#only two companion slots...

[hellisdex]

[amemoryofwot]

Taking me a while to get used to the rage mechanic in Veilguard my muscle memory is still for a stamina bar. I played Templar class in Inquisition (super underrated build it was SO fun) so I would usually start an encounter with the Wrath of Heaven/Spell Purge nuke and clean up the remains. Here, if I have to take out some enemies before getting access to my abilities, I’m going to have to focus on single target or weapon bonuses vs AoE attacks, and leave crowd control to a mage with a passive mana bar

[alisharoyal]

Last one

Please rb for sample size :) and if you want share your reasoning in the tags

[oakgreenoak]

Something I've always found kinda interesting about Red and Green in gameverse is how they turn some of the Stock Shōnen Protagonist/Rival tropes on their heads.

This is really long character analysis of these two and various media counterparts of theirs, so I'm gonna stick it under a cut.

In some ways they fit their roles quite well - aside from the obvious colour associations, you have Red as the hero whose sense of justice is stronger than his sense of self-preservation, and you have Green as the privileged rival who cares about beating Red above all else.

But, if you look at it another way - Green's got the light spiky hair, the hot-headed and boisterous personality, the drive to Get Better And Win. He's designed to read as really open and chipper, yet snarky. Sure, he isn't dumb, but he's arrogant, and he's got something of a one-track mind; the guy finds himself in the middle of a hostage situation because he's just that hellbent on fighting his rival, and does not seem to be thinking about anything else. He's also got a motivation - given how the Professor talks to him in the championship room and supplementary material like his Generations appearance, it's not a stretch to think the reason he's so driven to Get Better And Win is to prove himself to his grandfather. It's shown in later games and supplementary works that he's become somewhat of a mentor as he got older and wiser.

Red, on the other hand, is a quiet loner whose only motivation seems to be to get stronger for the sake of getting stronger. He's level-headed and dark haired, his cap rounding off his edges and obscuring his face. He's heroic, but not really sociable, as evidenced by the fact he spends the Johto games alone on a mountain without having told anyone where he went. He seems isolated in a way that later games' protagonists really don't. He may have always been a step behind Green, but he's always better.

Equally fascinating to me is how other adaptations have changed the base designs around and rewritten personalities to suit different purposes, while still being visually recognisable as counterparts to their game-selves.

For example: Red and Green's counterparts in Special slot WAY more neatly into their stock shōnen roles, with Red as the boisterous hero and Green as the broody rival, and it's reflected in their new designs.

Red's hair becomes spiky to reflect his more excitable nature. His hat, in turn, never obscures his face; it's always either tilted back to accommodate his fringe or turned backwards. Green's hair, on the other hand, is not quite as spiked upwards and instead falls into his face, frequently obscuring his far eye in the same way game!Red's hat does.

And then, of course, the anime balanced them in a totally different direction.

Instead of scrapping Green's personality wholecloth, it's become exaggerated in Gary. He's not the broody antihero rival, he's the arrogant, privileged, better-than-you rival. He's always ten steps ahead of Ash, always pisses him off, and is ALWAYS better until the end of his run. The anime also emphasises his intelligence far more, with him doing things like rattling off dex info and the speed of light in mph off the top of his head, to further contrast him with Ash.

Ash, who is of course THE shōnen protagonist. He's dumb, but determined, and always ready to help people in need. Unlike game!Red, the power of friendship (with more than just pokémon) is central to him; any given season of the show is defined as much if not moreso by his travelling companions and interpersonal relationships as it is by whatever he's actually doing.

It's funny to me, though, how most adaptations seem to find the fact that gameverse Red and Green have swapped some stock roles as something to fix. Even Origins, which is probably the closest a high-profile adaption has come to game-accurate, made its version of Red louder and more standard-hero-esque.

I'm not knocking any of these things, of course, just observing. I adore both Special and anipoke. I just think that the way the game characters are written could lead to some interesting dynamics were it to be explored more.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part nineteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

The cool paste feels tingly on your skin as you rub it against your bruised stomach, wincing. Christ. Maybe Ghost was right to think he might break you. Beneath the mottled patchwork, another kind of pain stirs— your muscles are growing. Firm and tight. The only soft parts of you left are your breasts and your ass. Gently applying the paste to a nasty purple one on your left cheek, you curiously pinch the sore flesh between your fingers. Scratch that. Even your ass is firming up. 

Arnica has healing properties. Yesterday, you found a patch of it with Blue and created a salve with some water. You already applied some last night before bed. Whether or not it’s helping probably doesn't mean much when new ones are about to be added; still, the placebo effect brings some comfort.

You're still massaging your backside when the bathroom door groans beneath a heavy fist. 

"Hurry up. Grab your bow."

“Shit.” You startle, almost dropping the salve. "Uh, coming.”

Chucking on a clean shirt and your old pair of jeans, you pad out of the bathroom, ignoring the cry of your joints. Ghost is outside waiting for you. Wait— bow? Confusion delivers an uptick to your pulse; you never bring your bow to train.

“What’s going on?”

"The air," he replies in a flat tone.

The stale smell offers enough explanation. You cringe. "Should we split up?"

He shakes his head and nods towards the direction the gentle breeze is rolling in. "No need. It's coming from this way."

In the violet wash of morning, you trail beside him over tall grasses and scattered groundhog burrows as the air leads the way, luring you opposite the clearing where you train. There haven't been any Greys since the one you burned together. For the past few weeks, you'd almost forgotten about their existence— a pleasant naivety for once. 

Neither of you bothers with much small talk. He asks if you're sore, probably noticing how stiff you are, and you answer honestly. That's it.

You keep your attention strictly on the wood bow molded into your palm and the slight rustling of leaves all around you, scanning for signs of anything astray. You don't look at Ghost, even when you feel his eyes flicker to the side of your head. Staring at him for even a second longer than necessary rouses something in your gut that was once easy to label as fear; now you don't know what to call it.

He is wearing thicker clothes today, the intimidating vest stocked with ammo glued to his chest. You'd gotten used to his more casual wardrobe of gym shorts and hoodies. They make him look... softer, almost. A little less like a death omen. Though, you sincerely doubt there are any soft parts of Ghost left under all that gear, given the rigid planes you felt beneath your hands when you—

"There."

You snap your gaze in the direction Ghost is pointing at.

At first, you don't see anything.

Then, squinting, you make out a red color far too metallic to naturally sprout among the conifers. 

An arrow is urgently slotted on the bowstring as the two of you head towards it, your brows tightly knitted. You've been this way a few times and never saw a— is that a red car?— before. Closing in, your suspicions are confirmed when a stroke of sunlight bounces off the metal bumper. The patchy sedan is tucked within a bush, tail-end sticking out, with half-flat tires resting on corroded rims. Shadows of movement dance behind the tinted windows, too disjointed to be natural.

"What the fuck?" you mutter under your breath, boots scuffing over a long-faded gravel pathway that is now shrouded in weeds. The car must've been following it before winding up in the bush— the occupants no longer human enough to drive.

"They... they must have just turned while they were driving," you think aloud. "When did this even get here?"

"Maybe during the night," Ghost mutters.

He paces forward and swings open the passenger door. A string of moans is released as a Grey lurches within the confinements of the seatbelt, but he quickly silences it with a bullet to the forehead, causing it to flop sideways out of the car. Maybe just a day ago, it was a young man. His hair is fully intact and he's wearing a blue shirt with the Chelsea Football Club logo on the back.

"I wonder why they were driving this way to begin with," you say quietly, stomach rolling.

In the driver's seat is the slumped-over corpse of an older man, having died from so many bite wounds before the infection could take hold. The early stages of decomposition smell almost worse than the infection and you have to breathe through your mouth as you head for the back door. 

"There's another here I think."

You're ready to shoot and put whoever it once was out of their misery when you pry open the door, but the sight of a small body wriggling around makes you freeze. Curled up against the faded leather is an infected boy, no older than eight or nine. His eyes are all white except for the outer rim where a few vessels are still filled with red blood. Your fingertips dig fiercely into the frame of the door as you stare down at him; his soft brown hair, his small hands, his Minecraft shirt. He whimpers and tries to claw at you, mouth hung open in mindless hunger.

The feeling that washes over you is hot and cold at the same time. It's not the first or last time you've seen an infected child, so you don't know why the sight traps you for a few heartbeats.

A voice emerges beside you. "It's not a kid anymore."

You almost forgot Ghost was there. Your teeth clench. "Yeah, I know."

You feel his eyes burning into you. Your fingers tighten and untighten around the arrow's stem as you aim. 

"Hone it, Twix— the anger."

The tension in your jaw releases at the same time as your arrow snaps forward, cutting through the boy's skull and driving his limp body down to the car floor.

“You good?”

You forcefully swallow and look away, giving Ghost a short nod. "Guess that's all of them."

He slowly nods in agreement, studying you, but all he says is, "For now."

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“Seen stranger things over the years,” he says. “It seems like they were headed somewhere, maybe needed a new place to settle, and one of them got bit. Infected the others.”

You nod, thinking it over. “What about the car?"

"No fuel left, so it's pretty useless." Rifle still in his grip, he moves around to the hood and props it open. "Might have some parts I can use, though."

While he scavenges for gears that aren't rusted beyond functionality, you take a look at their belongings. There is an empty bottle of whiskey in the cupholder. In the boy's lap is a stuffed tiger that you assume was once white, but now it's a worn of grey. You carefully shift his corpse and take it.

"I have a friend who might be able to care of this for you."

In the trunk, at least, you find some tripwire. 

Dragging the two adult bodies back to the trench for burning is your 'strength' training for the day. Since they haven't decomposed much yet, they're heavy; you go back and forth, taking one at a time. Ghost carries the small one over his shoulder. After the flames snuff out the smell of rot, he relieves you, claiming he has other shit to take care of—more traps to set with the newfound tripwire.

"Hey. Would you like this?" you ask Blue when she's up, handing her the tiger. 

"I'm kinda too old for dolls, Twix." She must see the expression on your face because she shakes her head and disappears into her room for a minute before coming out with a teddy bear. "My mom gave me this one when I was a baby and it just sits on my bed by itself, but now it can have a friend."

You smile and nod. "Yeah, okay."

The day is spent playing board games with her. When she notices how sore you are, she offers an exclusive massage from Grim, who hops over your back and legs as you relax face-down on the couch. However, even with the honorary treatment, the aching lingers. 

"Auntie, I'm over here!"

In a violet-tinted field, you search for the voice.

It's barren and hazy, with no hard edges or places for a little boy to hide; so why is it so hard to find him? You call his name. You wander around, aimless, until you catch a familiar whiff of baked cinnamon and fresh laundry. This way. He's this way. You start running fervently. When a small hand tugs at yours, you whip around and try to grab him, but the soft touch dissolves through your fingers like ash. 

When you wake up, there's a hand on your back and blood on your tongue, evidence that you'd bitten through it during your sleep. The taste is quickly replaced with bile as you launch up, grabbing the sleeve of someone's shirt.

"Oh no, you don't."

The hand moves to your hair, wrapping it around in a fistful before forcing your head to tilt down. A bucket is tucked beneath your chin. You vomit into it, the cool metal rim hissing against your fingertips. Again and again. When it's all out, your throat feels like sandpaper. 

"Done?"

The dark room surrounds you; the perfect place to hide what you know must be a ghastly look on your face. Awareness creeps in, and you're not thrilled by the fact that you've thrown up in front of him twice now. Without looking up at the white skull you know is there, you nod.

Wordlessly, he takes out a cigarette and lighter. You hear a deep inhale. See the dull glow of the flame. Then, he passes it to you and leaves.

"You look like shit today."

You can't even be offended, fully aware of the purple painted beneath your eyes. One look at you quirks his brow up in that annoying mannerism of his.

You offer a tight-lipped simper, mumbling. "At least I can always count on you for brutal honesty."

"Good trait to look for in an ally." He throws the gauze at you and you begin wrapping up. "I don't suppose it has anything to do with the fact you nearly ruined another shirt of mine last night."

You tie off the gauze and glance up. "Look, I'm s—" you stop yourself, "I mean, I'm not sorry, because you wanted my box open so now it's open. You already knew the potential consequences."

"Try opening it without emptying your stomach next time."

You flash him a look. "I think I miss when you pretended I didn't exist."

"And I miss getting a full night of sleep."

"Can we just get started? I'm ready."

Ghost keeps his eyes on you as he motions a fisted hand. "As you wish."

When the familiar dance begins, and adrenaline ripples up your spine, you realize that you missed this yesterday. The rest felt good, but this— the thrill of seeing Ghost start to get as worked up as you, the sweat stains on his shirt matching your own... it is something you itch for these days. 

You get a few hits in that have your ego swelling. But then— the rough night catches up with you after half an hour of wordless sparring. Your breathing grows labored, while his is barely winded.

"Tired yet?" he asks.

"No," you say, but he calls you out immediately.

"You're a terrible liar," he reminds you. A few more swings have your lungs burning as you dodge until one finally catches up with you, and whatever healing your homemade salve has done is erased by a fresh layer of pain. 

As you clutch your side, he changes the subject. "Are you going to tell me what it was about then?"

"What what was about?"

"Whatever was making you whimper in your sleep."

Your face twists. "I wasn't 'whimpering'."

"Fine, then. Crying," he corrects plainly.

You sigh through your nose, averting your gaze only for a moment, then focusing back on him before he can strike you again. His words hang in the air, ignored, as you jab an elbow toward his ribs. He grabs you by the knob of it and pulls you unnecessarily close to his chest. When you try to wriggle free by placing a hand on his chest, he fists your hair, which has slipped out of a bun into a haphazard ponytail, and tugs hard enough to force your eyes up to his.

His gaze is demanding but his voice is light— a mere breath over your forehead. "Tell me why someone who has seen plenty of infected kids by now seemed so bothered by the one she saw yesterday. He reminded you of someone, didn't he?"

The mention of it makes you snap. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Trying to act like you know anything about me."

"I know enough. You are easy to read."

So that feeling you get when he looks at you isn't just in your head; he truly can see through. Your nails dig into your palm. "There's no need to read me. We're not friends. We're just... allies, or whatever."

"Or whatever," he repeats thoughtfully, tasting the words. "You talk like a teenager."

"Compared to you I might as well be," you retort.

"Jesus." He chuffs out an exhale, eyes flickering down for a moment before returning up to yours, narrowing. "Let's not change the subject here." 

"Fine. Take this stupid Halloween mask off," you lift the hand on his chest up to the hem of his balaclava, feeling how weighted the fabric is with sweat. "And I will tell you all about it."

His jaw flexes before he gently guides your hand away. "Tempting offer, but I'll pass."

You refuse to acknowledge the tinge of embarrassment at his dismissal and inch back as far as the hand on your hair will allow. The close proximity, or harsh sun, is making it hard to breathe. "Well, it's not fair for you to ask me shit about my life when you don't even let me see your face."

"I never claimed to be fair." 

"I promise I won't vomit no matter how ugly you are. I've seen worse things out here."

His hand tightens. "I think I miss when you were scared of me. Less mouthy back then."

"Well, I'm not anymore."

"No?" He flips you around so your back is against him, one hand settling on the toned curve of your hip. His voice lowers to your ear. "Maybe I need to fix that."

An unwelcomed shiver courses through you. He lets go. A wristbone nudges against your spine, shoving you forward. Irritation simmers in your veins when his remark finally registers, and you whirl around, readying your stance. 

"If you even think about threatening me after I explicitly asked you not to, then I would suggest sleeping with a knife tonight."

"Who's threatening who, Twix?" He gives a low chuckle. "Relax. I'm sure I could handle you in my sleep, anyway."

He's egging you on; you know it. And yet, you stubbornly take the bait. His knee— the right one. That's where you got him last time that made him falter. Maybe an old injury. But when you swing a boot at it, he expects your attempt, knocking you away by the ankle. 

"Ah. Eager to get me beneath you again?"

Pink sears your cheeks as you wipe a trickle of sweat from your forehead. "I'm eager to humble you for once."

"Might need to keep your dinner down to do that."

You grit your teeth. So maybe he did allow it last time. The realization darts your eyes to his wide stance, searching for an idea. Without second-guessing yourself, you kick at the other knee. He must find your second attempt amusing because he easily predicts it, but before he can catch your leg, you snap it back and drop yourself to the ground.

The brief distraction allows the second of time needed to fit yourself between his legs. You're slim enough to push through, kicking at the inside of both knees once you're on the other side. His legs buckle, and you reach up to pull his arm, finishing the job.

Once he's down, you scramble to get on top, not caring if your boot kicks his face in the process. You grab both of his wrists and bring them above his head, but it's impossible to wrap your fingers all the way around them. Instead, you lace them through his fingers, breathing hard in his face as your breasts meld against the solid heat of him.

"Did you allow that?" 

His voice is rougher than you've ever heard it. "No."

Your lips furl. "Good."

A dark gleam passes through his dilated pupils that makes your head fuzzy. You let go of his hands. Immediately, they gravitate to your hips again, thumbs fiercely pressing into the sliver of skin exposed from where your shirt rides up. You don't move even an inch, frozen in place as you stare down at where he grips you against him. That feeling in your gut deepens and spreads. It is hard to pinpoint—so insane and foreign yet familiar at the same time—but one thing is certain: it begins and ends where his rough skin touches yours.

Before you can figure anything else out, a scream shatters the air, and Ghost rips you off of him in one swift movement. 

[kifkay]

Winx & Specialists Dynamics that are so Precious to me

it makes sense that in the show, winx and their non-boyfriend specialists don’t interact much. but!! i’m very insane about codependent found families, and I want them all to love each other. so here’s my take on some tet-a-tet dynamics:

rare pairings:

Musa & Timmy: childhood frenemies. they used to go to the same middle school on Melody, and as type-A tweens do, had an intense, “you’re the only person I match myself to” kind of rivalry. they lost contact after Timmy moved away, chilled out considerably, reconnected in Alfea and had a wonderful banter-filled friendship since. because of how fast they slotted back into a friendship, some of their classmates genuinely thought they were siblings.

Tecna & Riven: got up from a rough patch. from “I dislike you but we both love Musa, so we have to be civil” to “you have more depths to you than I expected” to “now that I understand you, I can’t help but admire certain things about you” to “bitch, you are the only person who is as weird and clueless as I am, ARE YOU READY TO GO TO THE ARCADE AND ANNIHILATE KIDS FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES”

Flora & Brandon: little sister, older brother vibes. of similar temperaments and views, they enjoy spending time over a cup of tea — talking about everything and nothing. it’s therapeutic, almost.

(no one in the group knew that Brandon and Flo were good friends. once, when the two had to team up during a mission, Bloom couldn’t even finish saying: “it would be a good opportunity for you to get to know each ot-“, before the specialist-fairy duo were re-creating the most complicated and choreographed hand shake ever. jaws were on the floor.)

Aisha & Brandon: they are sporties, and they like doing sport things together! they don’t talk aside from exchanging brief encouragements and advice while out, preferring to spend their time in companionable silence. sorta like those dads who never talk to their buddies, but somehow have the strongest and longest bonds ever?

Helia & Bloom: artist besties. Bloom drags Helia out on picnics, where they practice observational drawing (and tiktok trends that Bloom desperately wants to reenact but none of the winx are good at arts); Helia responds by taking her out to see art museums in Magix. it’s a fun dynamic of Bloom being the bubbly gold retriever, and Helia being her black cat.

Tecna & Sky: they didn’t have much of a relationship until year 4. somehow, they both got really, intensely into weaponsmithing and built a joint workshop. they found that they enjoy working alongside each other and value each other’s insights. sky goes to tecna when he needs frank, un-sugarcoated advice, and tecna accompanies sky on hikes and other spirited adventures, for “bonding activities” (because he told her she doesn’t get out of her comfort zone enough). it’s a relationship of deep mutual respect.

Sky & Stella: childhood friends. they knew each other as children and enjoyed playing together (which is how Stella also knew Brandon pre-Red Fountaine). at least, until Stella was unofficially banned from Eraklyon because shenanigans, and they lost contact. they still jokingly call each other “My Lady” and “My Lord”.

Stella & Nabu. Both are flirty and extroverted people, who enjoy the spirit of showmanship. They have a friendly rivalry going of who can fluster the villain of the week the fastest.

canon bf-gf dynamics (dating in canon, open to interpretation otherwise):

Bloom x Sky: liked each other since the first meeting; bonded over being the friend group moms. (on unrelated note: bloom gentle parents her friends, while sky goes all exasperated cig mom on his team and repeats things like: “you better go to sleep right now, or so help me Dragon I will take away your Owl pilot privileges-“)

they are not the most outwardly affectionate couple of the winx, yet they are so wordlessly devoted to each other. sky will follow bloom to the ends of all dimensions, when she gets a calling from powers as mystical as she. bloom will always believe in him and see him as his own man, unlike the many who see him only as his father’s son. they were entwined by fate, long before one had met the other; yet, there’s the trust, the respect, the faith so strong — that could have only come from friendship forged and tested by fire.

Stella and Brandon: the hottest power couple; sole reason behind 60% of all student fairies/specialists/witches queer awakening.

they banter all. the. goddamn. time. these dorks are speaking a whole different language.

they are also most comfortable in each other’s company, being able to be their genuine, less polished selves. stella and brandon are both performers bred and born, playing the roles of a noble princess and a knight. it’s nice, to have a safe reprieve from all that acting.

Aisha and Nabu. their love was one that sneaked up on them. their distance, set by a discomfort at the idea of an arranged marriage, bridged as they transitioned from being reluctant comrades to friendly rivals to unwilling friends to best friends to “if someday the moon calls you by your name, don’t be surprised — because every night I tell her about you”

Tecna and Timmy: partners in crime, ride or die, sunny faith in each other — even when the other person doesn’t believe in themself. I have a whole post about them, go read that ;)

Flora and Helia: they are so. they are. they-

icons. the most romantic couple, the one that sets the standards, the one that gives their friends advice. they are extremely attentive to each other’s needs and tender with each other’s feelings.

flora can recite helia’s poems in her sleep, and trace his drawings with her eyes closed. helia brings mielle presents every time he stops by. flora has tea with helia’s dad every other tuesday; she keeps note of every time helia and saladin are supposed to meet up, to be able to whisk helia away after and distract him from his troubles. helia knows how to care of flora’s plants, and sends her lovingly assorted gift baskets semi-regularly.

Musa and Riven. their relationship is push and pull, is joy then sorrow.

it’s all in a drag of a cigarette, in the vortex of a starless night, in the hoarse laughter. “of all the people in the world, why did it have to be you?” she’ll say and smile.

“ I’m afraid we’re doomed, lover,” he’ll reply, faux-casually, and smile back. both of them will know it’s the truth.

their relationship was not built to last, not for the lack of love or try. maybe they were too similar — both headstrong, unbending, bleeding hearts. maybe they were just different enough not to understand their hurts. nevertheless, it was not built to last — but neither of them would ever bring to regret it. love prevails, no matter in what form in comes, or something like that.

[housederiva]

I really hope that the reason why we only have two companions with us is because the third slot is filled by Assan the baby griffin 24/7

[dazed-and-confused23]

Opportunities 2

A part 2 of one of my requests a while ago.

Summary: After listening to you and Hancock fuck in the room beside his, Cooper takes your care into his own hands and puts his little daydream into reality.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings. Smut. Rough sex. Cooper isn't very nice. He was jelly. Rope play. Lil sneak peek at the end.

Masterlist

Cooper doesn't see you until the next evening when you come loping down the stairwell with,who must be, John trailing behind you. The other ghoul is handsome for their standards, and Coop already feels a mild dislike for the man. You are talking animatedly, hands gesturing this way and that, and John is all ears, listening to the smoothskin with a tiny grin on his withered lips.

Jealousy immediately surrounds him, and Cooper gnashes his teeth when you pass him by without a word, not even noticing the bounty hunter sat near the entrance. You only had eyes for the other ghoul, and Coop was not a fan.

He watches the two of you for a while, noticing the way the Mayor of Goodneighbor keeps you close to his side, one hand usually pressed to the small of your back as you laugh at some joke he spits. Cooper glares at the Ghoul dressed in red. He needed to get you away from the other man.

Cooper stands up and lopes to the bar, ordering a beer, and it's only then that you notice your traveling companion.

"Oh, Coop! This is John, I've been telling him about our adventures, " you say excitedly, and Coop grunts, gold gaze intentionally uninterested. It stings when he watches the excitement fade, and your lips turn down in a soft frown, but he isn't very happy with you at the moment.

He catches your eyes, mouth pulled into a sneer, "That's not what I heard last night."

You look at him in shock, and Coop feels even more like a dick, but it's not like he can take the words back. The mayor narrows his black eyes, and the hand on your waist tightens.

"Woah now, no need for that. We're all friends here," John drawls and gets a withering glare in return. He's about to pop off with something else when the smoothskin speaks up.

"It's okay, John. Cooper and I should probably talk anyway."

You had thought a lot about what happened last night and realized that if Cooper didn't want you like you wanted him, then you would apologize for the constant jabbering you had put him through. John gives your waist a gentle squeeze as you stand up.

"Alright, Sunshine. Don't leave me hangin'."

You grace Hancock with a kind smile and then slip out of your stool. Cooper leaves his beer behind as he follows you back up the stairs of the Third Rail and over to Hotel Rexford. Once inside the bounty hunter's room, you wring your hands in front of you as you stand before him.

"I'm sorry for bothering you so much about the - uhum- sex stuff. I won't do it anymore."

Cooper watches you, face impassive as you apologize, even though it should be him instead. He says nothing, and you stare at him with growing nerves and wonder why he wasn't saying anything. You laugh, the sound high pitched and wrong.

"Anyway~ I just wanted to say sorry, so I'll leave you alone now. We, uhm, we don't even have to travel together anymore if you don't wanna."

The ghoul finally reacts, and it's not in the way you expect. Cooper grabs you by the arm and spins you around, turning you towards the bed and shoving your face first against the mattress. He slots himself behind you, kicking your legs open and leaning over you to snarl in your ear.

"I don't want your fuckin' apologies, girl," He spits, tone dripping in jealous arousal, "I want you to scream my name like you did his last night."

Your breath comes in quick pants, and you angle your face up to peek at Cooper. The ghoul looks furious with arousal, and you can feel the hard length of his cock pressed between against the cheeks of your ass. A bolt of pleasure zings up your spine, but you can't help the sting of resentment.

"You only want to fuck me cause you over heard John and I the other night. Why the change?" You demand, but Cooper doesn't answer you. Instead, the bounty hunter has grabbed both of your wrists, pulling them up to sit in the middle of your back as he ties them together with a length of rope pulled from his belt.

Cooper isn't about to admit to his jealousy the other night and instead tightens the rope around your wrists, hips pressing into the thickness of your thighs and ass.

"You want me to fuck you or not, sweet thing?" He demands and slips a hand between your legs, pads of his fingers rubbing harshly against your clothed clit. You hiss, and dig your face into the mattress even as your body falls open for the ghoul as if it was made for him.

"Consent is important, sweetheart," Cooper snarls and flicks the button of your jeans open. His cock aches in his pants, and he wants to see you stuffed full of his cum. He wants to hear you say his name like that you had John's last night.

"Please fuck me, Coop," you plead, broken as easily as a two hundred year old light bulb. You've wanted your traveling companion for too long to be stubborn about it. You wiggle your hips to try and get your pants off quicker, desperate for him.

Cooper laughs and curls his fingers under the waistband, then jerks them down to bunch up around your boots. He pulls his belt open and hisses when his cock meets the humid air of the hotel room. He strokes his dick, squeezing at the base as he smooths up. Cooper leans forward and rubs the head of his cocks across your wet folds, and you push back.

"I should make you wait. Make you beg for it after goin' to someone else like you did," Cooper snarls hotly, and presses forward, just enough to split you.

"What was his cock like, sweetheart? I can promise mine will be fuckin' better."

Your eyes roll up and back into your head when the ghoul suddenly slams home. You huff and puff, hands flexing and wrist chaffing from the rope around your wrist. His pace is brutal, and his length drags along the fluttering walls of your pussy.

Cooper snarls behind you, hands digging into the meat of your hips as he pulls you back into his thrusts. You are tight, vice like and fucking perfect. The sounds the two of you make are sloppy, and your cheek heat up at the thought of someone else over hearing the two of you.

Behind the door, Hancock listens to the other ghoul fuck you until he has you howling his name, the sounds of sex loud and obscene as Cooper fills you up and keeps going until he's hard again, teeth bared as you whine and slobber into the sheet. John finds himself envious, but he isn't sure who of.

The major leaves with a smirk and a pep in his step. There would be other opportunities to speak with the bounty hunter.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do a scenario about Nemona, Penny and Arven with a real who has type null please? Maybe something about it transforming in Silvally?

YES NULL/SILVALLY TIME

I have one in Sword who I call "Bestie", and it's carried me through the Crown Tundra DLC. I want it in Violet so badly aaaa

Also this just reminded me of my fic that I wrote prior to Sun/Moon's release. Ya'll can give it a read if you so desire <3

That being said, this scenario will be like a sequel of sorts

........

Revealing Type: Null--or "Nully" as you've affectionately called it--to your friends was something you were initially nervous about...

But today was finally the day.

Moving away from Alola to attend school here in Paldea was quite the stressful journey, especially for your masked companion who had never know any place besides stark white labs and sandy beaches.

People kept warning you about how dangerous it was, but you never listened...and now your bond with the mysterious normal type has never been stronger.

Ever since you rescued it from an Aether Foundation facility that exploded due to its rampage, it put its trust in you and loved you unconditionally.

Learning the truth behind that supposedly "good" organization and its leader broke your heart. Although nothing devastated you more than realizing Nully had been held captive there as both experiment and prisoner.

You've tried researching its species, checking for notes and hacking into secret files the foundation kept under lock and key--and you discovered that Type: Nulls were basically created as "tamer" versions of Arceus, even having memory discs similar to the plates manufactured. They were meant to kill the Ultra Beasts should they invade Alola.

Instead, they went on a rampage (of course, that's what happens when humans try replicating a god's powers) and were confined to masks and put into cryogenic stasis. The whole project was deemed a failure.

As tragic as it was...you were relieved to have found Nully when you did and get it away from that horrible place.

Even so the mask still made it feel absolutely miserable, but unfortunately you couldn't find any further information on how to remove it without causing your precious Pokémon serious injury. There were no visible clamps to unlock, pulling it off would only cause it great pain, and cutting seemed too risky.

The only benefit was that it made Nully immune to critical hits, but the cons definitely outweighed the pros.

Maybe one of your friends knew more about the Type: Null species, and so you decided to call them all over for a picnic if they had free time.

All you could do was pray that they didn't lose their cool and scare your companion.

That's the last thing either of you needed.

Arven was the first to arrive, with Mabosstiff at his heels as usual, but he stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing the bizarre-looking Pokémon standing by your side. You could tell he was trying not to look too worried, considering the poor thing was hiding behind you now.

Still, it's obvious that he didn't have the slightest clue what he was looking at, so you explained everything to him: where you found Nully, why it looked like a rejected Arceus, and the memory discs you kept in a small folder.

So far, you haven't figured out how to utilize them in-battle. But despite the space they took up in your bag, you refused to throw them away.

"Are you sure there isn't a slot for these somewhere on its mask?" He stared at one of the floppy discs, before glancing back up at Nully, squinting. "It looks like there should be one."

"We've been pals for nearly three years, Arven..I'm pretty sure I would've found the slot by now if there was one." Shaking your head, you took it from him, sighing. "My only option is to get that thing off. The slot's probably on its body somewhere."

"Right...maybe there's a stomach hatch or-"

"¡Mira! You were right, Penny! They do exist!!"

"Nemona, slow down!! They're not going anywhere!!"

Hearing the shouts of two certain ladies from afar, you and Arven looked to see both Nemona and Penny coming over the horizon. The student council president was dragging the poor girl by the arm, with her stumbling to keep up and not lose her glasses.

When they arrived, Penny was dazed and annoyed as she scowled at Nemona, tearing her arm free of her iron grasp. But her attention was quickly set on the peculiar Pokémon who was cowering behind you yet again.

"Wow...I..never thought I'd see one up close before.." Adjusting her glasses, she gazed at Nully with interest.

"You've heard about them before?" You asked.

"Back in Galar, I found some top-secret stuff about Macro Cosmos trying to make their own instances. They literally stole the blueprints from the Aether Foundation."

"...yikes." Nemona remarked, tilting her head as she tried getting a better look at Nully herself. "It seems shy. Maybe a battle will help it-!"

"No battles, at least not right now." You smiled apologetically, patting it on the head as you looked at each other. "I know you're nervous, Nully..but it's okay. They're nothing like the jerks back in Alola who used to pick on us. They're my friends. You can trust them, I promise."

Nodding its head, it relaxed its haunches as it cautiously stepped away from your side, gazing at the trio and seeing their smiles, too.

They weren't looks of pity.

They seemed genuinely thrilled to meet it.

It stood there for some time, taking in everything you've said to it and thinking about how far it's come since you rescued it that fateful day.

Somehow, it knew it was always meant to be your companion--from the very moment you held it as it cried in the Pokémon Center, reassuring it that it's not a monster, but a sweet creature worthy of love and care.

Ever since then, your friendship has grew...and now it feels stronger, willing to put its life on the line for you if need be. Even though most of its powers have been concealed, it didn't feel like some weak and helpless lab experiment.

Oh no.

It was far from that now.

Thanks to your bond, it felt unbelievably strong.

So much so that....the normal-type realized an extraordinary change was imminent.

And you were about to witness it.

"Look! Nully's glowing, [y/n]!" Nemona pointed, her eyes widening as your companion was basked in a familiar light. "Is it evolving???"

"Oh my god...I think so." You gasped, never realizing the possibility of it evolving, but you're now certain that friendship is what triggered it at last.

The most noticeable thing were the cracks that started appearing all over its helmet, pieces of what you assumed was indestructible alien material falling apart. Nully shook its head vigorously, trying to get rid of it as much as possible.

Then it turned its attention to a nearby boulder, letting out a cry before performing a move similar to a Headbutt, ramming into it and letting the rock shatter the helmet completely.

At last, it was free.

When the glow faded, you and your friends gazed in awe as Nully looked back at all of you.

With its mask finally gone, what lied underneath it was a beautiful creature made of both nature and machine, with a beaklike mouth that smiled proudly.

"Nully...?" You murmured, stepping closer.

"Ally." It chirped, walking up to greet you.

Tears began forming in your eyes as your grin widened. "I can't believe it...friendship was all it took to-"

Suddenly, your rotomphone decided to ruin the sweet moment by flying out of your pocket.

It displayed a new entry in your Pokedex, and you grabbed it to read what it had to say, while Arven, Penny, and Nemona checked their own phones.

"I see, you're Silvally now." You gazed back up at Null--Silvally, watching it bow its head respectfully. With a small laugh, you mimicked the gesture, before petting it lovingly as you sighed. "Wow..."

You noticed one of the metal bolts on its face open up like a CD player, indicating that something had to go in there-

"Wait.." Remembering the memory discs, you took one out and held it up. "Do you want me to use this?"

Silvally nodded, although before you could do anything, Arven interjected.

"Hold on, which memory is that?"

"The Dark Memory. It probably just changes its type, but I believe this represents all the pain Silvally had to endure while being trapped in that mask, not knowing what it did wrong or why people shunned it for simply existing." You placed a gentle hand under your companion's jaw. "But now I think it's ready to turn that painful memory into power. So let's see what happens.."

"Silllllv!"

Carefully inserting the disc into the open slot, you watched as it closed up. Then you stepped back, seeing the colors and spikes on its body turn smoky black.

Even its eyes changed, and when they opened they looked even more menacing than ever.

And they stared directly at you.

With a low growl, it crept closer to you, while your friends held back..tense and worried that the pokedex entries were correct: this wasn't something you could so easily control.

There was probably a very good reason for the mask-

Yet any hostility Silvally seemingly expressed disappeared, as it smiled and licked your cheek affectionately, causing you to laugh once more. "Hey, that tickles! C'mere you!"

Hugging its neck, you grinned as you received even more kisses, hearing it purr with happiness. You petted its feathery crest, relieved that it completely trusted you now.

"Wow..it's way cooler than Arceus!" Nemona laughed. "Do you think I can battle it-??"

Silvally just shot her a wary look, and she immediately fell silent, a nervous smile on her face. "Haha, you're right. Not yet. But I swear we're gonna have an epic battle one day!"

"Yeah, one day. But for now, I have something special for this big guy."

"Sill?"

You managed to regain its full attention with a simple yet supereffective move of your very own:

It's called "chin scritches", something that none of your other Pokémon could resist receiving.

The mask obviously made it difficult for Silvally to receive proper affection back then...and you vowed to find a way to break it so you can do just that.

Now it was free of that awful and heavy thing, having a brand new life to look forward to: battles, friendships with other Pokémon, and more.

Even better?

Your three closest friends in all of Paldea were here to witness its evolution--a sign that despite all the odds...your bond was unbreakable.

[eveninggstar]

he's a car mechanic ⊹ ࣪ ˖

max verstappen x female!reader

08.08.24

୨ৎ back one page ୨ৎ back two pages

୨ৎ With your lack of knowledge for the word of Formula One, you don't realise your "cat stealing" "car fixing" neighbour is arguably one of the best drivers on the grid at the moment.

(please dont crucify me if you see this and you think max is shit im not ready to be hung drawn and quartered)

The high-rise apartment you had moved into a few months ago was everything you had dreamed of. Spacious, modern, and with a balcony that offered a panoramic view of the city, it was perfect for you and your Siamese cat, Asparagus. Asparagus was a curious and playful companion, always finding new ways to amuse himself.

You quickly settled into your new routine, working from home during the day and spending your evenings relaxing on the balcony with Asparagus. Over time, you noticed that Asparagus had developed a fascination with your neighbour's balcony. The two balconies were close enough that Asparagus could easily hop over the railing and explore the neighbour's space. He particularly seemed to enjoy playing with two Bengal cats, Jimmy and Sassy, who lived next door.

Your neighbour was often away, traveling for his job, so you hadn't had a chance to meet him yet. You only knew his name from the mail slot next to yours. You knew nothing about him other than his name is Max and he's gone a lot.

One sunny afternoon, Asparagus had once again made his way onto Max's balcony. This time, however, Max was home. He was standing on the balcony, looking down at Asparagus with a bemused expression.

"Hey there, little guy," Max said, bending down to let Asparagus sniff his hand. Asparagus, being the friendly cat he was, immediately rubbed against Max's leg, purring loudly.

Max chuckled and opened the sliding door, allowing Asparagus to wander inside his apartment. Over the next few hours, Max found himself charmed by Asparagus's playful antics. He fed the cat, played with him, and even set up a little spot for Asparagus to nap. When evening came, you began to worry. Asparagus hadn't come back yet, and you had no idea where he was.

You spent the next morning designing missing posters, ready to plaster them around the building. But as you were preparing to print them out, you glanced out onto your balcony and saw Asparagus lounging on Max's gym equipment.

"Really, Asparagus?" you muttered to yourself, quickly making your way to Max's apartment. You knocked on his door, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance.

Max opened the door, looking surprised. "Hi, can I help you?" he asked, his eyes widening slightly when he saw the worried look on your face.

"Yes, my cat Asparagus is on your balcony," you said, pointing towards your apartment. "I was really worried about him."

Max's expression shifted to one of defensiveness. "Oh, this cat?" he said, gesturing to Asparagus, who had followed you to Max's door. "I thought he was a stray that wandered in. He's been here for a day or so."

You sighed, feeling both relieved and frustrated. "No, he's my cat. I live right next door. He must have hopped over the railing."

Max looked genuinely surprised. "Sorry, I don't believe you. Do you mind?" He then closed the front door on you. The nerve!

Deciding to escalate the matter, you went to the building manager, who was a friend of your uncle. The manager knew you and Asparagus well, and he assured Max that the cat indeed belonged to you.

Max returned Asparagus with an apologetic look on his face. "I'm really sorry about that. I had no idea. I just got back from a long trip and found him here."

You shrugged off his apology. "Asparagus is a girl." You the returned the favour of shutting the door in his face.

A few weeks passed, and you continued to adjust to your new life. You still hadn't had much interaction with Max, apart from a few polite nods in the hallway. Life was busy, and you were preoccupied with work and taking care of Asparagus.

One morning, as you were trying to head out for some errands, your car refused to start. Frustrated, you tried everything you could think of, but the engine wouldn't turn over.

Max happened to be in the garage, and he noticed you struggling. He walked over with a concerned look on his face. "Having some trouble?" he asked.

You shot him a glance, your frustration evident. "if you're hear to take the piss I will gladly hijack someone's car and run you over with it."

Max halted his words as he came up next to you. He was just staring at you, taking in the features of his pretty neighbour with the adorable cat. He didn't hear your questions as you began to get more and more irritated, or even the clicking and clapping in his face. Eventually Max broke out of his beauty filled trance and stumbled for an answer. "I can take a look at it for you, if you want."

You were sceptical. "What?"

Max nodded, trying to appear confident. "Yeah, I’m a car mechanic. I can fix it up for you, free of charge."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Really?"

Max felt a pang of anxiety, knowing he had just lied. But he wanted to make things right. "Consider it an apology for the whole cat thing." He paused looking down at his hands that had began to become both equally interesting and sweaty. "I am still sorry about that, i just really like cats! I mean Siamese cats-"

"Okay! You can fix my car." You interrupted him, dropping the useless keys into his clammy palm. Only then Max realised what he had done.

Later that day, Max called a friend who was an actual mechanic and arranged for him to come pick up the car, and then fix it, whilst he took credit for it.

The car incident became a turning point in your relationship with Max. Over the next few weeks, the two of you spent more time together. Max often found excuses to visit, sometimes bringing treats for Asparagus, other times simply to chat. You started to see a different side of him—one that was caring, considerate.

One evening, Max invited you over to his apartment for dinner. This wasn't unusual as the two of you hand never been out together-as a thing. Something you both agreed about was that staying in with the cats is much better. The atmosphere was relaxed, with soft music playing in the background and the smell of delicious food filling the air. Max had prepared a three-course meal, and as you ate, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn't expected.

"Growing up, I always felt like I was living in someone else's shadow," you confided, tracing the rim of your wine glass with your finger. "My older sister was the golden child, and I was just... there."

Max listened intently, his blue eyes focused on you. "I get that. Luckily for me I was the older child. My dad would teach me to kart." He paused to think of his next words. "Sometimes the conditions were a little unorthodox, but I did enjoy it. The reason I'm so into cars." He thought back to his words, hoping it dint slip of his true profession.

You looked at him, surprised. "I'm sorry," You reached over to rub his arm on the table whilst offering a sympathetic smile.

He smiled wryly. "It's all an act, really. Inside, I'm just a guy who loves speed and cats."

You both laughed, and the conversation flowed naturally, moving from childhood memories to dreams and aspirations. By the end of the night, you felt a deeper connection with Max, one built on mutual understanding and shared secrets.

As your relationship with Max grew closer, the romantic tension between you became palpable. There were lingering glances, accidental touches, and moments when it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

One night, after a particularly gruelling day at work, you found yourself at Max's door. He opened it, concern immediately crossing his face. "Hey, you okay?"

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. "I just... I need someone to talk to."

Max pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly as you let the tears flow. "I'm here," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

You spent the evening on his couch, talking about everything that had been weighing on you. Max listened, offering comfort and reassurance. At some point, you fell asleep, your head resting on his shoulder. When you woke up, a blanket was draped over you, and Max was still by your side, watching whatever movie that was playing on mute with subtitles.

Your sanctuary of calmness didn't last long. A flood of messages came through from your friend. Multiple screenshots of instagram posts, or twitter posts, with the occasional article highlighting your cat and car loving neighbour and yourself at the slight hint of a relationship. You scrolled through as much as you could, and found a few underlying facts.

Your face was pasted pretty much everywhere you looked online

Your cute, cat loving, car mechanic was actually an f1 driver.

And that you were lied to heavily.

You went silent on Max for a few days, avoiding his calls and texts- sometimes even the knocks to your door. When you finally looked at his messages, the most recent one stating that he had finished your car and was brining your keys back to you. His rhythmic knock sounded at the door. You cursed god that there wasn't a mail slot on your door for your keys to be dropped in as you strolled to the door.

"Hey, I haven't heard from you in a few days. Is everything okay?" he asked, smiling nervously.

You opened the door, feeling a surge of anger. "You lied to me, Max. First, you steal my cat, then you lie about being a mechanic. You're a freaking celebrity, and you never said anything!"

Max was taken aback, his smile fading. "I... I didn't mean to lie. I just didn't want to complicate things." He paused looking at you taking in the details he missed over the past few days. "Also I didn't technically steal your cat, Asparagus-"

"Did you even fix my car, Max?" You put your hands on your hips, looking at him with furrowed brows.

Max stood there awkwardly, muttering a quiet "No" before breaking into a rush of apologies. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to lie to you. I just wanted to help. It felt nice with you, being known as Max and not Max Verstappen the driver!"

You looked at him, feeling a mix of hurt and betrayal. Without another word, you grabbed your car keys and shut the door, not realizing that Asparagus had slipped out and followed Max.

Max sighed, picking up Asparagus and knocking on your door again. "Please, just hear me out."

"Go away!" you yelled through the door.

"But-"

"Max, leave me alone!"

Max stood there for a moment, feeling desperate. He needed a way to apologize and give Asparagus back. Suddenly, an idea came to him. He went back to his apartment, grabbing a notepad and pen.

The next day, you found a letter and a small box outside your door. The letter read:

Dear Y/N,

I’m incredibly sorry for everything. I never meant to deceive you. Please accept this as an apology.

Inside the box, you'll find the necklace I was going to give you when I eventually gained the courage to ask you out and tell you the truth.

I know I cant buy your way into forgetting, but I just want you to take it.

I hope we can start over.

- Max

p.s I do have asparagus, after you shut the door she came out and won't go back to your balcony

Inside the box was a beautiful necklace with a pearl in the centre, with a small note that read:

"I might not be a mechanic, but I want to be honest with you from now on. I hope you can forgive me."

Feeling a mix of emotions, you decided to go over to the apartment opposite yours. You knocked on his door, and it was opened straight away. You saw the tentative look he had.

"Can we talk?" you asked, bending down to hold Asparagus.

Max nodded, stepping aside to let you in. "I'd like that."

As you sat down together, you felt a sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something real.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

Tag list: (comment if you want to be added)

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[tadc-harlequin-au]

If the other characters were to assist pomni in battle, what would each character do to assist? Would they take a more direct approach such as getting into the fray or would they provide some sort of support?

Some do step in the line of fire, if Pomni calls for them!

But some prefer to stay back as well. Everyone has their sets of special attacks that Pomni can tell them to do, so that boss healths get depleted more than usual. I have no idea if I want Pomni to have only one companion at a time, but I also think that two, or even having all of them as an option on the very same mission would be hella unfair.

Ragatha Azureus might be the "shopkeep" of the AU, but she can accompany Pomni in missions too. She's a short-range weak melee attacker, and will stay on the battlefield for as long as she can (but will retreat if damaged enough.) She acts like a temporary summoned companion would.

Jax Jackson Jackrabbit is long-range strong melee; but he doesn't stay like Ragatha does. Instead, he only does specials for Pomni when he's chosen as a companion in missions, and then after that? He fucks off to the side to watch. (yeah, he's that unreliable to have your back lmao, but his specials are still strong)

Lady Gangle is a short-ranged sneak support who stays on the battlefield, and while she also comes with her specials, the kind of attack she likes to use the most is to find a strong enough enemy, wrap herself around them, and literally puppeteer their bodies to help Pomni. She can't do this for long however, she gets uncomfortable and weak afterwards, prompting her to (apologetically) retreat.

Z is the weaponsmith for Pomni, but just like Ragatha they can accompany Pomni in missions. Although they prefer to stay back, because Pomni keeps saying that this is "her fight", to which Z agrees and respects. Instead of physically assisting the Harlequin (and make the fight end as soon as it begins due to their massive size), Z will instead provide Pomni with a variety of upgrades, slots, or buffs when Pomni needs them.

Kingr also actively steps in the battlefield as well; although he doesn't directly attack using his fists (due to his promise of peace) aside from one specific special, he only chucks various items such as big boulders on enemies to stun them, making him a long-range tank. One of his specials involve being a human shield for Pomni, and although Pomni doesn't like the idea, he insists that it works nonetheless.

Bubble doesn't do fucking shit except broadcast the fight to Caine.

Though he does provide annoying commentary sometimes, and the very, very occasional bites that are .1% chance and don't even deter the boss in the slightest.

[ghost-proofbaby]

the seasons pass (but you never do) - e.m.

summary: he knew your reputation. he knew you had you way with half of hawkins. it was never going to end well - but that didn't stop him.

warnings: reader is NOT a good person (need to emphasize this), billy hargrove is involved and sort of ooc, smut, oral (fem receiving), a lot of hurt, not a 'happy' ending, reader has severe issues with self-esteem (not in the usual obvious way), very self-sabotaging reader. mentions of reader having adult relationships with multiple male characters. NOT A 'HAPPY' ENDING. minors dni - 18+

pairings: eddie munson x fem!fuckgirl!reader (with mentions of steve x reader, johnathan x reader, and billy x reader.)

wc: 8.4k+

a/n: i cannot emphasize enough - the reader in this fic is very toxic. she is not a good person. this does not end well. also, be wary, as billy is used as the easiest companion who can align with her being a bad person, so she is friends with him. this probably won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it's been a year in the works! thank you to anyone who reads. <3 also, HUGE thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for making that banner for me. i am undeserving of your talents baby.

oh, also, here's a fun playlist to go along with it.

SUMMER, 1988

It was always going to end this way. It’s how it’s supposed to go - you met him, you wanted him, you got him, you left him. There was never any illusions on your part as to what this was. He knew your reputation. He knew the ending. You knew the ending. 

It was always going to end this way. 

There was no amount of flowers he could have got you, no amount of midnight rendezvous to change this course. It never mattered how his laughter wound your chest tight or how his fingers fit a little too perfectly between yours. You didn’t do long-term relationships, and he always asked for too much from you. You could give him a summer, no more and no less. He knew that, you knew that, all your previous flings knew that. There was only one ending ever in sight for the two of you.

So why does it hurt so much when you catch sight of him around town with her? 

Chrissy Cunningham is beautiful. She’s all shades of sunrise pinks, flavors of sweetness that spur stomach aches - the epitome of enchantment and a type of softness you couldn’t compare to. And when you see her arm in arm with him, you can see that beauty of hers painted across him. Her pinks paint roses on his cheeks, her laughter etches dimples into his cheeks you’d only ever seen in the late hours of the night. She makes him happy. She makes him look lovesick. She doesn’t hide him in the darkness, she flaunts him in the light, and he looks devastatingly beautiful without the shadows. 

You should be happy for him. It shouldn’t phase you; you didn’t bat an eyelash when Steve Harrington had taken to dating every other girl in the town after your spring with him. You never winced when Johnathan Byers started dating Nancy Wheeler after a flirtatious fall with you. Billy Hargrove had been on the same page as you, ready to brave a chilling winter with you and accept when the ice melted along with the infatuation, returning your winks when you spotted each other with your newest one night stands in shared bars. 

But Eddie’s summer stuck to your skin. No amount of showers run cold, no amount of new partners who you won’t allow to spend the night, wash you clean of him. The change in the leaves only amplified the ache left in your chest when August turns to September. The flowers weren’t the only things wilting when September flashes into October. 

You miss him terribly, and it’s all your fault.

You let him stick around far longer than you should have. You let his wandering lips slot between yours and you let him sleep at your side from the very first night. When it was all said and done, you were the one that broke every single imaginary rule you had set for yourself, and the blame was yours to carry. Eddie Munson was never going to be a three month memory to wipe away with the steam of your mirror. He’d done it, he’d left his mark. He’d managed to make the streets of Hawkins feel cold and empty in his absence, to make everything dull in comparison to your life before him. 

You empty the last of your glass of wine, all bitter and tinged on your tongue, and chuckle internally as you watch Eddie’s hand’s find Chrissy’s hips from across the bar. Go figure. 

SPRING, 1987

The Hideout was busy as ever, booming with business on a Saturday night as you reentered the scene. Your ‘date’ for the night was still outside the bar, surely not even entertaining the thought of coming back inside. 

He hadn’t taken to you breaking the news that it was over kindly. 

“You never let them down easy, do you?” Billy chuckles as he leans against one of the standing tables near the bar. He had seen the look in your eyes when you dragged the nameless boy out the front door; he’d seen it plenty of times before. Starry eyed boy, ever-fleeting girl. They were fools, and they should have noticed your wandering eyes and lack of commitment from the get-go. 

“Never,” you smirk back as you approach him. The live band had just finished, the music over the speakers nothing compared to the deafening screams of the guitars that had played, “It’s not my fault the boys in this town never learn their lesson.” 

Billy only shrugs and throws back the last of his whiskey, “What did it this time? Did he drop the big L? Maybe he brought you flowers like Harrington did that one time?” 

“Oh, God,” you place a hand over your heart dramatically, “Please don’t remind me. Breaking his heart nearly broke my nonexistent one.” 

“Yeah, right,” Billy cackles, “Still can’t believe you ever gave the sap a chance. Or what about Byers, hm?” 

“Couldn’t break a heart I never had. He always had eyes for Wheeler, that’s what made it fun,” you shrug and grab at a fruity drink that had been abandoned at the table, “To answer your question, he got clingy. All jealous because I was making eyes at the lead singer,” you tip your chin towards the stage that’s now empty and take a sip of the cocktail, “Say, what happened to your date? She looked pretty.” 

“You were making eyes at Munson? Doll, I knew you were getting desperate after me, but him?” Billy cuts himself off with a low whistle. 

“Shut up,” you take another long sip of the drink. It’s sweeter than your preference, but free alcohol is free alcohol, “Tell me what happened to the blonde you were chatting up.” 

“I’m more into redheads.”

“Aw, but it looked like you two were really hitting it off.” 

“I had to have three shots before I could stomach her laughing at my jokes.” 

You reach over to pinch his cheeks, receiving sharp slaps against your wrists.

“Hot,” you coo before leaning back and ending his attack against your hands, “You know, if we both strike out tonight, we could always go home together.” 

“You struck out, the night is still young for me,” Billy grins wickedly and looks around the busy bar for emphasis. 

There’s a small commotion at one of the doors to the side of the stage, and you glance over to catch sight of the band that had been playing exiting. 

The lead singer, Munson as Billy had referred to him, was just as stunning when taken down from his stage pedestal. His hair had been pulled back into a low bun, his torso once exposed on stage now covered in a faded Judas Priest tour shirt, but his Cheshire smile on his face was just as brilliant without the stage lights. Dimples hidden by the dark bar lighting, plush lips and scruff framing his face. 

Billy catches you staring at him.

“Maybe you didn’t strike out,” he hums, “You gonna go for it, hot stuff?” 

You smile in return. Something dangerous, something evil yet inviting, “I might. I do need a new play thing for the summer, after all.” 

“Careful. I’m sure there’s a line of groupies willing to fight you for the Eddie Munson.” 

Billy had been mocking you with a shrill voice, but he had been wrong. 

There was no line of girls for you to compete with as you approached Eddie. And if there was, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. From the moment you had smiled at him, uttering your name into Eddie’s ears over the bass of the music, placing a careful hand on his shoulder and telling him how much you just adored his music, he had been hooked. You had him in your grasp from the start. 

And maybe Billy knew that as he flashed you a sly grin over a redhead’s shoulder as you dragged Eddie behind you later that night, heading for the restrooms that patrons notably didn’t use. 

It was your lipstick smeared over Eddie’s neck that night, it was your name falling from his lips as you pressed him against a stall wall, it was your hair that he tangled his hands in as you sat pretty on your knees before him, it was your nails digging into his jean-clad thighs as he fucked your mouth. No, other girls never would have stood a chance. 

By the end of that night, you hadn’t even cum, but you thought nothing of it, still smug that you’d found yourself a new supposed victim. You’d never considered which one of you truly held the match, which one of you might bleed gasoline rather than crimson blood. 

All that you considered was the fact that you’d wanted Eddie, and you’d got him, just as it always went. 

That was only the first night. 

SUMMER, 1987

You fall for him in the summer. You convince yourself you’re in control still, but it’s fruitless - you’d lost control the moment you’d tasted him on that dizzy spring night rather than waiting for the arrival of summer’s heat. 

“Come over.” 

Two simple words, yet the moment you’d spoken them over the line, Eddie had wasted no time to speed his way across town for your apartment. He was officially at your beck and call. You said the word, and he was at your dispense. 

It was the fastest he’d ever arrived at your doorstep, rapping his knuckles against familiar rosewood and listening to the familiar weight of your footsteps approaching the door. 

“Hey, you,” you sigh softly once you catch sight of him in your porchlight. The creatures of summer buzz as background noise as you drink him in. Same wild curls, same deviant smirk. There looks to be new rips in his black jeans, and his shirt is wrinkled, but none of that shatters the dreamy image of him to you. 

You still want him just as badly as you had the first night. 

“Sorry I took so long,” he teases, leaning into the doorframe you rest your hip against, “Traffic, you know.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just terrible this time of year,” you play along. You both know he’d made the fifteen minute drive in under ten minutes. But there’s something in the warm air, something electric and fluttering and addictive and palpable. You’re sure if you were to rest your hand flirtatiously against his chest as you normally did with your rotation of partners, that he’d burn you. 

Something new. You tell yourself it’s just the excitement of a fresh Summer plaything, and you ignore the voice that whispers with the reminder that this started in the Spring. 

“You gonna let me in?” he nods in the direction of your apartment behind you, bathed in a soft yellow from the dusk and the lamp on the table beside your couch. 

You bring a hand to your chin and tap a finger mockingly, “Hm, I don’t know. Should I?”

“You should,” he leans even closer.

“I might need convincing.” 

His breath washes over your cheek, so gentle you could have mistaken it for the summer breeze. You can smell the spice of his cologne, the stubborn smoke from his last cigarette. It makes your head spin.

“Convincing, you say?” he murmurs as his lips graze your earlobe, “I’ve been known to be convincing.” 

This was something you enjoyed about him. He wasn’t like other boys - he didn’t fall to your feet and praise the ground you stood on, not directly. He didn’t follow you like a lost puppy. He took the time to dance with you, to entertain you with banter and to enrapture you with the chase. Maybe that’s why Spring and Summer felt the same when it came to him. 

“I call bullshit,” you laugh breathlessly as his lips connect with your neck, making a trail of pecks until he reaches the bare skin of your shoulder. “You still haven’t convinced me to listen to Metallica.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” he whispers against your skin as his fingers sneak beneath the strap of your tank top, “Just be patient.”

The pet name strikes a kink in your armor, and in an instant, your hands are on his shoulders and dragging him into the living room, barely remembering to slam the door shut behind him. 

You never let them call you nicknames normally. Billy had been the only exception. 

But when he calls you baby, something blooms in your chest. And it’s vines and thorns alike twist and prick your gut, deflating your better judgment as the two of you are a mess of clumsy limbs that can’t seem to navigate your hallway fast enough. You can’t seem to get him to your bed fast enough. 

“Off,” he demands against your lips when you finally have him sitting on your comforter, thighs straddling his as his hands tug at the tank top’s hem. 

“What happened to patience?” you tease, but you’re already complying, shucking off the fabric and exposing yourself to him. You’d foregone a bra - it was too hot in Hawkins this time of year. 

He doesn’t offer you an answer, hardly taking the time to suck in a deep breath before his mouth wraps around one of your peaked nipples and his large hand spans across your back to press you as close to him as he can get you. You’re already moaning too loudly, sure to receive noise complaints from the neighbors tomorrow. But you’re not thinking about the neighbors or tomorrow, you can only focus on his tongue and lips, working soft magic over your body as he twists the two of you so that he’s hovering over you. 

“Fuck,” you blissfully breathe out, fingertips raking through the roots of his curls. His mouth has moved on to your other breast, leaving blooming petals of bruises in its wake. 

Another thing you’d never allow to happen with any of the other boys. 

No marks. A simple rule. A forgotten rule when it came to Eddie. 

“You like that?” he chuckles as he places a final chaste kiss to your chest, lifting his head and staring up at you with his bambi eyes. He had the kind of eyes you could get lost in, wander and wade through for hours if given the chance. Shadows of brown and honey intertwining, beckoning to you with a promise of the adoration you seeked out. 

You do like that. As a matter of fact, you love it. 

“I like it better when your mouth is busy, rockstar,” you say as if you wouldn’t listen to him talk for hours, as if you hadn’t listened to him speak about nonsense as the time passed the two of you by. 

He takes his cue, and he does as you ask. He traces roadmaps down your stomach, across your thighs and hips, not uttering a single word until he’s pulled away your cotton shorts and lace underwear. 

When he’s face to face with your heat, he finally speaks again. 

“Beautiful.”

It’s just a word. If any of your previous flings had spoken it, you’d smack them away and declare the moment over. In fact, you’d done just that with your autumn boy from last year. You weren’t here to be called beautiful, to be held carefully or to be praised as you let them take you however they pleased. You were here to get one thing and one thing only - your own pleasure. 

Your back still arches when he says the word, your vines still crack your ribs just as they had reacted to the utterance of baby. 

The thorns prickle beneath your skin when he makes you cum with his tongue once, twice, thrice too many times. When he pulls your body to his, when you allow him to forego the protection of a condom and you let him sigh contentedly into your mouth when he slides in, it all pierces you the same. 

And when your voice has grown hoarse from chanting his name and your lips have gone chapped from kissing him desperately, you break your final damning rule.

“Stay with me?” 

The plea comes out soft and heavy as your head rests against his chest. Even with your window open, the night breeze drifting in, the heat is stifling. It’s too warm to stay pressed so closely together, but it doesn’t stop you from clinging your body to his. 

He doesn’t hesitate in his reply, “Of course.” 

The two of you sink further into your sheets and each other. It wasn’t the first time Eddie Munson spent the night in your bed, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. 

AUTUMN, 1987

“You like him more than you liked the others.”

It’s not a question - it’s a fact secured in concrete that falls from Billy’s lips as the two of you lean against the brick exterior of the Hideout. A cigarette is half-gone and held limply between his lips, yours freshly lit and clung to tightly between white knuckles.

“I don’t like him,” you scoff, “He’s a good fuck.” 

You weren’t here on your normal business, scoping for another warm body to join you in your bed for the night. Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, was performing one of their weekly shows. 

“Right. A good enough fuck to live to see the fall,” Billy presses, raising his eyebrows at you as he takes another drag and let’s the whisps of white smoke carry off into the cool night. 

You’d just been striking out. That’s what you had told yourself. It was bound to happen eventually; you’d hit a dry streak, and you’d have to eventually find a repeat offender. Eddie was just that for you. Someone easy to fall back on. It didn’t hurt that you also enjoyed his company, especially when he’d swing you around in your kitchen while the two of you made dinner in your apartment or when he’d let you cuddle into his neck during the scary movie marathons you’d began to take part in with Halloween now looming around the corner. 

“I haven’t seen you getting lucky,” you snap, a sudden defensiveness taking over. A lie, of course. You hadn’t frequented the bar enough lately to even know the last time your former fling had gotten laid. 

Billy throws up his hands as he discards the butt of his cigarette, “Hey now, don’t get so feisty, doll. It’s okay to admit you’re going soft.” 

Soft. Soft like Eddie’s hands when he pulled your hips against his night after night. Soft like Eddie’s eyes when he watched you in the shower during the mornings after, quick to swipe away any shampoo that drips down your forehead and dangerously close to your own eyes as you wash your hair. Soft like your voice every time you asked him to stay, over and over, never learning your lesson. 

“I’m not going soft,” is all you say as you put out the cigarette, not even half-finished, and move to go back inside. 

You’re not having this conversation. There’s nothing more to dissect. You weren’t going soft and you couldn’t like Eddie, it wasn’t in your nature. 

It’s a mantra you repeat to yourself as you take in the sight of him still setting up the stage. You catch his eye and he grins at you, and you remind yourself you’re not soft. No, whatever this feeling is, it’s not soft. It is angry and loud, it is demanding and sharp. It is copper on your tongue and it is raging storm clouds in your mind. It is the opposite of everything he has been to you; it is every contrast possible to the way he treats you. 

He treats you like a human being. You’re not a prize, you’re not an idol – you’re just a person, and sometimes, he treats you as if that’s the greatest thing you could possibly be. 

When the show is over and rounds have been bought for the band, he comes home with you. He staggers on his feet and you know he’s had too much whiskey for his own good. Normally, any guy this drunk would be told to piss off.

He’s not any guy. He’s Eddie. 

And so you take his drunken state in strides. You let his body lean into you as you guide him up the steps to your front door, you only smile when he gets handsy, you offer weak laughter at his terrible jokes. 

“You only want me for my body,” he teases you between kisses when you hook your fingers into his jean’s belt loops to keep him close and upright, “Don’t you?” 

This is the part where you tell him yes. You’re supposed to tell him he’s nothing more than a cure for the looming loneliness. 

You shake your head. 

“I’m not, but I can’t ride your personality, can I?” your fingers retract from the loops, and trace their way up his chest, memorizing the muscles beneath the t-shirt. It’s too faded to see the band logo once advertised. 

“You could try,” he sways, and your wandering fingers curl into fists into the cotton material, “P-Probably be pretty hard, though. Just like me.” 

He takes one of your hands and places it over the bulge in his jeans. 

If he were any other guy, you’d play into it, because if he were any other guy, you’d be expecting to get something out of this night for your own selfish needs. 

“Not so fast, rockstar,” you bring your hand back up to his chest as he hiccups, brows furrowed at your subtle rejection, “Let’s get you inside, yeah?” 

It’s an uphill battle of gangly limbs and stumbling steps. He falls against your hallway walls more times than you can count as you guide him to your bedroom and allow him to splay out on the mattress. The laces of his combat boots are impossibly knotted, but you win the war in the end and tug them off of him. He wiggles his toes within his socks, and watches you with half-lidded eyes.

“This is the part where you try to ride my personality, right?” he tempts you, the wiggling in his toes flowing up to his eyebrows, eyes alight with mischief. 

Your hand is gentle as you grab his ankle, exposed from jeans that had ridden up into scrunched material around the bottom of his calf. “Right. Let me get you some water first.” 

You leave him to rush to the kitchen, gathering the glass of water you’d promised along with a bottle of painkillers from your medicine cabinet. For a moment, you take in the silence and lean your palms onto the cold kitchen counter. 

Five months. Two months too long, technically, if you were comparing it all to your track record. He’d seen the eggshell white walls of your apartment more than your own mother, more than your closest friends. At this point, even on your most lonesome nights, you found yourself leaving an Eddie-sized space on the sheets beside you. One of your pillows now permanently smelt like him. There was a mug in your cabinet reserved for him and his ridiculously sweet coffee preference. You’d bought his favorite brand of cigarettes just last week, far stronger than your preferred menthols, and you’d found one of his socks discarded in your dirty laundry. 

No, this wasn’t soft. It couldn’t be.

When you finally return to your room, he’s already asleep. You still leave the water and the pills on the bedside table for the next morning, when he’d need them. You try not to think too hard about the way that even in his drunken slumber, he’s left a perfectly you-sized space beside him, arm thrown out perfectly so that you can curl into him once you’ve brushed your teeth and dressed down into pajamas. 

The last thing you remember before you fall asleep against him is the way your soft hand grazes over his stomach in soothing circles, and the way your brain softly whispers in the hope of his hangover not being too cruel to him come morning light. 

WINTER, 1987

“Eddie! Stop it!” you squeal when he nearly takes you down with him as his back connects with the polished ice beneath the two of you. 

Ice skating wasn’t the best idea for two people who were notoriously uncoordinated. But he’d asked you to come with him, and you’d put up little resistance. 

“Ow, fuck,” he groans, still laying flat on his back with his eyes squeeze shut, legs spread wide as you wobble on your skates, “That fucking hurts.” 

“I bet it does,” you nearly giggle, childish with your rosey cheeks and pink-tipped nose. Your smile is infectious once he opens his eyes and catches sight of you fighting back your laughter.

It was the first time the two of you had ever gone out before dark with each other. Although, you were sure by the time you two had finished your goofing off inside the indoor ice rink, it’d be night. 

“Oh yeah,” he drawls, struggling to lift himself onto his elbows, “Laugh it up, chuckles. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your first fifty falls.”

“Fifty?” you squeak, forcing faux offense, “I only fell twice, thank you very much.”

It takes a bit for him to finally find his footing once more, plenty of hesitant and awkward movements to simply stand up right before you. Once you’re nearly face to face again, he’s pouting. “Kiss it better?” 

Your feet shuffle beneath you, struggling to keep your balance. Your hands fly out and grab onto one of his forearms for balance, “Where’s it hurt?” 

“Right here,” his free hand lifts to point to his lips, accentuating his pout further. 

“Funny,” you muse, “I don’t recall you falling on your face - this time.” 

He huffs as you begin to lose your balance again, one of your hands slipping down his wrist until your fingers are intertwined to the best of your abilities given the angle. His hand is freezing from the ice. Even despite his teasing, he’s quick to work with you, keeping the two of you standing straight with ever-shuffling feet. 

“Residual pains or whatever they call them,” he waves off, tapping his lips again to make a point. You roll your eyes, but you’re still quick to lean forward and peck him. 

“That’s all?” he whines, already moving in for another kiss. 

Any onlooker would assume it’s a date. But it couldn’t be - you didn’t do dates. It was two friends, two acquaintances really, hanging out for the sake of fun. Just as you fell back on Eddie when your nights grew forlorn, he had seeked you out for comfort on his isolating days. It was just another perk of your arrangement. 

An arrangement that had dragged on for eight long months. 

“You’re greedy,” you mumble against his lips as he tries to deepen the kiss and you deny him. 

“Of course I’m greedy,” he replies, nipping at your bottom lip playfully, “Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?” 

You couldn’t, you really couldn’t. You’d had your fair share of possessive types in the past, the kind that felt the need to always claim you as your own. And you would have found it hot, too, if it didn’t feel like they reduced you down to nothing more than some trophy to parade around town. 

Eddie didn’t do that. He was still greedy, he had still gotten daring with marking you as his own as of late, but he never reduced you. He never forced you to shrivel in size, never tried to compact you into the box he needed you in. He took you as you were. 

You were enough for him. For the first time in a very long time, you were enough.

If you thought about it too long, you would have become dizzy out there on the ice with Eddie. So you don’t think about it. You indulge yourself in banter and echoing laughter, in the scolding looks from nearby parents when one of you makes a crude joke loud enough for their children to hear. You claim your indulging him with the incessant kisses, but you know deep down they’re also for you. To feel his lips on yours. To feel his hands on your hips. To feel his fingers between yours. 

To feel like enough. 

You’re both still giddy when you approach the counter after several hours have passed, dropping your rented skates on the counter as you glance to the arcade filled with patrons. Glowing lights and trilling noises emit from the area, tangling with giggling that you can’t quite place as coming from there or the ice. It’s loud enough that Eddie has to lean in closer to the teenager working the cash register. 

He insisted on paying. You’d tried to fight him on it, but he insisted it was his treat. 

It’s during this momentary separation, in which your worlds’ briefly stop revolving around each other, that you spot him. He must have been here for as long as you and Eddie had been, and you must have just been too wrapped up in enough to have noticed him sooner. 

Just as you see him, he sees you. Just as you prepare to turn on heel, to return to hiding into Eddie’s enough, he’s calling your name. 

It’s loud. It mingles with the sounds already coming from the atmosphere. Eddie doesn’t hear him, but you do. 

“Steve,” you try to greet him with a friendly tone through your clenched teeth, taking a few steps further away from Eddie, away from enough and blissful delusion, “I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

“Yeah,” he looks as if he’s seen a ghost as he approaches you, “Yeah, not since, uh- well, you know.” 

Not since the night you’d officially cut all ties with him, somewhere between Jonathan and Billy. You’d broken his heart. You’d nearly broken your own. 

Your lips are pressed into a tight lip smile as you try to redirect the conversation, “How’ve you been?” 

“Good! I’ve- uh, yeah, good. You?” 

I’ve been on a downward spiral of breaking every single rule that I have spent my entire life curating for my dating life, and I know you’re aware of this by the way you just looked at Eddie over my shoulder, and the way your brow is furrowing, and I get it. I get it. I fucked up. 

“I’ve been alright,” you force your jaw to relax, you force a kind and shy smile. It’s almost akin to the ones you’d originally flash him to get him in your grasp, “How’s Nancy?” 

Nancy Wheeler. After you left Steve the first time, letting whatever situationship that had begun just fizzle out, he’d ran into her arms. From the get go with Jonathan, you’d always known you were a placeholder for her. Even Billy had made a damn pass at her once you guys gave up at spring’s dawn; he’d claimed it might as well be a tradition now, only laughing as Nancy shot him down as expected. 

Nancy Wheeler was everything you weren’t. She could promise these men security, stability, commitment, a future. She didn’t hide them. They weren’t dirty secrets forced to only wander into her arms late at night, they weren’t kicked out at the end of each night once she’d had their way with them. 

Nancy probably never had her way with men, you realized, more likely letting them have their way with her.  

“We broke up,” Again. He forgets to add the again. 

They’d gotten together after that first time, been together while you had fun with Jonathan, broken up the moment you were finished with Jonathan and he could go to where he belonged – with Nancy. 

Of course, when Jonathan chose a different university to go to, somewhere far away from Nancy, those two had broken up. Steve had swooped in again. It was a never ending headache of small town gossip you had grown tired of hearing about. 

“I’m sorry,” you aren’t really, “That’s… forget I’m asked,” you’d feel worse if you hadn’t seen the girl waiting to the side for Steve. His date, no doubt. 

“No worries, it’s been a while since it happened anyways,” he shrugs it off, but you can still see the hurt in his eyes. 

He’d once called you drunkenly, going off on how he was going on all these dates trying to find you or Nancy again, how none of them were you or Nancy. Which, at the time, just irritated you because Steve, why do you still have my number? But now? Now, you almost get it. You almost understand the pain of searching for a familiar face in the eyes of strangers because any time you had gone to your usual haunts these last seven months, you found yourself searching crowds for wild, messy curls and warm brown eyes. For shades of honey and the scent of tobacco drowned out by cheap cologne.

You hadn’t been striking out anymore, the realization hits clear as day. It’s not even that you were being as picky as you normally were – none of the guys were Eddie. None of them had freckles below their right eyes that made your breath catch, none of them had the same calluses along their fingers from years of guitar practice. None of them had the same boyish grin that shone through the dark of your room at two in the morning, leaving you with no choice but to let him stay. They weren’t Eddie.

“You like him more than you liked the others,” Billy’s voice reverberates from the back of your mind. 

The truth seeps into your bones like ash and flames, a fever burning you from the inside out. 

Steve only fans the flames when he nods over your shoulder at Eddie, “So, are you and Munson a thing now?” 

Flames. Hot coals in the back of your throat, lively embers trailing down your spine. You’re watching the entirety of who you had worked so hard to become over the years bursting into flames. 

“What?” you whisper, not realizing Eddie had finished paying behind you, “No. No, we- no. We aren’t anything. We’re just… we’re just friends.” 

Even the word friends whispers away into smoke, choking you up. 

“Friends? Looks like you two were on a date, like he’s your boyfriend or something.” 

“Well, we’re not. He’s not.” 

Steve hardly buys it, but when Eddie joins your side once more, you don’t even offer him a glimmer of a farewell. You grab the wrist of your friend, your not boyfriend, and you high tail out of there. Still choked up, still running, still reeling. 

It’s still light when you leave the building and your hand drops from Eddie’s. You’ll both pretend the cold is from the weather, and not the distance you put between him and yourself. 

And if he heard your conversation with Steve, he doesn’t bring it up. Not that night, at least. 

SPRING, 1988

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You got him in the spring – it makes sense that you lose him in the spring. 

“What do you mean?” you play dumb, painfully coy as you continue to rinse the dishes. Plural. Dishes that the two of you had just dirtied through a painfully tense dinner together. In your apartment, at the counter of your tiny kitchen, knees not even so much as brushing. 

“This,” something has broken inside of him. Snapped, shattered, splintered. “It’s been a year, and I keep telling myself that you’ll come around, but-”

“Come around?” you cut him off with a laugh, one that stabs not only through his chest but your own. A double-edged dagger that has been sharpening itself for a year now, “Come around to what, Eddie?” 

He hadn’t expected the way you lash out, the cold storm that you had been consumed by since the winter night where Steve had looked at you like something had changed in you. As if you had finally gotten better, as if you had had something sour in you all along and Eddie had managed to magically drain you of it.

He couldn’t. He never was going to be able to. 

“Me?” he’s not sure of himself, voice wavering and eyes sparkling as they widen with tears of frustration, “Us? Fuck, I don’t know, but I can’t keep-”

“You thought I would come around to the idea of us?” your voice is cool and collected, nothing like his, as you finally turn around, “What, like we’re dating?” 

You were. A year of this back and forth, and you were too stubborn to just accept it. It was your downfall. It was the bleeding wound for not only yourself, but for Eddie – for this, as he had called it. 

You like him more than you liked the others.

So, are you and Munson a thing now?

A good enough fuck to live to see the fall.

You were never going to be enough for him. In your lifetime, you’d always known what you were good for, and it wasn’t for boys like Eddie Munson. 

“What else do you call this?” he motions vaguely to the dishes, to the fridge that holds his takeout, to the hallway he had tumbled down more times than you could count, “We’re more than just good friends, sweetheart.”

“We both knew what we were getting into.”

“Did we?”

Come over.

I might need convincing.

Stay with me?

You should have been smarter. You should have been more careful. 

It’s a brutal fight, and it’s the everything you had been waiting for. The illusion of softness finally breaks. Whispered words of care have become sharp insults, all the small moments where you had made mistake after mistake with him are now weapons. If the dated walls of your kitchen could speak, the tiles would murmur of all the blood being spelt as brutal defenses are sent back and forth from both sides. 

“I need more.”

“I can’t give you more.”

“You could, you just don’t want to.” 

“What’s the difference, Eddie?”

You were never going to be enough. You should have seen that, clear as daylight from the beginning. You were something rotten from the moment he met you, and he had just been too stupid to recognize all the decay. 

Of course I’m greedy. Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?

Why couldn’t he just accept what you were willing to give? Why did he have to push, to persist, to insist upon you laying more of yourself out for him? You had already dissected yourself beyond repair, made the cuts that would never heal and bared your innards in a way that you never should have to begin with. 

Stay with me?

You wish you were still just lazing in between your sheets with him. A you-shaped space at his side, a pillow on his side of your bed. You wish he had never picked a fight he had every right to rage. You wish, you wish, you wish.

Stay with me?

And then you lose, you lose, you lose. 

“You were just some idiot who thought you could change me,” you seethe at some point, aiming damning arrows for every exposed bone he’d ever given you a glimpse of, “What made you think that? Hm? Was it when I paraded you around the town, calling you my boyfriend? Or was it every time I told you just how much I loved you? Was it when I fell to my knees and kissed the ground you walked on, Eddie? Go ahead. Tell me.”

You were just rubbing salt in the wound at that point. Saying everything he had wished for over the last year, that you never gave him. 

You never called him your boyfriend. You never told him you loved him. You never did, and you never would. 

When it’s all said and done, it’s everything you had expected. A screaming match that the neighbors will complain about the same as they’d complained about every late-night rendezvous between the two of you. An effective cutting of ties that you’d been anticipating for a long twelve months. If it were the movies, maybe the fight would have been more effective. Something that would delve into the lead up of love confessions, an ending where you wind up in his arms and he’s whispering every which way that he still cares for you, even with your teeth bared and your sharpest knives poised. 

It’s not a movie. It’s everything you expected. 

But you hadn’t been prepared for the ache. When your own vicious words left a taste of ash on the tongue, when his eyes flashing with something harsher and less caring for you left a hollow ache that rang in your ears longer than his voice did. You didn’t think that you’d feel the cutting of ties. Every nerve ending in your body feels that jagged edge that saws through all that you two had tried to build over the last year, but it’s far too little and far too late. The foundation was cracked – you were damaged. 

You lose him. The world doesn’t end; the night carries on even as he grabs his leather jacket and leaves behind the sock in your dirty laundry. And when he exits out your front door, hiding away any tears that might have slipped free, just as you were, you feel that unexpected whisper inside of you. 

Stay with me?

You sleep alone that night. For once, the smell of tobacco and his shampoo makes you throw the pillow that was once his across the room. 

SUMMER, 1988

She deserves him.

Chrissy Cunningham deserved Eddie Munson far more than you ever had. She was enough. 

Summer can stain, but it can’t erase. Even in the months of aftermath, even for every tear shed in private and wave of yearning that would drown you in the dead of night, you never changed. It had hardly taken weeks after Eddie had walked out of your life for you to return to your old ways, going back to the bars and seeking out the latest warm blood to lose yourself in that night.

It didn’t matter that you compared each and every single smile to Eddie’s. It didn’t matter that you’d have to grip your sheets until your knuckles turned bloody to avoid touching the strangers hovering over you, hoping to feel familiar skin and a comfort long lost instead of whatever poor soul you’d dragged home with you. 

He deserves a love full of life. A love that breathes him in and doesn’t drain him. One that could let him feel the sun on his skin rather than hiding him away in the night.

A love that doesn’t tick away each passing season, because it’s a love that doesn’t have a ticking time bomb attached to it. 

“Never thought I’d see the day Cunningham got her claws in Munson,” Billy mumbles around a cigarette at your side. 

He didn’t tease about Eddie those first few months. One look at you, and he had known. 

“She didn’t get her claws in him,” you say, monotonous as you reach for your drink once more, “I’m happy for him. They look happy.”

They do. They really, really do. A love that burns like summer, and has never been touched by a dying autumn or cruel winter. The type of happiness Eddie would have never been able to find from you, try as he had. 

Billy taps some of his ash into the tray at the center of your shared table. Surely, he had better things to do, but he stays. It was probably entertaining, watching you pine and regret for once in your life, “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Their’s don’t. I bet you that there’s a ring on her finger before next summer.”

You don’t want to imagine the pain that would ignite in you. That’s the type of emotion that would far surpass any regret you currently feel. But you seem to enjoy torturing yourself, eyes still zeroing in on her left hand, as if you already see the glint of whatever diamond Eddie would seek out for his worthy lover. 

“And I bet if that happens, you skip town within twenty four hours of finding out.” 

He’s right. Nothing was truly tying you to this sleepy town, and the reminder of your worst mistake, your most terrible slip up of all time, would easily send you running with your tail between your legs. 

“Probably,” you sigh, no longer putting up a front. You hadn’t even tried batting your lashes at a single man since Eddie and Chrissy had arrived at the bar. You were striking out tonight, on your own volition, “Maybe I’d move to California. I hear the men there are easy enough.” 

“They are,” Billy laughs, throwing his head back. It’s enough to garner attention across the bar, numerous girls being enticed as if he might be a siren beckoning to them, “Take it from one. The girls on the west coast are prettier, though, so you can’t blame ‘em.”

The girls on the west coast probably resemble Chrissy. Golden skin, golden auras, golden light. Honeyed words and the sweetest of blushes across coy cheeks. They probably embody every sunset and sunrise simultaneously, and you can only stand there green with envy.

“You are awfully easy,” is all you can offer in reply. The banter has started to fall flat since Eddie. You’re no fun – hardly taking any bait that Billy will hand over so generously. 

Maybe, if you had tried a little harder, you could have been one of those girls. Clear blue skies, not a sight of the storm clouds that you still let consume you. 

Maybe Eddie would have stayed if you had tried a little harder. 

There’s no real hope for it now. You’re left to being nothing more than a conglomeration of pathetic pity parties and the taste of cheap beer these days, hardly worth the chase once the boys get close enough to see the rot. You’ve stopped trying so hard to cover it up; you’d ripped yourself open for Eddie, and had never found a way to properly suture yourself back together so that anyone new might not get a glimpse of all the bad. They could spot it from a mile away these days. 

It doesn’t help that you no longer try to cover it all up with overly sweet perfumes or sickly sweet pickup lines.

Billy’s laughter didn’t just draw the attention of the girls around the bars. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a pair of whiskey eyes find the two of you, locking on you far too easily to have not known. 

You notice, because of course you notice him. But when Billy notices, it catches you a bit more off guard. 

“Like I said,” he drawls, and you nearly panic when he grabs his drink off to leave you behind, “Looks can be deceiving, hot stuff.”

Your eyes find Eddie’s quickly, not listening to a word that Billy is saying. Chrissy is saying something, something surely important, but her boy isn’t listening. Her boy, her conduit for all her sunshine, is staring right at you and has no plans on looking away any time soon. 

He’s seen the rot up close and personal. He’s the one who’d handed the treacherous scalpel over to your shaking hands, encouraging you to open up in all the ways you never wished to. 

You shouldn’t do it. You’ll regret it. You really shouldn’t do this.

“They never learn their lesson, do they?” 

You don’t know who Billy is talking about.

Eddie, who almost seems to be under your spell, taking a slow slip of his neat whiskey, staring you down as if he’s brimming with bad ideas that he hopes you can hear from across the room. 

Or you, who should know better. You hurt him, you broke his heart, you don’t deserve him. And yet, you’re selfish as ever, mind reeling with possibilities of how you wish the night would end.

You can hear the bad ideas. Clear as day. Especially when Eddie only breaks eye contact long enough to lean in to Chrissy and whisper something that effectively dismisses her, leaving Eddie all alone and in your gaze. 

“They don’t,” you say, throwing back the last of your drink.

You know where he’s heading. And you know where you’re heading. A moth to his flame, going only where he will allow you. You’re a ghost of the menace you once were. The other men, the other bodies that kept you warm these nights; none of them were him. You didn’t want them. You weren’t soft with them. They never stayed, because you never asked them to. There was only one man in this bar, in this entire damn bar, that would ever fill the hole left behind in you after Eddie’s summer. Eddie’s spring, Eddie’s autumn, Eddie’s winter. 

And he was walking outside the bar, almost tauntingly as he sauntered through the doors, beckoning you with each and every step. 

Perhaps this time, Eddie’s the one who needs a summer plaything. 

“This isn’t going to end well,” Billy taunts you as he takes a few steps back, knowing damn well as to what was about to happen. Bad ideas, downright terrible ideas. 

Eddie is playing the same game as you were once a master in. It dawns on you; Chrissy Cunningham wasn’t his newest love. She wasn’t his sweetest sunrise or gentle spring. She was a passing wind, just like all the boys you’d enticed before him. She’s already moved along, pretty hand resting on the shoulder of a new beau and not even paying any mind to Eddie’s absence. She may deserve him, but she doesn’t have him.

Nor do you. The roles have been switched, and you should know better. He’s leading you to an inevitable death, whether it be a little one or something of catastrophic value. He is leading you right into your own demise. Just as you used to do with every new victim you’d set your mark on before him, before your summer, before it all. 

All your old tricks, turned to weapons against you.

And you’ll let him. A moth to his flame. A dog at his window sill. 

“It never does.” 

Stay with me? 

Maybe, this time, you’ll be the one staying. If only for the night, and if only for Eddie.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

That’s it, Princess

Summary: You sneak out the Keep to rile up your husband. And his punishment is...not what you thought it would be.

Based off this ask:

A/N: So I think I was possessed when I wrote this cos I blacked out halfway through so. I also changed the request up a bit to suit what I wanted to write. Hope it lives up to expectations 😁

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, Minors DNI, pussy slapping, fingering, p in v sex, mean Aemond, suggestions of a safe word, orgasm denial, name calling, Aemond creampies reader cos he wants lots of little heirs

You huff.

The sun had barely kissed the horizon to give way to the evening before you threw your embroidery to the floor, more angered than anything else. Another night. Another night where Aemond would not return to your marital chambers. 

There were several excuses he made, all centering around his duties. Whether it was training, helping his grandfather, being at his mother’s beck and call or spending days with Helanea, more often than not these past weeks Aemond found more comfort in only returning to your chambers in the dead of night when you were already asleep.

Not only were you frustrated, you were hurt. Did he not realise how he was treating his wife? Yes, it had barely been four moons since the wedding and the first two moons had been heavenly. More often than not you were slotted against one another, tangled in the sheets with the heady stench of coupling in the air. But a moon or so ago, he completely flipped. Unconscious or not. 

At first, you smiled at his explanations like the pliant wife you should be to a Targaryen prince. But now you felt you’d given him enough chances. 

You were alone at court. Being neither a Targaryen nor acquainted properly with his sister and mother, there was no female company to preoccupy you. Day after day, it felt like you were just mindlessly existing, sewing pattern after pattern to fill the uncomfortable void that Aemond’s lack of presence left behind.

At first you thought that marrying him, bearing his heirs and living at court would be every woman’s dream. But it was quickly turning into something akin to limbo. How were you supposed to bear his heirs if he was never even around to see you? The whisperings were starting to whirl around at the lack of pregnancy. All of the critiques pointed at you.

So that was it. Fuck it.

You would give him something to be angry about. Anything, any emotion would do at this point. Just something from him to acknowledge your mere existence.

There was a perpetual frown on your face as you pulled the heavy cloak over you. You’d opted to change into a dress that did not explicitly show your status, thereby ridding you completely of jewels, all bar the ring that tied you to Aemond. It was a part of you now, and the thought of taking it off had not even crossed your mind.

With a light push of your hip against the painting in the corner of the room, the passageway opened up and the darkness and draught crept in. There was no hesitation, you were so angry. You pulled the hood up against your hair, though once you were out in the capital there was no need for it, no silver hair to cover. You were not like them and it was evident in the way Aemond had been so nonchalant to cast you aside for more important matters. 

The sweet relief of the air of Kings Landing swept through your hair and over your skin and you sighed, pulling the hood down so it rested around your shoulders. Kings Landing was always an enigma to you. How so many people who looked so different, sounded so different, could all co-exist in such small quarters, shoulder to shoulder with their companions. It seemed so squished together. Some liked it. Some didn’t. 

But it was different and that was certainly enough of an adventure, you were beginning to go mad counting all the tiles on the floor.

The sounds of laughter, anger and drunkenness filled the narrow streets. It was a warm evening so the majority of people were at their local alehouses, either making friends or enemies, it didn’t matter. You smiled as some of the ladies inside one alehouse were dancing, hand in hand with cups of ale in the other. It was spilling all over the floor, but it did not seem like they cared.

With a visible uncertainty that told everyone around you that you did not know what you were doing, you pushed through to one particular alehouse, smiling at the bartender. He was burly and well built, his mouth tight in a thin line, showing no warmth.

“What can I get ya?” he asked in the accent you’ve come to know as one the commoners.

With an attempt to lighten the air, you give him a smile, albeit an anxious one and take a seat at the bar.

“Just an ale, please” you say, trying to take the nervousness out of your voice. He raises an eyebrow to you, but pours a cup anyway, sliding it across the wetted bar counter to land in your hands. 

The bartender braces the counter with his large arms, “I’ve never seen ya around these parts”

It catches you off guard a little when he tries to engage.

“I’m just passing through” you smile, taking a sip and wincing slightly at the bitter taste it leaves behind in your mouth. It coats your mouth differently compared to the dornish wines you’re used to.

His gaze flits to the wedding ring on your hand, staring for a few seconds before you clasp your other hand over it. 

“Well keep your wits about you” he says, turning away to serve someone else. 

You’re not quite sure how to take what he’s just said on board. So you simply turn to watch the rest of the patrons, enjoying the way they stumble over one another, laughing without a care in the world. The music is absolutely blaring and the man on the drums almost makes the very floors vibrate as he plays, and the man who sings has such a feminine voice it’s beautiful. You smile and clap along to the beat of the music, taking a sip of the ale every now and then. 

What a life these people lead. 

And it dawns on you why you are here. Because your husband no longer seems interested in you. And the clouds descend on your heart, dulling the shine that came out briefly when you watched these commoners go about their lives. 

“Why the sad face, darlin’?”

A man materialises beside you and you jump back at his closeness. He smells of ale, but then again, so does everyone else you supposed. He had a drunken smile and could not have been older than thirty. Trying to not be impolite, you give a wry smile.

“I am fine, sir”

He props his ale on the bar, offering you a large hand, “dance with me?” he slurs.

If it’s possible, you press yourself further against the bar, trying to make it clear with your body language that the answer is no. 

“Oh, no thank you” 

As men do, drunk or not, he ignores you and pulls you up to your feet by your arm with an unusually firm grip. At first, you think how untoward it is for a man of his station to put his hands so forcibly on you. But you remembered where you were and who these people thought you were and quickly pushed the initial discomfort aside. In an attempt to still be polite, you quietly refuse him,

“I am fine, sir, please” you say, but  to your dismay, he carries on and pulls you close to him.

“Don’t be like that, have fun!”

As fun as it was to watch, now you’re just getting annoyed, so you push against his chest, “Get off me” you try and say it forcefully, but it’s quiet.

He starts dancing, pulling your body flush with his. And a flash of red anger envelops you, your hands flat against his chest. But before you can, the door to the alehouse bursts open. Everyone seems to look over in sync, eyes landing on the figure who envelops the doorway with his form. The silhouette is visible even in the low light, how it bounces off his silver hair around his shoulders. And if anyone had any doubt, his eyepatch is firmly in place over his left eye, proving to everyone that it was indeed Aemond Targaryen.

He pokes his cheek with his tongue in annoyance as his eye lands on you. Using the man’s temporary shock at seeing the Prince to your advantage, you push him away, facing your husband face on, your face pink with anger. Ever the silent man, he doesn’t say anything for a moment and secures his gaze on the other man, who seems like he’s about to shit himself. 

Aemond takes a few steps before he is standing tall before the man, his own gaze is averted, wide-eyed as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Give me one good reason” Aemond draws his sword, “why I should not cut you down where you stand” he says it lowly and you simply watch, wondering how far he will go to protect his pride. His wife.

“My Prince…I-I” the man starts, shaking where he stands. Briefly you look over to the bartender, who raises his eyebrows at you, as if to say you’re in for it. 

“Answer me” Aemond hisses, his good eye trained at him.

“Aemond please..” you reach forward for his arm but he shrugs you off. For a second it squeezes your heart, but you realise that he is so deep in rage, it almost seems like he hasn’t heard you.

“You dare touch my wife in such a way” he says lowly. The man’s eyes widen and his pupils shake, and for a moment he looks back at you.

“Don’t look at her” he warns, gripping the sword tightly, “Look at me” 

You look over them both to see the man has a large wet patch in front of his trousers, having soiled himself in fear of his own death. Shaking your head, you try again.

“Aemond” you say louder this time. And it seems to work, you’re on his good side, so all he has to do is turn slightly to meet your gaze. With your hand around his forearm, you shake your head, “Don’t”

The man falls to his knees before the prince, pleading his case, “Thank you, my lady! Please, my Prince, I did not realise!” his words are hurried and slurred. Aemond almost grimaces at the display and ponders the situation for a moment. And you can see the muscle in his jaw twitch, until he hums and turns away. He grips the fabric at your back to force you in front of him, almost tripping you over as he pulls you out of the alehouse.

The walk back to the passageways that connect the rooms of the Red Keep is quiet but quick, but it feels like a lifetime. No sooner has he pushed you through the door that leads to your marital chambers than you are babbling frantically.

“Aemond, I’m sorry, I tried to push him away but-”

“Take off your dress” he says bluntly. And it’s so calm it catches you off guard. His eye is staring blankly at you while he takes off his cloak.

“Aemond, wh-”

“Did you not hear me? Take off your fucking dress” he repeats.

The ice in his words makes your heart stutter a little. You’ve only seen this side of Aemond a handful of times in your short marriage, at least intimately anyway and the tone of his voice and the way he orders you makes a warm sensation settle in your belly, tugging below your belly button. Your limbs begin to tremble, both with anticipation and a little fear, this you cannot lie to yourself about.

You just stand there, shocked at his words and frozen in place when he walks up to you, invading your space with his wide and tall form. 

“A-aemond, what-”

His face is stern when he speaks.

“You want to act like a slut, you’ll be treated like a slut” 

He turns you around, body flush against your back and all but rips the cloak off your shoulders. There are no pre-emptive kisses, no warm touches of adoration. You just look at him and see pure, unadulterated lust. A desire, not only to take you as he sees fit, but to put you in your place for what you’d done. His words should offend you, but they only serve to increase that need between your thighs, which you push together for some friction.

He moves to the dress, the one he’d ordered for you to remove and rips it down the seam at the back, the threads make a scraping sound as they’re pulled apart roughly. His assault on the fabric continues as he pushes it over your bare hips, your body reacting to the cold air that hits your already wet cunt.

“Pathetic” he spits as he grips your hair, tugging slightly on them at the crown. He pulls you up and you whine out as it hurts at first, but almost instantly contributes to the wetness between your legs, “Does my pathetic little wife want to be punished?” he asks lowly.

For a second, you wonder if it’s a strange question for him to ask, but then you realise he’s giving you an out if you need it. If you feel uncomfortable. And he stands still at your back, waiting for the answer.

Swallowing dryly, you breathe, “Yes…”

You swear you feel him tense up behind him, as if he’s thinking of all the ways he might punish you. And it is here that you’re aware of his length, hot and hard against your soft backside. The anticipation flutters in your stomach.

“Yes what”

Oh Gods, you think. Anxiety wracks your body.

“Yes, my prince”

“Good”

His flaming touch disappears from your bare skin for a moment, moving to the buttons of his tunic, undoing them with alarming calmness. 

“Lay on the bed. Don’t make me ask twice”

Not one to poke an already angry dragon, you obey. Sitting in the middle of the bed, with your legs pushed together you look up to watch your husband. His eye never leaves you and it shocks you just how stoic he is right now with the clear bulge underneath his breeches. Most of the time, he would make love to you slowly, lovingly. Only on the off chance would he indulge in primal carnal desires, asking you to call him ‘my prince’ and denying you your peak when he’d deemed you too greedy.

He shrugged his tunic off his shoulders and disposed of his underneath, allowing his pale chest exposure to the slightly cold air of your chambers.

“Spread your legs for me”

You swallow dryly at his instruction, the lack of emotion in them and in his eye sends a bolt of humiliation straight to core, and you feel yourself get shamefully wet, as if you already had not been.

Leaning back on your elbows, taking a few breaths to calm your nerves, your ankles splay out, revealing what lies between those pretty thighs for your husband to shamefully observe. The shameful warmth in your belly makes you want to shut your eyes, to spare yourself the judgement of Aemond’s gaze, but you know just as well he will punish you for that too if you do.

He calmly undoes the laces to his breeches, almost sighing in relief when his cock, hard and desperate for attention, springs free of their confines. He uses his hand to give it one or two pumps, and it prods against his stomach with the force of how hard it is. His eye is focussed entirely on your cunt and cunt alone, standing there. And you feel yourself staring too much as his pretty cock, the tip pink and weeping now that he’s allowed himself to touch it briefly.

“Do you see that?” he asks, “Do you see what you do to me?” he says,

And you hope to all the Gods that it’s rhetorical, because you barely heard what he said, too busy imagining all the ways he would impale you.

Even though he’s naked and clearly desperate for any touch, he stalks over to the bed with shocking control. His hands wrap around your ankles and pull, dragging your legs over the bed and planting them on either side of his thighs. You yelp in surprise at the sudden action and the feeling of your legs touching his bare thighs is enough to send another gush of arousal through you.

You know just as well to be quiet until he speaks directly, and definitely not to touch yourself. That part is reserved for him.

“Remind me of our word, wife” he almost spits that word, as if all he saw before him was a petulant whore. 

“Dracarys”

He merely nods, widening his legs so as to widen your own, giving himself a good view of your achingly wet cunt before him. Both of his hands move to grip your thighs, leaving red marks in their wake that now feel like they’re the most dangerous thing about him. He almost kneads the flesh in his calloused palms, watching the way your breath hitches when his fingers graze that delicate space between your legs and hips. 

“You vex me to no end” he says and you feel the goosebumps on your arms at the tone of voice.

“I apologise, husband-”

“Oh I will have my apology” he muses, “When I want it”

A shudder envelops your body when his long, slender fingers run up the puffy folds of your cunt, slipping them between the lips there to brush against the wettened pearl hidden beneath. The sheer sound it makes is embarrassing enough, but the way he barely even touches that little bundle of nerves and the reaction you give, is the most embarrassing thing about it all.

Knowing not to touch him, your fists clench the bedsheets at your sides. Aemond chuckles,

“Is this how sensitive my little wife is?” he muses, his fingers collecting the wetness there that was a pure result of his unkind words to you. And when one finger prods at the slick hole of your entrance, you gasp. “Maybe I should punish you more often…if you are as wet as this before I’ve barely even touched you” 

Two fingers circle the entrance, the pads of his fingers now entirely slick with your arousal, while his thumb rubs lazy circles at your clit. And you wonder for a moment, how exactly this is punishment. But it’s far too early to be thinking like that.

“I wonder what sounds my pretty little whore can make” he murmurs as he prods two fingers inside you only barely, making your eyes shut tight, but he doesn’t move them further than that. 

“Open your eyes” 

Pink at the cheeks with sheer humiliation, you do as he says without another word to see his other hand is stroking his cock at a languid pace. You almost whimper, it should be you touching him like that…not himself. 

Rewarding you briefly, he tucks two of his fingers as deep as they will go inside your waiting heat, grinning widely at the sound it makes. All breath seems to be stolen from your lungs when his fingers expertly brush against that rough spot within you and it takes all your strength to merely keep your eyes open to look up at him. Gods he looks so happy with himself right now. Knowing all your spots. 

But you never thought he’d use that information like this.

It was kind of…thrilling.

The combination of his words, the deep humiliation and his roughened nature, you feel your peak approaching embarrassingly fast. Your breath shudders in your chest and hands fist more of the bedsheets, needing somewhere to place this feeling. And Aemond seems more than willing right now to let you indulge in the euphoric feeling, your climax hurtling towards you at an alarming pace.

As soon as the thought enters your head, his fingers are gone and you jolt with a squeal when he delivers a firm smack straight to your cunt. Without meaning to, you whimper, both at the loss of his thick fingers tucked within you and also at the burning desire for him to do what he’d just done again.

Your brows furrow as you look up at him, his smirk now long gone, replaced with that same flat and stoic expression from earlier

“It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if I let you peak, now would it?” 

Oh.

So that was his plan.

A flash of fear runs across your face, but most of it is the frustration of not knowing exactly how he intends to toy with you further.

He raises his fingers to your mouth, prodding at your lips, chuckling darkly at the confused expression you wear on your face, “Go on, clean up the mess you made”

You suck on the two digits he offers you, not only tasting the essence of your own heat, but covering them with your spit, hoping that your effort right now in obeying him will prove beneficial to you later. If he was feeling generous, that is.

In this moment, with that cruel, dark look in his eye, you honestly were not sure.

“Good…” his tone is almost soft here, appreciating the way your tongue glides over his fingers. 

For a moment it makes you feel safe.

Aemond pulls his fingers from your mouth, reaching up with his other hand to pull his eyepatch off. You had been married long enough for you to have seen it before, but even now, it still renders you speechless every time you see it. The way it glimmers against the flames of the hearth, sitting comfortably in his empty eye socket. You often thought it beautiful, even before being wed to him. 

But now, as he discards it to the floor and looks down at you, it almost takes on a gaze of its own. And it only strengthens that anticipation deep within your gut.

The fingers, now wet with your spit, run over your slick folds again, now sensitive from the denied release. 

“So wet still…” he whispers, “...I did not know I had such a needy whore for a wife” 

You moan out loud at how mean he’s being right now, coupled with the intense burning touch. 

“Aemond…please…” you breathe. You wouldn’t have realised your slip up until he gives another wet smack to your pussy once again. Another jolt of pleasure runs through you, making your thighs tremble with desire and he seems pleased when you make a surprised sound.

He reaches down and runs his thick shaft against your slit, collecting the wetness that has pooled there since his torture on your body. Your chest is wracked with heavy breaths, wishing that he’d just break and fuck you already. But if Aemond was anything, he was patient. He was more than happy to wait if it meant you were a whining, moaning mess beneath him. The fat head of his cock barely sinks beneath your swollen lips, kissing against your clit as he brushes it up which only serves to make your body jolt once again.

“Hm…” goes the deep rumble in his chest, “...I don’t think that’s what I told you to call me…”

“Please…I’m sorry, my prince…” you’re just begging at this point, the previous resolve you did have is now dwindling quickly.

“See? It’s not hard is it?”

He uses his cock to torture your core further, dipping the head of it between your lips to prod against your readied entrance, ready and willing to accept his length. But he pulls it away once again, only to repeat the motions, chuckling at the effect it has on you.

“What do you want, wife?” 

Your face is pink and desperate, and you so badly want to tell him to just fuck you senseless right now. Play along, just play along…you think. Surely he can’t hold back forever.

“I want you inside me…” you manage between ragged breaths as he keeps dipping his cock against your hole.

“Beg for it”

You let out a frustrated whine when his thumb simply rests on your clit, not moving an inch. 

“Come on, beg for it” he grins widely. He looks so pleased with himself you want to make a comment on it, but your body just wants him so deep inside you you can’t think straight.

“Please…my prince…please fuck me…” you can feel the frustration hot on your cheeks, bubbling up into tears glazing your eyes. 

It’s too much. So much so that you think if he doesn’t thrust deep inside and move his thumb against your clit, you might just die.

“Such foul language, princess” 

He gives his shaft a few more strokes, letting the bright red tip, aching to be buried inside your wet, waiting cunt, breach your entrance just slightly.

You can feel the relief, it’s so close, all he has to do is push forward…

“Eyes on me now” he instructs lowly.

Your mouth falls open, and a sigh of relief empties your lungs when he slowly sheathes himself within you. He is eerily calm and collected, a stark contrast to how you are holding back at this very moment. The sheer sound of your arousal enveloping him seems to make him smile, until he is fully seated to the hilt, the tip kissing your cervix.

You do as you are told, eyes on him the entire time, eyes glassy in relief at the feeling of just being completely full of him. He’s always been one for seeing his wife is satisfied, and so seeing the look on your face, his eyes glimmer in pride.

To your surprise, he starts a pace, albeit slow, but a pace nonetheless. Only quiet breathy sounds are heard from your mouth, and you think (stupidly) that you are safe. You start to indulge in the feeling of his erection continuously sinking into you, rocking your hips slightly against him to increase the pace somewhat. 

And you are embarrassingly close. The ache of the previous denied release never fully went away, and it creeps up from the depths to fizzle at the surface once more, just aching for speed, for roughness, for anything but this torture. You feel every vein, every stroke, every angle of his hips, and it only makes you want more.

And then he stops and jolts you back when he presses his thumb forcefully against your clit, but not enough to truly hurt.

“Say the words” he orders, his tone flat and unforgiving.

Surely the Aemond you know is caring, loving even, is still there…right?

“Say the words, and I might let you peak tonight” 

You swallow, stilling your hips as much as it pains you. The force of holding back makes your thighs tremble, evident in the low light of the room.

“…my prince?...” 

His large, calloused hand wraps around your neck, shocking you in the most arousing way possible. His cock is inside you to the hilt and this should definitely not be turning you on as much as it is, and yet you feel another gush of your essence coat your thighs, betraying how you really feel. His fingers curl around it so effortlessly, and he only squeezes a little. He is so calculated in his movements, it’s almost frightening.

“Don’t give me ‘my prince’” he mocks, “I want your apology. Now”

Without even thinking, the pain of him not moving and stilling his hips too great, tears prick at your eyes as you babble an apology,

“I am sorry, husband, I truly am! I was foolish to go out on my own. Forgive me” 

His fingers curl around your neck just that tiny bit more and he has that wolfish grin on his face once more, clearly enjoying the way he is able to bring you to this pathetic little mess of a wife he must see you as now.

“Yes, it was foolish” he says, so nonchalantly, as if he isn’t fully inside you right at this moment, “I thought my wife was an intelligent woman. And yet here she is mewling and crying with her husband’s cock inside of her, begging to be forgiven”

You swallow around his hand in nervousness, seeing the way his iris is blown so wide with lust he almost does not look human at all. Perhaps they were right. When they say Targaryens are closer to gods than men. Because here, using you for his own cruel means, it is both gorgeous and terrifying, as Gods should be.

Tears prick at your eyes and you worry that if you blink they will fall. All you can focus on is his hand around your neck, every vein in his cock pulsing with desire deep inside you, and your walls squeezing him to try and ease him back into fucking you.

In a quiet breathy voice, you mewl, “husband…please…”

He chuckles when he sees how you are holding your pretty tears back, “Why are you crying, hm? Do I need to punish you again?” he smirks, “I could just stay like this…”

“No, no…please…” 

“Then tell me what you want, wife” he sneers,

You finally allow yourself to blink and the tears stream down your cheeks. 

“I want you…to fuck me…husband…” you say between breaths. 

His tongue pokes at his cheek, as if he’d been waiting all day to hear that.

Aemond pushes your body back further onto the bed, his own knees coming to rest on it, and you whimper, his cock shoved only briefly further into you, kissing your cervix. It provides a little relief.

And your husband smiles widely as he takes your hips in both hands and brings them to rest against his waist. And he’s not moved yet, but purely the change of angle makes the head of his cock kiss against that rough patch within.

Smirking, he starts at a slow pace once more, and you cry at the relief of it. It’s slow, not at all the quick, brutal pace you need, but it’s something.

He all but laughs at your blissed out expression, taking in the glassy, glazed over look in your eyes. 

“Who am I to deny my little wife?” he says.

And every nerve is your body is on fire when his thumbs dig into your hips and he finally just fucks you, in the way he knows you always like to be fucked. Your body goes slack as his hips snap against yours and the only sound in the room is the erotic slap of your bodies against each other. Every now and then Aemond curses under his breath at the force of which your walls clamp down on him.

All the teasing he’d done had done little to quell that impending release that you so desperately needed, and you could feel it form painfully in your stomach, wound up so tight and fit to burst.

“Gods…Aemond…” you breathe. 

He presses one of his palms on your stomach, to feel the presence of himself there within you. Your body reacts on its own, bucking up into him as it pushes that sweet spot against his cock. He leans over, still keeping up that brutal pace and you can feel his hair against your chest, his breath on your neck.

His teeth graze over the delicate skin where he once has his entire hand choking you, “Fuck…your cunt feels amazing…” he whispers against you, “...I know you are close…”

A whimper teases its way out of your throat. Fuck, he can read your body like a book. Knows it far too well.

Knowing he is right, he presses harder against your stomach, squeezing you around his cock inside you as he pistons mercilessly into your cunt, the lewd sound of your arousal only aiding your peak. And it’s the mere whisper of a touch of his thumb across your throbbing clit that drives you over the edge.

“Fuck…” you breathe as your body grows rigid, hands still fisted hard within the sheets. Your muscles tremble and your cunt clenches around him, to which he lets out an uncharacteristically loud moan straight into your ear. 

And you expect him to follow suit, but he simply keeps fucking you through it, intent to prolong this little death.

“Aem..nd…I can’t..” you beg. 

Your first orgasm is barely gone before your stomach winds painfully again and he chuckles again, deeply and low against your body. In a rather sweet gesture, he leaves open-mouthed kisses against your neck and jaw, a stark contrast to the sweet torture he is performing against your sex.

“You can…give me another and I will fuck my seed into you…”

Your eyes screw shut. And there’s not enough words to describe the utter destruction your body feels it is going under, and you feel yourself fall apart more and more with each erotic slap of his balls against you.

“I’ve got you princess…that’s it…let go…”

Finally, your hands fly up from the sheets to clamour at his skin, needing to touch him all over. It’s a mess. His mouth fights against yours, biting at your swollen lower lip to draw the faintest bit of blood. All the while his cock is impaling your cunt at breakneck speed, chasing his release while yours just builds and builds…

Your fingers dig into his arms painfully as your second climax rolls over you. It’s loud and immense and you swear for a moment you are lost to the world, the only thing grounding you being the sound of Aemond’s low grunts as he chases his own release.

He gives several rough, deep thrusts, making sure to shove his seed as deep inside you as it will go before he finally stills above you, rested on his forearms either side of your head.

After what feels like a lifetime, feeling his cock continue to twitch within you, you crack open your eyes. You’ll never tire of seeing him like this. Fucked out with his hair damp against his temples, the muscles of his body contracting as he breathes heavily. 

Idly, your fingers draw circles on his back. And it’s so soft and gentle that he shudders a little, picking himself up to look down at you. There he is. The husband you know and love.

You brush the back of your fingers against his face, the marred side. And his sapphire eye glints back at you.

“I am sorry, wife” he says suddenly. 

Your movements cease, looking at him questioningly. But you do not question it.

“I have neglected you these past weeks” he confesses, as if being able to read you so well, “it has been unconsciously done…but it is no excuse.

I am sorry”

You’re a bit…stunned? If anything. 

Aemond had always been proud. Proud of his heritage. Proud of his abilities. His talents. 

He had never been one to admit his faults. 

So for a moment his words hang in the air, until you find your voice again.

“Aemond…” you say, reaching up to his face. He sighs into your touch, “...I believe we have both been foolish. I am sorry also, for the anxiety I must have caused you”

He shakes his head softly.

“I only wished to get a reaction from you” you say, “But I am truly sorry for worrying you”

He huffs at that, looking down briefly to where you are still joined, “Perhaps you should do that more often” he jokes, and you swat his shoulder playfully.

His kiss is tender and he leans down, “shall we make up for lost time, Princess?” he asks.

You cock your head playfully as his hands glide over your torso to slide over your breast, squeezing gently. 

“I’ll have you full of my heirs by daybreak” he growls.

You giggle at that, bringing him in for another kiss, “I look forward to it, my prince”

[felassan]

Dragon Age on Twitter: "From abilities to companion banter, our devs covered a lot in our Discord Q+A last week! Below is a small sample of the questions. You can read the full transcript here: [link]" [source].

Image 1 text:

Q: Can we kiss or romance Manfred the skeleton? A: "I would say, 'not that skeleton', but we're not saying 'no skeletons'." - Matt Rhodes

Image 2 text:

Q: Are we going to be limited in how many abilities we can pick from the wheel? A: "You have to choose which three abilities you wanna bring for Rook, which three for a companion, and which three for another companion. It actually creates a really interesting balance between strategizing, having to do that strategy about your combat kit before the mission, and then the tactical decisions once you're in the field. While there are three ability slots for Rook, there's so much more than that... you'll have an ultimate ability associated with your class... there's a type of item you can get that functions like abilities... you can direct which targets your companions can focus on... there's just so much from the wheel once you get in and see everything working together." - Corinne Busche

Image 3 text:

Q. Will we get the same companion conversations and banter as seen in the previous Dragon Age games [with only two party members]? A: "Honestly, I don't think you could actually stop the writers from writing banter. I will say for myself it's one of the more fun things to do. Banter is absolutely a core part of DA:TV... If anything it's the most we've ever done for pairings and companions... everyone loves hearing the companions talk to each other. Everyone loves hearing these stories and relationships developed over the course of the game." - John Epler

[source]

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Indulgence

Pairing: Halsin x GN!Reader

Rating: T

Warnings: No spicy moments, but implied horny Halsin.

Summary: Halsin has always struggled with indulging in the more pleasurable aspects of life. However, with the shadow curse lifted and your group now on the road to Baldur's Gate, you and Halsin find time to indulge in a bit of fun and a sweet treat before retiring for the evening.

Word Count: 9.3K

an: It took me too many weeks, but I finally have the fully fleshed out story related to this poll and this little WIP! As it stands, I only have plans for this to be a oneshot, but considering I went back and forth far too many times on if I wanted to add a spicy scene to this, I might write a quick spicy follow up to this if I can find the courage to actually post something smutty.

Read on AO3 here if you prefer!

Edit: I decided to write a spicy update for this and you can read it here.

Masterlist

The night air was pleasantly warm against your skin as you stepped from the confines of your tent. You stretched your arms above your head, thoroughly exhausted from the traveling the day brought, and you wanted nothing more than to slip into your bedroll and sleep away the stiffness in your body. But a light rumble to your stomach and a tingle on the tip of your tongue for something sweet kept you awake. Your camp was mostly quiet as you strolled across the grounds from your tent to pillage through the crates of supplies, save for the sound of githyanki longsword grinding against a sharpening stone and the playful barks and hoots of your furred companions. Most of your companions had retired for the evening, either by going to their own bedrolls or simply sitting in the mouth of their respective tents and unwinding from the day. The walk from the now former shadow lands had been quite the journey, taking a handful of days to get to where you were now, and still had another day or two of walking ahead of you before you reached the town of Rivington just outside of Baldur’s Gate.

You strolled along the supply crates along the edge of camp, peeking through your rations to find something to satiate your sweet cravings. The crates were filled with plenty of cured meats and cheeses with handfuls of fresh vegetables scattered about, but not the first pastry or bit of chocolate in sight. You grumbled to yourself as you continued rummaging, but you eventually found the small jar of honey you had collated a few days prior. Your skin tingled at the memory of the few dozen bee stings you’d received as punishment for cutting away a chunk of the honeycomb, but for now it was more than worth the trouble. You slowly poured part of the jar into an empty bowl, watching as the sweet, thick substance flowed from the mouth of the jar. By the time you’d coated the bottom of your bowl, you rotated the jar just a bit to stop the stream and wiped the rim with your finger. 

You popped your forefinger into your mouth and cleaned off the bit of honey that lingered, humming in satisfaction at the first taste of the fresh honey. After the lid had been secured, you slotted the jar back in its spot and continued your search for your late night craving. You would need something of substance to eat with the honey to satisfying the gnawing in your stomach and you finally settled on two tart apples. You plucked a clean paring knife from the camp cook station and added it to your small stash of goods.

As you turned from the supply boxes to return yourself to your tent for the evening, you spotted Halsin sitting alone by the dying fire, quietly thumbing through a rather large book. He always made it a habit of sitting off to the side or just in the mouth of his tent, forever reluctant to join the rest of the group when it came time to relax. So, by sitting at the campfire, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would mind a bit of conversation before bed. But, then again, you weren’t sure. Halsin had always claimed that duty and responsibility kept him from truly enjoying down time; feeling that he should be out doing something about the issues at hand instead of sitting idly by. Ever since you plucked the bear from the clutches of the goblins, you can’t recall hardly ever seeing him actually relax or indulge in anything remotely pleasurable. With this in mind, you didn’t want to disturb the few moments of peace and self indulgence he allowed himself by disturbing him.

The stress of the grove weighed heavily on his shoulders, but not long after he left the grove to join your group you had started to see his stoic demeanor begin to bend ever so slightly. Of course the little bit of reprieve he had was short lived once you finally made it to the shadow cursed lands. His duty and sense of responsibility while there was heightened beyond belief and you couldn’t pry him from lifting the curse if you wanted to. So, the look of absolute joy and relief on his face once the curse had finally lifted was certainly a sight for your eyes. He actually seemed happy. 

Halsin was reclined by the fire with his legs stretched out in front of him and an elbow supported on an old log behind him. A heavy book resting in his lap, the thumb of his free hand lightly ran along the corners of the pages repeatedly as he read. You caught yourself staring as he flipped to the next page and used his fingers to smooth out the pages before returning them to their ministrations of the corners. You still wrestled with yourself on if you should approach him or not, truly not wanting to bother him, but also not wanting him to feel left our from the group. Eventually, you found yourself walking towards the druid and stopped a few steps from where he was seated.

“Care for some company?” You asked as you approached with your bowl of treats in hand. Halsin looked up from his book, greeting you with his usual, gentle smile. 

“Always.” He extended his hand to offer you the seat beside him, softly patting the ground. You carefully stepped over his legs as you made your way to the spot offered to you. You sat on the ground beside him, your lower back resting against the log. You crossed your legs in front of you, placing your bowl in the space between your thighs, giving yourself a suitable spot to rest for the evening until you retired back to your tent. Your leg lightly brushed against Halsin’s thigh as they crossed and you felt him shift slightly, clearing his throat as he adjusted.

“Good evening, my friend.” He said as he adjusted the opened book in his lap, his hand rested atop the pages, securely keeping the book against his thighs.

“Good evening.” You said as you gave a final wiggle to your hips so you could fully settle, “Care to indulge?” You offered him one of the two apples you had brought with you. He graciously accepted the piece of fruit, sinking his teeth into the flesh with a satisfied crunch as you showed him the bowl of honey.

“Do you want some? I know they’re not the sweetest of apples.” He shook his head as he chewed his bit of apple, holding his hand up to stop you from pressing the bowl closer to him.

“No, thank you, though,” he said after he had swallowed, “I certainly pulled enough bee stingers from you the other night that you’ve earned it all for yourself.” He gave a slight chuckle and a gentle nudge to your elbow.

“It was worth it.” You said sheepishly as you recalled having to ask Halsin for help with healing the welts and pulling the stingers from you that you had difficulty in dislodging. 

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the serenity of the evening in each others company. Halsin turned his attention back to his book as he continued to bite away at his apple and you focused on cutting yours into slices. You took the paring knife you’d brought with you and used it to cut the apple in half, making it easier to cut away at the flesh. With each piece you took off, you dropped them back into the bowl and tossed any bits of seeds or core into the fire ahead of you.

“You don’t have to sit by yourself, you know.” You said as you sliced off another chunk of apple, “I mean if you want to that’s fine, of course, but you don’t have to. You’re as much a part of this group as anyone else.” You glanced to him as you spoke, having finished your slicing and placed the knife on the ground beside you.

“I thank you for the sentiment, but truthfully I don’t feel like that’s the case.” Halsin looked up from his book once again, meeting your gaze in a way that made your skin tingle.

“Why not?” You asked as your brows knitted together, “Has someone said something?”

“Not at all,” he said calmly, “but you know as well I that I haven’t exactly been present for the more…bonding moments that others have enjoyed. I seem to have made myself an outsider. Aside from your company, of course. You’ve always gone out of your way and for that I thank you.” His voice was genuine as he spoke, which relieved any worry that there was trouble among camp members. 

“Ah, well, I guess that means you’re stuck with me around the campfire from now on.” You leaned over slightly and nudged him with your shoulder as he chuckled at your response.

“You will always be most welcome.” With a final bite he finished off his apple, tossing the core into the fire ahead of him before returning back to his previous position. He reclined against the log once again, putting his weight against one arm on the log and the other returning to rest along the book spread across his lap, his fingers absentmindedly running along the lip of the cover.

You were blissfully unaware of the hungry eyes watching your every move as you indulged in your sweet treat. Halsin’s gaze was transfixed on the movements of your wonderfully nimble fingers as you selected a slice of tart apple from your bowl and coated it with a generous amount of the honey you’d procured earlier in the day. You twirled the slice in your fingers, trying to break the sticky strings that came as you tried to scoop the thickened treat onto the fruit. Halsin was unsure if time had slowed or if it was simply his own desires fogging his mind, but watching this relatively mundane task had become almost intoxicating. 

Your attention was quickly pulled from your snack before you had a chance to bite into it, the call of your name from across camp making you pause. You still held the slice in your fingers, hovering over the bowl as you spoke to your companion about an event from earlier in the day. The honey that rested at the tip of the apple slice began to drip, slowly making its way along the fruit and onto your thumb. Halsin was sitting close enough that he could smell the sweetness and the light floral notes that came from the honey, the scent alone being enough to have his mouth watering for a taste. Although he couldn’t help but wonder at how the taste would change when mixed with the taste of your skin as he watched the honey continue to drop down the length of your arm. 

He had longed for your touch for some time now, but ever since the group had parted the shadow lands, the longing had become incessant. Unbeknownst to you, Halsin wanted more from you; more than just friendship. He wanted companionship. He wanted you. And in this moment he wanted nothing more than to clean the honey from your skin with his own tongue and kiss your dexterous fingers that had been teasing him all day. The impulsive urge to act on the idea was tempting, but given that he had yet to approach you about wanting more, he tried to push the thought from his mind. 

Realizing the sticky mess that was now running down your arm, you quickly popped the apple slice covered in what remaining honey that wasn’t dripping down your arm into your mouth. You searched the small area by the campfire for any sort of cloth to wipe your hands on, but ultimately decided to simply lick it off when you couldn’t find a suitable rag and the sticky honey was now nearing your elbow. With a turn of your head and twist of your arm, you found the large drip of honey on your arm and pressed your tongue along the sweet trail. Starting near your elbow, you slowly pulled your tongue along your inner forearm, collecting the fallen honey in the small well created by your tongue. Given just how sticky the honey was, you found yourself going over the same spots multiple times in an attempt to get every drop that had made its way down your arm.

Halsin could feel his heart pick up speed and almost threaten to beat out of his chest the more he watched you clean yourself of the honey and the grip on the book in his lap tightened with each swipe of your tongue. The tips of his pointed ears had grown warm in a flush and his throat had suddenly gone dry. Despite the growing tension and the tightening of desire growing in his muscles, he found himself simply unable to look away from you. It had been so long that he’d been able to indulge in desires of his own that he had become complacent with pushing away his wants until he had completed his duties. But now those duties had been fulfilled, with your help of course, he was now free to purse any desires he’d denied himself for so long. And the druid was dangerously close to losing any and all control over keeping these wants at bay until the proper moment.

By the time you’d made your way to your honey coated thumb, you finally picked up on the eyes that had been focused on your movements for so long. Your own gaze flicked to Halsin, whose face was a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place, and couldn’t help but smile in embarrassment as he’d caught your blunder. What you couldn’t notice, however, was the heat rising along Halsin’s neck and the thread of tension in his chest that was threatening to break at any second. However, when you stuck the entirety of your thumb into your mouth and slowly pulled off the honey while still holding his gaze, that delicately held together thread finally snapped.

Without a word, Halsin sharply shut his book, practically flinging it from his lap, letting it drop into the dirt as he abruptly stood. Your head tilted upwards, curiously watching as his frame loomed over yours as you remained seated against your log. His legs stepped over yours as he started to leave the campsite, stomping into the ground beside you. You watched as he made off for the inner depths of the trees, walking as fast as his legs would carry him. You had half a mind to follow him, now afraid that you had done or said something to offend him, or even anger him. However, your intentions to follow him into the woods were short lived when you were quickly bombarded with a snout and beak clambering over each other to have a bite of your apples and honey.

Halsin walked quickly into the expanse of the forest, easily slipping between trees and shrubs as he tried to make it as far away from camp, and your teasingly delightful movements, as he could. He could feel a deep rumble in his throat threaten to let loose and a flutter in his heart before it turned into a steady, yet quickened pace. The memory of you oh so deliciously cleaning up the honey from your fingers was burning hot in his mind, causing heat to course through his body and settle in other areas. But laced within this arousal was also an equal amount of anger for himself. 

He wanted you more than anything he had wanted in so long that he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He was elated and almost giddy whenever you graced him with your company, although he was usually good at keeping his demeanor calm and collected. A solemn, unwavering wall he had built to control his emotions and desires while still trying to work a way out to rid Thaniel’s realm of the curse while also not drowning in the stress and strain that the grove demanded for over a century was beginning to crumble, letting a playful youth and optimism begin to break through. The cracks in the wall were caused simply by you and your kindness, your generosity, and your unwavering determination to simply do the right thing for those in need; for those like himself. Halsin wanted to take things further with you, to see if there could be more than just a friendship and a battle alliance, but he was finding that he had issues in taking the next step.

He himself was always susceptible to holding off on acting on desires until more pressing, mature tasks like the shadow curse had been dealt with, finding that he couldn’t enjoy indulging in more carnal or whimsical pleasures until the work was over. He knew you were not like that, but he still felt the same guilt whenever he even considered approaching you for something more. The Absolute was now marching towards Baldur’s Gate with an army of enthralled and tadpole infected and the threat of the Elder Brain becoming in control was ever pressing. He simply couldn’t justify indulging in his own selfish wants and pleasures when something that important was a looming threat. Halsin could wait. He would wait. But that didn’t mean that his own feelings and desires weren’t too much to handle at times. 

Halsin gritted his teeth as he walked, nose flaring in a snarl as the overwhelming heat that engulfed his body was becoming too much to control. He had gotten a decent ways away before he felt the urge become all consuming, stooping over in a hunch before erupting backwards in a flash of golden light and a burst of magic. A large cave bear landed on all fours, crushing the hard earth underneath heavy paws. The bear shook his shoulders, releasing a bit of tension before galloping deeper into the forest. Primal urges and instincts always seemed to win out in the end, no matter how hard Halsin tried to control them, and they wouldn’t be tamed easily.

It wasn’t long before the galloping bear eventually came to a stop, breathing heavily at the exertion and arousal still burning through his veins. A pristine, quiet pond stopped the bear in his tracks, a wonderfully calming spot deep in nature that could soothe and subdue the beast running rampant through the woods. Halsin took a deep breath, taking in the scent of the algae clinging to the edge of the pond and listening to the sounds nearby. Crickets chirped loudly all around, sounding off out of sync so there was almost always one singing into the night. 

Beautifully luminescent fireflies lazily bobbed around the surface of the water and high into the trees, their glow mixing with the moon that was still high in the sky; well past midnight, but still a few hours before the sun would rise. The serenity of the pond was still not enough for Halsin to be able to regain control of the beast. He stepped into the water, feeling the icy cold water beginning to finally tame the fire almost boiling in his veins. Another step in and the beast was becoming easier to control, but still needed just a bit more. 

You stepped quietly through the trees, effortlessly weaving your way through foliage and over gnarled tree roots poking up from the ground as you searched for the druid. A few hours had passed since his abrupt departure and with all of your companions now sleeping peacefully in their bedrolls, four footed ones included, with the exception of one particularly cryptic druid. Something about Halsin’s sudden urgency to leave didn’t sit well with you and after he had not yet returned, you were concerned. You knew good and well he was in no real danger and could easily handle himself, but you knew there was something gnawing at his mind and if it was something you could help alleviate, you were more than willing to miss out on a few hours sleep.

Realistically, you were walking blindly into the forest. You had no sense of where Halsin could have wandered off to and your tracking skills were less than ideal. But nonetheless you pushed forward, taking time to enjoy the silence of the night as you meandered your way through your surroundings. You didn’t bother to bring a torch given just how bright the moon was and only had to fumble a bit under the thickest spots of the canopy. After some time, you picked up on the steadily increasing sounds of crickets and stopped to marvel at the blanket of fireflies that thrived in the darkness.

Between the chirps of the cricket hiding in the grass, you heard the sound of something lightly splashing against water. You redirected your course to head towards the sound and soon stumbled upon a small pond. A symphony of croaking frogs began as you neared the water, surprised to see such a quaint little pond in such a thick forest. The splashing came again, this time the sound seemly skipping across the surface of the water, and as you reached the end of the trees, you could see the remaining ripples riding against the water. 

Halsin was standing up to his shins in pond, his trousers rolled to just above his knees and his shoes had been long forgotten in the grass leading to the water, yet still mysteriously wet. His back was to you and he had yet to hear you approach, too engrossed in skipping stones across the water than to hear you coming up behind him. You could see the muscles of his arms flexing and releasing in the soft glow of the moonlight, an obvious tension in the thickness of the muscles. Something had set the druid on edge and you feared that you were the catalyst of his frustrations; although you had no inkling of a clue that you were also the solution. 

You watched as he wound his arm slightly before flinging a stone from his hand. The rock skipped beautifully across the water, jumping ten times or more before finally sinking to the bottom of the pond. He waited for the water to quiet once again before throwing another stone, but his one much more forceful. Instead of skipping across the water, the rock simply splashed on impact and sunk. There was a frustration in his throw, a side you didn’t see from Halsin very often out of battle, but you still hadn’t determined the cause. You hesitated in your spot, thinking it would probably be best to simply turn away and let him work through his feelings in this state, but part of you wanted to stay. You’d helped him with many issues thus far, so why stop now? 

You took another step towards the pond, purposefully stepping on a branch so it would snap and give away your position. Halsin’s head turned the trees, alarm quickly giving way to relief when you saw you stepping from the foliage. You noted how the scrunched expression on his face melted at the sight of you, making you believe that perhaps he wasn’t angry with you. He gave you a single nod as you approached the edge of the lake, his blood still running too warm for his liking and he wasn’t sure he could speak without a sense of desperation to his voice. You nodded in response, taking the opportunity of finding a body of water to rinse your hands.

“Is everything all right?” You asked as you knelt by the shoreline, dunking your hands in the cool water to wash away any sticky remnants of the honey you’d eaten earlier.

“Oh, yes I’m fine. Just needed some space to think.” Halsin said as he tossed another stone across the quiet surface of the water, “With the city drawing nearer, I fear a peaceful spot like this will be difficult to find. I wanted to savor it while it lasts; try to process recent events and what comes next.”

“Ah. Well… I won’t keep you then.” You said as you stood, flicking water droplets from your fingers in an attempt to dry them, “We both know peace rarely stays for long when I’m around.” You gave a half hearted smile, still unsure if you had done something to upset the druid. Your mind had been settled at the very least, knowing he was safe and had seemingly calmed himself enough to sate your troubled mind.

“Nonsense,” Halsin’s voice was almost surprised, “there is plenty of space in nature for the both of us. You are no bother to me, my friend.” You hesitated for a moment, but eventually spoke.

“You’re certain?” Halsin’s head cocked slightly, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice and realizing that his sudden departure might have offended you in some way.

“Will you join me?” He asked softly as he extended out his hand, offering you a rock to skip yourself.

You felt your heart begin to pick up pace at his offer, having very few times in memory where he’s specifically asked for your company. Normally you asked if he would mind if you joined or he would offer you a space next to him, but very rarely had he specifically asked you to join him. Because of this, you happily obliged and began unlacing your boots to join him in the water. Halsin could feel that familiar warmth beginning to creep into his chest again as he watched your ever teasing fingers quickly unlace your boots. He shifted in the water again, finding a colder spot to stand in as you rolled your trouser legs up to your knee before stepping into the water yourself.

“Good gods.” You muttered as you stepped further into the water, the sudden chill on your legs making your skin seize up and a chill go down your spine.

“Quite brisk tonight, despite how warm the air is.” Halsin said as you stood by him in the water, which had already soaked well past your knees given the depth of your section of pond. You nodded in agreement, still trying to adjust to the temperature change.

He offered you the stone again and you happily accepted it, your fingers brushing against his as you grabbed the stone. You did a double take and took his hand in both of yours, marveling at how unbelievably warm they were when considering he’d been standing in cold water for quite some time now.

“Do you always run so warm to the touch?” You asked as you finally pried your hands away from his, realizing just how long you had lingered. 

“I have lately,” Halsin admitted as you turned the stone in your hand, “the beast tends to run hot and emerge more often when I have something pressing on my mind.” Halsin flicked his wrist and sent another stone skidding across the water, ending with a satisfying plunk as it dipped below the surface.

You were never sure why he always referred to his bear form as a beast. Sure, the bear was a formidable opponent in battle and could show quite the fury when angered, but ultimately the so-called beast was still Halsin. To you, the bear was as much Halsin as Halsin was the bear; one in the same. And admittedly, as much as you admired Halsin, you were also rather fond of the bear.

“Anything I can do to help ease your mind?” You asked softly, “I won’t pry, but if I can be of some use, please, let me know.” 

“Some use?” Halsin asked through a hearty chuckle, “You’ve helped me more than I could have imagined. You’ve greatly exceeded any expectations I could have possibly had when I met you. I do hope you know just how grateful I am for you, my friend.” You found yourself blushing at his praises, a warmth stinging the apples of your cheeks.

“Well, how about more use, then?” You offered after your blush began to die down, still wanting to offer help for the druid if you could.

“I won’t burden you with an old druid’s ramblings.” He said softly, turning his gaze to yours, “You have your own matters to worry about that are much more important.”

“Well,” you sighed when you realized he would go no further, “if you need whatever worth my opinion has on a matter or even just an ear to vent to, I’m here.” Halsin nodded to you as a way of thanks, taking a brief moment to simply admire you before sending another stone across the water.

You both stood in your respective spots for a long while, taking turns to throw stones across the pond. The stones Halsin skipped were always fluid and elegant, easily surpassing a dozen or so skips before finishing off. Yours, on the other hand, were much more choppy. You didn’t think you’d managed to pass more than two skips and most of your stone ended up simply splashing in the water the second they left your fingers. You weren’t the most skilled stone skipper in Faerûn, but you were admittedly enjoying yourself.  

“Are you competitive, Halsin?” You asked after a while, wanting to fill the silence between you and still try to find a way to lift his spirits. If you couldn’t help him with his burdens, then you’d at least like to let him enjoy the night.

“I can be,” he said with a playful glint to his eye, “when I have time to indulge in more light hearted activities. And with the right company, of course.” He motioned to you with his finger.

“Well, in that case, care to indulge me? How about a fresh jar of honey for the winner? Don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing it earlier.” You tossed the rock in your hand and caught it with a touch of flare. Halsin was thankful that the cool water he was standing in kept his heart from racing and his blood from once again running too hot. His eyes focused on the stone you twirled in your fingers as you awaited an answer, your digits once again testing the limits of his self control. 

“I can’t say it’s not tempting,” he spoke slowly, trying to regain a steadiness to his voice, “but, given the circumstances, I’m not sure if indulging is the right thing to do. Not right now, at least. The threat of the Absolute takes priority, does it not?”

“It does, but there’s no harm in indulging in something you want, especially now.” You stopped twirling your stone, opting to simply look out across the water as you spoke, “ The Absolute will be there tomorrow just as it was there today. What happens in our downtime will happen if we’re abstaining from joyous things or giving in completely. So, my thinking at least, is let yourself indulge. The world could end in the morning, so I’m going to enjoy tonight while I still can.”

How Halsin wished he could simply take your view on the world. He couldn’t help but think of all the stress and strain that could have been avoided if he had simply taken one night off here and there to just live. The responsibilities the grove suddenly presented to him all those years ago when the shadow curse first took hold had locked his mind in a constant battle for balance. He always strove to find balance in the natural world, but never took the time to find balance within himself. Instead, he allowed himself to be burdened and live almost as a ghost of his former self for the better part of a century. Until he met you. You were the balance he so desperately craved and wanted.

“Are you always so convincing?” He asked after a moment with a soft grin, finally relenting and decided that tonight would simply be one of indulgence and a bit of fun.

“I have my moments.” You said with a shrug and a cheeky smile. 

You each took a handful of smooth stones from under the water, taking time to find ones that were just the right size and weight for your little game. You had decided that the winner would be whoever could skip a stone the furthest across the surface of the water before you decided to head back to camp. The moon had started to lower, the darkness beginning to lighten ever so slightly, signaling that sunrise was merely an hour or two away.

You once again took turns tossing rocks across with water with very similar results. You clearly knew Halsin would win your little competition and while the more competitive side of you wanted to win, you were simply happy with watching Halsin actually enjoy himself. The feeling was only boosted by the idea that he was enjoying spending his very little free time with you of all people. The thought brought you back to the moment you had shared earlier in camp when he abruptly left, the feeling of guilt once again returning with the thought that you had annoyed him.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you earlier,” you said as another one of your stones plunked into the water on the first toss, “I should have let you enjoy your evening in peace.”

“You didn’t disturb me,” he said almost immediately, “I always enjoy every moment of your company. It’s just that… long suppressed emotions are bubbling towards the surface. Left unchecked they’re liable to break the tension and I’ll lose any sense of self control.” He sent another rock across the water, this one a bit more forceful, and it skidded across the water to reach his highest number of skips yet.

“Well, sometimes it’s good to let those feelings out. Cry, scream at the sky, go on a rampage. Seems to help Karlach well enough.” You threw a rock and had to catch yourself before losing your footing and falling in the water, “Hells, if you want to go stomping around as a bear for a while if you think it’ll be of assistance, have at it. I’ll be here when you get back and maybe I’ll have figured out how to properly skip a damn stone by the time you return.” He chuckled at your response, truly appreciative of the admiration of the bear, but also at your very sorry attempts at throwing rocks. 

“Widen your stance,” he said as he pointed to your legs, “it’ll give you more stability so you can focus on tossing the stone and not toppling into the water.” You adjusted your leg slightly, pulling one leg just a bit from the other before looking back to Halsin for approval. He simply shook his head and pointed to the side, hinting that you should adjust more. The same cycle repeated for a few rounds with the same result. 

“May I?” Halsin said after a few tries and finally gestured to your leg, wanting permission to help you adjust your stance before touching you. 

“Of course.” You said softly, finding your heart had begun to give the slightest flutter in your chest as Halsin trudged through the water to stand behind you. 

You felt Halsin’s foot nudge yours from under the water, encouraging you to shift your legs further apart. You obliged, shifting your leg until you felt the druid stop his movements. Admittedly, you felt more secure in your posture as you dug your toes into the sandy bottom of the pond. Your breath involuntarily hitched as you felt a pair of large hands on your hips, pulling back slightly and encouraging you to angle one hip further back. As before, you complied. Taking one small step back with one foot until you were at a slight angle. 

“Good,” Halsin said softly against your ear, “just like that.” He could feel his own chest begin to tighten as you melted under his touch. 

With his own lips close to your ear, he could hear the skip to your breath and could see the prickling of your skin as his warm breath tickled your neck. When you angled your hips with Halsin’s movements, your upper back softly rested against Halsin’s broad chest, fitting together almost seamlessly. The warmth of his body so close to yours was a welcome reprieve from the cold water you’d been standing in and you had to resist the urge to lean back more than you already had. You could each feel the others heart beat begin to increase, the pounding steadily increasing the longer your touch lingered on the other. 

You had the quick touch here and there in the past, whether it be through healing or exploring or even a quick pat on the back for moral support, but it had never been anything more. Nothing had ever lingered for more than a few fleeting seconds and none had ever set your heart ablaze like it was now. Although not inherently sexual, there was a sexual tension in the air around you. Your seemingly simple offer to skip stones had quickly turned into something much more intimate. And admittedly, you were beginning to think that maybe there was more to Halsin than to just be a traveling companion. Perhaps you wanted more. 

Shamelessly, you had flirted with him many weeks ago with the tiefling celebration with the aid of half a bottle of a wine, and had very gently been turned down. As much as it had disappointed you at the time, you respected his decision. After all, you were little more than strangers at the time and Halsin had his own share of problems to deal with first. But, now that the shadow curse had been lifted and his duties at the grove were nonexistent now, then just maybe something could happen between the two of you. 

“Now for the stone.” Halsin said after clearing the lump of excitement from his throat. He took the stone from your hand, turning it over in his hands to ensure it was the correct size and weight for skipping. 

You watched as the stone moved through his fingers, noting just how small the stone looked in his hands when the same stone looked large when compared to yours. You had expected his calloused hands to be rough against your skin, but as his fingers brushed against yours, you noticed how exceedingly gentle they were. You had seen his very hands decimate enemies and battle and rip foes apart when in wild shape, but in this moment his hand cradled yours as if you’d break if he were any rougher. 

“Curl these fingers into your palm,” Halsin’s voice brought you back from your thoughts, “and use them to hold the stone steady until you’re ready to throw.” Halsin’s opposite hand was cupping yours, gently pushing your last three fingers with his own so they would curl into themselves. With his hand on yours and the other still holding the stone, you found yourself engulfed between his arms, each of his resting on either side of you.

“Good. Now, use your thumb to hold the bottom of the stone and let it run along the length of your finger. Hook it at the tip.” Halsin effortlessly spread your thumb and pointer finger with his own, giving him the change to slot the skipping stone into your grasp.  

Halsin hesitated for a moment, but his other hand eventually settled on your side, keeping your hips aligned with how they had been previously positioned. He felt your skin prickle at his touch, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his heart thumped even harder against his chest. He had to step back just slightly to keep you from feeling the same warmth he felt begin to grow in other areas of his body. 

“Arm back.” He said as he pulled your arm back at a bend. You allowed him to move your arm as needed until your arm was completely nestled against his. You could feel the tightness of his muscles as he moved his arm in tandem with yours and you could actually feel just how strong his hulking arms were. 

“Now I throw?” You whispered, finding your voice difficult to get out.

“Yes, but there’s a trick,” Halsin’s voice was once again at your ear, his breath tickling the outer shell as he spoke, “you’ll throw outward, but angle it down just slightly. It allows for a slight spin on the stone when you flick it from your fingers and it’ll skip along nicely.” 

With your hand in his, he adjusted the slant of your grip until it was perfect. He kept his grip on you as he helped you toss the stone, his body moving time with yours as he used his arm to guide your own. With a flick of his wrist, and subsequently yours, the rock was thrown perfectly from your grasp and quickly skipped across the water. You both watched in a bit of amazement as the stone surpassed two dozen skips before finally coming to a stop. It was the furthest a rock had been thrown that evening and you were suddenly faced with a dilemma.

“So,” you drawled out as Halsin’s grip remained on you, “who gets the credit for that throw?” The druid couldn’t help but chuckle at the question, not quite sure how to answer it himself. He then realized that he was still holding onto you as you stood in the water and he hesitantly broke away. His fingers lingered ever so slightly on your skin, relishing the contact he’d so greatly been craving.

“I supposed we could call it a tie,” he said eventually, “and we’ll just have to see who can break it.” You nodded in agreement, satisfied with his answer, and readied yourself to begin throwing more stones now that you’d had just an exhilarating lesson. 

You and Halsin spent the next few moments searching the pond for more suitable stones, the bulk of the ones at your feet having already been tossed. With sloshing at your legs and dirt between your toes, you walked as best you could to a new spot, hunched over as you inspected the ground for smooth, rounded rocks. Very soon you were joined by Halsin, who had yet to find a good rock, and you both simply searched the pond in silence. 

“You know, it’s nice to see you like this.” You said eventually, still having come up empty handed for a decent rock.

“Like what? Hunched over and looking for rocks in the middle of the night?” Halsin asked with a chuckle as he continued looking himself. You found yourself standing across from each other, bent over and faces close to the edge of the water, but also rather close to each other. Half a step forward and your nose would be bumping into his.

“No,” you said with a giggle, “relaxing and, dare I say, even happy. It’s a good look for you.” He glanced up to you, offering you a gentle smile.

“I have you to thank for that. You’ve helped me far more than you probably should have already. It’s not fair of me to always burden you with my troubles; they’re not your burdens to bear. Pardon the pun, if you will.” His familiar seriousness had returned to his voice as he spoke, but he was nothing but sincere.

“Well maybe not, but my tadpole problem isn’t yours either. It’s okay to rely on others when you need help, Halsin. I know that what you had as Archdruid forced you to bear your burdens alone, but you don’t need to anymore. You’ve got an entire camps worth of people that would do anything to help. And if all else fails then you’ll have me. Please know that my hand is extended if you need the help.” You instinctively reached forward, not realizing just what you were doing until your slightly cold fingers ran across his burning cheek. You were committed by that point and simply cupped his cheek for a moment to show your sincerity before dropping it back to the tops of your thighs.

“Another night, perhaps.” He finally said after a brief moment of silence, “For tonight I’m too occupied with besting you at a bit of stone skipping.” 

“You seem rather confident.” You said with a huff, being met with a similarly wide grin from the druid.

“After as many stones that you simply threw into the water? I am rather confident.” You responded by playfully dipping your fingers in the water in front of you, bringing them up sharply to splash a small amount of the chilly water on Halsin’s face.

You had expected some sort of witty remark, but instead, you were met with a very large and very cold splash of water to your own face and chest. Halsin had used both his hands to deliver a rather large amount of pond water to you, easily soaking your already thin camp tunic. You stood up straight, the chill going straight to your spine and making your skin prickle once again at the sensation. Your rock skipping competition had now been forgotten and you were both now splashing each other back and forth in the pond. You circled each other, trying to evade the onslaught of water heading towards each of you. You would let out a shriek turned giggle each time you were doused with another handful of water, folding in on yourself momentarily until the initial shock wore off. Halsin was much more dignified when he was splashed by your much smaller handfuls of water, but was no doubt feeling just a chilled after some time.

You continued to circle each other, steadily splashing each other more and more quickly as the game progressed. That was, however, until you finally lost your footing on a smooth rock that you hadn’t seen earlier, and started falling backwards. Thanks to his reflexes, Halsin was able to realize that you were falling much faster than you were, and reached out to grab a hold of your arm in an attempt to keep you from fully submerging yourself in the water. His hold certainly helped you from fully dunking into the water, but you were too far gone for it to save you from getting wet, and you inadvertently pulled the druid down on top of you as you fell into the pond. 

You let out a hiss through your teeth as your bottom collided with the rocks and dirt underneath you, cold water immediately soaking your shirt and wetting your entire back. Halsin had come close to falling on top of you, but thankfully caught himself on his hands and knees before colliding with you. What he couldn’t prevent, however, was where he landed. You soon realized that the druid was looming over you, one of his massive legs was sandwiched between yours and the other rested along your outer hip. His hands were near your sides, not quite close enough to touch, but enough to fully cage you underneath him as your nose sat mere inches from his. You both simply froze in your spots, realizing the precariousness of your situation, yet somehow enraptured by it. 

You could feel Halsin’s warm breath come out in strong bursts against your face, faintly smelling of the apple he had eaten earlier. Your eyes locked to his, unsure of what to do or say in the moment, and you were hoping he would be the more reasonable of the two. However, you were simply met with a tension filled silence, the druid also not sure of what to do or say next. His eyes slowly trailed down from yours, eventually settling along your lips. You let out the slightest of gasps as you felt his hand cup your cheek, much like yours had done to his just moments before, and you felt your heart pound harder than you could image as his thumb made its way down your cheek bone. You were fully expecting his lips to press to your own moments later, but instead you were surprised with a different move.

Halsin slowly ran his thumb across your bottom lip, starting at the corner of your mouth and gently pulling until he came to the center, your lip bending to his movements as he went. When his thumb left your skin after what felt like an eternity, he lifted the digit to your line of sight and revealed a small amount of honey. Your tongue instinctively licked your lip where his thumb had just been, searching for any remaining bit that had apparently been stuck to your mouth all evening. Before you could thank him for removing the sticky mess from your lip, he popped his honey covered thumb into his mouth, licking off the treat as his eyes remained locked onto yours. 

You felt your heart pound against your chest and in your ears as you watched him lick off the teasingly small taste of honey from his thumb. There was something fiery in his eyes as he meticulously cleaned his thumb, something you had never seen so potent and strong before; desire. It only just dawned on you that your own honey licking earlier was what sent him into such a frenzy and caused his urgency to leave. Halsin wanted you and wanted you enough to drive himself mad with desire. Your breath suddenly came in pants as you felt a desirable warmth spread across your abdomen. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him just as desperately in this moment.

“There’s more,” you said breathlessly, “if you want.” Your voice was just a whisper against Halsin’s skin. You weren’t sure if the sudden lack of oxygen in your lungs was from the cool water now engulfing your chest or if it was from the sudden proximity of the druid hovering over you. You also weren’t sure yourself if you still only referring to honey.

“I do, more than anything, I do.” There was desperation in his words, but also a hint of hesitation in his voice as he spoke. 

“But…?” You said after a moment, knowing there was more to his statement than just desire. Like that night at the tiefling party, you felt as if you were about to be gently turned down once again. 

“But not tonight,” his gaze was soft as he spoke, understanding the delicate nature of the topic at hand, “the sun is rising and very soon our companions will stir for the day.”

Halsin wanted more than just a quick night to simply satiate primal needs. He wanted companionship from you, but wasn’t sure himself if you shared in his desires. He could tell you wanted at least one night with him, and until he was certain you also wanted more, he wanted to make the one guaranteed night to be memorable for himself at the least. Halsin needed an early evening and a long night so he could take his time to properly savor you; the taste of your lips, the feel of your skin against his, the scent of your arousal. He wanted to etch it all into memory. 

If you didn’t want more time with him, he wanted to be able to remember your night together over and over again to satiate his own desires when alone in his tent. To recall the way your body moved and arched with his touch, to replay the wonderful little noises that would come from your lips when he found the right spot, and, most importantly, to reminisce about the way you felt around him. Your touch had teased him for so long now and he needed to feel you against every part of him more than he needed anything else. But, he needed a proper night. One where he could take his time with you without worry of being interrupted either by your camp mates or the rising sun. 

 Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong. You also knew that if your companions noticed that you both were missing, they would surely coming looking for you and interrupt any bit of fun you and Halsin had decided to enjoy together. 

“And,” he said as he brought his lips to your ear as he whispered, but not enough to touch, “if I’m going to indulge in something I’ve wanted for this long, I want to take the time to savor the taste.” You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, the promise of something more to come in the following days was enough to subdue the raging warmth you felt in your abdomen and legs. You nodded in response and were greeted with a thankful smile.

You both remained there for a moment longer before the chill of the water was too much to bear. Halsin stood first, climbing off of your frame before helping you to your feet. You each wrung out as much water from your clothes and hair as possible before picking up your long forgotten shoes and making the long walk back to camp. You walked in silence as you returned to camp, your soaked clothes sloshing about filling the void of silence. 

The sun was beginning to crest just as the crickets and fireflies had quieted down for the morning. Orange light filtered through the leaves of the canopy above as morning birds began their songs for the day, the rays of sun slightly warming your overly chilled bodies. By the time you made it just to the edge of camp, you were relieved to see that no one had yet stirred for the day. The last thing you wanted to do was explain why you and Halsin were returning to camp soaking wet after being gone for most of the night. Halsin stopped you before you could step into the camp, a soft touch lingering on your skin. You turned to face him, getting lost in the softness of his eyes as he spoke.

“Get what rest you can,” he whispered to you, “we’ll let ourselves indulge in the other after the sun sets for the day.” You smiled at the promise, already wishing for the day to go by as quickly as possible.

“Until tonight, then.” You said softly as you began to make your way towards your tent.

“Until tonight.” Halsin replied as he followed suit to his own living quarters. 

You stepped quietly through the camp, hoping the sound of wet cloth rubbing against itself wouldn’t be enough to wake your companions, especially the camp animals. Halsin had made it to the mouth of his tent long before you’d made it to yours, considering yours was the furthest from the pond. You took a quick glance back towards his tent and found that he had not yet gone inside, but was waiting just in the threshold. He wanted to ensure you had gotten inside before he retired for a few moments rest himself. You met his gaze as you gripped the flap to your tent and were met with a quick wink before the druid ducked inside his own tent and out of sight. Your heart fluttered at the gesture and you quickly stepped inside your dwelling space and closed the flap just as you heard the tent next to you begin to stir for the morning. 

Tag List: @thoughts-of-bear ,@beardedladyqueen, @pixie-in-a-moonlantern, @ur-friendly-nbhd-cardassian

[blueinkphantom]

Spirit of a Sword

In an AU where objects can have spirits, Technoblade is the spirit of the sword called Orphan Obliterator unbeknownst to most. Following the execution, Dream runs away with Techno recharging in the sword.

Story for Day 10 (Injured, "I've got you.") of the Christmas Dreamnoblade Event by @alterdnbweek

Also on Archive of our Own. This AU is basically a remix of an old AU i had which i got new fire for after seeing rainystressed's dpurbyfiarsl AU, plus some additional inspiration by one of my favourite Zelda companions Fi.

Commotion came from the area of the stage. It was rather easy to pick out Techno's voice among the others even with Dream and Punz's hiding spot. They had him. They would lock him on display as the anvil fell.

Dream hoped the piglin found a totem of undying with the map he gave, especially considering both their skills with maps. It wouldn't prevent him from dying, but it would prevent it from being permanent and Dream having to use an item, he'd rather keep hidden from all except for Punz for a bit longer.

They both kept watch as things progressed. Until Dream gave the signal and Punz pearled in. The surprise was working, all of them were caught off guard. Dream headed down towards Carl and guided them both to a place near the van where Techno had to spot them and would hopefully then come to him.

But instead of the green flash of life magic or the white flash from visiting death, there was a pink one. Quick and left behind a similarly coloured mist that moved through the cage and past him towards the hole where Dream had planned to lead Techno to. Where his items were.

Dream followed it closely with the horse, blocking off the entry after and ignoring the yells behind him. The mist didn't stop, heading further down to where he had placed the iron armour and other items that Techno could have used, as well as the few items that Dream had already managed to steal back from the butcher army.

The chest with Techno's name on it glowed faintly from inside before dimming.

When he opened it, the sword, Orphan Oblitorator was still faintly glowing before the glow became a shimmer similar to that of an enchantment except for the colour difference. Instead of the purple, it was the same pink as the times before. He chuckled. So undeniably Techno. He couldn't imagine anyone else with that shade.

His suspicions that formed with the mist were confirmed and he didn't know how to feel about it. Maybe relief that he's not the only one. Maybe curiosity. It didn't matter.

What mattered was getting Techno out. Especially now that the piglin couldn't really do it himself unless the sword suddenly grew two legs or wings.

Considering the height the anvil fell from, he estimated it would take more than a day for Tech to reform. A time he would need to either ensure was spent away from enemies' hands himself or have someone he could trust do it.

Phil would be a good option. A long-time and trusted friend of Technos. If only he wasn't under house arrest and it wouldn't be too risky to try breaking him out now. He'd have to wait. Punz and Sam would be other good options. Both trustworthy and dedicated. But both were busy.

He'd probably prefer to do it himself anyway.

The items left for Techno got put back into his inventory before he gently lifted the sword and put it into the sheath around his belt. It shouldn't prevent him from coming back like putting him in his inventory would. And besides, an inventory slot doesn't fit Technoblade. The sheath doesn't really either but it's at least a bit better.

"I've got you," he whispered.

Dream was about to head further down when he spotted Quackity behind him, expression first surprised then souring into anger. "What the- Dream? What the fuck. Of course. Of course, you are here. Where is Technoblade? Did you help him escape? How did- How did you do it?"

The words "I wish" were on his tongue. If he actually had managed to help him escape, if he had any plan for that, Technoblade wouldn't be recharging inside the sword right now.

Subtly he tried to remove the sword from Quackity's eyesight while starting to gesture with his hands. "You really think Techno would need my help to escape? I mean I'm flattered, y'know? But he didn't need me."

"Sure. Sure. So you have Carl just for fun. Wanted another horse whose leather can be swung in front of your face." Dream's grip on the orphan obliterator tightened, still, he refrained from swinging any weapons, least of all swinging that sword. "Where is Techno, Dream? I saw Punz. You told him to disrupt the execution, didn't you?"

"To be fair, Techno has enough to buy Punz himself. He wouldn't need me for that."

"Everyone knows how you two are working together." They know, for now, Dream thought. "So tell me where Techno is and how you helped him escape or this will get ugly. I will even let you keep the horse if you spit it out."

"Hmm. I mean this would be a lot more threatening if it wasn't coming from you." Quackity for all his skill in getting people to join his cause, wasn't a fighter. "So listen. I'm gonna go with Carl and you go back to your country. Got that?"

"I won't let you leave, Dream. Tell me where he is." Quackity demanded as he held the diamond axe pointed to him.

"No. I won't just tell you where he is even if i knew."

"Okay, that's it." Quackity ran straight at him which nearly made Dream want to chuckle. He didn't pay attention to the words exchanged after the first hit. The fight - which could barely even be called that - was over quickly. A few hits with Nightmare and the duck hybrid crumbled to the floor. Breath wheezing from how it tried to still get in air despite the slit throat.

Dream kneeled down, looking Quackity in the eyes. "Don't waste your breath."

Seconds later, the body dissolved. Slowly fading to signify the first life lost and the other two remaining. With flint and steel, he burned the scattered items, only taking those that seemed useful. Tactics from back when he was hunted more widely still were useful.

After a quick check on his surroundings to ensure no more surprise attackers, he started leading Carl again, hoping the faint whispers of "Blood for the Blood God" he could hear were just his imagination. Maybe Technoblade's influence.

At some point, the path opened up more which also meant Dream could go onto the horse again, which he did after holding out a golden apple to it. It inspected the food with a few sniffs before deeming it safe and biting into it while Dream petted it. A beautiful and strong horse. He could see why Technoblade liked it.

He settled on its back and quickly ordered it forward. The rest of the way went by in a breeze despite sticking to the Overworld. Nether travel seemed risky with how they might predict it.

The cabin was soon in view. The moon is by now high up and reflecting the sun's light down onto the world.

He stepped down and fed another golden apple to it. Ignoring background whispers of him spoiling the horse and being soft. Softwastaken. Dreamwassoft. Not the strangest of thoughts his mind summoned. Though they were annoying nonetheless.

There was no one in the cabin except for the animals and enderman Techno was housing. It felt empty without the piglin’s big figure and warm voice. He should be back soon.

But for now, he racked his brain for whatever Punz usually does if he is like this. Keep out of inventory. Keep close or hidden. Repair of broken. Wait.

Techno was still out of his inventory and in his sheat. His plan for now was to stick around till either Techno came out again or Phil escaped which he should message Punz for. See if they can figure out a way. Later.

Dream remembers feeling his surroundings when he was like the piglin is now. He mulled over it a bit as he ventured upstairs and placed Techno on the bed. The blanket was left off of him. He didn't know how, when or where Techno would form, best to keep it uncovered.

Something Punz would sometimes do is fix him if he had any rips in his other form. But Techno's sword didn't seem in need of any repairs. The blade was as sharp as ever and beautifully smooth. The handle provided a good grip even if it was a bit large for Dream. It's design still left him in awe. It was a masterpiece just like its soul.

Which made him wonder how Techno had become like this. Was he born or rather made like this? Or was he cursed like Dream? Or maybe not a curse but a connection through many battles won and much blood spilt that led to his soul possessing the sword after his death?

But if he wasn't always like this when did it change? How long has he been the spirit of a sword? Did-

A squeak interrupted his mind. Something small, furry and white peaked out from the trapdoor before scrambling further up and along till it was on the bed. Dream was about to rush forward but stopped in his tracks when he saw the fox was just curling up on top of the sword.

It was just cuddling with its owner. Wait, does it know that’s Techno? Can animals sense object’s souls when they are in the object? He’s gonna need to test this once he can. Speaking of testing, he meant to text Punz.

You whisper to Punz: did you get away?

Punz whispers to you: yes. only a few minor cuts. how about you?

You whisper to Punz: same on my end

You whisper to Punz: is phil still under house arrest?

Punz whispers to you: yes. want me to get him out?

You whisper to Punz: yes

You whisper to Punz: Techno is like me

You whisper to Punz: currently recharging on his bed

You whisper to Punz: will wait till Phil gets here or he gets back

Punz whispers to you: alright

He looked back to the bed where the fox seemed asleep by now. On the nightstand, he spotted a few trinkets. A smaller bell, a lapis lazuli, a letter, a stone that looks familiar and a book. Curious he came closer till he could make out the title. “Love Across Dimensions”. It didn’t sound like something he could see Techno read. Even more curious now, he opened it to the first few pages and quickly got even more surprised or rather confused.

It turned out to be an encyclopedia on courting rituals in different species ranging from the common human to the rarest ender dragon hybrid. There was a loose page with different hybrid species written down including dragon, goat and avian.

Dream opened the list of contents again and flipped shortly to the piglin section. He got a few sentences in before another ping got him out.

Punz whispers to you: Btw, congrats on the kill

He messaged back a quick thanks and then put the book back where it was. With nothing else to do but wait, he shifted into a wolf to better blend in just in case anyone came in.

Settled beside the bed, he keeps his ears sharp, listening for any threat.

Nothing happens for hours until the wall gets drenched in a pink hue.

Dream glances up to the bed. The sword is glowing, the fox now moved further down the bed away from it. The pink mist from before exits the sword again and shapes into a familiar form.

Technoblade groans from where he reformed again and Dream forgets for a second which shape he took and lets out a yip, drawing Techno's attention.

“Huh? You’re not one of my dogs. How did you get in here?”

Deciding he’d rather not have Techno know he’s a wolf right now, he heads straight down and out, opening the door with little issue. He hears the piglin call out for him but ignores it. If Techno knew, the shifter wouldn't hear the end of it.

And later when they prepare for Doomsday and Techno mentions the wolf with a smirk towards Dream’s direction, he will deny any relation at all. Denial which Techno will not believe.