#and she'd have pretty silver hair just like him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luveline · 2 years ago

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𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part five | chapter list

summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue sleepy kisses, baby kisses, cheesecake and cherry ice pops, and dinner with uncle wayne. [8k]

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a girl dad (<3), tw for mentions of not having much money, new established relationship! idiots in love!! and junie being the sweetest baby ever

𓆩❤︎𓆪

You don't think you've ever seen Eddie asleep before. You rack your brain for a memory, even the suggestion of one, and come up blank. Maybe I dreamt it, you think to yourself, hesitating with your hand held aloft above his peaceful face.

He looks like a dream.

What he'd said last night — before the kiss, and after — echoes. You can feel his hands on your face if you close your eyes, the heat of each gentle palm, the scratch of a silver ring. He's missing his jewellery now, because he takes it off before bed. You can't believe you hadn't known that. All these details. His lashes kissing the delicate skin of his under eye, the way his lips thin in sleep from being pressed together. You reach toward him with a shy hand and brush a bundle of curls from his cheek, exposing the ridge of his cheekbone, begging to be kissed.

You'd been tired, so tired, and then he'd come back, and he'd crashed hard. You understand it. It'd been the most exciting moment of your life, and on top of that, he'd taken care of Junie for most of the day beforehand.

You've slept sparingly. The sun leeches in through the window one small ray at a time. Junie makes a small sound behind you, stirring in her toddler bed. You nibble your lip guiltily, wanting one more minute, just one, to look at Eddie uninterrupted.

You turn around and your reluctance melts, Junie a picture of a good long sleep. Her hair is a mess, her lips still pouting, and her eyes are partly open. She sees you're awake too and smiles, and the guilt of wishing she'd sleep in intensifies. She climbs down from her bed and rushes up to yours.

"Hey, baby," you say softly, holding out your arm.

She grabs the sheets and you help her up, folding her into your chest with a contented sigh.

She's tired, and she lets you move her around with little protest. Which isn't to say she's despondent: her hands latch onto your t-shirt, and her tiny chin rises as she stares you straight in the eye.

"How did you sleep, bubby?" you whisper-coo, hand spread over the breadth of her shoulders, the other crushed under your own weight. "My hand's going numb."

You pull you arm out and hold her face. "That's better. Good sleep? Do you feel happy?"

"Good," she says. "Feel good?"

You huff out a delighted sound and drop your nose to hers. "I feel super good, Junie baby. I'm so happy, because you're happy, and you're so smart."

She smiles more.

"Can you say that, baby? Say, 'I'm so smart."

Junie wiggles against your torso, hands at the neckline of your sleep shirt. "Smart," she says.

"Yeah! Yes. 'I'm so smart.'"

"I'm so 'mart."

"Yay!" you cheer again, your inflection celebratory even though you're still speaking in hushed tones. You don't want to wake Eddie, but maybe you do — is this the kind of thing he's interested in being a part of? "You're so smart. So so smart, and pretty and kind and soft."

You stroke her cheek with the back of your index finger, hoping to tickle her into giggles. "So soft," you murmur, "my lovely soft girl. You know why you're so soft? It's 'cause you're such a good girl, and you let me wipe your cheeks after dinner even though you hate it." You're speaking quietly enough that some of the words sound worn, syllables lost.

Junie doesn't need to hear them to know they're dripping in love. She rests her cheek against your upper arm, chub against chub, and you sink down with her, closing her in for a cuddle.

Your fingertips brush over the nape of her neck.

"Love you," you say, kissing her head absentmindedly.

"Love you," she says back.

She'd been a slow-learner, and she's still behind the majority of her age group, but none of it matters. Hearing her say anything at all is a gift. Hearing her says she loves you?

You laugh. There's nowhere else for all the happy to go.

Your hopes of sleeping again are dashed when she sits up and sees the lump of a body behind you. If she's confused she doesn't show it, hands pressed to your tender side as she climbs over you and onto Eddie's stomach.

He doesn't rouse at first. He sighs, his arm lifting where it's trapped under the sheets, your faded cornflower blue quilt that he'd praised unnecessarily. It's pretty, he'd said, back flat to your mattress as you'd imagined him a hundred times before.

You're pretty, you'd said. He'd opened his arms to draw you in for another hug. They'd felt endless all night.

Junie gets to his chest and her face fills with recognition.

"Eddie," she says happily.

He hums but still doesn't wake. Junie pulls down the blankets, and he raises his arm. Eyes closed, he wraps it around her, pulling her to his chest with a contented sound. She giggles, tiny baby giggles, and starts to play with his hair.

“June,” he mumbles.

“Eddie,” you say, apprehensive, forcing a lightness, “we have company.”

“I can feel that,” he says.

To your — your pleasure, your elation, he turns onto his back and his free hand finds you. His fingers curl around yours and he holds them, thumb pressed to the knuckle of your index finger.

His eyes open slowly, his lashes parting, his face dipped down to take Junie in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he repeats with a laugh. “Aw, Junie, your hair! I’ve never seen you before mommy gets you dressed. Uncle Wayne would say you look like me when I wake up, when I was a kid he,” —Eddie talks through a yawn, smoothing the baby hairs out of Junie’s eyes— “used to say I looked like Linus from the Peanuts strip.”

“That’s so mean,” you say. You're relieved. You should've known Eddie wouldn't care. He loves her.

"You know who you look like?" he asks her.

She shakes her head. His face lights up.

"Animal! Grown up Animal, not the baby."

Your stomach rumbles. Eddie looks at you with concern, though that concern is a mild, soft thing. He sees you properly for the first time since he woke up, Junie held to his chest, hair as messy as hers, as yours probably is, his t-shirt neckline rolled from wear, and he visibly melts.

"D'you wanna go out for breakfast?" you ask.

He shakes his head. "Come here."

"What?"

"Just come here. Lie down."

You ease off of your elbow and slide toward him. You rest your head very carefully beside his, and are immediately delighted when he kisses your cheek.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, pulling his arm out of hiding to steer the side of your face to his. Your noses smush together, eyes closing on instinct. "Hey, how are you?"

"How are you?" you ask back. He sounds super tired.

"Y'always do that. You can't just answer me? You're–" He kisses you, then, softly but with a sluggish imprecision. "Impossible."

"I'm impossible?"

"You're impossible," he promises.

You try not to squish Junie as you wrap your arm around her and bring a hand to his cheek. The tiniest rebirth of stubble scratches your fingertips as they rove up his cheek to the smoothest plane under his eye. You turn your finger until the nail is flat to his skin, stroking a fascinated back and forth.

"I can't believe you're real."

Can't believe you're real, and you chose me, and you're here now letting my baby pull at the sweat curls tight at your neck.

"Do I look bad?" he asks.

You roll your head back enough to see his smile. It makes your heart skip in the best way, how handsome he is, and you have to dive in again to kiss the line between his lips and his cheek. He's really warm. Before him, you'd forgotten how this could feel, the heat that another person can give you and how protected it leaves you.

"You look really nice," you say, your finger rubbing up and down his cheek. A teardrop to his chin that falls and climb over and over.

"Eddie," Junie says, weaselling under your arm.

"What, baby?" he asks.

She tucks herself up under his chin and lifts her head. It's awkward, but babies are like that. Always wanting to be where they aren't.

"Junie?" he asks.

She looks up, dishevelled hair especially fierce.

"You said my name, remember? Did you have something to ask me?"

She giggles at his tone but doesn't answer. Your stomach makes some more aggressive sounds and Eddie shoots up like bamboo, baby held to his chest and hand behind your head.

"Mom's dying."

"Eddie."

"Mom's super duper hungry," he says, stroking your forehead apologetically. "Now move, mom, so we may enter your kitchen and make super duper breakfast."

"Oh, no, let me change her first," you say. "Poor girl, I slept through the entire night."

He passes her over to you and you stand so he can slide out of bed. His smile grows. "Hair fairy got you both," he says.

You glare. "You are not exempt."

"Can I use the bathroom?"

"Don't ask! Since when do you ask?"

"Do you want to go first?"

His caring is sweet but unnecessary. "No. Please go, and spend like ten minutes in there? I promise we'll be much prettier when you get back."

"You're beautiful now," he says, though he obeys your ask and treks out of the bedroom with a wanton groan and a stretch that shows a lot of back. It's more than likely on purpose.

"I'm with my baby!" you yell, laughing.

"Don't know what you mean."

You strip Junie down to her smalls, change her diaper, and rub a nice lotion all over. She loves the skin to skin and stays still until you offer her today's options, two dresses, one blue and one a lighter green. She chooses the green, so you put green butterfly clips in her hair to match, and white socks with lace in black shoes. She looks awesome.

"Girls?" Eddie shouts. "Can I come out now?"

"I was kidding," you murmur to yourself, laughing.

You comb your fingers through your hair and meet him in the bathroom doorway with Junie's hand held in your own, glancing at each other through the gap.

"I wasn't serious."

"Sweetheart," he says, bending at the waist like he's been punched, "look at you. Juniper the Beautiful, holy sugar."

She only smiles.

"I can take her, yeah? I'll make breakfast. Do you want to get dressed?" he asks you, concern again softening the lines of his face.

"Sorry," you say.

"For what?"

He takes your face into his hand, cupping your cheek. You meld into it like you're one and the same, two pieces of the same puzzle clicked back into place. Junie’s hand in yours makes three.

"Alright, Junie, breakfast," he says, pulling apart and away with a humorous brevity, stealing her little hand from yours.

They walk together down the hallway, hands swinging.

"We'll go get breakfast!" you call. That's why you'd put her shoes on.

"I can make it," Eddie says, voice carrying in the quiet. He shoots a smug look over his shoulder. "I can make it, seriously. Just have a minute for yourself, why don't you?"

You wonder if that's code words for you look like shit right now, but you firmly believe Eddie wouldn't tell you that even if you did. You wash up in the bathroom and then get changed into a new-old skirt that you sometimes wear to work though you're not supposed to and a nice shirt that doesn't go. You take it all off and try again. And again.

You pull on a pair of tight sweatpants and the band t-shirt he'd bought you all those weeks ago. For a moment you stand there, face in your hands, and then a big hand presses to your shoulder blade and scares you into flinching.

"Oh, shit," you say.

Eddie laughs a storm and gets his hand under your armpit. That's worse, and you squirm, but he doesn't budge, pulling you toward him for a tight-boned hug.

"You're taking for ages," he says, parroting one of Junie’s newer phrases.

"Well." You shove your face into the top of his shoulder. "I think I'm nervous. Do I look stupid? Nothing fits me."

He hears your embarrassment and your panic and hoists you backward, hands curled around the tops of your arms as he gets a good look.

"You look pretty, and like you need something to eat." He presses his lips together, a funny picture of nervousness to mirror your own. "I know we should probably talk about it, but I don't really know how to do that. Just. Are you still– You don't regret it?"

It sounds clunky in his mouth.

"I don't regret any of it," you say sincerely.

"Good," he says, recovering quickly from this show of vulnerability with a good heaping of bravado, "'cause I was really hoping to get to do this again."

His hands climb your shoulders, settle neatly in the curves of your neck. He holds your face. You wait for him to kiss you.

"What? I brushed my teeth."

He presses his lips to yours all wonky with laughter. It's fleeting, not nearly as long as you want it to be, but Junie shouts something from the kitchen and draws both of your attention.

"It wasn't about you brushing your teeth," he says, back of his hand rubbing yours as he overtakes.

Junie stands in the kitchen with a spatula, a whisk, and the rolling pin, an array of items from the bottom drawer she's in the middle of relocating.

"Sorry I left her, I just wanted to make sure you weren't, like, trying to think of ways to let me down easy. I put the TV on. Not that you can't let me down easy," he says, bending to face Junie.

You shake your head as he starts to help her take things out of the drawer. You don't keep anything sharp in it for this exact reason, Junie's enthusiastic upheaval.

He catches your look. "I'll put them back! Promise."

"It's fine, you know she does it all day anyways."

And really, he should know you won't mind because whenever he's here he helps. Cleans, cooks, soothes her small tantrums and her bigger distresses, like when you won't let her eat laundry powder with the tiny shovel that comes in the box.

He's even started playing the bad guy sometimes. It sounds crazy, but having someone who's willing to say no for you is a sharp relief. To get to be the comforter rather than the nag, and to share a smile over Junie’s distraught head.

"This is positive reinforcement."

"I know both of those words, and yet," Eddie says, closing the now emptied drawer with his foot.

"You helping her take stuff out teaches her that those things should be taken out." You pull open the fridge. "But it doesn't really matter, I'm just saying. Do you want orange or apple juice? June?"

You hold out the carton of apple juice and the gallon of orange. The orange juice is awful, a concentrate with too much sugar, and it's delicious, so Junie picks that one without hesitating. You give her half juice half water in a sippy cup.

"Is mine watered down too?" Eddie asks, accepting the glass you press into his hand.

"I even mixed in some pedialyte. You're welcome."

He nods with more genuineness. "Thank you. Now sit down! I'm making breakfast. I'm gonna make it. What do you want?"

You look at him, fresh but still sleep rumpled, and you think about how hungry you are, and you really like him so much and you get why he wants to do this, but.

"Listen, let's go out. Let's get waffles and syrup and strawberries and nobody will have to do the dishes."

He buckles way too fast. It feels like a big compliment, how quickly you can erode his resistance.

"Alright. Fine, but not because I couldn't have made all of those things."

"Of course not."

"You look crazy pretty when you ask for things, you know? All this time I've been begging you to ask for things and now I'm a little worried. D'you always smile like that? I could be in trouble."

You boo at him and he smiles all the way to the car. He's still smiling as he drops his hand onto your thigh, pulls out of the driveway, and starts down the street leading out of the trailer park. It takes you a minute, but eventually you realise you can touch him back, laying your hand on top of his experimentally.

"Do I look stupid?" he asks.

He's stolen one of your hoodies to hide his slept on shirt. His jeans look messed up from sleeping in, but they're baggy.

"You don't… You could start leaving clothes at my house, you know? If you wanted to– stay again." You swallow a nervous giggle. "I mean."

"Of course I want to stay again. I'd love to. I love being with you."

He squeezes your thigh. If it weren't for his pinking ears, you'd assume him unaffected.

"Okay. Good. You can stay the night whenever you like, handsome, 'cause I love being with you too."

You wonder and worry if your declaration is too close to an I love you he doesn't want. You do love him, have loved him for a while, but you have no clue what you even are. Last night, you'd said best friend. He's more than that, he has to be.

You're in sync, or he can read your mind. He says, "We'll talk about it. After you get some breakfast in you. Your stomach's so loud they just put a weather warning on the radio."

"They did not."

—

Wayne puts a beer down in front of his nephew and doesn't pull any punches.

"If you get that poor girl pregnant, I will disown you. Not her, mind you. Just you."

Eddie thinks this is a very weird thing to say, but he also knows that Wayne is mostly kidding.

"I'm not going to get her pregnant."

Satisfied, Wayne sits down next to Eddie on the couch, the two of them tired from a long day at work, the TV on quietly in the background. It's the same thing they do everyday, or everyday before Eddie met you and your baby.

"I get to meet her, or we just gonna meet at the wedding?"

"Funny," Eddie says. "You can meet her whenever you want to. I kind of didn't think you'd be interested."

Wayne sighs, scrubs his jaw.

"Son, I want to meet her. Her and the baby. I didn't know if it was gonna work, but…" He smiles at Eddie. Eddie thinks that it's a mix of pride and love, and it has a lump forming in his throat near instantly. "I should've known, huh?"

Eddie makes himself scoff.

"Yeah, you should've."

"Only thing you ever half-assed was high school."

"You had to get that one in there."

Quick wit and nipping comments aside, Eddie knows Wayne truly does want to meet you and Junie, and that he should've a long time ago. It had been a cop out to say he didn't think Wayne wanted to meet you, because he knew his uncle had been curious and — he's family. Wayne is Eddie's family, and you and June have become the same.

When he brings it up to you, he does it carefully. With flowers.

You open the door and throw your arms around him, smashing the flowers unapologetically. He chuckles into your neck, pulls you tight to his chest. You smell like the diner.

"How come you never used to do this before?" he asks.

"You never did either."

You take his face into your hands and kiss him, before your usual shyness takes over and you pull away. He's having none of it, grabbing your wrist before you can escape to offer your flowers.

"Here. You'll have to give me one back for Junie, though."

You give him the biggest flower of the bunch, a huge pink carnation with perfect petals and a thick stalk. Your fingertips brush his as you do, and his eyes are drawn to them, your hands, the bump and bone of your knuckles. You still have a scratch from work down the length of your pinky, and they're scrubbed raw as usual from cleaning. He worries you're a little compulsive about cleaning, but he supposes you'd had to have been, all by yourself. He resolves to treat them kindly at the next possible opening.

"Thank you."

You don't blink at his bag from Bradley's. You try not to look at it; Eddie won't accept a thank you and you're trying to let him give you things, as per the arrangement.

As in, you, with Junie in your lap and fresh cream on your cheek, had agreed to be his girlfriend three days ago in the booth of a diner that wasn't Benny's. He hadn't been as brave as he could've been. It felt unreal to him to be with you, to have kissed you more times than he could remember, and to have you smiling back.

"Listen, I know you said we're best friends, and we are, you're my best friend, but I– we're more. I want to be your boyfriend." He rolled the word around so you'd know how strange he though it was. "But if you've… changed your mind–"

You'd reached across the table, pads of your fingers stroking the back of his wrist. "Why would I change my mind?"

"You realise, if we're together, you have to let me take care of you all the time?" he'd asked, full of nervous energy and really, really pleased. Proud to have you.

"I think I can deal with it."

He'd rubbed the toe of his shoe against your ankle and finally told you about the cream on your face.

"Junie?" he says now, eyes searching for your lovely daughter.

"She's in the bedroom."

"What for?"

You squeeze your hand through the crook of his arm, press your cheek to the top of his shoulder, and laugh. "She's making Eddie's bed, apparently. I tried to explain that you won't be sleeping here all the time but I might have made it worse."

Did you make it worse, or had your toddler misunderstood? He hates how even in the small things you'll blame yourself. This feels like a completely blameless situation, and, if anything, it's his fault, he's the one who stayed the night, and then another night, and another. He'd gone home between those days, had even gone to work, and really didn't mean to spend the night each time. It's addictive to get to sleep with you so close by. Getting to kiss you with your arm slung over his chest, your tired eyes staring up at him lovingly — he's a good person but he's weak, too.

He knows it's a little improper to stay this close so soon. If he thought for a second you weren't okay with it he'd be out the door.

"Eddie?" you ask.

"What?"

"You're staring straight through me," you say, sounding both amused and concerned. "What are you thinking about?"

"You, mostly. You and June. You know, Wayne wants to meet you."

You shake the bouquet at him, brows furrowed accusingly. "Is this a bribe?"

"'Course not… Are they working?"

"I don't need flowers. I want to meet him too. It's weird we haven't met before. You keeping us apart?"

"I absolutely am. I was a gross kid, I don't need him to tell you all of that now I actually got you."

Eddie draws away from you reluctantly to put his bag on the table, as well as June's flower. He pulls out the dinner he's brought for tonight and his most important purchase, a vase big enough for your flowers. It's simple clear glass with dainty enamel flowers around the circumference.

"For you, my sweetheart, a vase for the flowers. You want me to cut the stems?"

You beam at him, a shining smile that makes his chest feel fizzy, a can of soda on a rollercoaster as the sound of thumping comes from the bedroom, small footsteps racing to the door.

"Think she heard you," you say. You smile, take the vase, and kiss his cheek in a silent thank you.

Sure enough, Junie appears down the hall and Eddie's barely taken three steps when she's laughing and pawing at his legs, having raced all the way.

"Eddie," she cheers, arms up in the universal sign for 'grab me before I start screaming'.

He's more than happy to get his hands under her arms and pull her to his chest, your mini me breathing hard as she settles. Her hand presses into his collarbone, her lips puckered up for a kiss. He doesn't usually kiss her, doesn't really know where the line is, but denying her feels cruel. He kisses her cheek and feels her lips press to his cheek at the same time.

"Thank you," he coos, "thank you for the kiss, baby, I'm happy to see you too."

"See you," she says, patting his neck.

"How do I look? Handsome?"

She tangles her fingers in his hair.

"So, Uncle Wayne, does he like me?"

Eddie leans against the countertop you're facing so he can see your face. "He's never met you."

"Duh, but does he like me?"

"Probably. He has a bunch of reasons to like you and none not to like you."

"Doesn't hate me for stealing his baby boy?"

Eddie wonders if he's going red. "No, god, he'd thank you for it. Man hasn't had a quiet night in a decade and a half." You laugh softly, fingers weaving through flowers to arrange their leaves and stalks, and he catches a flash of uncertainty as it twists your mouth. "Seriously, he'll like you. I know everybody says it 'bout everyone, but Wayne's a good man."

"I know he's a good man, just…" You frame the flowers with your hands and step back. You smile at him to unsuccessfully hide an insecurity he can spot a mile away. "I'm not the girl people would pick for their son, you know?"

He raises his eyebrows, feels bad and drops them. Eddie lives in a trailer park, and has done for most of his life, it's not like the people around here are prudent about love and partners: Eddie's obviously not the first guy to ever date somebody who already has a kid. He doesn't wanna brush it under the rug, though. Your worrying worries him.

"I think you're exactly who he'd pick." He smiles at you in warning. You asked for this, sweetheart, buckle in. "Gorgeous girl with a perfect body," —you snort— "'n' a heart of gold." He pats between Junie's shoulders where she's oh so quiet in his arms, an affectionate slump over his heart. "And her pretty baby, too. I'd choose you for my kid. You know, if I was old. And I had one."

You wrap Junie up with one hand, the other placed sweetly over his shoulder. Your thumb strokes into his skin. "Thanks, Shakespeare," you say, letting your head dip down until your lips are flat to his shirt.

He drops his head into yours.

"Do you think he should come over for dinner?" you ask quietly.

"What, today?"

"It's gonna make me nervous thinking about it otherwise. What did you bring? Or maybe I can get pizza?"

He encourages your head back, palm to the side of your head. He strokes down until his hand covers your ear and curls around the curve of your neck. Insanely, he thinks it is a privilege to get to see you upset and to get to try and fix it.

"I can ask him, and he's not fussy. You're sure you want to do this today? I could host, you know, or we could go out."

You shake your head, looking grim. Dread clear in your eyes, you say, "I'll obsess over it. Can you call him before I lose my nerve, please? Do you think that would be alright?"

You ask like he genuinely might say no. He hasn't had the power to say no to you for months.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I can call 'im."

You offer to take Junie and it's funny because she doesn't need to be held right now and yet neither of you want to put her down. She's relaxed and Eddie doesn't see why she should have to be anywhere else but in his arms, hiking her up his chest in one arm to use the phone. He slots the receiver between his shoulder and his head and types in Wayne's number without having to look. He's typed it hundreds of times, at friend's houses, at the school nurse when his Mom's didn't work anymore, at the Hideout. Just to say, I'll be home late, but don't worry.

He extends the invitation with a teasing tone. "You wanna come around for dinner? Old lady's asking."

"You can't call her your old lady, son, not yet. That's a privilege you gotta earn."

Eddie laughs down the line. "What's wrong with old lady? I'm keeping it respectful, classy, aren't I? She's making burgers."

"You better be helping her."

"How can I help her? I'm on the phone to you."

"What time am I expected?"

"Let me ask." He pulls June back up where she's slipping, mouth lifted from the phone to grab your attention. "What time are you thinking, sweetheart?"

"It can be done whenever he wants it," you say, elbow deep in ground beef.

"Give us an hour, okay? Don't fill up on shit."

"Yeah, boy, I won't. Better leave me alone to wash up, or I can come in my overalls–"

"Alright, Wayne." He hopes it sounds like 'love you'. "See you in an hour. Don't forget."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm that old," Wayne says, followed by the sound of the phone on the hook.

Eddie passes it to Junie where she'd been dying to have a turn. He can't let her play too long, guilty already watching you chopping and dicing and washing. He sets her up on your couch with her army of teddies and a peach juice box from Bradley's. He'd picked them up thinking they were weird, and that he'd wanted Junie to try them if she hadn't before. She seems pleased with it, back and legs straight across the pillow, head bent in a way that would give a grown up a sore neck for the foreseeable future, socked feet wiggling along to the music playing on her show.

He returns to find you washing your hands. Eddie wants to kiss your neck but doesn't have a clue in the world if he's allowed to do that now or ever, so he folds his arms over yours like a hug.

"Can I get some of that?"

You squirt dish soap into his palm. He's expecting grumbling and complaining at his weird position, but you say nothing, only laugh. You wash his hands for him, thumb rubbing down the small hills of his fingers until he has to wash off the suds, squishing you to the countertop edge with a feigned apology.

You squeal with laughter. "Get off," you plead.

"I'm so tired, suddenly, I don't know what it is."

"Eddie," you moan, well and truly sandwiched under his weight.

He pecks your neck and stands properly in search of a hand towel to dry off your dripping hands. He towels his, passes it to you, and uses his dry hands to cradle your face. He thinks you look beautiful but admittedly very tired, and lowers his voice to an adoring murmur.

"You can go sit down, if you want to."

"Oh, no, there's too much to do," you say, and though you're denying him, your face lists heavily into one of his hands. You close your eyes for a moment before looking up at him through your lashes. "I can do it."

"I know you can do it, I just don't want you to have to."

He pulls you closer, his elbows pushed into your shoulders.

"I'm really good at making burgers. S'like, my signature dish. That's why I got stuff for burgers, 'cause I wanted to cook tonight."

You still don't budge.

"Go on," he murmurs, "go get your cuddles."

Junie, upon realising Eddie would be sleeping in your bed, has taken to climbing on top of him and insisting she get to stay in the big bed. She's hogging him, and it's clear you're not unaffected. Not jealous, not bitter, but missing your baby.

You're in mild withdrawals, and it makes sense. After all, she gets her extreme need for affection from you.

"You're sure?" you ask, frowning softly.

"Yes," he says, laughing and pushing you away gently, "trust me, sweetheart, I can make dinner. You gotta take my flower for June, though." He picks it up off of the counter and twirls it under your chin. "I forgot all about it, you distracted me."

You take the flower but hesitate in front of him.

"Kiss?" you ask, eyebrows popped up.

He bends backward, hand coming up to cover his mouth. "You have it bad, huh?"

"Forget I asked," you faux-threaten, spinning on your heel to leave.

Eddie follows, spins you right back around with a hushed, "Where do you think you're going?" and kisses you, hand sliding up your cheek.

One kiss turns to two, your lips parting slightly under the pressure. He grins and goes in for a third.

—

You don't sit down for long. You steal a Junebug cuddle, in which she insists on sharing her juice box with you and kisses you upwards of twenty times. You giggle giddily, the petals of the flower you've tucked behind her ear almost blinding you with each one. They're drooly and gross and lovely to begin with, less wet when you leave to find something for her to wear.

The dress she wears now is dirty from daycare, and the applesauce, crackers, and peanut butter you'd given her earlier stain the neck. You pick out a simple matching set of not-quite pyjamas. You want Wayne to know you dress her well, but you'd feel bad if she had to suffer any longer in clothes with buttons and zips.

Once she's changed, she's somehow even happier than she was. Now she's settled into daycare and your routine, she's over the moon all the time. She's finally settled in, and you have Eddie to thank for a good chunk of it. He's a great part of her routine, another person who wants to love and dote on her. While you know you'd been doing a great job by yourself, any extra love at all is welcome. You could love him for how he loves her and nothing else, only there's a thousand other things about him to love.

Like his singing. You can hear him humming, then riffing, spatula scratching the frying pan as he rocks out to a song you can't hear. You're playing with Junie's toes, as strange as it sounds, wiggling and tickling the sole of her feet.

"Mommy?" she says breezily.

"What?" you ask, leaning to her eye level, fluffy bed socks in hand.

"Special treats for dinner?"

You can't believe the improvements in her speech, though it's natural, and it would've happened eventually. And it blows your mind because you'd known she was in there, she's a great listener and she's so patient for a toddler, but knowing she's having these thoughts and then having her voicing them now is something else completely. It's amazing.

You tuck the sock under her pant leg and beam at her. "Yeah, baby, we're having special treats after dinner. Eddie's making burgers with the cheese," you hum, offering your open hand for her to hold. "And… his Uncle Wayne is coming by for dinner. So we're gonna meet him and say hi to him and be super nice, okay?"

"Okay. What's for treats?"

"I don't know, you'll have to ask Eddie. Should we go ask him?"

She nods enthusiastically and slides off of the sofa, gand in yours. She walks with a wobbly confidence into the kitchen, where the smell of searing hamburgers and black pepper is cloying.

Eddie turns with the spatula, slouched with one elbow on the counter. He perks up when he sees Junie in her fresh clothes.

"Hey, bub, look at you!"

"She has something to ask you."

Eddie crouches down. "Anything. What do you want to ask me, Junie?"

"What's for," —her voice is small, high-pitched and clumsy but sweet— "... have for…"

"Dessert," you whisper. "For treats."

"What's for treats?" she asks, smiling.

You sigh with pride and Eddie mirrors your expression. "Well," he says, reaching out to readjust the flower peaking in front of her hair, "I brought two things, cherry ice pops and cheesecake."

"Oh," Junie says, "my gosh."

You leave them in their love bubble and change into your nice (bleach stained, agonisingly bleach stained) jeans, rather than meet Wayne in your waitressing skirt and blouse. Eddie wolf whistles as soon as you emerge, Junie now happily perched on his hip as he moves the burgers onto a plate to wait in the oven. Junie turns and drops the slice of cheese she was holding, startled at the noise.

"Is this awful?" you ask, pointing to the thin line of bleach across your thigh.

"'This' is killer," Eddie says.

"No, but can you see the bleach?"

"Not really. If you need new jeans, we can go get some."

The I can't afford it begs to be said, though you know exactly what he'll say in response.

"Not right now," he amends. "They look fine, okay? He won't notice. I had my first tattoo for three weeks before he saw it."

You lean over the sink to open the window and let some clean air in. Eddie goes back to the plate, and Junie drops another slice of cheese.

The knock at the door startles you. You're unprepared, terrified, and you haven't wiped down the dinner table yet. Eddie sees your panic and shakes his head at you.

"It's fine. You want me to answer?"

"We should both answer," you say, with a confidence you are not feeling.

You hold your hands out for Junie. She's a safety blanket.

Please like me, you think, letting Eddie pull you to the door.

—

You have nice shoulders. Eddie feels like he's had this thought before. Often, he looks at you, and he finds something new to catch onto and to obsess about. This hasn't changed in the few days you've been together. It's gotten worse.

He can see the top of Junie's head against your shoulder but not her sleeping face. You sway her from side to side and he can see you arms shaking with the effort it takes to have been holding her for this long, your quiet humming now a whisper of sounds. The gentle thudding of your hand against the bottom of her spine stops, and you turn to look at him, a question in your eyes.

He nods. Looking good.

You ease her down into her toddler bed and spend some time pulling the blankets over her legs, tucking her small army of teddies in beside her.

Finger to your lips, you and Eddie creep out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen. There's nothing to clean. His Uncle Wayne is a stickler who couldn't not help clean up.

Wayne had definitely liked you. You're still glowing with it. It had been a great time, not nearly as awkward as you'd feared, and Eddie's feeling pretty content right now. You waste no time collapsing on the couch. A sippy cup under your hip, cushions in disarray at your head. Eddie grabs the half of the cheesecake that's left and two spoons and sits right next to you, thigh to thigh, no need for friendly space anymore. He forces the spoon into your hand, slides the cheesecake onto your thigh, and moves the sippy cup out of the way.

"My arms are too tired," you mumble, dropping back into the cushions. Junie had piled them all up behind Wayne's head. She was extra, extra nice.

"Want me to feed you? I can baby bird you."

"Ew. That image never gets any less disgusting, Eddie."

It's been Eddie all day. What's a guy gotta do to get a 'handsome'? A 'baby'?

He laughs around a spoonful of cheesecake and twists his foot behind your calf, linking your legs. You've managed to finally get cable, and an episode of Jeopardy plays on mute across the room. There are toys everywhere, the kind of mess that you'll spend three hours putting right, sorting and spritzing and wiping with Junie behind you pulling things back out.

Eddie's already got the clothes here to stay, and Wayne had said, "See you tomorrow," when he left, but Eddie asks anyway.

"Can I stay over?"

You sit up to drop your face heavily into his shoulder.

"Please, handsome. Don't want you to go home."

There's the pet name he'd been searching for. A warmth climbs all over, a twinge in his stomach. He heaps cheesecake onto your spoon and presses the handle into your fingers. You eat it slowly, tip of your tongue making an unexpected appearance when a crumb sticks to your lip.

You make a sound that should probably be illegal and drop the spoon into the cheesecake casing, freeing your arm to wrap it around his chest. You nuzzle your nose into his skin, sniffing.

He laughs from happiness and nothing else, making good work of the cheesecake while you doze. He's not an animal, leaving some for you and June if you want more tomorrow, but he isn't temperate, either. He's thinking this might be the perfect life, you and your baby, Uncle Wayne laughing at your kitchen table, Junie in the high chair beside him trying to make a babbling conversation. She'd managed a couple of proper words and an impressive sentence, much better at answering than asking but trying either way.

"You're a ringer for your mom, kid, you look like twins," he'd said softly.

"Ring-ring," she'd said happily, excited to have understood. She'd offered her hand to him, pinky and thumb stuck out.

Wayne, grinning, had answered the phone.

"June loved Wayne," Eddie says conversationally.

"Junie loves everybody," you say through a yawn, hand soothing up and down his side greedily. "Not like she loves me and you, but she does. She keeps hugging all the other babies at daycare and they don't know how to stop her."

"What? You've never told me that."

"I didn't know 'till this morning." Your fingers find and breach the hem of his shirt, pads tracing to the small of his back.

"God, you're cuddly tonight. Here, let me–" He moves the cheesecake. "Come here."

You groan, "No, this is fine."

"Sit on my lap, loser."

"I'm heavy."

True or not, Eddie wants you in his lap, and he's selfish, pulling at you like a kid not getting his way. You end up flopping over his lap to stop him, curled into an uncomfortable but darling position. He gets his hand behind your ear and turns your face, wanting to see your eyes and your nose and your lips.

Your eyes are bright in the lighting.

"Wayne liked you," he says, stroking down the shell of your ear with his thumb.

"I can see why you're so kind," you say.

You smile at each other.

"I don't know what I did."

Eddie leans down, tilts his head to line up with yours, his eyes flicking between the lightness softening your gaze or the curve of your top lip, calling him in like a siren. "What did you do?" he murmurs.

"To get so lucky," you say. "I don't know. I must have been a saint, in a past life."

"A past life," he repeats.

Your eyes find his and narrow. He knows where you're looking, that little dot of dark hiding beneath his eyelashes. You move over his lap carefully, hands behind his neck to anchor yourself. Your thighs against his thighs, ankles locking him in, your hands always so gentle where they play in his hair.

He thinks there's a kind of melancholy to moments like this. He panics, in his way, in his head, because there are no guarantees. This perfect night with a perfect girl could be it. There are many bad things that could happen, unspeakable, and he gets this trip in his chest like a fuse shorting out.

He should slow down and tell you what he feels. How you're his and he's the lucky one, goddamn, he's never had luck like this in his life.

He smooths his thumb across your lips and stops at the corner, momentarily ashamed of his big, clumsy hand, and permanently in awe of your softness, your goodness, how it lines every feature on your brilliant face.

You lean in for a kiss.

Your lips are parted, and he thinks you might've read his mind, the hunger and the fear he'd felt, the heart-pounding reverence, that split second of wanting to say something he shouldn't yet. It feels like you read his mind; your lips kiss and kiss and your hands tremble minutely behind his head. The heat of your tongue shocks him like the first drag, has his hand bawling in the fabric of your shirt, a low sigh smothered by your attention.

Your nose touches his. In the days since his confession you've endured a frankly overzealous amount of his kissing. He's had you in bed, in the kitchen, just outside the front door. Some heavy handed, some sweeter than sugar, none ever for anything but kisses. Your ardency surprises and excites him — his pulse is a freight train, pounding in his veins as you yield. Your head tips back slow, your gasping breaths a golden sound he endeavours to keep forever.

When you lay back, it's quietly, hand at his front and encouraging you to lay with him. He props himself up on his side, one hand feeling for your upper arm, wishing you'd worn something with shorter sleeves so he could feel your skin. The other covers the column of your throat. He can feel your too-fast breathing in his palm, your shallow gasps.

Your eyes close again as he ducks in. He rubs a line with the tip of his nose next to yours, the heat emanating off of your skin thickening the air. Or, that's what it feels like.

"Kiss me," you say under your breath. This close, you might as well have shouted it.

He kisses you until not one of you can breathe properly, and a little after that, too. His thumb ghosts under the curve of your breast and he can feel the tightness of the question between you, a string pulled taut by your hand and his.

"Sweetheart," he says, trying to pour all of his affection and something deeper into the word, "do you want to…"

"What?" you ask.

He lifts his head off of yours and waits. You open your eyes in confusion, though that confusion quickly turns when you hear what he's hearing.

Movement. Little feet.

He pulls his weight off of you and helps you up, brushing down your hair, your hot cheeks. You move away from his hand without malice, and when he turns he's not at all surprised to see baby Junie in her pyjamas, the ear of a teddy clasped in a small fist.

You press your arm to his.

"Sorry," you whisper.

He turns to you, blinks three times quick. "Baby, it doesn't matter." It's unfortunate, but not as unfortunate as your mortified expression. He holds his hand out to Junie where she's meandering toward you, exhausted steps unsafe but determined.

She reaches his knees, and Eddie helps her up to sit between you both, his arm behind her head.

You stroke her hair. The look you give him is pensive and loving at once. You lift your chin, and he presses a saccharine, chaste kiss against your kiss bitten lips.

Junie falls asleep again near immediately. Eddie finds your hand in the mess of limbs and gives it a good squeeze.

"Bed?" he asks.

You slouch down. "In a minute?"

He slouches down with you, letting his temple drop against yours over Junie's sleeping figure.

"Whatever you want."

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! im so happy they’re together this is my fave part of every fic, aimless adoration <3 im not sure what to write for part sis so I’d love to hear what you want to see there, thanks so much

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader #mom!reader #eddie munson x mom!reader

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shanastoryteller · 10 months ago

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happy valentine’s day! could i get something pjo or hades?

a continuation of 1

Sally doesn't understand. "But where's my son?"

His face crumples before smoothing back out.

"Not that you're not my son!" she says hurriedly. Gods, he's going to grow up to look so much like his father. He's going to grow up powerful, which is something Poseidon had warned her about and she thought she'd taken it seriously, but now her almost adult son is in front of her and there's a presence to him that she'd clocked as his father's just as much as his hair and the breadth of his shoulders. "But. My son. When you go back to the future, he'll come back, right?"

"Mom," he starts, then presses his lips together. "I don't know."

She slowly lowers herself onto Percy's bed. Onto her Percy's bed. "Where is he now?"

"If he's still here, he's probably in the underworld," he says.

If. If. Her eyes burn. She'd just been wishing that Percy wasn't seven anymore, but she hadn't meant this.

"I have to go," he says, clearly trying to speak gently to her. "I'll try and find out, okay? I'll send you an Iris message."

"But," she starts, looking up at him. What's she supposed to do? Her son's gone. Her son's right in front of her, but he's leaving too.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to her forehead like he's the parent. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm really sorry."

Percy thinks he might have killed himself.

He tries not to think about it as he dive into the Atlantic, the water surging over and around him as it propel him exactly where he wants to go.

This is a mission that he's not going to survive. He'd known that from the beginning. Persephone had warned him that his life would be forfeit before he'd done it.

He should have listened. He should have taken a single second to think it through before he'd accepted, even if he would have done it anyway, even if it felt like the only option left.

When he'd sat across from Persephone, her clothes black with mourning and a crown she didn't want on her head, he'd already been dead. So it couldn't be his life that was the cost. It had already been paid.

Now his mom is going to have to mourn him twice over. Maybe even three times over, when he dies here too. He's such a terrible kid. She deserves better. Estelle wouldn't do this to her.

Why the hell had she had a kid with a god? They all die young.

He sneaks through the patrol of Atlantis with ease. He knows the schedules and the patterns and nothing is really meant to keep him out anyway.

The armory, the most guarded part of the kingdom, opens at his first touch.

He's a loyal son of Poseidon. Nothing here is forbidden to him.

Granted, that's because they don't know to ward against him specifically, because he's supposed to be ignorant and seven and demigod children don't typically just go strolling into their parents domain.

Riptide is currently with Charon and ironically he'd have a much harder time stealing from him than his father. He walks the length of the armory, eyeing the tridents but moving on. If he wants to keep his parentage a secret, then that's definitely not the way to go.

He goes through about a dozen swords before finding one that feels loose and easy in his hands. It's a bit flashier than Riptide, emeralds along the hilt and interlocking silver patter worked in alongside the bronze.

Paper doesn't do so well underwater, so he scrapes in an IOU into the place the sword had been. Someone's going to notice it missing pretty quickly either way. His dad if he's lucky, Triton if he isn't, but he doesn't have the time to worry about it.

There are three kids out there who are going to need some help getting to Camp Half-Blood in one piece.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #pjo

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daenysx · 3 months ago

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hi! could you write something for dad!aemond where alyssa watches a horror film for the first time and wakes him up in the middle of the night bc of a nightmare? thank u already, i love your writing and your modern!aemond stuff so much <3

thank you, angel ♡ i hope you enjoy

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

"wake up." someone whispers to aemond's ear. it's definitely not you, it takes him a few seconds to process a sound coming from his blindside.

"dad, wake up."

oh, there she is. aemond blinks his eye open and the sight of his daughter's silver hair in two frizzy braids welcomes him. she doesn't do that usually, coming into her parents' room in the middle of the night. she's almost 7, claims she's a big girl to get through the nights herself.

"what's wrong?" aemond asks, sleep dripping from his voice. he holds your hand as you reach for him in your rest. "what happened?"

"i can't sleep." alyssa says, softly. her eyes look huge under the moonlight.

aemond sits on bed carefully to not wake you up. he reaches for his girl. "do you want some milk, baby?"

"please." alyssa leans against his legs. "chocolate milk."

"we have to be silent, okay? mommy and aelyx are still sleeping."

alyssa holds her dad's hand as they walk to the kitchen in the darkness. the kitchen lights bother aemond's eye for a brief moment and then he gets to take in the sight of his daughter as she clings onto him.

"up you go." aemond lifts her so that she can sit on the counter. it's her favorite thing to do in the kitchen, sitting there as she watches her parents cook. he heats up a glass of milk quickly, stirring the chocolate mix alyssa likes into it. she doesn't say anything, which is a bit unusual. she'd definitely ask for more chocolate normally. aemond tries to keep his face cool.

he gives her the chocolate milk in her favorite glass, the one with winnie the pooh picture on it. she accepts it with a small thank you, drinking it in silence as aemond cleans up the little mess he made.

he catches alyssa's gaze on him as if she wants to say something. he waits for her, doesn't try to get the words out of her mouth. she takes her time, though, her sips get lingered as much as they can.

at the end, she has no choice but finishing the milk. she gives her glass to aemond, her pretty eyes watching the floor. aemond stands in front of her, holding her small hand and rubbing his thumb on the back of it.

"i had a nightmare." she starts saying. aemond nods first. "do you wanna tell me about it?" he asks.

"it was- about this movie i saw with gracie today." alyssa explains but she still seems hesitant. "her brother told her the name of the movie and she showed me some of it."

"okay." aemond whispers, his hand still holding hers. "what was it about?"

"um- it was a horror movie, dad." she finally says. "i didn't like it, i couldn't understand what was it about, really, but i'm- i saw the scenes of it in my nightmare."

her eyes fill with slow tears and aemond loses his mind just a bit right there. it always happens when she tears up. he quickly hugs her, her arms wrapping around his waist as much as she can.

"it's okay." he says, his thumb drying up the tears. "don't cry, baby, it's okay."

"i don't want to be a coward."

"you're not a coward just because you didn't like a horror movie." he says, softly. she's too much like his young self. "you don't have to enjoy everything you see."

"but gracie's brother was saying his friend is a coward because he got scared."

"i think gracie's brother is wrong." he does a good job being cool with a kid's ideas that clearly upset his girl, right? "many people don't like horror movies, that doesn't make them cowards, right?"

"really?"

"you know," he smiles. "i remember the first time uncle daeron saw a horror movie with us. it wasn't all that bad but he got so scared at night, he insisted to sleep in uncle aegon's bed."

"did he accept it?" alyssa asks, interested in the story.

"yes, actually. they slept in his room that night and after that everything was okay. no one made fun of daeron. well, except aegon of course, but that doesn't count."

finally she stops pouting and puts on a gorgeous, sleepy smile for her father. he takes her in his arms, carrying her to his room. "why don't you sleep in our bed tonight? i'm sure mommy will be happy about it."

alyssa nods, burying her head to aemond's shoulder. he puts her in the middle of the warm bed carefully. you blink your eyes open, trying to understand what's happening. "aemond?"

"we have a guest, sweetheart." aemond fixes the covers for the three of you. you give your girl a sleepy kiss on her cheek. "everything okay?" you ask.

"yes." he answers. "go back to sleep."

alyssa's hand stays still in her daddy's palm. if the monsters in the movie come looking for her, he will fight them off.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #modern!aemond #aemond x you #aemond x reader #hotd #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfiction #dad!aemond #aemond x fem!reader

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 6 months ago

Text

To Love and To Cherish (II)

Part 10 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Warnings: CNC, oral (f), knife play (he fucks her with the hilt of his knife), bondage, threats, chasing, creepy phonecalls, mild mirror sex, somnophilia, anxiety, fear, angst, cliffhanger.

A/N: Please keep in mind that though this is dark play, everything has been discussed and even practised in advance and is fully consensual.

Hehe

@icannotbetrustedalone 😘

A late lunch is brought to your door after you wake up. You have no idea how Sam knew you were awake, perhaps she'd timed your jet lag that well.

She tells you to enjoy, that her team will be here around dusk to get you dressed for your date.

You smile at that word, knowing that she had no real clue what your husband was really up to.

Later in the day, there’s a knock on your door.

You open it to Sam, with her binder, looking eager.

“Are you ready?” She asks with a smile.

When you nod and open the door wider, she turns her head and nods too, and you blink in surprise when four other women follow her into your room with a lot of different things in hand.

You spot a garment bag, and a makeup kit, another bag has a hair curler sticking out.

They introduce themselves, their specialties are in hairstyles, makeup and nails.

You're out of your depth and you say so, glancing over at Sam for some kind of help.

“Don't worry, we already know what to do based off your preferences.” She explains, “You just have to sit back and enjoy being pampered.”

You guess you could try.

When they're done, you're surprised to see so much of yourself there.

There's a lovely little tiara on your head, your hair in a delicate updo with strands framing your face. The dress- is beyond beautiful, white shimmering fabric, an off shoulder design that makes you feel like a princess.

Your fingers and toes are freshly done in a dark red like you'd requested, so that they can match the red on your lips.

There's a small heel on your silver shoes- safe to run in while still being pretty.

“You guys are amazing.” You say in wonder as you fully assess yourself.

They laugh, happy that you're satisfied.

Sam presents one final thing to you, the one odd thing you'd asked for that wasn't in your binder.

You grin at her, ducking into the ensuite bathroom and tugging the garter out of the box, sliding it on.

There's a small knife attached to it, and you make sure it's concealed, and easily reachable through the slit in your dress before you step out again.

When they’re finished with some last minute makeup retouches, Sam smiles proudly, and wishes you a very good night, letting you know that they’ll all be leaving you soon, here alone with your husband.

You can’t help the excited pulse your nether regions give at the reminder, dressed pristinely from head to toe, all for Billy to tear off.

You grin at Sam, walking the small group of women to the door, listening quietly to their plans for the night, encouraging and enjoying their banter, sending them off with a wave into a car waiting for them.

The heavy wooden door closes with a dull sound that echoes through the castle, emphasising your desolation.

You turn, leaning against the door in your shimmery dress, taking in the quiet silence of the place.

There’s a little bit of fear tingling down your spine, the feeling of being truly alone in such a big place, not really knowing where you are, with no means of escape.

You find that it turns you on.

All dressed up, all for him, and you can’t even really leave, a headiness to the realisation, your fear is an aphrodisiac all on its own.

You bite down on the corner of your lip, smiling, pushing yourself away from the door, and decidedly picking a direction to begin your exploration.

You touch everything you see, trailing your freshly done fingertips over every item, examining the feel, appreciating the textures.

The curtains, the lighting fixtures, you examine all of it, a crown on your head that makes you almost feel like you own it all.

You get into the fantasy he’s weaved, becoming the role of the princess he’s cast you in.

You find the throne room first, a flourish of plum and golds, a large red carpet leading to the thrones in question- two- sitting side by side, beckoning you closer.

You squint, looking up at the massive chandelier that sits in the middle of the room, with little pieces of glass that if cleaned properly, would probably reflect little shards of light.

You pick the chair on the right, and settle yourself onto it, sighing happily at how comfortable it is, relaxing for a moment, before standing to continue your exploration.

You’re passing the dining room when a phone begins to ring in the distance.

It sends a shiver of fear over you, the dated sound echoing through the halls. You begin searching for it, following the rings of what you assume is an old era phone.

You find the phone on a table at the bottom of the staircase, ruby red, sitting beside a marble statue of a woman, posed with her hand in the air as if to block the light from her eyes.

It keeps ringing until you tentatively pick it up, bringing it to your ear.

“Hello?” You say softly into it.

There’s a voice on the other end, modulated to be unrecognizeable to you, but even that sends a shiver of excitement through you.

“Princess.” The voice says calmly.

You swallow.

“Who is this?”

The voice is deep, each grovel is a tremor in your body.

“I’m just a nightmare, sweetheart. I hope you’re ready for me.”

You shudder, shaking your head.

“Ready for what?”

He doesn’t answer your question.

“You look gorgeous. Prettier than I expected. It’s making me… want.”

You stiffen, taking a breath and looking around, searching the shadows for some sign of a man, lurking in the darkness.

“You can see me?” You ask in a soft whisper, laying the fear on thickly.

“Of course, princess. I’ll be inside soon, we’ll get a nice, long introduction to each other.”

You gasp in surprise, dropping the phone and moving quickly to the doors you passed during your exploration, making sure that they’re locked.

Your hand is on the door separating the kitchen from the gardens- when the lights go out.

You hear your own breath of surprise, your heart pattering in your chest, real fear being awakened inside of you when you realise that this is actually happening.

Everything is still, you’re afraid to move, the darkness becoming honey thick all around you.

Eventually, being still is too much, and you have to force your body to break the stillness around you.

There’s barely a sliver of light, the moon, casting pale streams through the windows. Instinct tells you to stay where you can see, your body backed against the window, eyes peering into the darkness as if it’s alive and coming for you.

You glance down when something shimmery catches your eye, gasping, you realise that the moonlight makes you a bigger target, your dress reflecting its beams in every direction.

It leaves you no choice but to step into the darkness.

You wonder where he is, if hands will just reach out and grab you at any given moment.

It makes your stomach tight, that what you’ve been yearning for is almost within reach.

“Hello?” You call out shyly, voice shaking just a little. You walk softly out of the kitchen, one hand against the wall to guide you, unsure of exactly where you’re going.

Suddenly, a chill runs over the back of your neck, like a soft breath from someone standing just behind you. You turn, waving your hand into the darkness, and finding nothing but air.

You feel so much like prey in that moment, searching for a predator with hunting skills beyond your comprehension.

You’re passing the dining room when your heart freezes in your chest. In the corner of your eye, you can see the silhouette of a dark figure, standing in the moonlit window.

Your breath halts in your throat, turning to face him, the swishing of your dress is louder in your ears.

The mask is- terrifying- white, with the appearance of fractured glass across it, some pieces missing over the cheek area, his real face peeking through.

He raises a hand, and presses a gloved finger to the mouth of the mask.

You turn, and run.

Fuck, this was it, it was really happening. He was here, and he was going to do all the things he promised he would, all the things you’d practised together so that he was sure you were always one hundred percent safe and comfortable.

You’re not very fast, the dress and heels slowing you down

He grabs you at the very moment the lights flick on.

It takes a moment for your eyes to get adjusted, and then you gasp when your back is slammed to a wooden wall behind you, the intricate carvings pressing uncomfortably to your spine.

His hands are on your shoulders, keeping you in place as you look up at him with fear in your eyes.

You finally get a chance to see him fully, all masked up, covered from head to toe in what can only be the most mouth watering look on the planet.

Sure, his suits were divine, but seeing him dressed down like this was a cherry on top of a malevolent cake.

It clings to his skin, the cut of his chest and arms showing through the tight, long- sleeved shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of navy combat pants, and further into boots.

It’s much easier to note where you can see his skin- on his wrists between the sleeve and the glove, his neck, and parts of his face that show through the fractured pieces of his mask.

He’s a work of devastating art, lust incarnate, bringing forth so much delight that you struggle to hide it.

“Please,” you whisper shakily, getting into character, feeling it spark arousal, “Don't hurt me.”

You watch the darkness clouds his eyes, a predator, hidden beneath layers of humanity, finally being set free.

“Oh, princess,” he whispers, leaning in, trailing his gloved thumb over your jaw and cheekbone lovingly, “I am definitely going to hurt you.”

You gasp at his words, reaching for the weapon strapped to your thigh. It was your turn to give him a surprise.

The dagger is sharp, you made sure of it, wanted it to be real, you wanted to see a genuine look of surprise in his eyes when you finally pressed it to his neck.

Except, he doesn't look surprised at all.

“Leave.” You say, with so much command in your voice that you almost believe you have the power to say something like that to him.

He studies you for a lengthy moment, before he tilts his head back and lets out a deep laugh, and even that, works to seduce you.

His hold is an iron grip on your wrist, and it was a mistake letting him grab you, he’s too strong, and no matter how hard you struggle, you can’t get your hand back.

“This knife is pathetic, princess.” He grabs the hilt, twisting it so that you’re forced to release it or have your wrist twisted too, it clatters loudly in the empty space.

“Is that all you have to fight me off with? No wonder this is so easy.”

You exhale angrily, trying to push him away, your freshly done nails digging into his arms.

He grips your hands, pulling them above your head and pinning them there with one of his.

A soft sound of distress leaves your lips, struggling to get away but your dress is too much of a hindrance, keeping your legs pressed in one place when he moves closer.

“Here, why don’t I show you mine?” He murmurs, reaching with his free hand to pull a significantly larger knife out of his boot.

You gulp, eyeing it wearily as he rubs the handle roughly against your cheek, the hilt is coated in a rubber, with indents to help with grip. He slides it around till it’s pressed to your lips, smearing your lipstick, you angle your head away to avoid it.

“I’m going to fuck you with this,” He promises, leaning in till the mouth of his mask is on your ear, “Gonna use it to get you ready for my cock.”

“No.” you murmur weakly.

“No?” He teases, “Well why don’t you try stopping me then?” He murmurs, pulling back a little to free you from his hold.

You’re surprised to be free, knowing that it’s just a trick, knowing that he wants to chase you.

You keep your eyes on his form, watching him observe you as you slowly back away.

“Go on, princess,” He says in such a condescending tone that your knees wobble, “Run away from me.”

When you're far enough away that you know he won't grab you, you turn, pulling your skirts up a little so that you can run.

Heart pounding in your chest you have no idea where you're going or what your plan is beyond running away. You couldn't very well hide in a dress that glimmers when you breathe, you couldn't fight- all you really had in your arsenal was your capacity to get him angrier.

With that in mind, you grab the first heavy thing you can find- the telephone directory- turning and chucking it in his approximate vicinity.

It doesn't slow him down at all, because he grabs your wrist in the next second, pulling you into him.

“No!” You exclaim, swiping your nails across his mask, knocking it askew so that he can't see.

You’re not proud of how hard you stomp his foot next, watching him double over with a low grunt, allowing you to get some distance.

The phone, you decide, angling your run to get you to the base of the main stairs.

You just make it to the phone- grabbing the glossy handset and raising it to your ear- before he grabs it roughly from you, reaching behind to rip all the important wires out of the back.

You almost can’t do it, wanting to drop to your knees right there and beg him to take you- but you know that deep down you had to see this fantasy fully play out.

He’s angry now, and he shows it by grabbing the entire phone and slamming it to the floor while you watch, backing away in horror, his sleek boot slamming the broken pieces until it’s nothing but ruby shards.

“Who were you going to call, princess? You don’t even know where you are.”

Jesus, you think, helplessly aroused.

The next time you turn away, he wraps an arm around your waist and picks you up.

You kick your feet in protest, scratching at his arms, trying to pry his iron grip off of you but it’s no help, you grunt, and you kick and you wriggle and still he drags your body wherever.

He drops you below the chandelier of the throne room.

It glitters in your eyes as you try to catch your bearings, sitting up you watch him grab a length of rope from his belt.

You try to scramble back but your dress catches under your feet, making you slip, falling back even more.

He grips one of your wrists while you’re disoriented, and you feel the rope wrap tightly around it. You try to push him off, but he just catches your other hand, wrapping them securely in front of you, knotting them easily.

He stands, and with a strong arm, throws the other end of the rope through a support rung of the chandelier, catching it as it swings toward him.

Then, he pulls, forcing you up onto your knees, your hands suspended in the air, as he moves to secure the rope to the throne nearby.

You struggle, trying to tug your way out, your legs tangled in your dress, stopping you from standing.

“I wouldn’t.” He warns softly, “Pull too hard and it might fall, carving up that pretty body before I’m done.”

He kneels beside you, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

“That would make me, real upset.” He breathes through the mask.

“P-lease.” You beg, turning your head to look at him, relaxing when you realise there was no escaping without hurting yourself.

“God, you're so pretty.” He trails a gloved hand over your cheek, down your chest, the leather is smooth on your skin, you shiver when his hand reaches the top of your dress.

“I almost don't want to hurt you.” his hand smooths over the front of the dress, slipping lower to gently untangle the skirts from your legs, you adjust to let him do so, thinking that it will allow you to stand up.

You turn your head to look at him, examining his eyes through the mask, the way they linger on your body, you don’t even realise what’s been done until you feel his gloved hand slip under your panties and press right to your clit.

The friction is delicious, the smooth leather providing an interesting feel between your thighs. You look down, realising he’s used the high slit of your dress to get under your skirts easily.

“Don’t.” You beg, trying to inch away, “Please.”

“I don’t fucking care what you want, princess.” He grits out harshly, his finger pressing down more firmly, slipping from side to side, the pleasure, trying to force you to shut down your resistance.

“I’m here to steal from you, and I’m going to take everything I want.”

Your breaths become shallow when his finger starts circling your aching bud, you’ve been denying yourself for so long that you feel the sweet burn of pleasure the longer he does it.

You can even feel how wet you are, in the fluidness of his movements. He breathes into your ear, and you find yourself leaning into him to take the weight off of your knees.

“Don’t do this,” You murmur weakly, “Please I’ll do anything.”

He laughs in your ear, slowing his movements to torment you.

“I’m doing you a favour, sweetheart, you should be grateful. At least I have the decency to let you cum before I fuck you with my knife.”

You make a sound of protest, angling away from him.

“No!” You cry.

He doesn’t let you move far, gripping the back of your head, till it’s tilted back, hands suspended above you, his fingers resume their fast movement on your clit.

He’s dextrous, even with gloves on, you can feel the micromovements that succeed in bringing you right up to that edge even faster.

Your eyes roll back in your head, surprised that he’s got you right on edge so soon, though you know you shouldn’t be, this is your husband after all, he knows exactly how to get you off.

The weeks of denial burn, your body not accustomed to orgasm needs an extra push getting there, he presses down even firmer, speeding up.

You groan, unable to stop it, or resist it, your stomach clenched tight with nothing in sight but the precipice of orgasm.

Don’t stop, you beg internally, please don’t stop.

It’s a hollow thing, but strong nonetheless. You breathe shallowly through gritted teeth as you reach your peak, thighs trembling, as you rut yourself helplessly on his gloved fingers.

Too good, needing just a little bit more, thighs sticky with your orgasm, his fingers growing even more messy as you come.

Your vision whites out for a moment, senses evaporating temporarily, you come back to the sound of your own panting, heavy in the room.

You don’t get a chance to look over at him with desperate eyes, he pulls his hand from between your thighs and promptly shoves his drenched fingers into your mouth.

You hum in protest, trying to pull away, but he’s still got that iron grip on the back of your head.

“Taste that slutty little cunt, princess. Remember how wet you get for me when you’re begging me to stop later.”

You can only grunt your denial, with his fingers in your mouth, the taste of leather and your arousal making its point on your tongue.

When he draws his hand back, they come out with heavy strings of saliva that cling to your bottom lip.

“You’ll pay for this.” You whisper hoarsely, your head hanging low. Your arms start to ache a little from the way they’re held above your head.

It’s the wrong thing to say, he grips your hair once more, tugging your head back to an almost uncomfortable position.

“What was that?”

You make a little sound at the way he manhandles you, tilting your head, you look him in the face.

“I said, ‘You'll pay for this.”

He studies you slowly, you watch his eyes flicker as he studies your face. You curl your hands into fists, hoping he lets you down soon.

His laughter doesn't surprise you, but it does make your stomach twist.

“Yeah? Who’s gonna make me pay? You?” He says between small sounds of amusement, reaching back, he pulls the knife from before out of his pocket.

You eye it warily, as he brings the blade up to your line of sight, you swallow, trying to breathe as you examine the wicked edge of the serrated blade.

You go perfectly still when the cool metal of the blade touches your cheek.

“You might be a pretty little thing, but you have no power to make me pay. You’re all mine to do what I want. You can’t stop me.”

You whine pitifully, knowing that his words were true.

He reaches up, cutting the rope and guiding your hands into your lap. By now, they tingle, almost numb but not quite, you sigh in relief, watching him quietly squeeze your arms.

“Don’t be scared,” He says, surprisingly soft for someone who was just running the sharp edge of a knife over your cheek, “I'm sure you'll learn to love taking my cock. Maybe with time, you'll beg me for it.”

“Go to hell.” You utter with as much venom as you can muster.

Behind the mask, you hear his laugh, watching the way he lowers his hand, flipping the knife around so that the hilt points toward you.

You lean away, your dress glittering as you move, feeble bound arms raising to push his hand back as he draws closer.

You don’t get far in stopping him, and in the next moment, you feel the hilt of his blade pressed between your thighs.

Fuck, this was too good.

Your head tips back in bliss, torn between fighting him and begging him to just take you in any way he wanted.

Your husband, the man you loved with almost every atom in your body.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You whisper on a shaky breath, turning to look at him.

Behind the mask, he huffs, the hand in your hair wraps neatly around your throat.

Pulling you close, looking into your eyes, you can hear his angry breaths behind his mask.

He wriggles the hilt of his knife against your cunt, pleasure swelling in your head at the very touch.

He stands suddenly, sheathing his knife, grips your arm to haul you up. Your legs wobble, almost giving out beneath you before he’s wrapping his hands around your hips to lift you.

With your hands tied together, there’s nothing more you can do than wiggle, shifting your body this way and that, but he doesn’t say a word, dropping you onto one of the thrones in the next moment.

He grabs the rope that's tied to the throne- the one that had been used to pull you onto your knees just moments before- and uses it to secure each hand to either side of you.

You kick your foot out at him, and he simply grabs your ankle, gloved hand trailing up to your thigh for a moment before he bends your knee, pulling your leg over the arm of the throne, and securing your ankle to a point somewhere between the base and the foot that you can't really see.

From there, it's over for you, your other foot is caught just as swiftly, and the next thing you know, you’re tied securely to the throne with your legs opened wide, draped across the arms of the intricately carved seat.

He's silent for a moment, appreciating his work, you tug at the restraints to further reinforce his satisfaction that you can't move.

“Damn. You look like a work of art.”

You frown up at him.

He leans over you, and you finally understand the versatility he has with you in this position. He could fuck your cunt, or your mouth, or even your breasts if he so wanted and you couldn't do a damn thing.

He grips your jaw with one hand, tilting your head up, coming closer, pressing a knee into the open space between your thighs for balance. When he gets close enough, he covers your eyes, and the next thing you feel is his mouth on yours.

It gives you butterflies, the way he presses in firmly, taking with his mouth, his beard scratching softly at your chin and lips. You hum against his mouth, feeling his hold on your jaw tighten for a second before he's shoving his tongue past your lips.

Like he owns you, his kiss consumes your senses, your bound fingers curling into little fists as you enjoy kissing him for a few moments more.

Before you bite down harshly on his tongue.

He pulls away in a split second, back to you as he presses his hand to his mouth. You grin in victory as he tugs the mask sitting on his head back down to his face before turning to face you angrily.

He's slow when he approaches, predatory with his long legs and his cocky attitude.

He drops to one knee in front of you, tilts his head, leaning in.

You hear the loud thud of his hand slamming into the space beside your head long before you've registered what's happened.

It makes you flinch in surprise, despite the fact that he'd practised it with you before. It seems way more sinister now, with his masked persona feeling like a different person altogether.

Naturally, the fear spinning inside of you, only succeeds in making you more aroused.

“You're such a brat, I almost want to fuck you right now with no prep.” He presses his thumb between your spread legs, ambling slowly over your clothed clit, “I bet I'd make that little cunt cry with how much I stretch her.”

You suck in a slow breath.

“Please don't.”

He pulls his knife out again.

“You don’t really have a choice.” He answers, carefully angling the cool blade between the seam of your panties.

“Don’t move, little girl, or I might accidentally hurt you- on purpose.” He teases, tugging the knife toward him so that your panties are cut through with zero effort.

You sigh in relief when your cunt is finally exposed to the cool air, sticky with arousal, you groan when he tugs your undergarment free.

“Look at that weepy little hole princess- fuck- she’s so empty, isn’t she?”

“Noo” You hum softly, clenching around nothing as he studies your most delicate area.

He moves slowly, almost reverent in his actions, notching the tip of his hilt against your entrance, you feel your lungs seize as the pleasure hits you.

You hiss when he presses in, the ridged hilt stretching you open, not as big as his cock, but certainly larger than his fingers.

You take it as best as you can, relaxing, eyes watering with an abundance of pleasure.

He tilts his head, makes a single click of his tongue.

“She’s so greedy,” He says breathlessly, “Look at that.” He sinks more of the hilt in.

You bite your lip, moaning when he pulls slowly out, pushing in again.

He starts slow, moving softly until you can take all of the hilt. He grips the blade, you wonder if the glove protects him from the sharp edge.

You want to say his name, but he hasn’t given it, so you settle for sniffling, your bottom lip wobbling wetly as he takes his time.

“Stop.” You mewl, trying to stay in character, looking at his masked face, watching his dark eyes look back.

“No, sweetheart,” He says evenly, “I’m going to play with you, until I’m done.”

You suck in a deep breath, holding it.

He quickens his pace just a little, and before you know it, your cunt has locked tight around the hilt of his knife, every blunted ridge of it being imprinted into your head as you see stars.

It’s unexpected, you hadn’t meant to cum, your body jerking helplessly against the restraints, you pant, unable to see straight for a few moments.

You gulp in air, coming back to your senses. He waits patiently for your orgasm to subside, your body to relax before he works the hilt out of your eager cunt.

“You’re so pretty when you do that.” He says, tucking his knife back into his belt, studying you for a moment before reaching up to shove two of his fingers past your lips.

You can’t go anywhere, simply forced to feel him carefully push and pull his fingers in and out of your mouth, the weight on your tongue encouraging your brain to surrender to him.

When he determines his fingers are wet enough, he glides them down your chest, and tugs at the front of your dress.

It takes a little work before his thumb and index find your pert nipple.

A breath of air leaves you, and your back arches involuntarily, begging for more of his touch.

“You like it, huh? Kinda pathetic.”

“Rot in- f- hell.” You grunt, eyes rolling back as pleasure swims in your head from the way he takes his time to play with your nipples.

You feel his hand, drag over your stomach as he chuckles, the rushing sound as he disturbs the fabric of your skirts. Deft fingers rub circles into your inner thigh before a lone finger slips under the silky elastic garter that was holding your little knife.

You watch him assess you, bound arms and spread thighs and his masked face tilts as his eyes meet your centre.

“So pretty.” He mumbles, before he leans in, lifts his mask to the top of his head and lays a gentle lick to the seam of your cunt.

You gasp in surprise, unable to see his face with the mask atop his head, all you can do is feel- the way he licks gently at you, softly, the need burning white hot with each moment he teases. His tongue trails up to your clit, offers you a preview of the pleasure he can give, before placing slow swipes of his tongue over you.

You sigh, the fight leaves your limbs, you feel like jelly above him, with a tongue that can only be described as godly.

There’s no way you can continue fighting past this, his tongue pulls obedience from you, compliance, it makes you willing and eager to let him do whatever he wanted, helpless for your perfect husband.

You let out a slow moan, head tipping back, thighs trembling with the way his tongue moves, gliding over your clit, showing you exactly what he was capable of without ever actually giving you anything.

“Please,” You simper, unable to resist, with the tongue of such a dextrous man working on you.

If he wants to ask you about where your fight went, he doesn’t bother, merely laughing into your heated cunt, the fractures of his pale mask staring back at you.

Almost there, your fingers curl tight, nails pressed to the flesh of your palms as your breathing hastens.

There’s a rushing in your head, pressure all over, threatening to make you burst apart.

You’re not sure if he knows or cares, his mask moving slightly when his head does, when his tongue, the raving appendage it is, delves through you.

Faster and yet faster, slippery tongue gliding over you, aimed at your oversensitive bundle of nerves, delicate movements of his tongue that are going to unravel you.

His beard rough against your thighs, a wet smacking sound, warm air brushing over you as he exhales, the reminder that he's there, enjoying his time on his knees, unwilling to stop until you've hit that peak.

He presses in closer, his grip on your thighs tightening, firm in their reminder that he’s there- as if you could forget. Your body shakes, soft whines leave your throat, his tongue harsher on your clit.

“I-” You try to say, but your body decides that you’ve spoken enough, you bite down on your bottom lip, every muscle in your body pulled tight.

The first thing you do when your orgasm hits, is tremble.

A sweet fire erupts inside of you, an insurmountable amount of pleasure spreading over you. Your breathing is harsh, heaving, his soft tongue licks you through it, gentle now and soothing between your thighs, no doubt drinking deep of your orgasm.

You press your hips into his face, unable to stop yourself, and he rewards the movement with more careful touches of his tongue.

The rope holding your arms and legs down chafes slightly, protesting your movement, and after a minute, you slump into the chair, boneless and sated.

Your breathing remains harsh, lips wet from being trapped between your teeth, your face is hot, you can feel each time the blood reaches your cheeks, each time your heart contracts in your chest.

You can't hold yourself up and you know it. If you weren't tied up you'd be in a boneless pile.

“Not bad, princess.” He says, warm breath on your thighs. He raises his body to be in your line of sight, the mask still covering his face.

You feel your nipples tingle, excitement stiffening them as he hovers above you.

He tilts his head to study you, his gloved finger tapping the tip of your nose, sliding down to your parted lips.

“You look real pretty when you come. Your mouth opens and your eyes roll back sometimes- makes me want to do it again and again so I can memorise the way you look.”

It's hard to respond, brain hazy with post-orgasmic bliss, but you have to- you need to.

“Please,” You whisper, “You're not the first man to make me come, and you won't be the last.”

You know you're in real trouble when his hand wraps around your throat.

Your eyes widen, he squeezes hard for a moment, which only succeeds in filling your brain with mindless pleasure. You don't bother trying to breathe, waiting till his grip loosens to take a small breath.

“If you think,” He grunts angrily, leaning in till he hovers over you, “that another man is ever going to touch you, you're more delusional than I thought, princess.”

You can only make a small grunt of protest, gazing angrily up at him.

“And maybe I can't control who touched you before I met you, but I can still gift you their heads.”

It makes your breath stutter in shock.

He releases your throat, pressing the tip of his gloved finger to your bottom lip.

“Tug this off. I want to really touch you now.”

You hold his eyes while your teeth sink into the tip of his glove, biting down on his finger too. He pulls down, dislodging his finger from the glove. You release it, and repeat the process with all five of his fingers, and finally, when they're all loose, you clamp your teeth down on the middle finger of his glove and he pulls his hand free easily.

It smears your lipstick no doubt, and you probably look quite messy by now, no doubt your hair is askew as well.

He reaches down after he makes you help with his other glove, and you hear the slow drag of his zipper. Nothing has ever sounded so euphoric.

You look up at him with wide eyes to find that he's already looking at you.

His eyes terrify you, so much darkness in them, you wonder how you'd never seen it before.

“Don't do this.” You beg, startling when you feel his hot cock brush your inner thigh.

At the same time, the main lights flicker off, only the small auxiliary lights on the walls glow softly.

The darkness in his eyes grow, until it becomes an extension of the room.

“Just breathe, princess, this is going to hurt.”

It does at first.

Even though you've come three times so far, and he's used the hilt of his knife on you, and also his tongue to help further your wetness, his size still pinches.

It's been a while, and you feel it in the way he stretches you open, going slow because he knows he's not an easy man to take.

But God, he feels so good.

The pain comes with double the pleasure, that makes your eyes roll back in your head, bound hands curling into fists, nails digging into your palm in an attempt to process the feeling.

He pushes the tip of his cock in, works carefully to fill you, slows down when he encounters resistance.

You take a shallow breath, coming back to your senses a little, looking up at him as he works himself into you.

He rocks his hips, encouraging your body to feel him, to welcome him in, and you have no control over it, surrendering to him easily.

He's so deep you feel it in your throat, a shuddering mess as he bottoms out, you feel tears spring to your eyes, a fullness you've been craving.

Your lips tremble, watery vision glued to the mask, you couldn't look away if you wanted to.

“Should I stop?” He asks, a minuscule tremor of his voice that gives away that he's not as unaffected as he seems.

You can't say the words, the lie too big to be voiced, but you want to keep playing despite how desperately you need him.

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding softly.

He blinks behind the mask, a tilt of his head to study you.

Arms braced on either side of you, he leans in till the mask touches your cheek.

“That's too bad.” He murmurs.

Then, he draws out, before pressing into you once more.

You make a small sound, and then another when he does it again, the slow drag of his cock is torture, but that's the best part.

You whine, unable to speak, or voice your frustrations, but he chuckles above you, already knowing that he's not giving you what you need.

It's slow, so fucking slow and yet deep enough to create spots of black in your vision.

He grunts above you, and the sound goes right down to your cunt, clamping around him for a second before releasing.

“Fuck.” He growls, “You're so tight. I'm going to love coming in you.”

This was it, time to be the best actress possible.

“N-no, you can't! I'm- I'm not-”

His laugh is so dark it sends shivers down your spine.

Deep and low, devastatingly malicious.

“I can’t?” He teases.

You shake your head no quickly, eyes wide in shock and fear.

He pauses his slow movements to look down at you, too enraptured to focus on two things at once.

“Who’s going to stop me, princess? You?”

You struggle against your bindings helplessly.

“It's okay, we both know you'll learn to like it.”

With those words, he resumes his slow pace.

It's not fair, barely realistic you've never had an orgasm creep up on you like this.

You don't understand, his cock is moving slow, and yet all your pleasure spots are sparking. Is it his size? Or maybe he just knows your body so well that he can force an orgasm so sweet out of you that it almost hurts.

But you can feel every spark, every short circuit of your brain, your toes curl, and your back stiffens, and the dangerous man above you draws it out, wringing each drop of pleasure before moving to the next.

“Perfect.” He whispers, almost sounding out of breath, and when your chest begins to burn, he delivers one harsh thrust of his cock that makes you topple like a house of cards.

A moan leaves your mouth on every other breath, unable to control your vocalisations, or even your breathing, clamped so tightly around him that he makes a low grunt before you feel him spill inside of you. It makes it that much better, knowing that he's hit his peak at the same time you have.

You come back to your senses slowly, his mask coming into focus.

Each breath eases the burning pleasure, replacing it with sweet euphoria, a drug like never before.

He’s panting too, trembling a little, no doubt struggling to stay upright after his first orgasm in six weeks.

And here you are, about to taunt him for it.

“Is that it?” You ask softly.

You’re a little unprepared for the way his eyes scald you.

“Is my cunt that good?” You continue to tease.

He closes his eyes, takes a slow breath to calm himself.

When he looks at you again, you know you're in a lot of trouble.

He leans away, reaches for his knife before slowly cutting the ropes free from around your ankles.

You hiss when he frees your arms, noticing that there's the impression of the rope on your wrists, you rub them as you right your legs, moving them from their previously spread state.

He watches you, and you do the same warily.

“Stand up.”

You gulp, pushing yourself onto wobbly legs, you sway for a moment, before looking over at him expectantly.

He’s still wearing the mask, but by now you’re aching to see his face, you wanted to see your husband while he did these wicked things to you.

He tilts his head toward the door, and your eyes follow the motion, not understanding until he speaks.

“Get out.”

Your head swivels back to him.

“Go, before I change my mind.”

This was another game, you realise, you’d made him mad, and he was going to show you exactly how helpless you were.

You back away, like always, keeping your eyes on his. You can feel his cum, smearing the inside of your thighs as you move. It only makes you more aroused.

You smooth your dress out anxiously, looking down at the shimmery material, and then back up at him, slowly backing away until you’re far enough that he won’t grab you from behind.

When you make it to the door, he’s still standing where he was, looking at you in the dimly lit room.

You can feel your heart in your throat with the fear of everything around you, a sinister ambience, the thrill of being chased.

Outside is dim as well.

The main lights are off. All you have to go on are the smaller lights along the walls.

You don’t get too far from the throne room before all the auxiliary lights flicker off as well.

The darkness squeezes at your heart, a shiver going down your spine. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the distinct nothingness.

The room is still, quiet around you but you can feel him everywhere. It’s like he’s the darkness surrounding you, touching your skin, depriving you of everything except himself.

It’s why you’re not surprised when you feel him at your back.

His hand reaches around, grips your throat and uses the leverage to pull you back. He isn’t gentle, squeezing at the sides harshly to ensure you’re paying attention to him, as if you could ever be distracted.

His bare hand, warm, coarse, thumb and middle finger pressed to either side of your neck. You go lightheaded at the sensation.

You feel his nose press into your hair, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear and you realise he’s taken his mask off.

“I change my mind.” He whispers darkly, laughs when you struggle.

You pull out of his grip, and you run as fast as your legs can take you.

He doesn’t chase, and you make it a good distance away, tucking your body behind a wall to catch your breath. You don’t know where you are, but you assume it’s somewhere near the front doors. The pins in your hair are uncomfortable, and you take your time tugging the little tiara out of your hair, dropping it to the floor.

You can feel his cum, making an even bigger mess, and the implications of that only succeed in heightening your arousal.

The sound of his knife, dragging against the wooden panels on the walls catch your attention. You lift your head, a tug of desire pulls below your navel.

“You know, the first time I met you, really met you, I couldn't believe you were real.” He says, his voice carrying through the quiet hallway.

“You looked at me, and you listened, and all I could think about was how to get you alone, away from that useless boyfriend of yours.”

Your lips part, head pressed to the wall, eager to hear his words, your heart drumming in your chest.

“And when you left me that night, I went back to my lonely apartment, and I found out everything I could about you. I didn’t sleep. I needed to find something to hate- something that would help me stop obsessing over a girl I’d met one time.”

His voice gets closer and you know you have to move, or else he was going to find you.

Quietly, you kick your shoes off, abandoning them so that your steps can be quieter, you lift your skirts slowly, trying to stop the swishing sound it makes.

“You know what I found? Nothing. Nothing could make me hate you, nothing could stop what you started when you smiled at me, all of it made me want you.”

Your heart hammers even more with his words.

“And while I was trying to come up with a plan to make you mine, I’d been yours for ages.”

You stop, turning to his voice as he says that last part, wanting to go to him, to hold him, to tell him the secret you’d been keeping for weeks- that you were his too.

“Don’t fret too much about it though, princess. There’s no need to worry, I’ll feel all better once you come on my cock.”

You gasp, backing away, one hand behind you to stop you from bumping into anything. He was absolutely insane in the best way.

You can’t see a damn thing, feeling your way around to find the entrance you’d come through, your breathing is loud in your ears, you’re sure he can hear you.

You were conflicted. You wanted to run towards the scary man hiding in the darkness, though you know it would be worth your while to run away.

“You want me so bad?” You taunt into the darkness, “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Skirts in hand, you follow the first light you see- the moonlight streaming through the kitchen windows, the feel of the carpet runner helps you move in a straight line, and the next thing you know is that you’re at the foot of the stairs.

You look back, trying to make shapes out of the darkness, but there’s nothing there, you turn and begin your ascent.

You don’t know where he is, he could be two feet or two inches behind you and you wouldn’t know.

Your body is warm from the adrenaline, the dress constricts your breathing.

You stop for a second time when you find what you think is a tea room.

There’s a large wooden table sitting in front of an equally large window, the moonlight streaming in allows you to see that there’s a wall of mirrors on one side of the room. On the other side, is a smaller round table with a porcelain teapot, and other matching dishes.

“Surprise.” He says from right behind you, and you swear your heart jumps right out of your chest.

Before you can turn to look at him, your cheek is pressed to the large table, one hand behind your neck, the other pulls your skirts up.

When he has your ass exposed, his hand comes down hard on your soft flesh. You cry out.

“That’s for all your mouthing back.” He grunts, before spanking you again.

It hurts, stings so sweetly, you try to rise but his hand is firm on the spot between your neck and shoulder.

When he’s satisfied, he reaches down between your legs.

He clicks his tongue, his fingers swiping through the mess between your thighs.

“Look at the mess you made. Don't you have any kind of consideration for how hard I worked to put my cum in you?”

You feel him move, you assume to take his cock out. Your suspicions are confirmed when you feel him kick your legs wider, pressing his tip to your entrance.

You mewl helplessly when he enters you.

Stretched once more, he feels bigger in this position, his pace is harsh, fucking into you meaningfully, your eyes roll back in your head, spit slipping from past your lips as your face is kept pressed to the table.

You feel a sharp tug and your dress loosens, too pleasure drunk to figure out why.

The glide of his cock quells your urge to fight, your body sparking, electrified at the feeling of him.

He pulls you upwards, and the front of the dress sags, exposing your front to the air.

“Look at us.” He growls into your ear, turning your head to the mirror, you see your bodies reflecting back. Him, in his tight shirt and open pants, you with your beautiful shimmering dress caught between your bodies and hanging off your shoulders. It’s the first time for the night that you see his face, and your eyes are locked on how handsome he looks, hair askew, filling you with his magnificent erection.

He’d cut the back of your dress, you realise absentmindedly, your full breasts on display for him because of that, a small sound leaving your chest as he enters you again.

“We’re perfect together.” He acknowledges, you internally agree.

He presses his lips to your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror, his teeth flashing for a second before he bites you.

You cry out, the sweet burn of it only succeeds in making you want him more and more.

He doesn’t stop when you come, only slows for a moment to help you catch your breath before he continues.

“All mine now, princess.” He affirms, his hips slapping against yours, filling you till your vision blurs.

Deeper than ever, you feel his cock press securely to your cervix, eager to have him fill you with his cum.

You take a shuddering breath, so close to another orgasm, unable to think about anything with the way he feels.

Your nails claw at the table, willing your body to take him, your perfect husband, giving you just what you need. He groans above you, enjoying you almost as much as you enjoy him.

The pleasure builds, swimming in your head, worsening with each move of his cock inside of you. He holds nothing back, all of his energy is focused on filling you as hard and as fast as he can, leaving nothing behind but hot, near blistering, rapture.

You cry out when you come, body shuddering, a loud roaring in your head. He grunts loudly, following you over the edge, filling you with even more of his hot cum.

After a moment, he draws out of you, helping you stand, he gently pulls your dress off, discarding it on the ground, he reaches to scoop your swaying body into his arms.

You’re sated, unable to lift your head. You feel him rest you gently on a soft, cool bed.

The sheets are amazing on your overstimulated skin, and you peek your eyes open to watch him pull his tight fitting shirt over his head.

In the low light, your eyes find his tattoo, you smile softly as it ripples, watching him kick his shoes and pants off too, until he’s hovering above you, naked.

“You’re so gorgeous.” You whisper dreamily, raising a hand to press it to his cheek.

He lets out an air of amusement, he reaches around, gripping one of your legs to wrap it around his hip.

“Only the best for you, princess.” He hums, before you feel him push his cock into you once more.

You fall asleep to him fucking you, your adrenaline crashes after countless orgasms, and before you know it you’re out. You wake a few hours later to find him inside you once more.

You moan his name, your body still eager and receptive to him, having craved this side of him for so long.

“Messy pile of wife.” He grunts into your ear mid-thrust, “Just like I promised.”

There’s so much of his cum slipping out, you can feel it, you can’t wait for him to top you up with more.

He kisses your cheek, licks a stripe through the tears slipping from the corner of your eyes.

“Cum for me. One more time, baby.”

You gasp, nodding, head filled with cotton, floating in the clouds, lost in his essence.

You blink hazily after you feel the smooth metal plug slip in, soothing you with its coolness, arousing you with the reminder that he’s filled you to the brim.

You’re pressed against him, his hand wrapped securely around you. He stretches to reach something on the bedside table.

You’re almost asleep when you feel him slip your ring back onto your finger.

It makes you complete, eases any lingering worry.

“I love you, Billy.” You murmur, before you finally let sleep take you.

It wakes him up.

He blinks in shock, turning to look at you.

You’ve already fallen asleep, breaths even with your left hand pressed to his chest.

Had you really just said what he thinks you just said?

He considers shaking you awake, desperate to hear you say it again. To tell him what he’s been dreaming of for years.

What if it was a mistake? His mind asks.

His stomach drops.

What if you didn’t really mean it?

He swears he breaks his own heart in the moments after you say those four words.

He stays awake for a while, trying to memorise your words, the way you said them, the way they made him feel. He tries to learn the hour and the minute and the position of the moon in the sky at the very moment the words left your mouth.

He wonders if he’ll ever hear them again, wonders if this would be the only time in his life that you say these words to him.

If this is all he gets, he decides he’s going to cherish it.

“I love you too.” He whispers, with everything he has.

You’re curled up against him the next morning having breakfast when you finally take the time to examine your ring.

Your body is sore, having been fucked thoroughly, but you were a little proud to see the litany of scratches over the expanse of Billy’s back. You weren’t the only one marked last night.

You raise your hand to offer him a piece of your buttered croissant, he eagerly takes a bite.

“My ring looks the same. What did you change?” You ask, reaching for more jam.

“The inside.” He says with his mouth full.

You smile, pulling it off your finger to see what’s there. On the silver surface on the inside, you can see something engraved. At first you think it’s words, but as you bring the ring closer to your face you realise it’s numbers.

“I’m still confused.” You state.

He makes a little hum, having just swallowed his food.

“If you go to my bank, and show them this ring, and give them your fingerprint, you can withdraw from any of my personal accounts.”

You blink, your eyebrows drawing together.

After a moment you give him a confused look.

He chuckles, reaching up to cup your face, his thumbs smoothing over your tense eyebrows, encouraging them to relax.

“Any amount, little wife, any time.” He elaborates.

You blink in shock.

He was… giving you access to his money?

“Is that safe?” You ask warily.

“Planning to take all my money?” He teases.

“No! But- what if someone steals the ring… or… kidnaps me and forces me to take it?”

“That will never happen.” He promises, his fingers tightening on your cheek to reinforce his words, “As long as I’m breathing, and even if I’m not, you will always be safe.”

“You can’t stop breathing,” You fight back, leaning in to wrap your arms around him, “I won’t let you.” The words are muffled against his shirt.

He laughs.

“Noted.”

He grunts, his fingers curling over yours as they grip the back of the soft couch.

“Hold on.” He commands, just as he slides his amazing cock into your body.

You make a soft sound of delight, tipping your head back to rest on his chest. He groans into your ear, fucking up into you slowly and thoroughly.

His skin is hot, having spent the morning of the second day exploring the gardens outside, only to come back in and ravish you on the sitting room couch.

His left hand drops down, thick fingers find your swollen clit.

“Sing for me. Let me hear you, wife.”

You whine, the sensation of his fingers rolling over your clit makes your legs shake.

“Gonna take my cum like a good girl?” He grovels in your ear.

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding, seeing stars as he rubs your clit with more fervour.

“Fucking perfect.” He moans, and the words go right to your cunt, setting you off.

He growls in your ear when you clench around him, it only makes your orgasm last that much longer, eager to have him cum, you roll your hips on his cock.

It succeeds in working him into a frenzy, and you’re face down, with your ass in the air in the next moment.

He licks your slit harshly before his cock slides right back in, moving faster, his hips set a brutal pace, your next orgasm is like a gunshot.

He falls beside you after he comes, out of breath with a dopey grin on his face.

“What is it?” You ask curiously.

“Nothing really,” He gasps, “I just feel really fucking good.”

You smile shyly, leaning up to kiss him.

You’re whisking eggs for french toast when his arms wrap around you.

He presses his nose into your hair, breathing in your soft smell.

“Morning.” He grovels into your ear, feels your body shiver.

“Hello Mister Russo. Sleep okay?’

He chuckles, remembering the feel of your lips around his cock as he came last night. Fuck, you were delightfully insatiable.

“Like a rock,” He confirms, “Join me for a bath?”

“Yeah,” You agree, “Let me finish this batch and I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t keep me waiting, little wife.” He whispers as he pulls back, reaches for an apple sitting in the basket nearby, taking a slow bite.

“I won’t. Love you.” You say absentmindedly.

Billy stops.

He turns to stare at your back in shock. You continue moving as if you haven’t said anything strange.

“What was that?” He asks.

You raise your head to glance at him.

“I’ll be right there.”

“No, the last part.”

You blink, a look of confusion on your face.

“I… love you?”

The room goes still, the only sound is the french toast as it sizzles.

“You love me?” He asks, his heart getting heavier and lighter at an alarming rate.

“Yeah? I-I said it to you on our first night. You- you said it back.”

He did remember saying it back.

“I thought you said it accidentally.”

You pause, reaching to turn the stove off, before facing him.

“You thought my tongue slipped and I told you I loved you without meaning it?”

Billy swallows.

“I thought the number of orgasms had gotten to your head and you were saying things that might not be totally true.”

Your eyebrows raise in realisation.

“It was true. I’ve been… feeling like that for a while.”

“Like you love me.” He says dumbly.

You nod your head.

“Like I love you.” You confirm.

This wasn’t an outcome Billy had ever seen coming. Sure, he’d been hoping for fondness, that he could give you a comfortable life and you could be content by his side.

But love?

Unthought of.

“Why the fuck would you love me?” He whispers, horrified.

He’d done so many bad things, ruined your life in so many ways.

You take a careful step in his direction.

“What’s not to love? You’re smart, and strong and you go after what you want-”

“-One of those things was you.” He argues.

You laugh. He wasn’t joking.

“Yeah, how I got here wasn’t the best, but, I’m glad I am, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He takes a step toward you, and then another, and then his arms are pulling you into a soul crushing hug.

“You love me.” He murmurs into the top of your head.

“Yes,” You reply, holding him just as tightly, “I do.”

“Where are we anyway?” You ask on the fourth night.

He raises his head from between your thighs.

“Europe.” He answers vaguely, before dropping his head to lap gently at your clit once more.

You smile happily, leaning back against the library desk.

“Billy?”

“Mmm?” He hums from between your thighs.

“I love you.”

You feel the breath he lets out before he pulls back.

He kisses you, lips wet with your arousal, a tart taste on your tongue that makes you smile when he pulls away.

“I’ll show you how much I love you.” He mumbles, dropping to his knees once more.

Coming back to his apartment after that had felt surreal.

Like it was all a dream, the fucking best dream you’d ever had.

You’d been given a letter from your mother at the front desk, and you’d happily dropped it to the floor the minute Billy had pulled you into his arms for a slow kiss.

It was… magical, your fingers glazing through his beard, gripping his hair, the next thing you know you’re being lifted and taken to his bedroom.

The fire hadn’t left either of you, burning, sizzling sparks each time you touched, each time you held his hand or kissed his cheek.

He was all over you, inside and out, claiming you in a way you knew deep down would never be done by another.

“My wife.” He groans into your ear when he comes.

You pant, reaching up to kiss him, legs wrapped tightly around his hips to keep him inside of you for as long as possible.

Your husband.

He leaves you in the early morning of the next day. It’s training day and he wants to get there early to get a jump on what he’s missed.

He kisses a path between the valley of your breasts down to your womb before he leaves, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit. You grin happily as you fall back asleep.

Later, when it’s time for you to leave for work, you find that manila envelope your mom had sent you sitting on the kitchen counter. Billy had probably picked it up from the floor where you had left it yesterday when he was leaving for work earlier.

You reach for it after you’re done hopping around to tug your heel on.

It’s unopened, so you take your time peeling it open, wondering what it was. Last time it had been a bunch of recoloured family photos, you assumed this was probably more of the same.

It’s not, it’s a stack of papers. At first, it’s odd things like flyers for bikes, and a bouncy castle rental ad. You flip through, a little concerned that your mother might be losing her mind.

Your face falls when you flip another page, and find what’s really been sent.

SUPREME COURT OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK

You could feel your heart turn to ice.

You see your name printed under Plaintiff, and under Defendant, is Billy’s. Most of your information has been filled out, including your fucking social security number. Most of Billy’s information is missing, only his real name is there.

Then you see it.

‘The grounds for dissolution of the marriage are as follows:’

Divorce papers.

These were divorce papers.

A/N: DON'T HURT ME THANKS

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #accidentally on purpose #accidentally on purpose married billy #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #billy russo smut #dark!billy russo

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wandixx · 5 days ago

Note

Ok it closes out on me when I tried typing it the first time-

Anyway, I'm a sucker for shock value ones, just so funny to me, so how about M'gann being nervous about introducing bf danny and it happens at an inconvenient time! Could go ghost royalty, ancient of space or anything, hell ghost as dragons would be pretty funny, up to you though!

I'm not sure if I did a good job at this, but I didn't want you to wait too long and real life is keepimg me busier than expected, so for now, it's here. I may continue it one day (I also have different version of fill for this prompt, because neither idea felt right, so if you'd like to see I too, just let me know whatever way is most convenient to you)

This wasn't supposed to happen like that. M'gann didn't have a super detailed plan on how it was supposed to happen, but even her vague (thought and rethought every night) ideas were anything but this. It was supposed to be a calm, low-stakes situation. Maybe even make it look like an accidental meeting, Team in civies hanging out around Happy Harbour, bumping into Danny and then she'd just introduced him, perhaps adding ‘btw, he is my boyfriend’ almost like an afterthought. This seemed like the best possible scenario.

This was also, as expected with the way hero life is, the exact opposite of what actually happened.

Of course, it didn’t start with anything heralding the absolute disaster this day had to become. Kinda accidentally the Team stumbled upon something between a cave and a basement, and in it a group of people, who decided to perform a summoning of a genie so they could… wish for stuff. They didn’t even look like cultists or villains of any sort, just a group of random adults from seemingly very different backgrounds. M’gann had a really hard time understanding what actually brought them together other than their wishes.

Which was actually pretty useful when it came to fighting them, because nobody really cared about their fellow summoner, just trying to save their own butt. She kinda wished more of their opponents were so incompetent.

Though, she spoke too soon because in the excitement of the fight, somehow all of them didn’t realize that one or two of the summoners… actually managed to finish a summoning. It was honestly a little bit embarrassing.

But, it was too late to dwell on all that, as right above the summoning circle appeared a circle in a worryingly familiar shade of green.

Of course, this one time she didn’t have any equipment from Danny, had to be when the Team encountered a ghost.

Ghost in question was a beautiful woman, with long hair covering one of her eyes, in a blue outfit that was related to one of Earth cultures, but M’gann didn’t know which, and a bunch of bracelets on her wrists. Martian could make a hazard guess on who it was, based on the stories Danny told her.

“We don’t have time for explanations, I think I know who this is, if I’m right for the love of everything that’s dear to you, don’t say the word ‘wish’ out loud” she demanded over the Mindlink.

Before she finished, Artemis took silver tape from somewhere and slapped a piece of it over Wally’s mouth. M’gann understood the sentiment but still… it was a little bit too nuclear option.

Desiree (if it was her) didn’t attack anyone, looking a bit confused, giving Team a moment of reprieve to plan and for Kid Flash to make sure none of the summoners could make whatever wish they wanted either. Also with the use of silver tape. Djinn’s were always tricky.

M'gann used this moment of everyone getting their bearings to curse herself for not bringing any ghost weapons this time. Any other mission, Team or not, she had something on her but today? Today she had nothing.

Excluding the summoning engraved into clips holding her cape but it was kinda last resort. It wouldn't annihilate everything in one mile radius or something but she didn't want to drag Danny there if he was during a test, other ghost fight or something. She knew better than anyone that he didn’t need more distractions.

Conner crashed into a wall right next to her. Artemis seemed to lose her cool when none of her arrows seemed to reach the ghost while Robin was trying to make some counter plans with Kaldur. They couldn't do a thing to Desiree and it was a matter of seconds before she stopped entertaining them and went to the city. It… would end badly, most likely. Danny would prefer to get involved before it got that far. Yeah…

She really wished she didn’t have to call.

“I have an idea, cover for me for a minute or two”

“Bold of you to assume we can stop her from anything”

“I believe in you Wally. Just distract her”

“My water attacks seem to be effective weapon against her”

“That’s aster! What do you plan to do, M'gann?”

“Summon another ghost”

She expertly ignored yelling that followed, taking the golden clip off of her cape. She held fabric in place with absentminded use of telekinesis, while she focused on an engraved pattern. Danny's summoning circle wasn't actually too complicated or intricate but she needed to do it just right. And frankly, she just liked looking at it. Physical proof that her boyfriend would be there if she needed it. Drawn representation of who he is, the deepest and truest parts of his soul written in the language that only Universe itself could fully understand.

And it was beautiful. Absolutely incredible. Much better than Desiree's circle, thank you very much.

M’gann dropped to her knees and grabbed leftover chalk from previous summoning and crouched to quickly draw Danny's seal. She had a lot of practice from all the times she doodled it on a whim just to get something of him with her when she missed him the most. She rarely actually summoned him, again, it was difficult to align their schedules, but she was very familiar with the first step.

And it was really easy from there.

She placed the clip in the middle of the circle, shapeshifted one of her nails to get a bit of blood on the chalk and leaned back.

After a careful, deep breath, she started an incantation, putting as much power in her voice as she could.

“I call upon you guard of Amity Park, I call upon you dearest child of the Ice, I call upon you one favored by the Time, I call upon you vanquisher of the Fear, I call upon you subduer of the King, I call upon you defender and the guide, I call upon Phantom, both worlds beloved child”

Circle erupted in green light, putting a momentary pause to the fight. M’gann was still blinking spots away when a figure flung itself out of the summoning circle, right at the Desiree.

“What the fuck?!”

Only after the first punch was thrown did Danny turn back to her, with his usual, somehow both gallant and bashful smile, that without fault made her knees get a little weaker. She smiled back.

“Hello Starlight” he greeted, sounding almost casual.

“Starlight?”

“Hi Angel. Nice of you to drop by” she answered in the same manner. Wally tried to yell from behind the duck tape.

“Angel?! M'gann, who is he? Who is she?!”

“I will always come if you call” he said without any doubt, suddenly as serious as if he was sharing information that could break or make the world.

It certainly worked like that to her world. She actually melted a little on the inside.

“I know”

“Actually, that's kinda cute. I still have no idea who this is, but you go girl”

“I feel like it's not the right time Artemis”

“Not to interrupt… whatever this is, but the other ghost is escaping” Robin cut in “Also, if you want to make out afterwards, please find the room, Batman and Catwoman are traumatizing enough“

Few people snorted, while Danny blushed green. He darted back at Desiree, clearly to escape the embarrassment. M’gann stood up, totally at ease now, that he was there to take care of it.

“Will you need a hand? I don't have any tech but we have a trick or two up our sleeves!” she asked, projecting her voice so it carried through the cavernous basement without yelling.

“I'm good for now but thanks for asking!”

“M’gann, can you give us anything substantial? Who is this? How do you know him?”

“One question at the time and let's wait until he finishes, okay?“

She cut off Mindlink before anyone agreed or protested.

“Miss Martian!”

“Soup time!”

With a blast of light, Desiree got sucked in and Danny landed in front of them with a proud grin.

“My job here is done”

“It truly is. You're getting faster too”

“And thanks to who is that?”

“You”

Danny sent her both an incredulous and playful glare.

“Of course. I miraculously found a ways to not be a mess and don't crash through every wall on my way and–”

“Well, no but–”

“Let me remind you, you're not alone… also who are you dude? And where did the other lady go?” Wally asked, right after ripping the duct tape off his mouth.

“Oh, well, I'm Phantom, I usually work in Amity Park?” he said a bit unsure, as if calling him a protector was under any question. That just wouldn't do.

“He's a hero from Amity Park”

“Thanks love. It's nice to finally meet you all. M talked a lot about you!”

“Can't say same about you, sorry”

“That's fine. I know M was agonizing over how to introduce me in the best way possible. I'm really happy it's finally over,” he paused for a moment, with his brows furrowed “Did I do good? This first impression thing?”

“You're… far less imposing that I personally expected after hearing Miss Martian summoning you, but–”

“M’gann how could you hide this from us?” Conner blurted out quietly, and oh, he sounded so utterly crushed. Everyone fell silent, the playful atmosphere gone as if it had evaporated.

“I never intentionally hid it. It wasn't significant enough to mention at the start and when it became important I felt like I couldn't just drop it at you during lunch or something. I always planned to tell you, there was just never the right time nor right words. I never wanted to hide it.”

“Even just me?”

“Especially you”

“You still should've…”

“Yeah, I should. I'm sorry”

“How long ago have you met?”

“Half a year ago,” Danny said before she managed to answer “It's all kinda my fault actually. I was really set on not getting mixed up with more hero business than I had to back then. I didn't want you or Justice League finding out about me. And when I agreed, it was already really late. I'm sure she'd told you all from the get go if I let her, I'm sorry”

“Why wouldn't you want us to know about you?”

“It's… Probably not the conversation we should have right here, over gagged wannabe cultists.”

“Valid. Let's call the cops and get going. You two have much to explain”

“And you're sitting eight feet apart until you do!”

Danny leaned in to kiss her, quick and playful, before he jumped back at the demanded distance.

“Well, this still went better than at your side”

“Absolutely”

*******

Also, here is some lil arts for a longish wait, sorry again, I hope this story is yours to your expectations

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #im not sure what exact relation would be between mgann and conner #i just feel like they'd be pretty close because they bith kive full time in the base #i have half the thought that conner did have some more romantic or romantic seeming feelings towards mgann #but she pretty quickly established she wouldn’t date him #because while he look like a teenager #it's outright said in the show that he didn't exist half a year before the Bialya episode and it just rubs me the wrong way ever since #though this route is probably a bad 3am as i write these tags and come up with this thing #anyway #circle on the clip of M’gann’s isn’t actually just a reference #it's fully funtional and if she used that she wouldn't have to use incantation (danny finds it embarrassing)#but the portal it makes is also pretty small and uncomfortable to go through and she wanted danny to get there comfortably #(he may or may not once turned into a little baby man trying to go through it. it took two hours to get him cognizant enough to even try #changing back hah)#i had fun coming up with it #especially the incantation. it may not be particularly good but im quite happy with it and it was fun to come up with #i hope you like it #wandixx writes #wandixx arts #spearmint ship #have a nice day dear stranger who got to this part

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libraryofgage · 1 year ago

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Mermaid/Pirate Steddie Part Three

Part One | Part Two

I got side-lined by the Modern Steve in 80s Hawkins fic for a hot minute (that big boi is at, like, 73k; he hefty), but here's the next part!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

In the port city of Socotra, past the first big plaza and down a few side streets, is a small two-story shop with a sign that reads "C. C. Elixirs and Solutions." The shop is owned by a very nice young witch named Chrissy Cunningham who, currently, is doing her absolute best to not laugh in Eddie's face as he spins his tale of accidentally entering into courtship with a merman.

"Anyway," Eddie says, pacing in front of the counter with his hands splayed and his hair a mess, "I was wondering if you'd have anything that could help me."

Chrissy covers her mouth, swallowing down the bursts of laughter threatening to bubble up her throat. After a moment, she asks, "With what, exactly?"

Eddie turns to look at her, gesturing to the shop as a whole. "C’mon, Chrissy, you gotta have something here for me, right? Like, I don't know, a fucking manual or whatever."

"Of course I don't have a...," Chrissy trails off, frowning slightly as she looks at the storeroom door behind her. She's getting a very familiar feeling. It settles at the top of her spine like a shiver that's just waiting and waiting to happen but never does. Usually, this means something.

"Give me a second," she says, barely hearing Eddie's agreement before she heads into the back.

Her storeroom is a chaotic mess that only makes sense to Chrissy. Precarious stacks of books are randomly scattered across the floor, some of them holding plants or knickknacks on top. A few tables are filled with potion ingredients, magical artifacts that still need cataloging, half-filled notebooks, and dozens of pens. A few bookcases line the walls, and Chrissy wanders over to one of them.

She scans the spines, passing over books about fae marriage customs, common selkie family traditions, and in-depth essays analyzing Phoenix mating dances. Finally, her gaze lands on a thin, unassuming book. Its cover is made of sea-foam green leather, with waves etched into the spine instead of words. When Chrissy pulls it off the shelf, the front cover is blank. She doesn't remember getting this book, but this can happen in magic shops. Sometimes items just appear where they know they'll be needed.

Chrissy flips the book open, landing on the front page and grinning at the dedication that reads, "To all the hapless fools in love with a sea dragon's descendant. Here's to hoping you don't royally fuck it up."

Yeah, that's perfect.

She heads back to the front of the shop, immediately noticing that Eddie has placed trinkets and rocks on the counter. She recognizes a few of her protection charms (made of genuine silver, she'd like to add), some quartz of varying colors, and a ring set with a prismatic shard. Chrissy stares at the items before looking up at Eddie with a raised eyebrow.

"Stevie would love all of these," Eddie says, shrugging with absolutely no remorse or shame as he drops a coin purse onto the counter.

Chrissy sighs and digs a few coins out, ensuring they're all gold and all real by biting them before nodding. "You know, land-based magical items don't actually work on merfolk," she says, pushing the purse back to Eddie as she places the book on the counter as well. "So those protection charms and that prismatic ring won't do anything for him."

"Yeah, but they're pretty. He'll like them," Eddie insists. He then notices the book, and his eyes light up hopefully. "Did you find something?"

"Yep, seems to be exactly what you need," she says, sliding it closer to him and watching as he opens it to a random page.

"A common practice among merfolk is to collect trinkets during their pod's travels. Some trinkets won't be personally interesting to the merperson, but can be later used as courting gifts if they're relevant to the intended mate's interests or likes," Eddie reads, tilting his head slightly with a genuine interest that Chrissy usually only sees when he discusses new songs he's learned during his travels.

"Consider that one on the house. But I expect to meet this merman once you've finished your honeymoon phase," Chrissy says, pulling out a small velvet bag and placing the other items inside.

She gives it to Eddie, smiling once more when he nods, digs into his pockets, and drops another small pouch onto the counter. "Almost forgot. Here's some of that 500 year old ginseng you mentioned before," he says.

Chrissy blinks, staring at the pouch. Before she can say anything (like, for example, demanding to know how Eddie got his hands on so much of such a rare ingredient that only the most qualified of practitioners can even dream about seeing), Eddie has gathered his things and practically run out of the shop with a hurried goodbye thrown over his shoulder.

Excerpt from "The Lovelorn Fool's Guide to Merfolk Courtship"

The most important thing to know about courting merfolk is the levels of courtship, of which there are three. In order, they are:

Gift-giving: merfolk collect various trinkets throughout their life, including items they personally do not find interesting. Upon finding a potential mate, they will go through their collection and gift items they think the potential mate will like. To learn more about trinket collection, refer to Part II.

Harmonizing: unsurprisingly, singing is important to merfolk. In addition to being an enjoyable pastime, singing is another mode of communication. The ability to harmonize with a potential mate is vital, as it proves the two are well-matched. To learn more about song types, refer to Part III.

Pod Introduction: the final stage of merfolk courtship, pod introduction is the most important. Pods are sacred, and introducing a potential mate to the pod is an incredible show of trust and commitment. To learn more about pods and their structure, refer to Part IV.

Of these levels, gift-giving often takes the longest. Some merfolk give hundreds of gifts before moving to harmonizing, and others give one. Be patient and try to return each gift you receive.

While these are the levels of courtship, the actual establishment of mateship (consider this the merfolk equivalent of marriage, only it's far more permanent), involves the gifting of scales.

You can find more on this in Part V.

----

Steve stares longingly at the small window in Eddie's cabin, tracking the clouds and lingering on birds that soar by. He knows he can't be on the deck when they've docked, but scales, he's bored.

Are his guppies bored, too? Do they still play games, or are they too worried about Steve to sweep through the waters? Has Robin lost a few scales from exhaustion and stress? How quickly after hugging him is she going to kill him for being away for so long?

With a sigh, Steve drags his eyes away from the window and looks at his tail. Kelp is still wrapped around the wound, but he knows it's almost healed. He can flick his fins without hurting, and the wound has mostly scabbed over, fresh scales beginning to creep over the cut. Maybe a few more nights, and Steve will be ready to jump back into the ocean and find his pod and guppies again.

But that would mean leaving Eddie behind, and...Steve really doesn't want to do that. Because Eddie is the closest Steve has ever actually come to finding a potential mate.

He starts to sink into the water to submerge his head beneath the surface so his disgruntled and stressed air bubbles can rise from his gills. Before he can fully slide under the surface, though, Steve hears the familiar sound of Eddie's excited, hurried footsteps.

Steve perks up, gripping the edge of the tub as Eddie slams into the door, cursing at the pain as he opens it and stumbles inside. He looks at Steve immediately, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide and a grin tugging at his lips to reveal dimples. He's carrying a small pouch in one hand and a book with a sea-foam green cover in the other.

"Stevie!" he says, kicking the door closed and walking over to the tub, "I got you stuff."

With that, Eddie crouches in front of the tub and holds the pouch out to Steve. He doesn't seem to notice how Steve's gills flutter, air pushing out in an excited, flustered pattern that would have made Robin tease him. Eddie doesn't know that, though, so Steve tries to ignore his gills and takes the pouch.

He opens it carefully, his gaze immediately caught on a ring set with a rainbow-colored stone. Steve's eyes widen, his mind swirling around the pretty color and how well it matches his tail and how it looks to be the perfect size and how it would still glitter even when Steve is deeper than the sun can reach.

He pulls the ring out, turning it over a few times before sliding it onto his left ring finger. He was right; it fits perfectly. It has a strange but ultimately harmless magic attached to it. Steve grins brightly, a small, barely noticeable hum bubbling from his throat as he looks back into the bag.

He pulls out each rock, studies them intently, and approves of their color and shimmer. With a nod, Steve places them carefully in the tub, clustering them on the left side of his tail, the side further from the door, for protection.

Finally, Steve pulls out a few of the protection charms. They're small and made of a material Steve immediately recognizes as something that tarnishes in water. He really likes them, though, and it would be a shame to not use them for something.

"Eddie," he says, looking up to see Eddie staring at him, his excited smile turning dopey.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" he asks, leaning forward and resting his arms on the tub.

Steve leans forward, taking a lock of Eddie's hair and studying it carefully. After a few seconds, he decides it's good enough. "Turn around?" he asks, his gills fluttering again when Eddie does so without question. After taking a second to calm himself, Steve asks, "Can I do your hair?"

Eddie hums, leaning his neck on the rim of the tub, giving Steve full access to his hair, the ends of which are dipping into the water. "Of course, Stevie. Whatcha wanna do?" he asks.

"It's a surprise," Steve tells him, moving some until he's partially sitting on his tail so he can properly face Eddie's hair. He places the pouch on the edge of the tub, letting it precariously balance, before running his fingers through Eddie's hair.

He's done this enough times for Max to know how to fix tangles without pulling. As he works, Steve relaxes, falling into a familiar rhythm, and starts to hum softly. It's a lullaby, one that he doesn't get to sing the guppies to sleep with anymore, but they tolerate it when he's caring for wounds or helping them scrub their tails or braiding their hair.

Steve divides Eddie's hair into sections and starts braiding. Every other inch, Steve takes one of the charms from the pouch and braids it into Eddie's hair. By the time he's done, the braid is decorated with silver charms, standing out nicely against Eddie's brown hair.

"Okay," he says, using a thin piece of kelp to tie off the braid, "It looks good."

Eddie hums, reaching back and carefully running his fingers over the braid. Steve watches, suppressing the urge to grab Eddie's hand. "Did you not like them?" Eddie asks, dropping his hand and turning around. The charms clink against each other, creating a quiet song that makes Steve's heart light and happy.

"I liked them," Steve says, pushing the pouch on the edge of the tub into Eddie's lap. "They tarnish in water, though. And their magic felt too strange. They look better on you."

"So, you gave me a gift?" Eddie asks, his smile hopeful and his eyes bright. Steve can't help returning the smile with a nod. In response, Eddie leans forward even further, like he's acting on impulse more than anything else, and presses his lips to Steve's cheek.

Steve's eyes widen, his gills burst, and his ear fins flare in response. To the untrained (human) eye, his reaction is similar to a cat puffing and bristling when faced with a threat. To the trained eye (Robin. And other merfolk, but mostly Robin), Steve's reaction is entirely common for especially flustered merfolk.

It's never happened to Steve before, and that just makes him feel more flustered. He doesn't want Eddie to see his flared fins, so he does the first thing he thinks of; Steve pushes forward and wraps his arms around Eddie's shoulders, hugging him tightly so he can't pull away. "Thanks," he mumbles, "for the gifts, I mean."

He hears Eddie laugh and feels Eddie's hands slide across his side and to his back to return the hug. "Of course, Stevie," Eddie replies, his breath warm against Steve's gills and sending a subtle shiver down Steve's spine. "I'm glad you like them."

Steve is gone. He can't imagine being away from Eddie. He can already see Eddie and the guppies meeting, and he can see Robin fucking with Eddie just to see how he reacts. Steve can see Eddie in the water with him, grinning as his hair floats around them. Steve can see Eddie and him lying together on a beach, warm on the sand and basking in the sun.

Most of all, Steve can imagine giving Eddie a necklace or bracelet of his scales. Maybe that should scare or worry him, but all Steve can feel is excited and warm, and he's more than happy to bask in that feeling for a while.

----

Tag List (the tag list is full! I wasn't able to fit everyone, so if you aren't on here, I'd suggest following #high seas steddie. I think you should still get updates on your dash if you do)

@mugloversonly, @raisedbylibrarians, @thegirlwiththelibrarybag, @savory-babby, @vankaar, @beckkthewreck, @itcanbepalped, @imfinereallyy, @finntheehumaneater, @mightbeasleep, @weekend-dreamer7

@whenindoubtb72, @troublemaker2azz, @just-a-tiny-void, @upallnightogetloki, @mxmakessense, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @haelreadsshit, @y4r3luv, @starman-jpg, @littlewildflowerkitten, @estrellami-1, @stevieschrodinger, @gaelicblue, @they-reap-what-we-sow

@5ammi90, @noodle-shenaniganery, @acrolius, @hallelujahimatheist, @rainbow-freckle, @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @79chevyimpala, @aliea82, @hopefulcookieoperatorpersona, @sani-86, @queenie-ofthe-void, @goosesister, @hello-fellow-nerds, @luthienstormblessed, @xtkxkrzrizir, @potato-of-the-lord, @geekymagicalpotato, @child-of-cthulhu, @aizawa-emma, @m-owo-n, @newtstabber, @cartercaptainofthemoon, @spectrum-spectre, @a-little-unsteddie

#steddie #steddie fic #high seas steddie #merman steve harrington #pirate eddie munson #steddie fluff #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic #chrissy cunningham #platonic hellcheer #in the first half tho but maybe more to come? kinda winging it ngl

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ammarettu · 2 months ago

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Writing prompt: Curse breaking, true hate's kiss.

It's been two weeks since that horrible wretch of a mage falsely seduced him. Wandering hands on his chest and muttered words of adoration had distracted him from that distinct crackle and the faint scent of ozone.

He should have known better.

Should have seen it, or sensed it. He knows mages. Knows what they're capable of, their temperaments and egos. It wasn't until she was uttering about how he needed to learn to be humble, not to try and worm his way into everyone's good graces. Had to accept that people - no one - wanted him, that he noticed what she was.

So, instead of getting laid, he'd gotten cursed.

At least, mercifully, she'd told him the means to breaking the curse, which left him unable to speak, sing, or write.

True hate's kiss. Kiss someone who well and truely hates him. Perfect.

Which is how he now finds himself trudging through the overgrown wilderness, chasing rumors of a white-haired Witcher despite promising on the top of that fucking mountain that he would never bother him again.

He's still angry. Still hurt. His heart aches with every step closer, feels flayed open like bass being salted for dinner - and now he's hungry on top of it all!

He knows Geralt is going to be angry, annoyed at having to see him again even after the six months that have passed, but it can't be helped.

Jaskier's boots are caked in mud, the soles worn thin - he's pretty sure he's more blister than man at this point, despite his feet being used to years of walking, he's spent quite a bit of time in one place recently. He's gone soft rather quickly, it seems. (That tends to happen when you drink yourself stupid almost every night.)

He's close now.

He can see the smoke of a fire rising from above the trees, just past a village that told him the White Wolf had been staying nearby for the past several weeks, slaying mosntsers, refusing coin and only coming into town to sell the parts.

The woods here are dense, he'd curse at the branches smacking him in the face if he could, nature can eat his entire ass, thank you very much.

So maybe he's in a bit of a bad mood. Usually, the dense foliage, verdant and towering, letting through faint rays of sun that glitter on the moss and stones of the ground would inspire him to compose. Today he can only feel anger, because if he lets himself feel anything else he'll remember how heartbroken he is and start weeping like a small child.

So he's angry.

Angry at the branches. Angry at the Witcher.

Geralt hears him approach, of course he does. He's a Witcher, and an extra special one at that. The thought irks something in him that wants to taunt, "Ooh, so special, such a special boy," but again, that would be childish. And he can't talk.

When he reaches the clearing Geralt is there, sitting on a log facing away from him, hunched over as though trying to make himself smaller. Jaskier is half expecting him to growl or threaten him. Instead, he gets a quiet, "Bard?"

It's a question, and Geralt doesn't even bother to look at him or use his name. It makes Jaskier seethe.

He rounds the log the Witcher is sitting on, stands glaring down at him with his hands on his hips. Geralt keeps his eyes locked on the fire. Doesn't lift his gaze. It would hurt, would break his heart if there was anything of it left to break. He hates that Geralt hates him so much he can't even bear to look at him, or say his name.

He might as well get this over with. Might as well bite the rapier, so to speak, and get out of Geralt's hair before the Witcher decides to tear him a new set of holes.

He steps forward, into Geralt's space, winds his fingers into that glorious white hair, which is looking and feeling worse for wear - all of Geralt is, really. He's dirty, unshaven, looks ragged and worn and disheveled. He ignores that observation and yanks back on his silver locks until his head is tilted the way he wants it to be, leans down, and kisses him.

Jaskier normally isn't the type to kiss people who don't want it. Consent is important and he'll cut the balls off anyone who says otherwise, but this is important. Geralt won't forgive him, but he already hates the bard so there really isn't much lost there.

Then, hands are on his waist tugging him closer and a tongue is in his mouth and - Geralt is kissing him back. He's confused as all hell but not complaining, he's not an idiot!

Well, not that kind anyways.

When they break apart Geralt is looking up at him with furrowed brows, confused. Not angry.

"Mm, not... that I don't... why?"

Jaskier rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to speak - nothing. No sound. All that effort wasted. Geralt doesn't even hate him enough to break a fucking curse.

"Jaskier?"

He shakes his head, fighting back tears, unsure how to explain to a man who hates him but doesn't hate him enough why he's just assaulted him.

Jaskier flops onto the log next to Geralt and gestures vaguely, makes a talking motion with his hand, then an X with his arms.

"Can't talk?"

At least Geralt is smart, most Witchers are, in Jaskier's experience. They solve murders, chase monsters. They have to be good at reading between the lines, but only if those lines aren't emotions.

"Mm," Geralt looks him over, pulls his pendant from his neck and holds it up to Jaskier, "Magic. Curse?" Jaskier nods. Geralt swallows, "The cure is... a kiss?"

Jaskier nods again, sighs.

"From... what? Usually it's true love." He sounds oddly hopeful. Fidgets in a way that Jaskier has never seen. Jaskier shakes his head, ponders how to explain this absolute clusterfuck.

If Geralt didn't work there's only one other option anyways.

Valdo Marx.

((Now with part 2 ))

#witcher #witcher fanfiction #geraskier #my writing #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #writing prompt #cursed #true hate's kiss #curse breaking #flash fiction

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 9 months ago

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What is Broken!Aemond NSFW Alphabet

All of this applies specifically to the Aemond that is featured in my series What is Broken. Therefore, he is only discussed in his relationship with his wife (Wifey) and Alys. I'm going to do my best to not unintentionally spoil anything.

This may be the first NSFW alphabet to make people both horny and angry...

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

With Wifey, Aemond is an aftercare king. He showers her with praises, kissing every inch of her face while he holds her tight against his chest. He'll help her clean up then fall asleep with her in his arms, still murmuring praise in her ear.

With Alys, there isn't a lot of aftercare. He either gets up and leaves with a curt "thank you," or just roll over and tries to sleep. Every time he sleeps with Alys, he is flooded with a guilt that basically immobilizes him for about half an hour. Sometimes he cries, and sometimes he gets so mad at himself that he calls Alys back and fucks away his frustrations until he's so tired he passes out as soon as he cums.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

Aemond has two favorite parts of Wifey. First, he loves her eyes. The same deep brown as Alicent's, he feels like it makes her softer and warmer somehow. Second, he loves her hands. He's always held her hand, since before they became romantically involved. Now, her hands do so many other wonderful things.

His favorite part of Alys (other than her big titty goth gf titties) is how little she looks like Wifey. It helps him not think about what he's doing to her while he's with Alys.

His favorite part of himself is his lips. There is very little he likes better than worshiping Wifey with his mouth, kissing every inch of her he can.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Always inside, whether its a mouth or a cunt. When he's close, his brain just shuts down, so he never has the forethought to cum anywhere else.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

I mean... Alys.

But other than that, he did used to go a little further with Wifey than he technically should have before they got married (see here for an example).

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

Before Alys, he had like two or three techniques down pat, and not much beyond that. If Alys did anything positive, she at least taught him a little bit more.

F= Favorite position

With Wifey, missionary. He wants to be able to see her face and kiss her. Plus, he loves how it makes him feel like he's protecting her, surrounding her.

With Alys, he likes anything where he doesn't have to look directly at her face.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

1,000,000% serious.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He doesn't trim the silver bush, but he keeps it clean.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

Almost sickeningly romantic with Wifey. Fully rough with Alys - there's no love there, just sex.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Before he and Wifey got married, he had to take care of himself pretty often. But after, he could just go to her whenever he was in the mood and she'd be happy to help. Up until she started getting really sick at the start of her pregnancy, she never refused him.

After he started things with Alys, it was basically the same thing.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

Wants to fuck Wifey while on dragonback, but she's never agreed to it.

Nothing with Alys, its straight to the point.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

With Wifey, he prefers their bed. He's also enjoyed it on their couch, on the rug in front of the fire, and in the bath. They once, and only once did the deed outside their rooms - in a dark alcove in the hall right after they got married. They simply couldn't wait for the official bedding.

But he'll fuck Alys wherever. He always makes sure they're alone, but he's never patient enough to wait until they're in a specific place before taking her.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Literally anything Wifey does has the potential to set him off. He's just horny for her 24/7.

With Alys, it's not really anything about her, but rather himself. Any time his emotions are high, he's ready.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

There's nothing he wouldn't do if Wifey asked him to.

He always refused to kiss Alys.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

Could live off eating Wifey's pussy, tbh. He's sloppy and overeager, but it works for her. He was hesitant to let her blow him, as he thought it might feel demeaning, but when she begged, he folded instantly.

Asked Alys for it, but never returned the favor.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

He's usually slow with Wifey until he's close, then he jackhammers a bit.

Since there's no romance with Alys, he goes as fast as he can.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

He's tried quickies with Wifey before, but he gets caught up in the moment and slows down so he can take his time.

Every encounter with Alys is a quickie.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

If Wifey asked him? Absolutely.

Alys proposed a few new things, but he refused.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

With Wifey, he lasts pretty long because he specifically paces himself to go as long as possible. He doesn't really know how many rounds he could go, because Wifey always gets tired before he does.

For Alys, he only does more than one round if he gets frustrated again.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Nope.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

Enjoys riling Wifey up, but he usually gives in before she does.

Doesn't tease Alys, and got so mad when she tried to tease him that she never tried it again.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

Praise, moans, whimpers, and florid declarations of love are the standard with Wifey.

With Alys he's either entirely silent or he growls and rants the whole time about whatever got his emotions going.

W= Wild card (random canon of any sort)

Once fell asleep while he was going down on Wifey because he felt so warm and safe between her thighs.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

A real beauty, his cock. Long enough to reach all the right places and girthy enough to give that perfect stretch.

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

He's 20, it's high.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

He never falls asleep before Wifey. He want to make sure she has everything she needs first. So he only tries to sleep after she's already sleeping.

With Alys, he's either kept up by his guilt or so exhausted he falls asleep immediately.

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raayllum · 2 months ago

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Lissa had always wanted a mirror.

A big one, nearly ceiling to floor, and rimmed in gold or silver. Pretty, pristine. Elegant.

Warriors in Del Bar prided themselves on fine furs and neatly braided hair, and though her family had never had much money—just enough to send her for schooling as a minstrel, which had brought her to Katolis ("If you were really twice as clever you'd go into maths or medicine," her mother had admonished)—Lissa had taken as much pride in her appearance as she could. She knew the cut of her furs draped over her shoulders made her look fetching, and where to place the flower in her hair to bring out her eyes.

Fetching enough to catch the eye of the court mage's apprentice, clearly.

In the lead up to their wedding, Lissa had brought up her yearnings, surprised when her husband-to-be resisted.

"You certainly spend a far amount of time preening like a peacock," she'd needled goodnaturedly.

Viren had snorted in reply, sitting on the bench in the courtyard they often occupied these days. "What do you need with a mirror when you have me each day to tell you how lovely you look?"

And then he'd leaned in and kissed her sweetly, softly, and she hadn't dropped the matter entirely in the weeks to follow—"Couldn't it be your wedding gift to me?"—but one day, he wakes up from a nightmare and confessed the truth.

"The first time you do dark magic, mages... fall prey to visions, nightmares. In mine, there was a mirror. Oblong and grand."

Lissa takes his face in his hands, his beard just a tad untidy; she'll fix it for him later in the morning, under the warm light of day. For now she hopes the warmth of her hands are enough, his skin clammy and cold—almost gaunt and grey with fear.

"I saw—a version of myself. Grotesque, and... Sometimes, I still cannot get it out of my head."

She pulls him to her, stroking his back and catching their reflections in the tiny, square mirror across the way on their dresser. His breathing slows, and she smiles when his hands drift to the growing curve of her stomach. His ear to her heartbeat.

"It was just a nightmare," she assures him, drawing away to look again into his handsome face, and Viren leans into her touch.

She has what she needs; a large mirror does not need to be among them.

(Years later, in one final bid for her favour, Viren buys her the grandest mirror his yearly shillings can afford, but all she sees is the jagged lines on his face, covered up by more magic. Besides, it's not like she spends time in their bedroom anyway these days.

Even later, Viren hauls the mirror from his nightmares from the dragon king's lair back to the castle. What does it matter what he becomes?

Lissa is already gone.)

#tdp lissa #viren x lissa #tdp viren #tdp #headcanons #the dragon prince #pre series #viren #lissa #bc i enjoy pain i guess #ficlet #my fic #fic

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year ago

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the yan hxh character's favorite types of styles on you.

(warning for some not SFW implications/reader described as fem)

chrollo loves you in classy, elegant, yet formfitting outfits that highlight the silhouette of your body. slim blazers, short pencil skirts, sheer tights, pumps. will be smiling happily to himself if you struggle with heels since you're forced to cling to him, or trip. purposefully gets outfits that are difficult for you to put on by yourself (like having a zipper in the back) so you must begrudgingly call upon him for assistance.

pretends he 'forgot' to include some pants or shorts as potential options but it was 100% intentional. don't believe his lies. he loves anything that reveals your collarbones but not if you're going out. only he gets to see them, no one else. he mostly goes for neutral colors with a heavy emphasis on black, ivory, beige, navy, and sometimes burgundy if he's feeling a bit wild.

as far as accessories go, he favors dangling earrings and choker-length necklaces. you don't get to wear watches anymore because when he last gifted you one, you kept checking it every time he started talking, and it kinda hurt his feelings. he is a fan of you putting your hair up because he loves admiring the muscles of your neck and it grants him easier access for kissing.

(phinks, feitan, machi and paku under the cut)

phinks originally gives you some t-shirts and sweatpants because hell if he knows how to dress a woman. he doesn't want you thinking he's some pervert that kidnapped you purely for sexual gratification — no, there's a deeper connection he's trying to foster with you here. that being said... if he could have it his way, his biggest fantasy is having you wear those tennis outfits. preferably with white or pink colors. he just thinks you'd look really cute. the short, pleated skirt brushing against your thighs, tight polo shirt, a pair of high top tennis shoes; he'd be in heaven. phinks will want to scoop you up and twirl you around or some other romantic-sounding shit.

doesn't really have any preferences when it comes to accessories. his biggest thing is in the colder seasons, seeing you wrapped up in a scarf is super endearing. it makes his heart almost beat out of his chest. jewelry isn't a big deal to him. he'll gift you a fair amount because he figures Woman = Want Shiny Thing (as if you're a crow), but it doesn't do much for him visually. aside from stud earrings with simple designs, like a flower or moon. he thinks that's pretty cute.

feitan doesn't think about fashion much. he literally wears the same thing every day and only washes his bloodstained jacket if you ask nicely (aka plead). he gets you some long shirts and calls it a day. when you ask if you can have shorts or anything similar to that, he silently stares at you. unlike chrollo, it really didn't occur to him. if he's in a good mood he'll pick up what you asked for. probably gets an uncomfortable material or the wrong size but it isn't out of spite, he genuinely has no idea what he's doing.

he discovers by accident that the sight of you in a sheer nightgown is especially appealing. other than that, the only preference he's aware of is seeing you in light colors. it gives you this innocent glow that he finds aesthetically pleasing. the way it further highlights how different you are — pure (by his standards, at least), virtuous — really does something for him. he has a weird obsession with your wrists so he's gotten you a few silver link bracelets. that's the most you get to accessorize should you ever choose to wear them.

machi lets you wear whatever you want and listens to your clothes requests, because she's too embarrassed to admit what she'd find you cute in. no one could get the information out of her, even if it came down to torture. so... what she wants more than anything (drumroll please)... is to see you wearing one of those short overall outfits over a plain shirt. she'd be staring at you as if you were the mona lisa. she has no idea why the concept entices her as much as it does. all she knows is that you'd look fucking adorable and she'd commit multiple crimes for you.

she likes you in denim, any color really. jean shorts, ripped jeans, skinny jeans, flared jeans, wide jeans, high waist, low waist; she's all about it. oversized tops are a big favorite as well. extra points if the sleeves are too long and cover most of your hand. you think she's glaring at you but in reality she's trying so hard to keep her fraying mind in check.

pakunoda has you looking runway ready whenever she takes you out. the woman did research. a lot of what you wear is tailored specifically to your complexion, body type, facial structure, etc. she enjoys high fashion and has procured pieces made by the biggest names. most of what's in your closet is either wool, pure cotton, or silk. it looks and feels luxurious. she favors seeing you in jumpsuits or maxi-length dresses. coordinating outfits is a favorite of hers, she has color theory down and you both look stunning together. around the house (or wherever she's keeping you), you're free to dress as you please. you both have matching house slippers and robes.

accessories will depend on the season, but you can expect to be wearing sleek sunglasses and the occasional hat. for jewelry, she goes for her birthstone, diamonds, and gold. nothing too ostentatious though. she keeps it classy. while she'd love to see you in stilettos, if you can't walk in them well, she'll go for flat pumps instead.

#yandere chrollo x reader #yandere phinks x reader #yandere feitan x reader #yandere machi x reader #yandere pakunoda x reader #phantom troupe x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #concepts

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luveline · 1 year ago

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Hi! Could you please write a daddy-daughter day with Roan and Eddie? Like Eddie and Roan listening to Eddie's music, going to Wayne's, and just doing cute things like when Reader went out with her friends please?

hi sweetheart yes I can, I loved this idea, tyty! dad!eddie x fem!reader, 3k (cw reader is tipsy at the end)

"Okie-smokie," you say, standing at the door with two options. "Ro, pink or silver?"

You show Roan your earrings. Eddie crams his foot into his sneaker and ties the laces, listening as Roan deliberates your two choices. "I think you should wear the pink ones because you have pink gems on your bracelet."

He can hear your smile. "I think so too. Thank you, lovely girl."

"Roan, you have your shoes on still?" Eddie asks, toeing into his second shoe. He stands tall when he's done and brushes down his jeans. "Coat?"

"I don't know where my coat is," she says.

"I'll get it," you say. "It's in our room."

"Okay. You have your purse?" Eddie asks.

You laugh as you run up the stairs. "Stop doing your dad checklist! We have everything."

Roan waits by the door in what Eddie believes to be her nicest outfit ever. He's been experimenting with elaborate hairstyles, and this one takes the cake.

He'd woken her up early for a shower and washed her hair, some tactile bonding to start what's looking to be a great day. She'd nearly fallen back asleep, and again when he was drying it with the cold diffuser. After that he sectioned it and pulled two triangular sections from the front backward, and with the help of four rubber bands and a little bit of hair mousse, he secured it out of her face, curled and pretty.

She's wearing a short-sleeved white t-shirt under stiff black dungarees with black sneakers. You suggested white sneakers, but Eddie joked that he wouldn't make her look too perfect (her white sneakers are full of mud from when they went looking for frogs last weekend, and he hasn't told you yet).

"Hey, can you get her, uh, her blue jacket? The navy one? I think her vinyl coat will be too uncomfortable with the short sleeves."

You appear on the top step already holding it. "I'm psychic."

Once Roan has been helped into her coat and Eddie's made sure you both have money and water, he locks the door to your (his) house with his key. It took him a long time to start calling it his house. Not that he ever thought you'd shoot him out of it. So far, there hasn't been a day since you got together where he worried it wouldn't last.

And here the kissing begins.

You might pretend otherwise, but Eddie knows you're jealous of today. Not in a cruel way, the envy isn't eating you alive or anything, but he knows you wishes you could come, and he also knows you know that's not how these kinds of days work. If you're with them, Eddie would have to share his attention. Alone with Roan, he can pour it all in. You're not so codependent as to resent that, and you're happy for them. But again, you're jealous.

"Why did I make plans?" you ask him, your hands bunched in his t-shirt.

"Because you'll have fun," he says, dipping his head down to kiss you.

You smile and lift one shoulder. "I will. You have fun too, okay?" You bend at the waist to kiss Roan's cheek. After a moment, you kiss the other. "My big girl, you look so grown up today, we should've taken more photos."

"I think ten was enough," Roan says.

"It wasn't," you and Eddie say at the same time. You sigh morosely, though it's not entirely genuine.

"Okay, I love you both. Say hi to Uncle Wayne for me."

"We love you," Eddie says. You pout and get in your car. You've parked behind him, so they stand waving at you as you leave. "She loves you so much," Eddie says to Roan.

Roan shrugs her shoulders, pleased and trying to be humble about it. "Dad," she grumbles.

He puts Roan in her car seat and they drive to Uncle Wayne's for lunch. It's not far, but it's enough to listen to Roan's tape, featuring her current favourite song, a nonsensical rock song called 'She Don't Use Jelly' by The Flaming Lips. It's not Eddie's taste but it's worth it just to listen to Roan shouting along to the song, her building excitement before she gets to sing, "He uses maaaa-gazines!"

After that is Sheryl Crow. Eddie wants to switch the tape to something harder but Roan's already singing, and it's so funny to hear her sing 'All I Wanna Do' that he can't make himself change it. He rolls down the windows so she can feel the wind on her face and she dances in her seat, tripping over the words with gusto.

Sheryl Crow is all your influence. As soon as the song ends he pops the tape and drives the car at a crawl. He's had Roan's favourite, and then yours, but now it's time for real music. He isn't raising no prep.

Roan is more than used to rock music. She loves it most of the time, though her taste complicates as she ages. Eddie puts on a tape you made him painstakingly at Christmastime full of ripped live performances, the sort of music you can't find on CD yet. The very first song is 'Sad But True', Metallica live from Mexico, '93. Roan bobs her head up and down with the beat. Eddie literally could not be more proud, better when she pulls out her air guitar and challenges him on who's best.

After almost crashing the car into the picnic bench on Wayne's front yard, Eddie pulls Roan out, and grins as she races up the steps to the door. She doesn't knock —Wayne's home is Eddie's home is her home.

"Uncle Wayne!" she bellows.

The smell of sausages and fried onions is inescapable. Eddie loves Wayne, and he loves his extra special hotdogs, but he can already sense the mess Roan's about to make. Ketchup stains have defeated half her wardrobe over the years.

Wayne's turning from the stove with a huge grin. He wipes his hands on a rag and chucks it at the counter, bending down with his arms opening to catch Roan as she sprints at him.

"Oh," he groans, "Hi, Roanie. Where have you been? I told your dad eleven thirty, and it's almost twelve."

"We had to help Y/N find her nice pants," she says, wrapping her arms around Wayne's neck.

Wayne gives her a grandfatherly squeeze, adoring but nonchalant.

"We didn't have to help," Eddie says, "but she made breakfast, so it would've been mean to not help."

"Still sounds like dad's fault," Wayne says. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Roan says, turning in Wayne's arms to beam at her betrayed father.

Wayne kisses her head and puts her down. He asks how you are, to which Eddie can answer honestly. You're good, and you're very happy lately making wedding arrangements even though you don't know what you're doing for lots of it. Roan is still torn on whether she wants to be the best man or the maid of honour. You'd been winning, until Eddie told her she could still wear a dress as best man.

The hotdogs are ready for eating straight away. Unlike Eddie, Wayne is prepared for Roan's mess. He pins a bib around her that he's had since she was two with a rabbit on the front. It should've been trashed a while ago, but in a show of quiet love, Wayne scrubs it spotless every single time she wears it. The white background is still a bright white.

They eat hot dogs and talk about nothing. Wayne and Eddie see each other every single day, but Wayne and Roan definitely don't. Now that she's getting older, there's been talks of consistent sleepovers. Eddie doesn't want Wayne to spend all week in work and then have her on the weekend because, while she is an absolute delight, Roan is also hard work, and especially on Fridays when she's tired. But Wayne wants to have her, and Roan loves him more than anything, so sooner or later Eddie's going to have to say yes.

He won't lie, he could use the break. But not tonight.

"Dad," Roan says, fried onions and bread falling down her front and back onto her plate.

"Yes, my rude girl?"

She licks her lips. Wayne tilts her head back to wipe her mouth clean with a paper towel. "Thank you, Uncle Wayne. Dad, can we get a movie tonight?"

"Yeah, babe, we can get a movie, but I thought you wanted to go to the Hawk?"

"There's no space for talking in the Hawk."

"And you want to talk to me," he summarises.

"Duh. Wayne, can I have more smustard, please?" she asks through chews.

Wayne meets Eddie's eyes as he squirts mustard on her hotdog. It's a look Eddie didn't know he wanted to see until Wayne started giving it, a mixture of she's funny and you're raising a good one, kid.

Eddie cleans up the hotdog mess before Wayne can stop him and they dawdle, not wanting to leave but with things to do. They're ten minutes late for their manicure appointments.

The Hawkins manicurists are slightly judgemental middle-aged women who love Roan. They've seen her a couple of times, once when Eddie had been on a few dates with you but was far from your boyfriend, and Roan wanted, "Pretty nails, like Y/N," after she'd seen your painted nails for a wedding, and then a couple of times after with you, but it's been a while since he was here, and the new young nail technician surprises Eddie.

"Hi," she says, smiling at Roan, "I know you, don't I? You and your mom came in a couple of weeks ago. How did your gems last?"

"They came off when we went waterfall walking," Roan says, sounding exuberantly pleased by this.

"Wow, waterfall walking, that sounds fun!"

"Yes!"

Eddie grabs Roan under the armpits to help her into the tall chair. "It was fun until her wellies split. She had cold feet."

"Oh no. What do we want today, miss adventurer? The same as last time, or are we trying something new?"

Roan looks up at Eddie. He takes a seat beside her, her coat in his lap. "Whatever you want, Ro. No, um, extensions though."

"No, I wouldn't suggest it," says the nail tech. "Maybe I can show you some pictures and you can see if you like something? I can do whatever you want me to."

Roan ends up asking for nails that look like the ocean. The nail technician is an artist, creating a beautiful illusion of real water on her nails, and colourful sea creatures on the nails big enough to accommodate them.

"Are you bringing your wife back soon?" the nail tech asks, covering Roan's skin with her hand as her nails cure under a UV lamp.

"She's not married, yet," Roan says.

"She's my fiancé," Eddie says mildly. He kind of liked wife better. "And she doesn't let me spoil her often, so probably not."

"She couldn't stop talking about you," the nail tech says. "And you," —she nods at Roan— "I was kind of jealous. I'm still jealous. I hope my baby comes out as pretty as you."

"You're having a baby?" Roan asks, gasping, almost knocking over the UV lamp.

"I am! Yeah, I am, she's not coming anytime soon though. But by Christmas I'll have her." The nail tech brings a buffing file to Roan's pinky finger and sands against the edge gently. "She better be as nice as you, miss adventurer."

"I think Ro might be one of a kind," Eddie says.

Roan smiles at him as though he's hung the moon.

They visit the video store after the nail salon, hand in hand. Roan is more than ecstatic at the aquarium on her nails, and it's making her sweet. She walks as close to Eddie as she can without stepping on his shoes, and doesn't let go for anything. Or, almost anything.

"Steve!" she shouts when she sees him, Harrington himself bent over the kids aisle arranging movies.

"Oh, no," he groans. Roan runs full pelt at him and he pretends to almost fall over. Roan laughs and tugs him back up, and he says thank you with a short hug. "Hi, Roan." He looks up to see Eddie, and glares with a mock disdain. "You. Where's my spirit level?"

"Your–" Eddie's lips part, and then snap shut. "My bad, Stevie. I still have it, I swear."

"Well give it back, I want to mount my new TV on the wall and I can't because you never answer the phone."

"I do," Eddie protests.

"No, you don't, I think I've spoken more to Y/N since you moved in with her than I've spoken to you. Which, actually, I prefer her. And I want you to invite her to my housewarming party next week."

"Am I invited, too?" Roan asks.

Steve smiles at her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Of course you are. Robin's going to bring Mr. Stink too."

Mr. Stink is Robin's big fat tabby cat. Roan loves him so much she cries every time she has to say goodbye to him.

Eddie and Steve hug and only pat each other on the back once, which is progress. Having guessed why they're there, Steve pulls them into the backroom to show her all the new kids movies, and lets Roan pick as many as she wants to put on his account. Despite his hug and his party invitation, Of course you're invited too, Steve glares at Eddie fiercely from across the checkout counter. "Do not bring them back late, Munson. You cost me six dollars, last time."

"And I tried to give it back to you," Eddie says, the bag of movies hanging from his elbow, Roan the other.

"Don't insult me. Bye, my favourite Munson, make sure you bring me a nice drawing for my new fridge," Steve says. He speaks much more kindly to Roan than he does Eddie, but Eddie doesn't think for a moment that Steve doesn't like him. They've just always been like this.

"Okay! Tell Robin I miss her, please, and Mr. Stinky."

"Anything for you. Bye, bye," he calls.

Eddie waves at him and they stroll out of the video store like kings, Eddie with all their movies and Roan with one of the huge bags of ready popped popcorn. She's walking on sunshine with every step, nearly skipping by the time they reach the car.

He doesn't understand it. Eddie's just Eddie. He doesn't get it, but he has a moment when he's strapping her back into her third car seat, knowing one day she's gonna be so tall they can get away with a booster seat. One day she won't need a car seat at all. He just loves her so much he can’t handle it.

"Show me those nails again, babe," he says.

She pulls her wrist up, her fingers hanging down, and says, "Lookit."

He loves her. She learned it from you. You'd done it as a joke, Roan does it because it makes her feel cool.

"Gorgeous." He pulls her hands into his. "What else do you want to do today?"

She shrugs. Eddie strokes down a crop of windblown baby hairs with a licked thumb, waiting for her to decide, but she must get distracted. She reaches out to do the same to him, moving his hair behind his ear.

"That's for me," she says, looking at the little 'R' behind his ear.

"Yeah, that's for you. I was going to get your full name, but I couldn't take the pain," he lies.

Her nose wrinkles in amusement. "Then how did you get the big ones on your arms?"

"I was less of a crybaby when I had those ones."

"You're not a crybaby, dad," Roan says, giggling.

He pouts and sniffles at her. "You really mean that?" he asks tearfully.

Roan pushes his shoulder lightly.

"Did you decide what you want to do?"

She nods vehemently. When she tells him what she wants, Eddie really could burst into tears.

You're a little tiny bit tipsy when you come home that night. You try not to show it, but Eddie knows you better than he knows the back of his own hand, and as soon as you sit down he's taking big sniffs of you to make sure you know you've been found out.

"Stop, you're like a puppy," you grumble fondly. "Wait, where's my Ro?"

"Bathroom. Come here, let me take your shoes off."

You lift a tired foot into his lap. "I had, uh, a margarita. And a cosmo, too. It was happy hour!"

"Sweetheart, I couldn't care less what hour it was as long as you had fun."

You preen, your face swinging into his shoulder. One of your earrings jabs his bicep. "Did you have a good day with Roan?"

"We had a great day." He struggles to get your shoe off as you slide down his arm. "Maybe my favourite day with her I've ever had that wasn't with you."

"Really? I'm so happy. Oh, wow, what? Nice nails, handsome."

You pull his hands into your lap. They're painted in a uniform black, but there's a clownfish painted on his thumbnail. "They're super goth," you say.

"You think so?"

"The clownfish is a choice. Can I get one too?"

Eddie kisses your flushed cheek. "Yeah, babe. The nail tech tried to get me to have a seahorse–"

"Bit on the nose."

"Exactly," he laughs. "Exactly. But our day was awesome. She was such an angel, and she must've made everyone smile everywhere we went, she–" Eddie sits up, speaking with pride in every word. "We went to Wayne's, and the nail salon, and the video store because she said the movies aren't good for talking and she wanted to talk to me, and I asked her if she wanted to do anything else, and she said," —Eddie squeezes your thigh— "she'd do anything as long as we could have a hug."

"She has you in the palm of her hand," you laugh, looking up at him with eyes nearly closed.

Roan skips into the room, hands dripping water, and catapults herself over the armrest back into Eddie's lap. Without asking, she dries her hands on his t-shirt.

"Hello, princess," you say.

Roan drags the half-eaten bag of popcorn over to your side. "Hi. I saved you some."

You take a handful of popcorn and promptly spill it down the front of your shirt. Roan helps you by picking them off of you and eating them, cramming her mouth until her cheeks have chipmunked.

"Don't do that, you'll choke," Eddie says.

"I won't," she says, little bits of popcorn spraying him.

"Ro," he laughs, his hand held over her mouth, laughing so hard it wobbles her in his lap.

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