed back to where the weapon still lay abandoned.

“I’m not telling you a thing, Jedi brat.” She spat.

At her words, Hunter twisted her arm harder, ignoring her pained cry.

You signalled to Hunter to ease up and you stood tall once more and indicated to them both to get her on her feet.

Once they did so, you pressed your blaster against her stomach and brought your lips close to her ear- your voice a quiet but lethal whisper. “You know who I am and what I’ve done to people to get what I want. Do you want to be next?” At her harsh gulp, you kept pushing. “I can’t imagine what that’ll do for your reputation in your community... then again, maybe I can… shall we find out?” You knew you’d done enough as you sensed her flicker of fear. You took a step back and looked at her with a firm glare.

“It was the client I did the job for.” She muttered begrudgingly. She wasn’t about to be maimed or die for a job that wasn’t paying all that much in the first place. She’d worked too hard to be seen as a contender, she couldn’t lose that now.

“And who was that?” Hunter asked again, his voice steely.

“Some shop owner.” She replied irritably.

“A name.” You insisted.

“I can’t remember.”

You puffed out an exasperated sigh and took a half step forward.

“Kedrin! His name was Kedrin!” She revealed fretfully.

You saw the shared look between Hunter and Wrecker. “That name mean something to you?”

Wrecker nodded. “He was the one that told us to go to Christophsis to find you.”

The name meant nothing to you upon initially hearing it but evidently you were involved somehow. You ran the information over in your head. Shop owner… Kedrin… Christophsis… it was starting to make sense in your head and that would mean… Your breath caught in your throat as it hit you. You hadn’t even known his name and you’d taken his only family away from him.

“Why set the bounty on her?” Echo asked coolly, keeping his blaster focused on her.

“Not really supposed to ask.” She grunted. “He just mentioned a dead brother.” She saw the flash of something in your eyes… it looked like regret. “Oh… you killed him.”

You glared at her. You hadn’t had time to fill Echo in yet and this was not how you wanted to go about it.

Echo’s eyes darted from her to you. “What is she talking about?”

“Echo…” You started but a cruel laugh from the bounty hunter interrupted you.

“Oh, she’s achieved quite the reputation. Can’t go far in the Outer Rim without coming across someone who had dealings with her.”

Echo angled his head to face you, but you wouldn’t meet his gaze. As hard as you were trying to hide it, you looked… ashamed?

“Back off.” Wrecker growled at the hunter as he saw your mask of composure slip for a moment.

“What’s the matter, Jedi? Suddenly the killing and torture got too much for you? If they were all as weak as you, no wonder they’re all gone.” She taunted mercilessly.

“Shut up.” Hunter snarled as he saw the way your fists clenched as you worked on keeping your distress at bay.

But you knew it was a pointless venture. Despite her current predicament, that bounty hunter arrogance was in full flow now that she’d discovered your weakness, and she wasn’t about to stop. Her stare was filled with malice, but you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of turning away. Your shoulders heaved as you worked on keeping your breathing even and controlled.

The bounty hunter addressed the clones now. "I didn’t get much guidance from my client aside from ‘kill her’ so ever since I picked up that bounty, I've been trying to think of the most chaotic way to take her out. She's obviously felt enough emotional turmoil that an easy death would be a mercy. Jedi don't deserve the luxury. I like to play with my food before I kill it."

“And how’s that worked out for you?” You retorted though your conviction was weak as her words found their mark and her sneer told you she was completely unbothered about her current situation now. Your only plan involved letting her overconfidence be her own undoing.

“Nice try.” She mocked. “For a moment I believed your threats but now that I’m really looking at you, I know you don’t have it in you to kill me anymore. You’ve gone soft and you’re pathetic I can see it in your eyes- you’re haunted by what you’ve done, Jedi.”

Your jaw clenched and you could feel those emotions you’d worked so hard to control start to rise to the surface.

“I’m getting outta here and I fully intend to finish what the Empire started-”

Hunter’s fatal shot to her chest silenced her and she flopped to the ground.

“Looks like you have something you need to deal with first.” Echo advised Hunter as he destroyed the puck and tracking fob for good measure before he holstered his blaster. He faced you. “I still don’t know what happened whilst you were on your own, but your past is your own, I won’t hold anything against you, we’re still okay.” He reassured you.

You barely managed a nod of acknowledgement as her words were still replaying in your mind, but you wouldn’t let it show. Instead, you took out your vibroblade and cut a section of her clothing. You stayed silent as you took the piece of fabric and wrapped the lightsaber in it. You knew it was a lame gesture- especially since you immediately felt that rush of connection as you lifted it- but it provided you with a false sense of security that you would rather have because the second you made unrestrained contact with it, you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist or turn your back on it again. You held the hilt tightly before you waved farewell to Echo and made for the ship.

Hunter nodded absentmindedly at Echo’s words whilst his gaze was fixed on you. He knew seeing that lightsaber might bring back some memories, but the intensity of your reaction told him there was more to it than simply remembering that period of your life. He pulled himself out of his thoughts and reached his hand out to Echo. “Be safe, Echo. We’ll be in touch once we’ve dealt with this.”

“You too.” Echo replied, meeting Hunter’s hand in a firm handshake before they parted, and he watched Hunter head back to the Marauder.

“See you later, Echo.” Wrecker said warmly as he lightly slapped his brother’s shoulder before he followed Hunter to the ship.

“What’s so special about this lightsaber?” Wrecker asked as the ship entered hyperspace.

Hunter leaned against the entrance to the cockpit, arms crossed as he studied you. Your eyes hadn’t left the weapon sitting in your lap.

“It’s mine.” You said quietly.

Hunter immediately straightened up. “It’s yours?” He repeated.

“Yup.” You cleared your throat and brought your eyes up to face the two clones. “I figured it would’ve been destroyed in Order 66. Guess not.” You said with a resigned sigh.

“Woah! Talk about lucky!” Wrecker said excitedly but you didn’t seem to match his enthusiasm. “This is good news, isn’t it?” He asked, tilting his head at you.

“I don’t know what kind of news it is, Wrecker.” You said honestly.

“What’s your hold up?” Hunter asked curiously.

“Yeah, it’s a pretty handy weapon to have and if it belongs to you, isn’t it better that it’s back with you?” Wrecker followed up.

“It’s difficult to explain.” You deflected.

“Try us.” Hunter encouraged gently.

You shot him a look, hoping he would drop it but the look in his eyes told you that he was not for dissuading. You released a short breath. “It would be like taking back a section of my life I was ready to leave behind. That I had left behind… for years.”

“And you don’t know if you’re ready to reconnect with that part of you yet?” Hunter guessed.

You shrugged in complacent agreement. “Making the choice to leave the Jedi Order was already difficult and leaving my lightsaber…. well, that was hard enough the first time and now that I have it back… I don’t know.” You ran a hand over your face. “It’s just complicated.” You got to your feet and carefully put the lightsaber on a shelf in the cockpit.

Wrecker slapped his hands against his thighs. “Well, I always think things look less complicated after a good sleep, what do ya say? We all could use some rest before we sort out this Kedrin guy.”

Sleep didn’t provide you with much respite these days, but you hummed out a quiet laugh and shared a brief smile with Hunter. “Sounds like a good idea, Wrecker.”

Hunter jolted awake, panic setting in as he reached for you only to find that you weren’t there, and he had a horrible feeling that he hadn’t woken up yet. But no, he could hear Wrecker’s faint snores, so he had to be awake, and he knew he was back with you, it wasn’t a trick. There would be a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why you weren’t lying next to him right now.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. You were here, you’d been here for a while now. He’d found you; you were okay. It wasn’t like before. You were probably just in the cockpit. Yes, that’s where you had to be.

When he felt himself calm down, he got to his feet and noiselessly made his way there but paused in the entryway as he saw you reading one of Tech’s old datapads, top layer still on, feet tucked up beneath you as you sat in the pilot’s seat. He thought he’d gathered them all. “Where’d you find that?” He rasped; his voice still thick with sleep.

You jumped in your chair as you heard him. You had been utterly absorbed in what you were reading, you hadn’t sensed him approach. You looked up to see Hunter standing in the doorway to the cockpit. “Tucked behind the medkit. I forgot how much Tech truly recorded.” You said in fond remembrance although there was an overall sense of sorrow in your voice. You flashed him the title of the current report you were reading. “Remember that mission on Ryloth?”

“You and Wrecker got separated from the rest of us and decided to blow up the target from the inside and escape through the garbage chute if I remember correctly?”

“Right.” You said with a soft chuckle.

“Pretty sure that was the mission that made you a fully-fledged member of our squad, Wrecker couldn’t stop raving about you after that. I was almost jealous.” Hunter managed to joke.

You gave him a small grin at that before you turned off the datapad and properly took him in. “Guess you couldn’t sleep either?” You asked in a hushed voice as Hunter stepped further into the cockpit.

Hunter merely shook his head and sat across from you.

“Nightmares?” You figured as you delicately put the datapad back and sat in your seat once more.

“I prefer calling them recaps.” Hunter muttered dully as he sat across from you.

You reached for his knee and squeezed it comfortingly. “Do you want to talk more about them?”

Hunter shook his head. “You know and lived it all too and being here with you helps anyway. What about you?”

“Just a lot weighing on my mind.” You said airily as you brought your hand back to your lap.

Hunter made a small noise of quiet understanding. He hadn’t been expecting much more by way of a response from you.

“I don’t know how he does it.” You whispered in sad envy as you jutted your chin over to where Wrecker was sleeping soundly.

Hunter followed your gaze and sighed. “It’s the only way he can switch off. Especially in the early months, he struggled with remembering everything.”

“Yeah, any form of healing from all this won’t be easy.” You said with a heavy breath.

“Wrecker might be able to sleep better than we can, but he keeps a blaster by him and has his hand on it at all times. I don’t think he ever wants to be caught off guard again.” Hunter replied solemnly. “Moving on won’t ever be simple.”

You dipped your head in agreement and leaned back in your chair.

The minutes ticked by and the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while before Hunter cleared his throat. “I’m going to be selfish for a moment, okay?”

You tilted your head at him and adjusted your posture to give him your full attention. “Okay…”

Hunter took another breath, his throat bobbing before he spoke, “You can’t leave me to wake up alone like that.”

It hit you immediately. Fuck, you’d been an idiot, of course you couldn’t do that. If he’d done that to you, you would lose your shit. How could you have been so stupid? “Hunter-”

“I had one night too many of waking up to a cold and empty space and worrying about where you were and what was happening to you. I can’t go through it again, I won’t. Not anymore.”

You’d been so wrapped up in your own head, you hadn’t even considered what that would do to him, but you should’ve known better, especially because your reaction would be exactly like his. You quietly stood up and closed the short gap between you to straddle his lap.

He accommodated you in an instant and his eyes fluttered shut as you gently stroked your fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry.” You soothed as you placed delicate kisses to his face whilst you moved your hands to rub up and down his chest, his sleep clothes warm and soft beneath your palms.

Hunter caught your wrists and tenderly caressed the scars left there as a result of what you’d endured in Cid’s parlour. “I barely lived through it once and I won’t do it ever again. I don’t care what time it is, if you’re up and struggling with something you wake me up with you. I’d rather that than wake up without you and have that pain and panic set it again. Promise me… please.” He begged, brushing some strands of hair back behind your ear as his eyes looked deep into yours.

You nuzzled into his neck and placed a gentle kiss on his pulse point. “I promise.” Your lips traced his jaw. “And you promise too.”

“I promise.” Hunter agreed and he tucked his fingers under your chin and brought your lips to his.

You had wanted to keep it short and sweet, but you soon found yourself physically incapable. One gentle nip from him on your bottom lip and you were done for. The kiss soon turned hungry and desperate. The two of you were consumed by a passion you’d had no outlet for yet, and you were getting completely lost in the moment. Your hands threaded themselves in his hair and you pressed yourself against him as he deepened the kiss and squeezed your hips to get you to subtly grind against him which were instructions you were only too happy to follow.

It was all over though when you felt his hands start to reach the bottom of your shirt and brush against your bare skin. Instinctively, you flinched away, and you crashed back to reality. You knew what marks you were concealing, and what he would feel if he lifted your shirt, and it wasn’t something he should have to see. “I- I can’t.” You panted against his lips. Your body yearned for him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go any further, not yet. Everything was still too fresh, and you couldn’t, no matter how much you wanted to.

Even though his body burned for you, he’d never push you into this, but he wanted to share the burden of whatever it was that was tormenting you. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you?” Hunter murmured breathlessly as he glanced up at you.

You swallowed thickly. “I want to but-” You released a low, shaky breath. “It’s- it’s hard to talk about.”

Hunter stroked your cheek. “Well, when you’re ready, I’ll be right there.”

You pressed your lips into his palm.

“Come on, let’s try to get some rest. We’ll arrive at Nelvaan in a few hours.” He kissed your forehead before you got to your feet and the two of you made your way back to your bunk.

“Y- you’re supposed- supposed to be dead!” Kedrin exclaimed fearfully as he cowered behind the main counter upon seeing you standing in the doorway of his shop, the two clones on either side of your shoulders.

“You should’ve sprung for a better bounty hunter then.” You countered as you walked towards the store owner. “I have some questions for you.”

“No, I’m not dealing with any of you ever again!” Kedrin reached underneath the counter and pulled out a blaster and pointed it at you.

You stopped your advance and raised your hands in surrender. “Kedrin, I just need to talk to you.”

“Fuck you! You don’t get to use my name and talk to me like what you did to me was nothing!”

You internally cringed at the memory of what you’d put him through.

“Did you even know he was my brother?!” He shouted in anger. “Did you even care, you heartless bitch?!”

Hunter tensed beside you.

You lightly grazed his hand with your own to tell him it was fine but at the same time shame coiled in your gut. You lowered your mask and kept your voice low and composed. “Kedrin-”

“Stop using my fucking name, you never bothered with it before!” He then turned his rage to the clone that stood closest to you. “And you! I still have the scar from you!” He yelled at the clone on your right, the blaster in his hand still quivering as he aimed it between the three of you.

Hunter stood unwavering beside you and said nothing.

You saw how unsteady his grip on his blaster was. “You’re not a killer, Kedrin. It’s why you sent the bounty hunter after me in the first place.” You said as an attempt to talk him down but the Force around him was in complete chaos, the only emotion that had any kind of control was his anger and that was dangerous. You knew the kind of pain and wrath the loss of a loved one could unleash, and it was why you’d never wanted to put anyone through it in the first place but now you were seeing the impact of your mistake firsthand.

“You killed my brother you fucking bitch!”

You sensed him getting ready to pull the trigger. “Kedrin-” You ducked as the blaster bolt came straight for your head. You channelled the Force and took the blaster from his hand whilst Hunter and Wrecker used that distraction to advance and subdue him. They shoved his head and torso down to press against the countertop.

“Do you want one to match?” Hunter threatened as he reached for his vibroblade and held the sharp point just above Kedrin’s unmarked hand as he and Wrecker held him down.

“Hunter, it’s okay.” You said, pulling him back from that line the two of you had agreed to keep each other from as you saw the way his grip strengthened and the wince of pain Kedrin couldn’t conceal.

Kedrin kept looking for a way out of their hold but was proving futile. “She murdered my brother.” He whimpered as he continued some half-hearted attempts to free himself.

“You’re right. I did.” You approached him and crouched to meet his eyeline. “And it was a mistake that I’m plagued by to this day. All I can do is say that I’m sorry. I know you’d love nothing more than to kill me too, it would probably feel great but please, please Kedrin, don’t do this. It won’t end well for you.” You begged. When his resistance finally ceased, you turned your attention to Hunter.

“Give us a minute.” You said to Hunter, resting a hand on the top of his shoulder.

“But-” Hunter got ready to argue.

“Hunter.” You interrupted firmly and fixed him with a stern stare.

Recognising that tone and look in your eyes, Hunter released a disgruntled but compliant sigh and nodded to Wrecker to let him go. He holstered his blaster and sheathed his vibroblade before leading the way out.

As you heard the door shut, you stepped back from the counter to give Kedrin some space. “You have no reason to trust me, but I promise that I’m not going to hurt you, that’s not why I’m here.”

“You’re- you’re not here to kill me for the bounty hunter?” Kedrin asked warily.

You shook your head. “There was a time where that’s what precisely I would do and I wouldn’t even hesitate, but you’re not the person I’m supposed to be hurting and neither was your brother. I know nothing I say will bring you comfort but I am not here to kill you. I only want to talk.” You said sincerely as you put your weapons to the ground and faced him calmly.

Kedrin massaged his right shoulder- which had been on the receiving end of a particularly harsh grip from the clone you referred to as ‘Hunter’- and narrowed his eyes at you. “What is it exactly that you want to talk about?”

“This.” You placed the lightsaber on the counter and unwrapped it. “Where’d you get it?”

Kedrin wasn’t buying that that was all you wanted to know about, you had to be here for revenge. “How do I know you won’t do some magic thing like you did last time?”

You released an irritated sigh. “Because if I was going to do that, I would’ve done it already. I won’t lie, I can’t leave here with you still intent on sending hunters after me or I will have to do some things neither of us will enjoy, particularly you. I will always regret taking yours away from you, it was never part of my plan to leave someone alone, but my family is still counting on me, and I can’t have anything messing that up. Please, leave us alone and I’ll never bother you again after this.”

Kedrin angled his head and regarded you inquisitively. His body was still filled with fear of being alone with you, but it was like there was a different person standing before him- you seemed genuinely upset and sorry; and that in of itself would be punishment enough- better you feel the guilt of what you’d done than have an easy out. “You’re the most terrifying person I’ve ever met but for some reason, I believe what you’re saying. No more bounty hunters.”

You felt into the Force around him but there was no dishonesty or deceit. “The lightsaber?” You redirected his attention to the weapon on the counter.

Kedrin shrugged. “What about it?”

“Where did you get it?” You repeated impatiently.

Kedrin flinched at your tone and- not wanting to risk upsetting you any further- started wiping down some glass cases to channel his nervous energy and spoke quickly. “I’ve had it for a while, couldn’t tell you who gave it to me. Just that they were employed to be a part of the clean-up after your lot betrayed the Chancellor and found it and wanted a souvenir of the experience.”

You coughed and bit back the flurry of insults and threats that nearly escaped your mouth.

Kedrin, now so focused on his task that he was oblivious to your discomfort, carried on in a restless ramble, “Guess they ran into tough times during the transition period and wanted rid of it for some quick cash. No one really wanted to buy it though, it just sat there which was why I gave it to that bounty hunter.”

You felt your heartbeat thundering in your ears as you realised what this could mean for you. Leaving it behind had been an active choice to cut part of yourself off from the Force and now you had a chance to feel the Force flow through you as a single entity, no more jagged or disjointed connections… but you didn’t know if you were ready for that yet, it was too much to even comprehend. If it had survived everything and found its way back to you… did that mean that you could too?

“So, um are you going to pay for it?” He dared to ask but your sharp and cold glower had him gulping nervously and wringing his hands. “Uh, never mind, you can take it.” He said hastily. “Just let us be done with each other.”

You said nothing to him, you only covered it once more, picked up your other weapons and exited the shop.

“Everything okay?” Hunter asked as you emerged from the store.

“We were going to go get some supplies if you want to join?” Wrecker added.

“I need a moment. You guys go.” You said, giving Wrecker your concealed lightsaber and avoiding eye contact with them both as you hurried back to the Marauder.

Having found a moment of relief under the warm water, you got out of the shower and started to towel off and redress but as you pulled your tank top over you, you realised you’d left your long sleeve out by your bunk. You swore under your breath and only hoped the other two would take a bit longer on the supply run. You dashed out the door of the refresher and started to rummage through the bunk for it.

“Who did that to you?”

You whipped around to see Hunter stood frozen in the entryway to the Marauder. “Dammit Hunter-”

“Who did that to you?” He repeated heatedly, his concern and rage rising each second. The sight of the deep and cruel scars that disappeared from your upper back beneath your shirt to the rest of your back was engrained in his mind and any plans of waiting for you to come to him evaporated as his anger and protectiveness overcame him.

Wrecker stepped up beside his brother, put the supplies down and your weapon on a shelf. He nervously glanced between the two of you and it didn’t take an enhanced skill for him to pick up on the way Hunter was trembling with fury. “Eh, what’d I miss?”

Hunter ignored him and kept his eyes on you. “Who was it?”

You turned back around to grab your shirt and it was then that you heard Wrecker’s sharp inhale as he too now saw what it was Hunter had seen. You fiddled with the fabric, twisting it tightly in your hands. “It wasn’t like it was solely one person. Just forget about it.” You muttered aloofly.

“No, I can’t just forget about it. Who. Hurt. You?”

You sighed heavily and half-turned to face the two clones. “It was a two for one special.”

“Don’t.” Hunter chided sternly. He couldn’t have you make light of this, not when he’d seen what you’d gone through now. He couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer anymore and, as awful as a part of him found it, he had to push you now.

There was no leeway in his voice, you weren’t going to be able to dodge and weave your way out of this conversation now. “Basically, it was both Imperial Stormtroopers and their higher command officers.” You swallowed harshly. “They- they worked together on this one.”

Hunter simply stormed away from you to the ship’s controls. “Wrecker, let’s get the ship in the air.”

“You’re going to go after every Imperial officer and stormtrooper in the galaxy?” You scrappily tugged your top layer over you and hustled after the two of them as they strode into the cockpit.

“If I have to!” Hunter growled.

“I’m with the Sarge on this one.” Wrecker agreed severely as he started to power up the ship.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought but that’s not logical nor practical!” You argued.

“Don’t talk to me about practicality when they did that to you!” Hunter shouted angrily.

“It was my fault, Hunter!” You yelled back.

That caused both of them to pause and Wrecker turned off the engine.

“I did it to myself.” You said, your voice scarcely above a whisper as you braced yourself for the time you were about to relive.

“What are you talking about?” Hunter asked, his voice as quiet as yours now as he studied your face carefully.

“Before I tell you, I need you both to stay calm. Especially you.” You said to Hunter. You knew he wasn’t mad at you; his reaction had been exactly as you’d expected. His fierce protectiveness was a quality you loved about him, but it could be his undoing if he wasn’t careful. “And you need to know and accept that nothing would’ve changed it, it wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I acted in poor and emotional judgement and there was nothing you could’ve done to prevent it. Please, trust me on this.” You insisted with a pleading stare at him before you looked to Wrecker who- albeit hesitantly- nodded. You glanced to Hunter again who was still looking like he could take on the Empire singlehandedly. “Hunter?”

Hunter felt a keen sense of dread at your words, and it was highly likely he wouldn’t be able to view it quite as simply as that, but he allowed himself a deep and calming breath. He’d do this for you. “Tell me.”

You exhaled nervously and fidgeted with your hands. Realistically, you’d known you wouldn’t be able to go through the rest of your life without being found out or talking about it but that didn’t make doing this any easier. “I’m sure I don’t really have to go into how hard it was to find each other, right? I’m sure you guys had your fair share of failed leads and things were pretty hopeless for a while, yes?”

Hunter and Wrecker both nodded.

You took another breath. “Right, well, it was the same for me. During our time apart, nothing I did was getting me any closer to you and I could feel it draining me every day. Lyra and I arrived on Christophsis and decided to settle there but it didn’t help. No matter how hard I searched, no matter how much of myself I gave up when it came to getting what I wanted, nothing was bringing results, and I was angry. I was angry, frustrated and just miserable. And it was in that poor state of mind that I made a choice that I shouldn’t have.”

Hunter knew those emotions all too well and he’d get incredibly impatient and unfocused when they got overwhelming, but he’d been fortunate to have Wrecker around to pick up the load when it got too much. Yes, you may have had Lyra, but he knew you and how you operated, and you would’ve put it all on you, regardless of how exhausting it would’ve been and that’s what made him nervous as he awaited further explanation.

You shuffled your feet. “I was being a bit of a nuisance to the Empire wherever I went, Christophsis was no exception, but I was getting nowhere on the information front so, in my slightly unstable state, I figured the best way to find out about you or even Hemlock was to um well, find it straight from the source.”

Hunter’s heart skipped a beat. “No, no you didn’t.”

Wrecker looked between the two of you in confusion but then it clicked with him too and he stared at you, horrified. “Why would you do that?”

You swallowed thickly. “I thought that by handing myself in, I would be able to get the information I was needing. I figured they would have some form of intel on you I could use.” You huffed irritably as you remembered how foolish you’d been. “Turns out they were a lot smarter than I gave them credit for and they sussed out my plan pretty quickly.”

You winced as Hunter threw his helmet and it crashed against the wall. You expected no less but you needed to reign him back in if you had any chance of recounting the whole story. “That’s not staying calm.”

Hunter got to his feet and paced; his distress evident. “We were on your trail! If I’d been faster and picked our sources more carefully, you wouldn’t have had to-” Hunter seethed. How could he have failed you so badly? You’d put yourself through hell for their sake and if he had gotten to you sooner, you wouldn’t have had to have gone through this.

“Hunter, no.” You shook your head to stop him from putting the blame on himself. “The whole reason I did it was because the trail was running cold, and I was desperate. It was all on me. and I’m not done explaining this yet and it doesn’t get better, but you can’t do this. I understand and appreciate where it comes from, but it won’t help now, okay? Just let me finish it.”

Hunter clenched his jaw but did as you asked. He sat back down and nodded at you to continue but he was helpless to stop the anxious shaking of his leg.

You gritted your teeth as you prepared yourself for what you had to do next and any levity that you’d previously been forcing into your voice vanished. “Since they knew what I was and some of the general history between all of us, it’s like I said, they were aware of what I wanted, and they definitely weren’t up for giving it to me. They finally had me under their control, and they were very good at making sure I wasn’t getting away any time soon. Honestly, they were pretty creative with their methods and I’m sure some of them found doing what they did to me quite therapeutic.” That dismissive attitude slipped back in at the end without you meaning to. Frankly, you probably wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren’t for the sharp and worried looks from Wrecker and Hunter. You mentally checked yourself before you proceeded.

“Where they showed their inexperience however was when they got frustrated at how little I gave them. I don’t think they realised how hard it would be to crack someone like me. Their fists, their whips, their electrostaffs… it all hurt but it wouldn’t get me to talk. So, they went for something different, and that was what got them quite close.” You stopped again and found yourself touching the small pinprick scar as you remembered the sharp sting and then the complete haziness that would follow that would render your completely susceptible to anything they would do and say. “Whatever concoction they’d inject into my neck when they got bored or too tired from physically hurting me was nearly impossible for me to resist and that was a terrifying experience... I was having to fight my own mind while they happily watched on. That interrogator droid would enter, and- and my body would go cold with fear every time.” You paused for a chance to gather yourself and squeezed your eyes tight to rid yourself of the memories of that dark, cramped room they would take you where you were helpless to their cruelty and the last thing you would clearly recall would be the whirring of that droid approaching you.

You took another breath before you continued to speak. “That was what came close to breaking me and they worked that out. Every day they would inject me with that serum to make me submit to their words and they would tell me you were right outside. They- they would tell me that I would see- see you all again if I only told them how much I knew about Omega and where I was hiding…. And every day I would have to remind myself that it was all a lie… that you weren’t there, and I couldn’t reveal anything since that would put Lyra in danger too.” You released a shaky breath. “Or they’d try to convince me that you were going through the same thing I was and- and it was my fault and to get- to get it to stop I would have to tell them everything.” You felt a lump form in the back of your throat, but you forced yourself to talk through it. “They could beat me all they wanted but that was the thing that actually left a mark… these scars merely came with the territory.”

A troubled silence fell upon the walls of the Marauder as you finished. You picked at some imaginary lint on your leggings as a way to bring your emotions under control.

Hunter felt sick to his stomach. He could’ve saved you or made it so putting yourself in that position would never have needed to seem like a viable option. You’d needed him and he hadn’t been there. He’d let you down.

You caught a glimpse of his expression changing from anger to defeated sadness and he didn’t need to vocalise those thoughts; you were perfectly aware of what would be going through his head. “It’s okay.” You mouthed silently to him.

You shouldn’t be the one comforting him. A broken and anguished sigh left his throat. Okay? How was any of this okay? You’d subjected yourself to torture for them and had carried the burden of it by yourself for so long.

“How’d you get away?” Wrecker asked in quiet upset as he imagined you experiencing that.

You coughed and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. “Truth be told, it gets a bit blurry near the end. I…” You trailed off and frowned as you worked on accurately recalling what had gone down the day you got out. You hesitantly started your explanation again. “I remember overhearing that they were going to send me off world to a high security prison and I couldn’t have that. The trooper who put the cuffs on me to take me back to my cell was a rookie, I think he figured I was unconscious, so he used the regular ones that didn’t restrict my Force-wielding abilities. Then the dizziness and blackouts set in, I remember finding the strength to take him out, but I don’t exactly know how I proceeded from there. The next thing I do remember was collapsing outside the door to where we were living and Lyra dragging me inside.”

“Hunter?” You looked to him since he hadn’t said anything yet.

Hunter’s throat had gone so dry, he couldn’t summon words immediately. All that was racking through his head was how he could’ve prevented this and how he should’ve been there to save you. You never should’ve been the one to drag yourself out of that hellhole. The protective part of him wanted to find a way for you to come up with any identifying features that could assist in hunting down those who’d inflicted that pain on you but despite all you’d relayed to them, he was calmer now and he knew that wasn’t what you wanted. He may have failed you then, but he wouldn’t now. His focus now lay in what he could do for you now but there was an element to the explanation he was missing and once he had that, everything else could fall into place. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He murmured instead.

There was no accusation in his eyes, no pointedness or blame in his tone. You knew he just wanted to understand, and it was a fair question. “I was working on compartmentalising it; it was just going badly. And-” You stopped yourself from continuing and instead just started to back away. “Nothing.”

“And what?” Hunter pressed as he got to his feet and caught your hand before you could step away any further.

You shook your head. “It’s a stupid reason, I shouldn’t care about it.”

“Nothing you’re feeling about this is stupid. I might be able to help, you only need to tell me.” Hunter prompted tenderly as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

You regarded him carefully, attempting to find some deception or falseness in his tone so you didn’t have to say it but, unsurprisingly, you didn’t find any. You bit your lip before speaking, “I didn’t want you to have to see them. They’re- they’re not exactly nice to look at.” You muttered as you dipped your head to stare at the floor.

The fact that that was even cause for concern felt like a punch to the gut but at least there was something he could do about it. He may not be able to go after the Imperials like he wanted but he could help you realise that was a non-issue for him and one that hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Wrecker, take a walk. I’ll be in touch when you can come back.” Hunter ordered his brother.

Wrecker wasn’t about to question him, so he did as he said. He rested a gentle hand on your shoulder in comfort. “Thank you for telling us.” He said before he left the ship.

You went to address Hunter, but he spoke first.

“Turn around.”

Your brow furrowed but you couldn’t deny the warmth that bloomed in your stomach at his words. “What?”

“Turn around.” Hunter repeated, his tone quiet but filled with dominance.

Despite your lingering questions as to what exactly it was that he wanted, you found yourself doing as he instructed. You could feel the heat in your stomach start to radiate throughout the rest of his body. Each steady thump of armour hitting the ground had goosebumps rising on your skin in anticipation and you felt him crowd your back and rest his chin in the space between your neck and shoulder.

Hunter kissed the sensitive spot behind your ear and as he felt you relax into him; he slowly grabbed the hem of your long-sleeved layer and lifted it over your head and dropped it to the floor of the ship. He didn’t let his eyes fall to the scars yet. Instead, he caressed the trail of goosebumps on your arms and continued to pay close attention to your neck, softy nibbling the areas that he knew would make you weak at the knees.

He could play your body so well; it was like the two of you hadn’t been parted for as long as you had been. You could feel yourself growing more and more compliant to his touch and desire coursed through your body. You only snapped out of it when you felt his touch go lower and he tugged the bottom of your vest top. You went stiff and immediately grabbed his hands in a panic. “Hunter, no. You-”

“Easy.” He soothed as he pressed delicate, featherlight kisses to the back and each side of your neck. “Trust me.” He rasped against your skin, but he waited for your signal.

You released a low, unsteady breath. You couldn’t live in this state of fear and shame forever. You trusted him with everything you had and that was why you felt yourself letting go of his wrists. Your breathing grew uneven, and your body trembled as you felt his bare hands graze underneath your vest top before, they held onto the hem of it.

“Relax… it’s okay. You’re okay now. Let me see.” He encouraged gently, only lifting when he saw you nod your permission.

His gaze finally dipped to your bare back, and he had to fight to keep his breathing calm as he felt his heart shatter once he saw the full extent of what had been done to you. Your back was a map of merciless and vicious scars, and he wanted nothing more to take away the pain they’d caused you and inflict it on his own body. But that was the only effect they had. He was not repulsed, not repelled by the sight of them. They did nothing to ruin his physical perception of you. You were every bit as beautiful to him now as you had been when he first met you on Devaron all that time ago. “You’re exquisite.”

You refused to believe that. These were different to the scars you were both used to that came with the impact of battle and you were under no illusions as to how unsightly they were. You went to turn to face him so he wouldn’t have to keep looking at them and to protest his words, but he sensed that and beat you to it.

“These do not define you. They do not define my view of you. You are strong, you are capable, and you are a force to be reckoned with and that is why I love you.” He started to lightly touch each one. “No amount of scarring is going to change that. You. Are. Beautiful. I will be there to remind you of that whenever you need it.” He pressed his mouth to the space between your shoulder blades.

Your body trembled under his touch and his sincerity threatened to overwhelm you. “Hunter-” You managed to choke out.

“I would tear the galaxy apart for you, if you wanted me to.” He hummed against your skin as he continued to trail his lips down your back, worshipping every mark that had been left on you so as to leave a new association with them now. “But I know that’s not what you need.”

A quivering breath left your lungs at his words and ministrations, and you knew you felt the same way. But it was because the two of you were aware of that line that your relationship worked so well- you could balance the sentiment with intent. You could feel him starting to make his way back up your back.

“So, what is it that you need?” He hummed into your ear before he placed his hands on your waist and sucked a mark over the tiny scar that rested on your pulse point.

You groaned and braced your hands on the wall that formed the entryway to the cockpit as you felt your knees buckle.

“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me and it’s yours.” He asked again as his fingers started to dip beneath the waistband of your leggings whilst he pulled your earlobe between his teeth.

You knew exactly what it was, it was all you ever really needed. “You.” You gasped and you swore you felt him smile against your skin.

“You have me… always.”

You couldn’t hold out any longer, you turned around and crushed your lips against his with a groan and pushed him to the wall of the entrance to the cockpit. If he was taken aback by your abruptness, he didn’t show it as he matched your enthusiasm immediately, one hand coming to firmly grip your exposed waist whilst the other tangled itself in your damp hair, a desperate and eager noise leaving him as he got to feel your body press against his.

As you kissed him, your hands fisted his shirt and you pulled insistently but made no moves to actually step away to remove it, you were too addicted to the feeling of having him this way again… yet you needed to feel his skin against yours which is why you were thankful that he had enough willpower to separate himself from you and take it off himself.

The two of you breathed heavily and the air was thick with tension, but you were too focused on looking at what rested just past his collarbone. You hadn’t allowed yourself to check if he had held onto it for fear of what it could mean if it was gone, and your breath hitched. You touched the black leather cord and traced the small Jedi Order symbol on the end. “You- you kept it?”

“Of course, I did.” He softly uttered, if a little out of breath. He cradled your face in his palms. “What do I have to do to make you see what I see in you?”

Any answer died on your lips, and he passionately reconnected his mouth to yours, using your surprised gasp to deepen the kiss before he stepped away from the wall and started to direct you both down the narrow hallway to your bunk, muscle memory mapping the way as neither of you were content to separate to make the walk any easier.

A trail of clothes was left in your wake as you made your way to your bunk.

Hunter gently laid you down, his lips never parting yours before he patted your hip to get you to be on your front.

You still found yourself feeling reluctant. His beautiful brown eyes were laden with lust but there was also a deep and devoted sense of care behind them which was why you complied with his request. You trusted him.

Hunter went back to what he’d done earlier as he left delicate kisses to every scar that donned your back. What you endured was something no one should ever have to but what he could do now was make sure you knew that you didn’t need to hide them for the sake of other people- especially him- any longer. “You never have to worry about these. All that matters to me is that you’re here now, you got away, and you will never end up back there. More scars don’t have the power to change how I feel about you, nothing does. I love you for all that you are.” He planted a kiss to the base of your spine before he got you on your back to face him.

Hunter wiped away the salty tears that had escaped your eyes and nudged the side of your nose with his. “I love you. Always.”

“Always.” You repeated hoarsely as you were overwhelmed by the emotions that came crashing to the surface. You stroked back the smaller bits of hair that frequently slipped past his bandanna.

Hunter kissed your cheek before leaving a trial of kisses along your jawline whilst his hand slowly made its way down your body to rest between your thighs.

Your legs parted for him on instinct and your hips bucked into his touch and a soft moan left your throat.

His voice took on a low purr as he moved his fingers. “Here’s how this is going to work: I am going to tell you everything that I love about you which you are then going to repeat and… if you don’t…” He stopped and took his hand away as he saw that familiar expression on your face, and he couldn’t help the slight smirk that tugged the edges of his mouth as that expression turned into an affronted pout. “I stop.”

Your eyes widened at the very clear implications of what he had in store for you.

“Or this doesn’t have to go any further and we stop now.” He offered sincerely.

No, you didn’t want that. It had been too long, and you needed him like your lungs needed oxygen. You could do this. You nodded your consent.

Hunter angled his head to press his lips against yours before he started to move his fingers again, hungrily swallowing your appreciative gasp. He kissed you passionately, not in any rush to stop right now. He parted from you and took a second to appreciate the throaty sighs that left your mouth at his actions, the way you bit your lip and the slight wrinkle on your brow as you grew closer to your release. He’d missed being able to see you like this, but he was relishing the opportunity to relearn and do all the things that made your body contort in pleasure. “You’re beautiful.” He exhaled in complete awe.

You were so caught up in the pleasure radiating throughout your body that you had already forgotten his plan and you were too put out by the feeling of your climax fading away to recall where your side of the bargain came into it. “Hey-” You cut yourself off as you saw the expectant expression on his face and then you remembered what you had to do to get what you craved but that doubt was still there, and you felt awkward doing it. However, the reassurance and trust that also rested on his face saw to it that you did as he said. “I- I’m beautiful.”

Hunter bowed his head with a supportive smile before he carried on, the sound of your groan was like music to his ears. “Despite all that’s happened… all that we still have to do… you always find a way to make me smile.”

You were in a state of total euphoria and therefore failed to fully comprehend that he’d said something else. It was only when you felt him pull his hand away and the emptiness that followed that brought you back to the current situation. With a whine, you spoke again, “I- make- make you s- smile.” You ground out as you moved your hips in tandem with his touch as you chased your high.

He let you have your first climax, pausing to let you come down from it. Once your breathing evened out, he went again and kissed you before muttering against your lips, “You’re smart.”

“I’m- fuck.” You were too distracted by seeking the next release you were longing for to remember to respond, and you cried out in irritation as he stopped just before you reached it.

“Almost.” He crooned into your ear.

As frustrated as you were, you got your bearings and whispered, “I’m smart.”

“Good girl.” He praised, a grin on his face as your breath stuttered at his words, before he continued, curling his fingers in the way he knew would send you over the edge and sure enough, your hips lifted as your release crashed over you and a gratified moan sounded from you. However, he didn’t stop, he worked you through it and said, “You’re caring.”

The process got easier and began to feel more natural. You slowly started to understand that clinging on to that part of your past had made it impossible to fully come back. Keeping yourself hidden and refusing to acknowledge what you’d experienced had made it difficult to fathom that he could still want you this way but each affirmation from his, as silly as you’d initially felt at doing what he said, was helping cement the idea that you may not be able to change or fix what you’d gone through, but it didn’t have to control you anymore. You had a partner and family that loved you and who you adored and would do anything for. You would get through this and now you were beginning to feel like you could do it. You felt yourself believing what he was telling you. A whimper left your throat, and you could already sense that you were hurtling towards the edge again, but you repeated it. “I’m c- caring.” You said through panted breaths as you coped with the overstimulation.

“You’re doing so well.” He encouraged as he kept to his word and continued to touch you. “You’re strong.” He knew he was repeating himself, but they weren’t words he minded reiterating, and he needed you to know and believe it too.

“I’m strong.” You said breathlessly as your hands curled into the blanket beneath you as that feeling overcame you again.

He saw you through your next peak and took his hand away to give you a rest from the stimulation and simply stared at you and the blissed out look on your face. He had it committed to memory, but it never ceased to take his breath away every time.

You gathered yourself enough to smile at him. “Thank you.” You whispered as you lightly followed the shape of his tattoo. You clasped the back of his neck and attempted to pull him towards you, but he worked his way out of your grip and instead kissed the hollow of your throat before kissing his way down the rest of your body. Your head fell back as you realised his intent, but you had thought it would be time for him to take what it was he needed.

He could help the groan that left him as he finally put his mouth on you. He could get drunk off the taste of you, and it had been too fucking long since he’d had the chance to do so, and he wasn’t about to stop now.

You couldn’t help the way your hands tangled in his hair and tugged him closer to you, his appreciative growl sent shivers down your spine, but you were so sensitive, and you didn’t think you could manage another one. “Hunter, I can’t. Just-”

“One more. I know you can.” He encouraged desperately as he planted a kiss to your inner thigh, sucking a bruise into the skin, before he went back to where his attention was demanded. He needed you to fall apart on his tongue, he was addicted to it, every drop of you, every whimper that sounded from you was like his own personal drug and he would never tire of it. “You’ve been such a good girl… done everything I’ve asked for… just give me one more, sweetheart.”

That did it. Your back arched and you finished with a ruined and exhausted moan. You were completely spent but it felt so good. You barely registered him to come rest beside you, his lips pressed against your temple.

“I know that wasn’t easy, but I’m so proud of you.” Hunter murmured into your hairline as he stroked up and down your side.

You regained enough feeling in your limbs to turn on your side “What about you?” You queried, still struggling to catch your breath. You knew you would be sensitive but your overwhelming longing for him swiftly outweighed any concerns.

Hunter slowly shook his head as he brushed his lips against yours, taking them away when you went to deepen the kiss. “This was always about you.”

With each passing moment, you were gaining more clarity over your faculties, and you knew what you had to do. A seductive smile pulled at the corners of your mouth and your hand snaked down between you both.

“What-” Hunter inhaled sharply as he felt your hand wrap around him, and his jaw clenched as he fought the urge to thrust his hips into your touch. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to-”

“You said this was about me and what I need, right?” You hummed as you rested your forehead against his whilst your hand kept moving. You kept your touch teasing but just enough to drive him crazy.

“R-right.” Hunter said through a strained breath as he felt his restraint leaving him with every second you continued to touch him.

“And what I need is to feel you…” You brought your lips close to his, barely any space between you now. “Inside me.” You kissed him, tugging his lip between your teeth whilst your free hand entangled itself in his hair, the actions eliciting the depraved groan you had been looking for, and before you knew it, you were back on your back again with Hunter kissing you with a newfound fervour which you matched in kind. You wrapped your legs around him and drew him closer to you, smiling against his lips at the surprised huff that escaped him.

Hunter kept kissing you as he started to guide himself into you. He knew you would still feel tender and was careful as he slowly moved into you, both of your breaths catching at the feeling. His head fell to rest in the crook of your neck, biting down on the skin there before he soothed the sting of it with his tongue as he started to move, heavy grunts and pants leaving his lips as he got absorbed in feeling you this way after all this time.

Your nails dug into his back, and you could feel the muscles flex beneath your fingers and a sensual sigh left your lungs as you finally felt all of him.

One thought crossed your mind amidst the fog of pleasure that was spreading over your body. You’d let go of your fear now and you wanted to look for that connection again. Before, it had marked a level of certainty of your place here and overall mindset and if you couldn’t find it after all that had happened, there was a time where you would’ve been sure that it would mean there was no true way back for you. But now you understood that wasn’t and didn’t have to be the case. If it wasn’t there, you could work to get it back.

You used the Force around you to find his unique signature again and you could’ve wept with joy as you sensed it once more and it welcomed you with open arms. It had been waiting for you. You bridged the gap between you and allowed that feeling to flow through you. I love you.

Hunter paused his movements, and he stared down at you, a shocked but delighted cry left his mouth as he saw the broad and affirming smile on your face that told him he hadn’t imagined it. He’d wanted to have that back for so long and his heart soared as he realised what this meant for you. You weren’t holding back anymore; you were officially home.

You stroked a thumb along his cheekbone before clenched around him in an attempt to get him to keep going, a smug hum of laughter leaving you at the almost pained expression on his face as he got himself back under control before he started again.

“Do it again. Please.” Hunter requested frantically as he felt himself approaching his own release.

You smiled affectionately at him and continued to kiss him as you saw him through to his climax. I love you. I love you. I love you.

He finished with a strangled groan, and he collapsed on top of you. He stayed there for a few moments before he gently pulled out of you, stroking your hair as he saw you slightly wince at the action. “I’m sorry if it was too much.”

You shook your head. “It was perfect. You were perfect.” You reassured him as he laid down beside you and held you close to him. We should clean up.

Hunter made a sound of acknowledgement as he pressed his mouth to the crown of your head. “What made you do that again?”

“I let go.” You said simply before planting a chaste kiss to his lips before taking his hands in yours and guiding him to the refresher. “Come on.”

“What are you thinking?” Hunter asked as he watched you pick up the wrapped lightsaber from the shelf Wrecker had put it on. You hadn’t touched it since taking it from the bounty hunter.

“I can’t hold on to or fear the past anymore. We can only look to the future now and that future has us getting Omega back. And…” You uncovered the seemingly harmless looking weapon. “I think this will make achieving that easier.” You reached for it, hesitating for just a moment before you picked it up and it was an instant reaction. You took half a step back as the sensation of feeling that connection you hadn’t encountered for years threatened to overwhelm you. Flashes of your past as a youngling and echoes of previous battles and instructions from your master sounded in your head but it wasn’t scary this time, you were merely remembering the periods where this weapon had been your life.

Hunter placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “You alright?”

You took one long breath. “Yeah. It’ll just take come getting used to, but it’s going to be worth it. I’m not hiding what I am these days, may as well have the whole image.” You said light-heartedly.

Hunter cupped your jaw and kissed you gently, both of you sighing contentedly into the sensation before Wrecker’s hesitant voice echoed through the comms.

“Um, Hunter… I hope I’m not interrupting eh anything now but um I was wondering if I could come back? I’ve started to wander in circles and I’m getting some suspicious looks.”

The two of you chuckled.

“Poor guy.” You said with a humorous shake of your head.

“Yeah, Wrecker, head on back and we can get outta here.” Hunter replied through his comm.

“Wrecker, how’d you fancy having an excuse to shoot at me?” You said into your comm, and the intrigued but excited cheer told you your answer.

“Shoot you?” Hunter repeated, titling his head at you inquisitively.

You grinned as you clipped your lightsaber to your waist. “Yeah, how else did you think I was going to train?”

“That’s 15 to 11!” Wrecker whooped as you came to after his stun blast hit your back.

Fuck you. You jabbed playfully as you accepted Hunter’s outstretched hand. He tugged you to your feet.

“You’re lasting longer.” Hunter commented supportively and- knowing you would want to go immediately again- walked away to take up his position.

You wiped the dirt from your clothing and removed your mask to take some deep breaths and find your centre again. Taking on jobs, following leads, mediating and lightsaber training… that was how you balanced your time; you were feeling more like the person you had been before your world had been torn apart. You’d never be able to be her again, but you could own who you are now and allow yourself to feel the emotions you’d been struggling against without suffocating in them anymore.

“But still not long enough!” Wrecker goaded. “I’ll always be in the lead!”

You didn’t take the bait. Instead, you took off your armour, gloves, and long-sleeved top.

“Hey, wait a minute, that’s not fair.” Wrecker protested.

Hunter turned inquisitively and his breath hitched. A soft sheen of sweat graced your skin and your body rippled with strength and untapped potential… and fuck did it make his heart skip a beat and his blood run hot. He was grateful his helmet was still on because the way his eyes widened would’ve given you too much material to work with right now, but he wasn’t able to hide the way his hand slightly fumbled as he unholstered his blaster. He wasn’t embarrassed by finding you attractive in this way, the frequent teasing he’d often received for it just made it harder to focus on the task at hand.

“The training stays the same and my strategy is my own. It’s not supposed to have an effect on you anyway.” You retorted with a smug grin as Hunter’s reaction went exactly as you’d anticipated.

“You better not mess this up for us, Hunter.” Wrecker warned as he shoved his brother’s shoulder to snap him out his reverie.

You laughed to yourself as you watched them. You picked up your lightsaber and ignited it, the blue blade thrumming at your side, and you felt that rush of connection and security. Having a blaster by your side was nothing compared to this.

It was a powerful sight that Hunter never got used to and quite frankly, part of him was relieved he’d never come across you as an official Jedi General during the war because if his reaction to seeing you train and work towards unlocking whatever you had been tampering down for so many years was anything to by, he would’ve gotten himself shot a long time ago- half your earlier victories came from redirecting his own stun blasts to him.

You got into your stance and faced the two clones as they readied their blasters. “Alright, let’s go again.”

<Previous Oneshot

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shiorimakibawrites · 5 months ago

Text

Cat Man Do: Part 2 (Daredevil Fan Fic)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Seconding Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 11,000 Summary: It is a day of discovery for you. Warning(s): Swearing, sexual fantasies, referenced masturbation, kissing, dirty talk, referenced marking/hickies, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V sex, referenced oral sex (male receiving), referenced animal abuse (not graphic) Series Masterlist Matt Murdock/Daredevil Masterlist General Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @indestructeible, @what-i-call-men, @reblog-reblog666, @flynnethenerd, @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment, @yarrystyleeza, @bellaxgiornata, @reluctanthalfwayofoptimism, @bluerobin35 Also posted on AO3

Cat Man Do

Part 2 of 2

“And that’s the last of it,” you said to yourself as you put the last of the dishes into the drying rack. While you dried off your hands, you did a quick survey of your handiwork. The apartment was now back to its normal state of relative tidiness. The only remaining mess was the nest of blankets that Trouble had burrowed himself into and presumably napping it.

It had been tempting to peek. Very tempting. But you knew yourself. If you did that, you wouldn’t be able to resist petting him. Then you would probably give into the urge to see if he liked any of the cat toys you still had . . . then boom, the housework would be completely forgotten.

It wasn’t that you hated housework. It was just boring. Which made any number of procrastinating distractions rather appealing. Listening to music or podcast on your phone usually helped. Singing along with your favorite songs or learned something interesting made it feel like the dull but necessary work wasn’t taking so long. Thought you had to avoid certain ones while doing housework because sometimes they got you arguing with the people in the magic box instead of doing what you were supposed to. Like ironing your work clothes . . .

Other days, your brain decided to turn whatever was coming out of your phone into white noise and simply daydreamed. Today was one of those days. Fortunate for getting your work done, those daydreams stayed innocent. Imaging Matt having his way with you on your kitchen table, for example, would have been rather distracting. Case in point, even just the thought of that fantasy was making you squirm.

Keeping them sweet didn’t prevent Matt from taking the staring role. Far from it. Which was embarrassing for all different reasons. It was one thing to have sexual fantasies about an attractive man. Picturing that same man saying three little words with that deeply fond smile on his face had different implications.

Implications that made you feel stupid. You knew falling in love with your boss was a bad idea. The king of bad ideas. Mousy secretary falls in love with her incredibly attractive boss is the premise for a romance novel, not a recipe for true love forever. You were going to get your heart broken. Probably not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday.

You weren’t looking forward to it. Watching women hit on him already felt like a knife to your heart. Watching while he meet someone else and fall in love with them was going to be agony. Assuming you stayed around to watch. Which you likely wouldn’t do. You weren’t that much of masochist.

The worst part was that you wanted Matt to find his special someone. The person who would make him laugh and help him find joy. Someone who would comfort him when he was sad, take care of him when he was sick. For him to know that someone loved him, that they wanted to stay forever . . . you wanted that for him.

Maybe it was selfish but you just wished that special someone was you.

You knew it was unlikely. Matt had never stated an interest in you beyond friendship. Yes, he flirted. But Matt flirted with everyone. And yes, you had gone on all those outings with him. But those were friend outings, not dates. And yes, on those occasions when Matt asked him to guide him, it seemed like he was reluctant to let go of your arm afterward. Or how he kept holding your hands after they had gotten warmed up after forgetting your gloves last week, only dropping them when the office phone rang . . .

But he never said anything. Sometimes it seem liked he might. Moments where he said he had something to tell you, something that he wanted to ask, that seem like maybe . . . then nothing. Either the universe intervene – phone calls, fire alarm, sudden loud argument between two food truck drivers – or it wouldn’t be exactly what you were hoping for. Like asking if you would be his plus-one at some fancy party being thrown by Columbia Law alum next weekend. That wasn’t a date. It was just practical since he and Foggy had only gotten their invitations to said party this week . . . It was a very deliberate snub considering Marci had received hers month ago . . .

Granted, you hadn’t said anything to him either. In part because you wanted to avoid ruining what you already had. You genuinely liked being Matt’s friend. You valued that relationship and didn’t want to lose it. Or make things incredibly awkward. But big part of it was simply that you weren’t ready to hear ‘I’m flattered but . . .’

You’d probably never be ready. Because no matter how kindly someone tries to let you down, rejection always stung . . .

“Enough moping,” you told yourself sternly. You had a mystery to explore.

But first you were going to check on Trouble. He had been rather quiet. Too quiet. He might simply be asleep but your experience said that sometimes the too quiet cat was a cat getting into mischief. You walked over to the blanket cocoon and peeled back the layers until you found the lithe, brown form. A pair of yellow-green eyes blinked sleepily at you. You couldn’t resist. There were few things cuter than a drowsy cat. You reached over and started lightly scratching behind the ears. Trouble purred and bumped his head more firmly into your hands.

“Hey there, sleepy kitty,” you said. “Enjoy your nap?”

He made one of those trilling noises which only made your smile grow. And encouraged you to keep petting him. Which wasn’t a hardship.

“Your coat is so soft, Trouble,” you said. “Feels like velvet.”

Like your new dress, the one you had let Marci and Karen talked you into buying for the fancy party. You hadn’t intended to buy anything when you accompanied them to the stops. You had fully intended to just wear one of the dresses you already owned. But then you saw it.

A pretty black dress made of velvet that looked like it was your size. Curious, you had checked. It was. Moreover, it was marked off enough to within your limited budget. Which made it very tempting. A temptation that Marci enthusiastically enabled. Come on, at least see how it fits . . .

It fit perfectly, hugging your curves just right. Offered tantalizing glimpses of skin without showing off more than you were comfortable with. You had felt beautiful wearing it. Which meant Marci and Karen didn’t have to push very hard to convince you to buy it. Karen sweetened the deal by reminding you that Matt loved velvet. And that maybe feeling so pretty would give you the confidence boost you needed to tell him how you felt.

Something that both Karen and Marci seemed very certain would be received well. You weren’t nearly so sure but you brought the dress.

In the name of making you feel as pretty and confident as possible, Karen and Marci decided you also needed new shoes and underwear. When you objected that you couldn’t afford to do that, Marci countered that she would pay. Which was why you were now the proud owner of a pair of heels that cost a frankly ridiculous amount of money. Because when Marci decided to treat someone, she didn’t believe in going cheap.

The underwear set had been more reasonably priced but still seemed like a lot for a bra and panties. Even if they were made of high quality silk and lace. But they had looked good on you too and Karen had asked you to imagine if everything went well and the night ended with your dress on Matt’s bedroom floor . . .

You didn’t know what had flustered you more. Your own imagination or that evil, knowing grin on Karen’s face or Marci supplying lewd details of Matt’s sexual prowess. Not from her own experience but she knew people who had slept with him. People whose stories she trusted to be accurate.

Karen insisted that the underwear had to be dark red. Saying with a mysterious smile that Matt would find it hot. Which just confused you. For obvious reasons, purely visual elements like color didn’t hold any appeal for Matt . . .

“Why?” you mused out loud. But since Karen wasn’t here to pester, your only answer was a questioning meow from Trouble. Which probably had more to do with you getting so lost in your head that you had stopped petting him than anything else.

“Sorry, Trouble,” you said, resuming the pets. “Got distracted. Trying to figure out why Karen thinks Matt would find me wearing red silk underwear sexy.”

Trouble made the strangest sound you had ever heard from a cat. Like he couldn’t decide which cat noise to make and kept switching tracks part-way through each one. If he had been human, you would have said he was sputtering.

It was such a funny reaction that you couldn’t help giggling.

Matt’s current form prevented him from blushing. Which he supposed he should be thankful for. His sputtering already had you giggling. He could only imagine your reaction to seeing his cheeks go what he had been told was a lovely shade of dusty pink.

What was Karen up to? Telling you something like that?!

The fact that it was true was immaterial. Now he would have fantasies about running his hands over your curves, feeling your petal soft skin encased in silk . . . and the idea of you wearing Daredevil red immensely pleased that possessive streak that ran deep inside him . . .

But he didn’t need help coming up with impure thoughts about you. He already spent far too much time touching himself while imaging you spread out on his bed, exploring every inch with his hands and mouth, the sounds of your pleasure filling his ears . . . Fantasies that were going to be a lot more vivid now that he knew exactly what those noises sounded like and just how sweet your arousal tasted . . . even if tasting it from the air was a poor substitute for tasting it directly from the source . . .

Matt shook himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about that.

You turned your attention toward your pack and the mystery inside it. You moved the pack over to the couch and started pulling out the suit.

The red color was brighter than you expected, dark scarlet instead of the maroon it had looked under the dim light of your flashlight. The webbing between panels wasn’t black either. It was a deep, deep red that almost black. Like those really good cherries that you loved but could never remember what they were called. It was was just as heavy as you remembered, with the heft that reminded you of an old friend’s bulletproof vest. But more flexible . . . actually, looking at all of the webbing interwoven into it, you’d guess a lot more.

“It seems Daredevil is a bendy vigilante,” you mused outloud. “Probably not as bendy as Spider-Man but that guy is made out of silly-putty. Or at least his spine is.”

The suit was a little scuffed but otherwise looked fine. No holes, rips, or tears that you could find. No visible blood . . . you sniffed. You couldn’t smell any blood either. Just sweat. Something clean that you recognized as saddle soap. The fainter odor of plain soap along with something very familiar.

“Huh,” you said, eyeing the suit. “Daredevil and Matt wear the same cologne. Small world.”

Next, you checked the pouches on the belt. There weren’t that many. They contained a prepaid cell phone that you set aside to look at more closely later, zip ties, fold-up cash, and business cards. Curious, you shuffled through the cards. Nelson & Murdock, Alias Investigations, Chikara Dojo, FEAST, Helping Hands . . . . Each business or charity was separated by paper clips or rubber bands.

“Curious,” you murmured, wondering why . . . maybe he just didn’t want to spend time shuffling through them looking for a particular one? Or didn’t think he would always have time to do that? Maybe he had folded up the cash for the same reason. As long as he remembered how each card was bundled or bill folded, he could get out the right one without looking at them.

You turned your attention to the phone but was immediately stymied. The phone refused to turn on. It didn’t look broken. Which probably meant that it needed to be charged. Guess you weren’t the only one who forgot to put their phone on the charger. Or maybe Daredevil used a phone while fighting crime a lot more than anyone would expect. You grumbled as you got off the couch. You weren’t sure if your charger would work with this phone. Thankfully it did but the batteries were practically dead. Investigating the phone would have to wait.

In the meantime, you inspected the helmet. It was the same color as the suit but not the same materials, something more rigid. But it seemed to be in good shape. You couldn’t see or feel any cracks. You traced the edge of the characteristic horns and mask. You were unable to resist to urge to put the helmet on your own head. It probably looked ridiculous. There was nothing superhero about your oversized tee shirt featuring a gray cat calling itself ‘purr-fect’ and sweat pants. But you were curious. What did the world look like to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?

The answer was very red. You had expected a reddish tint from the color of the lenses. But it was more intense than you expected. It was also less . . . clear than you would have thought. The lenses weren’t opaque – you could see through them. But tinted dark like a pair of sunglasses.

“Odd,” you said, wondering why Daredevil had what was effectively sunglasses built into his helmet. It seemed peculiar. Especially for a vigilante that operated almost exclusively at night. And had a known habit of cutting lights to places before going in. The consensus in the hero forums was that Daredevil must be able to see in the dark. But, you frowned, even the best night vision still needed some light . . . even nocturnal animals couldn’t see in total darkness . . .

“If he has superhuman night vision,” you thought outloud, pulling off the helmet. “Maybe his eyes are really light sensitive?”

Trouble meowed loudly. It sounded almost like a no.

“Vetoing that theory, Trouble?” You asked, glancing over at him. He had crawled out of the blanket cocoon and was doing the big stretch. Which, by the rules of cat companions everywhere, you had to comment on. “Ohhh, big stretch!”

He meowed again. You laughed. It was almost like he was answering you.

You smiled and shook your head. Despite Trouble’s rejection, the theory was plausible. Someone whose eyes worked very well at low light could very well be someone that found bright light painful. And while he worked at night, New York City wasn’t all that dark after sundown. Nowhere near as dark as it was out in the forest.

Granted, Hell’s Kitchen was darker at night than most of the city. Streets lights and other sources of lighting that had gotten damaged in the Incident still hadn’t been repaired or replaced. Somehow there was never enough money in the budget. At least not for something like street lights. Some of the landlords were similarly disinclined. Others had died during the aforementioned alien invasion and similar attacks on the city. And many of those estates were a byzantine nightmare of disputed wills, shell companies, and other assorted legal headaches.

You knew this because Nelson & Murdock was one of the many laws firms attempting untangle this particular Gordian knot. The progress had been slow and uneven. Matt and Foggy had muttered many unkind words about property law, estate law, the lawyers involved in creating this mess, and especially the lawyers trying to keep the knot intact because the mess benefited their clients . . . which yes, was their job. But they didn’t have be so smug about it . . .

The color of the lenses was another question mark. Why red? Then you remembered something you had read . . . red lenses or red lights helped people kept their eyes dark adapted or helped them adjust to low-light conditions quicker. Of course that little nugget had been discovered during a romp through Wikipedia Wonderland. So massive grain of salt . . .

Of course, it could simply be aesthetics. It fit with the Devil theme. You imagined that seeing the sudden glint of those red lenses from out of the shadows would be quite intimidating.

“Or maybe he just likes red,” you muttered to yourself, putting the helmet down on the coffee table.

You drummed your fingers against your thigh, staring at the suit . . . why? Why would Daredevil abandon his suit and (possibly) walk into the night wearing (possibly) only whatever was under the suit?

“Which couldn’t be much,” you mused, your face flushing at the thought. Most images of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen were either low-quality, out-of-focus, or too shadowy to make out much. But from what you could tell, the suit was close-fitting. No much room for anything but him in there. Or nothing at all. Which was an idea that made your flush worse.

Matt might have been the leading man in your fantasies but he wasn’t the only one to appear. You had entertained thoughts about Daredevil. Very dirty thoughts. Which was really saying something considering some of the ones involving Matt . . . but there was just something about the vigilante that could made you feel feral.

You had the feeling that those fantasies were about to get more vivid. Because now, you knew what the suit looked like up close. What it felt like under your hands. Granted what it felt like without Daredevil actually in it. Which was, if you were being perfectly honest, a little disappointing. You might be carrying the torch for Matt but that didn’t stop other men from being attractive. Or your mind from idly (and somewhat guiltily) wondering if Daredevil’s suit struggled to contain his muscles the same way Matt’s suits struggled to contain his . . .

Something touched your thigh. You jumped before realizing it was just Trouble putting one of his paws on your leg. Probably looking for attention. You reached down to start petting him, scratching him behind the ears. Which he seemed to enjoy, purring as he crawled onto your lap. You were easily tempted away from your mystery.

“You’re a total lap cat, aren’t you?” you asked. Your only answer was louder purring.

You were starting to feel almost sleepy, sitting here with a purring cat in your lap. Especially on a day like this, gray and unusually quiet for New York. Which made the notification chime from your phone inordinately loud. Checking it required disturbing Trouble. Which he made very clear that he didn’t like.

“I know, I know, you were comfortable,” you said, checking the notifications. Mostly text messages from friends and family making sure you were okay. You had just sent off a couple of replies when you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

Looking away from your phone, you peered at the suit. What . . . oh. There was something inside the crumpled suit, a bit of fabric peeking out. Curious, you sat down your phone and touched it. Silk. You gave it a gentle tug and the cloth came out.

Immediately, you felt your face flush again. It was underwear. Specifically a pair of men’s black boxers. Black silk boxers. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen wore black silk boxers. For reasons you couldn’t really explain, this made you giggle.

The universe was a peculiar place. One where a blind defense attorney and a vigilante had interesting things in common. They both liked silk. They wear the same cologne. And estimating from the suit, Daredevil and Matt were the same height and had a similar build.

And apparently knew a lot of the same people. Matt carried a lot of the same business cards, personally knew the owners. Though you were a little unclear on how he had met some of them. Jessica Jones, you could see. She lived and worked in Hell’s Kitchen and her zero-tolerance policy for assholes often got her trouble with the cops. But the others were less clear . . . It didn’t help that when you had asked, the story you had gotten had been rather vague.

It wasn’t the only story where Matt, Foggy, and Karen got evasive. Another sign that there were secrets in the office of Nelson & Murdock. And not the normal client-confidentiality type secrets . . .

Glancing back at the suit, you noticed something else. Something you couldn’t believe you had missed. It didn’t look like it had been stripped off. None of the zippers or other fasteners were undone. You frowned, looking closely at it again. How could he have gotten it off without undoing any of the fasteners?

All thoughts of Daredevil were driven out of your head when Trouble let out a pained yowl. You snapped your head up to see him fall off the couch, writhing and twisting like he was having a seizure. You rushed toward him but then something weird happened. Trouble began to grow and swell, becoming bigger and bigger . . . body twisting and jerking the entire time . . . until what was laying on your floor wasn’t a cat. It was a man.

A very familiar man. Matt Murdock lay there, his body still twitching and spasming. His chest heaved and his forehead was beaded with sweat.

You couldn’t believe your own eyes. Had that really just happened? You pinched yourself. It hurt. So not a dream. You reached out and touched Matt’s shoulder. It was solid and warm under your hand. The muscles still twitching from . . . whatever that was. But gradually the twitching stopped and the tension in Matt’s jaw eased.

“Sorry,” he said. His voice was strained. “Didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Find out what? That he turned into a cat? Or . . . you looked at the suit. Then it clicked. All of the pieces suddenly made sense. Matt was Daredevil. The suit didn’t look like it had been stripped off because it hadn’t. The person wearing it had merely gotten much, much smaller.

“You’re Daredevil?” you asked, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“And you turn into a cat?” you asked. You hoped not. He was a very cute cat but that transformation had looked like hideously painful.

His lips twitched into something like a smile. “Not usually. This was the first time.”

“Okay,” you said. You took a deep breath. Than another. Your boss was Daredevil. He had been turned into a cat. You had taken him to your apartment. He might have observed you having a dirty dream about him. This was fine. You were fine. Everything was fine.

Another breath. “Expected development?”

“No. Magic spell. I think.”

“Magic spell?” you repeated. “Like actual magic? You know, nevermind. Of course, magic is real. Why the hell not? We were invaded by aliens. There is a Norse God living uptown. Why wouldn’t magic be real?!”

You were babbling. But you couldn’t help it. It didn’t help that Matt was really smiling now. With the dimple and everything. Which had always left you flustered. Especially when combined with that fond look. Even if it almost immediately faded to something sober and tentative.

“Let me sit up and I’ll explain everything.”

“Okay,” you said. But as he started to push himself into a sitting position, you noticed something. Something that left you even more flustered. Matt was naked. Completely naked. Not a single stitch on him. You could see his . . . everything. Feeling your cheeks burn, you jerked back and whirled around to face the wall.

“Sweetheart?”

You felt your heart beat faster at the pet name. He had never called you that before. At work, he was entirely professional. And when you were at Josie’s or an outing, he just called you by your name.

“Clothes,” you said, feeling little frantic. You needed answers – to so many things – but you couldn’t have that conversation with him while he was naked. You would get . . . distracted. But none of your clothes would fit him . . . wait, the boxers! Where . . . you looked . . . there!

You scurried forward and snatched the boxers off the floor. Keeping your eyes firmly on his face, you went and dropped the underwear into what you hoped was his lap. “Your boxers. This isn’t a naked conversation.”

A soft huff of laughter. “No, it isn’t. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart again? It wasn’t a slip of the tongue? Your cheeks couldn’t get any warmer but they sure tried.

You turned away again to give him some privacy while he dressed. For a given value of dressed. Considering it was only underwear. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt and tried not to think about that. Or his . . . everything. You had limited success.

“I’m decent. You can look now.”

‘That’s debatable,’ you thought after you turned to face him. Yes, everything that needed covering was now covered. But the boxers fit him snugly enough that very little was left to the imagination. Not that you really needed your imagination anymore . . . . And that wasn’t even taking into account the rest of him.

You had known he had muscles. You just hadn’t realized he had quite so many muscles . . .

Matt realized that you had gotten distracted when it took a couple of times calling your name to get your attention. He was well aware that you were attracted to him but it was still gratifying to his ego to experience your body’s reaction to him. And the way the temperature and blood shifted to your face when you realized that you had been caught staring was rather cute.

But he soon sobered, remembering what you had just discovered. What he needed to explained. “Do you remember how I lost my eyesight?”

“I remember,” you said.

“Those chemicals didn’t just blind me,” he said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He squared his shoulders, bracing himself for your inevitable reaction. Then he explained how his remaining senses had been enhanced to a superhuman degree. How he could hear everything happening around him, for several blocks. Further if he was focusing on someone he was familiar with. How he could very likely find Foggy, Karen, or you anywhere in this city if he needed to.

That his other senses were just as keen. Did his best to describe his world on fire. The others had poked fun of his metaphor but it was the best one he had found. He felt the usual frustration at not having the right words, the perfect words, to describe how he experienced the world. Words that help someone else understand his world without the misconceptions.

But such words didn’t seem to exist. He had to make do with the ones he had.

He took another deep breath, continuing in a very firm voice. “My senses do not change the fact that I cannot see. There are things my senses cannot tell me. Like what color anything is. Times when my world on fire isn’t as reliable as I would like such as when I’m tired or ill. My cane and other adaptive equipment aren’t props. I’m not pretending to be blind. I am blind.”

“Someone actually said that to you?” you said, sounding shocked. It was the first time you had spoken when he had started talking.

“Yes,” he said, trying not to remember how Foggy had spit out those words. Hardly the most painful thing that had been said that awful night . . . but the clear disgust in his voice had stayed with Matt for a long time . . .

“Who?” you demanded, your heartbeat sharply rising. He heard the shift of bone and muscle as your hands curled into fists. It was sweet that your first reaction was defend him. If it was completely unnecessary.

“Doesn’t matter,” Matt said, waving it off. “They didn’t really understand the explanation at first. Neither of us were in the right head space for the conversation. We’ve talked more since then and now they get it. And they apologized for that particular misunderstanding.”

You sighed.

You weren’t entirely surprised. Matt tended to be forgiving. Along with a rather concerning habit of ignoring or downplaying things when he was the one being treated poorly . . . And, as you silently reminded yourself, you didn’t know the whole story. That wouldn’t make what they said okay but it might make it understandable . . .

Regardless the decision to forgive or not to forgive was ultimately Matt’s, not yours. And he had obviously chosen to forgive whoever it was. Best to let it go and change the subject.

“Do you want some coffee?” you asked. “Or something else to drink?”

That bit of gravel in his voice might do all sorts of tingly stuff to your insides but he had been talking for a while. His mouth must be getting dry.

“As long you are making it anyway, coffee would be great,” Matt said.

“Coming right up,” you said and went into the kitchen. As you set up the coffee to brew, you did your best to process anything you had just learned.

Matt was Daredevil. It explained a lot. Foggy and Karen certainly knew. It was the only explanation for why they went along with Matt’s very obvious lies about how he had been injured. And why they didn’t seem . . . well, you couldn’t say that there was no concern. You had seen the pinched look of Foggy’s face when Matt was moving like it hurt him to breath. The worried, accessing look Karen gave particularly colorful bruises.

And yet, they had accepted every single one of his excuses from the plausible to the silly without question. Told you there was nothing to worry about when you expressed concern about Matt’s well-being. Even through sometimes neither looked like they really believed that . . .

Now you realized that they were concerned. It was just a different kind of concerned. Because they weren’t wondering how Matt kept getting hurt. They weren’t racking their brains trying to figure out who was hurting him or if all those worrying signs were related to some kind of health problem. Like maybe he was having seizures or something like that but was refusing to see the doctor . . .

But every theory you came up with kept hitting the wall for not being able to explain why Foggy and Karen didn’t seem to share your concerns. Why they clearly loved Matt but ignored that something troubling was obviously going on with him. . . . It hadn’t made any sense.

Now it did. Matt was Daredevil. They knew he was Daredevil. And knew his injuries were from fighting crime.

Matt had super senses. Which meant, you realized with a certain amount of horror, he had absolutely heard you moaning his name while touching yourself this morning. You buried your face in your hands with a soft groan. There was no hiding your non-platonic feelings anymore. The cat was out of the bag. Pun fully intended.

“What’s wrong?”

You jumped. You weren’t expecting his voice to be so close. He wasn’t crowding you or anything. His position by the edge of the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room was a couple feet away from where you were standing in front of the coffee pot. But you hadn’t heard him moving around. Apparently he didn’t need to be cat shaped to walk silently through walls.

“Sorry,” he said, though the little twitch of his lips belied that apology. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Somehow,” you said, willing your heart to slow back down. “I doubt that.”

“Do you?”

“I saw those lips twitch,” you pointed out. “You think making me jump is funny.”

“That is quite the accusation,” he said with mock seriousness. “Do you have any evidence?”

Using his courtroom voice was cheating. Especially when he was only wearing boxers. Pure cheating. You pulled out your stubborn streak, standing with your fists on your hips. “I know what I saw. I will not be fooled by your twisty-turny lawyer tricks into saying otherwise, Mr. Murdock.”

“That sounds like a challenge, sweetheart.”

The pet name said with that almost purring voice sent tingles down your spine. And brought renewed heat between your legs. Rather annoyingly the cocky smirk on his face did nothing to diminish that ardor. Maybe if he had been wearing more than boxers . . . or if he didn’t look so good half-naked . . .

A soft cough brought you back to the present. You felt your cheeks get warm again, realizing that you had been so busy staring at his abs that you hadn’t noticed him talking.

“Distracted?” he asked, a teasing grin spread wide across his face.

“No,” you said quickly, feeling the warmth in your cheeks intensify.

He hummed, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Lie.”

“What?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that I can tell when someone is lying?” He said, feigning innocence. It wasn’t a very convincing performance. He was far too amused.

“No, that detail hadn’t come up yet,” you said. “How?”

“Mostly your heartbeat. It changes when someone is lying.”

Suddenly, something you had observed at the office now made sense. Your job was more on the reception and secretarial side but sometimes you acted as their paralegal. When acting in that role, you had seen Foggy subtly nudge Matt who would give a little shake or nod of his head. You hadn’t know what to make of it at the time. Now you realized that Foggy was checking to see if their client or whoever else they were interviewing was telling the truth.

When you asked about your theory, Matt was quick to confirmed it. A moment later, the coffee finished brewing. You pulled down the two mugs, then doctored them to each of your coffee preferences.

“You seem to be taking this rather well,” he remarked, after taking a sip of his coffee.

You shrugged. “It’s not that surprising once I started thinking about it.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

Matt chuckled. “What, you didn’t believe that I got that black eye tripping over a curb?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Come on, I thought that one was very plausible.”

“Only for someone who doesn’t know you,” you said. “Or your friends pretending for the sake of your secret identity.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

You drank more of your coffee, enjoying the comfortable quiet. To avoid getting distracted by his half-naked body again, you kept your eyes on his face. Which probably wasn’t the best plan. Matt’s handsome face was a distraction in its own right. Especially when he wasn’t wearing his dark glasses. It wasn’t the first time you had seen him without them but the sight always pleased you. It meant Matt trusted you. Not with all of his secrets, obviously, but enough that he didn’t feel the need to hide himself.

Along with those lovely hazel eyes, there were further delights. The generous mouth, good cheekbones and that strong jaw dusted with facial hair. Heavily dusted today. He hadn’t shaved lately. So he had the very start of a beard. You had never seen Matt with a beard. You bet that he would look good with one . . .

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt said, interrupting your attempts to imagine him with a beard.

“Nothing important,” you said. “Just noticed you hadn’t shave lately and was idly wondering if you were growing a beard.”

Matt made a thoughtful humming sound. “It is tempting this time of year but they get so itchy during the summer.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience,” you said.

“It is,” he said. “Wore one for a couple years during college. Shaved it off just after starting L1.”

“Any particular reason why?” you asked, making a mental note to ask Foggy if he had any pictures of bearded Matt. You needed to see them. For science. Or something.

“An especially muggy day in August when the air conditioners decided to stop working. And the girl I was seeing at the time liked me clean-shaven. Said my beard was too rough when I kissed her.”

A salacious grin spread across his face. “Among other activities.”

“Did she?” you said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Because your mind had immediately become consumed with imagining the delicious contrast between prickly beard on your thigh while his soft lips . . . warmth flooded your cheeks.

You saw Matt’s nostrils flare. Then the tip of his tongue slipped out to run across his lips. He made a soft moan that went straight to your cunt. It was impossible not to get worked up. Not with those images in your head. Not with that sound. You were equally unable to stop your breath from hitching as he stepped closer. And closer, stopping just shy of touching you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. His voice had always done things to you but that huskier timber really made you shudder. There was only one answer you could give.

“Yes.”

And he was kissing you. Gentle at first, a delicate press of the lips with your head cradled in his hands. But it didn’t remain that way for long. Not after all those months of pent-up desire. Now that you didn’t have to resist kissing him, you all but devoured his mouth.

Matt matched your eagerness, seemingly just hungry for your mouth as you were his. Even the need for air barely kept your lips apart. The entire world might as well have disappeared. You were aware of nothing else. Only that mouth kissing you and greedily swallowing every moan you made. Only those large, warm hands sliding down your body, skimming the sides of your breasts until coming to rest on your hips. Only his body against yours. The edge of the counter digging into your back barely even registered.

At least to you. Matt made some grumpy-sounding noise, then his hands were gripping your hips and lifting you up onto the counter. Your startled yelp turned into a moan when he slot himself between your legs. Any lingering doubts you had about him finding you physically attractive were dispelled at the feeling of his growing erection rubbing against your core. You couldn’t contain a second louder, stuttered moan. Even with too many clothes in the way, it felt incredible . . .

“If you want me to stop,” he rumbled, nuzzling your neck. “Tell me to stop. Tell me no.”

“Don’t stop,” you said, your voice dangerously close to begging. But you didn’t care. You had wanted this for so long. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Not unless you want me to.” he said, then one hand abandoned its place on your hip to tug lightly at your shirt. “May I?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, rising your arms to help Matt pull off your shirt. Despite the heater chugging away, your skin still immediately pebbled. Your nipples had already tightened into peaks. You kissed him again as your shirt was tossed . . . somewhere. You weren’t paying attention to your shirt. All of your attention was Matt and the hungry, almost feral look on his face.

Matt ran his hands over your body, exploring every inch of bare skin from the tips of your fingers to the waistband of your sweatpants. So soft, even softer than he had dreamed. Keeping his hands to himself the next time you were at work was going to take some serious self-discipline. He blazed a trail of kisses down your neck until he found a spot that had you shuddering.

There, he applied little nips and lathed at the skin until he was satisfied there would be a mark. One that by happy coincidence should peek out from behind the collar of your work blouses. Good. That should let any would-be suitors know that you were taken. It was selfish but he didn’t want share this delightfully soft skin with anyone.

Or how responsive you were. He greedily took in all your reactions. The dancing rhythm of your heart. The breathy moans as his mouth continued its downward journey. The gasps when he started lapping at one peaked nipple while squeezing the other breast in his hand. The way you cried out his name when he latched onto that nipple and sucked. The way you arched your back, begging for more. How your nails bit into his shoulder when he obliged, swirling his tongue around the hardened nipple. The whines when he removed his mouth from that breast . . . and how it turned into a wordless cry when he gave the other breast the same attention.

Best of all, the scent of your arousal soaking through your panties. All because of him. You smelled just as sweet as you had been this morning. Only this time he wasn’t a cat. Soon, he would be on his knees. Soon, his face would be buried in that wonderfully drenched pussy . . .

Soon . . .

You were burning. A fire that Matt had lit, then steadily built with his hands and mouth until you burned with need. An urgency that the man himself didn’t seem to feel. He moved at a speed that could be best described as languid.

“M-matt,” you whined.

“Yes?” he asked, lifting his head from your breast. Seeing his lust-darkened eyes and kiss-swollen lips made the growing ache in your cunt worse. “What does my sweet girl need?”

My sweet girl . . . . Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing. “Need you.”

“Gotta be more specific than that,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

You were half naked on your kitchen counter and fully ready to have sex with this man and yet somehow that question still managed to fluster you. “Maattt.”

“I’m not a mind reader, sweetheart. You have to tell me what you want,” he said, sounding almost conversational. But his voice was too husky, his eyes too hungry, for that. The way his thumbs rubbed the skin just about the waistband of your sweatbands was another dead giveaway.

Your mouth opened, then closed.

“No need to be shy, sweet girl,” he continued, pausing to give another little nip to the top of your right breast. A spot that you hadn’t realized that so sensitive until he started lavishing it with attention. “No one but me will hear you.”

Biting your bottom lip, you considered that. He was right. It was just you and him. And you trusted him . . . Maybe you should start with something simple?

“My pants and underwear,” you said, managing to keep your voice steady. “I want them off.”

The smirk he flashed you was all kinds of wicked. “As you wish.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants and started tugging it down. Along with your panties. In a sharp contrast to his earlier leisurely pace, he quickly yanked down the clothes and tossed them aside. Like with your shirt, you found yourself too distracted to notice or care where your clothes went.

Matt gripped your knees and spread your legs wide. He then sank down to his knees, shifting forward until he was tantalizingly close to where you desperately wanted him. The sight once again had your cunt clenching around nothing. A deep rumble, almost like a growl, erupted from him. It matched the feral expression spreading across his face.

“Tell me what you need,” he demanded, his voice a growl full of gravel. You shuddered. You had never heard him speak like that. But it worked you up just as much as his courtroom voice. His hands tightened on your thighs. “My fingers?”

He lifted one hand away from your leg, then ran a single thick finger through your folds. You gasped when that finger brushed over your clit, then groaned with disappointment when that fleeting touch was all you got. Then felt your mouth go dry when he raised the finger to his mouth and licked off your slick. Especially when Matt let out a low moan, briefly closing his eyes in clear pleasure.

“Or my mouth,” Matt continued. You gasped when he leaned forward and gave the entire length of your cunt a single lick. You tried to lift your hips but Matt’s hands clamped down on your thighs and pinned you down to the counter.

“Matt!” you pleaded but the grip on your legs remained firm.

“Tell me,” He said, then blow a puff of air against your desperate cunt. He nuzzled your inner thigh, his rough stubble sending sparks down your spine. “What does this beautiful pussy want?”

“Maatt.”

“Tell me, sweet girl.” He kissed your inner thigh. Then another kiss. It rapidly became clear that your desperate cunt wasn’t going to get the attention it wanted unless you said the words.

“Matt!”

“Tell me.”

“Your mouth,” you begged. “Please, I need – fuck!”

Matt did another long, slow lick up your entire slit. After a teasing swipe across your clit, he turned his attention to your soaked entrance. There he lapped with soft, little licks which were obscenely loud. Like he was messily eating an ice cream cone. One that he clearly enjoyed, making a low noise that sounded remarkably like purring. The vibration contributed to making your own, much louder moans. Instinctively you tried to squirm but his hands kept you right where he wanted you. You could feel that familiar pressure start to build.

He pulled away. No! You started to protest but was cut off by Matt lifting your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. Then his mouth was back on you, his tongue circling your entrance before slipping inside you. Your hands scrambled for something to hold onto as his tongue fucked into you again and again

That something ended up being Matt’s hair. But he didn’t seem to mind, rewarding every tug on the hair twisted tightly in your fingers with a loud groan. Then his tongue slipped out of you, switching its attention to your clit. You cried out. He altered between teasing licks and stronger lapping as you chanted his name.

Matt wrapped his lips around your little bud and sucked. You almost screamed. Your legs began to tremble as you started hurling toward your peak. Then he thrust two thick fingers inside you. Your thighs squeezed his face between them. Close, you were so close . . . then his fingers curled. You fell over the edge calling out his name.

Your cunt clenched tightly around his fingers. Fingers that continued to work you through your orgasm. His mouth remained latched onto your clit, sending wave after wave of white-hot pleasure. Only you started to whimper from oversensitivity did he lift away from your clit. He withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his mouth. You let out warbling moan as he noisily lapped at your entrance.

By the time he pulled away, you were a limp puddle on your own kitchen counter. Despite your recent orgasm, your cunt clenched again. Because Matt looked thoroughly debauched. His hair mussed, eyes half-lidded, those pink lips swollen and glistening with your slick. While you watched, his tongue slide out and slowly licked it off.

Matt knew you were watching him. It was obvious from the way your heartbeat sped up. The hitch in your already heavy breathing. The fresh slick dripping out of your cunt, even more tempting now that he knew just how sweet you tasted. He settled for the slick clinging to his two fingers, putting them in his mouth and sucking them clean. Not as nearly as good as getting it directly from your cunt but the strangled groan you made watching him do it was its own reward.

Fingers now clean, he carefully lowered your legs from his shoulders and rose to his feet. Matt heard you shifting, pushing yourself back into an upright position. Then, your hands reached out and tugged his head down to kiss him. You moaned into his mouth at the taste of yourself.

But you didn’t stop there. Your hands leisurely made their way down his torso until you reached his boxers. Your fingers dipped under the waistband, then hesitated.

“May I?” you asked.

“Please,” he answered, eager to see what you would do.

Permission granted, you peeled his boxers down. His cock eagerly sprang free of its confines. As Matt finished pushing his boxers off, you felt a tinge of nerves. His cock hadn’t looked small during your brief glimpse earlier. But it had been flaccid then. Now that his cock was fully erect, you realized he was rather more . . . impressive than you had first thought. Or even imagined and Past You had been rather hopeful that he had a big dick . . .

“Sweetheart?”

The clear concern in Matt’s voice had your head snapping up. He was frowning at you, his brow furrowed with worry.

“You know you don’t have do anything, right?” he asked, his tone deadly serious. “If you want to stop right now, we will.”

“No,” you said, rapidly shaking your head. “I want to.”

He frowned, his head titling slightly to one side. Listening, you realized. Doing his human lie detector thing. “But?”

“I’m just a little nervous,” you said, tapping your fingers against your bare thigh.

“Why?” he asked.

You felt your cheeks warm. “It’s . . . um . . . you’re . . . ah . . . bigger. Than any . . . of my exes.”

“Is that so?” Matt looked distinctly smug. “I can be gentle. But if you’d like to wait –”

“No,” you interrupted. Because nerves wasn’t your only reaction to seeing his cock. Feeling suddenly bold, you reached over and wrapped your hand around his cock. And feel another tinge of nerves and anticipation at realizing that Matt wasn’t just long, he was thick. You started stroking him, slowly adjusting the firmness of your grip as you watched the reactions on his face. He moaned, his hands finding their way back to your hips.

You noted, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that he looked a lot less smug now.

Feeling more confident, you continued, “I don’t want to wait. I want this.” Your thumb swiped across the tip, smearing the weeping pre-cum. His hips jerked and out of his mouth came a beautiful groan that you immediately wanted him to make again. “Inside me.”

His hands tightened on your hips. That feral look was creeping back in. “I don’t – ah – have a condom.”

“Don’t want one,” you said. You knew it was a dumb thing to do. Reckless. But you were tired of all of the barriers that had been separating the two of you. The thought of another one just rubbed you the wrong way.

Your hand slide off of his cock. A faint whine escaped his throat. Tempting you to put your hand back. But it felt . . . coercive . . . to be giving him a handjob while asking him if he wanted a condom after you had just made it clear that you didn’t want one. Especially since you knew Matt had a people-pleasing streak.

“But I, um, have a box of condoms in my bedroom. If you’d rather wear one,” you offered, feeling renewed warmth in your cheeks. It had been an impulse purchase during one of those rare periods when you were both determined to tell him your feelings and confident it would go well . . . only to chicken out once you were actually in front of Matt.

“I don’t think many man would rather wear one,” he said. “As long as you were sure . . .”

“I am.”

“Okay,” he said. “When did you buy these condoms?”

There was a peculiar note in his voice. He sounded almost . . . jealous? But that couldn’t be right. Why would Matt be jealous?

“Last month,” you said. “Past Me, um, had a moment where she, ah, . . . was very confident that you’d agree to a date? And that sex might happen afterward?”

A smile spread across his face. “Past You would have been right. Past Matt would have agreed in a heartbeat.”

“What about Current Matt?” you asked, daring to hope.

“Current Matt agrees with Past Matt,” he said. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

Your heart gave a leap. “You would?!”

“Of course,” he said, utterly matter of fact. Like he was stating something obvious. The sky is blue. Grass is green. Matt Murdock wanted to go on a date with you. “I’ve wanted to ask you for a while.”

“Why didn’t you?” you asked.

“In part because you didn’t know about Daredevil,” he said. “Not telling a one-night stand is one thing. Not telling my girlfriend is something else.”

“Girlfriend?” you repeated.

“Yes,” he said. “If you would like to be.”

“I would like that,” you said, smiling.

“Good,” he said. Then he suddenly laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“All the ways I pictured asking you to be my girlfriend,” Matt said. “Standing in your kitchen naked wasn’t one of them.”

“Me neither.” You giggled. “We’ve done this all topsy-turvy.”

“We have,” he agreed. “Normally, I’d take you to dinner before burying my face in your sweet cunt.”

The reminder sent fresh arousal pooling between your legs. Despite that toe-curling orgasm, that particular body part was eager for more. A desire that only increased when his pink tongue darted out to slowly lick his lips. Then he made another soft moan. The same soft moans he had made while eating you out . . . your heart raced as something finally clicked together in your mind.

“Can you taste, um, . . ?” you trailed off, feeling your cheeks burn. You couldn’t say it.

“How wet that pussy is for me?” Matt said, his eyes darkening. “Yes. Having my mouth on you is better but from the air, the aroma of it, is still . . . intoxicating.”

Part of you was embarrassed. Especially when you thought about this morning, that Matt hadn’t just heard you touching yourself. But another, larger part of you was powerfully turned on. There was something very hot about knowing that just the taste of you, the smell of you, was putting that hungry look on his face.

You squirmed. Then something else occurred to you. “Technically you have taken me to dinner many times.”

“Very true,” Matt said, then chuckled. “Foggy has been saying that we’ve been dating for months.”

“Karen said the same thing,” you said. “Maybe they are right?”

“Definitely,” Matt said. “And we’ve been idiots.”

“Total idiots,” you agreed, then pulled him down for another kiss.

You could still faintly taste yourself in his mouth. Before you knew it, your hands were buried in his hair. Matt used his grip on your hips to pull you over to the counter’s edge. He pressed himself against you. Despite the intervening conversation, he was still hard. Feeling himself grind his cock against your cunt had felt good before. But now? Without any clothes in the way? It stoked that banked fire inside you into an inferno.

You wanted . . . no, you needed him. You didn’t care that you were in your kitchen. You needed that cock filling your achingly empty cut. You needed him to fuck you stupid.

“Matty,” you whimpered, breaking away from the kiss. “Need you.”

“What do you need, sweet girl?” He rumbled against your throat. “What does your pretty pussy need?”

This time you didn’t hesitate. “Needs your cock. Needs you to fuck me.”

He growled. You expected him to line himself up, to start fucking you right then and there. Instead he shifted his grip to your thighs and lifted you off the counter. Startled, your hands abandoned his hair in favor of his shoulders to steady yourself as he carried you out of the kitchen. Given the small size of your apartment, it didn’t take to figure out where he was taking you.

Sure enough, soon he was lowering you down onto your bed. He kissed you deeply as his knees encouraged your legs wider. Not that you needed much encouragement. He grinded against you, coating his cock in your slick. Sparks raced down your spine every time the head nudged your clit. It was so good. It was not enough. Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing.

“Stop teasing me,” you begged. “Please . . . fuck me.”

Which was apparently all he needed to hear. Matt took himself in hand, lining himself up with your entrance. Then, finally, he was inside you. You gasped, nails digging into his back. It was just the tip of him but the stretch was noticeable. Despite the clear hunger on his face, he didn’t move. Stayed right where he was while your cunt fluttered around him until you were ready for more. Slowly, he pressed in deeper and deeper. Until his cock was fully sheathed inside you.

You felt so good. So deliciously full. No one had ever filled you like this. Then Matt started to move, gently rocking his hips into you. Pleasure washed over you with each back and forth movement of his cock so deep inside you. You couldn’t stop moaning. You could feel yourself climbing back toward that precipice.

“Taking me so well,” Matt said, then groaned when your cunt clenched around him at the praise. “Ready for more, sweetheart?”

Your answer was another stuttered moan.

“Words, sweet girl. I need words.”

“More,” you managed to moan out. “More. Mo-”

You were cut off by sharp snap of his hips. His first real thrust into you. You cried out wordlessly. Cries that only got louder as the thrusts got faster and deeper. Instinctively, your hips began to move. You thought he couldn’t get any deeper. You were wrong. As soon as you matched his rhythm, you felt him sink just a little further inside you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Matt grunted. “Just like that.”

Matt was always handsome. But there was something indescribably beautiful about how he looked now. The pull and flex of his muscles as he moved in and out of your body. Skin kissed with sweat. Hair, a fluffy chaotic mess. His face, for once, with no sign of worry or stress. Just pure pleasure. The grunts and moans spilling out of his mouth with each thrust only added to the beatific vision on top of you.

Your climax had been steadily building but now you were teetering on that edge. Just a little bit more . . .

Matt must have sensed it somehow because his next thrust was slower but impossibly deep and hard. You gasped, your back arching. He did it again. Your body began to shake, toes curling . . . Close, you were so close . . .!

“Matty,” you whimpered.

“Let it go, sweetheart,” Matt grunted. “Cum on my cock.”

Another impossibly deep thrust and you did.

Matt groaned as your cunt gripped his cock tightly as you cried out his name. He never stopped moving, drawing out your orgasm until you were a babbling, shaking mess underneath him.

Only then did he start chasing his release. He pumped into you hard and fast, his entire world narrowed down to you. The delightful pain of your nails raking up and down his back. Your heart pounding in his ears. The guttural noises you made as he fucked you. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your cunt as he moved in and out . . . you were so fucking wet. All for him. Because of him.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. Not with the way your cunt kept clamping down on his cock like a vice. Feeling his balls start to draw up, he tried to withdraw. He intended to release himself on your stomach. But you loudly protested, back arching and frantic hands grabbing his ass in a bid to him keep inside you.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Gonna cum,” he managed to grit out.

Your hands only gripped his ass tighter. “Cum inside me. Wanna feel it.”

Truth. “Sweetheart.”

“Matty, please.”

That did it. He couldn’t resist your begging. With one last hard thrust, he buried his cock deep inside you and came.

Breathing hard, it was tempting to collapse on top on you. But he couldn’t. He was too heavy. He carefully pulled out of you and collapsed next to you. Still catching his breath, he gathered you in his arms, pressing your back against his chest. Perfect. Matt liked a good cuddle afterward. Didn’t understand what some men had against it. Your soft, naked body against his, smelling like sex and his pheromones? Yes, please.

For a moment, Matt attributed your little restless movements as simply getting comfortable. But quickly he realized that wasn’t entirely it. He reached between your legs. Felt you jolt when his fingers found your clit. Then moaned as he started rubbing gentle circles. You were already very sensitive. It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak again.

Matt buried his nose in the back of your neck. In a little while, he’d need to get up and get a washcloth. Clean up the mess he had made between your legs. But not right now. Right now, he was just going to enjoy having you in his arms.

The storm broke that night, after dumping almost ten feet of snow on the Big Apple. The powers that be had crews out clearing the streets and restoring downed power lines bright and early the next morning but it took several days to get the city fully up and running again.

You and Matt weren’t trapped in your apartment the entire time. Just a couple days. Despite the fact that neither of you were used to living with anyone, it was . . . comfortable. You cooked together in your tiny kitchen without much trouble. He did his share of the housework without prompting or complaint. You discovered during the brief power outage that, in addition to being a lie detector, Matt was a human furnace. Also that he was cuddler.

Once his phone was charged enough, Matt called Foggy and let him know that he wasn’t dead. He made Matt put him on speaker-phone so he could tell you both ‘I told you so.’ A sentiment echoed by Marci and Karen. Among many, many others.

The sex continued to be mind-blowing. And frequent. Because you both were having a hard time keeping your hands to yourselves. A shower became Matt fingering you, then fucking you against the wall. Watching a movie turned you kneeling between his legs, taking his cock into your mouth. Blissful Puddle was a very good look on him.

By time Daredevil slipped out of your window on the third night, your cunt had been given quite the workout and you had lost track of your orgasms.

Life went back to normal. Well, as normal as dating a vigilante could be. You worked. Matt saved people, in and out of the courtroom. You and Matt still went on your outgoings together, only with a lot more hand-holding and kissing. And often followed by enthusiastic sex in either your places or his. Matt quickly fulfilled his promise to introduce you to his silk sheets. You were very happy.

Tonight as you headed up to Matt’s apartment, you were filled with curiosity. Matt told you that he had a surprise. Then you reached his door, he pulled his usual trick of opening the door just as you raised your hand to knock. Just to make you jump.

“Having fun, Trouble?” you asked, entering the apartment.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he denied. But his eyes were too filled with mirth to make his protests believable.

“Lie.”

His lips twitched. But you were distracted away from whatever smartass remark that was about to come out of his mouth by movement behind Matt. You looked and to your surprise, it was a cat. A little brown-and-gray tabby standing in front of the slightly ajar bedroom door, its tail curled into a question mark.

“When did you get a cat?”

“I didn’t,” Matt said. “You did.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, assuming you want her.” He smiled. “I promise this one wouldn’t turn into a vigilante.”

“Certain of that?” You asked. The question was only partially teasing. The recent events had only cemented your desire for another feline companion. But, as much as you were happy with how things had worked out, starting to get attached to a cat only to discover that you couldn’t keep it wasn’t fun.

“Very. According to my magic expert, she’s just a cat.”

You filed away ‘magic expert’ as something to pester him about later. “Where did you find her?”

“Dumpster,” Matt answered, his expression turning grim. “Inside a knotted pillowcase.”

You stared at him in horrified disbelief. Not at Matt’s story. You believed him. But at the sheer cruelty. You knew people could be cruel. You weren’t that naive. But it still shocked you.

“Someone actually did that?”

“They did.” His voice reflected the same anger, the same horror, you were feeling. “Not the first time I’ve found something like that. Wouldn’t be the last.”

He took a deep breath. Visibly reigned in his temper, saving it for the streets or the heavy bag. “Normally I take the animals to an all-night shelter but they’re full right now. They’d still find somewhere for her with one of their fosters or something . . . but I found this one by the same dumpster where you found me. So I thought, maybe it was a sign.”

You smiled. The cat redistribution system at work. And that was that. The cat was officially yours.

You named her Blizzard.

END NOTES

Gordian knot is a legendary knot that became a metaphor for an intractable problem solved by bold stroke. Or in this particular case, one which Matt and Foggy dearly wish they could solve with one bold stroke.

That red light/red lenses thing comes from Wikipedia so treat it with the appropriate level of skepticism.

In Nelson vs Murdock, Foggy had every right to be hurt and angry with Matt. But even if it was deserved, doesn’t make what he said less painful to Matt. Personally, I think Foggy had hit that point of angry-hurt where you just want the other person to feel as badly as you do. And since Foggy is Matt’s best friend, he knows exactly which words will hurt the most. Moreover, I think he was too upset that tonight to really absorb Matt’s explanation about his senses. Hence some of his caustic comments during Season 2.

I have no proof that this incarnation of Matt has ever worn a beard. But shh, we’re having fun here.

It is my understanding that New York City during August is not only hot but miserably humid.

#fan fiction #fan fic #daredevil #mcu daredevil #netflix daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock smut #cat man do #ao3 link

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