#by the time i was halfway through i was in too deep before realising oh this is just forced misery

[breninarthur]

you ever settle in for some nice fic reading and end up reading the most harrowing shit of your life

[iiwaijime]

sunshine princess — k. tsukishima

tsukishima has always cared for you, but will he ever be brave enough to show it?

cws; angst, fluff, happy ending, kissing, fem!reader, petnames, arranged marriage to lovers, mentions of infidelity, swearing, not proofread i think thats all

wc; 2055

you're eighteen, freshly graduated when your parents tell you about their plans; nineteen when you meet tsukishima kei. he is calm, confident, and self-assured, a complete opposite of you — you're wondering whether it's possible to survive a fall from a skyscraper. not that you'd ever actually do it, of course.

the wedding happens a week before you turn twenty, and that night, tsukishima has the grace to at least pretend to not notice as you cry yourself to sleep. when you've almost dozed off, you hear him stumble out of bed and walk away. you wonder if he has a girlfriend, another partner, someone he truly loves, someone you're keep him away from. the freezer opens and closes. the prospect of you coming between two people too jarring to think about, so you try not to, and you are asleep when he gets back to bed.

the next morning, you're mortified at your appearance in the mirror, eyes red and puffy — much worse than expected, too. no wonder tsukishima had looked at you like that. oh, shit. you're a tsukishima too, now. you turn around, preparing to go to the kitchen to look for an ice pack — you don't remember seeing one, but it still gives you something to do instead of hating yourself and him and your entire life. when you're maybe halfway there, you bump into your new husband. he hasn't been expecting to see you here either, freezing in place with a couple of spoons in one hand. wait, spoons?

he holds them out to you awkwardly, brows furrowing as you stare at him. "what? take them, my fingers are getting cold."

you finally find your voice. "what for?"

"your eyes?" he says it like it's obvious. "i put them in the freezer last night."

oh. oh.

"t-thank you," you stammer, snatching them out of his hands, rushing back to the bathroom. maybe things aren't that bad after all.

living with tsukishima means you have to learn quickly that words are not enough — words are never enough. the first few days, it's difficult for you. when you cook something hoping he'll like it, and all you get is a cursory good, a distracted not bad.

it hurts, really hurts at first. you don't even want to be here, and the lack of appreciation makes it so much worse. that is, until, he invites his best friend, tadashi yamaguchi, over for dinner.

the two of you get along much easier than you expect — he's a complete opposite of your husband. when tsukishima is away from the table, he asks about the recipes. he's heard great things about your cooking, he says. tsukki will not shut up.

"i thought he didn't like it," you say. yamaguchi laughs at that, and that day you find out that with tsukishima, you have to look deeper than just words. you have to notice the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his appreciative hums, and the way he takes second helping and sometimes even thirds.

and then one day he approaches you, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. he clears his throat, runs one hand through his already messy blonde hair, clears his throat again. he fixes his glasses as you stare up at him expectantly. "yes?"

"canyoumakesomemorestrawberryshortcake."

"what?"

"strawberry shortcake," he gets out through gritted teeth. oh, you realise. he's embarrassed. "can you make some mo—"

"of course!" you reply before he can finish, trying to spare him the humiliation. on second though, this does mean he likes what you make. life is suddenly a little bit nicer.

tsukishima (willingly) holds your hand for the first time on your first anniversary. you refer to him as kei, now, and he doesn't really mind either. he thinks it's pretty, the way you say it. but he'll never tell you that, of course. he buys you your favourite flowers, even though it's not supposed to be a special date, because you're only married because your parents made you.

you hold the bouquet with one hand. "kei, you didn't have to!"

"i wanted to," he shrugs. "you're not the worst person to do this with."

"oh," you sigh, and the smile on your face is real, so real, and so is the way his lips quirk up — a small movement, but it's there nonetheless. "you too, kei."

you turn to go put the flowers in a vase when he grabs your wrist, pulling you back gently. his hand slots perfectly into yours, and he gives it an experimental squeeze. you squeeze back, and his thumb brushes over the back of your hand. "i mean it, y/n."

"i know." it's hard to suppress the grin that's trying to take over your face as you say it. "me too."

handholding becomes normal after that, whether he's holding onto you in the midst of a crowd, or the two of you are at home and he's playing with your fingers lazily. sometimes kei's doing something on his phone — he uses it one-handed, even if it makes things more difficult or slows down his typing — and your hand is in his other one. your hands might lie in the space between the two of you, fingers tangled together, or maybe he's tracing shapes, letters, words onto your palm — whatever comes to mind. either way, you like it. you like him.

nowadays, he even kisses you(r cheek) goodbye before work, and if he's extra tired after, he finds himself melting into you. your presence itself comforts him, your existence a soothing hand over his brow. he hopes you don't mind where this is going.

spoiler alert: you don't.

you've just poured yourself a cup of coffee when your husband walks into the kitchen, rubbing at his bleary eyes. he looks like he's just gotten out of bed and come here. there's something different about him that you cannot quite place, so you ignore it, half-turning to face him. "morning."

"g'morning," kei responds. his morning voice is low, rough as he walks up to where you're situated between the counter and the kitchen island. his hand falls to your waist easily as he moves you out of his way to stand behind you. his chin rests on your shoulder as he stifles a yawn. "i want some too."

you hand him your cup and he hums gratefully after taking a sip. putting it back on the counter, he wraps his arms around your waist. his body curves over yours as he lets go of himself. the weight is comforting as it blankets you — maybe the two of you can stay like this forever. you relax into the back hug; he nudges your head with his. "can't find m'glasses."

oh. so that's what's missing.

"i'll help you find them," you suggest, not questioning his rather... clingy attitude today. it's been well over two years since the two of you got married, and while he has told you on multiple occasions that you can see whoever you want, your moral code is still not low enough to partake in what can basically be termed as infidelity. even if the marriage is arranged, and there are no feelings involved — that's a lie, you know by now that you've definitely fallen for your husband, and hard — you still don't want to do anything of that sort, which has lead to you becoming quite touch-starved over time. so when tsukishima started becoming more and more physically affectionate as of late, you didn't dare question it, savouring every moment instead. over time, it's gone from fleeting touches and hooking his pinkie around yours while he tries to look unbothered, to much more confident hugs and handholding. essentially, everything a couple can do together — except kissing.

that's not to say you don't want to kiss him; you really do. when you see him chewing on his bottom lip, lost in thought, you want to kiss him. when you see him lick his lips while playing volleyball at all the games that he's started inviting you to now, even from afar you want to kiss him. and when one of his old friends from high school texts him about something stupid and his lips turn up into a pout without him noticing, you definitely want to kiss him.

but you digress.

it takes a two-minute search to find them on the floor by the bed; the floor by your side of the bed no less. the covers are more messy than you remember, even though you're sure you fixed up your part of the bed. the blankets are messy, pillows squished. the only way it could possibly be this way is if someone had been rolling around and also hugging your pillows.

you and tsukki live alone. you don't have any pets. you didn't do anything, and tsukki definitely would not — would he?

"why're you even out of bed so early?" you ask him as he falls back onto the covers. "you don't have work today."

kei flushes — actually flushes, a pretty red hue spreading across his face as he thinks of an answer. "you... weren't there," he says carefully.

"i see." your reply is just as cautious as you test the waters; after all, this is the first time whatever the two of you have going on between you has emerged from where it was comfortingly held captive in words left unspoken. "well, i'm here now."

"good," he says, and there's the slightest hint of a smile playing about his lips as he pats the space beside him. "c'mere."

oh dear. you really are sleepy, aren't you? maybe you shouldn't have gotten up this early either.

this time, you're the one waking up alone in bed — fortunately, too, because extricating yourself from the ridiculous pile of limbs that the two of you become every night is one of the least favourite parts of your day.

you find him pacing around the living room, phone held up to his ear. "that's not fucking working, tadashi! she's my wife, i can't just tell her that!"

his eyes meet yours; you raise a brow. tsukishima looks like a deer caught in headlights, before he cuts the call and puts his phone down. "hi."

"hi," you respond. anxiety twists in your stomach, a dark creature from an inky pool that crawls out and takes all of you. "what can't you just tell me?"

"nothing." it comes out too fast, and he knows he's fucked up by saying it.

"o-oh." you take it brilliantly, in stride. "well, are you having an affair, or something?"

you try to play it off as a joke, but the fear and insecurity is pathetically apparent in your voice. "i don't mind if you are—"

"i'm not!"

"it's totally okay if you are! that was part of our agreement, right?"

kei groans. he's not sure whether he should be put off or attracted by the way you're hell-bent on lying your way through this. "i swear i'm not, y/n."

"then?"

he swallows harshly. oh well, now it never. "come sit?"

you comply quietly. if not an affair, then what? technically, it doesn't count as one, you have to admit. but still, what was all of that affection for, then? to soften the blow?

"i like you," he whispers. his hands twist around each other nervously, knuckles white. "i know this is weird because we're fucking married, but i do—"

"okay," you breathe. "okay, me too."

you've thought about kissing kei tsukishima way more than you should. and when his tongue slips out to wet his grinning lips and his hand brushes your hair away and splays out to hold your face in one fluid motion, you especially want to do that. so you do.

you like being in love with him. when the two of you are glued together, when he absentmindedly traces iloveyous onto your palm, when he draws hearts on your shoulders with his thumbs. when he becomes much more vocal about how much he loves you, exactly. now, you even get to hear him say it out loud.

"i love you," he says, kissing your pajama-clad shoulder. "my sunshine princess."

"fuck's that?" you ask him, laughing, but you like it all the same.

"you're that," he replies, and refuses to elaborate.

as it turns out, you like him being in love with you too.

been on that married couple shit lately thanks mom ig. my parents also used to call me somethinf along the lines of sunshine/little miss sunshine when i was a kid bc i was so happy. not so me now but ill take it:)

chest hurts when i inhale like stopppp.

anyways 2:30am so i'll sleep now. lot of care, take love.

also ive been stuck at 499 for hours now so what should i do for 500

tags !! @akaakeis + @smiithys (gen taglist open!!)

[wri0thesley]

cw: reader x nanami, not sfw, fantasising, kissing, horny. a companion piece to the first ever nanami fic i wrote! 949 words.

You feel better than he could ever have imagined.

Breathless nights on his own, one hand wrapped around his cock and one hand in front of his mouth to muffle the shame of whining and moaning the name of someone he wasn't officially attached to (and, in fact, whom he had tried in vain to not see in such a way) . . . they don't remotely compare to this.

Oh, some of his fantasies come back to him when he kisses you. He remembers how he imagined kissing you back then, and what you would taste like - this is a clumsier, a clash of tongue and teeth, you panting helplessly into his mouth - but this is far more true and raw and real. This is what it feels like to have been pining over someone for months and for the frenzy of sensation to finally come to a head - this, and the way your hands rake through his hair. The way that he can feel your heart beat so fiercely against his chest, and even more so when he trails his mouth over the cheeks he has imagined pinching and squeezing and having wrapped around his cock. Even more so when his teeth graze your neck, the fluttering pulse point, and you make a noise like a whine and he has never been more aware of just how intensely hard he is in his trousers.

"Kento--"

He remembers how you said his name in his daydreams and nighttime sins, but it is nothing compared to how it sounds when it comes out of you in a plea, when you take his big hands and you place them squarely upon the curve of your chest and encourage him to squeeze. You are so soft; even through the callouses on his palms from wielding his weapon and the layer of your clothing, Nanami knows you will feel like satin beneath his fingertips.

Your own fingers dance nervously at the collar of his shirt, tugging his tie off. He realises, as the tips of your nails graze the bob of his Adam's apple, that he outright growls at the contact -and your eyes go wide and blown, your mouth half-open.

"Can I?" You ask, your tone a little shy - and Nanami cannot bring himself to speak, not when his fantasies have been dropped into his lap even though he doesn't feel as though he deserves them, and all he can offer you is a nod and the feeling of his own fingers pulling none-too-gently at your shirt.

You laugh a huffing, breathless noise as one of your buttons pops off and flies somewhere across the room, probably never to be found again.

"I didn't think you'd be . . . this eager--" You say to him, sounding bashful. You look up at him all lovely, nervous and bold and alluring all at once, and Nanami cannot hold himself back.

"I've wanted to do this to you for months," he admits, in a strained voice. "You wouldn't get out of my head."

"Oh," you say, your fingers working at his collar - the buttons slipping through sweat-slick fingers, and finally his button holes. Your lashes flutter as you push the shoulders off of him, and his body is finally revealed to you; the broad shoulders, the scars, the sinewy muscle that he hides behind his clothes all day. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, as if you're about to make a confession. "Then . . . you won't feel that I'm being inappropriate when I tell you how many times I touched myself and thought of you?"

That pushes him over the edge.

Before he can think twice of it, he's guiding you to the bed, practically throwing you down upon it. You bounce on the mattress and pillows with another breathless laugh that goes straight to his cock, and he does not need to ask you to pull off the rest of your clothes. Your underwear is halfway down your thighs before he's managed to unbutton his own fly.

To think, all of those nights he has spent thinking about you - imagining the noises you would make if he eased himself inside of you, imagining the silky wet cling of your cunt on his cock, imagining your lips wrapped around his shaft and drool dripping down your chin as you looked up at him with adoration and worship in your eyes--

In another part of the city, you were doing the same thing.

In another bed, you had one hand between your thighs; your fingers stuffed inside of you in an echo of his cock, your hips shaking, your slick leaking out all over the bed as you rubbed and crooked and fucked yourself silly on your own digits wishing they were his.

Did you imagine him knelt between your legs like he was praying? His tongue, lashing your clit? Did you imagine his big fingers scissoring and and out of you? His voice, murmuring low praises about how good you were and how well you were taking him? His hips, pistoning in and out of you?

Did you imagine him filling you up with his come; wanting you so badly that he kept thrusting even after his release, your hole oozing a frothy mixture of his come and your own arousal, until you were both wet and messy and couldn't remember where he began and you ended?

It doesn't matter.

As Nanami bears down on you - as he kisses you again, as all of his fantasies come true at once and he is deliriously, impossibly happy - he knows that neither of you will ever need to fantasise about each other again.

Not when you have the real thing.

[berenwrites]

Always and Forever - Stranger Things - Steddie - G

Rating: G | cw: none | tags: fluff, very light angst, Corroded Coffin, rockstars, touring

Prompt: Love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy (@forgottenkanji)

A/N: Written for @steddielovemonth day 29. Sorry I disappeared from this challenge halfway through. We lost one of our kitties (she was 14 ½) and I just kind of lost the impetus, but I figured I had to write something for the last day at least. No beta today because it was a last minute thing.

Also on AO3 soon | All My Other Stranger Things Fic

Always and Forever: Love Finds a Way

Steve stared at the phone for a long time after he put it down with the usual ‘I love you’. He spoke to Eddie every day after he got home and before Eddie was due on stage with the rest of Corroded Coffin. The three-month tour was nearly over, and it had done so much for the band’s popularity. Usually, Eddie sounded excited on the phone, even though he professed to miss Steve as much as Steve missed him.

Tonight, hadn’t been like that.

All Steve had been able to hear was the strain in Eddie’s voice. Oh, Eddie had tried to cover it with his usual exuberance, but Steve knew his boyfriend far too well. Something was wrong.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he picked up the phone again. He rang through to the band’s hotel, but this time he asked for a different room number.

“Hello,” came the rather disgruntled answer after a couple of rings.

“Gareth, what’s wrong with Eddie?” Steve asked without beating around the bus.

“Steve?” Gareth asked, although Steve was pretty sure it was just a stall.

“Gareth,” Steve said in a tone that usually had the not-kids-anymore kids jumping to do whatever he was telling them to.

There was a sigh from the other end.

“He’s having nightmares again,” Gareth finally said after a few moments silence.

“What? Why?” Steve asked.

“There was an incident at one of the venues,” Gareth revealed. “Nothing major, just some fans managed to get backstage and thought it would be hilarious to try and scare the big bad metal band. They had these demon masks and party poppers and hid in the green room. Security got rid of them, but it spooked all of us a bit.”

“If I ever get my hands on those assholes, I will fucking kill them,” Steve growled out, mind jumping to the nail bat he still kept under the bed.

The Upside Down was closed off, there hadn’t been any trouble for three years, but he could never quite shake the need to have a weapon to hand. He could only imagine what it was like for Eddie on tour in strange places. After all, Eddie had nearly died.

“They were just stupid kids,” Gareth did his best to sound soothing, but Steve was pretty sure they were actually in agreement.

“Why didn’t he mention it to me?” Steve asked.

“Probably because he didn’t want to worry you,” Gareth replied. “We’ll make sure he’s okay, Steve,” Gareth promised. “We love him too.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Thanks. Don’t tell him I called, okay? He’ll only worry about me worrying.”

“No problem,” Gareth replied. “Sorry, I have to go, the van’s waiting downstairs.”

“Knock ‘em dead,” Steve replied, “and thanks again.”

“See you in a couple of weeks,” Gareth said, and the line clicked off.

Putting the receiver back in the cradle, Steve stared at the phone for a little while longer. It was as he picked it up for the third time, he realised he had made the decision before he had even put it down the first time.

He didn’t stop moving until he was in sitting on the plane. He’d let Robin and Dustin know he was going and asked them to pass on the information. Robin had told him to ‘go get his man’. He’d packed a bag and called a taxi to the airport, barely pausing to make sure he had anything but his wallet. Luckily the girl on the ticket desk had taken pity on him and found him a not completely terrible flight across the country. Staring out the window, all he could think about was Eddie.

By the time he reached the hotel it was the early hours of the morning. He didn’t need to ask reception because he already knew the room number, so he headed straight up. When he stepped out on the right floor a guy in a black suit lurking in the shadows gave him a look. Apparently, someone was taking security seriously now. Corroded Coffin was what some publications liked to call an over-night sensation, even though they had been working hard for several years that didn’t seem to count. You couldn’t turn on a rock station without them coming up. They deserved to be looked after.

Also apparently, someone had briefed the security guy well, because he glared at Steve for a few moments and then appeared to relax. How security knew what he looked like he decided not to ask.

Walking quickly along the hall he got to Eddie’s door. The first thing he noticed was the sound of an acoustic guitar. Not really a surprise after what Gareth had told him. When Eddie couldn’t sleep, he always retreated to his music.

Lifting his hand, Steve knocked.

The guitar playing stopped.

Steve knocked again when no one answered the door.

A second later, the door was yanked inwards, and Eddie was staring at him as if he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Steve,” Eddie said, eyes big and round.

“Hi,” he replied and gave Eddie a little wave.

“Am I dreaming?” Eddie asked and sounded just a little afraid Steve wasn’t real.

“Nope,” he said, reaching out and touching the side of Eddie’s face.

Eddie almost clocked himself on the side of the head with his guitar, clearly forgetting he was holding it as he tried to cover Steve’s hand with his own. At which point, Steve took the guitar and gently shepherded Eddie back into the room. Once the door was closed, he put the guitar down, dropped his own bag and crowded into Eddie’s personal space.

“Missed you,” he said, taking Eddie’s face in his hands.

The were dark circles under Eddie’s eyes and his skin was pale, but he was just a beautiful to Steve as always.

“Missed you too,” Eddie replied, a tiny smile quirking his lips as he drank Steve in with his eyes. “How?”

“Need you to be happy, Eds,” he said, leaning forward so their foreheads were touching. “That’s all that matters.”

“But…”

“No buts,” he interrupted. “Need to hold you and chase the nightmares away.”

“Who told you?” Eddie asked, but there was no heat to his tone even as he wound his arms around Steve.

“Twisted Gareth’s arm,” Steve confessed, wrapping Eddie in a tight embrace. “Knew something was wrong on the phone earlier.”

“Not as good an actor as I think I am, huh?” Eddie said into his shirt.

“Only to me,” Steve assured him, “and well probably Wayne.”

That startled a laugh out of Eddie, but he didn’t move from his position in Steve’s arms.

“God I love you,” Eddie said.

“Me too,” Steve replied, “always and forever.”

When Eddie had gone off on tour it had seemed like such a big thing, the first reality of the rockstar lifestyle. Steve had worried it would pull them apart, but what he’d realised during the earlier phone call, was it was all irrelevant. All the mattered to him was Eddie. Everything else was just details to be worked out.

He didn’t have a plan. Hadn’t had more than the sure and certain knowledge he needed to get to Eddie. He would work out what to do next when he woke up in the morning with Eddie in his arms. That was the important part.

All My Other Stranger Things Fic

[johaerys-writes]

Snippet Sunday

@rowanisawriter tagged me earlier this week for a WIP Wednesday but I had nothing to share, so I'm sharing a snippet today instead 😊 I've been working on a flashback which takes place at that fateful New Year's Eve party Antilochus mentions in chapter 2 of baby born blue, not sure if I'll include all of it in the next chapter but this is a small bit of it:

Patroclus is halfway down the stairs when he bumps into Briseis. 

“Where were you?” she demands hotly, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the music. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Oh—sorry, I was just—” Patroclus stumbles over his own words. His face is hot, and he realises he actually never even bothered to come up with a believable excuse should he walk into someone he knows. “I’m tired,” he says finally. “I’m heading home.”

“Really.” Briseis quirks her brow, unconvinced. “And where is Achilles?”

“He’s…” Patroclus swallows thickly. “He—I don’t know, still at the party, probably.”

“You don’t know.” Briseis shakes her head and crosses her arms before her chest. “You’re leaving with him, aren’t you?”

“Brie…" Patroclus starts pleadingly, but doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. It’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation. Just before this party she had made him promise that they’d be leaving together, whether Achilles was there or not. The promise didn’t even cross his mind before Patroclus broke it.

“How many more times are you going to do this to yourself?” Briseis asks when Patroclus doesn’t reply. “For months I’ve watched you pick up your pieces after he left. And now at a wiggle of Achilles’ fingers you’re crawling back to him without a second thought?”

He hates the hopeless, disappointed look she gives him, and he hates himself for giving into all of this once more. But he just can’t help it. The pull is too strong, impossible to fight. No one else could understand it, because no one else shares a bond like he and Achilles do.

 “We won’t do anything,” he lies, only to placate her. “We’ll just talk things over.”

"In the middle of the night? And after everything Achilles has downed?” 

“I just— I need to do this, Brie,” Patroclus says, as if that’s enough to explain any of it. “It’s been a while, and—things might be different this time. He deserves a chance, at least. We both do.”

“Oh, Pat.” She shakes her head again. “Are you lying to me or to yourself?” 

Patroclus just gazes at her helplessly. He doesn’t know what else to say. Briseis sighs. “Did you tell Iphis at least? She probably still thinks you’re on that ‘date’.” 

Patroclus winces slightly at the reminder. Briseis had brought Iphis as his plus one for the party, but he barely managed to spend half an hour with her before Achilles arrived and practically pounced on him. After months of interacting with him only through text messages and video calls, whenever they both had time, having all of Achilles' attention on him all at once was intoxicating, headier than the strongest drug. He could try looking for Iphis now, but the villa is huge and she could be anywhere, and he also hates to leave Achilles alone when he’s in that state.  

He feels like the worst, most selfish person in the world when he asks Briseis, “Can you make up an excuse? Just tell her I got sick or something.” 

Briseis glares at him. “I’m not lying for you again. I’ll tell her the truth: that you left with Achilles to—”

“To take him home, because he got sick. Or something. Please. I’ll owe you.” 

Briseis glares at him for a moment longer, then she shakes her head dejectedly again. “Fine. But I’m doing it for her sake, not yours. She deserves some kind of an explanation.”

“Thanks, Brie, you’re the best,” Patroclus tells her over his shoulder, already hopping down the stairs. 

“Pat.” 

He stops and turns to look at her. She lets out a deep breath, her features growing hard. 

“When you’re with him, you become just like him.” 

The words are like a punch in the gut. Patroclus just stares stupidly at her, until she turns around and walks back to the party.

Tagging forth to @baejax-the-great @in-arlathan @tragediegh @reprrise @hekateinhell @starlightvld @maxdurden @vimlos @darlingpoppet @babyrdie and anyone else who might want to share a little WIP!

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: How good is tension? Am I right? haha.... ha...

Chapter 20: A last Walk

Helaena arrived some time after Aemond left you at the Godswood. Breaths still heavy in your chest as rage bubbled up inside you. There was still that ever present slither of guilt that perhaps he was right.

You did enjoy it.

Your aunt's sweet face is a welcomed distraction, though you could not help but notice her skittish behaviour as she arrived to you. Every time you reached out to touch her, she would flinch away from you.

You spoke very little as you walked away from the Godswood and out to the garden together side by side.

Halfway through your walk in the garden you paused and called her name. She stopped, eyes still cast to the floor rather than meeting your own.

You reached out to hold her hand, watching as her body tensed.

“Dear Helaena, what has happened?” You asked in concern, hand slowly coming forward to grasp hers.

Her fingers were raw and bleeding, the skin at her cuticles gone. Helaena relaxed slightly in your hold, but her eyes still did not meet yours.

“Aunt Helaena?” You asked again, quieter this time, pulling her hands towards you.

With the movement, her tight sleeve rolled slightly up her arm, revealing the edge of a deep purple bruise. It bloomed from beneath her sleeve, the edges fading as large spots of burst capillaries stood out amongst the rest.

Looking down at the skin, you inhaled sharply. “Did he do this to you?” 

You watched as she pulled her sleeve down awkwardly, face tense as she still refused to look up.

“Only when he is drunk.” She murmured.

“We have to tell the Queen.” You implored the Princess, holding her gently, dipping your head to try and catch her eyes.

“She knows.” 

The rage bubbled up and boiled over. The Queen, her mother knows of the abuse and does nothing? You wonder what else the Queen knew about and swept under the rug.

The oh so valiant Queen who has looked down her noses at you and your family for years, ever the image of decorum and duty, allows her son to abuse her only daughter, and for what? You did not know.

“Come with me,” You blurted, “to Dragonstone. Bring your children and stay with us. Rhaenyra would love to have you stay. You are her only sister.” 

Finally your aunt's eyes came to meet yours. Her eyes were tired and red rimmed, little shadows under them as she smiled sadly at you.

“I cannot leave.” 

“You can,” You insist, “You can ride Dreamfyre with me and Sȳndor to Dragonstone. The babes can voyage on the ships with my brothers. You would be safe there.” 

“I'm sorry.” She stuttered, casting her eyes to look at the garden around you, continuing to walk forward.

You chased after her, “You can’t let him do this to you! He is cruel.”

“He is my husband.” She shrugged.

“What about your children Helaena?”

“He does not see them.” She replies coldly, eyes straight ahead.

“Helaena, please.” You beg, grabbing her once more, pulling her to a stop. She slowly turns her head to you.

“I have to stay. For Aemond.” She looks at you. 

“Aemond? What doe-“ Realisation dawned on you. You hold her gaze as she watches you knowingly.

Aegon isn’t the father of her children. 

“Oh.” You said dumbly, not knowing what to say.

“Helaena please, I care for you too much to know you are in pain.” You beg, softer this time.

She holds your gaze, squeezing your hand before giving you a small smile. Her answer is final. She would not join you on Dragonstone, and instead would live out her life at the Red Keep with an abusive husband, and her sadistic brother. 

“Promise me you will leave if it gets worse?” You implore, “Promise me? Send a raven, or ride to us immediately. Know that you always have a place with us. No matter what happens. You have refuge on Dragonstone.” You search her eyes as she continues to look at you.

She merely blinks at you, before nodding slowly. 

You began to walk together slowly after the confession, the tension between you both growing. You walked until you sat yourselves on a long stone bench, looking out across the ocean.

You felt grief as you sat. Grief in knowing that your aunt was being abused. Grief in knowing that you did not know when you would see her again.

There was grief in knowing that the Queen knew of all this and did nothing. Grief for your grandfather's worsening condition. Grief for the loss of your childhood.

Grief churned inside of you until it swallowed you whole. You fell straight into the depths of it, tears escaping your eyes as you sat beside your aunt. You did not know that you could feel such pain.

You tried to blink the tears away, but only more came. You sucked in a sharp breath, clearing your throat before turning your head away from your aunt in an attempt to hide your sorrow. 

You looked at the flowers, their forms blurred and distorted through your tears, mind racing away from you, as you found yourself overwhelmed.

Your thoughts were broken by the gentle touch of a hand, holding yours in your lap. You turn to look at your aunt, who was watching the water. She did not witness you cry, but only held you as you did.

A small comfort.

“I’m sorry.” You cried, wiping your face with the shoulder of your dress. She only held onto you tighter. 

“We will see each other again, very soon.” She whispered.

“I hope so.” You sob.

“Hope.” She parroted, voice seeming further away. 

Finally you turned to look at your aunt. Her gaze was still on the water, though her expression was unreadable. 

“One eye closed, another opened. What was lost, cannot be found.” She spoke, staring out at the ocean. 

“A dragon's death for a dragon's breath. A spool of green to black.”

Dread settled in your stomach.

“Three dragons will fall, one will rise.”

“Spool of green, spool of black. Union of blood and fire.” Her face tensed. She turned to look at you squeezing your hand tight, before looking back out across the sea.

“Spool of green. A great fall.” 

“I do not know what you mean.” You breathed.

She did not respond.

“Helaena what does it mean?” You asked, hoping she would answer.

“Helaena?” You searched her face.

Slowly she turned her head, eyes sad, “A great fall.” She uttered. 

Then once more, she looked away, watching the tide pull fluffy tips of white waves across the ocean, the sun glittering in its light. You both sat in silence, watching the waves swell and crash against the rocks below.

You did not speak again. 

Both you and your aunt walked together back into the Red Keep. No goodbyes were said, and no more tears were shed either. All that was done was a tight embrace, where your aunt tucked her head into the crux of your shoulder. You held each other for some time, praying that she would change her mind and come with you. 

She did not.

Numbly you walked back to your chambers, finding Saria and Aella tidying and packing your things away. Your jewellery was gone from the vanity, decanter and cups put away in the kitchens below, and the bedroom began to look as it did when you arrived.

The bed had been stripped and its sheets replaced. Golden blankets were folded neatly at the edge. The room in which you had grown in, now looked as though no-one had lived there.

Even the fire had been put out. No smouldering embers sat in the bottom, only the ash from the log that once was. 

The room felt as though it was closing in on you and panic began to race in your veins, and your breath caught in your chest. Stepping backwards you stormed out of the chambers, swiftly walking through the corridors hoping to get away from the suffocating feeling. You walked and walked until you stopped, finally looking at your surroundings. 

You stood in the Great Hall, staring at the beastly Iron Throne. The swords melted into a sharp seat. Rows of blades stood pointed upwards around it and down the stairs in front. This throne had led to many peoples ruin.

Your grandmother died in birth to push out a male heir to replace your mother. Alicent gave birth to males like your grandfather had chased for years, but neither named successor. Your father Daemon had been suspected of lusting for the throne and was banished. Your great aunt and grandmother, Princess Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was, had the throne taken from her, for the realm would never accept a Queen to sit upon its sharp seat.

Rhaenys had told your mother that men would rather set the realm to the torch than have a woman ascend the throne, and she was right.

You knew that many would not accept your mother as the Queen. After Aegon was born, many expected him to be named the new heir, but it never happened. 

Though your mother preached to create a new order, where Queens could sit on the Iron Throne without question, she did not name you heir, for she knew that the realm would never accept two Queens.

And although you have never outright wanted the throne, you always felt an ache knowing that it would never be yours, despite being the first born.

You may as well have been a second son. 

No, the throne would be taken away from you, just like it was taken from Princess Rhaenys, and any other woman across the realms who were the rightful heir to their kingdoms and lands, having been stripped away by men. 

You stood at the jagged seat, its points glinting from the light that streamed in from the windows around the Hall. Your legs moved forward, walking you up towards the towering Iron Throne. Footsteps echoing in the empty room, the sound of your dress rubbing against your skin softly rustled beneath you.

With each step you felt your breath even, back straightening as you stopped on the top of the last step.

Eye to eye with the Iron Throne, you looked over every sword's hilt and blade, each one different in their size and craft. Each one; a man conquered and fallen. Each blade a battle that had been won.

Power.

You reached a hand forward, resting your fingertips on the arm of the throne. It was cool to the touch, the blades hard beneath your fingers. Your eye was caught as you looked to one blade on the arm. Its hilt was twisted and raw, melted down onto the others, the edge of the blade still looking sharp.

“What are you doing?” A voice cuts across the room, pulling you from your thoughts.

You jerk your hand back, finger tip slicing on the edge of the blade. You hiss pulling your finger up to your face, blood beginning to bead from the small cut.

Turning, you saw Jacaerys, standing in the same clothes from this morning, watching you with an inquisitive face. 

“Saying goodbye to the Keep.” You respond, pulling your finger to your lips, sucking the blood into your mouth. The bitter taste of iron coated your tongue.

“Odd place to say goodbye.” He responded, walking to the bottom of the steps.

You looked down at him from where you stood, Iron Throne towering behind you.

From where you were, your brother looked small, the presence of the mangled swords behind empowered you. This is where you belonged. This was your legacy. This was your birthright.

To stand where your Grandfather stands, where Aegon the Conqueror had stood and all those powerful ancestors, standing exactly where you were, all ruling the realms on the backs of Dragons. 

This was your blood.

“You look like Queen Visenya.” He commented, head tilting as he gazed at you. You huffed a laugh through your nose stepping down away from the throne, coming to join your brother in front of you. 

“I will never be Queen.” You state, watching him. 

“You should be.” 

You blink.

A bitter laugh escaped you as you turn your head away from him, looking to the large stained glass windows to the side, colours streams of light landing on the stone floors. 

“You will be King one day,” You look back to him, his features soft like your mother, “and we will be thankful for it. You will make a fine King.” You praise, though a sad smile betrayed you.

“You are the eldest. It should be you on the throne after mother, not me.”

You laugh bitterly again.

“We both know that the realm would not accept me. It will barely accept mother with Aegon around. It did not accept Princess Rhaenys.” You argued.

“No. You will ascend the throne, and the realm will be gladdened for it.” You pause, “I will be gladdened for it.” You reach for his arm, looping yours through it. 

You turn the both of you to face the throne. 

“You will be King one day, and you will sit upon that throne, just as mother will, just as our Grandsire the King does. You will sit on the Iron Throne as your blood intends you to.” 

You look to him shortly before gazing back, “You are the blood of the mighty houses Targaryen and Velaryon. There is no-one more suited to the throne than you.”

“Except you.” Jacaerys countered, eyes still on the throne. “I never wanted the throne. I always thought that it would go to you,” He turns to watch your face, “I am surprised that mother has not named you her successor.”

“As am I.” 

You look at him, his face filled with guilt. You both knew that she had chosen him to be her successor, and although she had not made it official, she had still mentioned it in past discussions.

You take a deep breath, squeezing his arm to you, “I do not question her choice, I will always support you. Please know that.”

Jacaerys' young face turned serious as he looked to the large throne before him.

“It's not right. Women have a place on the throne just as much as men do.”

“My sweet brother,” You cooed, placing a hand against his chest, “Not all think like you. It does not matter what is right or not. Men will always be given preference on the throne and in the realms. That is the hard truth. Some men would sooner fall on their sword than be ruled by a woman.”

“We should let them.”

“It’s naive to think that way.” You shake your head, “When you are King, you will have to make hard decisions. That is the way of the world.”

“It shouldn’t be. When mother is Queen, sh-“

“It does not matter, Jacaerys. No matter what mother does, no matter how good of a Queen she will be, some people in the realm will not accept it. They would rather be ruled by a drunken fool than a level headed Queen. Women have been trampled on by men for thousands of years, it will not change in a day.”

“It could. I would sacrifice-”

“Sacrifice?” You hissed, “What would you know of sacrifice? What do men know of sacrifice? Nothing.” You shake your head rapidly, the rage from the day boiling up inside of you. “If I was born with a cock between my legs, many things would be different.”

“You could have the throne,” He argues, “if you-“

“If you truly think that, then you are a fool.” You hiss.

Regret immediately hit you as you watched your brother look away in shame, sadness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt, standing in front of him, reaching to hold both of his hands, “That was unkind. You are not a fool.” He continues to stare at the wall, evading your gaze, brow furrowed. 

“You will be one of the greatest Kings to ever live, and everyday you make me proud to call you my brother. I have known no-one like you. You are a rare man,” his gaze finally meets yours, face still tense, “your kindness knows no bounds. You are unwavering in your braveness, endlessly witty, but most importantly you’re you.” 

Jacaerys rolls his eyes at you.

“Dont you roll your eyes at me,” You chastise, “If there were more men like you, then I could sit on the throne without the realm being put to the torch.”

Jacaerys nibbles at his lip, chewing the skin.

“Stop that.” You swat at his lip.

Your brother gives you a shy smile.

“I mean it. There will be no greater person fit for the Iron Throne than you.” You loop your arm back in his, turning him to leave the The Great Hall, casting one last glance at the Iron Throne, “Besides, the realm does not need a Queen with such a temper.” You joke, pushing against his shoulder.

“You? Temper?” Jacaerys mocks.

“I’m afraid so,” You say with fake sorrow, “I would be called Maegor with Teats.”

Jacaerys snorts out a laugh, it echoing through the empty space as you get closer to the large doors.

“All jests aside, I meant what I said.”

“As did I.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

Hi can I please request a Melissa x reader where Mel is meeting the readers parents for the first time and perhaps the reader doesn’t have a good relationship with her mom and her mom keeps making snarky comments about the age difference and that rlly upsets Melissa and the reader can tell so the next time the readers mum does it she shouts at her mom and they end up having an argument and then the reader grabs Mel and they storm out and maybe when they get home the reader breaks down at Mel comforts her. Also based of what happened when I took my bf home 😂😂. Tysm

You've been very patient with this request - which has been loitering with intent in my inbox for a while now! As promised, it was not forgotten. I hope this was what you were hoping for and that you enjoy it!

~*~

You’re both nervous.  You’re trying your best not to let your own nerves show, but you know by the supportive smile being aimed at you that you’re failing badly.  You know Melissa is trying just as hard to hide her own nerves by the way she fidgets, toying with anything in reach from the napkin to her necklaces to your bracelet. 

The restaurant is neither of your favourites, and chosen for that reason specifically.  You know there’s a good chance tonight isn’t going to go down well and you don’t want to ruin one of your favourite places to eat with bad memories.  You hope it won’t.  That your mother will see how happy you are with Melissa, and maybe just for once, she’ll play nice.  You’re not counting on it though.

You’ve warned Melissa multiple times tonight might not end well.  You’ve apologised for feeling as though you have to warn her.  Every time you’ve told her, she’s been nothing but patient with you, telling you she understands difficult family dynamics, reassuring you that whatever happens she’s not going anywhere. 

Seeing your mother enter the restaurant, you take a deep breath, motioning to Melissa as she approaches.

“Are we still waiting for your girlfriend?”

You frown at the greeting, as you stand to meet your mother.  Turning towards Melissa, you find her halfway out of her own chair.  She’s blatantly at the same table as you, and hasn’t yet run for the hills so why…

“Oh sweetheart, she isn’t a girl,” sneers your mother.  “She hasn’t been a girl for long time.”

Your mouth opens in shock.  You hadn’t exactly expected hugs and kisses, but this?  “This is Melissa.  The woman I love,” you manage, through clenched teeth as your hand finds the red head’s arm, a silent plea for her to stay. 

“You’ve never exactly had the best taste,” quips your mother as she takes the seat opposite you.

Half sitting, half falling back into your own seat you offer Melissa an apologetic look, your fingers gently brushing over the exposed skin of her forearm.  You can see your mother’s comments have riled her, but you also know her well enough to see that behind her stern expression, there’s hurt in her eyes too.

The age gap between you isn’t inconsiderable, and you know it sometimes plays on the red head’s mind.  For you, it’s never been all that much of an issue.  Since the day you met her you’ve always found her the most beautiful woman in any given room, and when she finally let you get to know her, you realised you found her personality just as attractive.  You love her.  All of her. 

For her part, Melissa tries her best to suppress the urge to lean over the table and unceremoniously drag your mother across it by her neck.  You had told her, quite a number of times, that this might not go well, but she hadn’t expected your mother to be quite to vicious right off the bat.  Come to think of it, she wishes she had one of hers. 

*

You had hoped that after your mother’s horrid opening gambit the evening might improve.  Instead, it only gets worse.  You’ve barely even ordered and already you want to cry, scream and inflict serious bodily harm with the cutlery. 

Melissa excuses herself to the bathroom.  She flashes you a quick, forced, smile before she does, honestly not wanting to leave you to face your mother alone, but needing a moment to collect herself.  She wants to scream and shout and raise her fists, but she won’t.  She knows your relationship with your mother is tenuous at best and she won’t do anything to make it worse.  That doesn’t mean that every awful comment aimed at you that she doesn’t shoot down doesn’t cause guilt to build in her chest.  It also doesn’t mean that the barbed comments aimed at her don’t hurt. 

She glares at herself in the mirror, trying by sheer force of will to stop the tears falling from her eyes.  She knows you don’t believe any of the words coming from your mother’s mouth.  She does know.  She knows because she knows you. 

She’s watched tonight as you’ve tried to be patient.  As you’ve quietly countered every insult thrown at her, trying not to make a scene but making it clear that you’re firmly with Melissa and no amount of derogatory comments is going to change that.

She manages a small smile in the mirror.  You love her.  You’ll get through this.  A little bruised and sore, sure, but together.

Exiting the bathroom, she’s within hearing distance of the table just in time to hear your mother throw out her latest taunt; “Sure you don’t want to check she hasn’t broken a hip, the time she’s taking?”

Pausing, she takes a deep breath, biting down the retort that threatens to spill from her lips.  It’s during this moment she sees you stand, planting your hands on the table.

“You know what?” you shout, no longer caring about making a scene.  “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this, and I should never have subjected Melissa to you!”

You promised yourself you wouldn’t make a scene tonight, but that was before you realised your mother seemed intent on insulting Melissa at every opportunity.  “I hoped you’d see her the way I see her, as a beautiful, funny, supportive and kind girlfriend.  That you might even be happy for me but all you’ve been in mean and hurtful and she doesn’t deserve that.  She deserves the fucking world and that doesn’t include you!”

You toss your bag over your shoulder, yanking yours and Melissa’s coats from the back of your chairs before leaning down to grab the red head’s handbag.  Without looking at your mother, you turn to go and find Melissa, only to find her a few feet away, looking stunned.

Still fuelled by anger and adrenaline you stride over to her, catching her hand with your own and leading you both out of the restaurant.

“We can’t just walk out!” she hisses, not wanting you to hurt your relationship with your mother by ending tonight on such bad terms.

“We damn well can,” you tell her as you push open the door, leaving the sounds of the restaurant behind.  “I’m not sitting there listening to her insult you with every other breath!”

As you reach the parking lot, you’re beginning to run out of steam, your anger faltering as tears of frustration start to gather in your eyes.  You let go of her hand, pacing as you take a number of deep breaths, trying not to cry. 

You stop as Melissa catches your hand as you pass her once more.  “I’m sorry tonight was so shitty,” you offer, your voice barely a wobbly whisper.

“You warned me it might not go well,” she shrugs, though you know she’s trying to play it down.  You know tonight has been just as horrific for her as it has been for you.  That she’s tried to be on her best behaviour for you and you hate yourself for it. 

You let out a sigh, turning to face her, managing a sad smile as she takes your other hand and tugs you close, wrapping her arms around you.  “I didn’t think it would go quite that badly.”

Resting your head on her shoulder, you loop your arms around her waist, breathing her in.  “Can we just go home?”

-

You pull up outside Melissa’s apartment.  Home, you realise, with a small smile.  Turning to face the woman in the driver’s seat, you take a moment to just drink her in.  It’s a habit you have no intention of breaking any time soon.  “I don’t deserve you.”

She turns with a lopsided smile.  “You put up with plenty.”

So does she, you think.  Tonight more than ever before.  You start to tear up again as the evening’s events play through your mind.  “I’m so sorry about tonight.”

“You couldn’t have known she was going to say those things,” Melissa says softly.

“I shouldn’t have let her!” you quickly reply, angry with yourself all over again.  “I should have left when she made that first snarky comment!”

“You didn’t just leave when I made my first snarky comment,” smirks the red head. 

You manage a watery smile at that.

 “Come on, lets get inside and drink good wine and forget about bad people.”

You reach across and put a hand on her arm before she can leave the truck.  “You know what she was saying was all nonsense, right?”

The smile being aimed at you is forced.  You know Melissa too well not to see it. 

“Mel, seriously,” you tell her, your thumb stroking over her forearm where your hand still rests on her arm.  “You’re the kindest, bravest, more passionate woman I’ve ever known, and I love you.  I love every bit of you.”

“I love you too,” she replies, trying not to let her own tears fall.  She quickly wipes her eyes with her free hand.  “Come on, the neighbours don’t need to see us crying in the car.  They’ll think we’re breaking up!”

You’re not letting her away so easily.  “But we’re okay?  You’re okay?”

She smiles at you.  A proper smile this time.  “Yeah,” she nods.  “We’re okay and I’m okay.”  With a squeeze of your hand, she slips out of the car, coming around to your side and opening your door for you. 

“Well if it isn’t the hottest couple on the block!”

You both turn at the cheerful greeting, waving back at the elderly gentleman who lives across the street.  He’s known Melissa as a neighbour for decades, and apparently approves of you more than he has any of her previous partners.  He likes to playfully flirt with you every chance he gets, always chuckling at the raised eyebrow from the red head and winking at you when she gets possessive. 

Melissa takes your hand and grins.  Your mother might be your flesh and blood, and there’s going to be some healing from this evening on both sides, but she’s one single, small minded woman.  There are bigger, better and happier things to focus on.

“And good evening to you too, Mr Rees.”

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

5 fics i've enjoyed this month

stealing this idea from @alexturne because i absolutely love the idea of promoting all the amazing talented authors in this fandom more! 💜

missed your bones on me by @glorious-blackout summary: In the aftermath of their blissful reunion at Emirates Stadium, Miles wakes alone in Alex's bed to the sound of a gentle piano melody. Set following Miles' reunion with Arctic Monkeys on 18th June 2023. notes: this fic is absolutely beautiful. full of sadness for the past and hope for the future and just suffused throughout with the kind of bone-deep love that feels so utterly in character for milex. it tugged on my heartstrings in all the best ways, and has my favourite ever portrayal of alex lost in his creative headspace.

some velvet morning by @musette22/@subtle-as-an-earthquake summary: It happens at the OIympia in Paris, just after the show. Their hundredth show. A memorable one for more than just that reason, as it turns out. (Or, the fic in which Alex's body starts talking before his mind does, forcing him to finally realise a thing or two about his relationship with his best friend Miles). notes: oh my lord, this fic 😍 it's like someone (and by someone i mean @subtle-as-an-earthquake) took all my favourite tropes and poured them into a gorgeously written, tension-laden 14k fic that is so stupidly good i've already read it at least three times already 😅 it captures the dynamic between alex and miles SO well - the sense of contrasting complete ease/simmering tension with each other is one of the best portrayals i've ever read of them, and alex's thought process throughout unfolds in a way that feels so utterly (and infuriatingly) in character. the slow build is absolutely delicious, and the culmination of it delivers above and beyond! ✨

sometime in the future by @blacktrickle summary: In a world quite similar to this one, Miles Kane is an international supermodel and Alex Turner is the rockstar who has broken his heart one too many times. Now, two years after their most vicious break up, Alex is asking for one more shot, but this time, Miles won’t make it easy. notes: oh my goddddd THIS FIC 😭😭 i put off reading it for ages because i had this sneaking little suspicion it was going to destroy me - and i was right. destroy me it has, in the BEST possible way. i literally cannot recommend it enough. the writing and depth of character portrayal is just stunning, and i am completely and utterly hooked. i'm actually only halfway through rn, but already i know that this fic is one that's going to stay with me in my heart for the longest time - and can't wait to see where it's heading.

you've got control of everyone's eyes (including mine) by @alexturne summary: It's 2005 and the Arctic Monkeys are about to set out on their first proper tour. Alex is quite happy with that, until a certain someone gets in the way and spoils it all. A story about facing hardships, insecurities and stage fright, about friendships, dreams, music and smoking too many fucking cigarettes in dark back alleys. About keeping your friends close, and perhaps your enemies even closer. notes: i'm only three chapters in, but already this fic has hooked me in completely. it's beautifully readable, and just feels like such a vivid slice of early era am life. alex and miles are absolutely INSUFFERABLE in the best possible way - clearly obsessed with each other, but hiding behind the idea that they hate each other. the constantly simmering ust is wonderfully written, and the way they relate with each other feels so authentic (even if it also makes me want to knock their heads together). i can't wait to see where this fic goes 😍

ain't got anything to lick without you baby by @elorianna summary: At some point during their usual stage antics, Alex and Miles start playing an innocent game of one-upmanship – but with neither one of them willing to back down, things eventually get a little bit out of hand… notes: listen, i've read this one before. and i'll read it a bunch of times again too because it's just a CLASSIC. one of the first ever milex fics i read and i find myself returning to it over and over because it's just such a fun little read, and of course so well written too because it's elorianna. it captures all the ridiculousness and ust of eycte era milex messing around with each other, and the smut is well - *fans self*

okay, that's all for this month, but i think i'm going to try and do this every month and make it a regular thing! if anyone has any fic recs for me then please feel free to drop them in the comments/my asks/dms - i'm always on the lookout for more milex fics 💗

[stevesbipanic]

2 hurt/comfort #Bhits5k

Congratulations on the 5K! You are awesome and deserve it

Thank you <3

2. "What do you want?"/"I want you to choose me!"

Steve was ready to spend Valentine's Day alone this year, well not completely alone, he and Eddie had decided to drink the capitalist holiday away with booze and dumb movies. Robin was supposed to join in too but fate had other plans when Nancy finally asked her out a couple weeks prior. Steve didn't mind though, he was happy for the girls, and he was happy to spend time with Eddie.

The two boys had grown closer after the almost end of the world. Eddie made Steve laugh, a real laugh deep in his gut and with a smile so wide it crinkled at the edges. He never made Steve feel stupid, often explaining quietly things the kids said that he didn't understand. He had held Steve as he cried when he came out, sandwiched between him and Robin.

So no, he wasn't really alone, he was going to be spending the day with Eddie, pushing down the feelings that he would've wanted to spend the day with Eddie for other reasons.

He was working the opening shift, happy couples coming in to rent cheesy romcoms that they'd ignore for the sake of other activities. His and Eddie's movie selection was tucked safely under the desk. Other years he may have been just like them or spending it doing dumb shit with Robin like he had last year. He looked up at the sound of the door's bell jingling, the usual welcome spiel dying on his lips as he sees Eddie come up to the desk.

"Hey, Stevie, bad news about tonight?"

Steve feels the disappointment start to pool in his stomach, "Don't tell me Gary called in sick, you said you got the night off?"

Eddie's face pinches into an awkward expression, "No, no, still got tonight off, um well, I guess it's more good news, I kinda got a date tonight."

The disappointment plummets into dread, "You did?" He tries to cover the shock, forcing a smile onto his face, "That's, that's great, Eds."

Eddie's nervous face brightens, "It is? Oh good, I was worried you'd be upset."

Steve's face softens, his heart taking a backseat, "Course not Eds, I'm happy for you really."

Cause that's how it had always been hadn't it, others before himself. Anything different felt like his King Steve days again. So, Steve watched Eddie go, to go get ready for his date, to go leave Steve behind. The shift stretched longer after that.

When Steve finally got home the pool of dread had seeped into his veins as a deep feeling of loss. He knew it was selfish, that Eddie wasn't his. Steve dumped the bag of tapes on the table, the cruel humor of fate letting the cheesy romcom he'd slipped in there thinking it would be funny to watch with Eddie fall onto the floor.

"Fuck it," Steve said cracking open his first beer of the night and popping in the tape. Steve was crying by the end, an hour in he'd opened his stupid dad's stupid bourbon, beer bottles clattered around on the ground. The credits were rolling and Steve wished he could have a cheesy happy ending too.

He didn't even realise the phone was in his hand and ringing until he heard the Munson's answering machine. The word vomit tumbled out of him.

"I'm not happy for you Eds. I'm not happy because it should've been you and me together tonight, should've been me you were getting all dressed up for, should've been me getting your flowers and should've been me holding your hand while we got fucking takeout and watch our stupid movies that I watch so you do the stupid fucking impressions just to make me laugh and it should've been me that got to kiss you tonight, it should've been me Eds because I want you to choose me."

"Stevie?" Steve had been to wrapped up in his confession to hear the click the phone had made when it had been picked up halfway through. Steve slams the phone back into the receiver in surprise, panic slowly overwhelming him. He'd ruined everything, now Eddie knew and he'd never want to see him again, he'd go off with his new boyfriend and replace Steve. Steve couldn't keep his mouth shut and kept one of his best friends, he'd had to be selfish, he hadn't changed at all.

Steve didn't know how much time had passed, he had sunk to his knees, jamming him his palms into his eyes and sobbing. Gentle hands wrapped themselves around his wrists pulling them slowly from his face as a soft voice soothed him.

"There you are, sweetheart."

"Eddie?" Tears threatened to spring up again.

"Say. Say it again, Stevie, what do you want?"

Maybe it was a tear-induced dream but the answer came easily, "I want you to choose me."

Chapped lips brushed against his as the two boys sunk into each other, when they pulled away Steve squinted in confusion.

"But your date?"

"Cancelled it, had a feeling."

"Want to watch dumb movies with me instead?"

"It's a date, sweetheart."

Prompt List

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - A Guero (Mayans MC)/OC Story.

Okay, okay! I cave to the demand and the excitement I have warmly received from you all. Here you go, darlings. First chapter is here. I can’t promise I will be posting the second next week just in case I want to do ANOTHER deep dive into the editing, but since I am just over halfway through writing it now, I thought I would at least post the first. 

Story is somewhat canon, with a few changes here and there to suit my artistic vision... i.e. I kicked canon in the ass and told her to go home, hahaha! Oh, I also gave Guero a surname, too! I tried to keep him as true to who we see on screen, but obviously since we didn’t get him for long, some of his characterisations are of my creation. Don’t like it? Don’t read. Simple as that. 

Nervously and excitedly awaiting your feedback, eeek! :)

Words - 3,834

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse in the coming chapters. 

Unknown numbers. Ezekiel Reyes often received more than he wished to endure upon the burner phone he used for club business. Regularly they were legitimate, but occasionally telemarketers, such annoyances he simply hung up on instantly. While walking from his trailer to the clubhouse, he expected the call coming in to be that of nuisance, 11am seemingly the call centre worker bee’s peak time to bother him about his long-distance courier needs, or savings on his energy bills.  

It was no telemarketer, but he almost disconnected the call all the same in sheer disbelief.  

“Ezekiel Reyes?”

“Who wants to know?” His journey across the yard was undisturbed, watching as Bottles and Nestor took in an alcohol delivery, a nearby Guero and Downer giving them the usual offering of shit talk.

“Rocco Lombardi.”  

He stopped dead in his tracks. The Rocco Lombardi was reaching out to him? Nah.

“This your idea of a joke?”  

He heard a deep chuckle filter down the line. “I’m more of a knock knock, who’s there kinda fella.” Remaining paused, he thought whoever it was had at least nailed the thick, New Jersey accent. He had to give them props for that, he guessed. “Listen, you got FaceTime, I take it?”  

“I do, but...” The line cut dead. Five seconds later and sure enough, a FaceTime call came in. EZ nearly fell over when there on the screen, appeared the face of the big boss, the notorious and famed king of the mafia. There he was; the head of the biggest, most powerful crime family on earth. Rocco Lombardi.  

“That better?”  

He raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Yeah, the confirmation is appreciated.”

“Good. Now not for nothin’, but I can’t fuckin’ stand video calls, encrypted or not. I’ll call you back.” Once again, the call disconnected, the cell ringing after a few moments. All the while EZ could feel his ego swelling, realising truly how far he’d come in his leadership that he was being sought out by someone of such standing within the criminal underworld. He was nothing short of surprised when he eventually found out why, though.

He’d always believed that the code of La Cosa Nostra forbade their operations to extend into the realms of drug trafficking. To be specific, he’d assumed it stemmed from reasons of mortality, perhaps a skewed sense of Catholic guilt, when in fact, the commoner explanation was far simpler.  

The prospect of a lengthier prison sentence, of course, increased the propensity of their members turning upon the organisation, becoming government informants in order to secure a more lenient custodial term. When the federal carrot is dangled before a desperate man, one looking at forty years when his assistance could mean all he ends up serving is ten to fifteen, tongues tend to be loosened.  

Rats out themselves, major players are taken off the streets and ultimately, the government wins.  It would be very reasonable to assume that the code is in place for this very reason, to prevent such catastrophic damage within their organisation and family infrastructure. The risk is not worth the payout. Or rather, it is bendable to the point of unrecognition when those doing said bending can earn a substantial profit.  

Enter Rocco Lombardi and his proposition.

“I think we could mutually benefit from the blending of your organisation with mine, Mr Reyes.” Lombardi was intelligent enough to be concise, even when speaking upon the relative safety of a burner phone. He hadn’t gotten to the top because he was sloppy. Lombardi had sat at the very head of the hierarchy for years, after all. He was hailed as the boss of all bosses for a reason.  

They’d once given John Gotti the monicker of Teflon Don, because nothing ever stuck to him in the way of evidence to bring about charges. That was until his own underboss has turned on him, the evidence given at trial by Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano leading to his incarceration. Truly, if there was one overlord within the organised crime world who lacked cohesion, it was the man who ruled the Romano crime family with an iron fist.

EZ Reyes had launched into thoroughly researching Lombardi after his reaching out to him, learning the ins and out of his character, how much of a slippery customer he was, how – and it went without saying – he would use people as pawns to further his own reach and agenda. It went without saying because it was the way of his own world, too. Within his MC, he went about the very same, albeit on a much smaller scale.  

Rocco Lombardi’s reach was, to put it simply, enormous. EZ and his VP would be lying if they’d have claimed that bearing such in mind, it hadn’t piqued their curiosity over what on earth he could want with a Californian based MC. For all intents and purposes, the man had his operations not merely sewn up tightly, but steel reinforced.  

“All I know is we gotta play it carefully, mano,” Bishop had sagely advised prior to their leaving Santo Padre to for a face to face with the mafioso legend, Rocco insisting that a larger MC presence not assemble in the interests of it remaining nothing short of clandestine. “Our worlds might be similar, but the mafia play by an entirely different set of rules. I ain’t saying you’re not smart enough to outsmart the guy, but he’s the kind who will have thought three moves ahead before we’ve even stepped foot into that hotel suite.”  

EZ had sipped his beer, narrowed eyes unmoving as he’d absorbed the words of the former president with all the credence they deserved. Bishop had, after all, been approached by the mafia before. His reasons for turning down an offer from a different crime family had been solid in their validity, and EZ knew he would be a fool to let this warning go unheeded. Especially since the club were on their knees where their drug trade was concerned. He also knew that somehow, Rocco likely knew this, too.  

The mafia tended to have ears in the very last places one might expect them to extend. He also knew that they preferred to keep their operations within the Italian American brotherhood if they could at all help it, so the need for an alliance was somewhat even in its beneficial mutuality.  

“I guess we just have to wait and see what this sit down entails.” Truly, it was all they could do.  

The time passed quickly between then and the two of them riding through the strip, both separately feeling the mist of apprehension gather, until they were parking up at the hotel and casino they were scheduled to meet Lombardi at, their demeanours switching to cool composure before they’d even entered the building.

The two men dressed in denim, flannel and leather looked out of place as they strode across the foyer of the MGM Grand, the buzz and tacky decadence of Las Vegas swirling all around them. Gamblers bet it all, slot machines flashed in frenzy while spitting out endless streams of coins, and alcohol flowed without restriction, certainly enough to keep it so the house always won.  

Would it be their own win he was sealing, EZ thought while waiting for the elevator, or was this the biggest and most uncertain gamble the club were about to make to date? He guessed the next few hours would tell, whether or not he was about to be presented with a winning hand.  

The ding of the elevator roused him, both stepping inside, Bishop pressing the button for the tenth floor. EZ stared straight ahead at his reflection in the shiny metal of the elevator doors, noting the haunted veil that hung over his features. Shadowy eyes and skin bearing many more lines than a man in his mid-thirties should do were now his staple in appearance, a few further flecks of grey in his hair also.

Ezekiel Reyes was a man barely holding it together, but his demeanour did not give away the tumult that gnawed at his guts and yanked at his nerves, even if it had seemed to age him five years in just over seven months. His control was as unquestionable as it was unshakable, even in the dark times his club was currently under the duress of. He would never, ever let the toll it was taking upon him show.  

He was in Vegas, after all. Home of the poker face.  

The man at his side, though? He saw through the veil. He knew. In the interests of helping him glue back together the smashed fragments of the MC, he chose to keep his observances to himself. When he’d reigned supreme, if someone had pointed out his weak points, he would have shown no magnanimity in return. He knew better than to antagonise. Bishop Losa was nothing if not tactile these days, with how much delicacy teetered upon a knife’s edge, how much was at stake.  

The elevator shunted to a stop, the doors gliding open, the men exchanging a look and a nod before they exited, walking in step down the long hallway. Coming to a stop in front of room eight one five, EZ reached to knock, his arm suddenly grasped, preventing the rap of knuckles upon the sleek, white enamel.

“Whatever goes down in there, I got you.” Bishop’s words were delivered with a solemn nod, EZ returning it before knocking the door. They stood tall as they waited, unflinching, rock-like in their demeanour, the door opening to reveal a slight yet menacing looking man in an expensive suit. He eyed up the two men standing before him, his lips pursing slightly as he stood back to allow their entrance.  

“Guns on the table.”  

EZ’s brow knitted. “The fuck?”

“You heard me, stronzo. Guns. On. The. Table.”  

Neither man took well to his condescending delivery, both irked at the display of what they considered to be one hell of a chip upon his shoulder. EZ was just about to offer his retort when a voice came from further within the suite.

“Stop playing rottweiler and let my guests in, Mario. If we’re armed, so can they be, too.” Immediately, he stood aside at the instruction of his boss, a large, dark-haired man rising from his seat at the dining table, two armed men stationed in opposing corners of the suite. “My apologies. This one here, he can be a hot head, y’know?”

Although seemingly personable right off the bat, there was an aura surrounding Rocco Lombardi that virtually crackled with menace. His ‘thou shalt not fuck with me’ demeanour was beyond palpable. “Take a seat, fellas. Can I offer either of youse a drink?”

EZ’s eyes flitted around the room, taking in every detail. He stored it all on the internal hard drive that was his brain, his guard up as naturally it should have been. “No, thank you.”

Rocco took the rebuff in his stride, gesturing to the chairs opposite as he sat again. “A man who likes to get straight down to business. I can appreciate that.” Down to business was exactly how it went, no pleasantries, no idle chatter. Rocco cut right to the chase.

“My proposition is simple, Ezekiel. My current methods in transportation of product are, shall we say, attracting more attention than myself and my associates are comfortable with, y’know? I need to implement a one stop solution. I also need a far more financially viable method of my product crossing the border from Mexico than I’m currently paying through the fucking nose for.”  

Bribes. Of course, Lombardi meant bribing the border control, an exercise EZ knew likely cost fortunes, cutting into a profit margin the mafia were probably tired of having bites taken out of. “This is where the MC comes in, youse and your tunnel.” EZ’s eyebrow twitched, just a fraction, Rocco smirking at the tell.  

“Yeah, I know all about it. Ain’t many places my ears don’t have reach. I want that tunnel as a new channel to move my product across the border, which then will be transferred to the Port of San Diego, to a designated shipping container the day it ports. You unload into the container, minus your personal cut that will ensure you keep the monopoly on supply within the Californian correctional facilities, and you also get a nice little monetary injection for you and your boys on a monthly basis. How’s that sound?”

EZ took a moment to ponder, his fingers knitting before him on the table, arm muscles flexing as he shared a sideways glance with Bishop. “Sounds like there’s a catch.”  

Rocco smirked, taking a long puff on his cigar, his eyes twinkling through the thick plumes of smoke as he leaned back in his chair. “You move two tons at a time. That is non-negotiable.”  

Two fucking tons every month. Holy mother of god. Before they’d even entered that room, they of course knew the reach of the Romano crime family, that it was extensive. Worldwide, even. Two tons of heroin every four weeks truly hammered home just how far Lombardi’s tentacles reached within the criminal underworld. The risks associated with that were unfathomable, EZ lifting his chin, his poker face firmly set once more. “I’m gonna need to see a number, the nice little monetary injection you speak of.”  

Rocco reached into the pocket of his suit, removing a pen, taking a napkin from the table before him and scribing a number upon it, sliding it across the polished wood. Upon viewing it, EZ’s well trained blank façade slid south quickly, showing it to Bishop.  

“Jesus fucking Christ.”  

His quiet exclamation was no understatement over the amount of zero’s scrawled upon the napkin.  

“I assume you know of our current difficulties with the LNG?”

The tall man nodded. “Quite a fucking pasticcio youse have gotten yourself into, eh?” His smile widened suddenly, slowly drawing his thumb and forefinger from the corners of his mouth down to the centre of his lip. “If you do the first shipment for free, I can take care of that, as well as your issues with the knuckleheaded, heavy arms wielding fuck heads you got yourselves caught up in, too.” He hissed a breath over his teeth, shaking his head. “Fentanyl, gentleman. What a risky business that is.”

What in the fuck didn’t this man know about their operations? EZ was all but surprised that Rocco wasn’t clued in on the colour of his underwear by that point, the man seemingly well informed, his intel even extending to knowing about their deal with Cole.  

He rose to his feet, jerking his head towards the balcony. “If you could give myself and my VP a moment?”  

Rocco made a passive motion with his hand, nodding. “Sure, take your time.”  

They strode across the suite, wallet chains rattling and leather creaking the only sounds to permeate the silence of the room, EZ sliding the glass door open. The warm Vegas air hit him, his eyes narrowing as he looked out over the luminosity of the strip, thousands upon thousands of lights twinkling. They glittered a promise of wealth and prosperity hinged upon a gamble, which was exactly what Rocco Lombardi was offering up to them.

“You have to back me on this when we take it to the table. The risk is massive, and I appreciate that, but this? This is our way out of it all. Our way out and our ladder to climb back to the top.”

Bishop considered the words of his president as he pulled out his cigarettes, lighting one up. A massive risk; fuck, that was putting it lightly. It was a fool’s errand, in short, transporting such a colossal consignment of heroin. The pay off, though? If they could execute each run flawlessly, it would be beyond worth it. Santo Padre would be back on top, and the Mayans kings of California.  

He wanted with everything he had to back EZ, but something persistent tugged at him deep in his guts. The old adage ‘too good to be true’ echoed through his mind. There had to be another catch. For all appearances, said catch appeared to be the two tons of narcotics, the kind of consignment that would mean the MC would never see the outside of a prison for the remainder of their lives, should they be caught moving it. However, he felt there was another shoe yet to drop from Lombardi’s perspective.  

Conflict rose in him like an unpleasant tempest, knowing that they were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Take the deal and shoulder an enormous risk or walk away from it and try to seek a way out of their mess alone. Being in the pocket of the mafia was a dangerous location, he knew that; they both knew that. In this instance, no matter how much trepidation he felt, he had to concede that Lombari’s offer was very much the lesser of two evils.  

Still, it didn’t prevent him voicing the concern. “I feel like there’s something extra he’s gonna have us on the hook for further down the road.” Taking a deep drag on his cigarette, he turned to his president, brows furrowed, his head shaking softly. “I wanna back you, but I don’t trust him.”

Neither did EZ, if he was honest. “We don’t need to trust him. We need to make ourselves indispensable to him. The weight of his organisation has the power to break us completely, and I’d be an idiot if I didn’t see that, Bish. We gotta remember that he’s coming to us because he needs this symbiosis too. If he had any other plan to move his product, he’d have exacted it by now. What he’s offering us in payment solidifies that. He needs to lock the MC down.”  

He took a breath, his eyes once again focusing on the lights below. “And our backs are against the kind of wall we can’t break alone. Rocco Lombardi can not only break that wall, he can obliterate it completely. We can’t refuse.”

Upon their return to Santo Padre, an immediate templo was called, the proposition repeated, a vote cast. It was, just as EZ had anticipated, a unanimous yes. Hell, it wasn’t like any of the men assembled around the table hadn’t known that extreme danger was exactly what he was signing up for, and this was about a risky as it got.

Moving heroin two tons at a time for the mafia was the height of hazardous endeavours, but the payoff would elicit the kind of money and power they had been striving for. Sure, they were still ultimately under someone else’s thumb, but in the world of the MC, Santo Padre rose like the phoenix from the proverbial ashes. If they were careful and exercised caution, they would remain risen, too.  

The operation was undertaken with military precision. The two tons of heroin were moved through the tunnels from one side of the border to the other, then stowed away down there for a day before the Mayans arrived, loading one ton into each van. The vehicles both then hit the road, two members within, two members upon motorcycles escorting at the front and rear, and EZ leading the way.  

They drove far enough apart not to attract the attention that such a closely assembled convoy likely would, with EZ a quarter of a mile in front, so he could warn of any upcoming complications that might lead to said convoy needing to peel off the freeway. Since the run was done at 2am, the risk of such was minimised greatly, yet still they always prepared for the worst-case scenario. This is why two vans were utilized, when all it truly took was one. If one broke down, then there they were, stuck with a life sentence cargo on the side of the freeway, rather than another means to continue their journey.

Arriving at the port, EZ gave the usual nod to the guard, a guard whose pockets had been nicely lined with mafia cash, who would duly send another of his team down to the container as soon as the Mayans left, standing guard until the cargo was loaded onto a vessel bound either for New York or the far east the following morning. Yes, the tentacles of Rocco Lombardi even reached over to the Yakuza, the Japanese criminal organisation taking two tons of product off his hands on a bi-monthly basis.  

The shipment they were about to offload on that particular night was heading straight back to New York, the guys all assembling, the usual banter firing back and forth.  

Downer, of course, was at the epicentre of it. “Hey, I thought there was meant to be whores on the dockside? That’s a thing, ain’t it? We’ve been here four times before now and no damned pussy anywhere.”

Angel lit a cigarette, raising his eyebrows. “Man, where the fuck you get that from?”

“He’s right,” Hank chimed in, “but about a couple hundred years out of date. Hookers used to frequent the docks back in the eighteen, nineteen hundreds. Gave lots of navy men who’d been at sea for months at a time a rampant case of the syph.”  

Guero couldn’t help himself. “Eighteen hundreds. Back in your youth, huh bro?” He was shot a look of pure distain from Downer, his chirp continuing. “I bet you’d like the crotch rot. You’re a sick enough individual to probably be into it.”

“It’s his kink. Itchy balls and a putrid cock, man,” Bottles interjected with, earning a snort laugh from Guero and an incredulous stare from Downer.  

Aggressively delivered middle fingers were raised. “Fuck you and fuck you even fuckin’ harder!”

Bottles grinned at the rise he’d gotten. “You wish.”  

“You’re getting way too smart with that fuckin’ yap of yours, prospect,” he snorted, pointing at Guero. “Been spending too much time with him and his big mouth.”

The man himself beamed, pulling his hood up. “What can I say?” He held his arms in wide expression, his smirk growing. “I’m infectious. Like your cock, just way less scabby.” He received a boot in the ass as he turned, heading straight over to the yellow container and hauling the levers to open it. What he expected to see within were the usual lines of packing cases into which they would load their cargo, with a specially marked one housing their cash.  

The last thing he expected to see was the body of a dishevelled looking blonde girl with a gash upon her head, lying there out cold, and the marked case notably empty of its usual stack of bills.  

“Uh, guys?” he called, appearing back around the container door as his brothers were carrying cargo across from the vans. “We got a situation in here.”  

[stargirlfics]

Hnnnnn Alfred + SIZE KINK. Like imagine sliding down on that cock, uncut, above average length wise but HELLA thick. The thickest you've had in fact (and if he's your first HOO boy). He'd sit leaning back against the headboard of his bed, encouraging you in his lap, cooing at you to slowly impale yourself. "Take all the time you need, dear." You'd be huffing and mewling against his neck, gripping his shoulder, thighs trembling as you pause midway. "Halfway there, sweetheart. You're doing so well, taking me in. Oh, look at you." He'd thumb your clit, make you gush more to ease you further down until you're flushed, balls deep, a guttural moan escaping you after holding your breath without you realising. "There you go. That's a good girl. Breathe for me, dear." and then he'd hold you until you're ready and trembling with want and need, grinding your hips, begging for him to just take you. He'd encourage you to grind yourself with his thumb continuing his ministrations on your clit, making you come, orgasm bleeding from you slow but intense.

After the umpteenth time of your begging, he'd flip you over on to your back, legs over his shoulders. His cock slipping out due to how thick he is but he slides himself all the way back in your weeping cunt before you could miss him, gasping at how much deeper he feels like this. He'd kiss you and gaze down at you softly, asking you if you're alright to continue before he proceeds to take you to pound town. The experience makes you squirt for the first time which makes you embarrassed but makes Alfred absolutely feral and he stores it for future reference 😉

Reading this gave me whiplash in the best fucking way oh my goddddd 🥵

I get so weak when there’s size or strength kink involved like ugh him cooing at you while you ease down on it, having to go slow because he’s thick and the stretch is so real and he knows how bad you want it, he does too, he loves that you’re begging him for it and all he wants is to bury himself inside you but also doesn’t wanna cause you any discomfort, reminding you gently to take your time, praising you while you do

It’s so good like that steamy tension that just builds and builds until he’s fitting inside you all the way and finally giving you what you want, fucking into you at an angle that makes you have to cling to him, moving you so you’re taking it with your legs over his shoulders which makes him go even deeper?! Crying rn at the thought! I love the way he makes you wait for it, making sure you’re completely ready before fucking your guts! Want!

Also bestie those bits of dialogue have me in shambles, like yes please talk me through it wtf!

[nspwriteups]

Under the Moonlight - Sequel to His Idol (Arulmozhi x Vanathi fic) Ft.Kundavai x Vanthiyathevan

Dedicating this to everyone in my PS writing taglist who enjoyed reading the previous fic and especially requested this next part. Love you all 💜

"Can Kamsa Mama refuse when Maya Kannan Himself asks?" Vanthiyathevan grinned at the Kodumbalur Ilavarasi, watching her grow more excited by the minute.

"So you will distract my Akka while I meet Ponniyin Selvare?" Vanathi asked once more, just to confirm.

Vanthiyathevan sighed," You are asking me to spend some alone time with my Ilavarasi. Did you really think I was going to say no?"

Vanathi was already out of earshot before he finished, whispering a quick thank you. Vanthiyathevan shaked his head in amusement. Although he had a soft corner for Poonguzhali in Arulmozhi's love triangle, he couldn't help but be won over by Vanathi's innocence and sincerity.

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

Kundavai only relaxed when she reached her chambers after the Pooja at Durgai temple. Everything has been going just as she had planned. Everyone was happy. For a brief second she wondered about her Thambi and her Uyir Thozi. They were glancing at each other and whispering all through the Pooja. And she had never seen Arulmozhi so happy and Vanathi so flustered before. Did that meant they were actually coming close to each other just as she hoped? She sighed again. Oh! Kali Amma, let no one lay an evil eye over them. But where was Vanathi? The person who everyone calls her shadow has been missing since the Pooja. Where has she gone?

"I'll be glad if I'm the subject of your deep thinking Devi"

"Vanthiyatheva" She didn't try to hide the excitement in her tone and little did she knew the way his heart skipped a beat when he heard her say his name. " How come you are here?"

"We barely had time to meet before you were whisked away for the Pooja so I thought I'd come see you now. I heard you asking Ilavarase about our Eelam Expedition. I'd happy to tell you about our journey".

Kundavai loved to hear stories and for that moment she decided she would look for Vanathi later and entertain this versatile traveller now.

" Do come and tell me all about your adventure"

Halfway through the narration Kundavai began to be impatient. She felt Vanthiyathevan was unnecessarily prolonging the story by focusing on the minute details and characters.

"What happened next? You are elongating this too much. I have to go search for Vanathi after this" She said, exasperated.

"You don't have to worry about her Devi. She is in safe hands" Vanthiyathevan shrugged, thinking how to stretch his narration more.

He nearly missed Kundavai staring at him. "How are so sure that she is safe?"

"Ummmm" He cursed himself for the slip of tongue and tried racking his brain for a good enough excuse "That's not the point Devi, has anyone told you how much of a patient listener you are?" He settled for a compliment knowing fully well Kundavai isn't one to fall for praises so easily.

"You are the one who is deviating from the topic. Do you know something I don't?" Kundavai stared at him harder.

"How can I hide something in my heart when it is in your hands Devi?" Vanthiyathevan grinned widely. He loved to rile up his Ilavarasi.

'This man and his way with words' Kundavai wondered.

" How many ladies have you told this line to? " Although Kundavai's remark did caught him offhand, he wondered what she saw him as- just a teasing fellow or something more?

"Contrary to what you believe Ilavarasi, I do not encourage the feelings of those I do not have interest in. I am a devotee of beauty. That's all" Kundavai sensed his tone grow serious and wondered what she said wrong.

"What do you mean?"

" I have met many women during my travels. I've had marriage proposals presented to me. But no one has stayed in my mind for not more than a second thought. Would you like to know why? "

"Why?"

"Because I realised I have strong feelings for a certain someone right here in Chola Kingdom"

That was a shock to Kundavai. Vallavaraiyan Vanthiyathevan - who even compliments the servant girls and soldiers on a daily basis, falling in love? But Kundavai realised that was not what was bothering her. What was bothering her was that she never imagined Vanthiyathevan to fall in love and get married. At least not to anyone else. Her growing feelings for the Vana clan prince was a secret she had kept from everyone, even from Vanathi although she had an inkling the Kodumbalur Ilavarasi guessed it somehow.

"Is she beautiful?" She couldn't help but ask as something bitter welled up inside her. What was it- Sadness? Anger? Jealousy?

" Not only is she beautiful but she is also witty, intelligent and independent that I was sure she was going to kick me out when I first tired to charm her. But fortunately for me she seemed amused"

A few names and faces flashed across Kundavai's mind. Nandini? No, he knows better than to court Pazhavur Ilayarani and his best friend's former lover. Vanathi? No, of course not. Or is it the boat girl Poonguzhali that she had heard him mention a couple of times?

"Are you trying to guess the person, devi?"

She looked at Vanthiyathevan who had a amused smile plastered on his face.

" No of course not. I was thinking about something else. But, just out of curiosity, how did you meet? " Now it was a challenge for her. She had to know who this lady love was.

He looked at his hands folded on his lap. " I was trying to escape Chinna Pazhuvettarayar's men when I stumbled onto Krishna Ashtami celebrations. I disguised myself as Kamsa Raja and joined the festivities so that I wouldn't be recognised. Amidst the performance, I noticed a young noble woman sitting in front of me, who was looking at me with curiosity and awe. I found myself unable to look away as well and secretly prided myself in being the object of her attention, even though the other performers were literally trying to turn my head the other way. After the performance, I was even more ecstatic that I got an opportunity to meet her, only to learn that she was none other than the person I came here to meet - the only daughter of emperor and my best friend's dear sister.She was quite opposite of what I imagined her to be - she seemed more proud of her intelligence than her beauty and her witty remarks surprised me. It not every day you see a woman get involved in Royal politics but she made it look like an easy task. When she asked me to bring her younger brother home, I was sure I have won her trust and at that moment I felt as if I can trust her for eternity too. I am a traveller and a landless prince, my kingdom is the sky above and the earth below, but when she said she would be waiting for me, I was gripped by a feeling that was unfamiliar to me. I was never afraid to die because I didn't had anything to lose. But at that moment I vowed to stay alive and complete the mission no matter what so that I can see her again.I declared my loyalty to her and she smiled again and I could see that she had full confidence that I'd succeed and we would meet again. All along the journey, I met several people but her face, her smile and her words stood out from them all and I realized that what I was feeling was not a mere infatuation but something more strong and intense, even when I was painfully aware of the differences between us. "

He could practically hear the wheels turning in Kundavai's mind as he spoke and the exact moment when realisation dawned on her. By the time he finished speaking her face was as red as the red fabric she was wearing. The formidable, hard-to-win-over Kundavai Nachiyar getting flustered, now that was a sight to behold.

Silence spread in the chamber and suddenly Vanthiyathevan realised something. What has he done? He came here to offer some company to her so that the Kodumbalur Ilavarasi can spend time with Ponniyin Selvan. He only planned to narrate a few stories or tell one or two jokes but never did he plan on revealing his feelings, solely because he didn't knew how she would respond.

"Forgive me, devi. I just spoke what came to my mind. You don't have to give a reply. Excuse me". Disheartened by the silence she continued to provide, he stood up and made his way to the door.

"Wait " Her voice echoed in the silent chamber

He turned around to see that she has also stood up and was now facing him.

"Vanthiyatheva, what is it that you say about a promise made by the Vana Clan?"

This was the last thing he expected her to ask " We never go back on our promise, devi" he said.

She took a step towards him " Long ago I met a Vana Clan prince who made me a promise and now I feel like he is going back on it"

He moved towards her, heart beating fast "What promise? "

Another step towards him.

"That his life belongs not to him, but to her"

They were standing close to each other, look of longing in both pair of eyes.

"Say it again" He sounded desperate but she didn't mind as she let out a breathy chuckle. She took his hands in hers and took a long breath before saying the words she always wanted to confess.

"You made a promise to me so let me make a promise to you too. These hands of mine, which are being held by yours, will never touch another man's hands ever"

Now it was Vanthiyathevan's turn to blush. He took their intertwined hands, touched it to his forehead and kissed the back of her left hand.

"Oh and I figured out the real reason you are here" she whispered and he looked up at her teasing glance.

"What did you found out?" He challenged her.

" You must be here to distract me. Now I don't know for what or for who but I'm guessing it's either for my Thambi or my Thozi. I don't know where Vanathi is but if you're saying she is safe then I trust you. But I'll find out when I catch her" She said, sure of her analysis.

'This woman and her brain ' He thought before saying out loud "Devi, don't tell your thozi you figured it out otherwise I'll lose my credibility "

They both burst out laughing.

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

Meanwhile, in the palace garden

Vanathi didn't expect a secret rendezvous would be so difficult. Not only making sure that her Akka was occupied, she declared that she was so tired she was going to bed early so that none of the family members enquired after her. She quietly made her way to the gardens, hiding behind pillars whenever any servants or soldiers walked by so that no one reported her to her Akka. Finally she made it to her destination successfully and looked around for her yaanai paagan. She saw him stand a few feet away, his back turned to her, looking up at the moon with hands behind his back.

He must have been in very deep thought as he was startled when she called out to him.

"Vanathi" he said softly, holding his hand out to her. She took it and stood closer to him, neither knowing what to do next, just enjoying the sensation of gazing and smiling at the other. Soon, Arulmozhi took the initiative, moving forward to walk and they fell into a rhythm of silently walking down the garden path hand-in-hand.

"Vanathi" he said again, as though he was in love with her name " I don't know how to express my feelings wholeheartedly like my Anna, I don't even know how to charm my loved one like Vanthiyathevan no matter how hard he tried to teach me"

they both laughed at that

"But I know how important it is to let a person know how much they mean to you and that is what I'm trying to say. Let us put the past behind us and renew this relationship." He was about to say something more but hesitated.

" Trust and understanding are two fundamental factors for any kind of relationship Ponniyin Selvare" Vanathi said, squeezing his hand "You can share your troubles with me"

Reassured by her words, he said " You should know I have an innate fear that I'd get swallowed up by the royal politics that I wouldn't be a good ruler to my people. My other fear is that I won't be able to give you the same amount of love that you shower me with if I get consumed by my royal duties. These are my insecurities "

Vanathi was taken aback by how much anxiety lay behind his outward calm demeanor. She stopped walking and sat down on the grass below, dragging him down as well so both of them were sitting side-by-side.

"Ilavarase, it is completely fine to have insecurities but you shouldn't let them rule over your heart. You have a loving family, supportive friends and loyal men with you and your dedication to the crown will surely win you the people's hearts. And as for your other fear, keep doing what you're doing right now- open up to me and let us learn to trust and care for each other. That in itself will show me how much I mean to you"

Arulmozhi felt as if a huge burden has been lifted from his chest. He suddenly remembered something and pulled out a satchel from his angavastram.

"I've been meaning to give you this for some time now, consider this as a token of my love. " he opened the satchel and slipped a Ruby ring onto her finger.

"This is so beautiful! Now I feel bad I didn't get you any gift" Vanathi gushed and turned to him pouting.

" You are the greatest gift of my life"

" Vanthiyathevan taught you well"

"Hey! Why are you giving him so much credit? What I said now came from my heart"

He said in mock-annoyance which dissolved into a loving smile when Vanathi put her head on his shoulder.

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

Thus, two love stories came to a sense of fulfillment with only the moon as their witness.

@ramcharanobsessed @dumdaradumdaradum @vibishalakshman @thelekhikawrites @thatacademic @hollogramhallucin ation @kovaipaavai @rang-lo @willkatfanfromasia @thegleamingmoon @deafeningflowercat @yehsahihai @whippersnappersbookworm @theperfectidiot20 @itsfookingloosah @gemsmusings @chiyaanvikram @elvenladysakura @matka-kulfi . @madatdisney @bumblebeeskywalker @vahnithedreamer @nkarti @dosai-maavu

Waiting to hear your reviews ❤️

[therewasatale]

How old are you?

On Ao3.

Vimes was shaken up by the clearing of a throat.  He shuddered and opened one of his eyes towards the interloper.

It was his senior clone commander looking at him with slightly disapproving eyes standing in the door of the meditation room.

“Sorry to wake you, sir.” He said with an even voice.

“I wasn’t sleeping, I was meditating, immersing myself into the force.”

He answered rubbing his tired eyes. He felt as if he was wringed through a power converter. He stayed awake all night perusing the reports from the front.

He wanted to figure out where the man might be so he could finish this force damned mess, before the war escalates even more, but unfortunately Vetinari proved just as cloak and dagger as always. Oh, he appeared plenty of times to give some speeches, or welcome a system joining into the CIS, but there wasn’t really any way to figure out where he will be next. In this rate Vimes would need either a galaxy’s worth of luck or the assistance of the Force itself to ever get to the trail of the man.

“Only a layman could have mistaken such a deep trance to mere sleeping," he added hurriedly.

“Admittedly the snoring didn’t help, sir.” Said the commander folding his arms with a slightly disapproving look in his eyes.

“All right, all right, you got me. I might have dozed off a little. “ Vimes pushed himself up, his body was aching, he was far too old to sleep on a cold floor, but he rather take up a carrier in shovelling bantha manure than ever admit it to anyone. He had to steady himself as his legs began to itch and prickle when the blood returned into them.

“You should have a proper eight hours, sir. In Kamino we had a strictly mandatory sleep period every night.”  Said the clone, his voice indicating that this was in fact the right and proper way one should conduct his nightly rest.

Vimes shook his head while trying to massage some blood into his legs. Sleeping on the floor was one thing, but in the meditative position was an even worse idea.

“That sounds like a form of torture to me, I have no idea how they were able to do that while you had your teenager years. Keel and I was patrolling the streets all night when I was that age. He always said it was easier to come with me than to try to keep me within the temple. “ He smiled a bit as he reminisced before catching the clone’s puzzled expression. “Yes?”

“Are teenager years supposed to be different than any normal growth period, sir? Clones do seem to be more competitive with each other around the age of five, sir, perhaps that could be the teenage years?” He asked with genuine curiosity.

“Don’t be daft. Teenager years are about, oh, I don’t know, from 13 to 19 usually, full of hormones, anxiety, getting embarrassed if a pretty person looks at you…” Vimes, finally getting proper blood flow in his feet now leaned down and dusted himself off.

“Well then, I see the problem, sir, we haven’t had those yet. The oldest clone trooper I have ever known was 13 and a half. “

Vimes froze halfway up as he was straightening himself up.

The clone commander could feel the change of temperature in the room. It felt like walking into a freezer from the sweltering heat of the Tatooine sun.

“What?”  The jedi asked the word seemingly coming with a hollow echo from somewhere.

“I am sorry, sir, did I say something wrong?” He tried desperately to guess the reason of his superior’s sudden change of mood. Vimes expression was suddenly seemed to be carved out of stone.

“How old are you, Commander?”  He finally asked, staring at the man, eyes fixated on his face.

The clone had the idea that even though the jedi was looking at him, his mind was occupied with something else.

And he was right, in Vimes' mind thoughts chased each other, as a bitter realisation slowly presented itself. They might look like adults but, you can change a lot of things during cloning.

“I am, biologically around 22, sir. “He answered primly but sensed that this was not the right answer, because Vimes tensed his jaws.

“And in the real actual world commander? How. Old. Are. You?” Vimes was forcing out the words because something was roiling inside him and it took all his concentration just to not let it burst out.

“I am 11, sir. “Said the commander. There was a silence, it was cold, and empty, like the one between the stars. Vimes tried to bottle up the rage blossoming in him, but it would have been easier to stop a celestial collision with his will alone.  “I'm sorry, sir I-”

One of the bulkheads in the meditation room suddenly buckled inwards.

“Don’t you dare say sorry to me! “Said Vimes through gritted teeth. “You damned well haven’t done anything wrong! Nothing in the world. You did not ask for it, you haven’t got a choice commander. You were made without a name, given a number, and a rifle to fight to the death at 11 years old, and you dare to say sorry?!” Another bulkhead began to creek.

“I-I don’t know what I should say, sir, I-" the clone commander tried and found himself trembling.

Vimes caught the movements and the fires of rage died down inside, they began to freeze into icy mountains instead.

Taking a deep trembling breath, he forced down his storming thoughts.

“Nothing, you don’t have to say anything commander, this was not done by you, this was done TO you. Done to you by this accursed war. I was this far unaware of how far we have fallen…No am I wrong, I do want you to say something Commander. “

“Y…Yes, what is it, sir?”

“Your name. I want to know your name. I hope you choose on already. “

This will be the first step, Vimes promised to himself. Those Kaminoans, those spineless grey bastards took their life away from these boys and he will give it back to them no matter what, even if he has to go against the whole council. Treating people as things, as weapons?

There was no bigger injustice in the galaxy, he wouldn’t abide his own people doing it.

“Yes… “The Commander nodded finally calming down himself. He never saw a jedi angry, but he began to understand that at least there was some truth about what he learned about their fighting proves. “ Padawan Carrot was a great help in it. He suggested a couple of alternatives…”

“Glad to hear it.” Vimes shook his head trying to seem nonchalant, even though the glacier were still towering against each other inside him.  “So, what is it?”

“I am Law, sir. Commander Law. “

“Law? I assume he told you we were coppers back in our world after I took a leave of absence from the jedi order.”  He nodded slowly.

Of course, Carrot would tell him that, he probably told him some more than a little embellished tales about Vimes heroics to boot. By the force the kid doesn’t need more nonsense in his head, the Kaminoans put enough in there as it is.

“You know you could have chosen anything?” Vimes asked with a gentle sigh.

“Yes, but I wanted to choose this one, Sir.” Law eyes met Vimes’s. “To show that I am serving with you and the Peacekeepers. “

Vimes suddenly shuddered, the ice inside him still remained but there were some other feelings too now. These boys had such a trust, such a faith in them, he couldn’t allow himself to let them down.

“You… I have done nothing to earn that yet.” He managed to mumble at last and before the commander could protest or say something daft about him not needing to earn it, he began to gently push him out the door. “At any rate, let’s call an assembly right now, shall we? I want to create some new rules, and want some input about possible new equipment and food rations I wish to order.”

“New equipment and rules Sir? And aren’t our nutrient blocks sufficient?” He tried vainly to protest,

“Sufficient my arse commander, you are eleven years old and had no opportunity to be yourself, I will be damned if I don’t give you some normal food, free time, and personal items. “

“But sir we are soldiers made to…” He tried again as he was In the corridor. Vimes raised his finger and gently poked him in his chest.

“Not on my ship Law. On my ship you are a Peacekeeper, and more importantly, yourself.  Call that general assembly, everyone in the hangar within the hour. And find me Carrot, I need to speak with him about stuffing your head full of nonsense. And Law…”

“Yes, sir?”

“Cherish yourself, and be more independent. That’s an order. “

“Yes, sir.”

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 2, Chapter 20

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

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This one is NSFW folks!

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PART 2

Chapter 20

Halfway through updating Calina on the pheromone case, Matt realised she’d fallen asleep. She was still tucked against him as they lay on their sides, their legs entwined. Matt had been playing with the fingers of her hand while they filled each other in on the last three weeks, but now that hand was limp, and Calina’s deep, even breaths stirred the air around him.

He smiled indulgently and kissed the top of her head, glad that she was able to get some rest. After stifling a yawn earlier, she’d admitted that she hadn’t been sleeping well without him. “I was wide awake again at 5am this morning,” she’d explained. “Then there was the four-hour ride to get here…it’s all catching up with me.”

“Four hours, huh?” It was the only clue she’d ever let slip about the location of the new Widow’s base. Although it didn’t exactly narrow things down. “Would that be four hours north, south or west of here?” he asked.

“Why? Are you planning to track me down and show up under my window with a boom box over your head?”

“What?”

“Oh, its from a romantic comedy we all watched recently. It came out in the eighties so I thought you might have seen it before your accident.”

“Sweetheart, the only movies I was watching as a kid involved either Bruce Lee or spaceships.”

“So no rom-coms, then.”

“No. Although I’d watch one with you now - you could tell me what’s happening on screen. I’ve missed hearing you describe the world to me.”

“I’ve missed that too. I’ve missed talking with you, and reading to you, and being here in this apartment, just the two of us.”

“Me too. It’s not the same here now, without you. I’ve been avoiding the place, to be honest - I’ve spent most of my time either out as Daredevil or in the office working on the pheromone case.”

“How’s that going?” Calina asked, trying to suppress another yawn.

Matt should have known she wouldn’t be able to stay awake while he talked through their progress - or rather, their lack of progress - in tracking down the people behind the pheromone drug. It wasn’t exactly the most scintillating conversation topic for 3am.

Matt eased out of bed, careful not to wake Calina, and toed off his heavy boots. He gazed at her still, peaceful figure as he unzipped his suit jacket and shrugged out of his pants. He was looking forward to getting some sleep next to her - she wasn’t the only one who’d been struggling with insomnia again - but a small part of him was disappointed that all they’d be doing is sleeping. That kiss earlier had started to heat up just before Calina’s tears had gotten the better of her. It had made him hopeful for a replay of what had happened the last time they were in this bed together.

Or even something more.

But he never wanted to pressure her. He would take his cues from her and go at her pace, no matter how slow that might be.

They’d never really spoken in depth about her missions when she was a Widow. But the hints that she’d dropped over the past few months suggested that she’d been intimate with her targets - all while her will and choices had been subjugated by the mind control serum.

He could only imagine what that kind of violation would do to a person. And he didn’t want to do anything that might remind her of that time.

The last time they were together, he hadn’t been thinking clearly about that aspect of her past. He’d been too vulnerable, too caught up in his own fears. He’d latched on to her in the midst of the terror and uncertainty of his deafness, and he’d rushed them into an intimacy she might not have been ready for.

He knew she’d enjoyed it at the time. But he’d had a lot of time to reflect and consider things over the past few weeks, and he was determined that the next time she would be in the driver’s seat. Whenever and wherever - and even if - they ever took things to the next level, it would be her decision.

He could wait. And in the meantime, he’d be happy just being able to hold her and kiss her and be with her.

Now dressed in just a pair of sweats, Matt crawled back into bed and did just that. He gathered Calina in his arms, dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and smiled as she burrowed against his warmth.

This was enough.

He didn’t need any more than this.

 ———

 Calina needed more.

As much as she enjoyed waking up in Matt’s arms feeling rested and refreshed…she needed more. She wanted more than just to sleep next to him.

She’d spent the last three weeks wishing she’d made love to Matt the last time they’d been together. Denying herself that intimacy hadn’t made their separation any easier. If anything, the regret had made it harder.

She was determined this time would be different. She wanted to be with him in that way. She wanted them to take that next step.

She just wasn’t sure…how to go about it.

She was feeling distinctly nervous.

She bit her lip as her eyes drifted over Matt’s face, taking in his peaceful expression. The frown lines on his forehead had smoothed out, and his full lips were soft and parted. His cheeks were flushed with sleep, and the warmth of the covers they shared. The morning sunlight spilling into the room brought out the reddish tone of his dark hair and highlighted his ridiculously long eyelashes.

He was beautiful.

She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair and pull him on top of her. She wanted them naked, skin-to-skin, with nothing left between them. She wanted to explore every inch of his body and feel him moving inside her.

But her shyness had returned with a vengeance. She couldn’t seem to lift her hand to touch him. She couldn’t bridge the distance between them to kiss him. All the seduction tricks she’d employed over the years as a Widow felt dirty and out of place in this bed.

But that was all she knew how to do - use people. Entice and entrap and manipulate.

She didn’t know how to be with someone she loved.

In a very real sense, this would be her first time. And like a naive, virginal teenager she wanted it to be perfect. Special. She wanted this encounter to erase every other one she’d ever had. She wanted it to make her clean and pure again.

Which…was a lot of pressure. For both her, and the oblivious, sleeping man beside her.

Poor Matt. It wasn’t fair to put this on him. It wasn’t his responsibility to ‘heal’ her and make her whole. It wasn’t-

“What deep thoughts are you thinking?”

The low rumble made Calina jerk in surprise. Her eyes flew to Matt’s but his were still closed. His face was still relaxed and he hadn’t moved a muscle…but there was now a slight curve to his lips. His tongue darted out to wet them before he spoke again, his voice deep and husky. “It’s Christmas morning and we’ve had at least six hours of sleep - you’re supposed to be happy and relaxed, not tense and stressed out.”

“You caught that, huh?”

He tapped the tip of his nose. “Kinda hard to miss when I’m this close to you.”

“Sorry.”

His eyes fluttered open. “Don’t be sorry. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

 ———

 “Nothing.”

Matt had never heard a more dishonest word in his life. Either he was getting better at detecting Calina’s lies, or she wasn’t trying very hard to hide the truth this morning.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and gave it a gentle tug in rebuke. “Calina…”

She sighed. “Yeah. Okay. Not nothing. Just…I’m overanalysing the situation, as usual. And I got in my head about it.”

“Well that’s not vague at all.”

She laughed this time, and the sharp taste of cortisol in the air faded away, proof that she was feeling better. He smiled at her and continued to stroke his fingers through her hair. “Hey…”

“What?”

“Merry Christmas.”

She smiled. “Merry Christmas to you.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, loving the feel of her smile beneath his lips. He meant it as a simple gesture of ‘hello’ but, as it did every time they touched, the gravity of her pulled him in. The kiss deepened as he gathered her closer with a hand on her back. One of her legs slipped between his, and her thigh brushed against his morning erection.

She went still.

Worried that he was moving too fast, he angled his hips back and away from her. “Sorry,” he mumbled into her mouth.

“No!” she cried.

Matt jolted in surprise. “Calina?”

She ducked her head and buried it against his chest, and he could sense the heat rising from her cheeks, as if she was embarrassed.

But why would she be embarrassed?

“Calina? What’s wrong, baby?”

“I just…I want…” He heard her clench her jaw in frustration before letting out an annoyed, “UGH!”

He stifled his laughter. He didn’t want to make light of her obvious struggles, but her irritation with herself was kind of cute. He stroked his hand over her hair. “Talk to me. You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Calina took a deep breath. “Iwanttohavesexwithyou.”

Matt frowned as he tried to interpret the rush of words. And when he finally did, his heart started pounding. The thumping beats reverberated in his chest, and he felt the echo in his cock as the blood rushed through the rapidly hardening organ.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

In answer, Calina leaned up and kissed him. And there was nothing embarrassed or shy in it. She pressed her lips against his firmly, and her tongue swept into his mouth with passion and confidence. It was as if finally voicing her desires had unlocked them, allowing them to run free.

Matt responded instantly. He grabbed the back of her head, his fingers gripping her hair, as he returned the kiss. His tongue warred with hers. He bit at her lower lip, and sucked it into his mouth. Then he attacked her neck, licking and nibbling and scraping the delicate skin with his teeth.

He tried to slow down. To gentle his approach. But it was as if his own hunger had been ignited by the force of hers.

And she met him step for step. Her fingers raked through his hair, tugging on the strands and sending sparks of pleasure through his nerve endings. She dragged her nails down his bare back. She hooked her leg over his hip and used it to pull him on top of her.

He went willingly, settling into the cradle of her thighs with his cock pressed against her core. Her legs wrapped around his waist, squeezing him closer as she rocked her pelvis against his. He moaned at the friction, and felt her lips against his neck curve in satisfaction.

Helpless to resist, he thrust against her. Her breath hitched in response, and it was his turn to smile. They started moving, their lower bodies working in tandem to bring them both to the edge as they panted and moaned against each other’s skin.

But Matt forced himself to stop. He didn’t just want a repeat of last time. He wanted more.

And he knew Calina did too, despite her groan of protest.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, lifting himself up onto his knees. “I want to feel you against me. All of you.”

 ———

 Calina tried to calm her racing heart as Matt pulled her up off the pillow until she was sitting in front of him, her legs between his spread thighs. She’d gotten carried away by all the sensation - the weight of his strong body, his hard length rocking against her, the delicious things he was doing with his lips and tongue…

But she was glad he’d stopped when he had. She wanted them to take their time. She wanted to savour this, and remember every moment of it.

And she wanted what he wanted - the feel of naked skin on naked skin.

She lifted her arms as he slipped her t-shirt over her head. He threw the top onto the floor then his hands returned to her body. He glided his fingers over the material of her bra, and she cursed herself for wearing plain cotton lingerie today of all days. But she’d left Maine in a hurry and had figured that, without his sight, Matt wouldn’t care about sexy underwear.

But she should have taken his sense of touch into account. Next time, she’d chose something more stimulating for him - satin or lace, or something with complicated straps…

“You good?” Matt asked, his voice soft and gentle. His hands had paused at the closure of her bra, and he must have been wondering why her attention had drifted.

She decided to tell him the truth. She didn’t want him to think she was anything but 100% invested in this. “I was, um, regretting my choice of bra.”

He chuckled, as his clever fingers unhooked her strap. “Don’t. I’m much more interested in what’s underneath.” As if to prove his point, he quickly removed the garment and tossed it aside.

But he didn’t touch her exposed skin. Instead, he took her face between his hands and kissed her. A gentle, careful kiss. The sweetness of it, the reverence she could feel, brought a tear to her eye. Matt kissed away the moisture and lay her back on the pillow. Then he scooted down the bed and brought his hands to the top of her sweats.

He looked up at her, and she could read the question on his face - Is this okay?

His constant checking for consent made her fall in love with him even more. She didn’t know if he was always this solicitous in bed, or he was accommodating her…unique…history, but either way it made her feel so cherished. And the control he was handing over to her - the ability to stop this whole encounter with a word - was a potent aphrodisiac.

This was already better than every other experience she’d ever had, and they both still had their pants on.

She wanted that rectified. Now.

So in answer to his question, she lifted her hips. He grinned and hooked his fingers in the waistband and slowly, slowly dragged the material down her legs. The same silent check and consent played out with her underwear, until they were a scrap on the floor and she was naked beneath him.

And that’s when he finally touched her.

At first, it was a barely-there glide of his fingers over her skin, the soft strokes leaving a trail of shivers behind. Then his hands spread out and he ran them all over her body, as if mapping the shape of her. The curve of her breasts, the hard peaks of her nipples, the flare of her waist and the sensitive spot behind her knees…no inch was left untouched.

Except the throbbing spot between her legs.

The ache in her core deepened with every caress of his hands, until it started to overwhelm her senses. Calina clenched her thighs together, trying to ease the growing pressure.

But Matt caught the movement. With a chiding “Uh-uh,” he grabbed her thighs and spread them apart, intensifying the desperate emptiness inside her. He repositioned himself between her legs and leaned over her to kiss her neck.

Calina tipped her head back on a reflex, while her lower body writhed against the hard mass of his body, searching in vain for some relief. “Please,” she begged, twisting the bedsheets at her sides.

“Just a little while longer, I promise,” Matt replied. “I need to taste you first.”

Calina gasped at the imagery of Matt’s clever, agile tongue following the path of his hands…then moaned as it became a reality. He teased and tortured her for what seemed like hours, slowly dragging his mouth over and along the length of her body. He kissed a path down her chest and painted her nipples with liquid heat. He nibbled at her hip bone, and pressed gentle kisses to the fluttering skin of her belly.

Then his mouth dipped lower…

The first stroke of his tongue against her clit shot through her like a firework. Her back arched off the bed and her strangled groan filled the room. She didn’t care how shameless she sounded. She didn’t care that a constant stream of pleading words were flowing from her lips…all she cared about was the mouth between her legs.

Matt licked and sucked at the moisture now bathing her upper thighs. He let out his own moan and the hands holding her hips in place dug into her soft flesh. “God, you taste amazing,” he rumbled. He stabbed his tongue into her opening, and the merest hint of being filled shot Calina’s desire into the stratosphere. Her whole body tightened. She could feel her toes curl and her hold on the bedsheets became a death-grip as the need inside her built and built until it was almost painful.

Then Matt wrapped his lips around her clit and it was all over.

She came with a half-sob, half-cry and collapsed back onto the mattress. Aftershocks pinged through her body as Matt continued to nuzzle against her, his mouth gentler now as he guided her back down to earth.

She let out a shuddering breath and flung her arm over her eyes, overcome by the intensity of what she’d just experienced.

“You okay?” Matt asked as he moved up the bed to rest beside her.

Calina laughed at the absurdity of his question. She’d never be okay again.

She turned to burrow against his warmth. “Yes. Thank you,” she whispered.

He slung an arm around her. “Believe me, it was my pleasure,” he laughed.

But the sound of it was slightly stilted, and there was a hitch in his breath. She felt a tension in his body as he held her close and she realised he was still…unsatisfied.

She wanted him to feel what she did. She wanted to give him the same explosive pleasure. She pushed him onto his back and reached up to kiss him, loving the exotic taste of herself on his tongue.  She gripped his hair with one hand, and used the other to tilt his jaw where she wanted it.

She made it clear with her touch that it was her turn now.

Matt seemed more than happy to relinquish the lead. He let her direct the kiss, and when her lips moved down to his neck, he tilted his head back to give her more access. When her hands moved to the waistband of his sweats, he followed her move from before and lifted his hips from the bed to help her along.

She eased the bands of his pants and boxers over the steel length of his erection then quickly discarded his clothing until he was bare before her.

She gazed at his body, and licked her lips. She wanted to run her hands and lips all over him, the same way he’d done to her. But first she just stared, enjoying the sight of him laid out like a greek God in repose.

The strong winter sunshine flooding the room illuminated him in all his glory. The light bathed him, touching upon every contour of muscle and glinting off the pearlescent lines of his scars. 

He was so beautiful.

She placed her hand on his neck, just over the notch of his collarbone and dragged it down the centre of his chest, down his ridged abdomen, down until her wrist just nudged against his hard cock.  The friction drew a low masculine noise from deep in his throat and the sound went directly to her core, causing it to pulse in response.

She repeated the glide of her hand, then set about mapping his body the way he’d done to her, charting the terrain of his muscles with her fingers and her lips, and teasing him they way he’d teased her.

After long, long minutes of torture, she finally reached his cock. She paused over him, letting him feel her panting breaths against the sensitive tip. Every inch of Matt was still, every muscle taut, as he waited for her next move.

He jerked in surprise when she suddenly took the head in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around it, loving the sounds he made in response - hungry male sounds that made her feel sexy and powerful.

But just as she dipped her head to take more of his length, he wrenched her off him and flipped her onto her back. She started to protest, “I wanted to-,”  but he cut her off.

“I know. Next time. Later. I gotta be inside you.” His accent was rougher, his voice raspy with desire as he crawled over her. “Condom. In the drawer-”

He made a move towards the bedside cabinet next to her, but she stopped him and shook her head.“We don’t need that.”

“Sure?”

She was clean - endless testing in the Red Room confirmed that - and she knew he was too, due to some very intrusive hacking by Anya. And birth control was…not a concern. Not wanting to get into all that, she just nodded. “Sure.”

He nodded in return, then settled himself over her and kissed her.

Although calling it a kiss was like calling a hurricane a light breeze.

He devoured her. His mouth moved over hers with an urgent need as his heavy weight trapped her in place. He grasped her neck, the large hand spanning her throat as he held her in place.

There was no softness to him now. No gentleness. Just dangerous, hard strength.

But she’d never felt safer.

She yielded to him. Relaxed beneath him and spread her legs to allow him closer. And to give him that last bit of wordless consent.

She felt the blunt end of his cock line up with her opening, and then he entered her. The sharp thrust surprised a gasp from her. The sound seemed to penetrate the haze of his lust, and he paused, the thick length of him buried deep within her. “Calina?”

She hitched her legs higher on his waist and adjusted to the feel of him inside her. “I’m good. I’m good.”

To prove just how good she was feeling, she squeezed around his girth. He moaned, and she smiled at the sound.

“Not fair,” he ground out from between clenched teeth. “I’m so close.”

She smoothed his hair back from his face and spread her hands over his shoulders. She could feel the tension in his frame as he tried to hold back.

But she didn’t want him to hold back. She wanted him to go wild.

“Let go, Matt. Just let go,” she whispered, clenching around him one more time.

Her permission was all he needed. He pulled back his hips then snapped them forward again. She absorbed the impact with a moan, then moved with him as he established a frantic rhythm. His unfocussed eyes burned with intense need as he thrust into her. She kept up her caresses, running her hands over his back, his arms, his stubbled cheeks. Her fingers strayed close to his lips and he turned his head to press a kiss to them, a hint of tenderness in the midst of his fierce, untamed ascent towards release.

The sight of him, the feel of him, the enormity of what they were experiencing, reignited Calina’s own lust. She felt the familiar insistent ache in her clit and slipped a hand between them to help it along. Matt realised her plan and beat her to it. His rough fingers rubbed against her, as he thrust and thrust. Within moments she went over the edge, so sensitive due to her earlier orgasm.

Matt followed her with a guttural moan then collapsed on top of her.

She took his weight gladly, and couldn’t stop the smile that spread over her face.

She’d made love to Matt.

Finally.

And it was amazing. Everything she could have hoped for and more.

She glided her hands down his back, feeling the slight tremors beneath his warm skin as he recovered. He levered himself up onto one forearm and smoothed the hair off her face, then pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she whispered back.

He pressed another kiss to her lips. “I love you.”

Her smile widened. “I love you too.”

Matt rolled onto his back and pulled her with him until she was sprawled across his chest. And that’s when the sounds of the outside world started to penetrate their cocoon. She could hear cars in the streets and the faint laughter of children no doubt playing with new Christmas presents on the sidewalks.

But she tried to zone them out. She didn’t want the real world today. She didn’t want time to pass.

She just wanted to stay in this moment, with Matt…forever.

————–

Chapter 21 

Tag list: @hollandorks​ @stilldreaming666​ @yanna-banana​ @chezagnes​ @tearoseart-blog​ @acharliecoxedfan​ @freckledbabyyy​

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

[elvenmother]

Context and Perspective: Delayed Disaster

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F Reader Rating: Teen. Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injuries, mentions of blood Chapter: 15/15 Word count: 2984

Summary: The newest member of the Heroics has gone missing and as one of the better-known Villains on the scene, you are blamed. Then your sidekick goes missing. You must go after the Heroic’s leader to try to get them back and clear your name.

Note: This has not been beta read, so apologies for any mistakes. Final chapter! This story took on a life of its own for a while and I’ll definitely be revisiting this universe again.

Part Fourteen | Series Masterpost

The sun filtered through the clouds and the trees, casting flickering patterns on the dashboard of your car. You sat watching the golden light dancing on the grey plastic, completely mesmerised. It was so beautiful despite the mundane setting of a car parked by the side of a suburban street. Would the sun shine like this in the next place you lived? Would it be warmer or have short days and long nights? You had no idea. Besides the plan to leave, you didn’t have a clue yet where you would move to. You weren’t even sure you were going to stay in the country.

A large cloud drifted overhead, blocking out the sun’s rays and snapping you out of your daydream. There was no point sitting in your car any longer. You needed to go talk to Marcus and get this over with. Who knows what the two of you could have had? You’d only met him a few days ago, but the pull had been there from the start. With a little more time, maybe you could have had a future together. You could have gotten to know Missy and introduced him to Jada. Taking a deep breath, you shook your head as if trying to shake those thoughts away. There was no point thinking about what could have been. Dale and Professor Thaddeus had seen to that.

Quickly getting out of the car before you could change your mind, you headed over to the Moreno house. The door opened before you were even halfway there. Looking up in surprise, you saw Marcus standing in the doorway, looking pensive.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” He greeted you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I was worried you were never going to get out of your car.”

You peeked back at your car and realised he must have been watching you from the house. Turning back to him, you attempted a smile. “Yeah, sorry. It’s been a… stressful day.”

Marcus guided you into the sitting room where the night before, you had sat with the others making plans to clear your name. The blankets and pillows from Marcus’ night spent on the sofa were gone as you glanced around the room. Slowly you took a seat on the sofa, and after a little hesitation, Marcus sat down next to you.

“I know you must be upset about the cover story we came up with for Freefall.” Marcus sat playing with the watch on his wrist. Watching him fidget, you noticed he wasn’t wearing his ring, and a wave of emotion crashed over you as you realised what it must have taken for him to remove it. “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my idea, but Ms Granada felt it was a good way to draw a line under the whole thing and explain away why your name had been linked. I fought it, I swear to you, but-”

“Marcus.” You placed your hand on his gently, stopping him mid-sentence. “It’s not ideal, but I get it. That’s not why I needed to talk to you.”

“Oh.” He blinked, moving his other hand to cover yours. “All right. What is it?”

You needed to get this over with. You needed to just tell him. But sitting here like this felt so good and so right. It was selfish, but you wanted this to last just a little longer. To have him be yours just a few more moments. Pushing down the voice inside that was telling you to get on with it, you tried to smile again.

“First, tell me what’s happening with Noah.” You could feel his thumb softly stroking the back of your hand. “Did you speak to the other Heroics?”

“Yes, and Noah should be on his way to get Chloe now.” Marcus shifted in his seat towards you. “Liam took him not too long ago to collect his things, and by tonight he’ll have gotten them to Italy.”

“Good.” You let out a big sigh. “That’s good. I need them both to be safe.”

Marcus looked at you curiously, like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve. “I also spoke to Ms Vox and Blinding Fast. They’ve been checking on other reports. A lot have been changed, but not all. Tech-No caught them, but once they filled him in, he started to help too. He says the original reports have been transferred off-site, and he’s trying to trace where.”

“Sounds like this investigation could take a while.” You mused, and Marcus nodded. “Did you tell your boss, Ms Granada, about me?”

“Yes.” Marcus met your eyes. The molten chocolate filling you with warmth despite the sorrow you could see in them. “She didn’t believe me at first, but then after speaking to Liam, Noah and the others, she started to see the real issue. We haven’t told her about the reports yet, just that you were not who the Heroics and the media had made you out to be.”

“Thank you.” You squeezed his hand and smiled.

“But this is goodbye for good, isn’t it?” Marcus’ bottom lip quivered slightly.

“I wish it wasn’t, but something happened, and I have to leave.” You watched as the warmth seemed to drain from his face as he let his head drop. “A man I work with, worked with, followed me. He saw me meet with Orphan Maker’s contact, and when he quizzed me on it, and I wouldn’t tell him anything, he got mad.”

“What?” Anger flashed across Marcus’ face, and his posture stiffened. “What did he do? Did he hurt you? Threaten you?”

“He followed me again yesterday.” You continued. “Here. He saw you. He saw us together and went online to complain. He mentioned you by name, and well, that caught the attention of a real bad guy.”

Marcus cupped your hand between his and brought it closer to him as his brow furrowed.

“That bad guy is most definitely a villain.” You clarified, watching Marcus start to rub his thumb over your skin again. You weren't sure if he was trying to comfort you or himself. “He calls himself Professor Thaddeus, and he told my co-worker, Dale, my super name.”

Marcus’ jaw dropped open as he shook his head. “And this Dale told your boss, I take it?” He fumed out after a moment.

“Yep. So you see, it doesn’t matter really that the Heroics are saying Freefall defeated Storm Shadow because I’m not going to be her anymore. And now I hope you also understand why I have to leave.” You needed Marcus to understand this wasn’t your choice, that you didn’t want to leave him, and for this to be goodbye for the two of you. “Orphan Maker has offered to help me. But I’m not sure. Regardless, it’s not safe for me to stay here. The data has been removed mostly from the web, but you know as well as I do that things like that are never really gone. And who knows who saw it before it was taken down? These crazies could find my home address. Dale, little stalker fuck that he is, for sure knows where I live.”

“Don’t leave.” Marcus’ voice wasn’t pleading but firm and warm as you looked up at him on the verge of tears. “Stay here with me.”

“I can’t get you involved.” You felt the first tear rolling down your cheek.

“I’m already involved.” Marcus reached up and wiped your cheek gently. “This Dale followed you here. He saw me. His rants about me are what attracted this Professor Thaddeus.”

“What about Missy?” You leaned into his touch. “I can’t put her in danger. If me being here causes trouble, I’d never forgive myself.”

“If something happened to you and I could have stopped it, I’ll never forgive myself.” Marcus brought his other hand up to cup your face tenderly. “I’ve only just found you.”

“Marcus, I-”

In one fluid moment, his lips were on yours, pressing them together as his hands moved to pull you closer to him. You parted your lips slightly, allowing Marcus to gently ease his tongue inside. His soft lips moved in unison with yours as you brought your hands up to bury your fingers in his hair. His arms wrapped around you, trying to press your bodies together but the angle you'd both been sat on the sofa made this difficult and a little awkward. Licking his bottom lip softly, you heard him moan quietly as you began to lean back towards the back cushions of the sofa until, eventually, Marcus was leaning over you.

“Stay here.” He whispered into your lips as you parted. “Tell Orphan Maker’s contact to let you know when they have something. Until then, I’ll keep you safe.”

You nodded mutely, unable to speak and too afraid that your brain would betray you and tell Marcus goodbye. As he kissed you again, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut, relishing in his warmth and protection.

~~~~~ One Month Later ~~~~~

You’d ended up having to hide at Marcus’ for a month. And while it had been a little awkward in the early days, with the relationship still being very new, the two of you slowly began to find a rhythm. Missy helped a lot.

She recognised very quickly that while her father was ready to move on, having his new girlfriend live with them immediately was far from ideal. Boundaries were set and rigorously enforced by the youngest Moreno. Rules included separate rooms, respecting each other's alone time and set date nights. Thanks to Missy, what could have been a disaster waiting to happen turned into a solid partnership and romance.

While the media continued to report that Storm Shadow had been defeated and was gone, there was no mention of your real name. It seemed that Dale’s outburst had been contained to a certain extent. However, that didn’t mean there hadn’t been any harm done.

The day after agreeing to stay with Marcus, he had taken you back to your apartment to help you gather your things. As you’d arrived at your door, it was obvious it had been forced open. The two of you had cautiously entered to find the place trashed with slurs and threats covering the walls. Gathering up the things that were important to you, you were relieved to find nothing had been taken, but many things were completely broken beyond repair. You had managed to keep your shit together long enough to get back to Marcus’ house, at which point you collapsed and cried. You sobbed until you could barely move. Marcus held you. Missy made you hot chocolate and helped you get the spare room, now your room, how you liked it.

True to his word Tech-No had continued to hunt down the original reports but to no avail. Joining you and Marcus one night for dinner, he explained that the trail was bouncing around so much that he thought the files were constantly being moved. Whoever had them definitely wanted to keep hold of them. You all agreed that if the original reports were ever made public, it would destroy the Heroic’s public image. All trust in them would be gone.

Looking around the garden, you mused over where you now found yourself. It was odd, completely the opposite of anything you could have predicted, but you were happy. Sitting in the sunshine, you could hear Missy excitedly telling her father about something a friend at school had said. They both laughed as they joined you in the garden.

“Good day?” You smiled up at Missy. She nodded, grinning as she took her seat. You looked over at Marcus as he sat and gave your hand a squeeze. “And you?”

“We had the meeting today.”

You and Missy stilled, both watching Marcus. You had forgotten about the meeting. He’d told Ms Granada about the reports a couple of weeks ago once he and the others were sure she wasn’t involved. Today had been a meeting with the board that oversaw the Heroics to discuss the matter with them.

“How did it go?” You sat up straighter in your chair. “What happens now?”

“Ms Granada and I put forward a plan to the board to come forward about the cover-ups.” Marcus explained. “Like you both said, it was best if it came from us rather than us being exposed.”

“Let me guess.” Missy scowled. “They didn’t go for it.”

“No, they did.” Marcus gave you both a small smile. “In fact, everything is being planned as we speak.”

“Wow.” You were shocked. You had expected more resistance. “That’s going to be… messy.”

“Yup.” Missy let out a loud sigh.

“Yes, but it needs to happen. We need to be honest, and this all happened because we were lying.” Marcus took his glasses off, turning them over in his hands nervously. “We still don’t know who started it or who was doing it or why, but hopefully, this will either expose them or make them leave.”

“You ready for this?” You reached out, taking his hand again.

“Everything is going to change after this.” Marcus nodded. “But it needs to.”

It was later that evening that B called you. Marcus had gotten you a new phone when yours began to receive vile messages and late-night calls. You had never given B your new number. You hadn’t needed to. She had texted you the day after congratulating you on your latest purchase.

“Sup.” B’s deadpan greeting made you smile each time.

“Hey.” You were sat in your room quietly watching a movie. “You got an update for me?”

“Yeah, but you’re not gonna like it.” B huffed, her nonchalant persona briefly slipping. “Fuck, I don’t like it, and your boyfriend is gonna flip his shit.”

“Tell me anyway.” You paused the movie and sat up on the edge of the bed. “I’d rather know than be in the dark.”

“There’s no way to sugarcoat this. Professor Thaddeus was inside Heroics HQ.” B paused as you gasped, clapping your hand over your mouth. “I don’t know for how long, but we’re talking years. Probably the better part of two decades.”

“Fuck.”

“Yup. He’s been manipulating the Heroics for when he wanted to bring them down.” You heard B let out a long sigh. “He plays the long game; I gotta give him that. When you started working with Moreno, it threatened to expose him.”

“Cos I told Marcus about Heroics taking credit for things.”

“Yup.” You could hear movement on B’s end of the line. Wherever she was, she was shuffling something. “Anyway, he’s gone now, and I can’t fucking find him. Even with the help of Tech-No.”

“You’ve been working with Tech-No?” You all but leapt to your feet. B had been openly working with a Heroic? You wondered for a moment if Tech-No knew who she really was.

“Yeah, dude.” B laughed. “The time for all that villain vs heroes shit is done. The Prof has been using the Heroics for years to undermine other powered people. It never had to be them vs us. And I’ll tell you, the boss, she isn’t letting this go. We’ll find him, and he’s in for one hell of a shock when we do.”

“Good.” It was your turn to laugh now. All the power of the ‘villain’ community and the Heroics would be brought to bear on Professor fucking Thaddeus. “Let me know. I want to be there.”

“Thinking of getting back into the game?” B asked cheekily, and you knew she already knew the answer. “Gonna need a new name and costume if you do. Or haven’t you heard? Storm Shadow has been defeated.” B laughed at the last word.

“I never liked that name anyway.” You sat back down, still laughing. “And I could use an updated look.”

“Well then, Zephyr,” B used the name you’d tried to get established when you first started out. It had never stuck with the media giving you their own name. “I have your first case. You remember the building collapse? The one where you and Mister Heroic worked so well together. Well, my sources tell me it was brought down by the guy you pulled from the rubble.”

“What?” You stopped laughing in an instant. You remembered him. He had been so shocked and badly hurt. That day had been a blur, but you’d asked Jada to look into what brought the building down. She’d never found anything. Structural failure was declared the official cause. “How the fuck did that guy collapse a building on himself?”

“Get this.” You could hear more shuffling on B’s end. “He brought it down by accident when he came into his powers.”

“That makes no sense.” You shook your head, standing up and pacing around your room. “We get our powers as kids. They’re part of our DNA.”

“Not his.” Something fell over, and B cursed. After a few moments, she continued. “He was born powerless. But now, well, now he’s one of you guys. I paid him a little visit and, friendly person that I am, got him to tell me how he got superpowers.”

“Where?” You were scrambling to understand what B was telling you. “How?”

“He says he got them from an underground club. Very select. They have to invite you, and it’s never in the same place twice.” B almost sounded like she was enjoying this.

“So you’re telling me that some secret group is giving adults random powers?” You could hardly believe it. This could easily turn into a disaster.

“Seems that way.” B chuckled. She was definitely enjoying this. “Maybe you should team up with the Heroics to take them down.”

You grinned at the idea. You teaming up with the Heroics to take down some bad guys? Stranger things had happened.

~~

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[badpancakelol]

The One in Which a Time Loop is Fucking Exhausting, Chapter 3: THE LONGEST LOOP PT. I

Steve is astronomically tired. Fuck the Upside Down. Fuck the bat-adjacent bitches. Fuck Vecna. And fuck Eddie Munson for being so hard to save. 

It’s two days after the battle, and he is bone-tired in a way that makes him not want to get up from his bed. Not even to gaze at the pool like he always does, slip under as the loop resets. There’s an angry red ring around his neck, and his wounds are still healing, and fuck the water. If he ever has to swim again it’ll be too soon.

(Yeah, too fucking soon as in, the next loop).

And, yeah, maybe this frustration is brought on by going to Eddie’s funeral. A coffin that light, with barley anyone to see him off — it just pissed him off even more. So, instead of going to the pool tonight, he decides to sleep. Maybe it’ll result in being well rested next loop. Steve can only hope.

— — — 

When he wakes up, it’s…slow. Still. There’s a warmth to the air that he’s never felt before, and why the fuck isn’t he on the boat?

It’s such a startling realisation, that he’s crossed the imaginary threshold of the end of the loop and then comes the dread. Is this loop sticking? Is that what’s happening? But Max is still in a coma and El couldn’t find her, and he attended Eddie’s funeral yesterday.

He, quite literally, tumbles out of bed and calls Robin. Then, he slams the phone down because he fucking forgot that she stayed at Vickie’s yesterday. Steve’s sitting on the kitchen counter, sweaty and shirtless, when he realises that he should call the kids.

Check in on El and Max and Lucas and Will and Mike and Dustin, oh god, Dustin.

He’s so off-footed by everything, like slipping on ice in socks because, what the fuck does he do now? Steve forces himself back up the stairs to the bathroom and sits under the spray of water, indulges, because, well, who has more time in the world than him?

Halfway through towel-drying his hair does it click. There was never a threshold. He moves things around, gets rid of things from his list of Things He Knows For Sure, and adds in the idea that it’s not just his early death that resets the loop: it’s any of his deaths.

Steve remembers slipping into the pool, feeling the water fill his lungs and the shortness of breath, but he had done it so many times, it had become second nature. Drop Robin off at Vickie’s, call Dustin to wish him goodnight. Leave the lights on in the house. 

Drown.

Drown.

Drown.

Oh fuck. Steve’s always been the one resetting the loop. He could have stayed in the aftermath of the battle and planed, recuperated and slept. Steve could have waited and had time to mourn and to maybe, possibly, try and tell someone what the fuck is going on. He could have waited. He could have cried. 

The pool is calling to him now, he realises. Because fuck, if he hasn’t messed this up big time. Who was in charge of handing out the superpowers that nobody wanted? Because he sure as hell had some complaints about his. One foot after the other, his body is already making it towards the pool before his doorbell rings.

The door opens and there stand Hopper, and fuck, what happens in the loops he leaves? Is there a version of Hopper that wakes up every morning that Steve is transported back, who has to find his body? What about those loops where he tried to die to test a theory? Did he just leave a version of Robin and Nancy and Eddie with his cold body as they traversed through the Upside Down?

The pool suddenly feels much less convenient. 

“Hey kid,” Hopper says, and he looks as tired as Steve feels. 

Hop’s eyes trail the nasty redness of his throat, before they land on his abdomen, and Steve vaguely remembers that he’s not wearing a shirt. There’s a waver to his eyes, a frown appearing deep set in his brows and, actually you know what? The pool is looking mighty attractive right now.

“I wanted to thank you for keeping everyone safe here,” and god is that a lie, “And, I also wanted to check up on you. How is,” Hopper waves a hand in the general direction of Steve and, well, isn’t that a loaded question.

“It’s not every day that you get eaten alive, but I think I’d still rank it underneath getting drugged, weirdly enough.” Okay, so yeah it might not be every day, but it definitely is like, every second day that he gets eaten alive.

Hopper is wearing an incredulous expression and, yep, wow, no one really explained their full stories from Star Court, did they? The chief (can he still call him that?) is already pushing his way inside, and Steve lets him in without issue. It’s not like he has plans. Didn’t really think he’d get this far.

“Where are your parents?”

“Uh, away on a business trip, I think. Don’t know if they’ve even seen what’s happened yet.”

Steve leads his way to the kitchen with a small shoes off please as he prepares Hop a cup of tea. He can already tell that this is going to be a long conversation. He can feel the silence approaching before it fully dawns on them, and he watches as Hopper looks around the massive, empty house. 

The kettle is loud as it whistles, and Steve is quick to pour the hot water into the mug. Hopper has meandered his way over to his kitchen island, leaning forward on his arms, and he gives Steve a small smile as he puts the mug in front of him.

Steve knows that Hopper saw it. It’s…kind of hard to miss. But here Hopper is, sitting, pretending that there isn’t splintered wood chips littering the carpet at the end of the hall, where a grandfather clock once stood. There are things that happen in every loop, and Steve is more than happy to let some anger out on the antique clock that his dad liked. 

“Come to dinner with us. I’m sure Joyce would love to see you.” Hopper says. 

Steve almost wants to ask what the point even is. Because he knows that he’s going to have to reset the loop, eventually. Slip into the pool again. Try harder and faster and save everyone.

(He thinks that he deserves the rest. He’s tired and he’s frustrated, and all he wants is for everyone to be okay. Maybe he can wait. If there’s anyone in the world that has the time to, it’s him).

“I’ll swing by tonight,” Steve says. “How’re Will and El holding up?”

Hopper seems to sigh in relief, the conversation flowing into familiar territory. “El’s back to slamming doors with her mind, but I think the kid deserves to have some fun. And Will is,” Hopper clears his throat, takes a sip of the tea, “He’s happy, I think.”

And if that isn’t weird, then Steve doesn’t know what is. He knows what survivor’s guilt is, wears it like a vest over his shoulders, so Steve vows to check in on the kids when he visits them. Tonight.

— — — 

Steve doesn’t reset the loop, and the dinners become a regular thing. Every couple of days he switches between the cabin in the woods and the Byers house, and laughs and cries and eats dinner with the newly reunited family.

Occasionally, he thinks that he’s intruding. The first time he had thought that, he was halfway to leaving when Will wanted to talk dnd to him, and who was he to say no? So he sat on the floor of Will’s bedroom as he gushed about character sheets, and a new set of dice that Mike had gotten him, and Steve desperately tries not to think of the word’s best DM that should be sitting here, instead of him.

He doesn’t reset the loop. In between dinners with the Hopper-Byers, he plans and he sketches, and he doesn’t let anyone into his house. Steve is vaguely reminded of how Joyce’s living room looked in 1984, with sketches of tunnels and a demo-dog in the fridge.

Steve dumbs it down for himself and figures that he has three set in (hopefully) not stone events that he has to change: El comes too late, Max is put in a coma, Eddie dies.

In a previous loop, he had told Lucas to be careful. To make sure that he was always holding the walkman, to make sure the magical Kate Bush was never far away, so that he could save Max if need be. He told him to be careful. That Jason is looking for them, and the group doesn’t have luck on their side.

And he had nodded, and Max had floated, and Jason had come in and smashed the walkman anyway. 

In theory, he thinks, Max should be easy to save. He’s in the living room, switching between pacing and sitting, tapping the pencil against his thigh and biting at the end of it. If he’s able to get himself, or Robin, or Nancy, or Eddie to go with Max, then maybe they can fight off Jason, and Lucas can slip the headphones over her ears.

He wants it to be Eddie. He’ll try it in the next loop — maybe if he can get him far enough away from the Upside Down then he can be safe. 

As he’s about to write it down, a page of plans and what ifs that will come true, and realises that it can’t be Eddie. The only reason that Jason asked questions first and shot later was because it was Lucas there, and he (mildly) trusted him. If Eddie was there then he would no doubt shoot first. Fuck.

Nancy would be the best option, he thinks. She’s already angry with Jason, and Steve doesn’t think that the outcome would end too badly. Nance is good with a gun, definitely better than that guy, and she’s practical. She would figure something out.

This could work.

— — —

A week after the loop is meant to reset, Max dies. 

For real, this time. El is sitting beside her, trying to talk to her, to find her, when the machine connected to Max stops. The sound is long and piercing, and Steve is so close to resetting right there and then.

“What does that mean?” El asks, and Steve thinks he ages more in that moment than in the entirety of the loops. “Steve, what does it mean?”

And she’s talking about the long beep and the flat line on the machine, and El is holding Max’s hand still, eyes open and searching. Her voice is wavering, and Steve is standing by the door and he wants to leave and to run and to slip in the pool and to never have to know that Max Mayfield dies a week after the battle.

But El is there. Looking at him, pleading him, so he crosses the short distance and hugs her. He pulls her close and holds her dearly, faces her away from Max. She’s grasping for something, anything to hold onto, balling up her little fists in the back of his sweater.

Her breath stutters, and her whole body moves with it, and then she’s crying and silent, and they’ve fallen onto their knees on the floor, and Steve is still holding her, and he purses his lips because he needs to comfort her, because El is here and now, and Steve can fix this, he has to fix this, but he catches a glance of Max on the hospital bed, cold and lost, and the dam breaks open.

(Steve’s the one to tell Lucas. He drops El off back at the cabin after telling a nurse, and then he drives straight to the Sinclair’s. When he opens their door, Lucas must see something on his face, because he’s crying at the doorstep, and Steve is holding him up, and nothing is okay. 

At the end of the day, he retreats to the edge of the pool, keeps his legs crossed. He plans and he plans and he hopes that he can find an answer).

— — — 

Nancy leaves. As in, she drives far enough away from Hawkins that nobody knows where she went. He’s angry, at first, because how could she just leave like that? But then he remembers 1983, and 1984, and 1985, and 1986. Maybe she has the right idea.

On his nearly daily visit to the Byers for dinner, he bonds with Jonathan. It probably wouldn’t have happened without Nancy (and he realises that so much wouldn’t have happened without her), but as they clean up the plates for the night, they talk.

“I’m sorry, you know.” Steve says. He wonders why he hasn’t said it sooner. “For everything.”

Jonathan has his hands in the sink, washing the plates, as he answers, “It’s okay. You’ve changed.”

“I mean, I would hope so, but that still doesn’t make it okay? I never properly apologised for how I treated you in high school.” 

He’s still for a moment in his scrubbing, and he turns to look at Steve. The plate in his hands is definitely dry, but he’s not thinking about that. Instead, he thinks of the hypocrisy of calling Jonathan queer when Steve was the one who liked Eddie.

“Thank you.” Jonathan says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

And the kitchen is a little too quiet, and this is a little too sentimental, and Steve has never been good at sentimental, he thinks, so he places the plate down, and picks up the next one.

“Still not apologising for the camera, man. Shit was creepy.”

For all his faults, Jonathan looks sheepish as he leans against the kitchen counter. He’s scratching behind his neck and Steve can feel the embarrassment falling off him in waves.

“Yeah, no, I definitely deserved that one.”

The next time they have dinner, they joke around and laugh and smile, and Steve questions why he didn’t apologise sooner. Even if not for himself, but for Will.

“You have to let me style your hair one time,” Steve says. “It’s the law. You become friends with me and I get full blown access to your hair.”

“And look like you? No thanks, man.” Jonathan says, but he’s smiling, and Will is snickering.

“Oh, don’t think that you escaped this Mr. I Have Not Had a Haircut Apart From a Bowlcut!” 

And they race around the house, ducking behind doors, and when the fuck did Will get so fast? Jonathan is laughing, and Joyce is smiling, and Hopper has his arm around her waist. When El cracks a smile for the first time since the hospital, Steve thinks this is what a family looks like.

— — — 

Amidst the doom and gloom of the, uh, ‘earthquake’, Robin comes out to Dustin. It’s partially accidentally, but partially not. She’s been planning on doing it since, well, getting drugged, but more important things had come up. Steve isn’t lucky enough that the Upside Down didn’t destroy Family Video, so after the town gets back on its legs, they’re scheduled back to work.

Robin has her head on the counter and nobody has come in the whole day because Hawkins kind of becomes a ghost town? Steve is sitting on the counter, facing away from the door and swinging his legs like a child.

“I really like her, Steve. Like really, really like her.” Robin says. Steve finds out that after the loop is meant to end, Robin and Vickie end up ‘hanging out’ more. “Oh god, and she does this thing when she’s talking about something she likes, like, she—”

She muffles a scream into her arms and bangs her head against the table, and Steve is happy for her.

“I still don’t understand why you don’t just kiss her,” Steve says, just to rile her up.

Robin, head still on the counter, points at him, “Okay, you do not get to lecture me about my love life right now. And what do you mean ‘just kiss her’? Are you forgetting a vital bit of information? Did you forget the whole part where we’re both girls and I am going to be ostracised if I make so much as a wrong move?”

“I don’t know, Rob, from where I’m standing she seems like she’s into you.”

“But that could just be friendly interaction! You know how some girl friendships are, right? You’ve seen the friendly kisses or the closeness that they sit and, okay, you might be a little right, because I really just want to kiss her.”

It’s a little before that, that Dustin enters the shop. And Steve should have probably heard the bell, and one of them definitely should have been watching the door because, uh? They were talking about kind of sensitive information.

He’s standing there, mouth open, eyes wide, and Steve, for a second, feels an inkling of fear. He pushes it down steadfast because this is Dustin.

Steve nudges Robin because she is still rambling about how much she loves Vickie, and only after he says her name does she look up from her arms. 

“Is that why you two won’t date?” 

It’s said in such understanding that Steve doubles over in laughter and falls off the counter.

— — — 

He bonds with Will in a way that he never thought he would. The dinners turn into breakfasts, and the breakfasts turn into Steve just coming to say hello and then staying the whole day. Sometimes it’s just Jonathan home, and they talk and they laugh. Sometimes it’ll be Hopper and Joyce, and Steve tries not to think too hard on how much he wants them to be his parents, too.

Other times, when Joyce and Hopper have to work, and Jonathan needs to get out, they call him. There’s a hidden understanding, never spoken, that they don’t want to leave Will alone. Especially in that house.

So, they call Steve, because he’s already spending most of his time there (if not for the food, but to supervise the kids playing dnd), and he’s happy to talk to Will. One time, when Steve arrives at the door, and Hopper places a hand on his shoulder on the way out, Will asks him if it’s alright to like boys.

He’s said it so earnestly and timid, quiet in a way that Will always is. They’re lying on the living room floor, talking over the movie that Steve brought over. Steve must take a little too long to answer, because suddenly Will is backtracking and spluttering.

“Will. It is.”

The movie keeps playing, and Steve almost wants this loop to stick. Just so that Will is happy and knows that he’s accepted, or so that he’s friends with Jonathan, or so that Robin is smiling and in love.

Instead, he says “You remember Eddie?”

They never meet. The California crew is too far away, and Eddie dies too quickly, but Mike had told Will all about Eddie in his letters, and Dustin wouldn’t stop talking about him after the battle.

“Yeah.”

“I like him.” Steve says, and god, it feels so good to be able to tell someone, to speak it into existence, for it to be real and tangible and right in front of him. “And he’s a boy.”

“So you like boys too?”

“Boys and girls. But you don’t have to like both. There are plenty of people who only like boys, or only like girls.”

Will nods, and stays on the floor, and Steve realises that, when he figures everything out, when he gets El here in time, when he saves Max and Eddie, he’s going to have this conversation again. There’s a small part of him that hopes that Eddie is by his side when he does.

— — — 

As the battle starts again, three weeks after the loop is meant to reset, the groups are divided. Nancy came back from her small trip, and the reunion was filled with tears and shouting and hugs, but they only get the night to relax before there are things spilling out of the gates spanning Hawkins.

He’s at the Byers for dinner, and he’s washing the dishes when he hears it. Like a stampede rushing past them, chittering and screeching, the flaps of wings, and the pounding of feet across asphalt and grass. 

Will feels it before anyone else, eyebrows burrowed and looking around frantically for something to appear, and then Hopper is holstering his gun, and Joyce has rushed to Will and Jonathan, El is holding Will’s hand and Steve has grabbed the bat that lays at the door.

Once the stampede has passed, and the chittering is quieter, El opens the door. They all stalk out slowly and with unsteady feet, and watch as a wave of storm covers their heads. Steve can hear the breathing of everyone here, and as he looks towards the sky, he can see a swarm of bats.

Steve thinks he might be sick.

He’s so busy looking at the sky that he doesn’t notice the Demogorgon barrel towards Joyce. It’s faster and taller and stronger than he remembers it from his memory of 1983, and as El goes to throw the monster off of her, she’s distracted by the bats that dive from above.

The Demogorgon’s mouth opens, and Hopper is trying to help El, and Will is standing beside Jonathan, shocked and watching. He sees the way that the monster’s teeth sinks into Joyce, and the way it gets tired of her lack of fighting back. Steve hears the sound of her spine cracking against the road as it throws her away, bored.

Will screams and runs towards her, but Jonathan is pulling him back, a haunted look in his eyes, as Hopper screams at them to get to the house. Steve watches Jonathan pull El and Will through the door, and he watches Hopper go to follow, and it’s then that he realises that he needs to fix this.

Hopper has holstered his gun back at his side, and Steve takes it, doesn’t stop to hear the cries of the Byers’, or the way that Hopper has turned with wide eyes, and turns the weapon on himself. 

The loop resets, and he’s never felt happier at the prospect of swimming.