#stealing reckless's tag

[i2sunric]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE (l.hs)

pairing: reckless!heeseung x reader (f)

summary: everyone knows you have a strong character and are a smart woman, and nobody can explain how you ended up with someone like lee heeseung. he makes you want to rip his hair out and kiss him until he drops to his knees at the same time— because however reckless and foolish his decisions are, they’re always made for you.

warnings: crack (and angst if u squint?), mentions of jail, breaking the law. smut! (i put a warning so you can skip if uncomfortable), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), fingering, dirty talking, p in v, doggystyle, pussy eating, sidefuck, mentions of fighting and alcohol consumption. pet names (angel, baby), heeseung isn’t very rich, starring enha hyung line & itzy’s chaeryeong, mentions of songs i like… cause why not?, heeseung is silly, not so nice comments towards reader, for the sake of the plot reader has an ass that jiggles. NOT PROOFREAD.

wc: 8.5k

published: 23rd June 2024

taglist: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @seunghancore @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries (oneshot) @cherlv @sl33pyrin @kookify @heeslut4life @heeshlove @tibamrayg @enhalxvr @heelee-01 @crimnalseung @oopshee @deobitifull @jjklvr9 @starfallia @eneiyri @artisticbirb @tinyteezer @jakesbbygirl @heartheejake @mitmit01 @p-d1ddy @IIvrhee @jakehooni @minseongsworld @samouryed @ramenoil @blockbusterhee @laurradoesloveu @koralira-kira @kireidattes @yunhoswrldddd @nyamiyan @wonxlvr @kgneptun @camprock101 @trizdoniki @cloud-lyy @rayofsunshineeee @qtnights BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED.

now playing: Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter

a/n: i honestly don’t really like how it turned out but i didn’t want to make you guys wait any longer. the smut sucks, so sorry but lmk your thoughts! and please LiIKE & REBLOG. also, the songs i mentioned in the fic are related to the scenes so i suggest you to search the lyric on google!

Standing outside the prison, just like the way you got stood up the same morning, you rested your back against your vintage car, tapping your foot impatiently.

You weren’t even surprised when you received Jay’s phone call, informing that the reason why your boyfriend didn’t show up on your date was because he ended up in jail. Again.

You watched as his red-wine hair appeared from the back door, an officer guiding him to the exit until he left his wrists, leaving him free for moving around.

His smirk was smug again, full of fake innocence. Heeseung approached you and said in a sweet voice “Hi, baby.”

He placed his hands on your side, resting them on the dashboard of the car, trapping against the vehicle.

You rolled your eyes, pulling your sunglasses up in a makeshift headband. Chewing on your gum, you asked “What got you in?”

“Speeding,” He answered before joking to lighten up your mood “But the officer put me behind bars for stealing his heart.”

You sighed at his joke, rolling your eyes to look over his shoulder and not gaze into his bambi eyes, knowing they were your weakness.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” Heeseung asked, lifting one of his hands to tap your chin. He turned your head so you were now looking at him again, a small pout on his lips.

You pushed his chest “Get in the car before I close your head in the door and get sent to jail myself.” You mumbled.

Before you could do it yourself, Heeseung rushed in front of you and opened the driver seat for you. Even if he wanted, he couldn’t drive since they removed his driver licence.

He’d be out for at least two months— that only made you wonder how fast he was actually going.

‘Everytime’ by Ariana Grande started playing from your self-made CD’s and Heeseung smiled softly as he took in the lyric.

“Come on, baby.” He said as you pulled out of the prison and started driving back to his apartment “I know you’re mad—“

“Mad?” You scoffed “I’m infuriated.” You said, and your harsh tone emphasised your range.

Heeseung let out a small sigh, “Baby…” He placed his hand on your thigh, and you shoved it away.

Still, like an annoying mosquito, Heeseung placed his palm back on your thigh “Don’t be mad at me, mh?”

“Do you know how embarrassing it was to get yet another call from Jay that told me he got you bailed out of jail?” You said, looking at him as you reached a stoplight.

“I don’t like it that you make your friend spend so much money for your stupidity.”

He ran a hand through his hair “It was for a good cause.” You rolled your eyes ��Sure it was.” You focused back on the road when the light turned green.

“And I don’t know how embarrassed you were— Jay’s loaded anyways, let him use his money on me.” He pinched your thigh, only earning a worse pinch on his own.

“Ouch.” He massaged the flesh you pinched, probably spotting two half moons from your nails “Feisty I see.”

The drive continued silently, just him trying to lighten your obvious bad mood and you purposely ignoring his remarks.

You pulled on the side of the road, letting Heeseung get out of our vehicle. He rounded the car and was about to open your door when you locked it.

He frowned and knocked on the window “Angel?” He asked, leaning forward when you rolled down the window, smiling ever so innocently.

“Yes?” You said, putting your sunglasses back on your face “What is it?”

“You’ll park and come over, right?” He laughed, something that turned awkward after being met with your serious face.

“Y/N?” He asked again and you sucked on your middle finger, flicked him off before pulling away into the road, driving away from him.

Heeseung tried to jog towards you but your foot on the accelerator was pressed down enough that you left the tire’s sign on the ground.

“What the hell.” He scratched the back of his head and shrugged, knowing well that you needed time to cool off.

Sometimes, you wondered if your pressure wasn’t too high from how much mood swings he made you feel in such a short time span.

The same evening, Heeseung chose to fill his stomach with just some chips he found in his cupboard, trying not to choke himself by drinking a coke.

Not very healthy, but low cost. — not really since even some cans of coke started costing a lot, damn inflation —

He took his phone out of his pocket and dialled his best friend’s number, waiting for him to pick up.

“Heeseung?” As his cheerful voice with a thick Australian accent was heard, Heeseung started “Bro, I’m in the doghouse again.”

Jake fought not to laugh at his tragedies and said “What the hell did you do this time?”

“Do not judge.” He balanced the phone on his shoulder and moved to place his very nutritious dinner on the small table in the living room. “But I may have gone to jail again.”

Jake let out a sigh, “You’re a fucking idiot.” He muttered “Why did you go in?”

“Speeding.” Heeseung answered, sitting on the sofa with a loud thud.

“Jesus.” Jake sighed “I suppose Y/N’s all pissed now, uh?”

He flicked on the tv and munched his chips “She’s infuriated, and that’s an understatement.”

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose “You’re in a whole lotta trouble.” He then questioned “What was so important you had to speed so much?”

“Her, bro.” Heeseung answered, “I was late for our date, like, a huge fucking amount late and let’s say I didn’t think before pressing the accelerator.”

“You’re screwed.” Jake commented, “Had I been her, I would’ve broken up with you a long time ago.”

Heeseung frowned, “Don't say that.” He changed channels, not very useful since his TV only had two working channels, blaming the aerial on the rooftop that got damaged after a bad storm.

“It’s the third time you’ve been a ent to jail.” Jake pointed out “For foolish mistakes.”

“I know, I know.” Heeseung sighed “But speeding isn't even a crime if I don’t run over anyone!”

The boy on the other line laughed at how he tried to defend himself "It’s still a crime." Jake pointed out.

"But yeah, you didn't run anyone over, and for that the city should be grateful." He said, before chuckling. “But your girl definitely isn't."

Heeseung rubbed his jaw and took another bunch of chips “Apart from admitting I am a fucking douchebag, what do I do to amend myself?”

Jake thought for a moment before replying “Well, girls usually like gifts. You know, something cliché, roses or chocolates, that kind of stuff.”

“Roses are expensive.” Heeseung thought, “And so is chocolate.”

“How much money do you even have?” Jake sighed “Not a lot, oh—“ He stopped himself “I also have to phone Jay and thank him for bailing me out. Again.”

“Jay is too good to you.” The Australian chuckled “Back to your crappy plan, what are you gonna give her?”

Heeseung took a sip of coke and let out a small burp, at which Jake commented with a quiet ‘Disgusting’, “I’ll steal some flowers on the way.”

“Dude, your gee ef is already pissed off, do you really think giving her stolen flowers is going to win her heart back?” He asked.

“Just go buy them like a normal person, don't steal them, you're gonna dig yourself into an even deeper hole."

Heeseung let out a distressed sigh “Alright, If I still have money after buying those expensive flowers, should I take her out on dinner too?”

Jake chuckled at his best friend’s struggle “Yes. You totally should.”

Heeseung nodded, staring at the old cartoon displayed on the Television. The main character, with long, red hair put in two braids seemed oddly familiar.

Seriously, he had already seen her, and not only in her cartoon whose title he didn’t remember.

And then, something clicked inside his head “Oh my god!” He exclaimed, almost making Jake go deaf.

“You’re the smartest person on earth, thank you man, kisses to your sexy brain.” And then he hung up.

Uh uh baby. Mission ‘Win Y/N’s heart back in full classy with a sprinkle of glitter’ activated.

♡.

“Hi, baby.” Was the first thing that met your hearing when you opened the door.

There stood your boyfriend, you debated whether to let him in or shut the door in his face, but as your eyes scanned his body you noticed he was dressed rather nicely— Was his button up even ironed? Unexpected.

“These are for you.” He cut in, showing a bouquet — actually, there were only three — of tulips.

“What did you do there?” You asked as you noticed some bad scratches on his hands, dried blood on them.

He handed you the flowers, which were nicely put together with pink paper, matching the colour of the petals, and stepped into your apartment.

Your house wasn’t that fancy, you weren’t the wealthiest person in town either, but it was a big contrast with his lapsing one.

It was nicely tidied, everything had its place and nobody would’ve dared to break its order. Not even Heeseung’s clumsy hands.

“I wanted to get you your favourite flowers,” Heeseung smiled, turning toward you when you closed the door behind your back and smelled the tiny bouquet.

“But tulips have become so expensive nowadays, so I had to steal some from my neighbour,” He sighed “Her pussy cat gashed me when I put my hand near the vase.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his story, carefully placing the flowers on the table and taking his wounded hand, examining it.

“Let me treat it.” You said, walking to the cupboard where you kept your first aid kit “Don’t worry, it doesn’t even—“

At the side eye you shot him, Heeseung knew better than arguing further and just shut his mouth “Yes ma’am.” He said, sitting down on the chair.

You began to gently treat the scratches on his hands, teasing him by adding more pressure than you should. A little payback for how he angered you.

“Why are you here, by the way?” You questioned, tip toeing to reach the cupboard and put back the first aid kit.

Heeseung’s figure hovered behind as his hand softly reached for yours, taking the aid and placing it on the higher shelf.

Fucker, that way you’d either have to ask him to take it down or climb the counter. Knowing how prideful you were, you’d stick with the latter.

“To take you out for dinner.” He replied, the warmth of his body replaced by emptiness as he stepped away “As an apology for standing you up yesterday.”

You crossed your arms on your chest “I’m still mad at you.” Heeseung nodded “Fair, you have all the rights.”

He sighed “But please, let me take you out.” He walked closer and placed a tentative hand on your arm, when he saw you didn’t budge, he let his hands caress your sides “Grab your bestest dress and let’s have a night out, mh?”

“Bestest isn’t even a word.” You rolled your eyes. “Only children use it.”

“It is when I use it to say that you’re the bestest thing in my life.” Heeseung beamed and you cursed yourself for being so weak for him.

Playing hard to get wasn’t a choice, because no matter how stubborn you were or how clumsy he was, he always found the right words to make you fall head over heels for him.

“I have to take a shower and get dressed, and also do my hair and make up.” You murmured and Heeseung smiled, “I’m a patient man.”

You raised a brow at his very much uncorrect statement “Alright, maybe you should start right now.” He gently turned you around and pushed you toward the bathroom.

You sighed and walked in, locking the door when you heard his voice from the other side “Oh and baby? You need to drive, they took my licence, remember?”

♡.

When Heeseung entered your car and heard ‘Fake As Hell’ by All Time Low and Avril Lavigne, he knew he was in deep trouble.

You had this strange habit of listening to songs that matched your mood of the day, usually chilly and sad when it rained and upbeat when the sun shone.

And, well, punk when you had a storm going inside.

It was a habit he found cute, one he learnt from observing you and your behaviour and probably the only one aware of it.

Like how you scrunch your nose and grimace when he says something you don’t like, or how you tend to throw your head back when someone — preferably him — makes you laugh.

Heeseung knew all your little details that you probably didn’t even notice yourself.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat at the clear side glances you gave him, he cleared his throat before speaking.

“Did you change something in your makeup, angel?” He asked, even if angel wasn’t really the pet name to match your feisty attitude.

He was also glad that you let him inside your car and kindly drove the both of us, because if you wanted, you would’ve made him walk to the date location.

Your gaze softened a little as you focused on the road ahead of you “Yes.” You stated, surprised that he even noticed “I changed the lip combo.”

“You look good with this combination as well.” Heeseung said, careful with his phrasing “Even if I’m foreseeing it’ll get smudged by the end of the evening.” He added with a wink.

You tsked, “I don’t think you deserve to be the one to smudge it.”

His gaze darkened slightly. “I really hope no one else will get to do that.”

You smirked, “Where are you taking me?” You asked even if you were the one driving.

“Wendy’s.” Heeseung smiled, “I know, not fancy or worth enough for such a beautiful person like you, but affordable for a bad person like me.” He added, “And I know you like it.”

You didn’t think he knew that it didn’t matter where you went as long as he was present, where you could have him in sight and check if he did something wrong.

How unhealthy it was, you had grown anxious whenever he wasn’t with you, blaming the fact that he always ends up in trouble without supervision.

“Alright, stud.” You smiled back, speeding just enough to reach the nearest fast food chain “Let’s have our long awaited date.”

The ride was filled with small talks and funny conversations, mostly initiated by your boyfriend, and in the blink of an eye, you reached Wendy’s parking lot.

The side of town wasn’t that famous, just a couple of people stood outside, smoking cigarettes while in the nearby motorbikes parking lot were some old bikers, sipping what you thought was coke.

You didn’t mind them, even if they didn’t give you nice vibes. Heeseung grew confident enough that you wouldn’t reject his touch and wrapped one arm around your waist, tugging you closer.

The dress you chose hugged your curves ever so sweetly, the contrast between black and red making you more seductive.

When you showed up out of the bathroom, you half expected him to call you off and tell you to change; instead, he said you could wear whatever you wanted because he could fight— and that was what worried you.

You smirked and wrapped an arm around his waist as well before slipping it inside the back pocket of his jeans.

Heeseung chuckled “Trying to cop a feel, angel?” He asked, a smile plastered on his face when he finally had you in his arms.

“Yes, baby.” You playfully squeezed his butt through the fabric “Best cake ever.”

“I like this cake better.” Heeseung said as he leaned slightly back to lightly smack your ass.

“Hey!” You walked forward from the impact, laughing “No, how can I blame you.”

“Gosh, I’m starving.” You said, turning around to walk backward, trusting him enough to know that he’d tell you if you were to walk over something or someone.

“Let’s fill our tummies with burgers!” Heeseung exclaimed, beaming down at you, the sound of your heels echoing as you reached the entrance that was close to the motorbikes parking lot.

“Oi, look at how it jiggles.” Heeseung’s neck almost snapped as he heard the comment from a nearby voice. He saw how those creepy as hell bikers were ogling at you, their eyes trailed on your exposed legs. One of them even licked their lips “Bet it bounces so well.”

“You got a problem, buddy?” His voice was dark and he looked past you, his nose up, being territorial.

Oh no. You knew that gaze so well, it was the one he had when he failed to control his pent-up anger.

“Hee—“ You tried to say but he had already walked past you, standing in front of one of their bikes “Nah, no problem.” One laughed “Just thought we’d compliment your lady there.”

Heeseung's eyes narrowed, his irritation growing.

He clenched his fists, trying to keep his anger under control. "You better watch your mouth.” He warned.

One, a little younger than them, chuckled, clearly unfazed by Heeseung’s threads “Not our fault she’s hot,” His smile was smug “Just thought we’d appreciate her from afar.”

He then eyed you up and down, making you shiver under his gaze. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend.

He took a step closer to the bikers, fists still clenched. "I'm not going to tell you again," He growled, "Keep your comments to yourself, or you're going to end up with a black eye."

“Heeseung,” you took his wrist in your small hand, rubbing your thumb on his knuckles in an attempt to sooth him “You promised you’d behave, remember?” Your voice was ever so gentle.

At your words, his gaze softened and he looked behind his back “Yeah.” He whispered, “But baby, they said—“

“I know what they said.” You were quick to interrupt him “But I don’t care, can we just ignore them and enter the building? We’ll be fine.”

He stayed silent a few seconds, clearly trying to calm himself down. His clenched fits slowly relaxed and he nodded “Alright, let’s do that.”

He took your hand, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing you behind his back, as if to protect you.

Your gaze made the enormous mistake of meeting the biker that complimented your jiggly backside and he made a slapping gesture in the air.

A gesture that wasn’t, at all, ignored by your boyfriend who quickly charged at him “Alright fucker, you searched for it.”

His fist connected with the biker’s jaw, twisting his face to the side. He shook his hand, knuckles bruising from the impact.

The other bikers lunged at him, their fists flying.

Heeseung managed to duck and weave, dodging most of the blows. But eventually, one of them was able to land a punch to his stomach, causing him to double over in pain. And another hit connected on his face.

You gasped at the sight, “Stop!” You cried out, not knowing how to intervene “Please, stop it!”

Despite the pain, Heeseung straightened up and lunged at the biker who had punched him, tackling him to the ground.

He wasn't prepared for the sudden attack and fell hard, the wind knocked out of him.

You knew that darkened gaze, it was the one he had when his brain completely shut off and only left room for his angry, ranged feelings.

“No, Heeseung!” You gasped “Get off him.” You tried to get close but just the sight of the bikers around your boyfriend, all ready to attack made you flinch.

Heeseung gave the biker a set of hooks and punches, connecting with his jaw and nose. You heard a vague crack sound and silently prayed that he did not just break his nose.

Your chest heavied up and down, breath troubled from the panic.

You turned around just to see that some people began to gather by the entrance of the hallway, phones in their hands as they filmed the scene in front of them.

Your eyes widened and you quickly approached Heeseung, ignoring any other angry men around you “Let’s go.” You said, taking a hold of the hand he was about to use to punch the biker underneath him.

Heeseung blinked faintly, looking confused but allowing you to make him get up and leading him into one of the hidden hallways behind Wendy’s.

“Hey! Where do ya think you’re doing?” One of them shouted, probably jogging behind you but your feet never faltered.

“Run faster.” Heeseung gasped, taking your hand in his, taking the lead and finally ducking behind a bin.

You both squat down, panting as you tried your best not to make any sound.

You looked at your side, Heeseung’s cheekbone was bruised and his eyebrow bleeding from a minor cut.

Your gaze was full of worry and disappointment. “I can’t believe you started a fight.”

Heeseung grimaced as he touched his cheek “I didn’t start it, they searched for it by making such remarks on you.”

“You threw the first punch.” You frowned “That means starting it.”

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his messy hair. “I know, I just saw red and acted on impulse.”

You looked away and silence filled the air between you two. Waiting some minutes for things to calm down, and you took a sigh of relief when you heard stretches of bikes, driving away.

“Let’s go home.” You said, getting up from the floor, needing to support your weight with the wall.

“What about dinner?” He asked, getting up as well “You don’t want to enter?”

You whispered “I’m not hungry.” and made your way to the parking lot, where you left your car.

Heeseung understood that the situation was critical when, as you entered the car, you turned off the music, leaving only the sound of the tires on the road and the ticketing of turn signals.

Feeling a pang of guilt in his chest at the way up he had upset you so much you didn’t even want him to feed you, he reached for the small drawer where you kept all the CDs.

He took the one full of songs he liked and that you kept there, in case he wanted to listen to them whenever he used your car.

He put it in the console and shuffled the song until the right one came, he leaned back against the seat, gulping down nervously.

You heard the notes of ‘LIPS’ by jxdn playing and your breath hitched when you focused on the lyric.

Heeseung was playing the same little game you’d done since you started dating, or even before, when you tried to give him signals through the lyrics of your favourite songs.

You noticed him sneakily glancing at you, trying to take in your reaction.

He placed a hand on the one you had on the shift gear, and relaxed when he saw you weren’t going to reject his touch.

Because even if your brain screamed to leave him, your body seeked his comfort.

♡.

As soon as you got to your apartment, you rushed to take the first aid kit which was, obviously, on the highest shelf in the cupboard.

Heeseung, silently approached you and took it down for you, offering you a warm smile you did not reciprocate. Not like he thought you would.

You walked from the kitchen into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was already past eight PM and the room’s only source of light was the moonlight coming from the window.

Not wanting to get up from the bed to turn on the light, you just waited for Heeseung to join you.

He sat beside you, not too close but also not too far, enough for you to be able to clean his wounds freely.

You took a cotton stick and the disinfectant out, gently pouring it on the cotton and then placing one finger under his chin to guide his head.

The single touch sent shivers down Heeseung’s spine, glancing to your face as you treated him ever so sweetly.

It was in moments like those that he saw just how wonderful you were. You cared for him, so deeply you would do anything to have him by your side.

Even if it meant ignoring the red flags shooting up.

Then, once again. It was the turn to treat his hands. His knuckles were bruised, dried blood you didn’t think belonged to him coated his skin.

With a small sigh, you ignored the wince that left his lips as you tried to clean it the best without water.

Heeseung studied your face, disappointment written all over, frown knitting your brows.

His heart was as heavy as the air surrounding the pair of you, making it harder for him to talk.

Not long after, you were done and closed the first aid kit, throwing inside the dirty cotton sticks.

Gulping down, he whispered “Baby.” The pet name was enough to make your skin fill with goosebumps “Talk to me.”

His hands twitched, as if he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t. And it physically hurt him.

“I get why you did it, I really do.” You explained, “And I’m glad that you tried to defend me, ” You sighed softly “I don’t want you to get in trouble or fight because of me.”

“It’s never ‘because of you’, baby.” He murmured, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“I know you asked me to behave and I shouldn’t have used my fists.” His lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “But I couldn’t let them talk about my girl like that.”

His thumb traced lazy circles on your stomach, trying to relax your stiff body. “You don’t deserve to hear such things said to you, ever.”

“It hurts, you know?” Your voice was merely a whisper “Having to stand and watch you do all these foolish things.”

Heeseung slowly pressed your back flush against his chest, his lips placing small kisses behind your ear lob. Trying to take your mind off it.

“Heeseung.” You said, voice a little like a thread “Mh?” He hummed, ever so innocently.

One hand trailed down your stomach until the hem of your dress that had rode up your thighs when you sat down.

“Come on, angel.” He purred, “Let me show you how sorry I am.”

You didn’t even have time to let him off because his lips started placing open-mouthed kisses all over your neck, knowing how sensitive you were there.

He shifted so that you were sitting between his legs, you could feel his heartbeat on your back. It matched yours, pounding fast.

SMUT WARNING

Heeseung slowly pried your legs open, enough to make your dress lift and your panties to show.

His attention shifted from your neck to your clothed mound, his fingers teasing you.

You scoffed, “I don’t want to see you.” You stated, trying to do your best to show him that you weren’t enjoying what he was doing.

Shame on you, he knew your body language more than how a book lover knew all the characters of his favourite book.

“You don’t need to see me for me to make you feel good.” He whispered in your ear “Are you seeing me now?” Heeseung asked, his fingers tracing lazy rubs on your clit.

Your body jerked slightly, making him sneak one arm around your waist to keep you steady.

“Answer me, baby.” He purred and you bit your bottom lip, determined not to give him.

Heeseung chuckled darkly and slipped your panties to the side, taking your slickness in his fingers, already dripping wet. Still, you made no sound.

Not satisfied and wanting you to let him do what he does best. Heeseung pushed one finger inside of you, making you gasp out.

“That’s what I thought.” He whispered, his finger moving in and out of you, occasionally rubbing against your g-spot.

“Mh..” You hummed softly, the sound sending heat to Heeseung’s cock that you could feel him press against your arse.

He left wet, kitten kisses down your jawline when you rested your head back on his shoulder, the feeling of him too pleasurable to keep acting like a brat.

“My baby.” He cooed, adding a second digit into your wetness, filthy sounds echoing through the room’s walls.

You moaned and gripped his forearm, trying to steady yourself as your body jerked on its own.

“Mh? There?” Heeseung asked, his finger brushing against a certain spot that had you moaning out loud.

“Uh uh.” He chuckled, “Found it.” He kept brushing and curling his fingers to stimulate your sweet spot until you clenched.

Heeseung slowly rutted his hips on your back, his pants now too strained and tight, beyond uncomfortable.

You felt him, his length so evident and hot even under the lays of clothing.

“Please, Hee.” You mumbled, head fizzy “Fuck me.” His movements faltered. His plan for the night was to just pleasure you, even if he could use a hand at that moment.

“Are you sure?” He asked, “I just want to make you feel good.”

You grew impatient, your mood already pissed from his previous behaviour “And I want you to fuck me, hard, can you do that?”

Heeseung let out a breath, almost pained as he tried to think straight.

“Do you still not want to see me?” He asked, his voice quiet and husky. Dangerous even.

You nodded, despite the sweet feeling he was providing you, you feared that seeing his cocky grin would make you put another bruise on his face.

“Got it.” He removed his fingers from your pussy, licked them clean and manhandled you.

He turned you so your chest was pressed against the mattress. He knew better than to make you wait, so he unzipped your dress, letting it fall open.

He helped you out of it, making you stay on all fours on the bed “Still don’t want to see me?” He asked and you groaned, shaking your head.

“Too bad.” Heeseung murmured, unclasping your bra “I won’t get to see your pretty face when I shove my cock deep inside of you.”

His words had you shiver, slickness pooling on your panties.

Heeseung smirked and threw your bra on the floor before doing the same with his own clothes.

His fingers pushed your panties to the side “You like it, mh?” He murmured, slowly pressing the tip of his already hard cock between your slick folds “You like it when I fuck you?”

With his hard length pressing against you, your head was clouded with desire and primal urges, so strong only when you were with him.

“Yes, Hee.” You whispered, arching your back to make his cock grind against your pussy “Like it. Need it.”

“Fuck.” Heeseung breathed out, pulsing for you, trying his hardest not to lose control.

In one swift thrust, he had already put half of himself inside of you, making you cry out in both pain and pleasure.

“So good.” He breathed out “Always feel so good.”

Your back arched as he slowly pushed all of his cock, filling you to the brim. His mushroom tip hit your cervix with each thrust, making your legs shake.

Your hand reached behind to spread your pussy even more, trying to take him all, needing to feel him inside of you.

It wasn’t the sweetest of sex, but having him taking you made you feel a deep connection. It was something you shared only with him, an intimacy between the two of you.

Heeseung pushed your back by your ass, slowly thrusting, trying to make you adjust to the intrusion.

When the hand that was stretching you went to grasp his waist, trying to get him to move faster, Heeseung was happy to comply.

You wished you could see his muscular body, the way his jaw ticked and his chest clenched tight when he rutted his cock, shoved into your deepest part.

You let out soft moans, your head falling on the bed as the constant hit of your sweet spot made your eyes roll.

“S-so fucking tight.” He groaned, slapping your ass-cheek “Aren’t you baby?” You moaned in return.

He gripped your hips, grip bruising as he thrusted inside of you at a desperate speed “Feels good?”

You grasped the sheets underneath you “So good.” Your voice came out broken.

Heeseung hummed in response, his hips never slowing down as he tried to provide you pleasure and chase his high at the same time. But he didn’t want it to end so soon.

He wanted— no, he needed to have you unravel underneath him, make your legs shake and have you screaming his name.

He wanted to take you hard enough to make you forget all the pain he brought you.

When he felt himself twitch inside of you, dangerously close to his release, he pulled out, earning a complaining moan from you.

Heeseung’s smug grin was still plastered on his face as he dove back between your thighs. He gripped your ass-cheeks, spreading your wet folds and licked a long stripe.

Your body arched into his touch, hum rolling down your tongue.

He licked again, then another time, teasing your clit until you were a whimpering mess.

“Still don’t want to see me, angel?” Heeseung asked, briefly thrusting his tongue in your pussy.

Not answering, you pulled away from his grasp and laid down on the bed sideway, finally taking a glimpse of his face.

The moonlight shone from the window, illuminating his bruised and slightly-puffed face. Heeseung’s chest was heaving up and down, matching yours, his cheeks flushed and his gaze so soft. Enamoured over again, even.

You smiled gently at him and held your hand out for him to take. He quickly complied and took your hand as he laid beside you, his chest flush against your chest once more.

Ignoring the painful stretch of your neck, you turned your face to look at him and he was quick to pull you into a heated kiss.

Guiding his leaking cock into your entrance, he gently entered you, making you gasp.

Taking advantage of your parted lips, his tongue slid past your lips, moving slowly against yours, savouring the taste of you.

His hands roamed over your body, one of them moving to tangle in your hair while the other squeezed your breast, teased your nipple.

His pace was steady, sending waves of pleasure to your body. Your own fingers went to draw lazy circles on your clit, making you clench around him.

“Fuck.” Heeseung breathed out on your lips, twitching inside of you “Stop clenching like that.”

You hummed, biting gently on his bottom lip as the sweet sensation of both his cock and your rubbing sent you close to the edge.

Heeseung could feel it, how you clenched around his length and how your moans got louder.

“I’m gonna cum too.” He whispered, his nose brushing against your cheek “Just a little bit longer.”

Your free hand went to cup your boob as he kept pinching your nipple, making you arch your back.

“Hee.” You breathed out, “S’close.”

“I know, angel.” He hurried his thrusts, the sound of the bed creaking filling the night air “Shit— pussy so warm.”

“Where do you want it?” He wasn’t one to normally ask, but given the circumstances and the previous small ‘argument’, he thought he owed you that question.

“You can come inside.” You stated quietly “I need it— Need you to fill me up.”

“Fuck. Y/N.” He panted, both his hands grasping your body as he rutted his hips against yours, hitting your cervix with each snap.

Heeseung continued that pace until he felt his release approach, he slapped your hand away and began to forcefully rub your sensitive bud, wanting you to come at the same time.

You jerked and squirmed beside him, the feeling too good for your own body “Hee—“ You tried to warn but the knot in your stomach snapped, making you milk his cock.

“Cumming, I’m cumming.” Heeseung panted, hips faltering as he emptied his load inside of you.

Both your breaths were heavy, exhaustion washing over the both of you.

Heeseung waited for you to ride down off your high before pulling out his softened cock, reaching for the nightstand to take a tissue and clean you up.

END WARNING

You let him do what he needed, watching him through tired eyes.

Heeseung smiled softly at you, placing a tender kiss on your forehead “Sore?” He questioned.

You shook your head, taking his hand in yours. Heeseung’s thumb traced lazy circles on your knuckles.

“Stay?” You asked quietly, and his heart sank at your vulnerable state.

Nodding, he shifted back so he could hold you, cuddle you against his chest.

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. His lips brushed your ear, breath fanning your skin.

“Good night, stud.” You whispered tiredly, your eyes already heavy.

Heeseung smiled, tugging you closer “Good night, angel.”

♡.

It didn’t take a genius to realise that Heeseung had, in fact, messed up. Quite a lot, actually.

Not only had the video of him beating the shit out of the biker gone viral, now all over Twitter (he refused to call it like the letter that made him cry during maths class, the fucker that always needed to be found) and Instagram.

But also, staring at the naked body laying on the bed beside him, sheets around you, looking like a perfect angel on earth to save him, he came to the conclusion that he had poor communication skills.

He always seemed to resolve your arguments using his fingers and dick, and he hated how you just gave in to him.

Heeseung didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve your comprehension, your forgiveness neither.

He wanted to make things right, to be worthy of you. However, all his efforts seemed to just bring more chaos into your relationship.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, brushing a lock of hair out of your face “I can’t even put it into words.”

You stirred, making him retract his hand. Fortunately, you weren’t awake, your eyes were still closed and your face relaxed in the innocence of sleeping.

He needed to find a solution, one that didn’t require the cliché of a night out at a nice restaurant or flowers.

Heeseung needed to find something to win your heart back; one that would demonstrate to you that he, indeed, took you seriously.

Because Heeseung did not want a future if you weren’t in it. If you weren’t the one he chose rings for, if you weren’t their recipient.

He didn’t want a life where you weren’t the one to walk down the aisle, the one to bear his children, the one to build a family with him.

And even if you didn’t want to get married or have a mini-you around the house, growing old alongside you was already the greatest honour he could ask for.

♡.

When you woke up that morning, the last thing you expected to see was a note from Heeseung, telling you that he’d be right back at you and that there was some burnt toast in the kitchen from the failed breakfast he tried to make.

Trying to take your mind off the clumsy man who occupied it all the time, you decided to hang out with your best friend, Chaeryeong.

Sitting at a nice café and taking aesthetic pictures to post was a great distraction and therapy.

And, of course, you found comfort in your best friend, telling all the things she wasn’t aware of and that happened since you two last saw each other— which unfortunately was a long time ago.

“Did he really punch them?” Chaeryeong’s mouth fell open as she took in all the information “Like… he tried to fight a whole gang of old hags that were ogling at you?”

You nodded, pinching the bridge of your nose “Some fuckers even took a video and it spread all over internet.”

“No way.” She said, shocked “Let me see.”

You took your phone out of your pocket and started searching for the video on X. You handed her your phone and waited for her reply.

“Damn baby.” She smiled, “That right hook was strong.”

You widened your eyes “Chaeryeong.” You said, sternly, “I’m being serious here.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She gave you your phone back “Honestly, if my man ain’t like that, I don’t want him.”

You gave her a side eye and Chaeryeong chuckled “Y/N, he defended you from those bikers, he wasn’t afraid to stand up for you.”

“I know.” You looked down at your half-empty cup of coffee “I really appreciated that. But I also don’t want him to get into any more trouble.”

“Yeah, well.” Chaeryeong grimaced “He isn’t a saint, but his actions are clear, as messed up as they are, they’re all for you.”

“I’m just…” You closed your eyes “So confused and so tired.”

She pouted and took your hand in his “I’m so sorry.” She said, sincerity lacing her words “I don’t really know how to help you.”

You just gave her a reassuring smile and stared at your coffee to block out your unhappy thoughts.

“Listen, girl.” Chaeryeong said after a few minutes of silence “Why don’t we go to your favourite pub tonight? The vintage one.” She suggested.

“Let’s wear a pretty dress, order some strong liquor and just shut off anything else.” She raised a hoping brow.

You debated whether to rot in your bed and try to figure your feelings out or ignore them for a while and think about them later.

“Alright, yeah.” You nodded, smiling at her “Let’s do that.”

However, you failed to notice the message she received before asking you to hang out and the cunning grin on her lips.

♡.

Chaeryeong was right, you really needed a girls’ night.

You missed getting ready with her, just listening to music and helping each other doing your makeup.

You just missed her.

Though, you missed a certain wine-haired boy more.

You hadn’t seen him since the night before, where he cuddled you to sleep only to make you wake up in an empty bed.

And even if you didn’t want to admit it, it hurt. Fairly.

Suppressing any thought of him in the deepest part of your mind, you took Chaeryeong’s arm and went into the pub.

Well, it wasn’t a normal pub. There were no blinding lights nor loud music.

It was calm, collected and people’s chattering was quiet, just enjoying the atmosphere and the antique music.

You took place at an empty table where Chaeryeong led you, in front of the small stage.

Ordering a Martini and feeling content, you just talked about anything with your best friend.

Everything was going smoothly until the lights suddenly turned off, leaving only the stage’s ones on.

“Is there a special stage today?” You whispered to Chaeryeong who just shrugged, even if, once again, you failed to see the smile on her face.

A man walked up to the stage, he put down his suitcase and removed his jacket.

The man walked to the centre of the stage where the microphone was and the light showed him.

A man— No. Your man.

Heeseung stood there, red wine hair perfectly styled, grey jacket with a white shirt and equally grey pants you knew he couldn’t afford.

Your eyes widened at the realisation and you heard a soft chuckle beside you.

Oh, that was why Chaeryeong wanted to hang out “Just keep watching.” She incited.

So you did, your eyes finding Heeseung like they always did.

Gentle music started playing and his voice was amplified by the microphone. You knew that song, it was one of your favourites, ‘this is what falling in love feels like’ by JVKE— He remembered.

Heeseung removed his jacket, his voice was as sweet as honey, matching his usual scent.

He walked around the stage and did silly gestures, always maintaining eye contact with you.

Unconsciously, you smiled back at him, proud of how he was singing in front of such a crowd.

Usually, he’d be so shy of his singing, only doing it under the shower or to lull you when you had trouble sleeping.

You sighed softly, a pang in your heart at the feeling of loss. It hurt, even just being angry at him hurt.

The music slowly stopped and he threw a rose on the small table, which you caught and smelled it.

It was fake, making you chuckle softly and you swear you saw Heeseung’s whole demeanour relax.

All the people there to enjoy his small stage clapped and whistled, clearly mesmerised by his sweet voice.

“Alright, thank you.” Heeseung chuckles softly, the smallest shade of blush colouring his cheeks.

He takes the microphone in his hands “Honestly, dressing like my grandpa, shout-out to him,” He gave two small punches to his chest and then pointed at the crowd, where his grandfather clearly wasn’t “Wasn’t in my plans for the night.”

The small crowd laughed “But I happen to know a girl, this girl loves these places, full of old and dusty things.” He looked around and then his gaze settled on you, a small smirk on his lips.

He paced around the stage “And, thanking whoever is to thank, she also happens to love me.” The crowd raised a choir of ‘woo’s.

“Or so, I hope.” He paced on the other side “Because, you should know that I have this thing for f— messing things up.” He winked at a kid sitting near the stage “Keeping it PG rated.”

The crowd and his parents giggled, and so Heeseung continued walking, stopping in the middle of the stage and settling his microphone back to its place.

“I am no perfect man, alright? I know I have so many flaws, but the one I hate the most is the tendency to break her heart.” ‘Boo’s echoed in the whole room.

“Deserved it.” He placed a hand on his heart and continued his speech, under your still-shocked gaze.

Heeseung wasn’t an extrovert, he preferred not to talk to people who weren’t his close friends— but seeing him talk so freely about you on the stage with at least twenty foreign eyes on him, made your heart melt.

He bit his bottom lip nervously “I have no idea how she saved me. How she saw some good in such a wrecked person, because that’s what I am.” His eyes were full of vulnerability when he locked them with yours.

“In our two years of relationship, I felt so many emotions I didn’t even know existed!” Heeseung smiled softly “I started being less selfish, and think more about her.”

“I still remember that time when she wanted to dance.” His eyes lit up at the memory “In the middle of the night, but my place isn’t big, so I moved the furniture, trying to make enough room for me to swing her around.”

You giggled, recalling the moment and Heeseung gave you a knowing look “The person who lives in the house down mine came to complain and I also got a slipper on my head— but, hey! My girl wanted to dance.”

His girl. It was wonderful how just two words could ignite a fire in you.

“Y/N.” Your name resonated in the whole pub “I don’t want to be the reason of your tears, I want to dry them,” His bambi eyes were serious, boring into yours with so much unspoken affection “I want to be the person you go to when you’re sad, not the one you try to avoid.”

Heeseung took a deep breath and you swore you saw his hands tremble “I’ll be a better man, someone you can be proud of. Someone worthy of you.”

Oh dear. He looked just like a little boy searching for his parents’ approval. “Can I get a last chance to prove myself?” He asked, pointing at you.

Everyone in the room turned to look, eyes fixed on your figure.

You shrugged “Nah.” And a general gasp filled the room. Heeseung’s face fell, hope dissipating from his body.

Deciding that you had toyed with him enough, you got up from your chair and jogged to the stage.

Heeseung widened his eyes and he let go of the microphone to catch you as you threw yourself at him. Your arms around his neck, his hands holding your waist, confusion still written all over his expression.

“Silly.” You smiled up at him “Of course, I’ll give you one chance.” You pointed a threatening finger in his chest “But it’s the last one, you act like an asshole one more time and we’re done, you got it?”

“Thank you.” His voice was filled with gratefulness “Thank you, thank you!” Heeseung exclaimed, burying his face in the crook of your neck, spinning you in the air.

You giggled happily, “Stop.” You laughed when you felt butterflies in your stomach.

All the people at the table, comprehending Chaeryeong and the little boy, erupted in a choir of ‘Kiss’.

Heeseung put your feet back on the ground, his eyes moving from your own to your lips.

You nodded slowly, giving him the consent he needed. He crashed your lips together in a gentle kiss, sparks flying and your hearts connecting once again.

You pulled away “How did you do this?” Your fingers grazed the grey blazer “And where did you get this?”

Heeseung chuckled, licking his lips that lingered with the taste of you and your lipstick “We have to thank Jay for this.” He looked around the stage “And, well, my grandpa for his nice and dusty clothes.”

You chuckled and threw your head back and lord, if it wasn’t the sweetest sound Heeseung had ever heard.

“I love you.” You said, stunning him “Still?”

“Always.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and tip-toeing to reach his lips once more.

“Breaking news, angel.” He smiled on your lips “I happen to love you so much too.”

You squealed happily and kissed him, feeling the fire of passion igniting your body, burning your bones, dooming you to the pain and suffering called love.

But it was in that moment that you realised you would gratefully accept such pain if it came from Heeseung. Because, however reckless he acted, all of his dummy decisions that got him into trouble were made for you.

“I’ll find a better job.” He murmured, licking your bottom lip, “I’ll make money, buy a nicer house where we can live together.” One hand went to tangle your hair in his fingers “And then I’ll buy you a ring.”

“With a diamond?” You joked, making Heeseung chuckle “With whatever you want.”

Feeling as if the air was being taken out of your lungs, your heart pounding so fast and chest heaving up and down, you swore you’d stay by his side with another kiss.

Ignoring the crowd’s cheers, you tilted your head to deepen the kiss and Heeseung’s tongue slipped inside your mouth.

And that was the clue to close the curtains.

THE END.

© I2SUNRIC | DON’T STEAL OR CLAIM AS YOURS.

[eraenaa]

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Inspired by the song "I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)" by Taylor Swift

Rafe Cameron x Reader Tag List

Summary: Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.

Warnings: Substance Use, Possessiveness, Jealousy, ¿Kinda Toxic Relationship?, Mention of Violence, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, Choking, Boobjob, Filmed Sexual Relations, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 2,372

A/N: Sorry for being MIA finals week was rough and I was kinda burnout hence the almost month long hiatus but Taylor's new album revived me, so maybe expect more works inspired by TTPD songs!

You sat quietly as Rafe rested his warm hand on your thigh. You waited for him to finish his drink as he laughed around with his boys at the bar. Their voice echoed through the establishment, garnering curious glances from the other patrons present. You feel him squeeze your thigh tighter, his little signal that he wanted some affection, maybe a kiss or a touch from you. He turned to you, pupils enlarged from the little pill he took, “Are you bored?” He asked, and you quickly shook your head, placing your hand on the back of his head, and ran your nails gently against his skull. “No, baby,” You murmured and moved to kiss his lips, tasting the brandy on his tongue. Rafe parted from your kiss, looking intently into your eyes to see off you lied; he seemed satisfied enough and returned to his conversations with his friends. 

You hear the offensive joke that Rafe said a bit too loudly and held your breath. Placing your hand on his shoulder, hoping it would snap some sense into him, it usually did. You feel pitying and feared glances pointed towards you. The bartender to your left shook their head and muttered, “God help her,” when they realized you were with Rafe. A man who was notorious for his rage and ill temper. He was often perceived as rash and maybe even psychotic. Perhaps their judgment of him was true… but that is what attracted you to him anyway. You could not help but be intrigued by him and his imposing and reckless demeanor. You were certain you could tame him. You said to yourself, “I can fix him; no, really, I can.” 

He drove the both of you home. A bit of a misjudgment on your part, seeing how intoxicated he was, but there was something thrilling about him taking the reigns while still addled with dopamine and alcohol. There was something seductive in the way his hand would trail upward and upward on your thigh as he raced down the streets of the Outer Banks. But there was something different this night. There was tension in him that did not come from the lust you and him were succumbing to. “What’s wrong?” You asked, taking hold of his arm, caressing it in a way that made gooseflesh rise on his flesh. You bit your lip as his hold on you was tighter; you were certain it would once again leave his mark. “Everyone in that bar was looking at you… they were looking at what’s mine.” He snarled and pressed flat on the gas, making you speed down the streets so carelessly, but you could not find care as that elicited a wave of want in you. “They were only looking…” You trailed, testing to see what reaction it would garner from Rafe. 

You watch him shake his head, his jaw clenching in annoyance. “They were looking at what’s mine. They were practically undressing you with their eyes— imagining stealing you from me,” He gritted as you were nearing home. You voiced your disagreement, but that only seemed to enrage him more. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, huh? You fucking enjoyed their attention.” Rafe accused, and your eyes darkened at his words. Just as the rage in him burned quickly, it died in a snap. You removed his hold on your thigh and stole away your touch on his arm. You did not wait for him to open the door of the passenger seat for you but instead got out of the confined space you were trapped in and left him. “Baby, wait, I—“ Rafe called, any irritation in his voice gone the moment he realized he had offended you. 

You were nearing your bedroom door, ready to lock him out for the night and repent for his offense, but he caged you in his arms, pulling you close to him. Burying his head at the side of your neck, he offered his apologies. “I’m sorry baby… I just don’t wanna lose you,” You hear his muffled boys. Smirking to yourself as you actually got an apology from him. From all the stories you heard of Rafe, ranging from his family to his friends and even his past flings, not one of them got an apology or anything that resembled half of it from him. But here he was, saying sorry over and over again, waiting for your reply. You kept silent for a while longer, and you felt him move over to the front of you, trying to kiss your lips, but you moved your head to the side. You bit your lip as you hear him puff, surprised by his following action. You watched Rafe sink down on his knees and hold you tightly against him, burying his face in your abdomen, his apologies spewing out from his mouth as if you were a god to whom he offered his prayers, pleading to be heard. You sighed and ran your hand through his hair, hearing him soothingly hum and burrow his head deeper into your abdomen.  

You were about to urge him to stand, but you were rendered frozen, and your breathing hitch when you feel his fingers take hold of your dress, hiking it higher. “Rafe,” you called as his lips trailed kisses on your exposed skin, his breath teasing your core that had already been aching for him. “I’m sorry,” He said once more, and you could only sigh as he placed a kiss between your thighs. You held tightly onto him as he lapped your folds, showing you just how sorry he was. “Rafe… Fuck, Rafe,” you called as he inserted a finger, but you were already on the verge of an orgasm by just the way his nose burrowed into your nubbin. “Do you forgive me, my baby?” Rafe asked, and you could only moan out your agreement and hear him hiss as you pulled on his hair and came down hard on his fingers and face. 

You hummed as you woke the next day with Rafe tracing hearts on your face; he had been watching you sleep. You gazed at him through the hazy sight of the fresh morning, “You look so pretty when you sleep,” Rafe said softly, and you smiled up at him. Gone in his system were the substances that were his ruin, but he could not deny. You quite liked him in this state, but you knew he would rather have his mood be altered by opioids and any other drugs that he believed would aid him. It won’t. And you just need to change that outlook of his or at least find another drug that would not be his ruin. 

“You’re mine,” Rafe gritted in your ear, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he realized every bastard at the party was staring at you. “I’m yours,” You repeated to calm the rage in him. He did not consume anything harsh or damnable per your request, but you were starting to rethink your decision because apparently Rafe, without his usual pick me up, was rather more paranoid and frantic. Every little interaction you have with the opposite sex pushes him closer over the edge. “Rafe,” you sighed as he stepped away, challenging a guy whose gaze had been flying to you the whole night. “The fuck you staring at, huh! Do you want a fucking fight, bro?! Stop staring at my gi—“ Rafe screamed, and you pulled at him with all of your might for him to face you and save the innocent man from being beaten up to a pulp. You turn to Rafe’s friends, urging them to help, them being the able-bodied ones to escort Rafe outside to calm down. 

You stood before him as he sat by the ledge of a planter box. His head was in his hands as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. You stood silently as he took out a box of cigarettes and hastily lit a stick. “Stop looking at me like that,” Rafe spat, and you furrowed your brows at his words. “Like what?” You asked, and Rafe shook his head and took a long drag of a cigarette. “Like you’re disappointed! I know that look all too well,” He scoffed, and you took in a deep breath, stepping closer to him. Squatting down to meet him at eye level, placing a kiss on his cheek, and your hand found home at the back of his head again, running your fingers through his hair, noting how he would lean into your touch. “I’m not disappointed,” you say in earnest, but Rafe scoffs at your words. “You are. Don’t lie to me.” He gritted and threw the bud of his cigaret onto the ground, the glowing embers slowly dying down like the rage in him. 

“I never lie to you,” You say softly, placing your hold on the side of his face. “I’m yours, Rafe,” you say softly. “You’re mine.” He answered back. “Exactly. Then why are you trying to fight those others who are completely insignificant to us?” You ask softly, brushing your thumb across his brow, watching as his eyes fluttered close and a sigh left his lips. “Because I know what they want. I know they want what’s mine.” He gritted, tensing in anger once more, his fists clenching and warning danger. “But they won’t get to have it, won’t they?” You asked and stared deeply into his ocean eyes as they opened once more. “No. Never.” He swore, and you smiled, placing a kiss on his lips. 

Kissing you was the greatest high Rafe felt. The high he now realized was the only one he’d want to chase. Nothing chemically and artificially induced could compare to your lips. “Let’s go back inside,” Rafe said after your kiss had sedated his rage. “On one condition,” You said and stood your ground as he tried to pull you back into the direction of the party. You pulled him to you, flushing your bodies, and returned your hand to caress his troubled head. “No more invoking fights? Stop glaring at those guys?” You asked and watched as he frowned at your words. “I… I can probably do no more fighting— but baby, come on, they keep staring at you and—“ You shook your head and interrupted him. 

“Be a good boy tonight, and later… I’ll do what you’ve been asking me to do since last month,” You hindered your grin as you watched Rafe’s jaw turn slack, his eyes now intoxicated and dilated with the thought of you. “What do you say?” You asked, batting your lashes at him, trailing your fingers against his forearm, your eyes already catching a glance of the dent in his trousers. “I’ll be a fucking angel if you want.” He almost growled. And you let him usher you back to a party with a smile beaming on your face. 

Rafe kept true to his word. There was practically a halo around his head for the rest of the night. Foregoing his pilled and powdered remedies, even tossed out the intoxicating liquid in his glass. You thought miracles never happened, but Rafe even let you join your friends on the dance floor without him. You saw as he reigned in the hellish thoughts in him as men around danced by your side. Instead, he stood still in his spot, his mind on the thought of heaven you’ll present him if he played nice. 

You, too, kept true to your words. You were on your knees, your hands pushing your tits together, and in between them was Rafe’s cock. A video camera by your side as Rafe had been begging you almost everyday for a home video together. Reasoning that ‘it would be a reminder of you when you are away.’ And the thought of you is the only thing that gets him on. “Fuck, baby— god, you’re so good. How are you this good?” Rafe groaned as you fucked him with your tits. It was the best reward for him, you rarely gave him head, and this was the first time you ever fucked anyone this way. Rafe fisted the sheets as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock again. He moaned out your name as you took him deeper into your mouth, the sound of you gagging on his cock spurring him on. But before he could come, before he could reach a different and higher level of high he always sought, you pulled away. 

“Baby… oh, baby, please, you can’t do this to me,” he almost begged, his eyes in a daze at the sight of you messy from sucking his cock. You crawled upwards and hung from his lips, him already expecting a kiss. “Fuck me in the shower,” Was all you said before you hastily dispread to the bathroom and turned the faucet on. It took a few moments for Rafe to process your words, but once he did. He quickly stood, took the camera, and positioned it to point toward you, who was already soaking wet. 

Rafe was quick to push you against the glass shower door, already excited to watch the video of you and your tits against the glass. “Yes… oh, god, like that,” You cried as Rafe mercilessly pounded behind you. He gathered your hair and gripped it back, eliciting a burning yet pleasurable sensation. “You’re always so prim and proper… but looked at you, you fuck like a whore,” Rafe gritted, and your eyes rolled back as he positioned his thrust to hit the spot that made your words incoherent. “You like that, huh, baby? You like it when I fuck you, dumb?” He asked, not expecting a reply but rather your moans. Rafe relinquished his hold on your hair and instead gripped your throat. Pounding harder into you as he felt you clench tighter around him, your body shaking and on the precipice of orgasm. “Mine. Mine, mine, mine.” Rafe gritted out as he, too, was close. “Yours. All yours, Rafe.” You cried as you came around him. Panting his name as he clung in the high that was you. 

I screamed when I first listened to the song that inspired this fic, bc Rafe was the most prominent thing that it conjured in my mind.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi! I absolutely love your headcannons!! Would it be possible for me to request sick Astarion? Or Astarion with a sick Tav? :)

Hi! Thank you for your request! I think I can do both!

Masterlist

Headcanons

Caring for their sick partner

Astarion takes care of you

He isn't a nurturing type.

He doesn't really care about himself let alone someone else!

Besides, it's not like he used to hang out with mortals a lot.

During your post-game adventures, you end in the far north in the middle of winter.

Astarion doesn't feel cold, but he notices you feel uncomfortable near him - his body is cold, and he steals the heat you need so much.

It causes tension between you two - one of the first challenges for you as a couple.

During a fight, you fall through the ice and almost die in the dark cold waters.

Astarion saves you but the damage is done.

You are severely sick.

Astarion freaks out.

You are dying in his arms.

He has to save you. He won't lose you.

Astarion manages to dress you in dry and warm clothes. He leaves you by the fire for a bit to hunt - you need food, and Astarion needs blood to warm you.

Then, when you stabilize, he carries you to the closest village and gives you all the money you've earned in your travels for a room in the inn.

He spoon-feeds you and wraps you in the warmest blankets.

Sometimes you pout, refusing to take one more bitter medicine, but he can't take this nonsense - you are going to get better. Period.

When you wake up, still in fever, Astarion is always near. Either wrapping you with his blood-warm body or with his ear on your chest as if he was afraid your heart was going to stop at any given moment.

As the spring comes, you finally get better. Astarion gives you a bath, and you realize how itchy and sweaty your body is.

Then he lashes at you, of course.

You were reckless, you were risking yourself. How could you?

But you know he speaks out of fear, and you comfort him, promising to never put yourself in danger without a need.

You take care of Astarion

If you weren't a nurturing type, you wouldn't end up with Astarion.

The man needs help and care, something he never had.

You comfort him after the nightmares and kiss away his tears.

He doesn't need to be cared for physically - once the tadpole is removed, he regenerates, and it's impossible to wound him.

But he is a mental wreck who can have a meltdown over a trigger word or a cruel flashback after an innocent action.

But he is far from invincible.

He is being reckless and ends up surrounded by monster hunters.

They chain him in silver and leave him helpless on the ground to see the sun.

You manage to come to the rescue - and murder all three of them.

But as you fight, the sun rises, and it burns Astarion.

It's almost too late for him when you set him free and drag him to the shadows.

The regeneration is slowed down - the burns are as bad as if he survived a fire.

You give him blood. All you can do without killing yourself.

The assault causes one of the worst setbacks in his healing process.

Astarion is almost catatonic - curling in the darkest corner of the room in the fetal position.

You can only guess what prison his tortured mind is locked in.

You talk to him. Hug him. Takes care of his hair. Caress his back.

Days become weeks, weeks become months - and one evening Astarion is finally back.

He wraps his hand around you and nuzzles your collarbone.

By the end of the night, Astarion is his true self again, ready for everything freedom has to offer.

"I was there, in the tomb," he confesses. "I was locked there, in the dark, and all my life looked like a feverish dream."

"I am here, love," you say. "I will always be here for you."

You pretend you don't see his tears as you say it.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids @ednaaa-04 @dajeong

[novaursa]

Hi Novaursa! I just saw that you're taking request. Your writing is beyond awesome and I'm wondering if I can make a request with Gwayne Hightower and Female Reader? The two decided to marry in secret when the reader's parents arrange her for another man? Bonus point if they get to have a short happy marriage before Gwayne leaves for King's Landing (and we know what awaits him there T-T)?

I might have mentioned it before but I love your writing! ^^

A Rose in Oldtown

- Summary: Gwayne steals a rose and allows it to grow strong in Oldtown.

- Paring: tyrell!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- A/N: I had something similar laying around on my hard drive. It was not for tyrell!reader, but I've used its bones for structure and it needed pretty little rewriting. This is why this is posted so soon. And yeah, I'm manic sometimes when it comes to writing. When I have an idea I can't sleep until it's done. Or do anything else basically. If I don't respond to your ask after a few days, then I'm probably starting from scratch. @justdillydally I hope you enjoy this as you did my other works. ❤️

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 3 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

You stand at the front of the Sept, dressed in the finest gown Highgarden could offer—an emerald green masterpiece embroidered with golden roses, the petals dusted with delicate pearls that shimmer in the dim candlelight. The sleeves are long and sheer, allowing glimpses of your skin beneath, while the bodice is cinched tightly, enhancing every curve. The skirt flows like a river of green silk, the fabric whispering with every breath you take. A golden rose sits in your hair, nestled among the intricate braids that frame your face. It’s a gown fit for a queen, but today it feels more like a cage.

The air is thick with anticipation, the weight of tradition pressing down on your chest. House Lannister’s colors dominate the sept, crimson banners emblazoned with golden lions hanging from every pillar. They seem to mock you, roaring silently, a reminder of the fate being forced upon you. Your father stands beside you, his expression unreadable, yet you can feel the iron grip of his expectations.

“Remember your duty,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

But duty is the last thing on your mind. Your heart is hammering, but not for the man who waits for you at the altar. Jason Lannister stands there with a smug smile, eyes gleaming like a cat eyeing prey. You should feel fear—discomfort, even—but all you feel is anger and longing. 

Your gaze drifts past him, searching the shadows of the crowded sept for a pair of familiar gray eyes. You know Gwayne is near, can sense him even if you can’t yet see him. He promised you. He promised he’d come.

The sept doors creak open, and a gust of wind rushes in, carrying the salty tang of the nearby sea. For a heartbeat, the ceremony halts, heads turning toward the disturbance. There, at the threshold, stands Gwayne Hightower, clad in green leather riding armor, a stark contrast to the opulence around him. His hair is tousled from the wind, a few unruly strands falling into those piercing eyes that hold yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

“Are you truly going to allow this travesty to unfold?” His voice echoes through the sept, defiant and laced with a challenge. The guests murmur in shock, eyes wide as they shift between the Lannisters and Hightower.

“Gwayne,” you breathe, relief and something wilder, more reckless, surging in your chest.

Your father bristles, stepping forward as if to block the path between you and Gwayne. “You have no place here, Hightower! You disgrace your house with this insolence!”

But Gwayne’s gaze never wavers from you. There’s a promise in his eyes, a question. And deep down, you already know your answer.

“Disgrace?” Gwayne laughs, sharp and mocking. “The only disgrace is forcing a woman to marry a man she doesn’t love. Let her choose.” He extends a hand toward you, daring you to defy every expectation, every command that’s been drilled into you since birth.

Your breath catches in your throat. The world seems to narrow to this single moment—the choice between duty and desire, between a life of cold gold and a life of burning passion. The rose on your head suddenly feels heavy, a symbol of everything you stand to lose if you step toward him. But the thought of losing Gwayne is a pain sharper than any blade.

“Your duty is to your house,” your father snaps, gripping your arm. His fingers dig into your flesh, as if he can keep you there by force.

“Is it?” you whisper, meeting his gaze. “Or is my duty to myself?” With a sudden, fierce resolve, you tear your arm free, the embroidered fabric of your sleeve ripping in the process. The soft sound is like the tearing of bonds that have held you for too long.

The tension breaks like a thunderclap. You lift your skirts and run, the long train of your gown dragging behind you like the last vestiges of your old life. Gwayne doesn’t hesitate. He rushes forward, grabbing your hand and pulling you into a tight embrace as you reach him. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath the leather armor, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

“Are you ready?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You nod, breathless. “I was ready the moment I saw you.”

With that, he pulls you toward the doors, toward freedom. The guests shout in outrage, your father’s curses mixing with the indignant roars of the Lannisters. But you don’t care. All you can think about is the wind in your hair and the warmth of Gwayne’s hand in yours as you both burst out into the sunlight.

Two horses stand waiting, saddled and ready. Without another word, Gwayne lifts you onto one, his touch gentle but urgent. He mounts his own horse in a single fluid motion and turns to you, his eyes blazing with determination. “We ride to Oldtown. There, we’ll be married by nightfall.”

Your heart swells at his words. There is no more doubt, no more hesitation. Only the thrill of running toward a future you chose for yourself. You share one last glance, and then together, you kick your horses into a gallop, racing away from the sept, from duty, from everything that sought to bind you.

The road ahead is rough, the path winding and treacherous, but with Gwayne at your side, it feels like the smoothest ride of your life. The wind whips your hair, tangling it with the remnants of your torn veil, but you laugh—a wild, unrestrained sound that echoes over the hills.

“This is madness,” you shout to him over the pounding hooves, but there’s pure joy in your voice.

“Madness is letting you go,” he replies, a grin splitting his face. He reaches over, his fingers brushing yours as you ride side by side. It’s a touch full of unspoken promises and a future yet to be written.

By the time you reach Oldtown, the sky is painted in hues of dusk, the Hightower looming over the horizon like a beacon guiding you both home. Gwayne helps you down from your horse, and you’re both breathless, flushed from the ride. He pauses, holding you close for a moment longer than necessary, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ll never let anyone take you from me,” he whispers, fierce and possessive, but laced with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“Good,” you reply, your voice steady and sure. “Because I won’t let you go either.”

Hand in hand, you enter the modest sept in the shadow of the Hightower. The ceremony is simple, witnessed only by a few loyal friends, but it is perfect. When Gwayne says his vows, his voice is low and rough, thick with emotion. And when you pledge yourself to him, it’s with a heart so full it feels like it might burst.

As the septon pronounces you husband and wife, Gwayne leans in to kiss you, a fierce, claiming kiss that seals your fates together. In that moment, you know that no matter what battles lie ahead, no matter who might seek to tear you apart, you have already won the greatest victory: a life lived on your own terms, with the man you chose.

Life in Oldtown is a far cry from the rigid splendor of Highgarden or the bustling grandeur of King’s Landing. The Hightower looms majestically above the city, its walls steeped in history and tradition. You’ve come to love its winding corridors, the serene gardens tucked away behind ancient stone walls, and the way the sea breeze carries the scent of salt and lavender through the open windows. It’s become your home—a place where you and Gwayne have carved out a life filled with laughter, warmth, and stolen moments of happiness.

This morning is bright and pleasant, the sun spilling golden light across the gardens where you sit with Prince Daeron. The young Targaryen, with his silver-gold hair and lilac eyes, is a delight—sharp-witted and full of curiosity, yet with the unmistakable earnestness of youth. He often seeks your company, and you’ve grown fond of the boy, finding comfort in his easy laughter and unguarded conversations. Today, the two of you are seated beneath a blossoming magnolia tree, playing a game of cyvasse, though it’s clear Daeron is far more interested in the tales you’ve been telling him about the Reach.

“And is it true,” Daeron asks, eyes alight with fascination, “that the fields near Highgarden stretch as far as the eye can see? Nothing but green and gold?”

You smile at the eagerness in his voice. “Aye, and in summer, the air is thick with the scent of roses. The orchards are heavy with fruit, and the rivers run clear and cool. It’s as close to paradise as one might find in Westeros.”

Daeron leans closer, resting his chin on his hand. “You make it sound like a dream. Perhaps one day, I’ll see it with my own eyes.”

“Perhaps,” you say, though there’s a touch of melancholy in your tone. “But Oldtown has its own beauty, Daeron. Have you grown fond of it?”

He nods, a thoughtful expression passing over his young face. “I have. But it’s different—quieter, more… ancient. The Hightower has secrets, I think, buried deep beneath its stones.”

Before you can reply, you notice Gwayne approaching from across the garden. He’s dressed in simple but well-made clothing, his sword strapped to his side as always. When he sees you with Daeron, a warm smile lights up his face, and your heart skips a beat as it always does when you see him. Even after all this time, the love between you remains as fierce and tender as it was the day he stole you away.

“Prince Daeron,” Gwayne greets the boy with a respectful nod, though his gaze lingers on you, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “I hope you’ve been kind to my wife and haven’t defeated her too soundly at cyvasse.”

Daeron grins, shaking his head. “She’s a worthy opponent, Ser Gwayne. I’ve yet to best her.”

Gwayne chuckles, but then his tone softens as he turns to you. “My love, would you join me for a walk? There’s something I wish to show you.”

Your curiosity piqued, you glance at Daeron, who waves you away with a knowing smile. “Go on, my lady. I’ll study my strategy for our next match.”

You rise, smoothing the folds of your gown as Gwayne offers you his arm. As the two of you walk through the garden, you feel the familiar comfort of his presence, the way his strength grounds you, even in the quietest of moments. You follow him deeper into the garden, past the flowering hedges and beneath the shadow of the towering walls, until you reach a secluded corner where a stone bench sits nestled between climbing roses.

“Here,” Gwayne says softly, guiding you to sit. The sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the ground, and the air hums with the song of distant birds.

“What is it you wished to show me?” you ask, though your voice is gentle, already sensing that this moment is less about revealing something new and more about being together, away from the prying eyes of court and the endless duties that come with your position.

Gwayne’s smile is tender as he sits beside you, taking your hand in his. “Nothing but this—just us, here, away from everything. I’ve been wanting a moment alone with you all day.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a familiar and intimate gesture that never fails to send warmth curling through your chest. The world falls away, leaving only the two of you, the quiet rustle of leaves, and the scent of roses hanging in the air.

“You spend so much time caring for others—Daeron, the household, the people who come to us with their troubles. I sometimes wonder if you’ve time left for yourself,” he murmurs, his gaze searching yours.

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “How could I want for anything when I have you? You’re all I need, Gwayne. You always have been.”

His eyes darken with affection, and he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingers. “And you, my sweet rose, are more than I ever dreamed of. I often think of the day we ran away together—how reckless it was, how mad we must’ve seemed. And yet, here we are. You, the light in my life, and me, foolishly in love with you every day more than the last.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that makes your heart swell. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you, holding you close. For a long while, neither of you speaks, content simply to be in each other’s presence, surrounded by the peaceful solitude of the garden.

Eventually, Gwayne shifts, turning so he can cradle your face in his hands. His touch is gentle, reverent, as if he’s memorizing every line, every freckle and feature. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and there’s a rawness in his voice, a depth of feeling that makes your breath catch.

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. “And you are everything I never knew I needed.”

He leans in slowly, giving you time to close the distance, and when his lips finally meet yours, it’s soft, tender, and full of unspoken promises. The kiss deepens gradually, a slow, deliberate connection that speaks of love and trust and a desire that never quite fades. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, so close it matches your own.

“This,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, “this is all I want. A life with you, here, in our little world, where no one can touch us.”

You smile, closing your eyes and savoring the closeness, the warmth of him against you. “And you have it, Gwayne.”

The room is bathed in the soft light of dawn, the golden hues filtering through the gauzy curtains and casting a warm glow across the bed. The linens are tangled beneath you, a reminder of the night spent wrapped in each other’s embrace. Gwayne lies beside you, propped up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on you as if he’s trying to memorize every detail, every curve and feature. The air is thick with the scent of roses, mingled with the salt from the sea breeze wafting through the open window. 

His fingers trace idle patterns along your bare shoulder, lingering on the curve of your neck, then down to your chest before they rest on the gentle swell of your abdomen. You place your hand over his, and he looks at you with a mixture of longing and regret. It’s in his eyes, in the way his thumb absently strokes your skin as if he can’t bear the thought of leaving you.

“I wish I could stay,” he whispers, his voice rough from sleep and emotion. “It kills me to think I won’t be here when our child is born.”

You close your eyes against the sting of tears, fighting the lump in your throat. “I wish you could stay too,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I know you must go. Aegon’s summons cannot be ignored, and you have always been loyal to your family. I understand that.”

Gwayne leans down, brushing his lips softly against your temple before moving lower, trailing kisses down your cheek and jaw. His lips linger at the curve of your belly, reverently pressing a kiss to the slight bump that holds your child—the child he might not meet for months, perhaps longer. The touch is tender, filled with all the love and unspoken vows he cannot put into words. You feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as he murmurs, “I’ll be back before you know it, my love. I swear it.”

You reach down, threading your fingers through his hair, holding him close. “You can’t promise that,” you say, your voice trembling despite your attempt to stay strong. “King’s Landing is dangerous, especially now, with the realm so divided. What if—”

Gwayne lifts his head, cutting you off with a kiss—deep, slow, filled with a desperation that echoes the ache in your chest. When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way he holds back the fear he won’t speak aloud.

“No ‘what ifs,’” he says firmly, though there’s a faint tremor in his voice. “I’ll do everything in my power to return to you and our child. This is my life—you are my life. Nothing will keep me from you.”

You nod, blinking away tears that threaten to spill. “I want to believe that.”

“Then believe it,” he whispers, cupping your face and wiping a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Hold onto that hope. I’ll need it as much as you do while I’m away.”

For a long moment, the two of you simply hold each other, the silence heavy with the weight of unspoken fears and the bittersweet reality of this impending separation. You can feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat against your palm, and it takes everything in you not to beg him to stay, to forsake the king’s orders and remain here, safe, with you.

But you know Gwayne, and you know his sense of duty runs as deep as his love. He would never forgive himself if he abandoned his responsibilities, even for the sake of his own happiness. And so, you do not say the words that claw at the back of your throat. Instead, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent—earthy and familiar, a comfort you’ll cling to in the lonely nights ahead.

After what feels like an eternity, Gwayne gently disentangles himself from your embrace, rising from the bed and beginning to dress in silence. The rustle of fabric and the soft clink of his belt buckle are the only sounds in the room. You watch him as he fastens his sword to his side, his expression distant, already steeling himself for the journey ahead.

When he’s fully dressed, he turns back to you, his eyes softening as they meet yours. He crosses the room in a few strides and kneels beside the bed, taking your hand in his. “I’ll write as soon as I reach King’s Landing. And every chance I get, I’ll send word to you. I want to know everything—how you’re feeling, how the babe is growing… Everything.”

You nod, squeezing his hand tightly. “I’ll write too. I’ll tell you of every little thing, so you don’t feel too far away from us.”

He leans in, capturing your lips in one last kiss—sweet and tender, a promise sealed between you. When he finally pulls away, it’s with a sigh that speaks of reluctance, of the struggle to let go.

“Take care of yourself and our little one,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be counting the days until I’m back in your arms.”

You manage a small smile, though your heart is breaking at the thought of watching him walk out that door. “And we’ll be counting the days until we see you again. Ride swiftly, and come back to us.”

With one last lingering touch, he rises, and then he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that follows is deafening, an emptiness settling over you like a heavy cloak. You press a hand to your belly, imagining the life growing within, and whisper softly, “Your father will come back to us. He must.”

But even as you say the words, a chill runs down your spine. All you can do now is wait, and hope that the gods are merciful enough to bring him back home—where he belongs, where all of your love and dreams are waiting for him.

The morning light spills across the bed, but it feels colder now, as if the warmth of his presence has been stripped away. You lie back against the pillows, closing your eyes and letting the memories of his touch, his voice, his promises fill the emptiness, holding onto them with every fiber of your being.

You whisper a silent prayer to the gods, hoping they listen, hoping they understand that your love is worth returning.

[leighsartworks216]

Search and Rescue

Zayne x gn!Reader

I swear one day I'll write another Zayne fic that has absolutely nothing medical in it at all

Warnings: hurt/comfort, some angst, blizzards/snowstorms, blood, injury, minor character death, self-sacrifice, hypothermia, dialogue heavy, established relationship

Word Count: 3,333 (I did this on purpose >:3)

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

When the weather reports come in, so too do the calls for you and Zayne. Jenna needs you on duty to help anybody who gets trapped in the oncoming blizzard, and Zayne needs to be at the hospital to help emergency patients and those sheltering from the storm.

It’s hours before the storm is supposed to roll in when you begin getting ready. Zayne helps you find heavy-duty waterproof gloves and don enough layers to keep you moderately warm while you work. You pack Zayne emergency snacks and drinks. He tucks one of the protein bars into your coat pocket.

The tension of the danger that lies ahead is palpable. Rescue missions aren’t unusual for either of you, but keeping up with communication and the unpredictable nature of what could happen will make things very tricky, very fast.

You hold his hand as he drives to the hospital. The Alpha Team will be setting up base there to account for the high influx of patients. The perimeter will reach a few blocks. Whether you stay within it remains to be seen.

It would be hypocritical of him to tell you not to risk your life for the sake of another, more so than his usual hypocrisy when it comes to taking care of himself, so he doesn’t say that. Instead, he tells you, “Don’t be reckless.”

You smile. “I won’t be,” you promise.

Both of you know it’s a lie, whether you intend for it to be or not. You’ve always thrown yourself into danger at the drop of a hat. Now, as a Hunter, the danger keeps growing, and you still charge head-first into it.

He squeezes your hand.

The hospital bustles with preparations. Gurneys are lined along the halls, prepared to be filled once the last of the rooms fill up. Nurses are preparing stations to provide food, drinks, and blankets to anybody who needs it. Doctors offer contingency plans for a million different hypotheticals while dictating what patients should go where.

Jenna and your team help where they can. Nero is setting up a communication station that should make it possible to keep in touch during the storm. Tara is helping to set up Hunter Watches with emergency beacons, just in case anything does happen.

The storm is mere hours away.

Zayne removes his scarf and wraps it around you. You smile up at him reassuringly as he tucks the ends into your jacket. “Stay in contact.”

“I will. Every step, the team will know about it.”

He smiles slightly. “Good.” Not one for PDA, he nods to you, a silent wish of good luck and a quiet plea to come back to him in one piece. You return it, wishing him the same and promising to make it back even if it kills you.

And then he’s with the other doctors, preparing for the worst.

You jog over to your team. Tara beams at you, taking your wrist and setting up the beacon. Jenna debriefs you on what you need to do. Nero double checks that your comms will work.

It feels like no time has passed at all before the trouble begins.

-

Your snowmobile cuts over the snow piled on top of the blacktop. Tire tracks are quickly covered up or blown away. Cars sit parked on the side of the road or haphazardly abandoned right in the middle. The wind bites at your face like sharp teeth made of ice. The scarf around your mouth and nose prevents it from stealing your breath. Goggles protect your eyes, though the snow steals your visibility. Your hands have already started to go numb, but you press on.

The GPS on the snowmobile is glitching and useless with the storm blocking its signal. You have to rely on your knowledge of the area and Jenna’s voice in your ear directing you. There was a distress call sent in from a nearby park. It’s out of the set perimeter, but you’re the closest person available to help.

“The victim has a road flare available to them. Tell me when you’re in the area.”

“I’m almost at the entrance. I’ll go in on foot.”

“Careful. Don’t lose your way. Do you have anything to act as a marker?”

You pull up at the familiar iron gates of the park. You and Zayne come here for picnics when you have days off, so you know it pretty well by now. You dismount and try to find anything to use as a tether or beacon, but you just don’t have the resources. “I don’t.”

Jenna sighs. You really are her most reckless Hunter. “Call out the direction of the flare. Use it to retrace your steps back.”

“Understood.” You pull the scarf tighter around your ears as you head into the park. The snow is powdery beneath your feet, covering up your boots with every step. When you glance behind, your footprints are already gone. “Tell them to light the flare.”

Wind whips around, kicking up snow into your face and sneaking into your many layers. Once you get back, Jenna will send out another Hunter while you warm up and help at base. Just a few more minutes in the cold, and you can rest. The prospect urges you to keep pushing on, even as the damp begins collecting in your socks.

A faint pink glow pierces the haze. The light is diffused so much you almost miss it. “Spotted. North west from the entrance.”

The park feels like a deserted tundra the deeper in you go. You can’t see the iron fence that blocks it in, only the trees scattered around, barren or otherwise full of pine needles. You try to name what kind of tree they are, to help you on your way back.

On the left, a sycamore.

On the right, a pine tree.

Feet feel like miles, dragging on as the cold begins to seep in.

The glow of the flare disappears just ahead of you. Through the snow, you see the vague outline of a person. You pull down your scarf, exposing your mouth to the incoming agony of chapped lips, and cup your hands.

“HEY!” you shout. “CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

A muffled reply is swept away in the blizzard. With a bolstered resolve, you block the wind with your arm and push onwards. It isn’t much longer before the silhouette begins to clear.

Your watch beeps with a Metaflux warning. You’re frozen to the spot as you watch the horrific sight.

A Wanderer, some sort of knave, hunches over a body. A thin blanket flutters around the corpse, obscuring the figure. Red snow melts around them. The Wanderer’s arm is coated in the same red, seemingly fascinated with the spent flare as it prods it out of the victim’s hand.

“There’s a Wanderer,” you say through the comm. The creature’s head snaps up to you. You fumble for your gun, too tucked away to get to easily. It charges, blade-arms raised.

-

“Can you hear me?” Jenna tries again. It’s all static. Nero frantically tries reconnecting the link, but to no avail. “Have they lit their beacon yet?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, not yet.”

Tara gasps softly, hands covering her mouth as she stares at the holographic map. A red error warns of the lack of a signal, waiting for any sort of input to track. “What are we going to do?”

Jenna taps her finger on her arm.

Zayne helps someone in from outside. The snow gusts after them until the doors are pushed shut, chilling the lobby. He notices the red glow from the corner of his eye. His heart plummets to his stomach.

Trying to keep a level head, he passes the minorly injured person to a nurse, and rushes over. “What happened?” he demands.

Jenna looks at him from the corner of her eye, before fully turning to face him. “You’re close with Y/N, aren’t you?”

He nods. It only confirms his suspicions: something happened to you.

“They were answering a distress call when their line went dead. We believe they were attacked by a Wanderer, though the amount or type is unclear. They haven’t lit their beacon yet-”

“Captain!” Tara cries. “They lit it!”

She turns back to the map. The red error is gone, replaced with a blinking yellow icon. Zayne leans forward, reading the road labels.

“Do you have another snowmobile?” he asks.

“I can’t send a civilian into this storm.”

“I have extensive experience with search and rescue missions like this, Captain. And I know the area well. Along with my Evol, I should be able to retrieve them with little trouble.” He’s already buttoning his coat as he speaks, tucking his glasses away for safekeeping.

Jenna smirks. “You won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, will you?”

His ears are tinted pink as he looks away. You really are a bad influence on him.

“Here.” She grabs a bracelet-like device and wraps it around his wrist. “This way we’ll be able to track you through the storm.” Then she hands him a small earpiece. “Keep in touch. There’s another snowmobile outside.”

-

The storm hasn’t gotten any better by the time he reaches the park.

His cheeks are red from the cold, eyes bleary from the wind, and anxiety grips his heart like a vise. He parks his snowmobile beside yours. Snow has thoroughly covered the seat and skis.

He announces his arrival to your team. They lead him in the direction of your distress beacon.

The wind is deafening. The most recent weather reports predict that the storm will die down in a couple hours, but that’s far too long to wait for you to survive through.

Snow collects on his jacket as he blocks his face. The snow on the ground almost reaches his mid-calf, making movement difficult. But he powers through. He must. The thought of you dying out here, slow and alone, chills him to the bone even more than the blizzard, even more than his Evol. He refuses to let that happen.

A plastic wrapper, half-buried in the snow, catches his attention. He kneels down to look at it. The familiar colors and branding of the protein bar he stuffed in your pocket greets him. If this is yours, it means you’re alive enough to eat.

He shoves it into his pocket and keeps going.

“The map says they’re nearby,” your captain says through his earpiece several minutes later. He leans against a sycamore tree for cover. “Directly ahead of you.”

He shoves off and continues trudging forward. A dark shape under the snow 10 feet away catches his attention. His chest is tight as he drops down and begins uncovering it. It feels like his heart has stopped completely when he reveals the back of your coat.

He calls your name, digging his arms underneath your body to lift you and rest you against his chest. He bites the finger of his glove to pull it off. Your skin is ice cold as he feels for a pulse…

It takes nearly a minute before he feels the faint beat of your heart. He assesses you for any injuries. It doesn’t take long to find one.

Across your stomach is a long slash. Your clothes are torn, revealing ice-bitten skin and the jagged edges of your wound. When he looks, he can see a long trail in the snow, already being filled in. He can just imagine the agony you must have been in, trying to crawl through the snow back to safety. Eating your protein bar for a boost of energy, just to keep going.

He slips his glove back on and cradles you tightly to his chest as he stands and heads back the way he came.

“I found them. I’m heading back now.”

He’s back at the sycamore tree when your watch beeps. A glowing ring appears around your wrist, red with warning. He hears the Wanderer’s cry on the other side of the tree.

He quickly kneels down, supporting your body in his lap and cradling you with one arm, while the other calls ice to his hand. His face is set, eyes sharp. The second the creature rounds the trunk, he’s hurling ice at its chest.

Memories of fighting Wanderers in the mountains, of losing his friend, burn in his chest. Zayne fights with unyielding determination to get you home.

-

It’s warm. Almost too warm. Memories of playing outside in the snow as a child, only to come in and have burning sensations on your fingers and face, drift lazily through your mind.

There’s a weight on top of you. It’s too hot.

Lifting your arms feels like a monumental task. Trying to shove the blanket off is even harder. You’re panting before you’ve even uncovered your chest.

It’s suddenly pulled off of you, uncovering your legs from the burdensome heat. The cooler air of the room sends goosebumps all down your arms.

“Don’t move too much.”

Your head lolls to the side. Your eyelids are impossibly heavy. You’re so tired. You try to speak, but it comes out as garbled nonsense.

“Shh. You’re on a lot of pain medication right now.” Something soft touches your forehead. You stop fighting to keep your eyes open. “Get some sleep.”

You dream of building snowmen and drinking hot cocoa.

The next time you come to, your whole body aches. Your muscles scream in agony with every little twitch. The worst of it comes from your belly; a persistent sting that brings immediate tears to your eyes. You gasp and whimper as your hand tries searching for the source of your pain.

Something grabs your hand and pulls it away, holding it tenderly to the side. “Does it hurt?”

You whimper again, nodding pathetically.

“Okay. It’s okay. Give it a minute. It’ll go away soon.”

You try forcing your eyes open again. They don’t feel as heavy now. You can start to make out Zayne’s dark hair, the focus on his face as he makes adjustments to the equipment you’re hooked up to.

Slowly, the pain ebbs into a dull ache. He turns his attention back to you.

“Feel better?”

You nod again slightly. He smiles softly, but it looks like he’s struggling with it.

“Mhnn, what happened?” you slur.

He squeezes your hand gently, running his thumb over the bandages wrapped around your fingers.. The skin underneath is dry and cracked from the cold and the self-destruction of your crawling, but your blood runs warm underneath. “What do you remember?” he asks instead.

You blink, frowning with concentration. You remember the blizzard. Getting ready with Zayne in the morning. Meeting your team in the hospital. A dozen or so back-and-forth rescues. And then…

The barren trees appear in your mind through a haze. Dark red against melting snow. Fabric flapping wildly in the wind.

“The Wanderer…”

Zayne nods slowly. “Your comms went down. Your team couldn’t contact you at all.”

“Yeah, it…” You subconsciously reach for your ear, as though trying to find the earpiece. “It knocked it off when I dodged away.”

“And then you set off your beacon.”

A timid look comes over your face. He sighs, already knowing what you’re going to say. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I fought it off first. My gun was hard to reach, but-”

“So you waited until it was dead to alert anybody else to your struggle, even though it could have killed you before you ever got the chance.” It wasn’t a question. You can’t meet his eyes. Even after promising him to be careful, to stay in contact with your team at all times, you still put your life in unnecessary danger.

“‘M sorry…”

He sighs.

You look at him again, studying his attire. It’s buttoned all the way to his neck. His tie is crooked. “What happened after that?”

“Your captain gave me what I needed to rescue you myself,” he starts. You cut him off with wide eyes.

“She let you go on your own?”

He grins wryly, but the pinch in his brow shows just how strained it is. “You’re a terrible influence on me, you know that?”

You grin, too. You nod for him to continue.

A darkness covers his eyes. Bright hazel dimmed by the emotions that were still warring within him, battling with the relief that you’re still alive. “I found you buried in the snow,” he murmurs. “You were barely alive. The Wanderer didn’t hit anything vital, but you’d still lost a lot of blood. Paired with the frostbite… It’s a miracle you still have your extremities.

“I rushed you back to the hospital. We immediately began treating you with a heated IV. Once you were stable, we started you on a blood transfusion and treated your wound.” He nods to your stomach where your pain still lingers.

You look down at yourself. The blanket is still pulled off of you, folded off to the side. The snap-front gown they put you in allows for easy access to your stomach. You can see the bandages through a couple of the snaps.

Your eyes slowly trail to your connected hands. Your fingers are individually wrapped. His warmth seeps in through the bandages. But there’s something else…

You carefully pry your hand from his so yours is on top. He lets you, watching your movements for any discomfort. Your fingers glide over the faded scars of his hand, up to his sleeve. He pulls away when you push back the cuff, but you’ve already seen the glimpse of a bandage wrapped around his arm.

“You’re hurt, too.”

“It’s superficial.”

“Since when has that mattered to you?” you tease.

He glares at you, but there’s hardly any venom behind it. He looks away, readjusting his sleeve all the while. “More Wanderers appeared after I found you. A couple scratches here and there, but nothing serious,” he dismisses.

You seek out his hand again. There’s a quirk to your lip, one that belies the mischief in your actions, yet he gives himself to you anyway. You trace up the same pattern as before and struggle to undo the button of his sleeve. He undoes it for you. You’re unrelenting at the best of times; it’s easier not to fight it. He even lifts it up slightly, fully revealing the wrap around his wrist and forearm. The soft gauze padding can be seen through the thin material, outlining where the injury really is.

“Some couple we are,” you murmur. “We get hurt and we deny it with our every breath.”

He huffs a laugh. “Two self-sacrificing fools.”

You hum with a nod, continuing to trace over his injury. The mirth begins to drain from your face. “I’m sorry… For not calling for help sooner. For letting you get dragged into the mess I created.”

“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit, my love,” he whispers reassuringly as he slides his fingers up your wrist until he’s holding your hand again. He brings your bandaged knuckles to his lips. You watch the way his lips curve against your minor wounds. “I will always come to your aid, by my own choice, whether you created the ‘mess’ or not.”

“I love you,” you whisper in return.

He kisses your knuckles again. “The feeling is mutual.”

You pinch his chin playfully. He chuckles. “Get some rest. I’ll get something for you to eat.”

He lowers your hand back to the bed and stands up. His fingers work nimbly to button his sleeve and fix it once more. You catch his hand before he can turn to leave. He looks down at you attentively. You could ask him for the stars and he’d pluck every single one from the sky to give to you. You smile sweetly up at him, that familiar glint in your eye giving your tricks away.

“Does the hospital serve hot chocolate?”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Dark - Y.JH

🌲Who: Gender-neutral reader x Jeonghan 🌲What: Horror. Human reader. Monster Jeonghan. 🌲Wordcount: 3.2k 🌲Warnings: Mental manipulation/control. Some blood and injury. Gradual loss of humanity. Biting. I truly do not know how to tag/warn this but basically, Jeonghan is some kind of eldritch horror who wants reader and morals do not exist for him 

Summary: There’s something watching you. It feels old, feels evil, feels dark. You can feel its eyes on you when you pass the woods to get home.  It feels hungry.

-2024 Masterlist-

AN- @ourdawnishotterthanourday , thank you for reading through this for me, little one 💗

Edit 8/9/24; bonus artwork by the lovely @monamipencil ! thank you so much for making this, sweetheart, it was such a lovely surprise! 🥺

It’s dark. The kind of dark that isn’t just seen but felt. The kind of dark that seeps into your skin, wraps its cold fingers around your veins and travels through your veins. The kind of dark that makes a home of the deepest corners within you and steals the warmth from your soul. The kind of dark that hardens your heart and refuses to let go.

It’s dark and you don’t know if you can find the light again.

You’re the last to leave. Again. It doesn’t surprise anyone anymore. You’ve been leaving later and later with every passing week.

The sun had set long ago by the time you leave work and start the walk home. 

A walk that you shouldn’t really take. The way is dimly lit, the neighbourhood too old for modern security cameras to be commonplace.

It’s dark and not safe. You know this. You had been scared about this when you moved here all those months back. Back when you used to get lifts home from colleagues who worried for your safety too. Back before you lied about being okay to walk home alone.

Something changed. You don’t know what it is, but something in you isn’t the same as it was then. You don’t know if you miss it. 

It’s dark and you’re walking home the same route you take every night after work. Far too late into the night. 

A cool breeze flutters your hair, presses against your back urging you onwards. Closer to home. Closer to the darkness waiting for you. 

An empty house, no one to come home to. No one to wait up and scold you for being so late and reckless, yet relieved to see you home safe. No life within the walls until you return. No one. Just the dark.

It’s a calm night. Like the world has decided to take a break and let the nightcrawlers go about their business with nothing to disturb them. It’s nice. Soothing almost.

You take a deep breath, let the night air chill your lungs, send prickles over the back of your neck. 

You almost pause as you realise the shiver running its fingers up your spine isn’t from the lungful of cool air. But you don’t dare.

You know something is watching you. Something is always watching you as you pass the opening to the deep old woods near your home. The only companion you know on these nights. 

It used to scare you; cause your heart to race and your lungs to shudder in your chest, expand and deflate erratically and leave no room for anything else. But now. Now there’s something else in your chest, spreading and winding around every inch of you, filling all the gaps and limiting how your lungs expand, forcing them to behave. 

It used to scare you; it doesn’t any more.

Still, you don’t dare slow, you don’t dare look because you know with everything in you, you know that the moment you show weakness, show interest, whatever is lurking in the dark will be upon you and you will be helpless to stop it.

It’s dark and cold and…soft. The world is cold around you, burrowing under your skin and spilling ice into your heart, but there is softness underfoot. It’s a little damp and something small tickles over your bare skin, but it’s soft underfoot. 

It’s soft and it’s not as bad as you thought it would be.

When you open your eyes on a new day, the curtains are pulled open allowing the morning sun to stream into your bedroom. You remember closing them last night before climbing into bed. You remember locking the window securely. 

There’s a gentle breeze against your face, birdsong reaching your ears. 

You’re not surprised to find the window open when you look over.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” One of your co-workers, a friendly young man who seems to light up any room he enters checks, even as others call for him to hurry. 

“I’m sure, I’m not much of a drinker,” you assure, smiling at him in a way that you hope is assuring. Really, you just want him to leave. You used to like him, when you first met you thought he was the kind of man you would love to have by your side in any capacity, but especially as a romantic partner. But now. Now his sunshine hurts your eyes and makes the fire burn cold at the back of your neck.

“Okay,” he agrees, though he looks disappointed and very bad at hiding it. You pretend not to notice and turn your focus back to your work, tilting your head down in a clear sign of dismissal. 

“Come on, Seokmin!” One of your colleagues yells.

“Alright!” He calls back yet hovers a moment longer before abruptly grabbing a pen from the pot and leaning over to take your left hand and scrawl numbers down on your skin. “If you change your mind, here’s my number, I’ll keep my phone on loud. Or if you want someone to walk you home, I’m happy to! It scares me thinking about you walking-” 

“There are post-it notes right there,” you comment, looking between his phone number written hastily against your skin and the little stack of bright yellow squares of paper. They’re impossible to miss. 

“Oh, right, sorry.” He quickly puts the pen down and backs up with an embarrassed, apologetic smile when you raise your eyes to look at him. “I just-” 

“Seokmin!” The loudest of the group almost screeches impatiently, making Seokmin jolt and look at them. “Flirt on company time, not mine!” 

“I’m not flirting!” Seokmin shrieks, whirling around to look at you with wide eyes of alarm. “I-I’m not flirting!” 

“You should go because they drag you,” you suggest, raising an amused eyebrow. 

Seokmin opens his mouth to respond yet just closes it again and nods rapidly before turning and rushing off, zipping his coat as he goes. 

You hear him whispering madly, sternly to his friends when he reaches them but you don’t care to discern the words. You’re already looking at the numbers on your hand and wondering if he purposely picked the permanent marker to stain your skin with.

It’s dark, and cold, and soft, and you’re not alone. The ground is still damp and soft under your bare feet, the gentle breeze cool against your skin and you can’t see. But there’s something against your left hand that feels almost tender. 

A touch. An icy finger tracing over your skin. Admiring.

Until it’s not. 

The gentle touch turns sharp, a piercing burn in a purposeful line across your skin. Warmth spills out, trickling over your skin, dripping off your fingers to the soft ground you stand on. 

Your breath catches as your lips press together firmly. You want to cry out, but there is something telling you not to open your mouth. You can’t let the dark spill onto your tongue and slip down your throat. 

There’s a sound, something you don’t understand. Something that rattles the very core of you, something indescribable even if you were to try. But it feels old, it feels powerful. And it’s talking to you.

You don’t know what it’s saying but it’s talking to you, voice vibrating in your bones for only a few seconds yet it feels like those few seconds have changed you irreversibly. 

Something wet touches your hand. The icy touch of slender fingers hold your palm, leading it closer to the soft wetness. It’s almost warm, but not quite. 

The cool wet traces over the warm trails that spilled your hand. 

A tongue. Whatever is with you is tracing its tongue over the trail of your spilled blood. 

There’s a sound, it sounds pleased. 

The tongue passes over the back of your hand. It burns.

You want to cry out.

You keep your mouth shut.

“What happened?” One of your colleagues asks, eyeing the bandage wrapped around your left hand as you take your mug from the coffee machine. 

“Just wasn’t paying attention,” you reply with a lighthearted little laugh and shrug. She accepts your words just like that and starts to prattle on about something as she puts her mug where yours was moments before and places a fresh pod into the machine. 

Your gaze slides to the white gauze hiding the raised line of a fresh wound on your hand, cutting straight through the stained ink you couldn’t scrub off before bed.

“Did you hear?” Another colleague walks in, his hands holding his oversized empty mug ready to refill, and his eyes are wide.

“Be more specific, Seungkwan, you catch so much gossip it’s impossible to know what you’re talking about at any given time,” the woman on your right scoffs, rolling her eyes but her lips are turned up a little in amusement. 

You glance at her and suddenly wonder why you don’t know her name. Have you ever known it? Surely. You must’ve. But you can’t for the life of you remember what it is. 

You look at Seungkwan as he moves closer and you realise that you had forgotten his name until the woman spoke it. You wonder what else you’ve forgotten lately; you get the feeling it’s a lot. Yet you find that you don’t care, not really. It’s all meaningless.

“You know how Seokmin didn’t turn up today, right?” Seungkwan whispers as he leans closer to yourself and the nameless woman. 

You didn’t ask to be included in this and you almost walk away, but he’s half blocking you in and you don’t really want to go back to your desk and stare at a screen that hurts your eyes even with the brightness turned down. So you remain and just watch the conversation happen as you sip your drink.

“Hungover, he went out with Mingyu and Soonyoung last night and you know how those three get,” the woman muses, plucking her mug from the machine and turning to lean back against the counter and leave space for Seungkwan to access the machine if he wants to. But he doesn’t and continues to clutch his empty mug with wide eyes.

“We all thought that too but he didn’t answer anyone’s texts or calls and you know he’s too nice to do that.” The woman hums in agreement. You don’t have any input yourself but nod a little when Seungkwan looks at you. 

It seems right for Seokmin’s character at least, to never intentionally avoid others like that. He always seems too…warm. 

Your nose turns up a little at the thought of that warmth. You used to like it. But now. Now even the thought feels suffocating.

“Exactly,” Seungkwan continues, entirely missing your unimpressed turn of expression. “So Mingyu went around there on lunch break to check on him and he’s not there.” 

“What?” 

“Seokmin isn’t there.” 

“Then where is he?” 

“Nobody knows. They’re trying to find out. It’s not like Seokmin to do this. They’re worried something happened to him.” 

It’s dark, and cold, and soft underfoot and you’re not alone. It’s dark and there’s a cold trail of a gentle touch over your cheek. 

There’s that sound, that noise you know means that whatever is with you is talking to you. You don’t understand, but you think you’re starting to.

It’s dark and you’re not alone anymore. You’re not sure you ever were. 

There’s a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, a hamper of unwashed clothes in the bathroom. None of it matters. It’s all meaningless.

You’re waiting. Though you’re not sure what for. 

But you think you’re starting to understand. Every morning you wake with a breeze on your skin and you think you understand more. 

You feel it in you. 

Whatever it is, it’s almost ready.

A gasp of your name makes you look up from the display of apples before you. You know the approaching man, he’s familiar. You work with him.

He gets closer, plastic disposable coffee cup in hand and he’s already talking away, gossiping. You lift your eyes from his cup and to his face. He always has a cup. You know that. But you don’t know his name. It doesn’t matter. 

“It’s so sad, isn’t it?” The man finishes, frowning at you as if he truly is upset by whatever he had just said to you. You blink at him, not sure what was said but willing to agree to be left in peace already. “About Seokmin?” 

You don’t know who Seokmin is. You think you should know, but you don’t. You don’t care either. 

“Were you listening?” He frowns further and reaches out towards you. You take a step back out of his reach before his palm can touch your forehead. “Are you okay? You look pale, you feel cold.” 

“I’m fine,” you assure. It’s the truth. You are fine. He’s the one emanating a disturbing amount of warmth. 

“You’ve been strange lately. Not yourself.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Right.” Genuine concern twists his mouth as he curls his hand back around his cup. “You should text Seokmin, let him know that you’re thinking about him, it’ll cheer him up.” 

“I have groceries to buy,” you point out. He opens his mouth to say something but you’re already turning and walking away with your basket in hand. 

Those apples didn’t seem fresh enough to you anyway.

There’s a man standing on the path as you walk home, a grocery bag swinging from your hand and guided by the gentle moonlight. He’s not moving, just standing, staring into the dark of the woods transfixed. 

You know better than that. 

As you near the man-shaped obstacle in the path you make an attempt to give him a wide berth but suddenly he turns to face you with wide eyes void of any light. You recognise him, even without his normal warmth. 

“Come for a walk with me,” he speaks to you in a voice layered with sounds you can’t describe. Though there is his natural voice and another one there, one you don’t know by ear but you know it. Whatever is in your chest knows it. 

You almost falter in your steps but remain steady. You ignore him and walk around his form to continue on your walk.

“You can’t avoid it forever. He’s waiting for you,” he calls after you.

“Go home, Seokmin!” you reply yet don’t look back. 

You don’t see him take a step off of the path. You don’t see him slink off into the woods, drawn by something that has its cold fingers too deep in his chest for him to ever be free of again.

It’s dark, until it isn’t. No light comes yet shapes start to form in front of your eyes. Pale thin fingers reaching for you, tipped with short pointed nails. The sharpness of which you have proof of under the bandage on your hand.

A gentle caress on your cheek.

A blink of your eyes and a face appears. Or perhaps it was always there. You just didn’t see it before. 

It looks human, yet doesn’t. Too beautiful, too ghastly. A contradiction you are unable to remove your gaze from. You don’t want to remove your gaze from.

Dark wisps of hair fall over an even darker eye as its head tilts a little. To the left then to the right. 

Pretty lips stained red stretch wide, too wide. Sharp teeth put on display. Too many teeth. But so pretty. Dangerous. And beautiful. 

It’s smiling, eyes swirling with twisted pleasure as it stares at you, a cold, gentle thumb rubbing a tender pattern against your cheek. The smile grows as you tilt ever so slightly into the touch.

Teeth rescind before your eyes. They remain sharp yet fewer appear and are smaller than before. Leaving space for sounds to slip through. You catch sight of a pale tongue moving within its mouth as it forms sounds. Words. 

But you don’t understand. You don’t know the ancient language it speaks. 

Yet.

A soft touch to your bottom lip and your mouth falls open at the request of this horrifyingly beautiful creature before you. 

It smiles widely, pleased by your willing obedience as darkness spills onto your tongue and slips down your throat.

It’s dark when you open your eyes, no light streaming in from your window. The breeze is still on your face where you lay. 

It’s soft under your back, soft and cold and damp. 

“Welcome to your new life, little one.” You’ve never heard the voice before, not on its own, only blended with the man on the path. It’s velvet smooth yet crackles at the edge with a cold fire. Comfort and danger in one. You know the owner even without looking over. 

Still, you look.

Beauty and horror rolled into one haunting creature resembling a human male, yet far from it. 

He’s sitting on the damp forest ground a little to your right, smiling at you with those sharp teeth on show, his dark, dangerous eyes which hold no light or warmth locked on you. And yet you feel…adored. 

“What’s your name?” You ask, voice soft and calm, at peace here laid on the bed of moss beside the being that could tear you apart and swallow you whole if he so desired. You think he once wanted to. But now. Now you think he still might. But only to carry you with him always. 

You think you would let him, if he asked. 

“My name?” He repeats, leaning forward. You nod and then suddenly he’s slinking over the ground, crawling in a manner that should not be possible, his bones should not move in such a way if he were human. 

But he’s not. 

“Names hold power here, little one, do you think I would give a mere human power over me?” He taunts, placing each of his bony hands either side of your head as he leans over you, head tilting too far to the right for a human neck. 

“I don’t feel human anymore.” You reply and lift your hand to feather your fingers over his cheek. Perfectly smooth and cold, yet still soft. 

“I suppose you are not.” He chuckles and dips down to brush the tip of his nose over your neck, to breathe the scent of you in.

“What am I now?” 

“Mine.” Sharp teeth pierce your delicate skin, not deeply, just enough to draw blood that a cold, wet tongue laps up greedily. 

“Then tell me your name. If I’m yours, I will never want to do you harm.” 

He leans up. Peers at you as he licks blood stained teeth and swallows every drop. 

“You are mine.” He repeats.

“I am yours.”

“Prove it, let me have you.” 

“I am yours.” You repeat firmly, tugging him down to taste your blood on his tongue.

It’s dark, and cold, and soft under your bare back, and you are not alone. 

“My name is Jeonghan.” 

It’s dark and you don’t want to find the light again.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie @variety-is-the-joy-of-life

[alekthefox]

Overheating

Boothill fic because I'm OBSESSED!

Have you noticed he has some sort of large plug socket on the small of his back? Mmmmmmmmmmm I have ideas~

(Do tell me in the comments what person you prefer to read in, first person, second person, third person. I really don't know. I just roleplay a lot so this is the type I'm most used to.)

Tags: Boothill has nerve-like sensors on his body, he can indeed overheat, teasing, banter, mention of alcohol, rough Boothill, failed smut (he stops so he doesn't hurt reader) Pairing: Boothill x gender neutral reader (not trailblazer+no mention of lower private parts), 3rd person Context for reader: The reader is a bounty hunter who occasionally teams up with Boothill. They waited outside the workshop for Boothill to be repaired. That reckless man might be good at dodging bullets, even dancing in the crossfire, but a well timed grenade tore him apart. Luckily, his pretty face is unharmed. After several hours he came out. They were on their phone, checking the transaction that just came in as a reward for their work. "Fifty, just as agreed upon. Wanna get a drink, big guy?" Fifty million credits was very little to bounty hunters. It should have been an easy job, like a little thrill-seeking. But this dumbass of a man has no sense of safety. They got away with just a few scrapes unlike him. "You invitin' me on a date, eh?" "Hah, you wish." "Aw, you wound me~ at least let me buy you a drink." They rolled their eyes and started walking, expecting him to follow, and that he did. Not only that but he gracefully passed them like a skilled dancer, walking ahead. Their eyes traced over his literally sculpted body. The man not only chose to make himself have NO ass, but also metal fucking abs... and a jacket that covered nothing. But... there was some sort of exposed hole on the small of his back. A plug socket? It was too large to logically be for anything they can recognize. Out of impulse they put a hand on his back, which he didn't mind, smirking. That smirk was soon to drop. Their hand slid down the middle of his back until their fingers slowly traced the rim of socket. He stopped walking, his back arched and he covered his mouth. He stumbled forwards before spinning around and grabbing their wrist harshly. "What the fudge do you think you're doin'?" Well, that was an unexpected reaction. If that part was so sensitive, why was it exposed? "Curiosity killed the cat. I didn't expect you to be such a whore, exposing a sensitive part for everyone to see." "Well nobody thinks to fudging touch it. I'm gettin' real tired of yer teasin'. Always got yer eyes on my body, always sneakin' in small touches, leanin' in close, stealing my hat--which I'd kill people over-- it's fudgin' annoyin'!" "I plead guilty~." At the mention of his hat they reach up with the unbound hand but he leans away, still holding their wrist. Now the grip gets tighter. Cold, metal fingers like a deadly vice, locked joints so there isn't a way to escape it. He might leave bruises at this point. He turns them around and grabs both wrists to pin them behind their back, pushing them against the nearest wall. The display attracts attention from strangers. Nobody stops to form a crowd, but eyes are certainly on the two of them. They laugh. "Either tell me to stop or do something about it, cowboy." "Fudge."

He presses them against the wall with his body. But his body isn't cold... They can hear the fan inside his torso spinning loudly, the metal heated. He's flustered. His voice is gravely in their ear. "Can't tell if I wanna shut ya up or make you scream." "Well make a choice, big guy. Leave, take me to the bar, or take me to private place." Boothill huffs then hesitantly lets go of them and starts walking. It's unclear which he chose but he did stop to see if they're following so the choice isn't 'leave'. They follow, eyes trailing over his body again, never getting enough. It's his carefully constructed body, it's the way he moves through the crowds, those heels that are actually a part of his legs--of course they are--and the...

He lead them to a hotel. A quite nice hotel. They smile wide with a raised brow. Now this will be interesting. They wonder just what he's got packing seeing as he's literally 90% metal. He pays for a room for one night, and slightly strangely, the next day as well. He opens the door for them and places a hand on the small of their back as they both walk in. As soon as he turns to close the door they hug him from behind, feeling up and down his torso. He huffs, his cooled body now heating up again. They swear they see a bit of steam come from his mouth. He places a hand on the wall in front of him as their hands explore his body and eventually land once again on that plug socket. Gently circling the rim, his body grows hotter, his breathing gets heavier. He's letting them do it but they can tell he's barely holding back. They put a soft kiss between his shoulders as two fingers slip into the hole to see how deep it goes. It goes about to the second knuckle and the moment their fingers brush the end he bends forwards to hit his head on the wall. "That feel good?" He doesn't respond with words, instead with haste he turns around and grabs their hair and pulls them into a bruising kiss. His other hand grips their hip, pulling their bodies against each other. Knowing very well how sharp his teeth are he gently bites their lip. Then he moves onto their neck, leaving kisses, sucking on the skin, and sometimes biting just enough to leave tiny marks of a shark bite. The hickeys aren't enough to mark them, anyone can leave hickeys, but the bites are his mark without a doubt. He wants everyone to know who they belong to. Their hand sneaks to his back again, abusing that sensitivity. He really, truly, growls in their ear and recklessly bites their neck hard. Their entire body reacts to the pain. He apologetically licks the blood off, savoring the taste of iron in it. He's uncharacteristically silent. Luckily he had enough of clarity to bite more towards the shoulder.

They tug on his belt which is an extremely dangerous game. "You want it off? Do it yourself, baby."

URGH, this man is so damn annoying yet so damn hot. They start with the belt, then pants, then underwear, one after the other. But before they can look down Boothill spins them around as if they weigh nothing to him, once again they're pressed chest first into the wall. They protest by pushing back into him. Which is an extremely smart move because then they feel it. It feels like... a silicone dildo. How the fuck can there be nerve-like sensors inside silicone? Then again... how can they be in metal as well? Buuuut then again a lot of planets around the cosmos have different levels of technological advancements. Now was indeed not the time to dwell on the logic of it. Especially as his hand went from their hip to underneath their shirt and up their torso. Cold fingers pinched the left nipple as his teeth grazed their neck. After he was satisfied with their reactions, their sounds, his hand moved lower, his body pressing them into the wall out of excitement, his body almost scalding hot. Just as his hand was to reach there he stops and backs away abruptly. They whine and turn around only to see his head is hanging low, hat obscuring most of his face. Some of the plates on his body have shifted to be ajar for the literal steam to come out, fan whirring loudly. "Well fudge... Had to stop so I don't burn ya. I promise, when I cool down, I'll take care of ya. I swear it."

Author's notes: I am not fucking sorry for ending it like this. Suffer. :)

[goodmorgan]

Perfect Strangers

Chapter 8: A Reward to Forfeit

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

Series Summary: When a stranger appears at your homestead to steal from you, you set out to help him instead. What follows is a reckless relationship with potentially dangerous outcomes.

Previous Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

Chapter Summary: Arthur returns after your learned an unexpected truth.

Word Count: 3.6K

Tags: 18+. MDNI. NSFW. Smut, Porn With Plot, Mutual Pining, Angst, Infidelity, Oral Sex (m! and f! receiving), 69, Caring and Protective Arthur Morgan, Mentions of Domestic Violence and Death

Taglist: @how-the-heck-would-i-know @pinkiec6-rubi @spiritcatcherxo @slumberr67 @nervousmumbling @themoonalienhere2000 @cwbylikeyou @mieriella @chxxrliie @lunawolfclaw @tinaaaa5747 (i can't seem to tag everyone, i'm so sorry)

AO3 Link

The moon is incandescent tonight. Blazing like you've never seen it, not even in the plains of New Hanover. It's warm and inviting and leaves no place in the dark. You put out the only lamp in your room to witness its magnificent beauty, its powerful shadow coming through the swaying curtains.

The breeze is inviting and the night is refreshing, a salve after the hot day that just passed. As you stand by the window, you remove your housecoat and let it fall to the floor, the coolness hitting your warm skin. The feeling is magical, addictive, and you immediately remove your nightgown, a chill running through your most delicate parts. For a moment you bathe, fully naked, on what the moon and the breeze offer you, the perfect respite after such a heavy day. You focus on the physical sensations that envelop you if only to forget the emotional ones.

After some time, you feel the ache in your legs from the movements of the day. You sit on the edge of the bed closest to the window, close enough to still feel the draft. The moonlight still shines on your skin. All you have to do now is wait. The house is finally quiet. Your lover will be here soon.

And so will the outlaw.

It didn't take you by surprise to learn of his dealings with the law. Mysterious and effusive, always scuttling away from your house and from your bed to head to same place not too distant, but never clear enough of where it is. Doubts kept lingering on your mind about his abrupt comings and goings, his dirty bloody clothes, his bruised calloused hands, his smell of gunpowder and danger. But those doubts were never enough to overpower your senses, drunk on kisses and touches you had never conceived, blinded by lust and exhilaration only he could give. The cunning outlaw, desperately clinging to you for release and passion, headed east to escape from the law, only to find himself ensnared by you.

But how can someone so passionate and caring be so dangerous? How can someone so elusive be the refuge you’ve been hiding in?

The wanted poster would seem like the ultimate betrayal to anyone else. A secret so vile no relationship could survive, not even a secretive one. Your heart should be screaming to evade the scoundrel. But no man could deliver his soul to a stranger, to you, and be ruthlessly devious. Of that you were sure of.

Your plan for now was to wait for his arrival. In the nude, as promised. Bare, as you've been to each other since you've met. Besides, who are you to contest a hidden secret? Just a few hours ago, you kissed your husband with his spend still in your mouth.

You’ve made sure the door is locked this time and you've placed the key on the vanity, making sure no one manages to enter. As you put it down, you realized you might just be locking yourself in a room with one of the most dangerous criminals in the country. Full lunacy under a full moon.

You barely hear him until his hands reach your window, climbing gracefully despite the strain. His boots are dirty and dust disperses when he lands on his feet. He’s physique takes up a large part of the window, towered only by the draped curtains. His face is barely lit as he faces you, replacing the moon’s glow with his own. He smiles fully as he sees your naked body, a man thankful to get what he asked for.

And then you realize he’s not the dangerous outlaw on the poster. He’s your Arthur. Nothing more.

“You sure know how to make a fella feel welcomed, missy." He kneels by you, his face becoming clear in the moonlight, his smile widening as he meets yours. "Prettiest thing I've seen in Saint Denis."

You stare at each other for a few seconds, wondering which one is about to start your usual greeting of a fervent long kiss. But Arthur surprises you, and instead, he places a soft kiss on your cheek, his lips warm on your cooled skin. His eyes are as kind as you remember them, and his demeanor is as soft as his embrace. Whoever drew the wanted poster didn't love him like you do.

But you can't take it anymore. "Arthur, would you ever…" His brow flexes in patience. "… hurt me?"

Arthur's pause is short. "Now why in the hell you asking that, sweetheart?" You must look serious enough that he continues. "Darling, that's the last thing I would do in this world." His hands rest on your hips perfectly, urging you to believe him. "Why are you asking such a thing?"

"There's bad men out there, Arthur." You brush the fabric on his shoulder, afraid of opening a door you can't close. "I've… seen things."

"What did you see, darling?"

"There was a woman on the street today. She got robbed right in broad daylight." You hesitate for a moment before you're brave enough to say it. "They said the man was a fugitive. An outlaw."

Arthur's breath is heavy but you're unsure if it's the word that bothers him. "I'm sorry you had to see that, sweetheart. That must have been scary." His thumbs brush the side of your leg in comfort.

"Yeah. Well, they caught him. Thank heavens."

"That's good." He kisses your temple and lingers before the question pops into his mind. "Why are you asking if I would hurt you, darling?"

"Well." You don't want to tell him you saw his face at the police station under any circumstance. "I know men can…" You try not to stumble too much. "Hurt women… a lot worse." Arthur's eyes are wide as he stares at you. "Some who-"

"Has someone hurt you?" he almost whispers.

"No," you interject, dispelling the thought from his mind. It never really happened with you, although you've heard plenty of horror stories from the women in your life. It was never physical, anyway. Your husband always managed to harm you with his words and deeds, never with his hands. Sometimes you wonder if it would hurt less that way. "I just… Seeing that man. I got scared, I guess."

As you look into his eyes, in the clutch of his hands, you're no longer scared that Arthur's really the beast they hung on the wall at the station. Instead, you're scared that they'll hang Arthur on the gallows, you're feet on the ground as they lower him and your only proof of love into damnation.

The idea is so hurtful, you feel tears forming in your eyes, your heart shrinking in its place. You bury your face in his shoulder, quick enough so he won't see the sorrow on your face. He catches your body in his arms, quick to steady you on him, his feet adjusting to hold the full weight of your naked body.

"It's ok, sweetheart, I've got you." You feel one of his hands patting the back of your head, and he holds you like he always does, as if in possession of life's preciousness, something of his own. "No need to be scared now." You try hard to contain the sobs in your chest, but it's too late as they're pushed against his own. "It's ok, missy." He holds you tighter as if trying to swaddle your worries away. "It's ok, darling."

You don't cry for too long but it's enough to dampen the shirt underneath you. You feel warm as he envelops you in his touch. You somehow rest fully on one of his knees as he holds you up from the floor, scared of dropping you. His breath is steady as he waits patiently for your distress to subside. A new kiss on your temple is enough to lift your head from his clutch, and the light of his eyes returns to illuminate the darkness in you, as gentle as ever.

No outlaw looking at you, no. Just a love that will outlast.

Arthur keeps holding you tight and before you know it he places you down on the bed, the softness of the bed linen cool against your skin, your head heavy against the pillows, finally serene, as you watch him undress his shirt, his boots, his belt, his trousers. He joins you on the bed, his hands reaching for yours so he places small kisses on them. He makes sure you're calm and attentive before he even says a word.

"Wanna know why I came to see you? All the way out here?" He tightens his fingers around yours, your arms bending as he inches closer. "You're the only one who's ever taken care of me like you have." A peck on the cheek softly before he exhales, his face in full view. "Sweetheart, I'd protect you if it's the last thing I do in this world. Cause you're the first one I've met that makes me feel like I might belong in it."

You're frozen in place as he bears himself to you, his face as serious as you've seen it. You're dumbstruck by his words, suddenly floating as he sits next to you, his strong arm rubbing your shoulder, his hands still holding yours. You let your head fall on his chest, curling yourself around his nakedness, begging him to hold you like only he can. Before you know it, you're in his arms again, your ear pressing against his heartbeat and his echoes of paradise.

"I'll always be here for you, darling. You're safe with me."

You're not sure how long you both stare at each other before your eyes close. The world seizes to exist, the notion of lawlessness expires. Only the heavens prevail and the comfort of his arms. His breath a virtuous lullaby.

As soon as you open your eyes, you know it was a nightmare that awoke you. You can't remember what it was about, but it was unpleasant enough to make you want to end it. You're surprised you haven't jolted awake, and you can tell it's because Arthur is still holding you, barely moved since you caved into sleep. He's in a heavy stupor, or he would've noticed your small head tilt as you look toward the window.

The great big moon is gone and an orange hue is closing in on the sky, far enough that you know you don't need to send Arthur away. Not just yet. You turn to see his face instead, his eyelashes long over his cheeks, his tan browning the skin beneath them. His breath lands on your face faintly, you can feel it rustle some of your hair. His lips are plump and primed just to taste. You hope he forgives you as yours land on them, finding it impossible not to indulge. You've seen him wake many times now, but every time is just as dazzling as the man who stares back at you.

"You ok, darling?" His words are groggy as his eyes, blinking to better look at you. He tightens his hold of you as he shifts in position, barely disturbed by the fact he spent hours holding a grown woman in his arms. "You feel better, missy?"

You nod your head as you find it necessary to continue to kiss him, trying to get him back to the land of the living. Once he's more awake, he starts to kiss back, and soon enough his tongue leads into ecstasy that makes you completely alive too. As alive and safe as you've ever been.

Arthur is not an educated man, of that you know. He's been puzzled by some of the books beside your bed, or with a topic of conversation that is a little more erudite. You don't mind it at all, as you feel he in no way lacks more important qualities, like emotional maturity and life experience. He often knows how you feel before you even do so yourself. But his candor has always been genuine and abundant, never being able to conceal his true intent. You know every word he said to you last night was truthful and sincere, not taken from a flimsy novel or a yesterday's paper. You know his words were heartfelt and spoken with legitimacy. Arthur is a man of his word, even if not of the law.

You're safe in his arms, of that you are sure of, and as you kiss him back deeper and deeper, you know your loyalty lies with him, even more so than before. Your hands hold steady on his shoulder blades as he places you gently on the bed again, his tongue distracting enough that you barely feel it. The brush of the tip of his cock against your thigh suggests maybe he's keen on dragging this on, much like you are.

Arthur continues his way downwards, first down your neck, then to your breasts, taking a moment to savor each one, his tongue hot on each nipple. He leaves a trail down your stomach before he starts fondling the hairs on your mount, his hands reaching for the side of your thighs to hold you in place as he readjusts. The way he clenches you means his impatient. He looks over at you before he can dive into you, just as the daylight dives into the night outside your window.

Many mornings have come and gone where he has lavished you like this, your eyes barely opened before he delights you awake. His acts are those of a man thankful to have a woman he can ravish like this, thankful to have a woman who will undoubtedly return the favor when she's allowed. But that's not why he does it. He does it because, above all else, he enjoys it. It thrills him that he can do it, thankful he gets to do something for another person besides beating them or robbing them. You're his escape from this world, and by his own words, you're the only one that keeps him anchored to it: *"You're the first one I've met that makes me feel like I might belong in it." *

All thoughts vanish when his tongue joins his lips on your bud, the sensation making you so elated that you close your eyes at once. His work is thorough and dominant, now that he knows you're well awake. He charges quite forcefully, hungry to see you squirm under his grip, your legs struggling under his hands. You take a deep breath before you open your eyes and you see him, kneeling as he lavishes your sex, his muscular back beginning to sweat. Underneath his torso, you catch a glimpse of his cock, half hard from either his slumber or his appetite. You reach for it with your hand, determined to get his attention.

Arthur stops his ministrations to look back at you, your hand slowly working his length. His chin is shiny from your slick and his spit. "You sure?"

"Please," you beg.

Arthur knows what you want and acquiesces. He's gentleman enough to readjust himself on the bed, his tip now closer so you can taste him fully. You both tilt to the side, facing each other, your head landing on his thigh before his own lands on yours. He's still looking at you as your tongue reaches his tip, moaning as you satisfy your urge to lick his drip, not averting his eyes until after you close your lips around it.

His arousal often leads him to surrender to his urges and he becomes impatient to get you to wriggle under his touch again. His tongue lavishes your bud with swift but effective strokes, getting quicker with each pass. His free hand joins his efforts and you feel a finger at your entrance, inching closer to the spot on your wall he knows how to find so well. Soon enough another finger joins in, and you feel edging closer to the end. His mouth is relentless on you, but you try hard to keep your mouth busy, as full as you can, his hardness at peak as you work his base with your hand. You feel yourself drooling with pleasure and it becomes hard to determine which of the muffled moans are yours and which are his. You're starting to take him deeper when Arthur speeds up the pace even more.

You try to keep him in your mouth as much as possible, even when it becomes impossible to move him in and out. When you're close, you take him out with a noisy pop that's stifled by a loud moan from you, your hand clutching to his back to anchor your descent. Arthur's stamina doesn't wane and in just a few seconds he brings you to the place of wild and livid bliss, his tongue still licking as your hips rock back and forth as you ride the heavens once again. You tighten your fingers around his muscles, your fingernails digging deeper into him, unaware you're leaving a deep mark. Once your whimpering is steadier and lower, he removes his fingers from inside you to rub your ass, kneading on the flesh to help you quell your movements.

Arthur really knows how to make you dizzy, exhausted. A mastermind at making you succumb to pleasure. It takes you some time before you can open your eyes again, only to find yourself looking at the carved ceiling of your bedroom. It could use some painting. You turn your face to see Arthur watching you, slumped down on one elbow, his hand working his cock, trying to finish off what you started. His pace is hurried. It won't take him long. He moves to sit more comfortably and closer to you, his tip towering from your viewpoint. He decides to take his free hand over to your face, brushing off a few strands of wet hair covering it. He takes one good look at you unveiled before his breath hitches, his eyes close and his hand moves erratically, his tip then erupting into a hot white streak, which then covers his hand, his stomach. Dark spots form on your fancy bed sheets.

You move toward him before his breath steadies and he opens his eyes to watch you lick his spend off the back of his hand, his fingers, his tip still dripping. He places his hands around your arms as you lower down to lick what landed on his mound, his stomach, his chest. He makes sure to keep watching the deliberate movements of the tip of your tongue, which makes him want to burst all over again. Your tongue doesn't stop until it reaches his neck, his sweat is sweet after the bitterness of his spend. You try to drink most of him before he pushes your chin upwards, kissing you as passionately as he does when either one of you finishes, as if you haven't had enough of a reward yet. You both catch a trace of yourself on each other, exchanging the perfect symphony.

Arthur likes to kiss, and luckily he's great at it. So much so that this is almost as thrilling as what came before. As he continues, his back comes to rest against the headboard, welcoming you onto his lap, your legs a perfect fit with his.

It's only when his eyes start to sparkle with the sunlight of a new day that you notice that it's best to stop, making sure he can still leave before anyone catches him. It's even more urgent now that no one should catch him, now that you know he's a wanted man with a price on his head, a reward you damn well want to forfeit.

The outlaw subsides the work of his tongue when you pull your head back, your fingers brushing the flex of his arms to tell him to stop. "It's best you should go."

He turns slightly to catch the sky out of the window. "I guess it is."

Despite that, you both continue to kiss, more hurriedly but just as deeply. Your hips rock slightly forward against him, the need in your lower abdomen blooming again. Arthur's barely recovered but it's clear he wishes for more too.

You take a deep breath as you wrap your arms around him, a soft moan escaping your throat when you can't get any closer to him. It's here, on his lap, where you belong. The comfort of his body beneath yours is the safest place on earth somehow, and somehow, you yearn for more. More of him, more of this. More of the outlaw grinding beneath your thighs, growing stiffer by the minute his tongue spends inside your mouth. It's here, in his lap, where you want to be, bound by lust and evasion of the law. After all, being an adulterer is a crime too. You best enjoy this before either one of you is caught.

None of you show signs of stopping, although dragging this on is anything but wise. The risks of you or Arthur getting caught increase with every brush of your lips. But it occurs to you, that you don't just want him not to go. No. You want him to take you with him.

To take you back to your cottage in New Hanover, where your affair blossomed, where Arthur used to have you just like this, sometimes harder, sometimes softer. Where perhaps you can resume where you left off, where it's less likely that someone can catch you. Either the law or the spouse.

The wanted man halts his movements as you break from his embrace to deliver your most unlawful plea yet.

"Take me back, Arthur. Take me back with you."

---

A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long for an update. Unfortunately life got in the way. But please know I intend to finish this fic, whenever that may be.

[kitnjon]

Any Jonsa fics in which characterization and physical appearance of Jon is closer to Canon?

Hi,

I am assuming you mean closer to book canon? Honestly I haven't really read that many book jonsa fics. I am more of a show jonsa fan and mostly read modern AUs 😅

Few book fics I have read are post ADWD. Sharing them below -

1. The Wolves of Winter by JustAWhiteQuill

~When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.~ Beneath a wall of ice, a crow died and came back a wolf. Now, he is crowned King in the North and faced with the immense task of preparing his battered kingdom for the Long Night. Atop the lonely mountain, a little bird grew fangs and came back a wolf. Now, she is the Princess of Winterfell and taking care of the only family she thinks she has left. When news reaches them of the other still being alive, a chain of events is set in motion. Winter is coming, and with it, the darkest hour of the night. The time for wolves is here. All the while, the dragons and lions south are battling for a throne covered in fire and blood.

2. I Can't Steal You (Like You Stole Me) by @thewolvescalledmehome

Seeing the only family Sansa Stark had left to her was the only motivation keeping her astride the horse. Jon Snow is at Castle Black. He’ll protect you. It had been so long since she felt safe, felt protected. She yearned for the security of familiar arms and someone who cared for her because she was Sansa and not a Stark. The nerves she may have felt over arriving at Castle Black alone to see the half-brother she had not seen—had barely thought of—in years did not consume her, nor did she allow herself to feel disappointment that it was not Robb or a trueborn brother to save her. Only, upon her arrival, she is told of the mutiny. Then she is asked an impossible question: What would she give to have him back?

Lyric title prompt on Tumblr from the song "You" by The Pretty Reckless.

3. Beasts of Seasons by Simonetta

She had prepared her words and her actions meticulously. She hadn’t prepared to actually see him. Or, Jon and Sansa reunite and things don't go according to plan, forcing Sansa to reevaluate her identity and her loyalties and forcing Jon to come back to himself. Post-ADWD, bookverse fic. Jon and Sansa reunite on campaign to win back Winterfell.

4. The Thawing of Winter by @jade-masquerade

Sansa knew Jon married her—married Alayne—for the Vale, or maybe, because of his past, he saw her as a fellow bastard and meant to raise her up the same as his people did for him, how they chose Lord Eddard’s sole surviving son as King in the North. But when she looked at him, she saw nothing of the sort in his eyes, only a flash of desire, the way a man ought to look at his wife, before he steadied his gaze. If this was truly wrong, she wondered, then why did the gods let it feel so right?

Putting this in tag so others may add in as well.

Thanks for the ask!

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | explicit | 1.1k | tags: established relationship, sub!eddie, top!eddie, dom!steve, bottom!steve, porn with feelings, Good Boy Eddie | @steddielovemonth Love is liking the version of yourself you are with them the best by @tinytalkingtina | AO3)

Eddie has been called many things in his life. Some good, more bad.

He's been called a good friend, a herder of lost sheep, a dungeon master, a rock star, even a hero.

But he's also been called a pariah, a coward, a waste of space, a fuckup, trailer trash, a freak, a murderer, a monster.

But no one had ever called him a good boy. Not until Steve.

Ever since he was a little kid, Eddie had learned to fit in, to become whatever someone needed him to be.

When his ma got sick, he learned to be her sweet little boy, quiet and uncomplicated instead of loud and wild. To take up as little space as possible, one less thing for his mama to worry about.

After she died, Eddie learned to be self-reliant. An adult in a child's body, able to take care of himself because who else would. Whenever his father was around, he adopted the Munson charm, the easy smile and empty flattery. He learned how to hot-wire cars, pick locks, steal, lie.

In the process, he learned to hate himself and even more the path his father was trying to set him on.

It wasn't until he started living with his Uncle Wayne that he didn't know who to be, because his uncle never asked him to do anything but be himself. Which should have been a relief, but by then Eddie had almost forgotten who that was.

So he began to reinvent himself in ways that made sense to him.

A storyteller, like Tolkien, spinning tales through his campaigns and having his party hanging on his every word.

A rock star, like Osbourne, van Halen, or Hammett, who played his heart out and made himself heard through his music.

A rebel, like Bowie, who stood up for those who, like him, were on the fringes of society, being their shield and offering them a safe place and a community where they could be their wonderfully weird selves.

Those versions of him were all Eddie, but at the same time they weren't. Not all of him.

Not the soft parts, the sweet and sincere and quiet parts he thought he lost when his mom died. Being all that for her hadn't been enough, it hadn't saved her, so Eddie buried that part of himself with her and became someone else. Someone the world couldn't break so easily.

Until Steve.

Brave and reckless, kind and bitchy and oblivious, self-sacrificing and self-centered, vain and dorky Steve. An enigma if Eddie ever met one. One he couldn't get enough of, each layer a new but pleasant surprise.

With Steve, Eddie doesn't have to reinvent himself, doesn't have to be any of the stories or boxes or labels.

With Steve, Eddie can let go.

With Steve, Eddie can stop looking over his shoulder.

With Steve, Eddie can let down his guard and show his soft belly.

With Steve, Eddie can be a good boy, sweet and obedient and sincere.

"You're doing so good, baby, so good for me. Fucking me so well, so sweet, feeding me that thick cock of yours. Can feel it in my throat. All for me, my good boy treating me so well," Steve coos with his mouth right next to Eddie's ear. They've been at it for what seems like hours and Eddie is so far gone, trembling in Steve's arms as he keeps rocking his hips, the only thing on his mind is Steve. Being good for Steve.

He's already made Steve come down his throat, lapping up every single drop like the good boy he is, before opening Steve up with his fingers and tongue. He pulled another orgasm out of him as he kept stroking across his prostate while licking messily inside him where he had spread him open on his fingers.

Eddie thought they were done, but Steve had other plans as he gathered up his own cum to spread over Eddie's cock, intention clear. Eddie had hesitated, afraid to hurt Steve because it was too much. It was only when he told Eddie to fuck him with a smoldering look from under his lashes that he finally, carefully, pushed inside him.

He's been hard and aching ever since Steve pushed him to his knees and made him nuzzle the bulge in Steve's tight Levis.

He's been ready to come since Steve's cock hit the back of his throat, moaning so prettily as it fluttered around him.

He's been holding himself back from coming by the skin of his teeth since Steve started clinging to him, overstimulated and loving and everything Eddie could ever want, cooing the sweetest and filthiest praise as Eddie slid in and out of the hot, tight grip of his body.

"What do you want baby, tell me, I'll give you everything my sweet little thing, just tell me what you need." Steve's soothing voice washes over him and he realizes he's whimpering into the sweaty skin of Steve's neck.

"You," Eddie replies without hesitation. "Just you, wanna make you feel good, 's all I need, just you." He's babbling, too far gone to be anything close to coherent. Reduced to his soft, needy core. "Love you so much, wanna stay like this forever, never wanna leave you." Things he never thought he'd say out loud spill out of his mouth and he can feel Steve tighten around him, impossibly so and he's so close but he can't, not without -

"Eddie, baby, don't stop, 'm so close, I love you too," Steve pants before whimpering, "Oh God, you're making me come again, kiss me, please, baby, kiss me."

He can't really feel his body anymore, his mouth clumsily seeking Steve's, but he could never deny him anything. Especially not when he's begging him so sweetly.

They both come within seconds of each other, no more words needed. Steve, whose legs and arms are wrapped around Eddie so tightly that it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, is the first to spill between their bellies. The fluttering of his hole, the bucking of his hips and the rhythmic way he clenches around him makes Eddie follow suit.

It almost hurts in its intensity after holding back for so long and he can't help the pitiful whimpering or the overwhelming tears.

Cradling Eddie's head in his giant hands, Steve wipes away the tears and kisses the whines from Eddie's trembling mouth. More tears follow, his love and devotion and gratitude for being loved in this way running down his cheeks as salty droplets, and Steve kisses them away as well.

"You were perfect," he whispers between his kisses, "I love you so much."

When his face is clean, the tears finally stopped, Eddie sinks back down onto the man beneath him. The man who gave him back this side of himself, a side he missed and mourned without even knowing it. A version of himself he has learned to love, to like best, thanks to Steve Harrington and his unwavering love for Eddie.

[cherrrydragon]

➤ the art of stealing (a heart)

← back to main masterlist

read it on ao3

SUMMARY ↳ As a thief, you've always been attracted to shiny things. There’s a glow that catches your eye. It’s almost enchanting, designed to catch your eye and reel you in. Sidon. He’s glowing. The spots that adorn his crest and his blue and yellow fins, are glowing, bioluminescent. “Have–” you stutter, completely enraptured by the sight of him. “Have you always… glowed?” pairing: sidon x fem!reader warnings: almost smut but nada tags/notes: hylian!reader, courtship rituals, eventual romance, based on the hc that zora's are bioluminescent/this tumblr post wc: 7.9k - "cherry stop yapping so damn much" challenge (i never plan such long fics but i keep getting carried away help)

Perhaps you are in over your head.

You wouldn’t say you were a rotten individual, not at all. You don’t do the things you do for mere pleasure… well, most of the time. Even when it is, you steal from people who don’t need it.

Like Prince Sidon of the Zora.

At first it was for necessity. You learned early on that playing by the rules left you vulnerable. So, you adapted, honing your skills and leveraging your talents to carve out a niche where you could thrive. Your family needed stability, and you delivered. You are proud to say they are living quite comfortably now.

Now, however, it is more for the thrill. You like the challenge, find the risk of getting caught almost exhilarating. It’s not just the high stakes or the chase anymore; it’s the game itself that has become intoxicating. The thrill of evading capture, the adrenaline rush from outsmarting the authorities, it’s all a part of the allure now.

You find yourself standing in the grand hall of Zora's Domain, your heart racing as you look around. The opulence and splendor of the place draws you in like no other, with the intricate coral designs and delicate water sculptures. It’s a stark contrast to the more modest lifestyle you grew up in. But that’s part of the charm, isn’t it? Stealing from the rich, from those who hardly feel the loss, and bringing a little bit of that splendor back to your own life.

It’s been quite some time since you scratched that itch. You notice the glint of a finely crafted trident on display, its surface shimmering with a light that seems almost ethereal. That would fetch a high price from some more… degenerate folk, but more than that, it would be a trophy, a testament to your skills and daring. The thought makes your heart race faster, your fingers itching to reach out and claim it.

But you can’t afford to be reckless. The Zora guards are vigilant, their keen eyes always on the lookout for intruders. You need to be smart, to blend in and bide your time until the perfect moment presents itself.

As you move through the hall, you catch sight of Prince Sidon himself. He’s tall, imposing, and radiates an air of authority that’s hard to ignore. Yet, there’s a kindness in his eyes, a warmth that makes you hesitate for just a moment. You shake off the feeling. You can’t afford to get distracted now.

With a deep breath, you slip into the shadows, your mind focused on the task at hand. Every step is calculated, every movement precise. You’ve done this a hundred times before, and you know you can do it again.

As you make your way closer to the trident, you hear footsteps approaching. You press yourself against the wall, your heart pounding in your chest. The guards pass by, oblivious to your presence. You let out a silent sigh of relief and continue on.

Finally, you’re there. The trident is within reach, its beauty almost mesmerizing. You reach out, your fingers just inches away when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“I would kindly ask that you don’t, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as you turn to face the source of the voice. There, standing with an air of calm authority, is Prince Sidon. His presence is even more imposing up close, but it’s the gentle firmness in his eyes that truly holds you in place.

For a moment, you consider bolting, but something in his gaze makes you pause. It’s not anger or hostility; it’s understanding, maybe even compassion. “My prince,” you hum, a false air of calm masking the panic racing through your veins. “I assure you, I meant no harm. Simply admiring the craftsmanship of this exquisite piece.”

Prince Sidon raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but not hostile. “Admiration does not typically involve reaching out to take something that doesn’t belong to you.”

You smile, a touch of charm in your expression. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me, it’s a terrible habit of mine, getting too close to things that catch my interest.” You take a careful step back, hands splayed to your sides. “I only wonder why the wealthy take to much care to display their prized jewels so much.”

Prince Sidon regards you with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, his sharp eyes never leaving yours. "The trident is not just a prized jewel," he says calmly. "It is a symbol of our heritage and a beacon of hope for the Zora people. It belonged… to my dear sister, Mipha.”

Ah, the champion of the Zora said to have fell in battle 100 years ago. “It belongs here, in Zora's Domain, where it can inspire and protect,” he declares.

Prince Sidon's words hang in the air, and you find yourself caught between the desire and understanding. The trident isn't just a valuable artifact; it's a piece of his heart, a remnant of his sister's legacy. For a moment, your resolve wavers, and you feel a pang of guilt.

“My apologies, my prince.” It is sincere.

Prince Sidon's expression softens slightly at your sincere apology, but his guard remains up. "I appreciate your understanding," he says. "However, I'm afraid I cannot overlook this incident."

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t exactly stay and chat about my transgressions,” you reply with a half-smile, trying to mask the anxiety in your voice. “I would hate for your hospitality to be marred by my presence.”

You’ve been inching closer and closer to the window ever since the handsome Zora entered the room. Prince Sidon's gaze follows you with a mix of concern and resolve. “You don’t need to make a hasty exit,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not here to pass judgment hastily. I only wish to understand your intentions and perhaps offer you a chance to explain yourself.”

You pause by the window, the moonlight casting a soft glow on your face. The cool night air filters in, a welcome contrast to the tense atmosphere inside. You weigh your options quickly. Run away, and face no consequence, or stay, and chat with the very attractive prince?

Yeah, you’ll take the first option.

“Sorry, hun, but I’m not one to stick around.” And with that, you allow yourself to fall out of the window and out of sight. Sidon races to the opening and looks over the edge, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

Here’s hoping to never seeing him again.

You stare at Link in barely concealed disbelief. “You want to see me suffer.”

“ Zelda wants to see you succeed,” Link corrects with a wry smile. His fingers move in tandem. You need to be a normal functioning member of society, and to do that you need to be civil and not steal things from people, he emphasizes with a pointed look.

“But I didn’t even steal it,” you whine, referring to the trident. Zelda knew just by looking at you that you had gotten up to no good, and refused to leave you alone until you confessed. You give Link a look of frustration, hoping that your silent plea might convince him to relent. But he’s unwavering, his gaze steady and expectant.

You huff, taking your pack and heaving it over your shoulder. As per Zelda’s request, you and Link will set out to Zora’s Domain, a little bit of royal business and a little bit of “community service” on your part.

As you approach the grand gates of Zora’s Domain, the grandeur of the place takes your breath away once more. It’s all so… shiny . And shiny things have always attracted you. The guards at the entrance recognize Link immediately and allow you both to pass without question. You feel a pang of discomfort as you cross the threshold.

“Link, my dear friend!” you hear, and you immediately recognize the voice. Shimmering red floods your vision as the very prince that’s plagued your thoughts approaches. His arms are out as he wears his grin well. “It’s good to see you!”

Link smiles and waves at him, but Sidon pays his bland greeting no mind and gives Link a generous hug, lifting him off the ground. You shift uncomfortably beside Link, trying to stay out of the way while Sidon’s exuberant greeting continues. The prince’s gaze shifts to you, and you almost laugh at the way his eyes widen.

You raise a hand. “Yo.”

“Link,” Sidon blinks, “ you… do know who you are with right now?”

You snort. “Nice to see you again.”

This is [Name], Link signs. She’s here per Zelda’s request.

You sigh and walk up to Sidon, patting his arm, feeling his muscle briefly. “I’m reformed,” you grin.

She helped me get back an heirloom of the Gerudo. Since then, most of her crimes have been pardoned, and she’s been working to give back to the community. Link explains as he’s finally let down, and the knight turns to you. And you were reformed, until you tried to steal again.

At first, you weren’t too keen on helping anyone but yourself and your family. Wasn’t your problem, but then you got thinking. The Lightning Helm is a precious heirloom to the Gerudo, and you’ve been inside Gerudo Town a couple of times (never to steal, those women scare you). Vain as it may be (it is) you requested that you receive a Radiant Shield in exchange for your help. That jeweled treasure now sits on your back.

Prince Sidon’s gaze remains fixed on you, a mixture of curiosity and cautious optimism in his eyes. His initial surprise seems to be giving way to a guarded interest. “You’re the one who returned the Lightning Helm?” Sidon’s tone reflects a hint of admiration now, though he’s still processing the situation. “That’s quite impressive.”

You shrug casually, trying to play off the compliment. “Just a matter of finding the right opportunity, and the right incentive,” you say, patting the Radiant Shield on your back. “And a little persuasion never hurt anyone.”

She’s very sorry for trying to steal the trident, Link signs.

“I’m very sorry for trying to steal the trident,” you nod, half in jest, half serious.

She’ll help in any way she can as atonement. You grumble under your breath at the notion, but you reap what you sow.

Sidon nods. “Very well. We’ve had some recent issues with a horde of Octoroks disrupting our fishing operations. It’s affecting our community, and we could use some help in investigating and addressing the situation.”

Zora’s Domain, as you’ve come to find out, is very humid. It’s almost stifling, a constant reminder of how different this place is from your usual haunts. The air is thick with moisture, clinging to your skin and making every movement feel just a bit heavier. Still, your complaints will not be appreciated, so you keep them to yourself as carry in large boxes of shipment in.

Your hands are already sore from carrying the heavy boxes, but you focus on the task at hand. You cringe at the dryness and blisters you’ll probably find in your hands later. The sun is setting over Zora’s Domain, casting an ethereal glow over the shimmering coral structures and tranquil waters. Every now and then, you catch glimpses of Prince Sidon overseeing things, ever the vigilant prince of his people.

Link waves for your attention. “You’re doing good,” he says softly. He’s been helping out alongside you, a silent partner in your atonement. It’s nice to know you’re not the only one in this.

“Just doing what I can,” you reply, wiping sweat from your brow. “I didn’t expect the humidity to be this intense, though. Feels like I’m swimming through the air.” You shudder at the sweat clinging to the back of your neck. “I feel gross.”

Zora’s Domain does have a way of making you feel like part of the water. You’ll get used to it, he nods sagely.

“Here’s hoping,” you mutter, struggling with another heavy box.

Later, when the sun has long passed the horizon, you’re making your way back to your quarters, a gleam catches your eye. You pause, squinting in the dim light, as you spot a glimmering object partially hidden among some rocks near the edge of the water. The way it catches the moonlight reminds you of a precious gem, and your curiosity gets the better of you.

As you get closer, you realize it’s an old, tarnished box. The once-bright metal is dulled by time and neglect. You kneel beside it, brushing away some dirt and algae. The box seems ancient, and the craftsmanship is intricate.

You carefully open the old box, the hinges creaking softly as you lift the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of faded velvet, lies an assortment of trinkets and curiosities. Among the items are a few old rings, a weathered journal, and a few delicate trinkets that might once have been quite valuable. The most intriguing piece, however, is a small, ornate pendant with a shimmering blue stone.

You carefully lift the pendant from its resting place, examining it in the moonlight. The blue stone catches the light in a mesmerizing way, almost like it has its own inner glow. It’s an exquisite piece, seemingly out of place among the other trinkets.

…Technically this isn’t stealing, is it? You just… found it. All on its lonesome by the shore. Of course it once belonged to someone, but these items are old, and probably long forgotten. You tug your lip between your teeth, pondering.

As you continue to examine the pendant, a voice startles you. “Found something interesting, I see?”

You glance up to see Prince Sidon standing a few paces away, his imposing figure softened by the moonlight. His tone is light, almost playful, but there’s a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

You glance back and forth between him and the box in your hands, noticing the way he eyes it too. “Believe it not, I really did just find this on the shore.” You hold out the items. “See? They’re all old. They’ve probably been moving in the waters for a long time.”

Prince Sidon steps closer, his gaze fixed on the box and its contents. His curiosity is evident, but there's also a hint of skepticism. "You have a knack for finding interesting things, it seems," he remarks, his eyes lingering on the pendant. "That piece is quite beautiful."

Sidon’s eyes narrow slightly as he inspects the pendant more closely. “The design… it’s familiar,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “This pendant resembles some ancient Zora craftsmanship, though it’s not one I recognize immediately. It could be a relic of our past.”

You frown, suddenly aware of the gravity of what you’ve found. “Really?” Does that mean you have to give it back? Bummer. “Ancient as in, long ago even for a Zora, right?”

Sidon gently takes the pendant from your hands, examining the gem held in it. Prince Sidon holds the pendant up to the moonlight, the stone casting a soft blue glow. His expression shifts from curiosity to one of deep contemplation. He nods, humming, “Yes, quite. This design is more on the simpler side of things.”

“So, I can’t keep it?” you can’t help but ask.

Sidon averts his gaze to you as you poutily finger through the rest of the box. Your eyebrows raise as you spot something. “Oh, hang on.” You hold up a ring, its engraving similar to that of the pendant. “I think this is a matching ring, or something? It’s got the same gem and everything.”

Prince Sidon’s gaze shifts from the pendant to the ring in your hand, his eyes widening slightly. His own comes up to gently grasp yours, turning it this way and that study the ring. “Yes, that does seem to match,” he says, taking a closer look.

Your brain stops working at his proximity, but you shake your head and focus. “How about this? I trade you the ring for this–” you grab the pendant from his hands, replacing it with the ring, “–your guys study that, and I get to keep this.” You’re already clasping the pendant around your neck. “Sound fair?”

Prince Sidon’s gaze lingers on the ring you offer, and then shifts to the pendant now clasped around your neck. He examines your proposal with a thoughtful expression, clearly weighing the offer.

“They’re obviously from the same set, right? Everything you can figure out from the pendant you can figure out from the ring.” You're mostly talking out of your ass, but that’s your specialty. You sigh at his hesitancy. “If it comes down to it, I’ll give it back. But unless this thing is going in a museum I want it back!”

Prince Sidon’s gaze remains thoughtful as he considers your proposal. The moonlight reflects off the pendant around your neck, casting a soft glow that seems to enhance the item’s allure. His pupils seem to dilate as he gazes upon it. The moment feels tense, and you can almost see the gears turning in his mind.

“You make a convincing argument,” he hums.

“I have a way with words. I kind of have to.”

Prince Sidon’s lips curl into a slight smile. “Very well. I’ll accept your proposal.”

You grin. “It’s been a pleasure, my prince.” You hand Sidon the box with the rest of the trinkets in it, not having any interest for it, and head back to your room to catch some rest. As you walk back to your quarters, the pendant feels warm against your chest, a reminder of your little victory.

The following days blur together in a routine of hard work and moments of unexpected community. The Zora people, initially wary of you, gradually warm up as they see your efforts to help. Your tasks vary, from assisting in the market to helping with maintenance and repairs around the Domain. You learn a great deal about Zora culture, their history, and their ways of life.

Many of the female Zora compliment your new accessory. They marvel at its beauty and craftsmanship, asking where you got it from. You just shrug and tell them you found it one day.

After a particularly sweaty day of work, you find yourself relaxing in one of the many pools around the Domain. The cool water soothes your skin. You sigh and lean your head back, closing your eyes in relaxation. the sound of gently flowing water surrounds you, creating a tranquil atmosphere.

The tranquility of the moment is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. You lazily open one eye to see Prince Sidon walking towards you, a neutral expression on his face. “I hope you’re finding the Domain to your liking,” he says, his tone light and conversational.

“It’s definitely grown on me,” you reply, not bothering to move from your relaxed position. “The humidity is still a pain, though.”

He hums, coming to sit next to you. His eyes find the pendant, staring at the way it dips between your breasts. “Our historians have… theories. On the meaning of the ring.” You can’t help but feel a bit self-conscious under his scrutiny. You shift slightly, adjusting the pendant, noticing the way his eyes follow the movement.

You raise a brow. “Do tell.”

His hand slowly reaches out, gently taking the gem between his fingers. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he examines the pendant. His pupils dilate again.

“Nothing important. Just some personal jewelry,” he says after a moment. You’re not quite sure you believe him, but you decide not to press the issue. 

“Then there’s no need to put it on display, huh?” you chuckle. “Good for me, then.” There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, a mixture of curiosity and something else you can’t quite place.

Prince Sidon’s expression softens as he releases the pendant, his hand lingering for just a moment before pulling away. “Yes, good for you.” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

You clear your throat, breaking the tension. “So, what’s next on the agenda? More heavy lifting, or do I get a break?” You smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Sidon chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think you’ve earned a break. But if you’re looking for something to do, there’s always more to explore in Zora’s Domain. Perhaps you’d like a tour? There are parts of the Domain most visitors don’t get to see.” He seems almost hopeful, eyes eager.

A tour sounds intriguing, and you find yourself nodding before you can think it through. “Sure, why not? Lead the way, Prince Sidon.”

He stands, offering you a hand with a grin. You take it, feeling a jolt of electricity at the contact. As he guides you through the Domain, you’re struck by the beauty and intricacy of the place. Sidon shares stories and histories, his voice warm and engaging. You can’t help but be drawn to him, his presence calming and reassuring.

As the tour progresses, you find yourself in a secluded area of the Domain, a quiet garden with a small, tranquil pool. Sidon stops, turning to face you. “This is one of my favorite places,” he admits, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the water. “It’s a place of peace and reflection.”

You take in the serene beauty of the secluded garden, the gentle ripples of the small pool creating a calming effect. The lush greenery and the subtle glow of bioluminescent plants cast an enchanting light over the area, making it feel like a hidden oasis.

“This is beautiful,” you say, genuinely impressed. “I can see why it’s one of your favorite spots. It sure might be mine.”

Sidon’s eyes light up with a hint of pride. “Then you may come here as much as you’d like.”

With a little bit of teaching from Link, you think you’ve gotten the hang of fishing.

Link, the chaotic mess, prefers leaping and snatching them up with his hands, but you don’t, so he showed you how to carve small spears to throw at them. They work just fine, and you can do less work.

You’ve already acquired a good haul, but you still have some spears left, so a couple more won’t hurt. You’re crouched near the water’s edge, eyes focused on the shimmering surface as you try to spot any movement that might indicate the presence of fish. The evening sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue over the water. The tranquility of the moment is a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the Domain during the day.

That peace is broken by a giant figure leaping out of the water in front of you.

You gasp, grip tightening on your spears to jab it into the creature, but a firm hand stops you. Your hand is gently held as you stare into familiar golden eyes.

Your jaw falls open. “Sidon?”

He looks just as shocked as you, eyes flipping between yours and your tightly held spear. It is then you remember yourself, and drop it. “By the Goddess, Sidon, you scared the shit outta me!” you admonish. “What are you even doing?”

Sidon still holds your hand in his, failing to find the right words. “I–... I sincerely apologize for scaring you. It was not my intention.” He looks a little sad at the thought of scaring you, and you kind of feel bad.

“Aw, it’s okay big guy,” you coo, other hand coming up to pat his crest. Sidon’s head pushes up against it. “Seriously though, what are you doing here? I don’t imagine Zora’s swim in the same waters as their prey.”

Sidon’s expression softens as you pat his crest, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. He releases your hand slowly, the warmth of his touch lingering. “I was… fishing.”

You blink. “Really? Me too.”

Sidon blinks up at you, so you gesture to the basket of fish to the side. “I was catching some for others too. Y’know, being a helpful and normal person.”

“I see,” rumbles Sidon. He looks back at you, eyes roaming up and down. “You are a good provider.”

You shrug. Sidon continues on, voice lighter and imploring for your attention. “I, too, am a good provider.”

“I’m sure you are, you’re a prince after all,” you smile kindly.

“I will prove it to you.”

You wave your hands. “I already believe you–”

Sidon sinks back into the water, cutting you off. You huff and rest your head on your hand, content to watch him. You’ve seen Sidon and other Zora swim before. They are all graceful and artistic in their ways, but Sidon… seems to be extra showy today. He performs flips and turns, all seeming to be part of a grand dance.

You can’t help but be mesmerized by Sidon’s performance in the water. His movements are fluid and powerful, a testament to his strength and agility. As he dives and twists, the setting sun’s light catches on the droplets of water, creating a sparkling effect that only enhances the beauty of his display.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Sidon surfaces, holding a large fish in his hands. He swims over to you, a triumphant smile on his face. “Is it to your satisfaction?”

Your laughter bubbles up before you can stop it, echoing across the water. "Very impressive, Sidon. It’ll be a good meal.”

Sidon beams at your praise, his smile wide and genuine. He places the fish in your basket, the catch even more impressive than any you’ve seen today. “I am glad to have impressed you,” he says, his tone warm and sincere.

You pick up the basket and make your way back to the Domain, Sidon on your heels. You look back at him. “I already think highly of you, Sidon. You didn’t need to do that.” When did he become just Sidon?”

Sidon’s pupils go big. “I am content to prove myself to you, my dear.” When did you become “my dear”?

The two of you make your way back to the Domain, the golden light of the setting sun casting a warm glow over the water and the surrounding landscape. Sidon seems to be lost in thought, his gaze occasionally flicking to the basket of fish. You can’t help but notice the way his demeanor has shifted, becoming more relaxed and at ease.

When you finally reach the entrance, you turn to face him. “Thank you for the fish, Sidon. It’s a wonderful catch, and I’m sure it will be appreciated.”

Sidon’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction. “It was my pleasure. I am glad you enjoyed the demonstration.” He pauses for a moment, his expression becoming more serious. “I… I wanted to ask if you would join me for a meal later. We could… share my catch.”

Your heart skips a beat at the invitation. It sounds like a lovely opportunity to spend time with Sidon, but there’s also something else in his tone that makes you feel warm inside. You nod, a smile forming on your lips. “I’d like that. I’ll see you later, then?”

Sidon’s smile returns, and he bows slightly. “I look forward to it. Until then.”

As he turns to leave, you head towards your quarters, feeling a mixture of anticipation and contentment. The day has been full of unexpected moments, and you can’t help but feel that there’s more to come.

Later that evening, you find yourself in a cozy dining area within the Domain. The table is set with simple yet elegant dishes, and the aroma of freshly cooked fish fills the air. Sidon is already there, waiting with a warm smile and a casual, relaxed demeanor.

As you sit down, he gestures to the dishes. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I hope you find the meal to your liking.”

You take a seat and serve yourself, the fish proving to be as delicious as it smelled. The conversation flows easily as you both share stories and experiences, and you find yourself growing more and more at ease with Sidon. A glint catches your eye, focusing your attention on the neck piece Sidon wears.

You raise a brow. “Did you clean your jewelry?”

Sidon’s eyes follow your gaze to the pendant he wears. His face splits into a satisfied grin. “No, it is a new piece. Quite eye-catching, yes?” The bastard is teasing you, but you can’t help being drawn to the allure of shiny things.

Sidon’s grin is playful, and he seems to take delight in your reaction to his new accessory. “It sure caught my eye,” you admit, fidgeting with your own pendant.

He picks up a juicy crab leg and holds it out to you. “Try this.”

You try to take it from his hand, but he gently bats it away. You spare a look at him, but all he offers is an innocent smile. You huff playful and humor him, letting him feed you.  The tenderness of the meat and the rich flavor make your taste buds dance. You savor the bite, nodding in appreciation.

“It’s good,” you affirm, feeling a dribble of sauce slide down your chin. You lift a finger to wipe it away, but you’re beaten to it by a rough touch wiping it away for you. You stare, ensnared as his claw gently pads at your lip, lingering unnecessarily.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself momentarily speechless. His gaze is intense, and the proximity of his touch feels oddly intimate. His eyes search yours, as if trying to read what’s going on in your mind.

The moment stretches between you, a charged silence filling the space. You’re acutely aware of his presence, the closeness, and the way your pulse races.

Finally, Sidon withdraws his hand, his gaze softening as he smiles gently. “Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky as you break the spell. “You didn’t have to–”

Sidon’s expression softens, and he retracts his hand slowly, his gaze still holding yours. “I wanted to,” he says quietly, a genuine smile gracing his lips. “It’s not every day I get to share a meal with someone as special as you.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and you feel a flutter of emotion at his words. You smile back. “Well, I appreciate it,” you reply, trying to keep the tone light. “The meal is wonderful, and the company is even better.”

The conversation continues, but there’s an underlying current of intimacy between you. The evening feels enchanted, each moment spent in Sidon’s presence creating a stronger bond. He’s attentive and caring, making sure you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself.

Eventually, the conversation wanes, and the two of you sit in companionable silence, savoring the last of the meal. Sidon leans back, looking content and relaxed. “I’m glad you enjoyed the evening,” he says softly. “It’s been a pleasure to get to know you better.”

You nod, feeling a warmth in your chest at his words. “I’ve enjoyed it too, Sidon. Thank you for everything.”

He stands, offering you a hand. “May I accompany you back to your quarters?” he asks, his voice gentle. “It would be my honor.”

You take his hand, feeling the familiar jolt of electricity as he helps you up. “I’d like that,” you say, smiling.

When you reach your quarters, Sidon stops and turns to face you, his expression serious yet tender. “I hope tonight was as special for you as it was for me.”

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing something, so you’ll ignore it for now. You look up at him, feeling a surge of affection. “It definitely was, Sidon.”

Sidon gently takes your hand and lays a heart fluttering kiss upon it. The kiss lingers on your hand, his warm lips sending a flutter through your entire body. You feel a mix of exhilaration and nervousness as he releases your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. The intimate gesture is a clear declaration, and the softness in his eyes speaks volumes.

“Goodnight,” he says, his voice a low murmur. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

You nod, unable to suppress a shy smile. “Goodnight, Sidon.”

As he turns and walks away, you watch him go, feeling a sense of contentment mixed with anticipation for what’s to come.

Well, you’ve always enjoyed a thrill.

The next day, as you resume your activities around the Domain, you notice a subtle shift in how the Zora people interact with you. There’s a newfound warmth in their greetings, and a few even offer small tokens of appreciation for your hard work. It’s clear that your efforts are being recognized and valued, and you can’t help but feel a sense of pride.

Sidon makes it a point to interact with you as much as possible, and people are starting to notice. You get some side-glances from those of Sidon’s “fan club”, but you pay them no mind. You still find it hard to believe that someone like you could be something with someone like Sidon. Even so, the Domain feels more like home with each passing day.

You're helping with a community project near the main plaza, and you spot Sidon approaching with a more determined look than usual. His expression holds a mixture of excitement and anticipation.

“Good evening,” Sidon greets warmly, his eyes lighting up as he sees you. “How are you today?”

“Alright, thank you.” You flap the collar of your shirt to cool yourself. “What can I do for you, Sidon?”

He holds out a hand for you to take. “Please, come with me. I’d like to show you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the look on Sidon's face. Without hesitation, you take his hand, and he leads you away from the bustling plaza. His grip is firm yet gentle, and you can't help but feel a sense of excitement as you follow him through the winding paths of the Domain.

He keeps you close to him during your walk, his body language protective and attentive. Sidon’s pace is steady, and his demeanor is almost bubbling with enthusiasm. The air is cool and refreshing, and the setting sun casts a golden hue over the landscape, making everything seem even more magical. He guides you into a grand room, designed with splendor in mind, fitting for a prince.

Ah. A prince. Like Sidon.

…Is this Sidon’s room?

Your heart skips a beat as you realize where you are. The room is adorned with intricate carvings, beautiful tapestries, and delicate water features, all exuding an air of regal elegance. You can't help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the grandeur.

It’s alluring, and just to your liking.

Sidon glances at you from the corner of his eye, satisfied to have captured your attention. He leads you to a large, ornate chest against one wall. With a flourish, he opens it to reveal an assortment of items: delicate jewelry, fine clothing, and intricate artifacts. You gasp at the sight, clearly impressed.

“I’m supposed to be good, Sidon,” you gape, staring at all the luxury you’d love to wear.

Sidon’s smile widens, clearly pleased with your reaction. “You may take whatever you want.” And, fuck, if that doesn’t get you going.

He reaches into the chest and pulls out a stunning necklace. It is similar to the accessories he wears, but somehow it is even more showy. In its grasp is a large tooth, catching the light in a mesmerizing way. It’s even more exquisite than the jewelry he wore during dinner.

“This is for you,” Sidon says, holding the necklace out to you with a touch of shyness in his voice. “It holds… my tooth.”

You stare at the necklace Sidon is offering, its beauty leaving you momentarily speechless. “I... I don’t know what to say,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. Surely, this doesn’t mean what you think it means?

Sidon’s eyes are warm and earnest as he watches you. “It’s a gift, to show my appreciation for everything you’ve done. I thought you might like it.”

Oh, okay, so it’s probably not what you’re thinking. Still, disappointment pools in your gut. He steps closer, gently placing the necklace around your neck. His fingers brush against your skin as he fastens it, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “It suits you.”

As he adjusts the necklace, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror. The necklace compliments your pendant, and perfect match, and you feel a sense of elegance and grace that you haven’t experienced before.

“It’s stunning,” you say, turning back to Sidon with a grateful smile. “Thank you–”

There’s a glow that catches your eye. It’s almost enchanting, designed to catch your eye and reel you in. Sidon. He’s glowing . The spots that adorn his crest and his blue and yellow fins, are glowing, bioluminescent.

“Have–” you stutter, completely enraptured by the sight of him. “Have you always… glowed?”

Sidon chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yes, it’s a trait of our kind. The bioluminescence only calls for… certain situations.” He seems a bit bashful admitting this, his usual confident demeanor softened by a touch of vulnerability.

The soft glow emanating from Sidon’s body casts a gentle light around the room, making the already beautiful setting even more so. You find yourself drawn to him in a way that feels both new and familiar.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice filled with genuine admiration. “You’re beautiful.”

Sidon’s blush deepens, the glow intensifying for a moment. He looks at you with a mixture of gratitude and affection. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “It means a lot coming from you.”

The moment feels intimate, the air charged with unspoken emotions. But as a thief, you’ve been known to run away.

“I… thank you for your gift, Sidon. I think I should get some rest now.” Your smile is one of false bravery.

Sidon’s expression flickers with disappointment, but he nods understandingly. “Of course, I understand. Rest well,” he says softly, stepping back to give you space. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You offer him a small, reassuring smile before turning to leave. The hallway outside feels cooler, the grandeur of Sidon’s room fading as you walk back to your quarters. The new necklace feels both heavy and comforting around your neck.

Sidon’s touch haunts you as you fall asleep.

You could’ve sworn you saw a familiar ring on his shoulder as he left.

“Yeah, he’s definitely courting you,” hums Link casually, munching on a fish.

It’s as if he is ignorant to the storm brewing inside of you. Perhaps you should’ve kept your turmoil to yourself, but Link is more knowledgeable on normal people things than you are. Even if only by a little.

Throughout the day, you’ve noticed Sidon watching you from a distance. His presence is comforting, and you find yourself stealing glances at him, your heart skipping a beat each time your eyes meet. There’s a newfound warmth in his gaze, a silent promise of something more.

You stare at Link, your mouth hanging open in disbelief. “You must be mistaken.”

You seriously didn’t notice? Link raises a brow.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "I thought he was just being nice! Look at how he treats you!”

He doesn’t lavish me in jewelry or give me his tooth, he snorts.

“It’s not like I knew Zora courting rituals,” you groan. “So… what do I do?”

Link shrugs. Do you like him?

“I’m a thief, and he’s a prince.”

That’s not what I asked.

You bite your lip, thinking about all the moments you’ve shared with Sidon, the way he’s made you feel. “Fuck… I think so?”

Sidon’s a good guy, he’ll understand whatever you choose, Link advises. As his best friend, you have my blessing.

You snort, hitting him softly. You pause, thinking. “Zora courting’s all about showing off, right?” Link nods. “Okay. I think I have an idea.”

The secluded garden that Sidon showed you before is as beautiful as you remembered. The lush greenery embraces you as you shed your clothes and settle into the pool. The soft glow of the surrounding plants is all that provides light at this time of night.

You let yourself relax as the water touches your skin. It is neither too cold nor too warm. You let out a sigh of contentment, closing your eyes as you let the gentle ripples of the water soothe your tired muscles. The tranquility of the garden envelops you, and for a moment, you let yourself drift away from the turmoil's of your thoughts and emotions.

The serene ambiance is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. You open your eyes to see Sidon emerging from the shadows. His gaze falls on you with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

“[Name], I didn’t expect to see you here,” Sidon says, his voice soft and soothing. He pauses at the edge of the pool, seemingly hesitant but clearly intrigued.

You look up at him with a playful smile. “We have much to talk about.”

Sidon’s eyes twinkle with amusement as he steps closer to the pool. “May I join you?”

You nod, gesturing for him to come in. With grace, Sidon enters the pool, his movements smooth and fluid. He swims towards you with a relaxed, yet purposeful stroke, his scales lighting up, his bioluminescence creating a stunning visual effect as he moves. As he approaches, the water around him shimmers with the light of his glow.

He settles in front of you, his presence adding to the already enchanting atmosphere. His eyes trail your figure barely concealed by the water’s surface. “You… tempt me.”

“You’re one to talk,” you huff, gesturing to him in all of his glowing glory. You stand, revealing your body as the water drips off of you.

Sidon’s eyes widen as he takes in your form, his bioluminescence seeming to intensify in response to your display. The way the bioluminescent plants reflect off your wet skin and the water creates a mesmerizing effect. His gaze lingers on you, and you can sense a shift in the air.

He swims closer, the water parting around him as he moves with the grace of a dancer. “You truly are enchanting,” he says, his voice low and earnest.

“You should’ve told me your intentions. I didn’t know you felt that way.” You pause. “You… do feel the same, right?”

“Of course,” he promises, hand coming up to clutch your necklaces. “You’ll never need to doubt that.”

You reach for his hand, taking in the ring on his finger. The very one you found in that box with the pendant you now wear.

“I was not truthful earlier,” he admits, voice breathy as he speaks. “This ring and your pendant, they were a part of an ancient courtship ritual.”

The gentle ripples in the pool seem to echo the rising tension between you and Sidon as he reveals the significance of the ring and pendant. The soft glow of your environment illuminates his face, highlighting the earnest expression in his eyes.

“The pair would craft the jewelry, one the pendant, and one the ring. Then, after they were certain of each other, they would exchange the items, signifying their status as newlyweds.”

You raise a brow. “Newlyweds.” You stop holding back, approaching him and entering his arms. They wrap around your waist, holding you up. Your hands land on his crest, inspecting his glowing spots. “So, we technically exchanged them, back then. Are we married now?”

His tail wags at having you so close. He closes his eyes and sighs into your chest. “It is ancient, dear. Not so valid in this age.”

“Unfortunate,” you mumble, taken by his scales. “So then, the other stuff?”

He hums. “Other stuff?”

“The fish, the tooth.”

“Showing you I am a good provider, a good match,” he states. His claws draw gentle patterns into your skin. “Giving you my shed tooth is one of many courtship gifts. To make jewelry out of one's own self is a sign of deep commitment and affection. I fully intend on having you.”

You sigh shakily at his words. “If you’ll have me, of course,” he shyly adds.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t the case.”

“I certainly wasn’t expecting this from you.” He squeezes your naked body. “After last night, I thought I was too forward…”

“I was confused,” you whisper. “And scared. I didn’t believe that we could be a thing, but…” You rest your head on his. “I’m glad it’s true.”

You lean back, finally having had your fill of his glow. “Zora courting is all about being bold, no? Is this not bold enough for you?”

Sidon’s eyes twinkle with a mix of mischief and affection as he gazes at you. He buries his face into your neck, laughing softly.

“Then you accept? You’ll take me as yours?” His voice is filled with barely concealed glee.

You chuckle. “Yes, Sidon.”

Sidon’s laughter is light and melodious, resonating through the tranquil garden as he pulls you closer. His tail wiggles even more fiercely than before. The warmth of his body against yours is comforting, and you can feel the intensity of his affection in the way he holds you.

He shifts slightly, staring at you, and you understand. You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a long awaited kiss. His kiss is tender, filled with all the emotions he’s conveyed through his gestures and gifts. The world around you seems to melt away, leaving only the sensation of his lips on yours. The warmth of his affection surrounds you, and you can feel his heartbeat echoing in sync with your own.

Sidon deepens the kiss, his hands caressing your back with a reverent touch. You respond eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lose yourself in the moment. 

When you finally pull away, breathless and with hearts racing, Sidon gazes at you with a mixture of love and contentment. His eyes are filled with profound happiness.

“You’ve made me the happiest Zora in all the Domain,” he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with affection. “I am honored you have chosen me.” Sidon’s grin widens, and he gently pulls you back into his embrace. “I promise to cherish and honor you in every way I can. You are my heart, my everything.”

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the soothing sound of his heartbeat and feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breaths. The tranquil garden, the glowing water, and the enchanting atmosphere all seem to conspire to create the perfect moment.

“That’s it then? We’re together now?” you ask, voice quiet in fear of breaking the atmosphere.

“Yes, dear,” he sighs, content. He then smirks mischievously, leaning back to look at you. “Of course, there are other ways of… sealing the deal.”

You smile at Sidon’s playful hint, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “And what might those be?” you ask, your voice carrying a hint of teasing curiosity.

Sidon’s grin widens. “I’d be delighted to show you,” he purrs, voice rich with promise. He lays you against the pool's edge and sinks underwater. You think back on how you started, never would you have thought you’d end up here. Though, you don’t think you’d change a thing.

His sinks lower, situating between your legs. And then–

And then you don’t think much at all.

notes: hope i wrapped that up well enough. its hard to remember all the points to mention when i yap so much LOL

[erideights]

With my 6th sense. (1)

Pairing: Hunter x fem! jedi reader

Rating: this is the first chapter let's take it slow

Wordcount: 2.2K

Chapters: (2) (3) (4)* (5)* (*not posted yet)

Warnings and tags: use of (Y/N) but I keep it as minimum as possible tho my writing style is in 3rd person, so it's a bit difficult! apart from that none really, just introduction to the story, slight mentions of war maybe, but i can already tell you, this will be an ''i hate you-to-love you'' (calling them enemies doesn't really fit in)

Summary: (This story happens about around a year before The Bad Batch is introduced in The Clone Wars) Another day, another suicide mission for the squad. This time commanded by a jedi general they've never hear about.

A/N: I'm back after MONTHS with a new hyperfixation and no one can stop me. I'm jumping really late to TBB ship but I guess I would give it a try. Or write it for myself. As always, I'll make it a small series, and I hope all of you will enjoy it ♥ (my main language is not english so sorry if there are some mistakes)

Side note: PLEASE read the intro with the voice of The Clone Wars intro, thanks.

Coruscant!

In the aftermath of the Republic's recent defeat in the growing war in the outer rim, the Jedi Order finds itself at a crossroads, and generals such as Mace Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and (Y/N) convene to strategize their next move in a desperate bid to stop the advance of the Separatist invasions. As they discuss their next course of action, each voice carries the weight of the galaxy's fate. For the Republic's survival hangs in the balance, and only through unity and courage can they hope to emerge victorious against the relentless onslaught of their enemies.

"Feels like they can predict our every move," Master Mace Windu exhales, his eyes glued to the holomap of the base, his hand thoughtfully stroking his chin. The dim light of the briefing room casts a stern shadow on his face, reflecting the gravity of the situation.

"And it's not just that," Obi-Wan interjects, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and concern. "During our last mission, Anakin and I encountered a new type of battle droid..." He sighs heavily, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the memory. His eyes narrow as he recalls the encounter. "This droid kept its distance, observing us while we dealt with all the others. By the time it engaged, it had analyzed, memorized, and adapted to our combat patterns. It knew exactly how to dodge our attacks and counterattack almost instantly."

"Are you serious?" (Y/N) asks, her brows furrowed in disbelief, crossing her arms over her chest. That sounds like a nightmare. Sure, a sniper could take it out from a distance, but up close? For them Jedi, trained in close combat, it could be a real pain in the ass.

"Yeah, and that's putting it mildly," Obi-Wan replies, his voice tinged with worry. "Anakin believes it's still in the development phase. The droid's assembly was far from perfect, almost like it was a prototype. But if they keep working on it, refining it... it could become a serious threat."

The room falls into a tense silence, so thick it almost feels suffocating. The three Jedi and Commander Cody, standing to Obi-Wan's right and always ready to offer some tactical advice, know what this means: if they want to halt the development of these new droids, or at least stay a step ahead, they need to steal the blueprints, and the Separatist droid blueprints are securely kept in…

"Looks like one lucky squad’s gonna have the great honor of infiltrating Serenno," the younger Jedi breaks the silence with a touch of sarcasm, tapping a few buttons on the holo-map to display the planet in question. Almost unexplored, impossible to get ships close enough to scan it completely.

"That’s too reckless," Windu comments immediately.

"It’s a suicide mission," Obi-Wan agrees.

"It’s risky, but not impossible."

"You spend way too much time with Anakin."

"Actually, Anakin spends too much time with me," she corrects with a playful smirk, crossing her arms again and leaning back against one of the control panels behind her.

"If I may…" Cody interjects, stepping forward and nodding to formally request the floor. Windu acknowledges him with a nod of his own. "A mission like this needs a small team. No more than four or five soldiers, with one of you leading. And I know just the squad for the job."

"The 501st?" Windu asks, his brow raised, well aware of the battalion’s formidable reputation.

"No," Cody shakes his head, his helmet tucked under his left arm. "Clone Force 99. I've worked with them before. They’re elite commandos, defective clones with desirable and really convenient mutations. Their success rate on high-risk missions is 100%."

"But...?" (Y/N) catches a deep, well hidden hint of hesitation in the commander's voice and refuses to let it slide. She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side to scrutinize him closely.

"But," Cody clears his throat, aware of how his words might sound for the Jedi, "let’s just say they’re an unconventional squad. Their methods don’t exactly mesh well with captains, commanders, or generals who aren’t flexible or willing to...improvise on the fly, or disregard orders from above."

"That description sounds vaguely familiar," Obi-Wan remarks, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he blatantly turns his head to look at her. She purses her lips and shrugs, as if the comment had nothing to do with her peaceful persona.

"I just like being practical, and let’s be honest, plans usually never work out as we would like them to. Following orders isn’t always the best option on the table when the situation becomes a life or death type of scenario."

"I think we’ve found the perfect person to lead this mission," Obi-Wan concludes, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

(Y/N) and Obi-Wan then turn their gaze towards Windu, who appears to be deeply pondering the situation. It’s a dangerous mission, far too dangerous. Infiltrating Serenno could be compared to a Separatist squadron trying to infiltrate Coruscant right now. Reckless, not worthy at all. And even though she has proven her capabilities time and again, earning the respect of the Jedi Council since before she was knighted, this exceeds the usual risks they take. But at the same time, if they don't do it, they could lose more than just a squad—and with bad luck, a Jedi.

"Go ahead," Windu finally says, his tone decisive.

"Great, infiltrating the heart of enemy territory is always my favorite kind of mission," she quips, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, a smirk tugging at her lips.

...

"I had no clue there were defective clones out there," Obi-Wan remarks, arms folded, his gaze scanning the distant skyline of Coruscant from the base.

"Me neither, but the whole idea of working with a bunch or weird, mutant clones sounds fascinating," (Y/N) replies without missing a beat, a spark of excitement lighting up her eyes as she contemplates leading such an unconventional mission. She's still one of the few Jedi without a permanent legion or squad under her command, always bouncing from one assignment to another, going wherever she's needed as reinforcement. A bit like the 99, Cody thinks, observing both Jedi with a smile playing on his lips.

"You're about to find out just how interesting they can be, General."

And as if his statement was a cue and they were living in a movie, a shuttle rockets onto the landing pad, causing chaos among the ground crew. Its engines roar as it touches down, sending crates of military gear flying through the air like confetti at a parade.

"Someone just lost their flight rights." She mutters, a wide grin spreading across her face. Obi-Wan -ever so subtle- smirks beside her, wondering which of those so-called elite defective clones managed to botch a landing so badly. Did they miss their flying lessons?

The ramp of the shuttle, which she discovers it's heavily customized now that she can take a better look at it, slowly lowers, revealing four individuals waiting to come out, each more particular than the last. Their armor, adorned in black and red, seems customized to what (Y/N) guesses are their individual strengths and quirks.

The first one down the ramp, still wearing his helmet, glances around as if assessing the potential damage done to the landing pad. From his body language alone, she would expect him to be the genius who managed that landing. What she doesn’t expect, though, is his face under the helmet. Actually, none of theirs.

"Well, they certainly don’t look like clones," Obi-Wan comments a bit louder than intended, but he's right. They all share a distant resemblance to the regular clones—maybe like... distant cousins—but if they weren’t in the army, you’d never guess they were clones at all. Each one of them is… unique, and they’ve already piqued (Y/N)’s curiosity even before a proper introduction.

"Commander," one of them greets Cody as soon as the squad reaches them, raising a hand to shake his own. His long, dark, wavy hair is already distinctive enough, but his tattooed face really adds to his intimidating persona. He truly looks like someone who could kill you in a matter of seconds if he wanted to. 

"Good to see you, Sergeant. It’s been a while. This is Jedi General (Y/N)," Cody introduces her, and she nods at them with a charming small smile plastered on her face. "She'll be leading this suicide mission and will be your only reinforcement this time."

It might just be her imagination, really, but she could swear the clone Cody referred to as sergeant is not exactly happy with the sudden news about the mission’s command. Feeling as if a speeder had just run over her a thousand parsecs per hour, and judging by the way he suddenly looks her up and down to the speed of light, silently analyzing her, she'd say this strong feeling of rejection she perceives through the Force, comes from him.

Awh, she didn’t even open her mouth yet and she’s already made a new friend. How cute.

"General," he nods politely, like any good soldier would have done, but with this… noticeable detachment in his manner. "Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99. These are Tech, Wrecker, and Crosshair." He introduces his team one by one, each giving the Jedi a quick glance and a nod.

‘’Let me guess,’’ she starts, biting the inside of her cheek before pointing with one of her right fingers to each one of them. ‘’you’re fast and probably have better sight or hearing. You, on the other hand, are the smart one.’’ The jedi refers to Tech, who is clearly and unashamedly the brains of the squad. Those glasses and the datapad he constantly checks? A walking stereotype. He nods in agreement, tho, while Hunter tries to roll his eyes without being noticed. And miserably fails, but she doesn’t pay attention to it. ‘’You’re the strong one, and you’re the sniper.’’ And she’s sure she doesn’t need to point out why, how, she knows that; the target tattoo around his eye blatantly giving him away.

"Wait, you're a Jedi?" Wrecker, the burliest of the group and seemingly the cute, dumb one, asks with a hint of disbelief as he eyes her hair and attire. She quickly realizes that her dark and tactical outfit—cargo pants, military boots, a snug top with protective padding on her shoulders and a tight vest—doesn't exactly scream "Jedi." But she's always been more comfortable on the front lines than behind the clones she commands, and a robe would just get in the way during a fight. Obi-Wan's still not happy about that.

"Yeah, last time I checked," she replies with a smile, his enthusiasm infectious as she meets Wrecker's gaze. His expression widens, as happy and excited as a kid in a candy store.

"Isn't that awesome, Sergeant? We're gonna see some of those Force tricks up close," Wrecker adds eagerly, nudging his fellow clone.

"Yeah, awesome," Hunter mutters, seemingly uninterested in the conversation as he quickly changes the subject. What's his problem? "So, General, what kind of death trap are we heading into this time?"

"I'll fill you in on all the details on our way; the journey will be long," She answers, shrugging nonchalantly, her hands clasped behind her back.

"Then let's get going!" Wrecker exclaims again, and his whole squad follows him back to the shuttle after a quick farewell to Cody. (Y/N) can't help but notice the way the proclaimed sergeant's eyes lingered on her for just a couple seconds before turning away, wondering about the coldness she feels emanating from him towards her. If their paths had crossed on another mission, she would have remembered, and even so, she's always the life of the party on any mission! She might take offense if she wasn't used to not fitting in even among her own. At least, she tells herself as she exhales a soft sigh, he's attractive, so she'll deal with the mission and his shitty attitude by enjoying his pretty face as a reward for her outstanding patience.

"You're staring," Obi-Wan scolds her under his breath, witnessing their previous interaction, giving the younger Jedi a gentle elbow nudge.

"Being a Jedi means not getting attached, not gouging your eyes out and depriving yourself of good views," she responds without missing a beat, smiling charmingly at him. She's so cheeky, Obi-Wan thinks to himself, exactly like her old master, Kit Fisto.

"Ah, -I completely forgot-, wait!" The Jedi calls out to Clone Force 99, causing everyone to freeze and turn to look at her. "Before we go, you guys need to change your clothes."

The clones look at each other, confused. Wrecker is the first to speak up. "What’s wrong with our gear?"

She steps forward, arms crossed. "Nothing if you want to stick out like a rancor in a china shop. We're going undercover."

Hunter narrows his eyes slightly, not exactly liking what he just heard. "And what exactly do you suggest, General?"

She smirks, his reluctance kinda funny to her. "Something a bit less... militaristic. Follow me, I'll show you where you can get changed."

Wrecker shrugs, clearly unfazed. "As long as I don't have to wear a dress," he jokes, eliciting a low chuckle from Crosshair. ''those never have pockets, and I need to carry some grenades.''

Hunter, on the other hand, remains stoic, his gaze fixed on the jedi, his now general during this mission. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, maybe even distrust—but he nods. "Lead the way."

And as they do as being told, Obi-Wan falls into step beside her. "You sure about this?"

She nods, her expression determined. "Absolutely, what could go wrong?"

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

"No one needs to sleep in a bathtub, that's ridiculous." for the only one bed prompt, do whoever you think would fit

"Fuck," Gerry whispered under his breath, standing in the middle of the room and staring at the bed in mild horror. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."

He should have known that volunteering to go with Michael to some bullshit conference would be a bad idea. His interest towards Gertrude's assistant was already too much, he knew he shouldn't get too close. It was just that Michael was so...cute, and sweet, and Gerry just wanted to spend all of his time with him. More than all of his time. Like, an eternity. He was pretty sure that meant he had a crush on the Assistant, which was...new, for him. Gerry was pretty sure he'd never had a real crush before. Especially not with someone who he could, in theory, actually be close to. Physically.

Gerry swore again and rubbed at his blushing cheeks. He needed to stop thinking about that. He really needed to stop thinking about that. Michael barely knew him, and there was no fucking way anything would happen once Michael saw the real side of him. The reckless, hurt, ruined side of him, up to his eyeballs in supernatural shit, which Michael also didn't even know about, apparently. Which was something that needed to be remedied, as soon as Gerry could properly sit down and explain it all to him.

Michael interrupted his panicked thoughts by barging into their hotel room, a folder in his hands and a nametag around his neck. "Gerard, are you in here? I found the main conference room and all of my breakout classes," he announced happily, sidestepping around their luggage to stand next to him. "There's some openings in a few of them if you want to tag along- oh." He stopped when he saw what Gerry was staring at. "Oh. Oops. I, uh, I guess I forgot to ask them for a room change when you decided to come," he chuckled nervously.

"Yeah," Gerry could only mumble. The single bed in the room was decently sized, but it was only one bed, and there was two of them. The thought of actually sharing a bed with Michael was...was...it was turning his brain into jelly, and he wanted to crawl away from the entire possibility before it could become real. "I can sleep in the tub, it's fine," he muttered.

"No one needs to sleep in a bathtub, that's ridiculous," Michael blurted out. "We can, we can...share." His face turned more and more pink with every word. "I don't mind if we...share."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. "Sure," Gerry squeaked, feeling like his throat was closing in. Sharing a bed with Michael, beautiful, lovely Michael, who was grinning at him with rosy cheeks and bright eyes, might actually kill him. He would be going to his death when he went to bed that night, and there was no way he could say no.

"Okay," Michael breathed, ducking his head do his curls hid his cheeks. "Okay, great." He ducked to grab his luggage, dropping it on the bed with his folder. "Do you want to go out and explore the city a bit? We have time before the welcome speech."

"Yeah." Gerry cleared his throat, shoving down the feeling in his chest and clawing back his dignity with both hands. "Yeah, that sounds fun. Let's do that." Michael beamed at him, nearly floating with happiness, and fuck, maybe that was a bad idea too. A sort-of date with his sort-of coworker. Fuck.

It actually went better than he could ever expect. Michael bought them pastries and giggled when Gerry got flakes of icing down the front of his shirt, wiping them off for him with quick swipes of his hand. In turn, Gerry bought him a pair of sparkly earrings when he saw Michael's eyes lingering on them, despite his protests. It was fun, more fun than he could comprehend, just being out with someone he liked and seeing them smiling back at him. It filled his chest right back up with emotions that he could barely contain, almost suffocating but in a good way, stealing his breath with every giggle Michael made. Having a crush was a hazard to his health.

They were back in time for the conference to begin, which was much less fun than traipsing around town with Michael. Gerry held back most of his sarcastic snorts and sat through the entire initial lecture, if only so he could keep sitting next to Michael. The academic side of the supernatural always felt so artificial to him, distant and impersonal compared to what he'd actually seen and experienced. Michael kept sending him glances out of the corner of his eye, like he wanted to ask something, but kept quiet, even as his fingers fidgeted with his notebook. Gerry couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

Back in their room, Gerry threw himself on the bed with a harsh groan, feeling jittery and understimulated. He hated sitting around listening to pointless drivel. Behind him, he heard Michael digging in his duffle bag before he paused, and Gerry could feel his eyes on him.

"Gerard..." Michael paused, and when Gerry rolled over to look at him, he saw him biting his lip adorably. "You don't...you don't really believe in all of that, from the lecture, do you?" he asked uncertainly.

"That stuff, no, not really." Gerry sat up straight, holding Michael's gaze intently, uneasy hope filling his chest. "But there is stuff out there. Real things. Things that I've actually seen and experienced." Michael's eyes flicked to the scars peeking past the collar of his shirt, then back to his. "There's things out there that you can't imagine. Things that Gertrude won't tell you about, for some reason." Michael looked away, looking even more troubled, biting his lip in earnest. He had picked up on the secrets and lies, it seemed.

"I'll tell you," Gerry told him, leaning forward earnestly. "I will, I swear it. I'll tell you everything about them. If you really want to know."

"Yes," Michael agreed immediately. "I know...I want to know. I...I need to."

Of course he did. Gerry felt the tight anxious feeling in his chest relax, finally assured that Michael would no longer be walking around the world blind. "Not right now, though," he amended, falling back on the pillows. "Or else you won't sleep tonight."

"Probably won't anyway," Michael muttered under his breath, almost too quietly for him to catch. Before Gerry could ask, he blushed and yanked a set of clothes out of his bag, scurrying off to the loo and closing the door behind him.

Gerry took advantage of his absence and quickly changed into the clothes he brought for pajamas. Even without knowing they'd be sharing a bed, he'd been sure to bring a shirt and bottoms that covered his scars. He didn't want Michael to see those, not yet.

Not that Michael would want anything to do with him anyway, he reminded himself. Once he knew, once he really knew, he'd want nothing to do with Gerry. He had to accept that. He had to be ready to be disappointed.

When Michael emerged from the loo, his face was shiny with some sort of product, and his short curls were pulled back by a soft-looking headband. He was wearing only a loose tee and a pair of boxers, and it took all of Gerry's restraint not to stare at him, or tense up when Michael crawled onto the bed next to him. Fuck, fuck, he didn't know how he could possibly sleep next to Michael, he'd never shared a bed with anyone before, ever, especially not a guy who captivated him like Michael did. How could he sleep when this was exactly what he'd been dreaming of?

"Gerard?" Michael's hushed voice made him immediately roll over to face him. In the low light, Michael's eyes were huge, staring at him with incomprehensible emotion. "I...thank you for, for being here with me. I really liked spending time with you today. And..." he stopped to take a deep breath, as his cheeks turned pink again. "And for saying you'll tell me everything. I know Gertrude probably thinks I can't handle it, but you do, and I...just...thank you. Really."

"Gerry," Gerry whispered, lost in Michael's eyes.

"What?"

"Gerry. I want...you can call me Gerry. If you want." Gerry swallowed down the thickness that tried to creep up his throat, watching the realization on Michael's face grow and bloom into a wonderous grin. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Gerry," Michael whispered, and he imagined he could hear a thousand echoes of Michael's voice, saying his name again and again, in a thousand different ways. "Gerry. Of course I'll call you Gerry. Of course."

"Thank you," Gerry sighed, finally relaxing the terror in his chest. Michael had his true name now, and it felt like he'd given Michael his heart along with it, and it felt so right. "I'll tell you everything else tomorrow."

"Good." Michael reached behind himself to turn off the light, and in the darkness Gerry felt something brush his hand, soft fingertips slipping over his palm before pulling away. "Goodnight, Gerry.

"Goodnight, Michael."

[novaursa]

The Flames We Hide

- Summary: You were returning from Dragonpit with your sister, Rhaenyra, when you saw Harwin. And you both have a silent agreement: to size another moment together, no matter how brief or fleeting.

- Paring: targ!reader/Harwin Strong

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger twin sister of Rhaenyra, is bonded to a dragon and has strong resemblance to her grandmother Alyssa. These events happen right after The Secret Flame. Visit my blog for more works like this. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 4 622

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sky burns in shades of amber and rose as the sun dips toward the horizon, casting a warm, golden light over the world beneath you. The winds tug at your silver-gold hair, whipping it back in wild tangles as you soar high above the lands on the broad wings of Silixia. The she-dragon’s powerful muscles ripple beneath you, every beat of her wings a steady rhythm that reverberates through your entire body. You lean forward, your hands gripping the familiar curve of Silixia’s neck, feeling the warmth of her scales beneath your gloves.

Beside you, your sister Rhaenyra rides atop Syrax, her golden dragon a flash of lightning against the fading daylight. The two of you are a matched pair, always in tandem, even in flight. The court speaks of your bond with wonder and envy—twins in blood, daughters of the king, yet so very different. Rhaenyra’s laughter echoes through the air, mingling with the shriek of Syrax, a sound full of reckless joy and the heady thrill of freedom. Your own smile curves across your lips, a rare expression these days, as you push Silixia to fly faster, challenging Rhaenyra in your unspoken competition.

For a moment, you’re not Y/N Targaryen, princess of the realm, but simply a girl with her sister, free of the burdens and expectations that weigh on you daily. Up here, in the skies, you are boundless.

But it’s a fleeting escape, as you both know.

The winds whistle in your ears as you descend toward the Dragonpit, the ancient stone structure looming in the distance. Even from here, you see the specks of the Dragonkeepers, rushing to prepare for your arrival. The world below draws closer with each passing second, and with it, the return to the pressures of the court—pressures neither you nor Rhaenyra wish to face. You steal a glance at your sister, noticing the tightness around her eyes, the way her jaw clenches as she too begins the descent.

Marriage proposals. The word alone feels like a chain around your neck, heavy and unyielding. They’ve plagued you both since you were of age—foolish lords and ambitious knights seeking to claim your hand, thinking they might wield the power of the Iron Throne through you. Your father, King Viserys, listens to the lords’ suggestions with increasing frequency, entertaining every potential match, though none ever seem to stick.

Rhaenyra once joked that the king might have betrothed you to half the realm by now if he could make up his mind. The most recent farce was a suggestion of a Blackwood heir, a boy barely out of his swaddling clothes. It had made you laugh, a rare and bitter sound, but the truth was, these discussions grated on you both.

As your dragons land in unison with an earth-shaking thud before the Dragonpit, the ground trembles beneath their weight. Silixia growls low in her throat, molten-gold eyes flashing as she looks toward the Dragonkeepers with wary interest. You run a gloved hand down her brass scales, murmuring soft words of reassurance as she snorts, sending a gust of warm breath that rustles your skirts.

“Sometimes I wish we could stay up there forever,” Rhaenyra says, her voice edged with the same melancholy that grips your heart. She dismounts Syrax with fluid grace, her gaze drifting skyward as if she could will the sun to stand still and delay the inevitable return to the Red Keep. You understand her sentiment all too well; in the skies, the concerns of land-bound mortals feel distant, insignificant.

You slide down from Silixia’s side, boots crunching against the gravel. “At least up there, no one’s shoving marriage contracts in our faces,” you reply, your tone carrying more bite than you intend. Silixia’s tail flicks, brushing against your side in a gesture of comfort, and you smile at her affectionately. “Father may claim he’s thinking of what’s best for us, but it feels more like he’s trying to sell us off.”

Rhaenyra’s expression darkens, her violet eyes narrowing. “He doesn’t see it that way,” she mutters, her voice laced with frustration. “To him, it’s our duty—marrying to secure alliances, continuing the Targaryen line. But it’s never about us, is it?”

The Dragonkeepers approach cautiously, guiding Silixia and Syrax toward their lairs. The great doors creak open, and the smell of straw, smoke, and dragon flesh fills the air. Silixia reluctantly allows herself to be led, casting one last, longing glance at you before disappearing into the darkness. You feel a pang in your chest as she’s taken away, though you know she’ll be safe.

“No, it isn’t,” you agree softly, turning to face Rhaenyra as the last rays of the sun cast your shadows long against the stone. “But Father isn’t the only one who decides our fate, Rhaenyra. If we let them all dictate our lives, we’ll never have a say in our own stories.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see the same fire in them that burns within you—a desire to break free, to carve your own path. “We’ll have to make our own way then, won’t we?” she says, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You and I, together.”

“Together,” you echo, determination strengthening your voice. Whatever the realm or the lords conspire, you and Rhaenyra would not be mere pawns. The blood of the dragon flows through your veins, and dragons do not bend to the whims of others.

As the sun passes fully beneath the horizon, the golden light fading into twilight, you know that this brief escape is over. The court awaits, and with it, the endless schemes and proposals, but you’ll face them with your sister by your side. And perhaps, if the gods are kind, there might be a way to chart your own destiny, one that doesn’t leave you chained by the expectations of others.

With one last glance at the sky, you turn toward the path leading back to the Red Keep, your sister falling into step beside you. The night is full of uncertainties, but as long as you have each other, you’ll find a way to burn bright and free.

The council chamber is filled with the low murmur of voices and the sound of parchment being unrolled as the small council convenes. The sun filters through the high windows, casting shadows across the dark wood of the table where the lords of Westeros sit, advising the king. At the head of the table, King Viserys I sits with an air of distracted authority, his mind clearly elsewhere, but nonetheless prepared to endure another round of discussions on the matters of the realm.

Lord Lyonel Strong, seated at his place on the council, finds it difficult to focus. His thoughts are a tangled web, caught between duty to his house and the growing concern for his eldest son, Harwin. For weeks now, Harwin’s unexpected confession has haunted Lyonel. Harwin’s words replay in his mind over and over: “Father, I am in love with her.” 

Lyonel had always known Harwin to be a man of quiet strength, with a loyalty that ran as deep as any river, but he had not expected this. It was not the confession of love itself that troubled Lyonel—though it was a complicated and dangerous emotion where a Targaryen princess was concerned—but the implications. If word reached the king that Harwin had grown too close to Y/N, it could spell disaster for House Strong, and worse, for the princess herself. The realm would not take kindly to whispers of such intimacy, especially in the shadow of Rhaenyra’s own contentious situation.

He suppresses a sigh as the discussion turns, the lords now speaking of the princess Y/N and her betrothal. Viserys’ brow furrows slightly as Lord Otto Hightower speaks up, his voice as oily and insidious as ever.

“The matter of Princess Y/N’s marriage cannot be delayed much longer, Your Grace. The Blackwood heir remains a favorable option—an ancient and noble house, strong ties in the Riverlands…” Otto’s voice trails off as he glances around the table, his eyes sharp and calculating.

Viserys looks tired, the mention of yet another marriage proposal clearly grating on him. “The Blackwood boy is still a child,” the king mutters, almost to himself. “Barely a year old. I do not see how a match like that benefits Y/N.”

Lyonel’s grip tightens on the arms of his chair. Harwin had been crushed when the proposal first came to light, unable to mask his anger at the idea of Y/N being married off to someone so unsuitable. Lyonel had known better than to comment on it then, but now, as the subject resurfaces, a plan begins to form in his mind. It is a risky maneuver, one that could backfire spectacularly, but it is the only chance he sees to protect both his son and the princess.

The discussion drags on, but Lyonel barely hears it, his thoughts focused on what he will say to the king when the others leave. When the meeting finally concludes, and the lords begin to gather their things, Lyonel remains seated, waiting for the others to clear out. Viserys notices and raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Lord Lyonel,” Viserys says, his voice expectant. “It seems you have something on your mind.”

“Your Grace, if I might have a word in private,” Lyonel replies carefully, rising from his chair with a slight bow. Viserys gestures for the guards to leave the chamber, and soon the room is quiet, save for the crackling of the hearth.

“What troubles you?” Viserys asks, leaning back in his seat with a weary expression. “It is rare for you to seek private counsel with me.”

Lyonel’s heart pounds in his chest, but he keeps his face composed, as he has always done. “It is a matter regarding Princess Y/N, Your Grace. And her marriage.”

Viserys sits up a little straighter, his weariness giving way to curiosity. “Go on.”

“I understand that there has been much discussion of potential matches, including the recent talk of a Blackwood heir. I would not presume to question the wisdom of your council, but I believe there is another path that has not yet been fully considered—one that could ensure both the stability of the realm and the happiness of your daughter.”

Viserys frowns slightly, his eyes narrowing. “And what match might that be, Lord Lyonel?”

Lyonel chooses his words with the utmost care. “My son, Ser Harwin, has always been loyal to the crown, a man of proven strength and honor. I believe he could be a fitting match for Princess Y/N.”

Viserys’ surprise is evident in the way his eyebrows shoot up. “Harwin Strong?” The king’s tone is one of genuine shock. “I had not considered such a proposal from you, Lyonel. You’ve never once sought advancement for your house in this manner. Why now?”

Lyonel forces himself to hold the king’s gaze. “Because I believe this match would benefit not only my house but your daughter as well. Harwin’s affection for her is sincere, Your Grace. He would be devoted to her in both heart and duty. And the crown would gain a staunch ally in the Riverlands through House Strong.”

Viserys leans back in his chair, his eyes distant as he considers the proposal. “It is unexpected,” he admits. “But sincere affection, as you say, is not often found in such matters. Still, I must consider the optics. The princess… she is a Targaryen, and such a match would raise eyebrows. Harwin is a good man, but he does not hold the power or prestige of some of the other houses being proposed.”

Lyonel nods, expecting this reaction. “True, Your Grace. But there is strength in loyalty and love. Harwin would never see the princess used or diminished by court politics. He would protect her fiercely, as he has always protected those he cares for. Surely, a match built on genuine regard would lead to a more harmonious union than one based solely on titles.”

Viserys remains silent for a long moment, his fingers drumming on the table as he contemplates the idea. “You make a compelling case, Lyonel,” he says at last, his tone softer now, as if genuinely pondering the possibility. “But this is not a decision I will take lightly. I will consider it, but there are other matters to weigh as well.”

Lyonel bows his head in acknowledgment, sensing that he has planted the seed he needed to. “Of course, Your Grace. I only ask that you weigh it with care. The princess’s happiness—and the stability of the realm—must be our highest priority.”

Viserys nods, though his expression remains conflicted. “You are dismissed, Lyonel. I will think on what you’ve said.”

As Lyonel takes his leave, he feels the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. He knows he has taken a bold risk, one that could either secure a brighter future for his son and the princess—or doom them both if it fails. But for now, all he can do is wait and hope that Viserys’s heart leans toward the idea of love and loyalty over ambition and politics.

The door closes softly behind him, and the chamber is left in silence, with only the faint crackle of the fire echoing in the room.

The streets of King’s Landing are alive with the usual noise and bustle of the city as dusk settles over the capital. The gold cloaks of the City Watch patrol every corner, their eyes sharp for trouble. Ser Harwin Strong rides at the head of a small detachment, his gaze roving over the streets with practiced vigilance. His armor gleams in the fading light, and his presence alone is enough to command respect from the men under his command. 

Yet, beneath the exterior of duty, Harwin’s thoughts are elsewhere. He cannot shake the weight of his father’s concerns, the quiet warnings Lyonel had shared after Harwin’s confession. There are dangers in being so close to the princess, but the heart is a stubborn thing, and his heart belongs wholly to Y/N. Her laughter, her fierce spirit, the fire in her violet eyes—they haunt him in moments when he should be focused. 

As his patrol rounds the corner near the Dragonpit, his attention sharpens when he sees a group approaching. The distinctive white cloaks of the Kingsguard stand out against the shadowy backdrop of the city. Harwin immediately recognizes the figures being escorted—Princess Rhaenyra and her twin sister, Y/N, mounted on fine steeds and surrounded by the armored knights sworn to protect them. The sight of Y/N sends a jolt through him, a mix of yearning and concern. 

Their eyes meet, and in that brief moment, a silent understanding passes between them. There’s no need for words; they know each other too well. Y/N gives the faintest nod, and Harwin feels his pulse quicken. Whatever it is she’s planning, he’s already committed to playing his part. 

Suddenly, Y/N sways in her saddle, her hand fluttering to her forehead as if struck by a sudden dizziness. The Kingsguard immediately take notice, and Ser Harrold Westerling, ever vigilant, urges his horse closer. “Princess, are you unwell?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. 

Y/N’s voice is faint, but convincing. “I feel… light-headed. Perhaps the strain of the flight has caught up with me.” She sways again for emphasis, and Harwin spurs his horse forward, concern etched into his features. 

“Ser Harrold, allow me to assist the princess,” Harwin says, his tone urgent yet respectful. He moves his horse beside Y/N’s, ready to catch her should she falter further. “I’ll take her to the Red Keep myself, where she can be seen to immediately.”

Ser Harrold’s eyes narrow, suspicion flickering in their depths. “That will not be necessary, Ser Harwin. The princess will be escorted by me and my men directly to the Keep. We are under strict orders from the king.”

Harwin’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his expression neutral. “I understand, Ser Harrold, but I’ve known the princess since she was a child. Let me ensure her safety, as I would see to my own kin. I can bring her swiftly and with care.”

Before Ser Harrold can respond, Rhaenyra rides forward, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed mischief as she catches on to her sister’s ploy. “Ser Harrold, it is clear that Y/N is in distress, and she would be more comfortable with someone familiar. Ser Harwin has always been a trusted protector of our family.” She tilts her head slightly, letting a hint of command slip into her tone. “Surely, you would not deny my sister the comfort she needs when it is readily available?”

Ser Harrold glances between the two princesses, clearly torn. On one hand, his duty is unwavering; on the other, Rhaenyra’s argument is persuasive, and there’s little cause to suspect foul play. He knows better than to openly contradict a royal daughter, especially one as willful as Rhaenyra. After a long, tense moment, he relents, though his reluctance is obvious.

“Very well, Ser Harwin,” Ser Harrold says, his voice tinged with resignation. “But know that I’ll hold you to your word that the princess reaches the Keep unharmed and without delay. The king will hear of this if she does not.”

“On my honor,” Harwin replies, dipping his head with a solemn expression, though a flicker of relief and triumph gleams in his eyes. 

With that, Rhaenyra flashes a sly grin at her sister and spurs her horse onward, leaving Y/N and Harwin behind. “I’ll see you at the Keep, sister,” she says, her voice lilting with amusement. “Do take care on your way.” She gives Ser Harrold and the other Kingsguard a pointed look, leading them on toward the Keep as they follow her.

Once they’re out of earshot, Y/N lets out a small breath of relief, her feigned dizziness evaporating as she steadies herself in the saddle. Harwin watches her closely, a hint of admiration in his gaze.

“Quite the performance,” he murmurs, guiding his horse closer to hers as they begin to ride slowly, side by side, through the quieter streets. “I almost believed you were truly unwell.”

Y/N’s lips curve into a playful smile. “I thought it convincing enough. It’s not every day a princess needs rescuing, after all.” But the teasing lilt in her voice is softened by the warmth in her eyes as she meets his gaze. “Thank you for playing along, Harwin.”

“For you? Always,” Harwin replies, his voice low and sincere. He reaches out, his fingers briefly brushing against hers in a gesture that is both subtle and intimate, hidden from prying eyes in the fading light. “But tell me, what is it you needed from me that required such theatrics?”

Y/N’s expression turns more serious as she considers her words. “I needed a moment away from all the expectations, away from the endless talks of marriage and duty. And more importantly… I needed a moment with you.” The weight of her admission hangs between them, unspoken but understood.

Harwin’s breath hitches slightly, his heart tightening at her words. He has always known this dance between them is a dangerous one, but it is one he cannot resist. “Every time I see you surrounded by those guards, by the chains of duty that bind you, it makes me wish things were different,” he says softly, his voice full of yearning. “I wish I could be more than just a protector.”

Y/N turns in her saddle, her gaze locking onto his. “You are more, Harwin. You know you are.”

For a moment, the world shrinks to just the two of them—the city, the court, all of it fades away. But reality cannot be ignored forever, and the path to the Red Keep looms ahead. They both know this brief interlude is all they can afford, but the unspoken promises between them are enough for now.

As they approach the gates, Harwin reluctantly pulls his hand away and straightens in his saddle, resuming the role of dutiful knight. “I’ll see you safely back to your chambers, Princess,” he says formally, though the glint in his eyes tells her everything he cannot say aloud.

“Until the next escape, Ser Harwin,” she replies with a soft smile, a hidden message beneath the words. 

With that, they continue toward the Keep, knowing that while their paths may be dictated by duty and expectation, there are still moments they can carve out for themselves—stolen glances, hidden touches, and unspoken vows that bind them closer than any formal oath could.

The vast halls of the Red Keep are quieter than usual as the day gives way to the cool embrace of evening. The golden light from the torches flickers on the stone walls, casting long shadows that dance and twist in the dim corridors. As Harwin escorts you back to your chambers, you can feel the weight of the day slowly lifting, replaced by the familiar tension that simmers between you and him. It’s a tension that has grown with each stolen glance, each brief touch hidden from prying eyes.

As you approach the throne room, Ser Harrold Westerling stands at the entrance, his white cloak billowing slightly as he catches sight of you. His eyes shift briefly to Harwin, a silent acknowledgment in his expression. Though his face remains stern, there’s a flicker of understanding—a silent nod that tells Harwin he has done his duty and that the princess has been safely returned. 

“Ser Harwin,” Harrold says in a gruff voice as the two pass by him. He doesn’t need to say more. The message is clear: this is where their paths diverge, but he’ll trust Harwin to see the princess the rest of the way. Harwin dips his head respectfully in return, but his focus remains on you as you make your way deeper into the Keep.

The royal quarters are just ahead, but Harwin notices something in your expression—a spark in your eyes and the faintest curve of a smile on your lips. He knows that look all too well, the one that signals you’re about to do something reckless, something entirely unplanned. Before he can even ask what you’re plotting, you move with a sudden swiftness, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward a shadowed alcove. Your fingers grip his with a sense of urgency and mischief.

“Y/N, what—” he starts, but you silence him with a playful look, your eyes gleaming with a secretive promise. 

You drag him behind a heavy tapestry, revealing a hidden doorway that he hadn’t noticed before. The stone creaks as you push it open, leading into a small, dimly lit chamber tucked away from the prying eyes of the court. The air inside is thick with dust, as if it hasn’t been disturbed in years. Harwin’s breath catches in his throat as he realizes where you’ve brought him—a place so private that it feels as if it belongs only to the two of you.

The moment the door closes behind you, the pretense falls away, leaving only the truth of your feelings. The tension that has been building throughout the day snaps, and you close the distance between you in an instant. Your lips crash against his, the kiss fierce and full of the passion that you both have been forced to suppress. Harwin responds without hesitation, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer until there is nothing between you but the heat of your bodies. 

It’s a dance you both know well by now—his lips mapping the familiar curve of your neck, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging as his kisses trail down to your collarbone. There’s a hunger in his touch, tempered by a tenderness that only you bring out in him. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every second. You press closer, your hands slipping beneath the leather of his armor, finding the hard planes of his chest beneath. The feel of his heartbeat, strong and steady, thrums beneath your palm, grounding you in this moment.

“Every time I think of you marrying another,” Harwin murmurs against your lips, his voice a low, desperate whisper, “it drives me mad. The thought of losing you… I don’t know how I’d bear it.”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes searching his as you trace a line down the side of his face. “You won’t lose me,” you breathe, your words laced with quiet determination. “Not now. Not ever. I belong to no one but myself—and to you, if the gods are kind.”

Harwin’s grip tightens on your waist, a flash of fierce emotion in his eyes. “I want more than stolen moments, more than secret chambers and whispers in the dark,” he confesses, his voice thick with longing. “I want to be with you openly, without fear or restraint.”

“I want that too,” you reply, your voice trembling with sincerity. “But until then, until we find a way… we have this.” Your hand trails down to his chest, your fingers pressing against the rhythm of his heartbeat, as if to mark it as your own.

His lips find yours again, softer this time, a kiss that speaks of unspoken vows and promises that only the two of you understand. His hand slides down your back, memorizing every curve, every dip, as if committing it to memory for the nights when you can’t be together. Your own touch mirrors his, tracing the line of his jaw, the strength in his shoulders, and the warmth that radiates from his skin. Every touch, every kiss is laced with the knowledge that this cannot last—at least not now. 

As much as it pains you both, there’s no time to linger. The world beyond this hidden chamber is waiting, and you both know that others will soon seek you out. Harwin pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath, hearts racing as you savor the closeness one last time.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” you whisper, your fingers brushing against his lips.

“So do I,” Harwin murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your brow. “But we’ll find more moments like this. I promise you.”

You smile softly, the sadness in your eyes giving way to a glimmer of hope. “Until then… we’ll make the most of what we have.”

Reluctantly, you both disentangle, fixing your clothes and smoothing out your appearances to mask any signs of your secret rendezvous. Harwin’s hand lingers on yours as you step back into the corridor, the hidden door sliding closed behind you. The tapestry falls back into place, and it’s as if nothing ever happened—just another cold stone wall in the labyrinth of the Red Keep.

But as you make your way back to your chambers, Harwin’s gaze remains fixed on you, his eyes holding yours for a heartbeat longer. There’s a silent agreement between you, one that needs no words—this isn’t the end, just another chapter in a story that’s far from over.

With one last glance over your shoulder, you offer him a small, secret smile—the same one you gave him earlier, full of the promise of more unpredictable escapes, more stolen kisses, and the hope that one day, these moments won’t have to be stolen at all. Harwin watches you disappear into the shadows of the royal quarters, the ache in his chest both a comfort and a torment as he turns away, returning to his duties, but with the warmth of your touch still lingering on his skin.

[yukipri]

I wanted to formally introduce two new members of my family: Cody and Rex!

Cody (mostly called Ko-chan, sometimes Coco-nuts or Cocoa) is a siamese kitten, probably roughly 7 months(?) old. He is very hyper and bold to the point of reckless. His hobbies include screaming for food, trying to steal human food, successfully stealing his brother's food, and in general doing everything he's not supposed to do. He is very clever but chooses to show it in the stupidest ways possible. He has also earned the nicknames Hungry Beastie, Black Hole, the Screaming Baby, Fluff Ball, Little Demon, and Tiny Thug (I probably should have named him Fives).

Rex (mostly called Recchan, or O-Rere) is a snowshoe kitten, and probably around the same age as Cody, though we adopted them from separate shelters. He's very sweet and shy, but bold when he gains confidence. He isn't very food motivated, but loves toys and other cats. He is often drowsy for a while after waking up, and loves cuddling most then. He has a shockingly deep voice for a kitten. He also does not like wearing a collar. He has earned the nicknames Sweet Angel, Sleepy Baby, and Naaaaw (what his voice sounds like) (I probably should have named him Echo).

I adopted them roughly 2 months ago (roughly a week after Lu passed), so they've been with us a while now, but I didn't feel ready to start posting about them yet.

We're still in the process of getting Ace and Sabo to fully accept them (meaning: getting the older boys to not look at them like they're the stinkiest lil gremlins in the galaxy), but they've come a long way, and we'll continue to work on it.

But yeah! I wanted to introduce them, so please expect photos of them to start popping up on this blog too!

While they aren't technically "ASL Kittens," I want to keep all my cat photos in the same tag, so I'll continue using the #YukiPriASLKittens tag for them!

Cats tag: #YukiPriASLKittens

(at 4 cats, am I nearing Crazy Cat Lady (non-gendered) status yet?)

[narvan-jester]

Just Needing A Break

WC: 2,878

Mountain/Phantom

Tags: Sex as a form of self-harm, Bondage, Rope Bondage, Intimacy, Trans Male Character, Trans Phantom (Ghost Sweden Band), Dysphoria, Safewords, Depression, Phantom (Ghost Sweden Band) Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Subspace, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, only a little bit but want to be careful

Phantom just needed to relax. He just needed to relax, and talk with Mountain a bit. Unfortunately, Mountain wasnt quite fast enough, and Phantom dug himself into a deeper hole than before. Good thing Mountain knows just what to do to pull him out of it.

Or

Phantom gets caught stealing some of Mountain's weed on a bad day. Mountain ties him up to make his day better.

Read below the cut or on AO3

Okay, to be completely fair, Phantom didn't mean to.

He just wanted to talk with Mountain… maybe smoke a little bit, but mostly just unwind before the pot boiled over, so to speak. And he could feel it bubbling, under the surface, fueled by overheard comments and the face that glared at him in the mirror.

When he had knocked on the door and received no answer, he had peeked inside just in case Mountain had headphones on and couldn't hear him. When he had found the room empty, he had chosen to just make himself comfortable and wait for Mountain to come back.

And there Phantom waited, reclined on top of Mountain’s sheets, scrolling on his phone, and in such a state of mind that he was starting to grow reckless, even with the rational part of his brain telling him not to.

Phantom opened his text thread with Mountain for what must have been the thousandth time.

Waiting in your room if you want to hang and talk a bit

Unread

He sighed, clicking the screen off and setting it on his chest, looking up at the ceiling. His tail brushed idly over the sheets and his nose twitched in the air.

Either his mental state was gradually unraveling or the ever-present, lingering scent of weed was growing more alluring by the second, but something made him swing his feet off the side of the bed and stand up, pushing reason into the back seat.

Phantom didn't bother softening his steps as he passed over to the little wooden chest Mountain always kept well stocked, clicking open the latch and smiling privately to himself as he took in the contents.

As he carefully took out a bag and a bit of paper, he began to feel himself bubble with fiery emotion, licking up his legs and arms and making him feel a sick sense of joy at this selfish indulgence.

Phantom slowly went through the familiar motions of rolling himself up a joint, tail swishing languidly behind him. As he was carefully rolling up the paper, the door behind him opened, making him jump.

In any other headspace Phantom would have felt embarrassed and immediately start to apologize for the intrusion, but now he just turned and offered a wave to Mountain before turning back to his joint.

Whatever Mountain was going to do to him, he probably deserved it.

“Bug, what're you doing in my room?” Mountain asked, shucking off his boots behind him and clicking the door shut. He didn't sound angry, per say, more confused.

Phantom shrugged, voice defiant as he replied. “I wanted to talk to you but you weren't here. I texted you.”

He didn't catch Mountain’s sidelong glance directed his way with how focused he was into jamming more weed into his joint. “Sorry, my phone died like an hour ago. I was working in the greenhouse, you know you could have come get me.”

Phantom shrugged and twisted the paper at the end, pushing away from the desk and leaving the chest open and the supplies strewn haphazardly where he had left them. He daringly glanced up at Mountain as he spoke. “I got what I needed now. Thanks.”

His path towards the door was blocked near instantly by Mountain, who growled down at him. “You going to treat me like that?”

That familiar lick of angry, fiery joy shot up Phantom's spine. He had Mountain right where he wanted him, he just had to play it up a little to get what he really needed.

“And what are you going to do about it, Mountain?” Phantom shot back, venom laced with self-loathing as he feigned a step back in fear.

He let out a hiss of pain as Mountain tossed him onto the bed, joint tumbling out of his hands and onto the floor.

If he dug his claws into his thigh a little harder than necessary, it was nobody's business.

Because he deserved this.

Mountain settling over his thighs and sitting down, effectively pinning him to the sheets, managed to snap Phantom back to the moment.

“This is what you wanted, wasn't it?” Mountain growled. “Just wanted my attention. Well, you've got it. Remember the safe word?”

The promise of that safety net wasn't deserved, not to Phantom. He shook his head. “Won't need it.”

Mountain's brow furrowed, just for a moment, before smoothing back out, settling back into his role.

Phantom groaned Mountain flipped him over, pressing one large palm into his back and shoving him down hard enough to hurt. He willed himself to get wet, or else Mountain would stop, and he couldn't do that right now. Not when he needed this so badly.

Mountain dragged his claws down his spine, uncaring of whether they nicked the skin or not, ripping Phantom's shirt in two and throwing it somewhere off the bed. The pain of hot blood pooling on Phantom's back was better than being high.

“Hey, fucker, I liked that one,” Phantom spat with false venom. Frankly, he didn't give a shit about the shirt.

His comment earned him a hand fisted hard in his hair, shoving his face into the mattress. Mountain leaned close, hips pressed tight to Phantom's and hot breath ghosting his ear. “Whores don't speak,” Mountain growled, punctuating his sentence with a sharp roll of his hips before pulling back.

He deserved this.

That's what Phantom reminded himself as Mountain harshly pulled his sweats down.

He deserved this, god, of course he did, and it felt so good.

It felt so good, why the hell were his eyes watering? What the hell was wrong with him?

His legs were spread far open, enough for the stretch to hurt, and the first lap of Mountain’s hot tongue over his heat made him let out a mewl not of pleasure but of pain.

Mountain paused instantly, slowly easing Phantom's legs back together. “Phantom,” he said carefully, name poised as a question.

Phantom sniffed hard, trying in vain to will his salty tears back in his eyes, burying his face further in the sheets to hide it. “No, keep going. Please keep going, Mountain.”

The gentle caress of a hand over his ear made him jump, pulling his hands up towards his face defensively, turning away from Mountain. “No, Mountain, it's okay, I can take it!” He tried to sound genuine, but the shake in his voice betrayed him.

Mountain shifted his hand from Phantom's ear to his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. “Why didn't you safeword, buggy?”

“No, Mountain, please,” Phantom pleaded, more tears soaking into the thick, soft quilt covering Mountain’s bed at the gentle touch. He tensed his shoulders, but didn't make any effort to move other than shifting his legs apart slightly. “I can take it Mountain, please, just make it hurt.”

“Hey, hey, buggy, calm down for me, okay? You're okay, you're not feeling too well are you? Just take some deep breaths, I'll go get you some water, okay?” Mountain soothed, still petting over Phantom's shoulder gently.

Phantom tried to listen, taking big hiccuping breaths, face still turned stubbornly away from Mountain. When their breath was beginning to slow, muscles gradually relaxing, the pressure from Mountain’s hand slipped off. Instantly Phantom had turned, claws wrapped hard around his wrist and teary eyes pinning him in place.

Mountain immediately settled back down on the bed, shushing Phantom. “It's okay, I'm not going anywhere. I was going to go grab some water, it's okay, we can wait a little longer.”

Phantom sniffled, turning his face back into the sheets and squeezing his eyes shut, little dry sobs wracking his body.

Mountain twisted awkwardly in Phantom's vice grip, fingers brushing reassuringly against his wrist as he raised his other hand up to once again rub over his back, carefully skirting around the scabbing cuts.

As soon as Phantom calmed down again, he twisted again to look at Mountain, grip relaxing on his wrist just enough to slip down to his hand. “Can you please just… take care of me? I promise I'll talk about it later, and I'll safeword if I need to, I just… you don't even have to hurt me, please Mount…”

Mountain rubbed his thumb over Phantom's knuckles. “I'm not sure if that's a good idea, buggy,” Mountain murmured. “You know I love you but I don't think that's what you need right now.”

Phantom shook his head hard, tears gathering in his eyes. “Please, Mountain, I just need to forget, just for a little bit. Just let me float, please. It doesn't even have to be sexual, I just need to be close to you,” Phantom senselessly pleaded, grip tightening around Mountain’s hand as more tears slipped down his face.

Mountain lifted his hand, wiping away the tears dripping out of Phantom's eyes. “Shh, buggy it's okay. Do you want to decide what to do or do you want me to?”

Phantom sniffled, squeezing his eyes shut. “You, please.”

Mountain pressed a gentle kiss to Phantom's forehead, before pulling back and tapping his cheek gently to make him open his eyes again.

“First, I'm going to grab a towel to clean up the cuts on your back and a glass of water from the bathroom. I'll be as quick as I can. Is that okay?” Mountain asked, voice soft.

Phantom nodded, letting his eyes fall closed and loosening his grip on Mountain’s hand, letting his own drop onto the mattress.

True to his word, Mountain was back in only a moment, pressing a warm cloth to the few scratches on Phantom's back, wiping away the blood. Phantom whimpered as he did so, tensing against the touch.

Mountain set the towel to the side before gently rolling Phantom over and hoisting him up against the pillows. Phantom's eyes tracked Mountain’s movements as he pressed a cool glass against his lips, accepting the water that dribbled down his throat.

The glass clinked as it was set on the side table, and Mountain lifted his hands to run through Phantom’s hair. “Next, how about I do a nice harness, in the soft rope for you? I won't restrict your movement unless you want me to, okay? I think the pressure and closeness will help, are you okay with that?”

With each kind word and soft touch, Phantom began to relax, tension gradually bleeding from his muscles. He nodded, eyes slipping closed again as he felt Mountain pull away.

“Mount?” He asked, voice quiet and subdued.

“Yes?” Mountain answered, setting something down on the bed near Phantom’s legs.

“Can I have… boxers on please? I just don't feel… I don't want to…” He trailed off, chest tightening as tears threatened to leak from between his shut lids.

Mountain reached up to brush over the corner of one eye, wiping away the wetness there. “Of course, bug.” He pulled away, returning soon to tug Phantom's boxers gingerly over his legs. “Is it one of those days?” He murmured.

Phantom nodded minimally, trying not to cry again, trying to let himself be taken care of.

“Are you still green for the harness?” Mountain asked, rubbing a hand over Phantom's arm. “Remember, we're going at your pace.”

Phantom took a few deep breaths, trying to will his muscles to relax. “I'm green,” his voice strained out, earning him another gentle kiss on the forehead.

Mountain's hands moved slowly as he began to wrap the rope around Phantom's chest, making knots with care and whispering gentle praise all the way. Each rope pulled comfortably against his skin was a tether keeping him carefully intact.

Mountain finished the last knot, rubbing over Phantom's shoulders once more and pressing kisses over his face. “Are you still green, bug?”

Phantom nodded, arms reaching to pull Mountain into him for a hug, to which he quickly complied. Phantom idly traced shapes into Mountain's back, eyes staring into the distance, before whispering one word into the air, throwing out a tentative request. “More?”

Mountain pulled away, forcing Phantom to meet his eyes. “Is this what you really want, or is it what you think you deserve?” Mountain asked, voice tentative.

“I want it, I promise,” Phantom reassured. “You can… you can tie up my arms and legs but I don't want to be held in place.”

Mountain nodded, smile soft. “Okay, bug. Remember, you say the word and I will cut you free.”

Phantom nodded, content warm tears starting to leak from his eyes. “Thank you,” his voice was nearly too soft to hear.

Mountain smiled, rubbing once more over Phantom’s skin before pulling away and grabbing the rope once more, shifting the shears closer to himself just in case.

“Do you want your arms in front of you or behind you?” Mountain asked, shifting onto his knees on the bed in order to be closer to Phantom.

Phantom pushed himself forwards, off the headboard, turning his back towards Mountain and folding his arms behind himself, hands gripping his elbows. Words began to slip away from him, simply oil off of water. “Quiet,” he managed to force out, tail wrapping around Mountain's waist.

“Are you losing your words?” Mountain asked, rubbing over Phantom's back before lifting the rope to them.

Phantom nodded, feeling his mind beginning to go quiet.

“Can you show me that you remember what to do when you don't have your words and want to stop?” Mountain asked, one hand lifting to gently massage his shoulder.

Phantom snapped three times in quick succession, then tapped Mountain thrice with his tail.

Mountain smiled, even though Phantom couldn't see him. “Good job. Just remember to do that, okay?”

Phantom nodded again, letting him lose himself to the sensation of the soft rope being wrapped securely around his wrists and forearms, focusing on the way Mountain looped the rope into the ties in his back, pulling his arms against his back.

Mountain finished the tie, shifting himself so he was facing Phantom, forcing his eyes to focus on his face. “Do you want me to tie your legs now or not?” Phantom didn't respond, barely acting like he had heard Mountain’s request. “Buggy, can you answer me?” Mountain pressed, bringing up a hand to press against Phantom's cheek. That seemed to clear the film in his eyes as he shifted his head just enough to count as a nod.

“Do you want me to tie your legs or not?” Mountain asked again, brushing his thumb over Phantom's cheek bone.

Phantom seemed to think for a moment, before shrugging.

“Do you want me to decide?” Mountain asked, other hand lifting to rub over the rope laced around Phantom's arms.

Phantom nodded at this, pushing his face forward to knock his horns against Mountain’s, a purr sparking to life in his chest.

Mountain returned the gesture, bending down a little to nudge their noses together affectionately.

“Okay, Phantom. I'm not going to tie your legs right now, okay, but I'm going to ask you a few yes or no questions and I want you to answer them as well as you can, okay?” Mountain asked, gently rubbing over Phantom's chest, arms, and back, pressing his thumbs in to massage every so often.

Phantom nodded, pulling away just enough that he wouldn't accidentally scrape Mountain with his horns.

“Do you want to kneel for me on the floor? It may get you more floaty for me but I don't think that pressure on your knees is what you need right now,” Mountain commented, pressing a quick kiss to Phantom's nose before pulling back once more.

Phantom paused for a few seconds, before shaking his head. Mountain noddedin acknowledgement, once again pressing a kiss to Phantom's forehead. “Okay buggy, that works for me. Do you want me to put in a record or a movie for some background noise?”

Phantom nodded, pressing forward and rubbing his horns with Mountain’s again affectionately.

“A record?” Phantom nodded once more. “Radiohead?” Another nod. Mountain rubbed his horns against Phantom's in return. “Perfect, buggy. One more question.”

Phantom purred again, pressing hard against Mountain's forehead for a moment before withdrawing once more.

“Do you want me to cuddle you?” Mountain asked, kicking up a purr of his own.

Phantom nodded enthusiastically, horns knocking with Mountain’s and making him chuckle. “Perfect, bug, I will, don't worry. Let me go put the record on and I'll be right back.”

Mountain carefully pulled away, carefully placing the needle onto the record and letting it play before returning to Phantom, climbing into bed with him.

Phantom purred more, rubbing his face against Mountain's as he gingerly adjusted them both, pulling them chest to chest and pressing kisses over his face the whole way.

Dew is the one to peek through the door in the morning, finding the two tangled up, rope haphazardly strewn on the floor over the side of the bed, an unlit joint sticking halfway from beneath the side table, room rattling with purrs. He sneaks a picture of the two in the warm morning light before quietly pulling the door shut, leaving the two in their peaceful paradise for a little longer.