#big bang fluff

[lady-lostmind]

I had the absolute pleasure of getting to write a fic based on this amazing art by @ahhrenata for @strangerthingsreversebigbang! Link to art post Thank you @oh-stars for betaing this! Read the fic on ao3 or under the cut!

Eddie rolls over with a groan. He feels awful. He can’t breath out of his nose, there’s so much pressure in his head he feels like it might explode and his throat feels like he swallowed a cup of razors. He lets out a truly pathetic whimper, the sound catching in his throat as it turns into a cough. He stretches his arm out, feeling around for Steve and is met with cold, empty sheets. He whines again and finally pries his eyes open. 

“Stevie?” 

He hears Steve pad down the hall and then he’s opening the door to their room, a soft smile on his face as he peers down at Eddie on the bed. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Eddie sniffles loudly. “I don’t feel good.” 

Steve sighs and leans against the door frame. “I told you not to go out in the cold with Dustin the other night. You didn’t even have a coat.” 

Eddie groans again and flops over, reaching his hand out to Steve. “Come cuddle with me.” 

Steve huffs out a laugh. “You’re whiny when you’re sick.” 

But he pushes off the doorframe and crawls onto the bed, dropping down next to Eddie and letting him wrap his limbs around his body and press his face against Steve’s chest. 

Eddie snuggles in and hums, ready to fall back asleep for forever, or until he can actually breathe again. Whichever comes first. 

Steve’s hand lands on his forehead, pushing his bangs out of the way. “Baby, you’re hot.” 

Eddie lets out a little chuckle, his voice low and raspy from the pain in his throat. “I’m flattered, sweetheart. But I don’t think I’m really up for anything sexy right now, Stevie.” 

Steve swats his arm. “I wasn’t coming onto you, asshole. You have a fever.”

Steve pulls away, like he’s going to get back up and Eddie holds on tighter to him, another whine slipping out of his lips.

Steve rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go get you some stuff.” 

Eddie’s hand flops onto the bed as Steve gets up and disappears from the room. Eddie rolls back over, pulling the blankets up and burrowing under them to fall back asleep. 

–

Eddie wakes up to Steve nudging him gently, holding out a little cup of red liquid. Eddie’s face scrunches up in disgust and he shakes his head with a groan, trying to hide under the covers again. “I hate that shit.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and tugs the blanket back. “Eds, you gotta take this. It’ll bring your fever down. Come on.”

Eddie groans again, but pulls himself up to sit and takes the little shot of medicine with a grimace. 

Steve chuckles beside him. “I’ve seen you drink jager straight from the bottle and you’re making that face over cherry cough medicine?” 

Eddie shoots him a cocky grin. “Jager is good though. That shit tastes like pennies.” 

Steve shakes his head, pulling the covers back up around Eddie’s chin. “There’s tissues and water next to you on the table. You want me to drag the TV in here?” 

Eddie shakes his head, already settling back into the pillows and drifting off. He reaches out a hand to tug at Steve’s wrist. 

Steve sighs, climbing under the blankets with him and pulling him close. “You’re gonna get me sick.” 

Eddie grins and plants a wet kiss to the back of Steve’s hand before he falls asleep again. 

–

The next time Eddie resurfaces it’s to Steve’s fingers trailing softly through his hair. He sniffs, whining when it makes the pressure in his head spike. 

“Made you some soup, baby. You hungry?” 

Eddie nods and forces himself to sit up, smiling at Steve when he hands him a bowl of chicken noodle. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

Steve leans over and presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “You sure you don’t want the TV in here? We could watch some movies.” 

Eddie shrugs. “I’ll probably just fall asleep five minutes in. But you can bring it in if you’re bored.” 

Steve shakes his head and grabs a book off his side table, wiggling it in the air. “I’m good.”

Eddie’s eyes lock on the book and his jaw drops open. “Are you finally reading The Lord of the Rings?” 

Steve flashes him a big grin and nods. “They’re confusing though. How do you keep track of all these crazy names?” 

Eddie chuckles. “You get used to it after a while.” He sets his empty bowl aside and lays back down, peering up at Steve with big, pleading eyes. “Will you read to me?”

Steve’s face scrunches up. “I’m not very good.”

Eddie scoots in closer, plopping his head onto Steve’s lap. “I just want to hear your voice.” 

Steve’s hand finds its way back into Eddie’s curls again. “Do you want me to start over?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I’ve read them like ten times. You can start where you left off.” 

Steve nods and opens the book, clearing his throat. “‘I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo.”

Eddie lets the familiar words wash over him. Steve’s voice making him feel safe and warm, the fingers in his hair soothing him to sleep.

–

Eddie wakes up again, his throat burning and raw. He’s alone in the bed again and it’s dark. The blankets tucked in tight around him, making him over heated, his hair plastered to his forehead. He sits up, reaching for a tissue as a harsh cough racks his body. He groans, wincing as he wipes his mouth. 

Eddie hates being sick. And yeah. He knows nobody likes being sick. Obviously. But he can’t stand it. It makes him feel trapped in his own body. Trapped in his bed. He doesn’t like to sit still for so long. To feel like he can’t do anything. 

The door creaks open, a sliver of light peeking through before it disappears again, Steve’s body blocking it out as he leans in, a sad little smile on his face. “You okay, baby? Heard you coughing.” 

Eddie lets out a pathetic whine, falling against the pillows again, somehow still exhausted even though he slept through most of the day already. “No.” 

Steve pushes the door open the rest of the way, comes up to him and puts his hand on his forehead before making a little tsk noise, and brushing his hair out of his face. “I’m going to get you another dose of medicine.” 

Eddie groans, grabbing Steve’s wrist and shaking his head. 

Steve chuckles, bending down to press a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “What if I bring you a popsicle to chase it with? Make your throat feel a little better.” 

Eddie’s eyes flick up to Steve’s, his eyebrows shooting up. “Not sure your popsicle is going to help my throat much but–”

Steve rolls his eyes with a smile, tugging his arm back and shaking his head. “Would you stop? You’re awful.” He heads back to the door, turning back with his hands on his hips. “Orange or cherry?” 

Eddie whines. “No grape?” 

Steve chuckles. “You and Dustin ate all the grape, baby.” 

Eddie huffs out a breath. “Orange then.” 

Eddie grins as Steve leaves the room. He really hates being sick. But he doesn’t mind this whole Steve-taking-care-of-him thing. That part’s pretty nice. He can’t really remember the last time someone did this for him. Thinks it must have been his mom, when he was still little. Remembers curling up with her on the couch, her humming softly as he fell asleep. 

He doesn’t have a lot of good memories with her. Mostly screaming matches with his dad, and her disappearing for weeks at a time. But there were a few times when things were good. When he felt loved. When he really felt like he understood what it was like to be wanted. And then he’d gone to live with Wayne. And he did his best. And Eddie knows he loves him. Knows he would do anything for him. But he’s a grumpy old man who never thought he’d be raising a kid. His version of taking care of Eddie when he was sick was buying some soup and leaving it on the counter for Eddie to make while he was at work. And that was fine. Eddie is grateful for everything Wayne has done for him. It just wasn’t exactly a lovey household. Not that it wasn’t full of love. They just…didn’t really show it. But he feels the love in everything Steve does. Sees it in the way Steve’s eyes light up when they look at him. In the way his hands always linger. No matter where they touch. Like he never wants to be more than a breath away from him. Like he wants nothing more than to bring him a stupid orange popsicle when his throat hurts to make him feel better. 

Eddie smirks as Steve comes back into the room, cough medicine in one hand, popsicle in the other.

–

Eddie feels a little better when he wakes up the next morning. Late morning. The room bright with the sun peeking in through the blinds. He’s still sick. Still can’t really breathe normally. His throat is still protesting every time he tries to swallow. But he feels a little less dead. And he didn’t wake up drenched in sweat this time so, hopefully that means his fever is gone. Thanks to Steve’s stupid medicine. Not that he’d ever admit that to him. 

Steve comes in with a plate piled high with toast, and a mug of tea that Eddie is sure has way too much honey in it, for his throat. 

Eddie takes the offered breakfast with a sleepy smile. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

Steve presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “You’re welcome, baby. You feeling better?”

Eddie shrugs, stuffing half a piece of toast in his mouth. Steve climbs onto the bed with him, grabbing Eddie’s book from the table on his side of the bed, settling back against the pillows.

Eddie perks up, shifting so he can watch the way Steve’s mouth wraps around the words Eddie knows by heart. They’re some of his favorite configurations of words in the world, and Steve somehow makes him love them even more. He loves the slight hesitancy he has as he stumbles over the names, the pauses he adds in strange spots when he’s clearly trying to piece parts of the story together. He can tell he’s really trying to get it. Trying to understand why Eddie loves this so much. Trying to understand Eddie more. Which he’s pretty sure no one else has done before. 

Everyone else just takes him at face value. The loud, over the top, obnoxious behavior, his weird obsessions and interests. People either look at him and want nothing to do with him, or they look at him in awe, like he’s something shiny, something to distract them from whatever bullshit is going on in their own lives. But he’s never had someone look at him like he’s something to be treasured. To dive into and see all the sides of. Until Steve. 

Steve, who he knows hates half of the stuff Eddie is into but still asks questions. Who knows Eddie’s favorite songs and books and movies. Who knows he prefers grape popsicles. Who looks at him in that awestruck way even when he’s quiet. When he’s just existing in their space, not putting on a front or a show. Steve still sees him, even then. 

Eddie leans forward and presses his lips to Steve’s, cutting him off mid sentence. 

Steve huffs out a laugh against Eddie’s lips before pushing him back. “Is my reading that bad?”

Eddie shakes his head and takes another bite of toast, getting crumbs all over the bed as he scooches closer to Steve who lifts his arm to tuck Eddie into his side. 

–

By day four Eddie is still feeling pretty bad, and worn out, but also bored. He still doesn’t have the energy to leave their bed much but he also can’t stand just laying around anymore. 

He shuffles his way out to the living room, ignoring Steve’s squawk of protest as he spots him from where he’s doing dishes in the kitchen. Eddie makes it halfway to the coffee table before Steve is there, a hand towel slung over his shoulder as he tries to push Eddie back down the hall. 

“What are you doing? Go back to bed.” 

Eddie groans and gestures to his stack of notebooks on the table. “I’m bored, Steve. I want to work on my campaign.” 

Steve nudges him back again, a crease forming between his brows. “I’ll bring them to you. Go lay down.” 

Eddie lets out an annoyed whine but turns and heads back down the hall, collapsing on the bed where he immediately lets out a sigh of relief, the pressure that was building in his head from being vertical backs off as soon as he hits the pillows. Because Steve was right, of course. He should have just asked him to grab his stuff for him. 

Steve comes in a few minutes later with all of Eddie’s notebooks and campaign books piled high in his arms. He dumps them on the bed and disappears again, coming back with a stack of Eddie’s tapes and his walkman, adding them to the mess on the bed and perching on the edge. 

Eddie grins at him. “You’re the best, you know that?” 

Steve shrugs, a little blush flashing on his cheeks. He reaches out and squeezes Eddie’s knee. “Just know you like to listen to music while you work. I’ll bring you some dinner in a little bit, okay?” 

Eddie watches as he gets up to go, smirk firmly in place as he pulls his notebooks closer to him and flips the top one open, trying to jump back into the story he was forming.

–

Eddie stares down at his notebook, sniffing loudly and tossing a crumpled up tissue onto the floor next to the bed. He taps his pen on the page, trying to will the scene to write itself. A cough works its way up the back of his throat and sticks there, making him hack over and over until he’s pulling in a wheezing breath and falling back against the pillows.

“Fuck me.” He groans out, shoving his notebook away with a huff. He hates being sick. Can’t even manage to focus on his campaign for more than fifteen minutes before he’s coughing and exhausted and–

Steve pushes the door open with his hip, a steaming bowl of soup in his hands and a bright smile that reaches his eyes on his face.

Eddie sighs, pulling himself up to sit against the headboard and lets Steve fuss over pillow placements as he hands over the soup. He stares up at Steve, his chest full of adoration for this wonderful man who works himself into a tizzy because Eddie didn’t make sure he was properly supported by his pillows. Because how is his gorgeous man even real? How did Eddie get so lucky? 

Eddie sets his soup on the side table as Steve leans over him, trying to manhandle Eddie into a position he deems acceptable and Eddie grabs his face, pulling him into a soft kiss, smiling against Steve’s mouth when he feels him melt a little into the touch. 

Steve pulls back with a chuckle, pushing against Eddie’s shoulder. “It’s like you’re trying to get me sick, Eds.” Eddie lets out a laugh and sniffs, trying not to be an oozing, gross mess with Steve so up close and personal. “Sorry. I just can’t help myself when you’re being so sweet.” 

Steve’s face blooms red and he ducks his head with a little shake before standing and grabbing Eddie’s soup off the table again, pushing it back into Eddie’s hands. “Eat your soup, baby.” 

Eddie gives him a little two finger salute and nods, dimple popping on his check. “Yes, sir.” 

Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie takes a big spoonful, making an obnoxiously loud slurp just to see the way Steve’s face scrunches in disgust. 

–

Eddie wakes up in the middle of the night, coughing and wheezing, trying to catch his breath and be quiet so he doesn’t wake up–

Steve’s hand lands on his back, rubbing gently.

Eddie groans, looking guiltily over at Steve. “Sorry I woke–” His voice catches on another cough, sending him into another fit. 

Steve sits up, hand still on Eddie’s back, the other coming up to sweep the hair away from his face. “It’s okay, baby. Just breathe.” 

Eddie nods, sucking in a deep breath and trying to ignore the tickle in the back of his throat threatening another cough. Steve gets up and heads out of the room, coming back with a glass of water that he hands to Eddie before sliding back into bed, his hand finding its way back to its spot on Eddie’s back. Eddie takes a couple of small sips before setting the glass aside and laying back down, Steve scooches in close, pressing their foreheads together, one hand still on Eddie’s back, the other working its way to tangle in his hair.

Eddie hums reaching up to cup Steve’s face, feeling content as his eyes slip closed. 

–

The next morning Eddie wakes up feeling much better. He’s still a little stuffy, but his throat doesn’t hurt anymore and his head feels a little clearer. Like the sick haze is starting to dissipate. He stretches, letting out a satisfied groan and slips up to jump in the shower. 

The hot water does wonders for him and by the time he steps out of the bathroom, rubbing his drenched hair with a towel, he feels almost human again. 

He glances over at Steve, still fast asleep in the bed. Eddie’s brow scrunches together and he looks at the clock. 11:15am. 

Huh. Steve never sleeps in this late. He gets up obnoxiously early to work out before he gets moving for the day. Eddie climbs back into the bed and presses soft kisses along Steve’s jaw, smiling when his sleepy eyes peek open at him. 

“You slept in.” Eddie traces his fingers along Steve’s arm. 

Steve lets out a little whimper, pressing his face into the pillows. 

Eddie pushes some hair out of Steve’s face, his fingers grazing his forehead which is blazing. 

Eddie curses under his breath, planting his hand more firmly on Steve’s skin. “Oh no, sweetheart.” 

Steve peers up at him with big, sad puppy eyes, his voice strained and nasally. “I’m sick, Eds.”

[whydoeseveryonewanttobangchan]

PART 1: 🚪 Whats wrong with a little privacy, huh? 🚪

✎ Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

✎ Genre: Slightly smutty fluff (?)

✎ Summary: Your boyfriend takes you out to a nice restaurant, but you end up eating something not on the menu.

✎ CW: Tbh kissing. I hope you like kissing.

✎ Word count: 2,118

✩ A/N: Spicy part 2 is live!✩

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” Chan says, shooting you a quick smirk while he drives.

He always looks effortlessly sexy in the car: one hand on the steering wheel, one somewhere on your leg. Tonight, it’s high up on your thigh, squeezing and rubbing the bare skin just under the hem of your dress.

“Thanks, baby,” you reply. “You, too, of course.”

“Oh, stop,” he chides. “You’ll make me blush.”

But he does anyway. Even in the dark, you can see his cheeks take on a slightly pink hue. It’s so easy to make him flustered sometimes.

The way the moonlight hit his skin was enough to make you giddy, too. His umber eyes glancing back and forth between the road ahead and your thigh, the way his wide nose slopes down and curves just above his plump, pink lips, his silver hoops swinging back and forth in his earlobes when you hit a rough patch of pavement. He was like living art. And he was all yours.

“So….” he starts, trying to change the topic inside your brain to something less… him. “You excited for the seafood?”

“Mhhmmm,” you mumble, still entranced by the god next to you. He’s gonna have to try harder than that.

He catches your eyes for a second and giggles before squeezing your thigh.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says sheepishly. “I can’t handle that look in your eyes.”

“What look?” you ask, fully aware of what look it is. But it’s always fun to hear him describe it.

“Like… like you’re…” he says between glances. “Like you love me. A ridiculous amount.”

“Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life?” you add.

“Yes, that,” he says with a laugh. “It’s making me nervous. And… excited. I have to focus on driving and you’re over there looking at me like that — it’s so distracting.”

“Fine, fine,” you surrender and smirk. “I’ll save my lovey-dovey eyes for when you’re not operating a murder machine.”

“Thank you, my love,” he says appreciatively, reaching for your hand to bring it to his lips. “So, as I was saying… seafood. What do you think you’re gonna eat?”

“I’m not sure,” you say, shifting your glance to the road. “Clams definitely. Oysters maybe? Do you wanna share something?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’d love to share with you,” he says, squeezing your hand he still holds between the two of you.

The rest of the drive isn’t long, but keeping your eyes on the road is agony. Every brush of his thumb on the back of your hand fills you with raw emotion you need to channel back to him, but you fight to keep your eyes to yourself for the sake of his sanity — and your lives, apparently.

The car pulls into the parking lot, and he finds a spot easily. Once it’s in park, Chan removes his seatbelt, shoots you a wink, and says, “hold tight.” He exits his side, shuts the door, and hustles over to the passenger side where he opens the door for you with a slight bow.

“We’ve arrived, my lady,” he says and holds his hand out for you.

“Oh, thank you, good sir,” you reply, placing your hand in his to help you out of the car. “What a lovely gentleman you are.”

He shut the door, places his hand at his waist and holds out his elbow for you to take.

“Shall we?”

“Of course.”

You walk arm in arm toward the entrance, both smiling wide as you ascend the stairs.

“Good evening, sir and madam,” the host greets in a similar — but less sarcastic — tone of voice. “Do we have a reservation this evening?”

“Yes, should be under Christopher,” Chan answers.

“Ah, yes. Mr. Bahng. We have you in the private room this evening.”

“Oohhh, the private room, huh?” you whisper in his ear. “Ok, rich ass.”

He holds back a smile but squeezes your arm as the host extends his arm and gestures to follow him.

You weave through tables and up stairs and around hallway corners until the man opens a tall door and steps to the side so you can enter. Inside is a table for 4, but with only two seats. A small chandelier hangs from the tall ceiling, and the windowless walls are nearly bare, except for a themed photo or two.

“Will this do, sir and madam?” the host asks politely.

“Of course, this is perfect, thank you,” Chan replies. “Will a waiter come to us, or…”

“Yes, sir, they’ll come by and knock before entering.”

Oh, you sly piece of shit.

“Sounds perfect, thank you so much again,” Chan says.

The waiter nods and steps out of the room, closing the heavy door behind him.

“You fucking…” you tease, slapping Chan’s toned arms lightly. “Private room? The waiter has to knock? So pretentious.”

“Listen, I didn’t know it was this private, but yeah,” he defends himself, but his face softens again when he pulls you into his chest. “What’s wrong with a little privacy, huh?”

“You better be good,” you warn, looking at him sternly.

“I will, I promise,” he smirks, but then he holds you tighter and kisses your neck just below your jawline, so you’re almost certain his fingers must be crossed.

“Yeah, ok, sure,” you say sarcastically and lift his head to plant a quick kiss on his nose before heading to your respective sides of the table and sitting in the outlandish chairs — they’re almost like mini thrones.

“Well, these are… a lot,” Chan scoffs and turns his attention to you. “But they do suit you well, my queen.”

“And you, my king,” you say, barely holding in a giggle.

A knock at the door ends the role play — for now — and a waiter enters with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“Good evening, can I get you two anything else to drink or eat?” he says politely as he pours your first glasses.

Chan skillfully orders a bottle of champagne, a tray of oysters, clams and other shellfish, and a pasta dish. The waiter takes note and leaves almost as quickly as he came.

“Wow, ok,” you say in amazement.

“What? Not happy with the selections?” he replies with a grin.

“No it’s fine, that was just… quick,” you marvel and pick up your glass, taking a sip of the Malbec.

“Yeah, hopefully the food comes quickly, too,” he says, then his expression turns much more serious, seductive even.

“Until then… wanna come sit in my lap?”

“Hm?” you ask. “You want me to sit in your lap… in a fancy restaurant?”

“Well, it is a private room…” he muses and grabs his glass, taking a sip and pushing his chair back from the table. Even confident Channie can’t help but blush when he gets excited, and you can’t resist those rosy cheeks.

“Well… will you? Please?” he repeats the question.

“… just because you asked nicely.”

You stand from your chair and slowly round the table to his seat, standing above him for a few seconds before lifting your dress enough to straddle his legs.

“Hi,” you chirp once your faces are only inches apart. “How are you?”

“Better now,” he says with a grin as he placed his glass back on the table and snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you closer so your noses touch. “How are you, darling?”

“I’m ok, a little hungry,” you answer, wrapping your arms around his neck and rubbing your nose against his. “You smell amazing.”

“So do you,” he says softly, leaning forward to inhale your exhales. “So sweet… I want to taste you.”

His lips gently press against yours as his palm travels up your back and stops at the base of your neck. His fingers close around it just enough to keep you steady, to keep you close.

He opens his lips then, slipping his tongue out to run along your bottom lip. Your tongue meets his there before returning to its original position to let him explore.

Soft sighs and moans bounce back and forth between your mouths as the kiss deepens. Heads tilt to gain better access, and hands travel to necks, to hair, to cheeks… to hold, to stroke, to savor.

Both of your eyes are squeezed shut, too overwhelmed by your other senses to process anything else. And you don’t need to see to understand the map of his mouth. It’s a place you’ve been so many times before. A place that stays with you even when you’re away. A place that feels like home.

Your mouth tastes like wine, but as more of his saliva sits on your tongue, the flavors change. The acidity drops away almost entirely, letting notes of vanilla, dark chocolate and blackberries shine through.

“Mmm,” he hums, breaking the kiss for just a second. “This wine is delicious.”

“I was just thinking the same,” you say, amazed for the millionth time how in sync you are. “Want some more?”

He nods, and you turn to grab his glass from the table and hand it to him. But he holds his hand up,l and gestures for you to drink.

“No, you go ahead, baby,” he says. “But don’t swallow it.”

Your eyes narrow at him, but you do as he asks anyway, taking a sip and letting the liquid slosh around between your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he says. “Now, come here.”

He places his palms on either side of your neck, pulling your mouths together once again. He presses his bottom lip firmly beneath yours and uses his tongue to separate your lips, letting wine spill from your mouth into his.

Your bodies stay eerily still as the stream falls between his lips, onto his tongue. If a waiter walked in right now, he may think he stumbled upon an ancient stone fountain, lovingly crafted by skilled and passionate hands.

The last drop falls, and his hold on your neck disappears. He closes his lips and lets the wine sit on his tongue for what seems like hours, though it was only a few seconds. Then he swallows.

“Hmmm,” he hums, his face scrunching up. “Vanilla… berries?”

A smile spreads across your face.

“I got that, too. Blackberries,” you say excitedly.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it,” he confirms. “Blackberries.”

He looks up into your eyes and sends that same smile, that same expression of understanding and love, right back at you. And you’re so synchronized, you dive back in to taste his lips at the same time he does, roughly bumping foreheads and noses in the process.

“Ow! Fuck!” you exclaim, moving your hand to the bridge of your nose to assess the damage.

You clearly got the worst of the collision, though, because he just sits there smiling and giggling.

“Come here, dumbass,” he says softly, placing one big hand on the back of your neck to guide you safely back to his lips.

His lips are softer now. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the swelling. But it’s like closing silky pillows between your lips again and again and again. There’s something so comforting, so safe, about being trapped there.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your mouth, too entranced to bother breaking the kiss for three small words.

And you’re too lightheaded to even form words, so you settle for a soft moan in reply and let your fingers find his hair.

You run the soft strands through your fingers and lure sweet sounds from his mouth, like you’re playing with a marionette. Pull this strand, he moans. Pull that strand, he sighs. Rub his scalp…

The hand on your neck travels down slowly, between your shoulder blades, and follows your spine down to your ass. He grips one cheek and squeezes just enough to make you groan. He knows how to pull your strings, too.

That hand travels forward now, around your hip to the top of your thigh. It sits there for a few seconds, enough time for its owner to slide his tongue behind your teeth, feeling every ridge as he goes.

He must’ve found some confidence there, because he takes that big hand and slides it over and down, between your legs.

You stifle a moan at the same time a knock sounds from the door. The knob twists before he has time to lift his hand out from under your panties, let alone get you off his lap and back to your seat. As the door swings open, Chan whispers in your ear.

“Looks like somebody’s getting a big tip…”

…continued in part 2...

[just-some-random-blogger]

Bright Eyes | 1

Part 2

Prince Aemond's marriage was borne out of necessity and political advantage. Let it never be said that he did not know duty, for duty was what kept Aemond Targaryen grounded. But in truth, the prince felt cheated by the match, for he felt his wife was getting scraps as her dowry. After all, she was chosen for him because of her family's wealth and resources. It was then rather scandalous when the icy prince became temperate to his bride.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, arranged marriage au, smut (virginity loss, vaginal penetration), reluctant lovers ig, typos, etc.

A/N: HIIII THIS IS PART OF THE HOUSE OF THE DRAGON BIG BANG CELEBRATION 🎉🎉🎉 I split mine into 3 parts but I can only post the other 2 parts here on Tumblr after the whole event has ended to respect and give way for the other submissions. It will be available on AO3 to read though so yeah! Thank you so much to the love of my life @ewanmitchellcrumbs for making the art for me (and in such short notice too cos my artist unfortunately deactivated their Tumblr). I'm so luv youuuu Also i haven't written anything for hotd in a while so i don't remember who I'm supposed to tag so kejhshs surprise! And enjoy ig!!! HIHIHI

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa

"Perhaps," I extend a hand to him, "you ought to hold my hand."

Aemond straightens from where he stood, lone eye darting from his feet, to my hand, to my face. He finds offence in this offer, a line threatens to dig deep between his brows.

"The-" I trail off and look away, my gloved hand, however, does not retreat, "-terrain is quite bumpy." I look back to him expectantly, "I know the land well. It would be easier for me to lead you through-"

"Then lead me," Aemond cuts, both hands going behind him, "skip the fussing."

I purse my lips and watch him for a moment.

The wind strengthens. It blows past me yet I do not move with it, even with my thick dress pulling me back. In contrast, Aemond shuffles in his spot, his coat catching the gush of wind and his hair raking his skin. I had offered to braid Aemond's hair to keep it out of his face and he said he could manage because what was the breeze on a meadow compared to the ripping air at the back of a dragon?

He realizes meadow was too kind a term for this patch of land I was showing him. It was a hellscape, not lush or flowery like a meadow at all. The field stretched out to a cliff, and below it laid viscous waves that added to the horrible weather.

I nod and bring my hands to my skirts instead, "please watch your step. A few more paces, we'll reach the area that has many-"

Aemond grunts when he steps on a hidden divot. His heel digs into the mushy surface and he nearly twists his ankle.

I whip my head back and look at him, finally completing my thought, "-holes in the ground."

He clenches his jaw and yanks his foot out of the muck. I silently turn away and continue walking.

The prince mumbles to himself as he follows me.

Finally, I reach the top of the slope. I situate myself atop a rock and look down at the land. I clasp my hands together as I feel the man walk up beside me. I make it a point to really just let the silence simmer, to let him take in the view, though in truth, there really wasn't much of it. It was just-

"Dirt as far as the eye can see."

I turn to Aemond when he says this.

"How good," he purses his lips and brings his hands behind him, "I've always wanted a hill of dirt all for myself."

I slowly step down from the rock and lift my eyes up to my husband-to-be.

"Vhagar might even like it," he says, lone eye scrutinizing me then the land, which was part of my dowry.

It was the worst pickings from my family, that much was clear. But with my three older brothers set to inherit much of my house's estate, I couldn't really complain, after all, I was the youngest... and a woman.

Aemond, of course, would do the complaining, as he has been.

"I am glad to hear that, my prince," I offer a smile.

The look Aemond gives me is one of astonishment. I can practically make out how his covered eye widened underneath his eye patch. He mutters under his breath, "gods, she's fucking thick."

I pretend I don't hear it and follow after the man when he begins to walk away.

The long haired blonde struggles yet again against the uneven terrain. I no longer make the mistake of offering my assistance. For his sake, or perhaps my own, I leave a good distance between the two of us, so that if he were to topple, even if I did instinctively reach out to him again, he would be too far to reach.

I mirror his steps, right leg moving only after his did. Of course, I did not step in the holes and bumps that were so obvious to me. Still, I tail him diligently.

This was why I froze when he turned back and scowled at me.

"What are you doing?" asks the prince with furrowed brows.

I part my lips, "I-"

"Come here," he reaches out, "I have things to discuss with you."

My eyes turn to his extended hand. I look at his large, ruddy palm and feel my belly swirl in reaction. Apprehensively, I place my hand in his, and he rather discourteously snags me close to him. It nearly costs me my balance, but I'm glad it doesn't.

I watch as Aemond links our arms together before he walking off. My eyes dart from his bicep to his profile. I take in the shape of his nose and think about how our children would inherit it. I press my lips into a line at the thought.

"Our marriage is that of convenience," he turns to me, "and duty."

When Aemond does not continue, I tighten my lips together and nod.

He looks away and walks at a slower pace, "we are to be married in a few days time, and after that, you will no longer belong to your house, you will belong to mine," I notice how his expression hardens, "you will belong to me."

"I understand this," I retort.

He tilts his head, "do you?"

I nod, "I do," I tighten my grip on his arm, "my whole life I have been groomed to be the perfect wife. Once I am yours, everything that I am will be for you."

Aemond's face is blank when he looks at me, and yet I can tell he wishes me to clarify.

So I do, "I will be your wife, your princess, the lady of your house, the mother of your children. I am for you... and you for me."

"Mmm," he looks away and adjusts my grip on him. He loosens it, "yes."

For a moment, we both simply walk on the rocky ground.

Aemond draws a deep breath and turns his head to gaze upon the façade of what would be his castle after our marriage. It was a shabby little thing, run down and without servants, but it was situated in a strip of land that would prove to be beneficial if, say, war came.

"Your father is character," Aemond starts, "a rather ambitious man, wouldn't you agree?"

"He is," I chew my lip, "if he could, he'd take the stars and put them on his walls."

The prince hums, "do you share in his ambition?"

"I-"

He squeezes my arm. He throws a look, as if displeased that I would answer so quickly.

I raise my brows, retaining what I meant to answer, though saying it much slower than I would have, "I have no other ambition than to be a dutiful bride. My ambition is your ambition."

Aemond does not respond nor speak up until we make it back to the carriage.

There, both our mothers are waiting, both equally pleased by our return.

"There they are," my mother says with a smile, "I trust you enjoyed your stroll, my prince."

Aemond eyes my mother as he breaks away from me to walk over to his. Queen Alicent smiles at his son and brushes the hair that was flying to his face.

"The walk was too aggravating to be enjoyed. There was not a single patch of leveled ground," the prince say, "I doubt even sheep would enjoy it here."

I play off my agitation while my mother laughs, "you needn't worry about the ground being level, prince Aemond. You'll have peasants to do that for you."

I walk towards my mother when she reaches out to me. She smiles and takes my hand, "come, my daughter. Today will be your last day as my baby."

I lock gazes with Aemond as my mother kisses my temple.

I feel embarrassment creep up my cheeks.

The honest truth was, I don't remember what happened between that moment and when my husband was undoing the back of my dress. I vaguely remember the wedding, sharing dances with my brothers, with Aemond's brothers, with Helaena. I can recall King Viserys retiring early because of his headache, but then again, he did this often, so it could simply be a memory from another day.

All I know was that Aemond's fingers were hard, hot, and nimble. What would have taken me ages to take off my dress, he did so in a few seconds. I do my best not to breathe heavily, but even though I was not facing him, I couldn't seem to keep from heaving.

It was quite dark. The few candles that were lit did not really help in illuminating the room, but that did not make the idea of being naked in front of a man any easier for me.

My hammering heart commanded my eyes shut as the feverish dragon stripped me bare before him. I swear his touch burned my shivering skin as he slowly revealed my body to himself. I feel him brush his palms down my arms as he pulled my dress down my shoulders. Soon enough my entire body prickled as my shift dropped to my feet.

I cover my breasts with my arm and block my sex with my hand.

"Would you like to undress me, wife?" he mutters.

I feel the hair on the back of my neck raise when I feel his hot breath hit my skin. It was such a plainly worded question, yet it made me want to jump out of the window.

I slowly turn my head, opening my eyes to steal a look of him from over my shoulder. I don't know why, but I say, "yes."

The fact was I didn't. I didn't want to undress him. I would like to think it was quite apparent with how I slowly turned and apprehensively uncovered myself to be able to undress him.

I did not know why I was so shocked that he was unabashedly eyeing my body. I did not know why I was so shocked when his hands reached out to my waist, when his fingers pressed into my flesh, and his nails left marks on my skin. I let out a squeak and fidgeted with his shirt as he did so.

He only releases me when I pull his top off. I step out of my shift, bunched by my ankles, and walk closer to him to undo his breeches. I do not look at his face once, but I know he is still looking at me.

Once his ties were loose, I ghost my fingertips by his waistband, uncertain and hesitant of what to do next.

Recognizing this, he takes my wrists, but he freezes the next moment, clearly not expecting me to do what I did next.

I kissed him. I tilted my head and pressed my lips against his. It was chaste-- probably how I kissed him when we were proclaimed man and wife, but gods did it make my body burn.

I lick my lips after pulling away. I think about clutching his face, and so I do. I reach out to his cheeks and shift on my toes, leaning in for another peck.

I whimper when he pulls me flush against his chest. The contrast of my softer, colder body on his leaner, warmer one was something welcome. Apart from his hands tugging me close, it was like his very essence was drawing me into him.

We do not break our kiss even as he pushes me towards the bed, not even as I topple back and land on the mattress. There is a desperation in his kisses, as if the act of ending it would cause him harm.

He guides me underneath him. He parts my legs and makes room for himself between them. He rubs against me, and it is then I am reminded that I had failed to strip him fully naked. He immediately moves to remedy this, which is then when he pulls away.

When he does so, he rips at his trousers, hell-bent on freeing himself in as little time as possible.

Aemond gets on his knees and gracelessly pulls his remaining clothing off. It may have been dark but I could see him. I could see all of him now. It made my core pulse with excitement, dread, anticipation, and apprehension all at once.

I sigh when he sinks down and presses against me. He kisses me again and I feel his hardened length press against my belly.

I mold my body against him, curling myself in a way that fit snug with his form. I bring my thighs against his hips and feel encouraged when his hand squeeze and pull them closer to him.

He breaks our kiss to draw in a much needed breath and the haze that built in my mind grows thicker when Aemond begins to trail his lips down my jaw and neck. My nails find their way to his spine when he begins to buck his hips into me.

My skin prickles and my heart pounds when he whispers something into my ear. I did not know what he said, but I was certain it was High Valyrian. I was also somehow certain it had something to do with the way I felt.

Aemond hums and sinks his nose behind my ear. I whimper in response, arms tightening around him. I embrace him like I did not intend to let him go, and it truth, I really didn't.

"You make such pretty sounds for me."

I feel embarrassment creep up my cheeks. I am glad he does not see it.

I make another sound when I feel Aemond's hand trail between my thighs. We both hiss when his fingers find my sensitive center.

He pushes himself up on one arm and lifts his body. Aemond grabs himself and makes me yelp when he rubs his cock against my folds. It was then I realized how wet I've become. 

He does this for a while. He coats himself with my dampness. He continues until I feel my body drip with sweat and arousal, until the arm keeping him up tires, and then I feel him slowly push into me.

When he does so, he sinks down and fits into me oh-so perfectly. The intrusion was not at all uncomfortable, in fact, it made my belly burn with need.

I find myself kissing the crook of his neck as he laid atop me. I feel him sigh in response.

"Please," I whisper, thighs rubbing against him, "I need more."

Aemond wastes no time in attending to my plea.

I mewl when he begins to thrust his hips. His movements are short and tight; he barely pulls out. He continues like this then changes pace when he grabs the back of my knees and pushes them close to my ribs. His movements grow bolder, more deliberate and harder.

He, himself, makes pretty sounds as he moves into me. 

I feel sweat begin to build on my skin. I feel a pressure begins to tighten in me.

"Take my seed like a dutiful wife," he kisses my jaw, "I'll put a dragon in you."

My back arches, "Aemond."

"I wish to see you full of me," his one hand comes up to my breast and squeezes it, "I wish to fill you with me."

"P-please fill me," I respond with a shaky voice.

Aemond grunts, "I will."

My heart nearly stops when I feel burning pleasure break into me. My mouth releases the remaining air in my lungs as it calls out my husband's name.

Aemond makes gutteral noises as his movements grow rough and eventually stop.

I bury my face into his shoulder and catch my breath. Aemond follows suit but takes only a few breaths before lifting himself up and rolling off me.

He brings my legs together and covers my form with a blanket. I tense when he stands and walks off, feeling a panic come over me when he disappears. It only intensifies when he does not come back quickly.

I am about to sit up but then I freeze when I see him walk over to me. He is now clothed and had something in his hand.

"Clean yourself up," he places something on the bedside table, "you will not enjoy it when you wake," he turns to me, "I suggest you get dressed as well. You are rather cold."

I feel my body burn as Aemond walks off, circling the bed, coming under the sheets on his side.

I do as he says, slowly pushing the blanket off, feeling a chill run down my spine when my bare feel touch the cold ground. I stand and see that there was a wash basin on the table, as well as a towel.

I take in a deep breath and wipe myself down with warm water that was prepared for me. Once I was done, I examine the floor and pick up my shift. I put it on and put out the candles. 

I climb into bed and do my best not to touch Aemond. My voice breaks when I call out, "good night."

He does not respond so I tell myself he was asleep. It takes a while for me to do the same.

[decaffeinatedbreadsublime]

Rajesh Koothrappali x Female!Reader: The Comic Con Redemption

Author's Note: I love Raj very much and want to rewrite moments from the series including a girlfriend for him to pretend he didn't end up alone.

P.S.: English is not my first language, and this is my first imagine. Sorry for any mistakes.

Warning: none

Summary: You've just been promoted to Girlfriend of the Millennium.

(gif just to illustrate their happiness, lol)

Raj sighed, disheartened. "The tickets sold out… I didn’t get any."

It was another tense day at the opening of Comic Con ticket sales. The friends had gathered at Sheldon’s apartment, all agitated, each with their laptop in hand. They frantically pressed F5 until they managed to get into the virtual queue—if they managed to.

"I didn’t get one either," Howard replied. From the frustrated faces of Leonard and Sheldon, it was evident they hadn’t succeeded either.

"This was supposed to be the best Comic Con in the last 20 years," Leonard lamented. "I can’t believe we’re going to miss it."

"Now I know how Mexican immigrants feel when they’re barred from entering the United States and living the American dream they desire so much," Sheldon commented, his voice monotone in a sad tone.

"…No, Sheldon, you don’t know," Leonard said. Despite the frustration, he didn’t agree with Sheldon’s exaggerated drama.

When you arrived at the apartment from your shift at Caltech’s Computational Mathematics lab, where you worked as a researcher, the atmosphere was similar to a funeral. The last time you saw them this sad was when Tony Stark had died.

"Oh, no," you said, going to your boyfriend Raj’s side and sitting on the arm of the chair he occupied. "Don’t tell me another superhero died… when Tony Stark died, you were in mourning for three days, it was horrible."

"It’s worse," Sheldon said. "We didn’t get tickets to Comic Con."

"I already had my cosplay ready," Leonard sighed.

"Speaking of which," you stood up, took the bag that was still on your shoulder, and pulled out four identical pieces of paper. "Julie’s husband, who was my roommate at Harvard, works in event organization and is organizing this year’s Comic Con. I got four tickets for you guys."

You placed the tickets on the table, and everyone stood still for a few seconds, completely immobile. Sheldon picked up one of the tickets from the coffee table, analyzed it cautiously, and held it up to the light to verify its authenticity. When he finished, he put the ticket back on the table and sat up straight, in complete silence.

"Well?" Howard asked.

"They’re real," Sheldon replied.

"Y/N, YOU GENIUS, WONDERFUL WOMAN!" Raj instantly shouted. He quickly got up from the chair, went to you, gave you a hug that lifted you off the ground, and spun you around. Then he kissed you intensely.

"Why didn’t you tell us you had the tickets?" Leonard asked.

"Julie’s husband could only confirm if he could get them 30 minutes before the official batch opened," you explained. "I didn’t want to say anything before to avoid creating expectations. And when I got them, I called Raj five times, but he didn’t answer. So I called you guys, and no one answered. But I decided to get the tickets anyway, and if you managed to buy some, I could sell them, so it would be a win-win situation."

"We were doing finger stretches to avoid cramps while buying the tickets," Sheldon explained. "That’s why we missed the call."

You laughed. "Well, I guess you owe me one."

Raj hugged you again, kissing your temple. "Consider me your servant for the next weeks."

[feyd-meowtha]

Announcing my Clegan Christmas fic....

Coming to an ao3 account near you this festive season!!!

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

BOOM! (1/3)

Part 1: The Cowgirl & The Oilman

Stunning, wonderful, perfect art by @lya-dustin

My submission for the 2024 @hotd-bigbang

1928. Targaryen's, the foremost business conglomerate in Europe, is seeking to establish a foothold in the United States - and the mass of wealth and resources it offers. Viserys Targaryen has dispatched each member of his family to a different city to oversee the company's expansion into various new industries. His second son, Aemond, has chosen Dallas, Texas as his destination to take advantage of the continued prosperity of the oil boom. But getting Targaryen Oil & Petroleum off the ground may be harder than he anticipated, all thanks to the determined efforts of a single, stubborn, spellbinding cowgirl.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Nameless Female Character

Warnings: Language, Aemond is a cunt but so is the OC so it evens out?

-

The birds did not chirp. No squirrels were scuttling around, and no deer creeping through the undergrowth as they emerged from their dens. Even the cicadas were quiet, observing the mournful procession below them.

A beat-up truck hauling a rickety trailer kicked up dirt as it drove away. East, she knew. In a few miles, it would turn south. Then, there would be paved roads. Traffic lights. Other cars with roaring engines and blaring horns. Civilization.

Around these parts, ‘civilization’ meant one thing: Dallas.

The family inside the truck, the Cordrys, had been able to afford a new two-story house with the money the oil company gave them. They even had enough left over to buy a second if they wanted. But they wanted to stay together – family is family, after all. Instead, they would send Buck, their eldest son, to the university that opened in Dallas some years ago. He hadn’t yet decided whether to be a preacher or a lawyer.

The young woman watching them leave from atop a nearby hill dearly hoped he would be a preacher. Buck was always good with words, which would suit either profession, but he was also kind. She had never met a lawyer herself, to her knowledge. But given that it was a lawyer who negotiated the deal for the Cordrys to sell their ranch, she decided she didn’t like lawyers.

Lawyers had come for her home, too. Vermillion Ranch apparently sat on very valuable land, not that her ancestors knew it when they first settled there over 100 years ago. All they knew was that it was the prettiest piece of land for miles and miles. Still was.

Her Papa loved that land so much that when the lawyers came to buy it from them, he’d chased them off with his shotgun. He hadn’t been so proud or happy in years, but it cost him, leaving him so exhausted that he hardly got out of bed for a week. So, when the lawyers came back, she’d taken up the shotgun and did the scaring herself.

They hadn’t been back in a while, but she knew they’d try again soon.

She would never let them have the land, even if they offered her all the gold in Fort Knox.

Loral, her beloved horse, knickered as she chewed at the shoulder of her shirt, breaking her from her thoughts just in time to see the Cordrys’ car fading in the distance, little more than a smudge of dirt against the sunset as they passed by a half-built oil derrick.

“Come on, girl,” she said, patting Loral’s neck. “Let’s go home.”

-

Within minutes of stepping off the Gay Abandon in what locals called the “Free State of Galveston,” Aemond Targaryen decided he hated Texas. 

From what little he had seen of the United States, he could confidently say he hated most of the country, with only a few notable exceptions. But this place? With its cacophony of warring jazz music and industrial clanging, undercut by overloud radios and the people shouting to be heard. With the skyline jumbled with shoddily rebuilt slums, sprawling stone factories and warehouses, and brightly painted beachside resorts teeming with people that would look much better suited to Los Angeles or Miami. With the stench, a horrid combination of fish, brine, booze, and oil.

Perhaps “loathe” was a better word than hate for this city.

At least he didn’t have to stay long. 

A car was already waiting for him at the dock to take him to the train that would deliver him to Dallas. The moment the chauffeur was back in his seat, he opened the glove box to reveal an amber bottle of ‘moonshine,’ which he then offered to Aemond in a truly incomprehensible accent. How the man hadn’t already been arrested for so blatantly defying prohibition, he didn’t know.

Yet another reason to hate America - the continued illegality of alcohol.

Though he’d yet to find a city where liquor couldn’t be found with even the mildest of efforts, he still refused to indulge. He could not risk arrest just for the brief escape a good glass of wine offered. There was too much riding on his new task.

Targaryen Oil & Petroleum Inc.

As of now, it was only a packet of legal documents and an office somewhere in Dallas that Aemond hadn’t yet laid eyes on. But given a year or two and no small amount of hard work, it would be one of the most profitable ventures in the history of Targaryen & Sons. After all, it had by far the best potential of any of the other new projects. Texas was at the heart of the booming oil industry, and as the world’s demand for electricity, cars, aeroplanes, and more grew exponentially, so would the market for so-called “black gold.”  

Much of the state's southern half had already been claimed, but the north had begun showing new promise. All Aemond had to do was buy a few hundred thousand acres of land from the farmers there and start drilling.

He would win, he had no doubt.

Not that it was truly a competition. Or at least, his father had not called it such. Still, how could it be anything but? The old man sent each of his children and two eldest grandchildren to the New World with one task: make money - lots of it.

Aemond’s elder brother, Aegon, had purchased a film studio in Los Angeles to invest in the new talking pictures. His sister, Helaena, was in New York, where she bought some magazine about nature, or geography, or something similar. His younger brother, Daeron, had gone to a city called Detroit to manufacture automobiles for racing. Viserys’ grandsons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, followed Aegon to Los Angeles to pursue aviation engineering and radio broadcasting, respectively.

All respectable prospects, but not nearly as lucrative as oil was. In truth, the only competition Aemond faced was from his elder half-sister. Rhaenyra had also gone to New York to start an investment bank. She would surely do well, especially with the support from her husband’s shipping empire. But Aemond knew she would soon lose interest and pass her responsibilities onto someone else so she could indulge her own interests - namely parties and men.

Targaryen Oil & Petroleum would prevail in the end, and Aemond could return home as the heir apparent to Targaryen & Sons.

All he had to do was spend a year or two in this hellhole.

-

“You have gotta settle down, girl,” she grumbled as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with her Momma’s old handkerchief. She glared at the massive mare who had been giving her nothing but trouble for the past six months, holding tight to her leads, only letting go when the new stall door was closed and double-latched. “Lumber’s expensive. We don’t have the money to keep this up, and we’re all outta spares.”

There were seven stalls in the horse barn. Only two were occupied, and only those two still had doors. The mare had broken five of them. Not to escape the barn or the ranch. No, she never went anywhere. She did it just because she was cranky, and she could. The cowgirl also suspected that the horse was somehow amused by it.

“But you like making me suffer too much for that, don’t you?” An exaggerated shake of the mare’s huge head certainly seemed like a gleeful yes. She sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

With the horses tended, she made her way to the house to fix lunch for her and Daddy before riding out to meet the herd. She was only halfway across the yard when she heard a far-away engine growing louder and louder. It couldn’t be neighbor - they were all gone now. That only left a few options, and none she was too pleased about.

Each step up to the porch creaked as she climbed toward the house. Maybe she could use some of the salvageable wood from the latest destroyed stall door to replace them, even if the color wouldn’t match. Paint was just as pricey as lumber. 

“Daddy! You up?” She only poked her head through the door, not wanting to get barn muck inside the house. Momma's strict rules still applied, at least to her. “Daddy!”

His grumble sounded an awful lot like the cranky mare’s. “I’m up! How can I not be with all yer hollerin’?”

“It’s almost lunch, Daddy. You need to be up!”

“Fine, fine. I’m up!” He tried to snark back more, but it quickly became wracking coughs. Daddy was sounding real bad again, and even if it wasn’t the usual day, maybe it was Doc Spooner in that car coming to check on him.

The car had gotten close enough that she could start to make out its shape within the cloud of dust it kicked up. A shiny bumper and bright green paint. Not a car she recognized. “Hey, Daddy, is the doctor comin’ today?”

“Not today, hun. It’s Tuesday, ‘member?”

“How ‘bout Pastor John?”

“He’s down in Waco for the rest of the month! Why you askin’ anyway?”

Then who the hell was in that car? She had an inkling, but she was sure the last time Daddy got the shotgun out would be the last time they’d be bothered about this. “Car’s coming up the drive. You wanna handle it?”

She hoped he would. But to her disappointment, he shouted back, “Too damn tired! You take this one, hun.”

So, she shut the door and leaned against it, watching that shiny green car pull into the ranch proper. Chickens scattered away from it, even though they weren’t anywhere near its path. The goats and sheep meandered to the edge of the yard, not wanting to be disturbed but unwilling to wander too far for fear that one of the dogs would come after them. Meanwhile, the dogs barked ferociously at the mechanical intruder but didn’t so much as stand from where they rested in the shade of the house—lazy good-for-nothin’s.

The car finally stopped. It was even fancier than the cars the other lawyers came in, with brass polished to look like gold on bits that were usually chrome. If it wasn’t absolutely coated in dust, she might even like it. A man in what looked to be a green police uniform came out the driver’s door. Very fancy, then, if the lawyer wasn’t driving himself. 

When he emerged from the back seat of the car, the man nearly took her breath away.

He was tall and thin as a beanpole. But he didn’t seem delicate. Maybe that had more to do with his suit - deep blue pinstripes with what surely must be padding in the shoulders. Most of it was likely due to the sour expression on his handsome face. Not handsome like farmhands or cowboys were handsome - gruff and rugged - but like how movie stars were handsome - softer and refined.

Or at least, he would have been if he weren’t sunburnt to all hell and sweating like a whore in church.

This man was not from around here, and as far as she was concerned, he could fuck right off. Of course, he didn’t. He just walked right up the porch and took off his hat, revealing his slicked silver hair.

“Who are you?”

He raised a brow as he looked her over, head to toe. Judging by the slight sneer pulling at the corner of his mouth, he wasn’t impressed with what he saw. “My name is Aemond Targaryen.” Lord, he even talked fancy, with a soft, pretty voice and some kind of accent she’d never heard before. Though his sharp tone left something wanting. “May I ask for your name, miss?”

“No.” Handsome as he was, it didn’t change that she wanted him gone as soon as possible.  “What do you want?”

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. “As I said, my name is Aemond Targaryen, proprietor of Targaryen Oil & Petroleum. Have you heard of our business?”

She certainly had. Not only had it snatched up the land from most of the farmers and ranchers in the area, but it had also started buying land from other oil companies, too. Undoubtedly the worst of all of ‘em. And Mr. Targaryen himself was now standing on her porch, looking down at her as if she was a piece of shit on his shoe. She clenched her jaw to stop it from dropping open and pointedly stayed silent.

“Well, we are relatively new.” He glanced off to the side, his distaste for everything around him as clear as day. “As the name “Oil & Petroleum” implies, we are in the oil business. I’m - ”

“No shit.”

He looked at her like she’d just shot him. “Pardon me?”

“I said, ‘no shit.’” She gave him her best, over-sweet smile.

“Yes, well…” His hat creaked as he clenched it in his fist, his jaw so tight she half expected it to snap. “Our petroleum geologists - very smart people who study oil - have determined, or found, that there is a large deposit beneath this land,  meaning that there is a lot of oil deep underground. Oil is used to power electricity, cars, and many other things, so it would be very good for everyone if we could get the oil out of the ground. We do this by drilling. Do you understand me so far?”

Uppity bastard. Did he really think she was so dumb she needed all this explained? “Oh, I understand you just fine.”

“Very good,” he praised, as if she were a child who’d taken her first steps. “Now, to be allowed to drill for oil, you must -”

“I’m not selling my land.”

The last dregs of false politeness faded from his voice. “I’m sorry?” 

“I am not selling my land.  Not to you or anyone else.” Even if it meant her only neighbors would be oil derricks and lawyers circling like vultures.

“You haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

“Don’t need to.”

“Miss, based on the value of the land and the oil under it, I am willing to pay you forty dollars per acre.” He stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to keep looking him in the eye. Very pretty eyes, even if they were filled with frustration. “Given the size of your property, that comes out to over forty thousand dollars. Do you know how much money that is?”

She shrugged as she crossed her arms, raising her brows in mock awe. “Sounds like forty thousand dollars.”

“I -” He shook his head, so visibly exasperated that she had to stifle a laugh. With his skin as red as it was, he looked like an angry tomato. “That is a life-changing amount of money, surely.”

“I don’t want my life to change.” Other things, sure. Of course, she would love it if her neighbors came back or if she didn’t have to listen to the grinding of metal from one of the derricks whenever she was on the west side of the property, but those were just minor annoyances. 

“You could go wherever you want, do whatever you want, yet you would rather stay here?” 

Looking him dead in the eyes, she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“Something funny ‘bout that?”

It took him a moment to reply. “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to offer -”

“I understand you completely, Mr. Targaryen. You ain’t the first lawyer to come try to convince me and my Daddy to sell.”

Perhaps it was a mistake to mention her daddy. As soon as she did, Mr. Targaryen’s exasperation disappeared, and he was once more calm and smug. Still looked like a tomato, though. “Your father is here? May I -”

“No, you may not.” She pushed away from the door to block him from moving closer. No way in hell was she letting this ass anywhere near her daddy. “I promise he wants to talk to you even less than I do. Now shut up and listen.”

To her surprise and satisfaction, he did.

“You really think everyone else sold their land but me because the lawyers never came my way? Oh, they came my way. Over and over again until Daddy got so fed up, he took his shotgun off the mantle. They all stopped comin’ pretty soon after that. You are, in fact, the eleventh lawyer to come here and try and buy my land. Surprising, ain’t it? I can count higher than ten. I also know how oil drilling works. I s’pose you didn’t notice when you were drivin’ out here, but there are oil fields all around me.”

She stepped toward him, throwing an arm out to point to the nearest one, its steel towers rising from the earth like black weeds. Mr. Targaryen barely glanced at it, his eyes remaining on her as he stepped back, maintaining the distance between them. 

“So I know exactly what you’re gonna say to try to convince me to hand over the deed, and I’ll tell ya right now, it’s not gonna work.” When she took another step forward, he did the same. So she did it again and again, until one more step would send him tumbling into the dirt. “So get off my porch, get off my property, and go straight to hell with your forty-thousand dollars. This land is worth at least 90 bucks an acre, and you goddamn know it.”

She didn’t wait for his reaction before turning and storming into the house, regardless of Momma’s rules, the door banging shut behind her. But she stayed just inside the house, her back pressed against the door as she waited for him to leave.

It was a while before she heard the porch steps creaking again, and longer still before a car engine hummed to life and drove away. He’d hung around, for whatever reason.

Daddy was waiting for her when she went to the kitchen, his handkerchief already tucked into the collar of his shirt. “Who was that man you were yellin’ at, hun? Gotta be either a lover or a lawyer for you to get that mad.”

“Lawyer,” she answered. “A new one. Wanted to buy the land.”

“He give you a good offer?”

She laughed as she opened the icebox to grab the meatloaf from last night that would fill their sandwiches today. “Lowest one yet. Think he thought I was dumb enough to not know the value of my own land.”

“It’s still my land for a little bit longer, girl. Don’t go getting ahead of yourself.” She knew he was joking, but it still stung. He’d been doing that a lot recently, making light of the fact that the doctor had told them he couldn’t be cured and would likely be dead within a year.

“Don’t talk like that, Daddy. Please?” 

“I know. I’m sorry, hun,” he sighed. The jokes helped him feel better somehow, she knew. But they made her feel so much worse. “Now come on, you woke me up for lunch, so where is it?”

-

Aemond was once more in the back of his car, dust obscuring the view as he returned to that ranch – Vermillion, according to the faded sign on the side of one of the barns.

After his last visit, he’d pored over every paper in the Targaryen Oil & Petroleum offices, searching for a way to alter his plan without having to acquire the land. It was possible, but it would slow down development and cost him far more than he’d initially planned to invest. Purchasing the land at the price that stubborn cowgirl claimed the land was worth was the frugal option.

Or at least, that’s how he justified the decision with his investors and executives. It certainly factored into his decision to return, but was far from his central motivation.

The cowgirl had pushed back at him, and he refused to concede to a half-wit hick with illusions of superiority. If she wanted to be stubborn, so would he.

So, he once more stepped into the rocky, dirty, foul-smelling yard surrounding the dilapidated farmhouse. Ranch house? Either way, it should have long since been condemned. The wood paneling was saggy and greying, the roof messily patched, and the steps onto the porch groaning like a rusted wheel. And when he pounded his fist on the front door, he half-expected it to fall off the hinges.

Miraculously, it didn’t. But neither did it open.

Instead, a remarkably gruff voice called from inside, “Who’s there?”

Thank God, it wasn’t the cowgirl. She had mentioned a father, who might be far more amenable to selling, but she had also mentioned something about a shotgun that made him hesitate before calling back. “My name is Aemond Targaryen. Do you have a moment to speak?”

There was no answer other than the sound of shuffling feet and something pounding on the floor.

Then, the door opened to reveal a massive man, his years of hard labor evident in the width of his shoulders and stern set of his brow. This was the kind of cowboy who inspired the legends that had spread around the world. But he was also undeniably weak and ill. His skin was thin and sallow, his broad shoulders slumped, and his eyes sunken and shadowed with fatigue. He leaned heavily on a wooden cane, a compass fixed to its head, and its wood mottled yellow and brown and charred in spots. Aemond did not doubt that if he took the cane away, the man would collapse.

Still, the cowgirl had talked about this man scaring away other oilmen with a shotgun, and he didn’t want to risk the same fate.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, dipping his head. He’d allowed himself to be too terse with the girl. Perhaps a more genial approach would help him find success with her father. “I’m very pleased to meet you. May I ask for your name?”

“No.” The word was deep and rasping, followed by a wet cough. “You the man that pissed off my little girl couple days ago?”

Aemond gave a strained smile. “I did have the… pleasure of speaking to your daughter, yes. My apologies if I left her angry following our conversation. I’m afraid I have not yet become used to the heat here and allowed it to affect my mood.”

“I’m not the one you should be sayin’ sorry to.” The man thumped his cane a few times, then turned away.

Damn it, not again. “Sir, I – ”

“She’s in the horse barn,” he called over his shoulder. “Go bother her. I’m too old for your bullshit.”

-

When she’d heard an engine outside, she assumed it was Doc Spooner coming to check on her Daddy, even if it was a little earlier than normal. It wasn’t until the door to the barn opened that she knew it was someone even more unpleasant than the grumpy old Doc.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” She asked Mr. Aemond Targaryen as he walked into the barn, nose wrinkling in disgust. This time, it was justified – she was in the middle of mucking the stables, a shovel full of shit in her hands.

He forced a smile. “First, I wanted to apologize for my behavior the last time I saw you. I offended you, and I deeply regret it.”

If he hadn’t seemed so genuine, she might have just flung her newest load of shit in his face. Instead, she dumped it into the wheelbarrow beside her before putting her shovel down. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

Her Momma’s voice echoed in her head: a little kindness goes a long way, hun. But why should she be kind to a slimy, good-for-nothing oilman who was probably only saying sorry to butter her up so she’d sell him the ranch? Still, Momma’s angel was firmly planted on her shoulder, and she’d never been able to say no to her.

“I’m sorry too,” she sighed, crossing her arms. She felt like a scolded schoolgirl again. “You were rude first, but it was tacky of me to be rude back.”

Again, silence fell in the barn, only broken by an impatient grumble from the old mare. Mr. Targaryen immediately turned to her, his eyes going wide at the sight. “Who is this?”

“The Jacksons just called her Ol’ Gal,” she explained, stepping forward to try to stroke the horse’s nose. “I’ve been doing the same.”

He just hummed as he came closer, looking at the mare like she was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “The Jacksons… they owned Live Oak, yes?”

Ah, so he’d been the one to buy it. She missed that place. The Jacksons always hosted the nicest picnics. Mrs. Abbie Jackson made the tastiest green bean casserole in the county. “Yeah, that was them. When they sold, no one wanted to take Ol’ Gal. Too old ‘n too ornery. They were gonna take her to auction, but I knew the only folk that would buy her then wouldn’t treat her right, so I offered to take her.”

“That was very kind of you,” he murmured, stepping closer to her stall. Somehow, the mare didn’t startle or even stamp her hooves.

“I don’t think she’d agree with you. She’s been madder than a whole nest of hornets since she got here.” And had cost her five stall doors and a dozen fence posts, not even counting the time it took to care for her when she fought every bit of it. “Hey, I wouldn’t get too close. She’s prone to bitin’.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, not even looking at her.

In all honesty, she wasn’t gonna be too mad if he lost a finger, or at least a couple knuckles. But he would very much mind and, as a lawyer, would probably use the accident to force her to sell Vermillion. “No, really, she’ll – ”

Lean into his hand quite happily, apparently.

“How the hell did you do that?”

He smiled smugly, shrugging as he continued to stroke her snout. “My father keeps horses. I had a fondness for the older ones that were largely ignored in favor of the new acquisitions, and they had a fondness for me.”

“Funny, I thought animals were better judges of character than that,” she mumbled. Oh shit.

His smile was gone, and he dropped his hand from the Ol’ Gal. His eyes, which had seemed to see her as a person, again looked at her like she was the very shit she was shoveling. “Apologizing was not the main purpose of my visit.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” The voice of her Momma was screaming in her ear, begging her to apologize for her unforgivable rude words, but her pride shoved it down, down, down, until all she could hear was the hum of cicadas and the faint swishing of Loral and Ol’ Gal’s tails. “What is it you want, then?”

He crossed his arms behind his back. “After some new research, I’ve determined that my original estimate of the value of your land was, as you said, incorrect. I am now willing to pay you ninety-three dollars an acre, bringing the total value of my offer to more than ninety-six thousand.”

Offering her so much money pissed him off, judging by his clenched jaw and strained voice. It didn’t amuse her as much as it did the first time. Still, she wasn’t going to give in just for more money. “My answer is still no. Hell no. Fuck no. Whatever no you need to go away and never come back.”

Something snapped for him, and he surged forward until their chests were nearly touching. He craned his neck to look down at her, fury burning like the summer sun in his eyes. “You stupid little cowgirl. Are you so stubborn that you’ll tell me no just to what? Feel powerful? Feel like you’re somehow superior to me? It’s a fucking joke.

“I’m offering you the chance to become a person. To live in real, modern civilization.” He laughed, cruel and humorless. “But you’d rather stay here? In a house that will fall apart the next time there’s a strong breeze, and spend your days shoveling shit? My God, you’re hardly better than the animals you keep.”

Oh, how she wished she was a horse, if only so she could trample him under her feet. Or one of her cattle, so she could gore him with her horns. Even if she was one of her dogs, she could shred him apart like he deserved.

But she was just what he said, a stupid, stubborn cowgirl.

She turned away from him, opening Loral’s stall to saddle her as quickly as she could. She needed to get away, or she was going to do something she would regret. Likely hurt him. Possibly cry. Either way, she refused to do it.

“Where are you going?” he asked once she was in the saddle, clutching the reins so hard they dug into her skin.

“I have chores to do.”

He stepped in front of Loral, arms out to try and prevent her from riding off, but Loral sidestepped him with ease. “I’m not leaving until I get my yes.”

“Then I guess you better follow me. Or you can always go sit with the dogs where you belong.”

Without waiting for an answer, she spurred Loral into a gallop and left Aemond Targaryen behind.

-

When the cowgirl and her horse faded into the distance, Aemond screamed. He didn’t care if her father or his driver heard him. He needed to scream. What had he done to piss off God enough that he would put this girl in front of him?

Behind him, the old mare snickered, banging her legs against her stall door.

“How do you endure her?” he asked. God, he really had lost his mind if he would stoop to commiserating with a horse. At least the horse seemed to dislike the cowgirl as much as he did – he had one ally.

If he was going to succeed, perhaps he needed an ally, even an equine one. After all, horses had helped win the Great War, and this girl certainly felt like his personal war. Very well, then.

He had the mare – Ol’ Gal needed a proper name – saddled in mere minutes. Then, he was off, chasing after the most infuriating woman he’d ever met with the determination of a general.

Whatever it took, he was getting his yes.

-

Author's Note: yeehaw motherfuckers

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Pearl of The Realm | Sneak Peek

Story Warnings: arranged marriage, canon-typical sexism, smut, 18+, loss of virginity, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

A/N: This story has some wonderful art done by @aegonx which will be available to view alongside the full fic when HOTD Big Bang is in full swing 😙 in the meantime, enjoy the teaser!

He knew that he would eventually have to marry someone, but it did little to take the sting away from it. Often, while his mother talked at him, he looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from his right, to his left, and to his right, again, batting little thoughts in his head.  What his mother didn’t know is what those ladies at court said about him while they supposed his back was turned. That he was of a violent disposition with a quarrelsome temper, one wrong movement or something as simple as a word spoken out of turn and he would dare not speak to the person in question for however long he deemed fit. That women thought of him as incapable of feeling something as beautiful as love, or even affection, given the sullen look he always wore, with barely-contained anger lurking beneath and an unexpressed pride in his position.  Aemond would never show that such words would have any effect on him with earnest. Sometimes it is better to not say anything at all, he concluded. This method had so often proven successful, it seemed little use to him to stray from it now.  He merely hoped that this woman his mother spoke of with such respect, was not one of the ladies at court. 

Coming to @hotd-bigbang in November '23!

[fuctacles]

"What are those 'freaks' exactly?" Steve asks from the back seat of the car. He does have a vague idea but it's not something that comes up in daily conversation or gets covered in classes. He's not even interested in going, but his parents rarely take him anywhere, so when his mom mentioned that a freak show came to town and she wanted to check it out, he backed her up and his father reluctantly agreed to make it a family trip.

“Human curiosities,” his mother answers, which explains nothing to him.

“Mother Nature’s fuck-ups,” adds his father, making Steve frown. 

Wasn’t nature supposed to be orderly and thought out? Meticulously crafted by evolution or god’s plan, whichever you believed in? (Steve’s teachers had a confusing beef about it.)

Then again, nature invented spiders, which Steve would consider a fuck-up on its part. He remembers Dustin telling him about a comic about a spider-man. The thought of a human-shaped arachnid makes his skin crawl and he loses all his curiosity on the topic. Suddenly the family trip doesn't seem so fun anymore.

The short drive to the empty fields on the outskirts of Hawkins is filled with the Top 40 playing on the radio. His father taps his fingers to the beat of some of them, proving against all odds that he's capable of enjoying trivial human things. Steve loves to sing along and dance in the confines of his room but here, trapped in a car with his parents, he just bops his head slightly, not wanting to disturb the silence.

The freak show is a lot like the circus his uncle took him to once. There is a scattering of tents and trucks in varying sizes, all in a similar, kitschy theme of a fun fair. The air even smells of popcorn and hot dogs.

His mother scrunches her nose as soon she steps out of the car.

“This is not what I expected,” she comments, eyeing the scattering of kids and families running around.

“Well...” His father slams the door shut, pulling out a cigarette even before locking the car. “These things are dying off because of human rights activists,” he says around the cig he's trying to light. “Guess they had to rebrand to keep the business afloat.”

It's Steve’s turn to scrunch his face. His dad makes everything about business and money, even something supposedly fun, like a Sunday family trip to a fair; freak show, circus, whatever this is.

“It used to be a huge tent with displays. Now each of them gets their own? Who do they think they are?” his mother laments while hanging onto her husband’s arm, while Steve tails behind.

They pass a tent with a Siamese Twins sign hanging from the front, with a man at the front of the line, gathering money and letting people in. Nearby is another tent, occupied by a Bearded Lady, then a Half-man Half-wolf behind it. The line to that one is particularly long.

The Harringtons agree to take a walk around and decide which ones they want to spend money on, and whether it's even worth it. They've already paid an entrance fee that gives them access to most of the attractions anyway.

They pass a couple of smaller booths, a face-painting clown, and a juggler, before reaching the biggest tent in the center. In front of it stands a chalkboard with a schedule of main events. According to it the next show, between 1 pm and 2:30 pm, was a music performance, pricing a dollar per song: The Twisted Jukebox. 

Steve decides to stay back, with a couple of bills burning in his pocket, while his parents keep exploring.

The light coming in from the top of the tent illuminates a box in the stage center, throwing a long shadow against the soft glow. As he comes closer he realizes it's a jukebox, and he wonders what could possibly be so special about it to warrant an hour-and-a-half-long performance slot. The sign says 'a dollar per song', but does it even take bills?

He decides that the couple of minutes left until the start gives him enough time to examine the machine. It isn't as close to the edge of the stage as he’d like but he presses against the wooden construction nevertheless, cocking his head to the side. The jukebox looks off, different from the ones he'd see at diners, but he can't exactly put his finger on why.

“Hi! Would you like to request a song?”

The sudden voice to his left startles him into bumping his elbow against the stage. He winces as he turns around.

A blonde girl is smiling at him apologetically. She's wearing a short green dress, with a jacket he's seen on other circus staff thrown over her shoulders. She must be involved in the show, then.

He glances back at the jukebox, the song list unreadable from his vantage point.

“What are my options?” he asks, looking at the girl again. 

“Any song works!” she says with a bright smile, and he frowns at her, confused.

"That's not how jukeboxes work," he observes. But her smile only widens.

"This one does," she assures him. "So?"

His mind blanks in when put on the spot like that, but he thinks back to the songs he's heard on the radio today.

"Madonna's Material Girl?" he suggests hesitantly. For some reason, she laughs.

"That's perfect. You're the first one today, so you'll get the honors. Do you have a token already?"

The face he makes must be answer enough because she smiles and produces a coin from her pocket. Or a poker chip painted gold to resemble a coin.

"I hope you have a dollar because I don't have any change yet."

He remembers how gigs work, that you have to pay the performers, and dives into his pocket. He didn't take much with him, but one dollar isn't a problem. He exchanges it for the golden token.

"Follow me." The girl motions at him and turns around abruptly. Stunned, he does as he's told until they reach the steps on the side of the stage. She moves aside as if expecting him to go up there.

He's confused as all hell. Is this how all circus performers were? Freaks in both senses of the word?

The girl chuckles at him and she's too cute for Steve to be offended but it's a close call.

"Hop up there, put the coin in the slot and the show will start. I'll come get you after that."

His confusion triples down but he's used to nodding along when a cute girl talks to him so that's what he does now as well. Blondes are not exactly his type, but maybe he could ask her out and show her around town later.

"Okay," he says before stepping on the stage. When he turns around the girl is gone and he hopes it's not some kind of twisted joke.

The sunlight coming through an open flap on the tent's dome lights the stage, casting the surrounding audience in shadows, which Steve is grateful for. He doesn't want to know what kind of faces they are making looking at the dumbass on stage approaching a jukebox.

It looks almost like any other he's seen before, though the paint job is custom. Twisted Jukebox is written at the top in scratchy letters, and the sides are painted with images of fantastical creatures: dragons, unicorns, and the like. Not Steve's style but someone did a good job on it.

The songs list though, is... peculiar. It has things like:

Anything by Metallica, please,

No Wham! I beg of you,

Country over Pop.

Steve wonders briefly if he had even woken up this morning. Everything from the moment his mother proposed a family outing has been too weird to be real.

Finally, his eyes land on the colorful slot with an arrow pointing to it saying "$1 - 1song". He rubs his thumb over the token he's been given before flipping it sideways and sliding it in.

The coin rattles inside like it just fell through into an empty box. He frowns.

read the rest here with art by @blasvemous

And then, the sides of the jukebox fall apart.

[seiya-starsniper]

hello hello i see you're open to prompts 👀

how about #20"I'm just going to lie right here" for dreamling (or any ship you prefer 👀)

happy writing, my dear 💜✨️

HEY SO REMEMBER THIS PROMPT YOU SENT ME FIVE MONTHS AGO??? Apparently it took me getting another prompt to finally come up with an idea for it, so I've gone and combined the two 😄💖 Gentle Prompts Here and Soft Prompts Here (I'll still accept prompts from both because I am a fluff machine)

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

Hob knows something is wrong as soon as his roommate enters their shared apartment and slams the door behind him.

“Morph? You all right?” Hob calls out, pausing his movie and turning to the entryway where Morpheus is angrily pulling off his shoes and shoving his coat onto the hooks. He also practically slams his keys down into the tray on the side table by the door, and Hob winces at the loud clang that echoes through the apartment. He considers asking Morpheus again if he’s all right, but decides to let his moody roommate come to him instead. 

Something is definitely very wrong if his roommate is making this much noise. Morpheus Endless is normally so quiet of a roommate that Hob doesn’t always notice when the other man is even in the apartment at the same time as him. Morpheus was so silent and unassuming that Hob had felt like he was being haunted by a ghost rather than living with a real person the first few months they started living together. Hob would be jump-scared in his own kitchen simply by turning around and finding Morpheus there right behind him. He had no idea another person could walk so quietly. The worst time had been in the bathroom, when Hob had accidentally squirted half a tube of toothpaste all over the other man’s black shirt. From that point forward, Morpheus had started knocking along the walls wherever he walked, so that Hob would know where he was at any given moment.

Still, the pale man was an ideal roommate otherwise, if not a little socially awkward at times. On top of his eerily quiet nature, it had taken months for Hob to get Morpheus to even say more than five words to him whenever they were in the same room together. Hob had first thought Morpheus was just disinterested in being friendly all together, but then one night, like a cat, his roommate peeked his head out of his room to the smell of Hob cooking dinner. Hob has since learned to let Morpheus come to him, instead of trying to impress on the man himself.

Hob’s efforts seem to now be paying off, for instead of stomping off to his bedroom to sulk about whatever it is, Morpheus instead makes his way over to the couch and plants himself directly in front of Hob’s line of vision. Hob tries to give his best reassuring smile as he stares up at the pale man.

“Bad day?” Hob asks gently. “I’m happy to listen, if you’d like. Looks like you could use a hug too.”

Morpheus doesn’t answer, he simply sways somewhat unsteadily for a few moments, before he practically collapses onto the couch. The only problem is, Hob is still very much sitting on said couch, and instead of aiming for the empty spot next to him, Hob instead finds himself with an armful of gangly limbs and untamed hair. 

“Oof,” Hob grunts as he takes on the unexpected weight. Hug it is, then. Morpheus isn’t heavy by any means, but it still takes a moment for Hob to adjust to having what is effectively an oversized cat suddenly in his lap. Hob eventually manages to wiggle his arms out from under Morpheus, before wrapping them around the pale man and pulling him against his chest. Morpheus immediately takes the cue and buries his face in Hob’s shoulder, shaking like a leaf and failing to keep his breathing even.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, it’s all right,” Hob soothes, rubbing at Morpheus’s back. His roommate is freezing from the cold weather outside, but he’s quickly warming up the longer Hob holds him.

Hob doesn’t know what it is that’s upset Morpheus so much, but whatever it is, he’s glad that his roommate isn’t trying to deal with it alone, that they’ve come far enough in their friendship (though Morpheus has yet to call him a friend at this point) for him to show Hob this vulnerable side of him. 

The only downside to this is that this newfound vulnerability is doing absolutely nothing to help Hob’s teeny tiny, absolutely miniscule crush on his roommate. But that’s neither here nor there. Hob tucks the yearning feelings that arise from their newfound intimacy quietly behind his ribs and focuses all his energy into comforting Morpheus instead. 

“Do you…want to talk about it?” Hob asks Morpheus. 

A soft inhale. Then a shake of the head against his shoulder. The motion alerts Hob to the fact that his shoulder is damp, and the realization makes his heart lurch up into his throat. He wants to go out and find whoever or whatever it is that’s upset Morpheus so much and give them an introduction to his fists.

“Okay…” Hob continues, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself down. He’s here for comfort, not to be a white knight. “That’s fine, we don’t need to get into it. Uhm…can I readjust though? This position’s a bit uncomfortable.”

There’s a short pause, and then eventually, Hob feels Morpheus nod against his shoulder.  

Moving Morpheus is a fairly easy task. If Hob didn’t know any better, he’d think his roommate had been replaced by some sort of mannequin from the way he lets Hob manhandle him so easily. He seems to be mostly aware of what’s happening, which is good, but it’s clear he’s no in any sort of headspace for conversation just yet.

Eventually, Hob is able to rearrange them so that he’s lying with his back resting on the arm of the couch, and Morpheus is sprawled on top of him. Their legs are tangled together and Hob’s also thrown the large throw blanket over them for good measure. Morpheus, of course, reburies his head in Hob’s shoulder, and Hob takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around his roommate’s shoulders once more, rubbing soothing circle’s into the other man’s back.

“See, that’s better now, isn’t it?” Hob asks gently. “Nothing beats a good hug and a cuddle on the couch when you’ve had a bad day.”

Morpheus hums, but otherwise doesn’t offer any other sort of verbal reply. It’s a start.

“You can stay as long as you like,” Hob adds. “I’m just going to lay right here until you decide you want to move.”

“Then you’ll be here until tomorrow,” Morpheus croaks, his voice clearly cracked from crying.

Hob laughs and moves his hand up from Morpheus’s back to ruffle the man’s messy black hair. Morpheus groans in annoyance and bats his hand away, but otherwise does not move from his chin perch on Hob’s shoulder. Somehow, Morpheus's hair looks exactly the same.

“There you are,” Hob says, his voice fond. “Was starting to worry you’d gone mute on me.”

“No,” Morpheus says. “...I still don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine,” Hob replies, then adds, “and we can stay here until tomorrow, really, if you like. But I will need to pee at some point.”

Morpheus huffs. “I suppose that is acceptable.”

“Can I tempt you with some food too?” Hob asks. “I’ll even feed it to you if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Morpheus replies. “I can feed myself.”

“All right,” Hob says, shrugging and shifting himself into a more comfortable lying position. “Need anything else? Want to take a nap?”

Morpheus doesn’t answer for some time, and Hob almost thinks the man fell asleep on him already, but then his roommate readjusts his limbs as well and moves his body downwards until his head is resting on Hob’s chest. Hob wants to cry at how adorable he looks, at how right it feels that their bodies fit together so perfectly, like they were made for each other. 

“A nap sounds nice,” Morpheus finally replies, mumbling quietly into Hob’s chest. “And perhaps food when we wake up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Hob agrees. He already knows he’s going to be ordering take-out for tonight, but come tomorrow, he’s going to make all of Morpheus’s favorite foods for the rest of his week. For the rest of his life, if he’d let him.

It doesn’t take terribly long for Morpheus to fall asleep on him, and Hob resists the urge to plant a kiss in the man’s hair, settling instead for gently rubbing at Morpheus’s back. Hob falls asleep not too long after his roommate, and when he dreams, he dreams of a home filled with warmth and joy and love.

[skyeconch]

Y/N, is working on something and needs silence :

Gojo Satoru, spawns to annoy like usual :

Gojo Satoru, squeezing the balloon near Y/N’s ear :

Y/N, turns to pop the balloon with a pencil then went back to work :

Gojo Satoru, pouts at the deflated balloon : Why did you popped it? :(

Y/N : Oh I’m sorry, I was aiming for your heart— ☺️💢

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head - Part 6 - Postcard Perfect

master list

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Includes many other characters from Fallout

Synopsis: So much can happen in one morning. A picture perfect moment, and meeting with a ex.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning:  Animal/people death,, Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Older Man/Younger Woman

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. So you have been warned. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

*Actually pretty fluffy... for now.. enjoy

The next three days go by fast, cow checks happen every four hours, every day, like clockwork. Morning, afternoon, dinner, and then two overnight. Cooper handles the ones during daylight hours, his brother Mark handles the night ones. Lucy was grateful for that, not that she slept much, between nightmares and random knocks on the house. She’d kept most of that to herself, but Cooper had noticed, he noticed a lot of things. He'd even offered to do the first shift so she could sleep in, but she, of course, refused. The routine meant she got a moment out of the house, it also meant she got to hang out with the kids. 

Matthias still wasn’t her biggest friend, but his guard was lowering slowly. On Friday, when Cooper brought the kids over after school, he had handed Lucy a drawing. For being twelve he was pretty talented. He’d taken the time to draw a field, cows, and calves with the sun setting in the background. Lucy had thanked him and promptly put it up on the fridge which granted her, her first real smile from him. She’d do anything to hug him, but for now, she’d take the picture. She knew what it felt like to be young and not understand why a parent was gone. To not understand why things had changed suddenly. Lucy was just grateful that he had Cooper, what she would have done to have had at least one parent with her. Even though she loved her Grandparents, it was never the same without either of her parents. 

Janey was a whole different story, she loved to tell stories, and read stories. When she had discovered that she could read from Lucy’s bookshelves she was over the moon. Lucy doing her best to persuade her from anything too adult-themed. Settling on a classic, Hobbit. Cooper had shrugged in agreement, mentioning that she had always loved to read as soon as she learned. So Lucy let the copy go, the little girl was immediately taken by it. 

Lucy woke up Saturday morning having finally slept, she actually felt somewhat refreshed. Her mind was always wandering to Cooper. The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to spend time with him. Even though they were nearly living out of each other's pockets, she couldn't help herself. Mind wandering to what kissing him would feel like, how his hands would hold her. Lucy flushed and finished getting herself dressed in comfortable clothes and made her way to make a pot of coffee. Feeling her feet get wet as she walked into the water.

“What the-” Lucy cussed, as she lifts her foot to inspect a large pool of water. “Dang-nabbit.” 

She runs back to her room digging out a handful of towels and toeing off her socks before running back to the kitchen. Lucy lays out the towels on the floor, scrambling to open up the under-sink cupboards. The various detergents and cleaners are thrown out as she tries to see what’s leaking. The space emptied, so she could see that the pipes had been split. 

“My goodness, why!” Lucy grumbles, realizing that the pipes had split just on the other side of the shut-off valves. 

She gets up too quickly and bangs her head on the underside of the sink. More words fall out of her mouth as she rubs the bump. Moving swiftly to the door she unlocks it and walks out, stepping around the rocks and stones as she goes to the side of the house. Swinging open the crawl space door she ducks in, happy that the water shut-off valve was inside. Lucy turns it off, her feet covered in the black mud as she stomps back into her house. Lucy closes her eyes for a moment to collect herself, before she starts to mop up the water that’s left on the floor. 

“Lucy?” Cooper’s voice comes in from the doorway.  

“Just in the kitchen,” Lucy replies, happy that help has finally arrived. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Cooper says, placing his hat on a nob by the front door. Walking into the room to observe the mess that was spread out onto the floor. 

Lucy sighs, as she drops the last towel into the sink. “The pipes under the sink burst, split just on the wrong side of the shut-off too.”

Cooper crouches right beside her, the smell of cigarettes and coffee wafting off of him. Lucy shuffled over so that he could see what they were working on.

“Well that’s weird,” Cooper squints, leaning forward to kneel on a rolled-up towel. “Never seen that happen before. Unless it froze, which would be odd for the beginnin’ of April.”

Lucy sighs, rubbing at her head, “Everything is insulated, and the heat tape is still on it. Plus it would have burst other pipes too.”

“Move’er, sweetheart,” Cooper murmurs, Lucy shifts over, as Cooper crawls into the cupboard pulling a pocket knife out of his pants. 

Lucy swallowed as his shirt rode up a sliver of tanned skin being exposed. Lucy feeling like she was fourteen seeing a boy shirtless for the first time, averting her eyes she chooses to stand up. Looking around trying to figure out how to hide the flush that was now staining her cheeks as the man fiddled around under the sink.

“Do you want coffee?” Lucy asked moving over to the cupboard to dig out cups. “I got a spare to-go mug.”

“Yeah, s’good.” Cooper said, voice echoing from below her. “Do ya’know if you got some spare PEX pipe hanging around?”

A knock on the door, had Lucy spilling coffee on her hand, Cooper banged his head under the sink. A whole slew of curse words spilling out of both of them, Lucy moves to the door. Completely forgetting with the mess that Dane was coming over to work on the tractors. 

“Lucy,” Dane says, a smile fading from their face as she takes in Lucy. “Oh, shit. Are you okay?”

Lucy tries to smile which turns into more of a frown, “Pipe burst. My kitchen is a mess, but I have coffee?”

Dane chuckles, looking into the kitchen Cooper standing with a pieces of Pex in his hand, his other hand rubbing at his head. The two of them give awkward smiles at each other. 

“Oh! This is Cooper.” Lucy said, wandering back into the kitchen to pour three cups of coffee. “Cooper, this is Dane, they have come over to work on Tim’s old tractors.”

Cooper nodded, reaching a hand out to shake Dane’s, “Nice to meet you Dane, please excuse the mess, pipes seem t'have burst.”

“Not a problem, at least there is always coffee.” Dane nods, happily accepting the coffee Lucy hands over. 

“There is sugar in the gnome on the counter, cream is in the fridge.” Lucy says, handing Copper his mug of coffee. 

Cooper took a few sips, before helping Lucy place things in somewhat order on the counter. Lucy takes all the sopping wet towels into the laundry room hucking them into the washing machine. 

“We do have calf check, but I can show you where the tractors are. There is pretty much any tool you could need, along with an arrangement of parts.” Lucy chatters, as the trio make their way to the door.

Across the yard the three go to the big green and grey barn, Cooper helps slide the heavy wood doors open, Lucy had worked hard to get the place functional. It hadn’t had many animals in it, Tim had turned it into a workshop, engine hoist, and a large tool bench. The two tractors are slotted side by side. 

“This is perfect!” Dane beams, coming over to inspect the two beasts. “They look brand new! I bet I'll have them running by end of the day.”

“Thank you so much, Dane.” Lucy smiles, “I'll leave the house open, help yourself to whatever you need. We'll be about an hour or so barring any problems. You can always text me.”

Cooper was digging around on some shelving, grabbing some PEX pipe, fitting, and a few tools. “These should fix'd problem, I will drop’em off inside before we head out.”

Dane and Lucy stand there watching Cooper walk away. Lucy’s cheeks flush as she admires the man. Dane looks at Lucy, rubbing at the side of their face. 

“So are you two,” Dane makes a gesture between Cooper and Lucy, “A thing? Or?”

Lucy feels her face go even more red, she looks away for a moment, before looking back at her friend. “Umm, no. We are friends, neighbors. Helping each other out and whatnot.”

Dane chuckles as they go over to the closer tractor, “I am not one to judge,” Lucy watches them opening up one of the tractor’s bonnet. “Has he told you what happened to his wife?” 

Tilting her head to the side Lucy raises her eyebrows. “I know he is a widower. But I haven’t pushed any further than that.”

Dane nods, already starting to fiddle with different parts, “I’d ask him about it. Especially if you’re -ah- interested.”

A pool of anxiety fills Lucy’s stomach at the words, “Yeah, I will ask him.”

“We ready to go?” Cooper asks, Lucy nearly jumping at his voice having not heard him come up behind her. 

Lucy puts on a smile, reminding Dane again to call if there is any issue before leaving with Cooper. The man moving at a good clip to the already running truck. He opens the door for Lucy, she smiles and slides into the seat. It was hard not to let her mind run over Dane’s words. She needed to ask him, or she was going to explode. She wasn't good with secrets, or not asking questions she wanted answers to.

“Umm,” Lucy fiddles with the gloves in her pocket as they roll down the gravel road. “Can I ask you a question?”

Cooper’s brows are raised as he turns to her, “Yeah, I am an open book Luc.”

Lucy licks her lips, staring at the newly leafing trees, “Can I ask what happened to your wife?” 

Oh good Lucy, just straight to the point. No tack, for this poor guy who lost his wife, whose kids are still emotionally wrecked from it, Lucy thought to herself. Wishing she'd learn more tack as an adult.

Cooper shifts, sliding in his chair a little as he looks out the window. Lucy half expected him not to answer, or tell her that it was something he didn’t want to talk about. He gripped the steering wheel tight, knuckles white against the black leather.  Eyes focus on the gravel road ahead of them as he searches for the words.

“I was outta town, helpin’ my brother-in-inlaw move cows to summer pasture. I got a call around four from Barb’s parents, sayin’ she hadn’t come to pick up the kids. They’d gone to the house and she wasn’t t’either. Barb was a champion rider, Thunder, was’er ride. Big beautiful deep black stallion, she rode’im three times a day. Mornin' after droppin’ the kids off, afternoon before the kids came home, and evenin’ after dinner.” Cooper rolled his shoulders as they drove into the field. Lucy jumping out to open the gate, climbing back in once he was through and the gate was closed.

“I went’ome, drove way faster than I shoulda. But Barb. Barb was never late, the woman was punctual to a fault. So we searched, and searched, called the police. More searchin’. We had about forty acres mostly forest’d that Barb rode. That entire area scavenged, the house turn’d upside down, the barn gone through. They picked apart everythin’.” Cooper’s voice was shaking as they drove towards the herd. His eyes are glassy, as he rubs the back of his hand over his nose. 

“They tried-” His voice shook as his eyes continued to scan the horizon. “They tried’t blame her disappearance on me.”

Lucy felt her heart clench in her chest at the words, the thought that he’d been accused of his wife’s disappearance made her stomach turn.  

“But I was in another county, my brother-in-law, thankfully, vouchin for me.” Cooper points at a fresh calf, the two working with practice ease to tag the little thing.  

Cooper sat in the truck for a moment, eyes flickering, “Then we found Thunder.” Cooper works his lip into his mouth for a moment. “He’s on the side of the highway, inna ditch. Over a hour drive away from t’farm. Looked like he had been dumped. It made no sense, wasn't any sign of how the animal had pasted either, just restarted’eir investigation into me.” 

“Cooper,” Lucy said quietly, her hand finding his hand on the bench seat and squeezing it. 

Cooper nods his head but continues, squeezing her hand back. “They wouldn’t lay off, I did everythin’ to cooperate. Then after the third time of them tossin’ my house I blew up. I gotta lawyer, I told’em not to come back t’my property.” Another tag, and Lucy feels dizzy by the foggy emotions flooding the truck as she sits back down. 

“They’d everythin’ to turn everyone against me.” Cooper blinks a few times, “My in-laws stood beside me, pushin for the police to look anywhere. But nothin’ came of it. Just no answers, nothin', just gone.” 

Lucy brushed her own tears out of her eyes, so many questions bubbling under the surface. His hands gripping the steering wheel as he parked the truck on top of the hill looking out towards the valley. 

“T’was too hard to stay, the whole town won’t look at me.” Cooper swallows, “It won’t hav’been so bad if it has just been me, but they came after the kids too. Mathias was gettin’ picked on. That was the final straw, sold everything and left. They never figured out what happen’d to Barb. I think about her every day. Wondering what I could've done different.”

The silence in the vehicle was deafening, the two of them watching the cattle move along the lower field. Lucy’s heartbreaking hearing how Cooper had lost so much with no answers. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Lucy said quietly, her hand finding his again. “I can’t imagine how hard this must have been for you. To have to leave everything the two of you built.”

Cooper nods, his fingers lacing with Lucy’s, “t’was hard, I keep waitin’ for it to get easier. For there to be answers.”  Cooper turns looking at Lucy, hazel eyes looking over her face. “I am goin’ to be forward here.” Lucy nods her head, willing to hear whatever he had to say to her. “You’ve been a bright spot for me, I look forward to this.”

He gestures at the pasture, the sun hanging in the sky, clouds drifting in. Cows mooing for their calves, as the calves chased each other through the freshly growing green grass. It was so serene, postcard-worthy her Granddad would have said. 

“I look forward to spending time with you, Lucy,” Cooper states, eyes watching her closely, as the sunrises into the truck cab.

Lucy took her shot and slid across the bench seat, Cooper looking at her eyes wide as she leans in. Her hand gently touches the side of his face, the beard stubble rubbing under her fingertips as she presses her lips against his. Lucy going to lean away, when Cooper doesn't respond, Cooper immediately moves after her. Something has snapped in the truck, Cooper easily pulling Lucy onto his lap. She pushes his hat up so she can kiss him deeper, her hands moving up into his hair as he pulls Lucy against his chest. Lucy sucking his tongue into her mouth, the taste of coffee and cigarettes flooding in. His large hands come to rest against her hips, fingers running along the top of her jeans. 

Cooper breaks the kiss, Lucy wanting to chase after it, scared that if they stop it won’t continue. The smile crossing his face has her pausing, Lucy worrying her lip into her mouth. Copper’s fingers pushing under her shirt to feel her skin. A shiver running over Lucy’s skin at the feel of his calloused warm hands. 

“This isn’t how I imagined it,” Cooper hushes, his tongue running over his bottom lip as he looks at her. 

Lucy raises her eyebrows, “Oh? What did you imagine? Would it be weird if I said I was thinking about you too?”

Cooper’s smile gets bigger, “Was going to invite ya to the spring dance. Felt a little, ahh, school crush, but I want’d a reason for-” Cooper swallows, “A reason for us t’go somewhere nice.”

She can feel her cheeks red at the statement, “I’d go with you. If you still want to go.”

Cooper leans in and kisses her gently, “I’d like that Lucy.” 

***

Dane is covered in grease, a smile on their face as the larger of the two tractors starts up. Black smoke pumps out as the machine stutters to life, Dane doing a fist pump and jig as it roars. Lucy grins as Dane hops up and takes it for a spin around the yard, before parking it just outside the barn.

“Well, that one is running well. Have to get the attachments dug out, make sure the PTO is working the way it should be.” Dane beams, walking over to Lucy who has a sandwich on a plate for them. 

“I cannot thank you enough for getting it running again Dane,” Lucy replies, “I think the smaller shed has some attachments if you’re up for taking them out.”

“Yeah, I am gonna let this one run for a bit, I think I am going to need to source a few parts for the second one,” Dane says walking into the barn, holding up the pieces of what was supposed to be a part. “I’d normally make something, but this has to be calibrated properly.”

Lucy nodded, “Get what you need, I am not too surprised there are parts that need to be replaced. Whatever is needed, got to get’em running properly.”

Dane nodded, washing her hands with the hose before grabbing the sandwich, “I will keep at it, thank you for the food by the way.”

“Of course, and make sure you invoice me for everything, k?” Lucy states, Dane nodding as they continue to eat the food. 

Lucy walks back towards the house, head-turning up when she hears a car coming down the drive. A small blue Nissan rolling down the gravel, Lucy stopping in the middle of her drive to see who the hell it was. The car stops door opening up as Max steps out; average height, with tight black hair, dark skin, and equally dark eyes.

“Max?” Lucy asks as if she isn’t looking right at the man. He stands there awkwardly, not really smiling but not frowning either. He straightens himself up and closes the door walking towards her. 

“Hey Lucy,” Max grimaces awkwardly, rubbing a hand over the tight black curls on his head, “Sorry, it’s taking so long to get here.”

Crossing her arms, Lucy narrows her eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”

Max stops a few feet away from her, arms resting against his slides, “I wanted to come see you, it’s been a few months since we spoke.”

Lucy walks forward, anger pooling in the pit of her stomach, jaw clenching as she stares down her ex. “Yeah, 'cause we broke up. You didn’t want me moving back up here. Actually, I am pretty sure you said if I left not to bother contacting you. Seemed pretty cut and dry to me.”

Max opens his mouth several times before closing it, gritting his teeth and looking away. “I didn’t think you’d actually stop contacting me. We’d been together for almost a year.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Lucy huffs, her voice shaking, their relationship hadn’t been great. They’d met at the imaging clinic, Max was shy and a little awkward but charming. They’d hit it off over lunch one day, which led to him inviting her out to go with him for dinner. He was the opposite of what she had grown up around, it had been appealing at the time. Over time the charm had faded, and the sicker her Granddad got the worse their relationship got. It ended up with Max telling her that if she moved away they were done.

“Lucy, sweety,” Max goes to move to touch her and Lucy backs away. Max’s face falling, his mouth set in a thin line.

Throat clearing has both of them turning, Cooper stood on the front porch shirtless staring down Max like he was going to blow his head off with a glare. Lucy’s mouth opening slightly at the tan skin exposed before her, trying to get herself to focus on what was happening. 

“Not sure the lady here,” Cooper states walking down the steps towards them, “Is interested in your company.”

Max looks equally as flustered as Cooper steps beside Lucy, eyes downcast as his cheeks flush.

“I just wanted some closure.” Max swallows, looking away from the two of them. “Maybe change Lucy’s mind.”

Lucy let out a sigh, moving towards Max, carefully putting a hand on his shoulder. “Max, you’re a good guy, but we both know this wasn’t going to work out. You hate the outdoors and bugs, and you’re allergic to hay.”

Cooper had taken a few steps back, well-muscled arms crossed his chest as he watched the two of them. Dane had made their way down the hill, brows furrowing at the clear standoff happening. Max’s shoulders were tight as he listened to Lucy’s words.

“Is this what you want?” Max said finally turning back to her, his eyes glazing at the words. “Like to be here? On the farm.”

A tight-lipped smile graces Lucy’s face. “Yes Max, I think you knew that though. Knew it won’t work out between us.”

Max looks at the company in front of him, his hands fiddling with the pockets of his pants. Head ducked down like he was trying to make himself smaller. He nods his head several times. 

“Well, I guess that settles that,” He twitches his nose, looking out towards the forest. “I am staying in town for a few days, just visiting family. You got my number still?”

Lucy nods her head, desperately wanting to make things right, but knowing that it wasn’t worth it. Things needed to end between them, and if he needed to drive three hours to figure that out then so be it. 

“Goodbye, Max,” Lucy said quietly, Max nodding as he got back into his car to drive out. Her stomach turning, the thought that this wouldn’t be the last time she saw him gnawing at her mind.   

Part Seven

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tag list: @toogaytofunctiondangit

*I can't believe we are 6 chapters in, this one is slow, but hold onto your hats for chapter 7!

**As always likes, comments, shares are soooo appreciated, you can find me Ao3 as well

** Want to be on the tag list let me know

[strangerthingsbigbang]

Title: Wonderstruck

Author: Buckysgrace Artist: @floredaqueen Beta: Sadhours Characters: Billy Hargrove, Original female character, Eleven/Jane Hopper, Neil Hargrove, Eddie Munson, Tommy H, Billy Hargroves Mother, Relationship(s): Billy Hargrove/Original Female Character, Billy Hargrove & Neil Hargrove, Billy Hargrove & Eddie Munson, Eleven| Jane Hopper and Billy Hargrove Warnings: Blood and Violence, mentions of drug use, Physical abuse Rating: Explicit Additional Tags: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Fae and Fairies, Billy Hargrove needs a hug, Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Forbidden Love Wordcount: 25,267 Summary:

Billy's village is gloomy, covered in thick black vines and full of prowling monsters. All because of them. The Fae. The Fae are supposed to be monsters; hideous creatures that are full of tricks and full of brutality. He learned a long time ago to kill them before they got too close. He's done it before, it's easy. So, he accepts the challenge of bringing a pair of interesting ears back; a souvenir. He has the perfect creature in mind too. Only to find out that the obstacle isn't quite as possible as what he once thought.

Wonderstruck by Buckysgrace

[just-some-random-blogger]

Bright Eyes | 3

Part 1 2

Prince Aemond's marriage was borne out of necessity and political advantage. Let it never be said that he did not know duty, for duty was what kept Aemond Targaryen grounded. But in truth, the prince felt cheated by the match, for he felt his wife was getting scraps as her dowry. After all, she was chosen for him because of her family's wealth and resources. It was then rather scandalous when the icy prince became temperate to his bride.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, arranged marriage au, smut (vaginal penetration, breeding kink), jealousy, reluctant lovers ig, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: This is part of the 'house of the dragon big bang celebration' that's also available on AO3 and my art was made by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy

For the past weeks, Aemond had been unknowingly attending a play. He had not realized he was an avid watcher until he caught two servants muttering to each other about the very observations he had: the princess is an odd one.

The realization came about when a lord visited The Keep, dressed in a ridiculous cape and a large flower broach. The man had concerns for his village and aired his errs with the king. Or he would have, except the king would not see him, or rather could not; Viserys was too busy wasting away. The Lord Hand could not see him either, nor did any lord in the king's council, all of them preoccupied with something else.

His older brother, Aegon, with a head powered by mead, could not possibly entertain the lord. So, that left him.

Except he was not there when this poorly dressed fellow came to King's Landing, and so, naturally, his wife that attended to this man who awaited his return.

Aemond had asked those two servants where his wife was upon returning and not finding her in the usual places she stayed. The women explained the situation and said you were showing a lord around The Keep.

With a raised brow, Aemond asked if the Lord was from a major house, and the servants said no. In fact, he was from a house that's serves under his wife's. They then both expressed mutual befuddlement on why the princess acted as though that were not the case. 

Aemond listened to how the servants went about how the pompous prick of a lord talked about the scenery of his home soil, and how he would gladly host her there to experience it, and the princess never once mentioned that she has seen all the sights he'd boasted about.

Irritation grew within him as he walked around the palace looking for his bride and the rat she was touring. Upon spotting them, he froze in his spot when he witnessed the lord pluck a flower from a bush and hand it to his wife. His eye twitches when she accepts.

She smiles and mutters something to him, making him laugh and Aemond finally storm over. She places the flower on the man's cape, which makes him strike a pose.

They're both laughing when Aemond comes up to them.

Once he's made his presence known, the man immediately bows and begins to drone about how good of a host his wife was. Aemond impatiently tells him he knows all about why he was here, tells him he'll speak to the king, then dismisses him, taking his wife by the hand as he did.

They get to their chambers. Aemond finds he is visibly annoyed, given how his wife gently pacified him. He doesn't know why he doesn't rip his arm out of her grip when she touched him, nor why his glare softened when he looked at her.

She sits them down on the side of their bed. At this point, the ire in his belly out.

"How was your ride on Vhagar?" she asks, taking his hand and placing it on her lap.

Aemond looks at her face then his hand, cradled in hers. He holds her wrist for a second then sighs, "fine."

"That's good. I was concerned when it drizzled."

"It did not where I rode," Aemond lifts his gaze.

He watches her nod then averts his attention back on his hand on her lap. He rubs the fabric of her skirts.

"I have given quite a few solutions to Lord-"

"Do not speak of him to me," Aemond quips. His hand on her skirt grabs the fabric. He lifts his eye up to her face, "I have my hand on your lap."

She opens her mouth but says nothing.

Aemond's focus is on her lips now.

"I beg your pardon, my prince."

Aemond leans closer, "as you should."

They kiss and Aemond immediately rips her skirts up. He heaves and pushes her down on the bed. There is a fire within him that can only be put out by the wetness of her cunt.

As much as he wanted to strip her naked, he could not wait. He tugs his pants down and barely even gets her smallclothes past her knees when he started to fuck her.

He presses her legs to her chest and traps her beneath him. The sound of her cries further fuel his depravity. He thrusts faster, squeezing her thighs to keep her put under him.

"Whose children will you sire?" Aemond presses.

He watches her squirm and whimper. He snaps his hips rougher, demanding an answer.

She digs her nails into the sheets and whines out his name.

"Louder."

"Yours, Aemond," she barely has the breath to say.

Aemond makes her cry out his name until she comes undone. The feeling of her tightening around him makes his body flush with a greediness. His head spins with the thought of her being filled by him, and it sequentially pushes him to his peak.

He spills into her just as he feels whatever was pent up inside him spill out. As he slows and stops, the craze that powered his mind fades; he finally has the mind to strip her naked.

Aemond rips her smallclothes off, her footwear, then his top. He throws them all off the bed. He grabs her by the bodice and sits her up on his lap, unwilling to be separated as he rids her of her dress.

He can hear her heart pulsing as works on her laces of her corset.

He doesn't speak, but he looks at her with something akin to desperation. Was this jealousy?

The thought makes him dig his fingernails into her back. The way she moans and tightens her thighs around him makes him realize he doesn't care if he was.

He gulps when she mutters, "my prince."

I cannot help the laugh that leaves me when the Queen coos and pulls me into a tight embrace. I smile from ear to ear as I wrap my arms around Queen Alicent. Her warmth was comforting, even more so her whispers, "oh... well done, my sweet girl."

My chest tightens at her praise. I involuntarily feel my eyes water.

When she pulls away, her pout flips into a faint smile. She cups my cheeks and rubs my skin, "well done."

I nod and blink away the tears that were forming.

"Have you told Aemond?"

I shake my head, "he is on dragonback. I will tell him when he returns."

She nods and rubs my arms, "good. Tell him at once," she clasps her hands together, "add that the Queen advices him to lessen his dragon rides."

"Of course, mother," I curtsy.

With that, Alicent gives one last look, and resumes what she was doing before I came to her chambers.

I decide to head to the gardens as I await the return of my husband. On my way there, I rub my belly and fantasize about his reactions to the news. I'm sure he'd be relieved to know I was finally with child, and yet I wonder if he'd be... happy.

"My lady."

I avert my attention to the man in the garden. It was the same flamboyantly dressed man who I had met a moon ago.

Before I can respond, he walks over to me and extends a hand. I politely take it and maintain a smile as he gives and exaggerated bow before he kissing my hand.

When he does not release me right away, I pull out of his grip. I play it off with a smile, "to what do I owe the honor, my lord?"

The man gives a grin, "you forgot to mention when we met that you belong to the greater House that presides my village."

I offer a chuckle. Before I can respond though, he's speaking again.

"You've made me ramble like a fool about places you grew up going to," he raises his brows.

Once more, he continues to speak before I even open my mouth, "my ego is quite bruised, my lady. Whatever could be done about that?"

The smile on my lips thin as he gives me a hurt expression.

And yet, he gives me no opportunity to even speak on the matter. The Lord waves his hands and shakes his head, "no matter. I've come here to make amends." He raises his hands to prove a point, "for the sake of my pride."

At this point, I don't try to get a word in and merely nod.

He smirks and pulls out a letter from his breast pocket and, again, bows deeply as he hands it to me.

I stare at what appeared to be a letter bearing my father's sigil and link my fingers together, "and what is this thing you've brought to make amends?"

The man straightens up and somehow looks confused by my question. He purses his lips and waves the letter as he speaks, "a letter from your mother, of course."

My brows knit.

"I was instructed to have it delivered to you with great urgency and discretion," he brings the letter towards me again.

I hesitate, but take the letter and read its contents. Sure enough, it was from my mother, clear from the writing, its contents, and even the paper that was used. My stomach rolls at her words. My throat tightens, and my mouth goes dry.

Yet again, she write meticulous instruction for the benefit of conceiving. And though she expressed no direct disappointment, this letter was mere proof of it, a reminder of my continuous shortcomings.

The man before me looks with concern.

I erase the worry on my face with a smile. I bow my head to him, "thank you for your services, my lord."

The man bows lowly once again. He then gives a prolonged smile where I expected him to leave.

I grin wider, "I will not kee-"

"Pardon-" he cuts me off.

My brows quirk.

"-me, milady," he tilts his head in regard, "but might I know what it is your mother wrote?"

My expression drops, "what?"

He motions aimlessly with his hand and shakes his head, "well, you see, I went through a great many lengths to get here as soon as possible."

I cannot contain my look of disbelief as he steps closer and adds, "I do think it is within reason for me to know what was written. After all, I could have read it myself, but you see, I did not."

"I do not think it is possible, my lord," I affirm, "nor appropriate that I divulge the private words of my mother to a stranger."

"My lady! I am not a stranger," he laughs as he places a hand on his chest, "I am-"

"A dead man walking."

Black leather and blonde hair floods my vision. As quickly as a gasp leaves me, I realize my husband yanked me back to come between us. I hear a choking and the sound of soles skidding against gravel.

Aemond holds a knife against the man's neck, already nicking it with how tightly he pressed it against him.

The man squawks, "my prince-"

"Correct," he nods in approval, "I am the prince, and the woman I am married to is my princess. You will address her as such."

"O-" he chokes as he is forced down. His hands flare out, not knowing what to do with them, "of course."

I watch as my husband makes the man wobble back. My breathing grows heavy with every move. I follow after them but make no attempt to intervene.

"You see," Aemond mutters, "my princess is too kind for her own good. She's learned to make due with the short end of the stick."

A bead of blood trickles down the man's throat.

"Mmm," the prince hums.

I squeal when the lord yelps from being forced down on his knees.

"I do not share in her naiveté. I'll force the stick out of your hand and beat you with it."

The man shudders, "my prince-"

"Evidently, I am unopposed to violence."

I grab the back of the prince's coat, "Aemond."

Aemond ignores me. He clenches his jaw then releases the man with a shove.

My husband wipes his blade on his sleeve then sheathes it. I come to his side and take his arm. I am ignored still, his eyes locked on the man before him.

Aemon raises his brows in offence, "quickly, jobbernowl."

The man looks at the prince, terrified.

"Or must I chase you and make a meal out of your-"

Aemond does not continue as the man effectively scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could.

We both watch as he disappears. Once he was out of sight, he finally turns to me. His lone eye roves my body, and once it lands on my face, I am unable to hold it.

I turn to my feet, fidgeting with my letter.

He takes the letter from my hands.

My lips part. I take in a breath before explaining, "my mother sent it. She said-"

"I did not enquire."

I watch as my husband folds the parchment and places it back into its envelope. He takes my hand and returns my letter. My heart quickens when he does not release me.

I muster the courage to look up at him.

"Why do you do that?"

I inhale deeply, "...do what?"

"Permit audacity."

I press my lips into a line

"Have charlatans take you for a fool."

I shake my head and turn back to my feet, "I'm not a fool."

"I know that," Aemond lowers his head to hold my gaze, "you are the bride of a prince. You should not stand to be trampled, if not for your own sake, for mine."

"I-"

He takes my chin and lifts my gaze. I behold his disapproving look.

"It will not happen again," I say.

He releases me and tilts his head, "good." He clasps his hands behind him, "still. Answer my question."

I turn to the letter in my hand then back to him. I explain, "solace is found after bloodshed. Peace achieved through forced is futile."

Aemond makes a face then chuckles dryly. He shakes his head, "so you would face the wrath of a dragon in hopes it will spare you after?"

I press my lips into a smile, "it would be an honor to behold such ferocity."

He scoffs. A line forms between his brows. His face contorts so much his eyepatch shifts a fraction out of place.

I place a hand on his cheek. I fix his patch and huff whilst smiling, "how fortunate to know I am on the other side of the flames."

The prince stares at me for a moment. I fix his hair as well before pulling away.

"I will not always be there," he takes my wrist, "what if they hurt you before I hurt them?"

My body grows warm, at both his touch and his sentiment. The smile on my face grows, "then I would hope you arrive before then."

Aemond groans. He lowers my hand, "no. That cannot be a probability."

"My prince. You needn't-"

"From now on, if you are not within my gaze, you will have a guard hot on your heels."

I decide not to argue, seeing the severity of his expression. I smile in response.

"And in your spare time, I will teach you how to use a dagger."

I blink at his words but ultimately nod, "if it pleases you."

Aemond says nothing more, but he is clearly still uneasy. I take his arm and lead him into the garden.

He and I walk in silence for a moment, watching as the wind blows through the leaves of the flora.

"I would not have you hardened," he says, making me turn to him. His eyes remain fixed in front, "I would have you strengthened."

I take in the shape of his nose and think about how our children would inherit it. I smile at the thought.

"I am with child."

He stops in his tracks. He takes a second before turning to me.

I smile grows, "all the more reason to teach me, no?"

Aemond looks down as I take his hands in mine. He looks up at me and nods, "indeed."

[theromanticrationalist]

"When you make a discovery like this you don’t just take it down to city hall, you tell the whole world!" Asymmetrical Union (2024). @dpillustrations Purchase High Resolution Digital Illustration in my Patreon Shop. The coloring book page art piece is included. Join me on the journey of beholding Beauty by creating with me. . .

[lady-lostmind]

Lovesick

a @strangerthingsreversebigbang fic

WC: 3123 | Warning: N/A | Rating: T

Pairings: Steve Harrinton / Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Sick Eddie Munson, Protective Steve Harrington, Domestic Bliss

Summary:

Eddie rolls over with a groan. He feels awful. He can’t breath out of his nose, there’s so much pressure in his head he feels like it might explode and his throat feels like he swallowed a cup of razors. He lets out a truly pathetic whimper, the sound catching in his throat as it turns into a cough. He stretches his arm out, feeling around for Steve and is met with cold, empty sheets. He whines again and finally pries his eyes open. 

“Stevie?” 

See the art by @ahhrenata here!

Read the fic by @lady-lostmind here!

Beta: @oh-stars

[berenwrites]

Wolf in the Light Ch1 - Steddie - Stranger Things

Wolf in the Light

Steve has been keeping a big secret: he’s a werewolf from a long line of werewolves. Only problem is, he’s a complete failure at it. He can’t even shift, but it does make him a bit harder to kill, so he thought he’d found his perfect niche keeping the kids and his secret safe after ‘83. With their plan to end Vecna only half successful and Eddie bleeding out, he has no choice but to reveal the truth and try and convince his friends that werewolves are real. That would be enough of a task for anyone, but to his shock, his heritage has an even bigger surprise in store, and of course, there’s Max to worry about too.

Read on AO3 | Wonderful Art by the amazing @kassifieddocuments2 (check it out and leave some love)

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Updates daily - 20 chapters

Check out the other fabulous @steddiebang2024 fics too.

Chapter 1 - Primal Call

Excerpt below cut:

It started as Eddie held him against the boat house wall with a bottle to his neck. Steve looked into deep brown eyes as Eddie glared at him, expression all fear and fire. He should have been afraid of being injured. Part of him was, but the other part, the wolf under his skin was just staring back.

He didn’t understand it then. He didn’t understand it at Skull Rock, or on the lake, or walking through the Upside Down, or stealing the RV. All he knew was that the animal inside him was drawing him towards Eddie. Pulling him into the orbit of the other man like the gravity of a black hole. That he could see some of the same confusion in Eddie did not help him figure it out.

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