#the reason i sent in this prompt was to have an excuse to make this lol

[icekkeugf]

pairing: prof!heeseung x volleyball player!reader

genre: porn without much plot

warnings: heeseung is reader's professor but neither of them know that when they engage in sexual activity, slight dom!hee, kissing, cunnilingus against the wall, blowjob, boobjob, facial, use of the petname "pretty girl"

wordcount: 2,790 words

note: koko is back ~~~ i am not sure if this is up to mark but i really hope enhablr enjoys this! reblogs are much appreciated and so are comments/feedback! happy reading ♥︎ ~~~

it's raining, soft droplets sprinkling over your already wet skin, soaking in sweat as you huff, doubling over to place your palms over your knees. slippery, it is, palms sliding down the smooth of your knees as you try your best to contain your breath, composing yourself when you notice your teammates pass by. "so, y/n, excited for the shift into university?" your volleyball captain asks, prompting you to wince. this causes concern, her brow raising and her wrist lifting to rest on your shoulders, "not a good time?" she sympathises.

"just a bit scary, not too sure how i will mingle with the people there and if i will join a team as good as ours." you mutter, playing with your stretchable wristband. the girl laughs, patting your shoulder painfully hard with a smile, "hey, your university is known for its sports department! i wouldn't put it past me to find a well equipped club and carefully handpicked members. who knows, you might make it national!" she reasons, patting the top of your head with a crooked smile.

you try not to make eye contact with the man as he introduces himself and shares his email with the students for future assistance. however, when you look up to sneak a glance at him again, you see him staring right at you, wide eyed. you're fucked and not quite literally.

"say what, are you free tonight?" she asks, looking over at the other teammates with a sneaky smile. and when you look up dazed with a slight nod, she's dragging you over to seat you on the nearest bench. "i sent you a text, be there at 7! bye, y/n!" just like that, all your teammates trickle out the training ground, snickering amongst themselves to have finally caught you in a trap, always having refused to meet them outside training.

7:06PM. still waiting, feet nearly cramped up in those narrow toothed stilettos. bad idea to show up in stilettos after vigorous training? yes, but, the location your captain had forwarded had a strict dress code to adhere to this night. right as you bend over to adjust your heels, you're met with the vision of several pairs of similar looking stilettos. "there! early as always, our y/n, let's go in!" one of your teammates urges you inside a shady looking building.

you're met with instant chaos, loud and blaring music sinking into your eardrums, the bass making the floor vibrate and your heart thump in rhythm to the music. "stay right here, tia and i will get us all some drinks!" you're left by some of your other teammates you're not too close with, merely acquaintances that play volleyball together, you'd say. excusing yourself with a smile despite being met with "they asked us to wait here!", you shake your head, reassuring them you'll be fine and right back.

it's a few minutes later that you find yourself seated by the secluded island of what seems to be a kitchen. "a house party." you figure out, still unsure if you should've placed blind faith in your captain and teammates. "not your usual scene?" comes a voice prodding its way beside you. you jump, just a little, turning around to meet hazel brown eyes that crinkle mischief at you. the man before you is donning an all denim fit, it makes you wonder if he's not close to blushing red in this humidity but you let it pass. "not really. i assume this is your usual scene though." you quip back, the man before you throwing his head back in a silent giggle.

"heeseung." he extends his hand which you take a little hesitantly. it's not long after you exchange names that you find yourself introduced to heeseung's friends, all of them welcoming and sweet, out of which, jay confirms himself to be the party host. both heeseung and you don't stray too far into private lives of eachother, maybe that is what attracts you to him, the mystery. you can't deny that he is more than decent looking, plump pink lips, doe looking eyes that may otherwise fool you into thinking he carries this weirdly sinister vibe. a sharp jawline too, you're almost sure he knows he serves a face that women and men would line up for alike.

the attraction, though, is mutual. or so, heeseung convinces you to think as his fingertips meet your satin clad hips with ease and familiarity. he leads you towards the same secluded corner, "dance with me?" he asks and you oblige, not questioning why it has to be here, infact, you're glad it's here rather than in the midst of sweaty teenage bodies that are not yet ripe enough to enter parties like this. what snaps you back to reality is his hands, that need no permission as it follows a trail circling your hips, pulling you flush against his.

maybe it's the alcohol that heeseung offered before or maybe it's the intimate proximity you two keep dancing around but the heat in the air, whether the temperature or the tension, is palpable, almost shocking in a way that it sends hot sparks down your spine. resting your head against his shoulder, you wrap an arm around him, his warm, intoxicated breath fanning over your ears. no words exchanged, really, just the synced beating of your hearts and need to feel eachother up that finally has heeseung snapping.

exhaling shakily, you nod when he asks to take you somewhere else. he's gentle as he encloses your wrist in his palm, pulling you towards the stairs that was strictly prohibited for others. perks of being jay's best friend, you reckon. the moment you enter an unoccupied room, his lips are on yours before he pulls away in a jiffy, panic settling onto his face, "is that okay, y/n?" when you nod meekly, he shuts his eyes for just a second, muttering a "fuck" under his breath before he's pushing his lips onto yours and maneuvring your body behind until your backside meets the wall. "so pretty," he murmurs into the kiss.

you roll your hips involuntarily into his, it has heeseung gritting his teeth, jaw slack and eyes purely filled with desire. "just like that, baby, do that again—you listen so well to me, pretty girl." heeseung is sure he's rambling by now, oh, he definitely is as he tells you how to rut against him pathetically. the sultry lighting of the room only enhances your need for one another, you've never felt the urge to ravage someone like this before and you know you have to ravage heeseung before this night ends if you don't want to wake up the next morning with a guilty and regret filled heart.

he coaxes your lips to meet his again, this time the contact utterly messy and just downright filthy. you can almost taste the very remnants of his drink from earlier if you shoved your tongue down just a little deeper. meanwhile, heeseung is quick in feeling you up, pushing at your knees, "spread 'em, baby, that's it," he begs, instantly losing all self control and falling to his knees when you whine, asking him to ease the ache between your legs. "wider...there you go, atta girl." he praises, soft hands cupping your knees as his lashes flutter when he looks up at you.

with a lopsided grin, he hooks a finger at the hem of your dress, lifting it just enough for your panties to peek at him. he grunts at the little wet patch that dampens and soils the middle of your panties, leaning in to disgustingly sniff at it before licking once, twice, thrice, enough to taste you through the cotton. you're shaking, beyond control and unable to balance your body by yourself so you place your hands at his shoulders, pulling him needily into you as your back arches into the wall.

pushing your entire weight onto heeseung, who only groans as he ruts his increasingly evident boner into the ground, you hook your legs around his neck. he holds onto your thighs desperately, a whimper escaping his kiss swollen lips as his tongue slithers through the side of your panties to lick at your cunt. he delicately plants a kiss over your clit, making you shudder with a broken moan, as he finds his head heavy with the need to taste you, to make you cum. so, he does just that.

heeseung finds a comfortable pace at licking through your folds, dragging his wet muscle from side to side, then up and down. he repeats the action before nipping at your clit gently, soothing the prick with a prod of his tongue. "so sweet, just like honey, baby. that's it, you gon' cum for me?" he asks sweetly against your sopping pussy, nose glistening with your juices. "look at me, y/n, my pretty girl. want you to watch me as you come undone on my tongue, okay?" you struggle to open your eyes, nodding before you do anyway.

rapid strokes of his tongue have you unstable, shaking and withering under his touch while you try your best to keep your eyes open and in contact with his as he licks at you until no end. "say my name, baby, don't be shy. let me hear your pretty moans." you let a moan rip through the confines of your throat, rocking your hips messily against his face. "no, don't move." he hisses with a displeased smirk, shaking his head to show his disapproval. "let me do all the work, just sit and take it, got it?"

just like that, the ebbs of your orgasm crash against the little pebbles, rocking you through, only for heeseung to hold you still as he continues to devour you as you come down from your high. with a final suck of your clit, he parts from your cunt, face absolutely marred by your release. "good girl, did that feel good?" he coos, tapping at your thigh, signalling you to carefully put down your leg as he makes much effort to stand up.

when you nod, pulling him into another kiss, he chuckles, trapping you against the wall yet again. "yeah? in that case, shouldn't you return the favour?" he presses a few kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. "let me make you feel good, hee." you answer in words this time, making heeseung widen his eyes but he nods, eyeing the floor once before he looks up at you, "kneel." dropping to your knees, your fingers work quickly as they unzip his denim pants. a tent visible as you cup his clothed length, you lick your lips eagerly as you imagine feeling him fill up the entirety of your mouth.

you tug at his boxers, leaving it bunched up at his knees, immediately pressing a hasty kiss at the head of his veiny cock. you notice how it is curved at the tip, pink and angry. this forces heeseung to snake a hand into your hair, clutching the strands at the roots warningly, "don't tease, pretty girl, get on with it." he doesn't have to say it twice before you are nestling his cock in the home of your wet and warm cavern. you let it soak in there for a while, not attempting to please him just yet as you adjust to his size.

soon after, flattening your tongue, you hollow your cheeks as you start to set a steady rhythm into bobbing your head for him. licking at the underside, you ensure not an inch of his cock is left untouched by you, the part that doesn't fit in your mouth caressed by your soft hands. "just for me to ruin, fuck, yes!" heeseung is blessed, really, to have a girl truly attentive to his needs, the way he wants to be touched and pleased, repeating the actions that seems to make him teeter at the edge of his orgasm. lucky bastard!

right when you think you should fasten your pace to meet with his cum painting the insides of your mouth, heeseung abruptly pulls at your mouth, his now semi soft dick covered in your spit resting at your lips, "can i cum on your face, pretty girl?" with no answer, you unzip the back of your dress, letting it pool at your hips. unclasping your bra, you hold your tits up, motioning him to slide his cock in between. this causes heeseung to let out husky groan, trying not to bust right then. he loves the way you're so proactive, he can't help it!

he squirms from the sudden increase in stimulation as you use your tits as a makeshift fleshlight, wrapping it around his now hardening cock tightly as he fucks into the space you provide him. letting a sliver of your tongue peek out, you lick at his tip each time his cock almost lodges against your lips, instantly making him cum. he sucks in a sharp breath as he spills all of him that's worth, over your tits and the lower half of your face. pretty, he thinks, fingers unconsciously reaching for his phone.

"can i take a photo of you, pretty girl—" the door to the room the two of you are in is knocked upon fiercely, "heeseung, you in here, man?" upon hearing jay, heeseung scurries to bring out tissues from the bedside table, "yes, what's up?" in three swipes, he cleans you up, cursing when his finger is also stained by his release. before he could wipe it off, though, you bring up his cum glistening finger to your lips, tongue darting out to lick it clean. "fuck, you're gonna be the death of me!" he whispers, pressing an open mouthed kiss at your lips, tasting himself in the process. "niki has been throwing up nonstop, man, i can't find the others, hurry up, will you?" you two hear the receding footsteps of a rather pissy jay, laughing into eachother once you're sure he's gone.

easing into eachother, "can we do this again, y/n? i'd really like to fuck you open, if you'd let me." he asks, his brash words lighting up a reddened blush on your cheeks, "yes, i'd love that." before you could exchange numbers though, jay knocks yet again, an impertinent cockblock, you suppose. "i have to go—see you around?" you nod, smiling at heeseung who leans down to kiss your cheek. "see you around, heeseung."

you don't remember how you get home that night after having freshened up in the room's attached restroom. all you think of for the next few days is heeseung's lingering touches, his whines and soft exhales, the way his hips bucked into your touch when you sucked him right. safe to say that you haven't been able to contact him either, having used your god given stalking skills on instagram to no avail.

it's been a few weeks, having been busy with volleyball practice and packing to move to your campus dorm. now, it's d—day! there's cardboard boxes piled up, with two suitcases of yours filled to the brim with clothes you can't bring yourself to leave behind in your childhood home. after a tearful parting with your family, you find yourself cuffed with the seatbelt on and your bestfriend driving you to the university to help you move in. while you do have much unpacking to do, it is also your first day at university!

bidding goodbye to your friend once they had helped you get your boxes and suitcases in, you change your outfit for the first class, not wanting to be late. after a whirlwind of trying to find your class, which happens to be your homeroom hour, you settle into one of the desks in the spacious room. although it's just the first day, the room is still loud with whispers and chatters about the exciting life at university. the class, however, hushes at some point, and while you were preoccupied on your phone, you hear a familiar voice.

"goodmorning, guys! how has your first day been so far?" your heart races erratically in its place, unsure if you've just misplaced the voice and its owner or if you're really doomed. slowly looking up, you find yourself glancing at heeseung, who looks at his phone for a split second before he pays attention up front. he hasn't noticed you yet, smile just as charming as it was when he first greeted you. as if on cue, all the memories from a few weeks ago flood in to liven up the black of your mind.

you try not to make eye contact with the man as he introduces himself and shares his email with the students for future assistance. however, when you look up to sneak a glance at him again, you see him staring right at you, wide eyed. you're fucked and not quite literally.

all rights reserved to @/icekkeugf 2024! please do NOT steal/copy/translate my works.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 2) part 1

-

The solid hand at your back guides you through the dusty streets towards the courthouse in the middle of town. It’s not an easy walk. Your shoes catch on the skirt of your dress a handful of times in Price’s haste, each time almost causing you to tumble forward before you manage to catch yourself. 

It’s patently unfair. The strides of his long legs would easily have you losing him in a crowd were it not for the way he refuses to leave you behind; every time you so much as slow down a tad to catch your breath, the firm hand on your low back presses you forward again. You’d be snippier if you weren’t still addled from the events of just five minutes previous.

“I beg you, please—” you plead, heart skittering in your chest when you chance a glance up to find Price’s face set. Everything about him feels purposeful now, driven. “If you just—if you would just let me explain!”

“Nothing more to know, darling,” he says, not bothering to meet your desperate eyes. Clearly not in any mood to continue arguing with you on the status of your identity. 

He tugs you along when he takes a right turn down a road leading into the center of town. The belt of bullets around his waist rattles with every step. It’s a constant reminder of who you’re with and why you should not be with him. Every step feels like a step towards your own sentencing, like accompanying your jailer to your cell. It’s perhaps fool’s luck that the sheriff hasn’t inquired further into your identity or your reason for coming into town. Makes you think that perhaps there isn’t yet a warrant out for your arrest. Maybe that’s only to come. 

“Sure there’s more!” you insist. “There’s—there’s—” It’s like the words fly right out of your head, bucked off like a bronc rider. Too much has happened in too short a time. “There’s the matter of—oh, would you quit that, I am walking!” The last bit comes out snappish, peeved as Price pulls you towards the stone steps of a red-bricked building. 

The words County Court House are inscribed above the second-story door girdled by a wrought iron balcony. It’s a simple building, far from the colonnaded buildings from back home with their cupolas and hand-carved lintels. Even in size it hardly compares, a meager three stories with perhaps a basement. Still, it catches the eye in a town as small as this, by far the most imposing building for miles around.

It’s also the one he pulls you towards, hand moving from the small of your back to take firm hold of your waist. You flinch at the touch and the way his fingers dig in, almost proprietarily. It’s a physical shock to your system. While you’re not unaccustomed to the rougher ways of men, you’ve also been largely shielded from it yourself. By chance or fortune or luck. Men may take an attitude with you, as they’re wont to do, but none have yet manhandled you the way Price feels free to do. 

“Take a big step there now, darling,” he says, lifting the front of your dress for you a tad, to your shock. “No accidents before the wedding.” 

“The wedding?” you shriek, face heating at the heads that turn to look over at the two of you. 

The courthouse is bustling with townsfolk, still not as busy as in the bigger cities back east, but still clearly at the center of all business activities. The few people that pass you by on the way out of or into the courthouse are bold in their perusal, eyebrows lifting when they take notice of Price at your side—and how could they not, with the size of him and the badge pinned to the lapel of his vest that glimmers when it catches the light. 

“If you were expecting something grander, you should’ve turned up last month when I sent for you,” Price says, stern again. In the foyer of the courthouse, you can see the way the long hallway cuts through the building, leading into the adjacent rooms until finally culminating with the courtroom at the very back. You watch as a man slowly closes the door to the last door, shutting the occupants in. “Might’ve been more amenable to it then.”

“I’m not asking for a nicer ceremony—”

“Good, then you won’t be disappointed.”

“—but that’s because I’m not the woman that you intended to marry in the first place,” you finish, quieting to a hissed whisper, conscious of those still lingering close enough to eavesdrop. In all likelihood, the other people milling around probably already know that the sheriff has been waiting for his mail order bride to arrive. They wouldn’t be the first people to mistake you for her.

He pulls you into an alcove off the side of the foyer. When Price turns to face you, no longer just the heavy presence at your side, it takes a moment for you to gather your bearings. He seems larger somehow, with his arms crossed over his chest and feet rooted into the floor, drawn up to his full height. The hair on his forearms draws your eyes momentarily before he steps into your space, forcing you to meet his eyes again. 

He stares down at you with an intensity that makes you flinch. “Now, far be it for me to say that I know my wife-to-be by her demeanor alone, given that we’ve hardly corresponded beyond our initial agreement. But I find it mighty strange that a single, unaccompanied woman would show up in town with all of her earthly belongings as I’m expecting my own woman to show up any day. Hardly seems coincidental.”

“Don’t you think I would have sought you out if we were intended to wed?” you ask beseechingly. “Or that I would put up such a fuss now? What sort of bride would do that?”

“You want to know what I think, darling?” The timber of his voice deepens as he lowers his head slightly, wrapping the conversation in a layer of intimacy despite its public nature. There’s a darker note to his voice now, a thinly-veiled anger. “I think you’ve been keeping yourself housed and fed off the back of men like me and the money you’ve been sent to compensate for the rough journey. I think your guilty conscience brought you here because you know that the Lord doesn’t look too kindly on swindlers and thieves.”

“I’m not a thief,” you hiss in protest, affronted. Ironic that you’d be insulted by his words when the truth is far worse. 

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Price permits, a reluctant softness in his voice. “But your conscience did you right. Marriage will suit you far better than a life of crime ever could.”

If only he knew. “You’ve still got it all wrong—I’ve never once even glanced at the matrimonial pages or the personals. And I certainly didn’t come to town expecting to be wed.”

You did, however, arrive in town with a guilty conscience. Even you’re wise enough not to mention that, though.

“Then if you're not her, who are you?” he asks. 

It’s clear from his tone that Price doesn’t believe you, but the question itself makes you antsier than even the thought of marrying this man. He still stares down at you in challenge, an eyebrow cocked. If you wanted to, you could easily answer his question and even furnish proof—a letter from an aunt or uncle or a telegram from a previous employer. 

That last thought makes your throat squeeze tight. You could furnish proof, but at what cost? You’re still unclear on how much information has been disseminated or whether you're a wanted woman. Though only weeks have passed since the event that caused you to flee in a haste, there’s no telling whether a warrant has been put out for your arrest, no telling whether word has reached a town this far west. 

“Not that it matters, but I’m from New York,” you say, scrunching up your nose. 

The look he gives you is unimpressed. “I’m sure you lost the accent on the train ride.”

Embarrassment makes you dig your heels in deeper. “I didn’t grow up there, it’s just where I’ve lived for the past few years.”

“And what’s your name?”

“…Elizabeth Smith.” 

It’s the first name that occurs to you, but the moment the words come out of your mouth, you can’t help feeling like you’ve made a huge mistake. Price must sense it too because he draws back up to his full height, lips twitching into a small smirk. 

“You have family or a post back in New York, Miss Smith?” he asks in a patronizing tone. 

“Family.” 

“Alright, then it shouldn’t be too hard to get confirmation and settle this whole issue.” He points behind you to one of the unoccupied rooms. “Telegraph’s office just behind you. We’ll get in touch with the Census Bureau and ask them to confirm your identity. And, if you are who you say you are, Miss Smith, then we can put this issue to rights.” 

Your blood goes cold. “That’ll—that’ll take time though. I can’t marry you today if they only get back to you in a week’s time.”

Price nods, his expression dissatisfied but resolved. “Wouldn’t be proper for you to stay at the house either, but I’ll make sure the inn lets you stay free of charge until this is settled. You’ll be in good hands under the Pattersons’ watch.” 

He doesn’t say it outright, but you hear the implication in his words. You’d be essentially under house arrest, perhaps free to move about town, but certainly not free to take the next train out. 

Your pulse thumps nervously at the base of your throat. Even swallowing takes effort now. The weight of his stare takes root in you, a living coil in your belly. No getting out of it. There’s no getting out of this. You don’t know why you thought you could, how you tricked yourself into thinking for even a moment that a man as formidable as the one set in front of you would simply give in. Let you go. You’ve hardly even moved the needle. 

It’s there still in his eyes. Not even doubt—something quite far past that. Certainty. 

“‘Elizabeth Smith of New York’, was it? Come, we’ll have them start the message and you can give me your birthday as well so it’ll be an easy find—” Price says, attempting to slip around you to head to the telegraph’s office. 

“No.” 

It slips out of you inadvertently, high and panicked. He pauses at the word. More than just your words. When you look down, you notice your fingers clenched in the fabric of his sleeve, bringing him to a halt. It pulls taut against the muscle of his forearm. 

Softness bleeds back into him at your touch. You can see it smooth out the lines of his forehead and the jut of his brow. He ignores the onlookers still hovering by the double doors to twist back to you, now obscuring their view of you. The breadth of his shoulders nearly blocks the rest of the foyer from sight when he looms over you like this. Down the hall, you can hear a gavel pound down on wood and a litany of raised voices in unison from behind a shut door. 

“You don’t have to make up stories,” Price murmurs, drawing a hand up to cup your cheek, holding it like a precious thing. “I told you before—all’s forgiven.”

His words remind you of being trapped in his office, drawers stripped down your ankles and skirt pulled up to your waist. Your bottom still smarts from the palm of his hand, still hot and sore to the touch. It’s hardly been long since then and yet it feels like an age ago, like trying to find your way in a dust storm. 

You open and shut your mouth, lost for a way out. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Marriage or a jail cell. You swallow. Both sound like a sentencing. 

But there are the cold, metal bars of a cell, and then there’s John Price. The first man in an age to elicit more than a passing glance from you. Deep blue eyes crinkled with the folds of old laughter, wide shoulders, and barrel chest. In another time, you think you would’ve jumped at the chance to be courted by a man like him. Keeled over at the very thought of being chased the way he hunts you down now. 

“Alright,” you say instead, giving in. The hand fisting his sleeve shakes. “Alright.”

It’s not a pleasant giving in. Your permission is handed over with shot nerves. The coil bunched up in your core burns white hot, hissing and spitting like a rattlesnake. 

Still, when he drags a thumb over the slope of your cheek, you fight not to let your eyelids flutter shut. “Good girl. We’ll make it work, love. Won’t be easy, but it never is.”

You don’t anticipate that it will be, but your mouth stays shut. Price must think you mollified, soothed rather than resigned to your fate, because he passes his thumb once more over your cheekbone, this time so tenderly that you wait for his lips to descend upon yours again, sure from the heat in his eyes that he won’t be able to keep from stealing another kiss. You lick your lips out of habit—not just to see the way his eyes follow the motion. 

Then the door at the back of the building bursts open to a cacophony of shouts and hollering voices. The moment broken, Price drops his hand away from your cheek, only to take your hand in his this time, pulling you down the hall towards the register’s to await the circuit preacher. He makes you walk on the side closest to the wall, shielding you from the men that burst out of the courtroom, surging towards the doors. You think that someone must have been found guilty because the lot of them look joyous, clamoring over each other for attention. 

You think that you might be spared another minute or two, enough time for them to clean up and reset the courtroom, but you’re shocked to find the circuit preacher ready to conduct the ceremony in the cramped register’s office. He and Price shake hands enthusiastically, the preacher turning to you to grasp your hands in welcome before turning back to the sheriff. They have a camaraderie that speaks of old friendship. 

The cramped room where you’re married smells of patchouli and moth wings, like holes burrowed into sweaters at the back of a closet. The bookshelves along the walls are stacked with books old enough that you know they’d crinkle deliciously if opened. You try to listen as the preacher begins the introductory prayer. Behind you, another man slips into the room, a witness. He hardly bothers to introduce himself for such a brief affair. 

You haven’t been to many weddings, but you always imagined that yours—if you were privileged enough to have one—might have more fanfare. The wedding you actually get is a brusque affair, a brief recital of vows that ends only when the preacher enjoins Price to kiss his wife. 

His wife. 

Your eyes go wide when a hand flattens along your spine and pulls you into a hard chest, John dipping his head down to kiss your mouth again. His kiss is less chaste this time, not restricted by convention as earlier. This time, his tongue licks hot into your mouth, like no kiss you’ve ever had before, beard scratching your face. His mouth tastes like something you’ve never had before, like heatburst. Hot and wet. Soft and suckling. Any kiss you’ve had before pales in comparison—juvenile fumbling, all dry and half-humiliated, unsure of yourself. Nothing like being kissed by your husband.

Your husband. 

He only pulls away when the preacher finally clears his throat, a tad embarrassed. You’re too dazed to feel the same, fingers still sunk into the lapels of Price’s vest, clutched there. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and your hands to unclench. You feel Price tug your hands away and slip something onto your finger.

The few documents needing to be signed hardly takes any longer. You finally notice the man that had slipped in behind the two of you, a masked man even larger than Price, who nods at him before glancing at you only long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem curiously blank. 

“Thanks, Simon,” Price says as the man—Simon—signs under your names, but he only grunts. The ink is still wet when he leaves. 

“How was it so fast?” you ask absently, staring at the papers as the ink sits drying and the preacher takes his own copy before handing John his. 

“Everything’s practical out here, darling.” His hand holds you by the waist again, relaxed this time. Not worried about whether you might run. “Even the weddings.”

“You don’t…you don’t even serve dinner? Invite guests over? No gifts?” The questions are irrelevant, but you ask them anyway because it’s a way to focus on anything other than the preacher handing you the final copy of the papers and Price leading you back down the hall and out the doors. 

There’s a ring on my finger, you think, looking down. It sparkles when you twist your hand from side to side. Topaz, instead of diamond. 

“Maybe if you’d showed up on time,” Price reminds you. He no longer sounds upset about it, but it still seems to come out as an admonishment. 

You don’t respond to that. Perhaps you’re still shell-shocked, looking at the world through new eyes. It feels unreal that in the span of less than a day, you’ve been plucked up and married off, to the sheriff no less. The one man you would’ve tried your hardest to avoid crossing paths with. 

No chance of that now. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, still in a daze. The sun makes you squint when you leave the courthouse, making you miss the hat back in your room at the inn. Maybe you can convince Price to let you go back to collect your things.

“I think we’re due for a honeymoon, don’t you, darling?”

You go doe-eyed at that. When you look up, your husband is already smiling down at you, crow’s feet wrinkling at the sides of his eyes. 

“Let’s go home.”

[forensicheart]

Age Is Just A Number

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You like Fernando but it takes a bit of convincing for you to admit it.

Warning: Dirty talk, fingering, p in v, edging , age gap (reader 21, Fernando 42)

You couldn't help as your gaze stopped on the flash of green you spotted as your eyes scanned the paddock. You were making your way down the pitlane to see your brother but instead you found yourself drifting towards the Aston Martin garage.

"Hermosa!" A voice shouted as you entered the garage, your figure always catching the eyes of the older man. He made a beeline for you as he excused himself from his strategist wrapping his arms around you and he hugged you gently. As he pulled away from you, you didn't miss the way his eyes dragged up and down your body.

"You look as gorgeous as always" You turned your head away trying to hide the blush as you saw Fernando smirk out of the corner of your eye. Before you could open your mouth to reply Fernando seemed to have more on his mind.

"I'm sure this dress would look even better on my floor though" He ended with a wink and turned to walk further into garage as his name was called. Once more you were left blushing and as you continued down the pitlane you couldn't help but think about Fernando. The way his accented words sent shivers down your spine, the way his sat that made you want to run your heads through it, how his confidence never strayed despite the clear gap in your age. That was the main reason you never pursued Fernando's obvious advances, the age gap. 21 years. Fernando never held back with his flirting, everyone knew that he was into you but you on the other hand had never admitted to feeling the same.

"Who's got you blushing?" Max's voice interrupted your thoughts, you hadn't realised that you'd even made it to the garage, let alone bump into your brother.

"Oh, uh, just a bit hot is all" You tried to lie smoothly but Max had always been able to see right through you, especially with the upscaling of Fernando's flirting recently, not even attempting to hide it from your brother.

"You've been at the Aston Martin garage haven't you?" You sigh knowing you won't be able to lie your way out of it.

"Yes, but I didn't initiate anything Max, I was barely even there for a minute" Max imitated your sigh from a moment ago shaking his head.

"He's far too old for you Y/n”

“I know, I know Max, I’ll stay away from him more” You said accepting defeat as you made your way further into the RedBull garage to find a spot to watch the race from.

-

With Max winning per usual you made your leave early without him knowing you’d see him after all the media and presentations were done. On your way out though you were stopped by a certain older man who called out your name as you made your way to your car. Max’s words circled in your mind as you kept walking deciding to ignore the man behind you but he wasn’t giving up. Running up to you he placed his hand on your shoulder as he stood walking next to you.

“Are you ignoring me now hermosa?”

"Simply brothers orders Alonso" Fernando lets out a laugh and you know he doesn't believe you.

"I think you just don't want to admit that you've fallen for an older man" You scoff and brush off the hand still resting on your shoulder as you both come to a stop.

"I do not like you Fernando. So please, just give up" Your words only draw the man closer to you, seeming to tower over you as a hand reaches up to brush a strand of hair from your face.\

"Oh mi amour. Why don't you come back to my hotel room and I'll help you admit your real feelings" With the intent of his words hanging in the air Fernando turned on his heels and walked towards his car, head held high as you stared after him, your lip between your teeth.

-

This is a bad idea. You told yourself as the elevator doors opened, prompting your exit. This is a very bad idea. He's 20 years older than me! You were nearing his hotel door now, even without being given a time you knew he would have been waiting since the moment he had caught up to you at the carpark. I should not be doing this. I need to go home. Max is gonna kill me. Your movements didn't match your thoughts though as you raised a fist to knock gently on the door in front of you.

Taking a deep breath as you lowered your arm you waited no more than a second before being met with the face of Fernando Alonso.

"I was wondering when you'd show up" He spoke smugly as he stepped aside allowing you to walk past him and into the room.

The door closed behind you and your body froze as you felt a hand slide to sit on your waist.

"Now, are you going to admit it or are we going to have to do this the hard way hermosa?" His breath sent a shiver down your spine as his lips brushed your lobe. When you didn't make a move to speak in the time given Fernando used the hand on your waist to spin you so you were facing him, the force making you place your hands on his chest to steady yourself.

"Hard way it is then" Wasting no more time his lips were on yours in a heated kiss. You reacting positively not able to resist the man holding you. His hands traveled from you waist to your ass and he squeezed earning a groan from you. A smirk rested on his lips at the sound and he worked on removing your dress. The zip was down before you could register and the dress was falling to a pile at your feet which you stepped out of as you pulled out of the kiss.

"I told you it would look much better on my floor" Fernando sent a wink your way as his eyes racked over your body before his hands were back on it. This time taking off your bra so he could grab the flesh of your breasts. Letting out a louder moan than the one prior you felt needy to feel him too. Hands going to remove his shirt you allowed yourselves to separate so you could pull the shirt over his head, throwing it to the ground with your dress. Next you were unbuttoning his jeans as he slid them down his legs, kicking them off his feet and bringing his hands to grab the backs of your thighs allowing him to pick you up. With your legs wrapped around his waist Fernando walked you into his bedroom, the both of you caught in a kiss as you were laid onto the bed.

“Hermosa” Fernando whispered breathlessly as he pulled himself out of the kiss to look over your exposed body. With his mouth now paying attention to your breasts you let out a moan that made Fernando snake his hands down to remove your underwear while he focused on your chest. A finger glides through your folds making you gasp as your eyes snap to Fernando's whose already staring down at you.

"Please" You practically begged, your body craving his touch.

"Are you going to admit to having feelings for me mi amour?" You hesitated but quickly shook followed by a sharp bite of your lip as Fernando thrusted two fingers into you. You weren't able to keep yourself quiet for long though as Fernando immediately set a rapid pace.

"Oh god" Your words led a string of moans as Fernando begun to decorate your neck as his spare hand settled on your breast gently pinching the hard bud. His pace was unrelenting but you wanted more.

"Please Fernando, I want you inside of me" Without saying a word Fernando removed his fingers making you whine as he took off his boxes staring down at you as his tip brushed your wet folds. Silence filled the room as the two of you stared intently at one another. A pleading look in your eyes and a determined one in his.

"You want this amour?"

"Yes. I want this, please"

"Then admit that you like me" You were hoping to get away without speaking a word about feelings to Fernando but the fire in his eyes told you that he waws not letting another move be made until he heard this confession.

"I- I like you, Fernando" Your eyes avoided his as you finally confessed the one thing you'd been trying to run from.

"See. That wasn't so hard now was it?" Before you could even think of a response Fernando entered you without warning making you throw your head back as you tried to adjust to the size of him. You weren't given much time though as Fernando sets off at a bruising pace, his hips snapping into you as he hits the right spot every time that makes you slur out words of gratitude and praise. You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening quickly as Fernando only grew faster in his thrust. He was sure to hit deep inside of you, watching you take all of you and filling you up like he'd dreamt of. He wanted to make you feel good and that was exactly what he was doing. You grew closer and closer to your climax, your hands reaching to grab something, fists gripping at bedsheets.

"Tell me again hermosa. Tell me you like me" Fernando demanded, his thrusts getting sloppy as he too neared his climax.

"I like you Fernando, god I like you so much" You moaned out without hesitation. The moment the last word left your mouth Fernando leaned down to pull you into a passionate kiss as you both groaned into each others mouth, finishing together as you pulsed around him.

"Be mine?" Fernando asked through heavy breaths.

"Always"

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

WILL YOU PRAY FOR ME? ( House of the Dragon x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Trying out writing Aegon some more for my fic, 'THE CONQUEROR REBORN'. <3 pairing: DARK! Aegon ii Targaryen x Fem! Hightower! Reader prompt: Aegon finds you praying in the Sept before the Battle of Rook's Rest. This is not a friendly encounter. word count: 1, 298+ words

You had been sent to King’s Landing as a means of assurance that House Hightower, Aegon’s Mother side of the family, was completely loyal to him and his cause. You dreaded it, wishing you had been born a man or married off to some Lord from far away. King’s Landing was in chaos, the common folk struggling to adapt to the changes due to the war. Whilst the Red Keep was a mix of chaotically trying to plan out the war and comforting a fragile minded Helaena. 

It did not help that the predatory eyes that were Aegon’s that followed you everywhere. From when you entered a room until you left, if the walls had eyes then they surely would have followed you there as well. In hopes of avoiding any conflict or attempts of any kind, the Sept became your safe haven. Aegon did not attend the daily mass, nor did he believe in the Faith of the Seven. 

So, those hours long masses were a good enough excuse to get out of the Red Keep and to keep your distance from Aegon. After the rumors of Aegon’s past in Silk Street floated towards your ear, no matter how hard Alicent tried to stop it, it gave you reason enough to keep far far far far away from him. Even if he was your distant cousin and King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Kneeling in front of the large statue of the Mother, you did not pray for anything a girl of your age and high standing usually would have, not for the blessing of fertility and easy labor. No, you prayed for mercy and peace on behalf of your sweet distant cousin and Queen consort Helaena. The poor girl did not deserve the fate given to her, to marry her older brother and to watch her innocent son be slaughtered in front of her. Helaena deserved peace and mercy. 

Grabbing a match from benches in front of the statue, you light an unlit candle, watching the flames crackle and pop for a second. Weakly smiling at the alluring glow of candlelight, you blow out the match, shifting on the velvet stool in front of the statue of the Mother. Letting out a gentle sigh, you clasps your hands together in a prayer motion, ready to begin your prayers for your sweet cousin. 

“So this is where you run off to.” Aegon states, his loud footsteps filling the once quiet Sept.

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

“I had hoped for something more interesting or scandalous.” Aegon comments amused, “But, considering how much of a prude Oldtown is, I am not surprised you're here.” 

“Your grace, I was not expecting you here.” You weakly get out, dreading turning around. 

“I can tell. You're tense.” 

Tensing up even more as he points it out, you turn around to look at him, your eyes looking him over. His hair was unruly as ever, only making it more obvious that he lacked the knowledge of a hairbrush of any kind. Though you were sure that he never combed it in his entire life as it was very fit for his character. 

Narrowing your eyes at what he was wearing, the steel chest plate clearly did not fit him, the leather straps holding the chest plate together looking seconds away from bursting. You’d never comment on it, but he would have better luck squeezing himself into a corset than trying to wear that armor.  

“I was taken by surprise by you. Do forgive me for it, your grace.” You mumble weakly, now praying that he would go away.

“I see you are admiring me. I do not blame you. I do look rather dashing, had nearly all of the whores in Silk Street throw themselves at me.” He jests, though it only makes your lips curled up into a disgusted look. 

A poet. No, a drunk. No, no, a whore. Anyone could have come up with a better conversation starter than that. 

“I am sure you enjoyed that, your grace.” You nod, “You look like the true epitome of a King.”

Shifting your eyes away from him, you tense up as he stands beside your stool, dangerously close to touching you. Aegon had always given you an odd feeling, not quite hatred but not quiet enjoyment, more like a neutral contentment. From the cordial conversations at dinner with the rest of the family, he was decent enough. Of course, before he gorged himself on Arbor red and food. 

“Will you pray for me?” He asks, his hand brushing against the side of your cleavage.

“What?” You blurt out, tensing up at the ‘accidental’ touch. 

“I said, will you pray for me, sweet cousin?” He asks, a dark glint in his eyes. “Pray for your King to return from battle unmarred?”

“I will, if you ask me to.” You mumble, feeling forced to comply. 

Cowering backwards as he leans in dangerously close, every part of your body told you that you were not safe this close to him. He was a Targaryen, the King, your distant cousin, and a married man nonetheless. An unmarried woman such as yourself should not be this close to him. Pushing down the fear that bubbled up inside of you, he tenderly touches your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze better. Your lips dangerously close to touching if either of you leaned in. 

Carefully looking over his features, you would never say it aloud, but in another life he would be considered ethereal. Those stunning amethyst eyes and white curls that all Targaryen’s had. Those sharp features that were framed with a soft pudginess from his recent gain of weight. The soft pink under his eyes and on the tip of his nose from restless nights. Remembering where you were, you instantly pull back from him, keeping a distance from him. 

“When I return from Rook’s Rest, victorious, like I know that I will. I will take you as my second wife, I need an heir and you are fit for that.” He states, an almost sinister glimmer in his eyes. 

“But, it is forbidden. In the eyes of the Seven and of the common law. No man should take two wives.” You argue, praying it would be enough to spook him off.  

“I am King, my word is law. Not to mention, twas’ my ancestor who took two wives. Who am I to deny tradition?” He counters, the tone of his voice leaving no room to argue.

No. No. No. Now he cares of tradition? Of duty?

Realizing that there truly was no way to sway his mind on the matter, you sink in the velvet stool, a twindle of defeat filling you. You would be his second wife, his bride. Just a broodmare, someone to warm his bed whenever he called for you like a dog. No one would be able to protest this, to argue on your behalf because he was right, he was King. His word held more power than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms. Your fate was sealed, it seemingly was when you were shipped to King’s Landing. 

"But-" You try, but he cuts you off.

“Now, I will expect you to await my return with eagerness, my little bride-to-be.” He whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

You don’t speak, your tongue feeling as if it was made of lead.  Even if you could, you could not promise that you would not lash out on him. 

“Oh, and when I do come back, wait for me in my chambers dressed in that pretty little chemise of yours. I liked the one with the pink ribbon.” He whispers, the last part of his words sending a cold shiver down your spine. 

He had been watching you whilst you were in your chambers. For gods knows how long.

----

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

[queenpiranhadon]

Hello! You commented on my post about my dream request so here it goes...

Pro Hero! Dynamite is dating Underground Pro Hero! Y/N. He doesn't know she's a hero, doesn’t even know she has a quirk. She has a "job" where she can travel a lot; a model for Mitsuki & Masura (they know, because parent instincts). Anyway, YN gets sent on a lot of missions with Pro Hero! Deku since he's one of the few who likes working with everybody. Dynamite sees how close they are and is seething, and end ups turning it into a huge fight.

(i woke up at this point but pls make it comfort if you can)

thank you in advance!!🫶🏾🫶🏾

A/N: Idk if this is what you wanted but I loved this prompt so much!! Big thanks to @zanarkandskylines for beta reading and editing this I owe you so much 😭 Here's my masterlist!

Warning(s): f!reader, Katsuki and reader are dating. and they live together, reader is an underground pro hero with a pre-established quirk, mentions of blood, Katsuki thinks reader is cheating on him with Deku, angst to fluff, characters might be a little ooc, mentions of passing out, reader cries a lot, Katsuki does too, Katsuki almost kicks reader out, cursing, Katsuki calls reader princess.

Pairing: Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x Underground Pro Hero! Reader

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ɢᴏᴏᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ ────•°•☁︎•°•────•

Shit. 

Pain flares up in your abdomen as you try not to think about the blood gushing out of your side, as the taste of iron lines your taste buds, making you want to vomit. 

You were on a mission with your close friend and pro hero, Deku, who you consider a friend till the end after endless mission assignments together. Your quirk, Rays, allowed you to control the lighting of any setting you were in- even if it were bright outside, you could plunge anything within a 100-mile radius into complete darkness if you chose to do. Along with that, you could illuminate anything within the same distance in the middle of the night. Your eyes would change colors while your quirk was active, growing lighter and darker with the lighting around you- a feature that allowed you to be hired as a model for Jiyū, a clothing company owned by renowned clothing designers, Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugou. They joked that that lighting always favored you during photoshoots, capturing your eyes in such an alluring way that it was almost like you were the one who made the clothing look exceptional. They’d often drop hints that you would, in fact, be a perfect fit for their hotheaded son. You’d laugh at their insistence, waving off their jokes. They never would guess the reason behind your choice of career path, especially as a secret pro hero. 

You were an underground Pro Hero by the name of Sola – specializing in espionage and stealth, a major asset to Pro Hero Deku as you balanced his brute force with elegance and mobility. You loved your job, not ever having to need to be prominent on the Hero charts and found your reward through the knowledge that you were helping others. It was silly, you thought, to sneak around with a secret identity like all the books you read, unlike the Pro Heroes you knew that basked in attention. And even though you didn’t need people fawning over you 24/7, you still had one issue with all the secrecy. 

That being your boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugou.  

You loved him with your entire heart, and more, as he did you. The both of you got together a few months after the explosive blonde had graduated from UA, your relationship blowing up the tabloids with a bang as he climbed the hero rankings. 

You trusted him with your life, and he trusted you with his heart, and yet you couldn’t tell him about your job as an underground pro hero.  

This was one of the reasons why.  

You hid behind a pillar in the abandoned warehouse you had caught a drug network alongside Pro Hero Deku. The both of you were tracking the pricks for months, coming home late every night with a new excuse to tell Katsuki. You knew it would burden him with worry, choosing to keep your secret hero identity just that - a secret, even from Katsuki. He couldn't worry about you when he had his own job as a Pro Hero to worry about.  

Not to mention he wasn’t exactly on the best terms with the greenette you worked with constantly. 

The fight ensued, you heard Deku’s grunts and the cracks of bones, no doubt his One for All in usage. You manipulated the light around him, effectively blinding your opponents while giving your partner the advantage of sight.  

You were losing blood at a rapid pace, head becoming fuzzy as your body slumps to the floor, giving into the exhaustion from overuse of your quirk. 

The last thing you heard before the world turned black was Deku’s triumphant call for you, reporting that all the villains were restrained.  

When you woke up, you were in Izuku’s apartment, head hazy and your temples throbbed like they were being stabbed repeatedly by blunt needles.  

You got up without a word, thanking Izuku for his hospitality before leaving to go home, brushing off his concerns and walking out his front door.  

Anxiety gnawed at you on the taxi ride home, subconsciously fiddling with your shirt to make sure your bandages weren’t visible, and praying to whatever deity was watching over you that Katsuki wouldn’t notice.  

You reached your apartment complex, taking a deep breath and settling for a somewhat content look, before inserting your keys into the lock and opening the door, basking in the familiar warmth of your shared home. 

Spotting Katsuki at the kitchen stove, you creep up to him and wrap your arms around his waist, to which he stiffens, but you don’t think much of it as you tighten your arms around him.  

“I’m home!” You sing, smushing your cheek against him but he says nothing.  

Worry works its way through your mind, wondering why he wasn’t responding, until his gruff voice snaps you back into focus. 

“Where were you.” he says, phrasing it like a statement, not a question.  

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach- does he know? Did Izuku tell him?  

Wh-what?” A nervous laugh escapes you. Had you been caught? “I told you, I was in the US -” 

“Cut the bullshit.” he snaps, and you let go of him – you can physically feel your heart snap in two. “Where. were. you."

“I...” you trail off, the words caught in your throat, willing the tears that threatened to spill not to fall.  

You both stand there, wordless, staring at his eyes, full of pain.  

“You never even loved me, did you?” he says, voice cracking full of emotion, your eyes widening.  

“Katsuki no- I" You try to explain, but he cuts you off, the pounding in your head returning with the new rush of emotions.  

“Just stop. Please. Leave and never come back.” He spits out, tears finally dripping down his face. “Go fucking be happy with shitty Deku because obviously he’s a better fucking boyfriend than me.”

He thought you were cheating on him. Those late nights coming home, prolonged trips without explanation- god you were so stupid.  

You rush towards him, mind racing as you try to explain, try to fix things. You couldn’t lose him, you couldn’t- it would destroy you in ways unimaginable.  

And yet, he pushed you away forcefully, making you cry out in pain as he contacts your wound in your side.  

He almost stops breathing when he sees the blood, your blood, on his hands.  

You panic, and he grabs you by the shoulders, lifting your shirt up to reveal the bandage wrapped around your torso that the blood managed to seep through.  

“Kats-” 

“Who fucking hurt you.” he growls, low and feral- all resentment from the previous conversation melting away with the realization that you weren’t with Deku – or at least in the way he thought.  

“I’m an Underground Pro Hero.” You whisper, a desperate attempt to mask your feelings as you curl into yourself. You can’t risk looking up at Katsuki and seeing his reaction. 

“You what- fuck, you have a quirk?!” He looks at you, eyes wide.  

You nod hesitantly, his vermilion stare meeting your own, attempting to assess what else you could be hiding from him. 

“I wasn’t allowed to tell you- the Commision wouldn’t let me, I wanted to tell you so bad Katsuki, but I knew you had so much on your plate, and I didn’t want to bother you, and-” you break down, Katsuki cutting you off as he encircles you in his arms, consoling you silently, letting your distraught form melt into his embrace.  

Heaving sobs turned into choking cries, which dwindled into sniffles that lead to silence. You’d drifted off, cried yourself into a sleepy daze while he carefully cradled you in the kitchen. His own guilt ate away at him- he understood your situation, the Commission was as unsympathetic to a hero’s situation as the League was to anything. But it still hurt, that stupid Deku knew about your status as a Pro Hero before he did. He shook his head, dispersing his feelings. He hated himself for his words, for assuming the worst and thinking you were capable of doing something so low. Running his fingertips over your bandages gingerly, a pang of worry struck through him. He wiped the tears off his face, and then yours, lifting your sleeping form and headed for your bedroom. 

Right now, he needed to take care of you.  

Changing you out of your clothes, he settles you into one of your favorite worn out shirts of his, tucking you into bed before getting ready to sleep himself. 

He joins you in bed, heaving a shaky breath after everything, wrapping his arms around you, one hand placed on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, holding you against his chest like you were made of porcelain - too scared to let you go, but scared of breaking you, too.  

“Goodnight, princess.”

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 13 - "Come with me, hurry."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: -

Duke didn't know what was happening anymore right now. All he knew was that it had started with simply wanting to help someone. Or rather even sooner, with having been forcefully paired up with the new transfer student that everyone for some reason avoided.

The new transfer student, Danny Nightingale, had joined his class around mid semester, he wore a lot of apparently customized -as he later learned- ghost themed accessories. Somehow he got away with it without constantly getting sent to the principal for violating school uniform guidelines. Partially Duke believes that the teachers just gave up after the first week.

Aside from that the first time Duke had even seen the guy, for a short moment he thought that he had looked directly into the sun but then a second later his vision was back to normal like nothing happened but the transfer was staring at him with an eyebrow raised. They had stared at each other for a long time and Duke was sure that right then and there they both had noticed each other's possible Meta status.

But nothing strange had happened after that for a little while, well major really. Minor things kept happing and Duke was convinced that the guy had to be a Meta. The strange little incidence of things going missing but reappearing the next day, utilize or tool appear in the others hand like out of nowhere, the guy suddenly leaving class without explanation, well sometimes at least asking to get excused but still leaving even if their teacher said no or the bouts of green light Duke occasionally caught around the guy.

This transfer student had to be a Meta. Duke had no problem with it, in fact he was kind of happy to find that one of his classmates was a Meta. He just didn't know how to bring it up to him. Considering that most Metas in Gotham lived in hiding and fear, he knew he couldn't just go, walk up to the guy and bluntly ask if he was a fellow Meta.

So after a little discussion with his siblings, Duke decided he would just keep an eye out for his classmate. Trying to complete the friendship route first before and hoping that this way Danny would open up to him. So for now he was making sure the other stayed safe and all that, Duke had even asked his siblings if he should tell Bruce about his Meta classmate just in case but they had told him that as long as nothing major happens to the kid it should be enough for them to keep an eye out.

The friendship route was going great in Duke opinion. Well that was until he got partnered up with him for a group project. Duke really wanted to say that working together with Danny on the project was making it so much easier to connect with the other aside from just joining him during lunch break or trying to strike up a conversation before classes. But the or their group was not making it easier, in fact, Duke got the feeling they tried to actively exclude Danny if it weren't from him.

The day when they all met in the library made it even more obvious. Danny hadn't even known they were meeting up to work on it until Duke texted him asking where he was. He gave the other the best Damian Glare impression he could muster up when he found out and then a Jason death glare impression when they found excuses to leave once he called Danny over when he saw him walking through the library doors.

"Duke, it's fine real. I always have been one of the odd ones out." Duke had definitely not been fine with it when Danny had played it off, especially when he offhandedly mentioned that he got bullied before. Well at least Danny was enjoying his time with Duke, plus Danny was a genius, especially in all the science and engineering subjects. If their idiot group mates wanted to pass up on an A+ with extra credits then it was solely their fault for being judgmental.

Duke had gotten to the point that Danny had even agreed to come with him to the Manor to hang out once, all he now needed to do was clear it with Bruce and make sure that his noisy siblings weren't going to freak Danny out.

He was just about to call Bruce up to see if it was fine when the doors of the library were kicked in by people dressed completely in white carrying deceives that looked like scanners. He was just about to comment to Danny what weird people they seemed to be when he noticed Danny had pulled up the hood of his jacket over his head and for the lack of better words looked frightened.

Duke had only locked once between Danny, and these weird guys before deciding what he needed to do. He shot a quick look towards Babs who was working the library counter and looked about ready to have them kicked out. Duke signaled her, while also shooting off a message into the group chat with the others.

"Danny." His newly made friend had his back turned to the door and looked like he was trying to find an escape route. Duke frowned at the way Danny flinched when he placed a hand on the other's shoulder. Whoever these guys were, Danny was afraid of them or had some sort of trauma and Duke would bet his entire comic collection on the fact that it has something to do with Danny being a Meta. "It's okay, trust me. They won't get you."

"What?" Glowing green eyes peeked at him from under Danny's hood, he clearly remembers them to be blue.

"They won't get you. I promise." Duke repeated, ignoring the color change for now. By now Barbara was trying to get these people out of her library but these people continued to yell something about ecto-entities and those some papers at her. They were advancing into the building and Duke could see that Danny's flight reflex was going to break out soon.

Duke made a brief eye contact with Barbara. She nodded.

"Come with me, hurry." Was the only warning he gave Danny before he grabbed the other's hand and dragged him to the back of the building, towards the hidden doors.

"What are you doing?!" Danny sounded so confused and Duke looked over his shoulder hoping he was giving the other a reassuring smile.

"Helping you!"

"But I am not-"

"These guys are after you right? Let's get away from them first and then talk!" Duke cut him off pushing Danny through a hidden way into an underground path.

"You don't even know me and-"

"I don't need to know you, to see when someone needs help."

He could see that Danny clearly wanted to say something, there was still fear in these still glowing green eyes and Duke wondered once more what these people must have done to Danny for the other Meta to be scared like this. Danny needed to know that they wouldn't get to him as long as Duke and his family were around. He was going to be protected and be able to live normally without fear of these people showing up to hunt him for his powers.

"Meta's gotta stick together. Don't worry I will make sure you're safe!" This wasn't how he had hoped to open up this topic with Danny. He had wanted Danny to bring it up naturally once they had gotten to be really good friends. So that Duke could let him know he wasn't alone.

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part two

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part: receiving the Princes at Highgarden and a little flashforward.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist: The Black Dread < < < previous part, part one: read here > > > next part, part three: read here

word count: 6.4k+

warnings: cursing, more set up, depiction of anxiety, i think that's it and that's suspicious

You winced when the seamstress pinched your waist again while hemming the gown you modeled in front of a trio of mirrors atop a pedestal. "Apologies, my Lady," the woman with a heavy Braavosi accent excused with a quirked thick brow, "I appear off my clock, think I am seeing double."

"Expected after such long travels," you nodded in agreement. "Perhaps we should pause to let you rest, we can resume later - "

"No, no, nope, we have no time," the jittery ginger Maester Keiff Foral insisted, hands rushing in a flurry from where he was pacing behind you, "we have to get your dresses done now before the Princes arrive!"

"This is so superficial - "

"Stand straighter."

You huffed, "Tell me in earnest, why are we even entertaining these proposals?"

"Because war - "

"Not our war."

"Ours now that you've claimed a dragon!"

You sighed, just watching Madam Oraena Ostiris work in the reflection. "So we come to it," you whisper.

"To what, child?"

"You are angry I have claimed Balerion!"

Maester Foral pursed his lips, moving around to sit at the available table. "Angry? At you? I am weary," he admitted. "Bringing The Black Dread here, it has put a target on us, my Lady. The Greens and Blacks both were content to look the other way, we had declared ourselves neutral; they need Harrenhal more than they need Highgarden - and Oldtown's on their own, but now? Now, your dragon has beckoned them to our door."

"I can always refuse them," you mused.

"I do not know how the Princes would handle rejection from you in that dress," Foral chuckled. "Your father would choke if he saw you, my Lady."

"I suppose it is good he will not see again," you sighed, petting the material of your new gown. It was modern, chic, new; albeit revealing and daring, it was different. "I suppose I should ask, is there news?"

"No, my Lady. Your father makes no change."

In the tallest tower of the Highgarden Keep, your father, Lord Paramount Tyrell, laid in a bed; unmoving, unwaking, still breathing, as he has for the past 4 years following a swift and sudden infection. Your Targaryen Princess mother passed just a year prior to King Viserys, leaving you to inherit the lands, riches, titles, and all that comes with Lordship Ladyship of The Reach. This was until your brother, Ryden, now ten, came of age in another four years. Technically, he could assume Lordship at ten-and-three, but it was so stipulated he would remain under education until ten-and-four, pending your father's health.

"What do you think I should do, Maester?" You asked stiffly. "Prince Aemond and Prince Jacaerys both fly for us this day, what should I do?"

"Well, what feels appropriate?"

"As if that matters," you scoffed. He waited as you and Madam Ostiris chittered over your dress; making necessary changes in posture to let the seamstress hem and sew.

"Humor me, pretend it does," Maester Foral spoke to you through the mirror.

You frowned, rolling your eyes, "Well, ideally, I'd have time to get to know them both before being forced to choose who I want to bind myself to for life."

"Reasonable."

"For the love of the Gods, be helpful, Keiff, or get out," you huffed. "Do not just agree with me, please."

He chuckled, "All right, all right. You are the acting Lady of the House, you hold more power than you realize, and you now ride the largest dragon in the known world. So, receive them both and offer accommodations for the week their mothers have bartered for, and in that time, make clear you wish to spend equal time with them both before you declare for either side."

"I'm able... To do that?"

"Why not? If Rhaenyra can be Queen, why can you not take a week to get to know suitors you might possibly wish to spend your life with? Times are changing, my Lady, just look at the dragon you now ride, the position you hold." Keiff paused to take a long, deep breath, "You know, all-in-all, perhaps this will not be too bad."

"How so?"

"I hear both princes are rather becoming."

Your eyes rolled as Madam Ostiris snickered and softly mused, "Sounds as if, at least, whoever you choose will be someone pleasing to look at. There are worse fates, worse prospects of husbands, my Lady."

You hummed in acknowledgement, admiring your figure cut in the dress, directing to Keiff, "Do me a favor, old friend?"

"Of course, my Lady, anything."

"Keep me logical. If I fall prey to emotions, keep my head straight - I want to make the best, most logical, strategic pact for our people as possible."

"Do not be so pessimistic. Love can be so - "

"This isn't about love, it's about strategy, and at the very least, compatibility. A single week to decide who I will spend this life with, a week to consider which scales I tip in this war. This is about survival and stability, Maester, not love."

He sighed, watching Madam Ostiris tighten the laces of your exposed corset in a finishing touch to your attire. Since you were a babe, Maester Keiff Foral served your family; a surrogate father, nanny, tutor, friend, brother, the fun uncle you run away to when pissed at your parents. He hated how repugnant you sounded at love - wanting that magic for you, never wanting your marriage to be akin to a sales transaction.

Maester Foral, however, knew you to be a noble and honorable woman and if duty compels, someone who would agree to a marriage pact for other's benefit. So, he wasn't surprised by your determination to do your duty, but the way you spoke, the hostile acid used when speaking about marriage, about love - it saddened him. He knew you had so much love to give with nowhere to put it, nor were you equipped to accept authentic love - let alone give it a chance to let a flame catch and ashen.

One of the servants entered the chamber, hesitating only a moment before informing, "There's been a dragon sighted, my Lady. The watchmen predict no farther than 10 minutes from our location."

"Thank you," you breathed, Madam Ostiris finishing her work, allowing you time to finish prepping to your pleasure. "Maester Foral, please, uh, gather members of our court to the Throne Room. We'll receive the Princes. Oh, we'll need their rooms finalized, please, send some maids to double check the guest chambers are ready, as well. Ensure they're in separate wings."

"My Lady," he agreed, bowing out of the room to go do as you asked while you heaved a grand huff of breath.

There came a long pause as you looked at your dress, nodding in approval. "It becomes you," Madam Ostiris noted casually, packing up her sewing kit.

"Hmm?" You hummed.

"Power," she smirked.

"She's right," a voice chimed, Grandmother Celia came into the room; lips spread in a smirk, hands clasped before her. "Power becomes you, sweet petal," she chuckled. "That dress is exquisite."

"Madam Ostiris is a genius," you complimented, stepping off the pedestal. "I'm glad you're here. Tell me," your arms spread in bravado, "is this appropriate to meet our royal convoy in?"

"I would say," she approved, petting the skirt you wore. "Thank you, Madam Ostrich."

"Ostiris," you swiftly corrected with a smirk. "Madam, you've been shown your quarters, yes?"

"Yes, my Lady, thank you."

"Thank you," you dismissed softly, watching her scoop her personal sewing kit into her arms and scurry out of the room. "Grandmother," you directed, pouring a goblet of sweet wine, "would you attend today's affair with me? I do not wish to stand alone."

"Maester Foral will be there."

"I would feel stronger with another Tyrell at my side."

She chuckled and took your arm, patting it in assurance. "I will always stand with you, my girl," she assured. "Are you prepared for their arrival?"

"As best I can be. I feel as if I am standing trial."

Celia chuckled, watching you take a nervous gulp. "To what crime?"

"Claiming to be a Targaryen is a heinous declaration, bordering on a punishable offense. None believed me, said I did not look akin to my claims; now I ride Balerion and am fielding marriage proposals from Dragon Princes. It's as if I am defending myself from tension that brewed in my mother's generation, and none of it feels real."

Celia nodded, "And yet, you carry this responsibility beautifully."

"Begrudgingly," you corrected with a smirk. "Shall we?" You finished your wine, setting the goblet down and offering your arm to her withered hand.

"To the Throne Room?"

"Courtyard," you corrected. "I intend to meet the royal envoy."

"Then we shall meet inside," she decided, "there's no chance I'm traipsing through the mud. Nor nearing your beast."

You agreed, watching her part as you were swept up by a swarm of maids and guards all escorting you towards the front of the Keep.

"My Lady," your usual lady's maid rushed up to you, "there's a dragon - "

"Yes, Eyme, I'm aware," you smirked, waving her to follow. "Did you have the guest chambers made up?"

"Yes, my Lady, in the East and West wings."

You nodded, "And the kitchens?"

"Stocked and preparing tonight's welcome feast," Eyme confirmed. The winds swept your dress skirt back when the doors opened, surging down the stairs as more of your Household Guard joined the procession.

"Open the gates," you commanded, leading the way out of the Keep. Things seemed relatively calm as the dragon in the distance was a growing speck, but then, the peace shattered when Balerion lifted his head and released a loud, reverberating growl. "Shit," you muttered, "stay here, stand at the ready!"

You rushed to your dragon laying in the valley beneath the Highgarden Keep, trying to use broken High Valyrian but making absolutely no sense - turning into a blubbering mess out of panic. There was no true calming your beast, especially when he lifted onto his feet and bared his teeth in threat. You cursed again.

Balerion stretched out, making you keep pace at his shoulder as the distant dragon drew closer. "You know them?" You asked The Black Dread casually, sighing and patting the scaly hide of his ankle - the only place you could honestly reach. "Is it a familiar smell?"

He grumbled and in truth, you had no honest idea if he understood the Common Tongue or not - but after so many years, perhaps he did to an extent.

"They're guests," you warned your dragon, who breathed heavily; shoulders hulking, leering in threat as the other dragon became more defined. "They're kin," you sighed. "One is your old rider's son, and the other, his grandson. Did you ever meet her? The Black Queen, Rhaenyra? Daughter of Viserys?"

Balerion huffed and you smirked, successfully distracting him. "I haven't either," you told him. "We'll judge them fairly, yes? You sniff out their dragons, see if they smell deceitful." When he grumbled, you patted his hide again, "Good lad." The dragon began it's decent, you musing, "Here we go..."

The first dragon that touched down was tiny in comparison, your curiosity peaking when another dot was spotted in the distance. "Easy," you told Balerion, "Vermax is young, he's not a threat." Your dragon grumbled as the dark haired Prince dismounted. "Vhagar approaches, she's who makes me nervous. Remain vigilant, that's a good lad."

You did not move far from your dragon, standing a few paces beside him as his head leered in an arch to watch the exchange as you faced the Prince. His dragon leered at your own; hissing and spitting, backing up a few paces as you smirked. When he was close enough, you greeted, "Welcome to Highgarden, my Prince."

"Lady Tyrell," he halted himself, eyeing Balerion with mistrust. "What a pleasure it is to make your formal acquaintance. I am Prince Jacaerys Velaryon."

You relaid your full name, using your manners to ask, "I trust your travels were safe?"

"Yes, my Lady, thank you," he nodded, clearing his throat. "Though I regret to ask - "

"Vermax will be provided ample feeding," you smirked, clocking his breath of relief. "We've prepared for your arrival... And mine own, I suppose."

"I've often wondered, how much does The Black Dread consume?"

"Enough to feed several villages," you chuckled, glancing at the large head that dropped beside you. You laid an arm on him in a show of affection, "He's very good at self sustaining; though, I buy his love by feeding him livestock. I hope it makes up for my inability to speak High Valyrian."

"Perhaps we could arrange some lessons," he smiled prettily.

"That would be appreciated," you nodded. "In fact, I was hoping for your opinion on a tutor, while you're here. I'd like to learn of my heritage, but being able to communicate with Balerion is paramount."

"Of course, my Lady."

You watched as Prince Jacaerys was welcomed into your court as Vhagar eventually made her descent. You required a moment or two to collect yourself, swallowing nervously in the presence of the Velaryon Prince; a young lad you found almost dreadfully attractive. Despite his thick head of dark, luscious curls, he was every bit Targaryen you were - perfectly one half, on your mother's side.

For some reason, to the Realm, the mother's lineage is erased and forgotten - but blood doesn't lie. Neither do genetics, but that was a conversation for a different day.

You thought the Prince was well groomed; his thin face angular, high structured, and sharp, framed by his corkscrew curls. Though lean, he appeared to have the makings of muscle; standing taller than you, freckles sprayed across his nose and cheeks, lips plump and perfectly pouting.

Balerion bellowed when faced with Vhagar - even at a distance. You were unsure what word to use, but smoothly, you heard Jace provide the High Valyrian word for clam, "Lykiri."

You repeated the word with a stutter, Jace gently repeating himself to allow your tongue to form the foreign word. After another try or two, you were rolling your pronunciation; Balerion shifting his weight and growling, even under your patient hand. You muttered a few words in the Common Tongue, the beast glowering with literal smoke wafting from his nostrils as the One-Eyed Prince stalked across the short distance between dragons.

"Prince Aemond," You greeted kindly, "welcome to Highgarden."

As you went through the usual spiel, you got a good look at the Kinslayer Prince. He was handsome in a much more unique way; perhaps unconventional, but certainly alluring. His jaw (and nose) came to a point, his expression full with his single eye; stoic yet oddly expressive. His pin-straight platinum locks were down, pieces at his temple tied back simply to accommodate the strap of his eyepatch. His cheeks were chiseled. His scar was a dark pinkish-tan against porcelain flesh, indicating years of healing. Thin, bowed, quirked lips - even with a neutral and passive expression.

Handsome, indeed.

After hearing your court greet Aemond respectfully, attention had shifted towards you again. You told both Jacaerys and Aemond smoothly, "I hope to come to know the extent of our hospitality during your stay here. I apologize for greeting you outside the bounds of the Keep - I was unsure how Balerion would react to visitors. And I should apologize for our lack of Dragonpit, I understand the anxiety you might feel from leaving your dragons exposed; there's never been need to host dragons at Highgarden before."

"Mh," Prince Aemond hummed, "though appreciated, no apology is necessary, my Lady. Thank you for granting me your audience. The King was most pleased to learn you accepted our parlay invitation."

"No thanks necessary, my Prince," you shot back, saving Jace from rebuttal, "but I have yet to bend the knee, and therefore, encourage you do not mistake my hospitable curiosity to receive your envoy, my Prince, for alleged proclamation of support in the war ravaging the Realm. Yet while I do not declare for either of your sides yet, it's akin to alining with both." You paused, lips straightening in tight emotion, "I've learned those who refuse kings - or their kin - end in demise, so, at the very least, I'd be a fool to reject your entry under my roof."

"Nevertheless, the King appreciates your cooperation."

Balerion growled as if in disagreement with the term "King", but you just hushed like a parent would a child, "Aht! You behave."

Seeing them both offer kind amusement to your words, you noted how effortless Jace appeared and how Aemond's expression appeared to host veiled impatience. You remembered this wasn't some romantic meet-cute, but a very disingenuous way to marry; to find a partner; to start a new life - what very well could be the rest of your life.

Something in your gut stirred.

You were pretty as a petal, protected by dragon hide; knowing that when people saw you, they saw a meek, unmarried maiden and concocted their own narrative, snap judgements, harsh in their opinion. They thought you looked weak - a death sentence in this day and age; looking the part of vulnerable, all but offering for others to take advantage and manipulate you - only to dine on them. As dragons do.

Pretty girls were viewed as prey, appearing as easy targets. It was sickeningly frustrating to always be the bigger person; to remain ladylike, soft, kind, seen and never heard even in the face of adversity.

Like your grandmother said, it was time to be a dragon - who don't concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. Dragons leave absolutely zero room for disrespect, and they never ask for respect - it's given, warranted, collected, nonverbally demanded all out of fear. Respect universally bestowed to the top apex predator who could end life in a single stream of fire, crush anyone or anything under their legs, decommission entire cities; talons that can easily eviscerate, teeth that could shred human flesh and bones like cheese on a grater.

Be a dragon.

So, you smirked, "Follow me, then, my Princes, Grandmother will be eager to meet you."

Two guards walked ahead of you, leading the procession into the Highgarden Keep. Maids and other guards placed themselves strategically between the Princes, but it seemed the Prince in green leather followed you closely at an even pace, lanky legs moving him with a distinct swagger; feeling almost magnetized to you while gliding through the Keep.

Upon entering the Throne Room (which wasn't a real "throne room" but instead, the room the Lord of the Reach would sit when receiving his peers, guests, counterparts, and citizens), you saw Maester Keiff Foral with your grandmother, Celia, standing at the front of the room with your brother, Ryden, around the seat you were to occupy.

Not feeling secure enough to sit in your new dress, you remained standing while introducing the two Princes - but it was still obvious, you were at the helm of Highgarden.

"Prince Aemond and Prince Jacaerys wish to discuss an alliance between our Houses - we are going to hear their marriage petitions," you announced officially, finally taking a seat - but in a perch, teetering at the very edge. "Now," you cleared your throat, "you both sent words of parlay that we have agreed to hear. Are you both designated to offer terms of negotiation?"

"Yes, my Lady," Jace nodded, your eyes shifting to Aemond, who nodded and repeated his words.

With a hum, you continued, "Then I encourage you both to listen closely. As Lady of this House, I will do whatever is right by my people - not this war. I am not currency for either of you to collect, this is about negotiating terms of peace. Nobody today is present under false pretenses, yes?"

There was a murmured wave of agreement.

"Then we are all aware that this alliance means the fighting rights to Balerion." There was another few nods. "I would see peace return to our land, to this Realm, but first, we have much to discuss. So, I will offer you both one week. In this proposed week, I will attempt to spend equal time with you both and learn of you; since marriage is served over a lifetime, I want to be sure about the man I willingly spend it with. Is this agreeable?"

"I accept your terms," Aemond nodded.

"Oh, you haven't heard my terms yet, love, sit tight," you mused; longer fingernails drumming on the armchairs. "Is this agreeable? A one-week term?"

"Yes, my Lady, most gracious of you," Jace agreed.

Aemond's head tilted to the side, slowly regarding those who ruled The Reach - all watching him like a wild dragon. "Tell me," Aemond leered, "when Lord Tyrell passes, who inherits Highgarden?"

You scoffed gently.

"Lady Tyrell, my Prince, until the new Lord Tyrell comes of age," Maester Keiff Foral answered strongly. "Your father, Gods rest his soul, was a peaceful King and the Realm is forever grateful that the Quiet Age lasted this long after King Jaehaerys ruled - but Viserys was not the first man to name a woman heir. Yes, first woman to the Iron Throne, but there are known keeps and kingdoms under the leadership of women - The Reach, for example. The Vale and Dorne, too."

"I am well aware. Does Lord Tyrell have any bastards?"

"Uh, n-no, my Prince. None that are known...?"

"Can anyone lay claim to her inheritance?" Aemond asked plainly, cutting off anyone ready to scold him for his brash questions.

"No, but she is expected to rule until her brother ages, and Gods forbid, if something happens to Ryden, she is to birth presumably the next Lord of Highgarden," Keiff answered slowly, as if piecing the idea together in real time.

"Then, forgive my hesitance, but why bother with Prince Jacaerys?" Aemond dared. "If he's to inherit the Throne," he mocked, "Lady Tyrell would have to forfeit her duties and the family's ancestral seat for a time, produce heirs for her husband's line, stand at the King's side when she's meant to rule here. Begs the question who Prince Jacaerys means to propose for this alliance? Surely, not himself as he's previously betrothed - to his cousin, uh, stepsister, Lady Baela?"

"And what of your engagement to Floris Baratheon?" Jace shot back.

Sure, his question was being answered (both engagements broken) and actually spurred conversation around the room, but Aemond couldn't hear anymore. Yes, he started this, but salty, warm, pressurized waters had flooded the chamber through sealed windows to trap Aemond in waves of anxiety. Suddenly, his nerves compressed, lungs emptied but couldn't refill; veins dilated to accommodate his worrisome racing heart, throat closing immediately after.

Jacaerys... Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, who would be a legitimized, recognized, acknowledged Targaryen upon succession... Jaecerys. Jaecerys. Jaecerys. Jace... Jace. Jace. Jace. Jace. Jace. Jace...

Memories flashed to silently - privately - remind Aemond of that day when Vhagar killed Lucerys - the little bastard brother of Jacaerys. That infamous day haunts Aemond, feeling unfamiliar guilt and shame with himself - which didn't say much considering Aemond's entire life was a steady-handed written tragedy. Now, the other object of his ire would face off with him as Luke had... Vying for a Lady's hand...

Aemond wondered if Jace - being older with dropped testicles - would scream, and if so, would it be like Luke's? Shrill? Or something "deeper"? Lucerys screamed in sheer terror before being swallowed whole; arguably the day that started the war, but definitely being first blood shed (unless you believed that to be Lord Beesbury). Blood was going to be spilled one way or another! This was war, after all!

Aemond hated being mere feet from Jacaerys, but for the sake of the Realm, he restrained himself.

Yet nobody in that room was stronger than Jace - who stood, patiently, pleasantly, mere feet from the man who murdered his beloved baby brother in brutal cold blood. There would never be a more opportune time to strike for vengeance, but Jace kept his cool - insisting to himself that if he remained patient, he'd get his chance. Or perhaps karma would get Aemond! But one thing was for sure: Jace refused to "lose" you to this Kinslayer. So, he kept calm.

Aemond was sent to Highgarden by his mother; by the Green Council; by anyone not himself. Jace, sure, had been sent by the Black Council - but he had wanted to do his duty to his mother, in this war; to history. Jace felt honored to be received by your Ladyship - and by Gods, it showed.

Eventually, you spoke clearly through both Prince's internal thoughts, turmoil, and monologues:

"In this week, you are both welcomed guests, and all of Highgarden's amenities, resources, and services are at your disposal, my Princes. What livestock can be spared, your dragons will be fed - though do not be startled if they venture off with Balerion, he enjoys hunting in the surrounding areas. You're both to be hosted in different wings of the Keep," you laid out plainly, "and under no circumstances shall violence nor taunting be permitted. I understand the animosity between you two, there's been plenty of rumors - so I will not see bloodshed in nor around my home," you directed at Aemond, "to one another, myself, family, or dragon; nor any staff members, occupants of the Keep, and / or citizens. Can you both agree to these terms?"

"I agree," Jacaerys almost instantly accepted.

"I agree," Aemond nodded stiffly.

"Good. Then, come next Sunday, I endeavor to have a decision for you. I ask you both to consider a single question that I will expect answered in the coming days: what role would you have me play in this war? What would you see me do? Have me do?" There came a pause. "If there are no questions, I think we have much to discuss - privately."

When neither Prince argued, you and Maester Foral lead the terms of negotiation. You worried mostly over how The Reach would either suffer or benefit; hardly caring about personal expectations, you wanted to know who would overhead the barley production that season - since ale was so precious to the Realm. You wanted to know who would be funding the new irrigation system. You wanted to know how quickly either side would retreat once their alliance was made - essentially asking how long this war was expected to last post alliance. You wanted to know how best to help your people, fearing they'd suffer if you chose the wrong side to aline with.

After several hours, you understood the terms set by the Blacks and Greens; insisting they disperse for supper and get a fresh start for tomorrow. When the chambers emptied, leaving you, Keiff, and Celia, it was eerily quiet for several long heartbeats.

"What is it?" Maester Foral asked, leaning his crossed arms on the tabletop. "What do you think, my Lady?"

"This feels... I don't know, futile?" You struggled to think rationally, sighing deeply. "Like, what's the point? Rhaenyra isn't gonna let her claim to the Iron Throne go. And Aegon is more likely to tap dance naked in the streets of King's Landing than stand off the Throne. His mother, I hear, would probably shove him out a bloody window if he dared give up the Throne she stole for him. No matter what, Keiff, both sides think they're right and it's too late now. So, what do we do? Do we affirm this usurper's claim? Or do we help the Queen get her birthright back?"

"It is not a simple thing I can answer."

"Nobody can - yet I am expected to," you huffed. "They won't back down... We all know they won't - neither side will consent. So, no matter what I do, who I choose, I'll be on the frontlines with Balerion. They'll expect us to commit some incredible yet treacherous acts, like The Conqueror fucking burning Harrenhal. No matter what we choose, this war isn't gonna end, will it?"

Celia just sighed as Maester Foral was quiet, then he, too, sighed deeply. He spoke softly, "In truth? I always worried this would happen. There's nothing wrong with a woman heir, I never understood the fuss. Yet this country is so - so - so...?"

"Traditional?" Celia guessed. "Stubborn?"

"Closed minded," Keiff found the words, you nodding along. "They think because we started with a King, we should end with a King, and nowhere between should there be a ruling Queen. I don't know if Rhaenyra stands a chance winning..."

"What do you mean?" Celia asked stiffly.

"Even if she defeats the Greens, takes back her Throne, she'll still have to face the entire Realm - who whisper about her predicted downfall. A Queen will never rule," he frowned, "and the people would become restless and unhappy, betrayal would always brew - someone would always plot against her. She wouldn't be winning the war - but affirming it."

You frowned, "Who would think they have better claim than Rhaenyra?"

"Aegon - "

"Besides him," you chuckled.

"Prince Aemond, probably. And by the same right, Prince Daeron would have a claim - being Viserys' seed," Celia considered. "Could even be a bastard or two lingering in the shadows. Consider if Baelon had bastards, huh?"

"Prince Baelon? Bastards?" You laughed. "The man was devoted to his wife!"

"Devoted men can still fuck around! A cunt is still a cunt!"

"Oh, Grandmother, don't say that - I don't think you're allowed to say that and I certainly don't wish to hear it!"

Keiff spoke over you both, "There could be any number of bastards - from any number of royals. But there's no real proof of lineage, less the sire steps forward, and in this case, all sires are dead. So, I wouldn't worry about any bastards trying to raise and lay claim."

The night was still young and the questions only just starting.

ONE WEEK LATER

Dawn would peak in less than an hour, and yet, instead of being safe and warm in bed, you were slipping in dew-dotted grass while carting a wagon full of sickly lambs. In a tremendously unladylike fashion, you cursed like a sailor, annoyed with nature; pacing further from the border of the Highgarden Keep.

After clearing the dewy hill, you descended into the valley Balerion had curled up in. His head lifted as you approached, his grumble causing the earth to quake and send birds squawking into the skies. "Yeah," you panted, "I'm hungry, too, love, just gimme a second. Good lad."

For the past nine weeks you've had your dragon, you had fallen into routine of bringing him little treats. Cattle, goats, chickens, sometimes dogs or horses; and today, after an entire litter fell fatally ill, lambs. Vhagar and Vermax were in the sky above the Keep.

"All right, love," you sighed, approaching your beastie. With a tentative tongue, you tried the commands in High Valyrian both Princes had taught you that past week, "Serve, Balerion."

No story could do this beast justice. He was magnificent, but also absolutely terrifying - horrifying - devastating to gaze at. It's said “his wingspan was so large that his shadow could engulf entire towns when he passed overhead. His teeth were as long as swords, and his jaws were large enough to swallow an aurochs whole, or even one of the hairy mammoths that are said to roam the cold wastes beyond the Port of Ibben.”

In person, he was the living embodiment of Death.

You repeated yourself, listening to your dragon huff before lowering his head. "Be calm, Balerion," you commanded with a stern voice, smirking when he grumbled, "be calm. Easy... Easy," you chanted, extending your hand. His lip twitched as his snout extended, allowing you to lay a gentle touch to his cracked ebony scales. "Good," you praised, "good, be calm."

He breathed deeply, eyes bright and blazing a menacing flame red. You were lost in thought as you stroked his face, mind whirling with all that happened the past week; mind nagging about the stark differences in Dragon Princes. Balerion did not find his feet, there was no need; lifting his head only slightly when you pulled away to overturn the wagon before him. At your feet, the lambs were too sick to run away, bleating helplessly; the great large beast locking eyes with you and waiting for permission.

After several steps back, you smirked and called, "Eat, Balerion."

Behind you, a voice called your name. Balerion didn't care, indulging in his breakfast treat, allowing you to peak back and locate your best mate, Alora Flowers, waving you down. "C'mon, love," she called.

"You! C'mere," you told her, lugging the now empty wagon behind you.

"Gods, no!" She squeaked. "You get up here! I'm not going around that beast, you know this!"

"Coward!"

"Absolutely! Proudly!"

You laughed, lugging the wagon to a certain height and then leaving it to meet Alora on the hill incline. "Still scared of him?" You teased.

"Of the big arse dragon?" She laughed, "Yeah! I'm still scared! Even at this distance, he could reach out and snack on us."

"Good thing he won't," you assured, nudging her to sit down. "What're you doin' out here? It's early."

"You were not in your chambers," she noted, "and today's the day you announce to the Princes... I wanted to check on you, see how you're feeling about everything."

You scoffed, shaking your head in amusement as she revealed the miniature picnic basket she brought. As Alora unpacked an array of fruits, some cheeses and breads with jams, honey, and dried meats, you admitted, "I've no bloody idea what to think anymore."

"Oh, that's not good."

You hummed, biting into an apple as Balerion crunched three lambs between his jaws at once. "It's been a touch overwhelming," you muse. "But either Prince has made an impression, I am now tasked with choosing a side in this Godsforsaken war."

"You could truly turn the tide in it," Alora nodded, biting into a plum. "Take the Realm in a direction it's never been before... Or support it going in the same direction it's always gone. Which, you know, lead us here anyways."

Your eyes rolled, "Well, when you phrase it like that..."

"C'mon," she nudged your shoulder. "They're both very handsome, but for different reasons."

"Hmm?"

"Prince Jacaerys is handsome in a stereotypical way. You know, cut jawline, chiseled cheekbones, luscious curly hair. He's young, but in a charming way - seems green to the ways of the world. He'd be a match to learn with you," she chuckled, sighing to herself.

"You seem enraptured - surely, you'd hate me for choosing Prince Jacaerys since you sound so taken by him."

"Unless the Prince's penis suddenly reverts within his body, I don't envision myself with him," Alora teased, making you both laugh loudly. She flinched a little when Balerion grumbled and lifted his head to seemingly glare at the pair of you for interrupting him. After clearing her throat, she continued, "On the other hand, Prince Aemond's handsome in a rugged way. He's entirely chiseled, mysterious and confident. His entire presence drawls you in."

"All seems so simple when comparing men on parchment," you frowned, leaning back onto your elbow as the sun began its ascent above the horizon.

"Well, let's break it down."

"How?"

"If you aline with the Greens, what would that look like?"

You paused to consider her question, answering, "Chaotic."

"Think deeper."

Chewing a piece of bread with cheese, you considered, "Probably a logical choice, since the Realm has only ever known men to sit the Iron Throne. It wouldn't challenge norms, would relatively keep the peace since there's plenty to be expected when a man rules. Balerion would be put to use; that, I can all but guarantee. Things would... Become predictable, but perhaps that's preferred. After decades of peace, perhaps it's best to not change the status quo."

Alora nodded, "Alining with the Greens would keep Aegon on the Throne."

"Use Balerion would neutralize Rhaenyra, though?"

"Probably. And anyone who offers Aegon insult."

"And if I aline with the Blacks, then I would dethrone a usurper..."

"What an adventure that sounds like," she chuckled, you agreeing. "Keep going, we could expect what outta you alining with the Blacks?"

You huffed, "Chaos."

"Bitch."

Laughter felt a little misplaced, but still, you shared in the exchange of amusement. "Rhaenyra's the emotional choice - where it almost doesn't matter her qualifications because the Realm swore to her; she was declared and her claim upheld by her father, the King. We would be putting a Queen on her Throne, as intended. The Greens would be extinguished... We'd be heralding in a new age. Her son would sit the Throne after her..."

Alora blinked, "Am I just realizing that now?"

"What?"

"If you marry Aemond, you'll be the King's sister-by-law. If you marry Jace, you'd... You'd be Queen one day."

"What a fate after all I've been denied," you scoffed bitterly, "all my mother and aunt were denied."

"The Vanished Princess and the Queen Who Never Was. Quite a pair."

"I hear, in their youth, they were," you frowned with a sigh. "We'll never see their likes again."

"No... But perhaps, we'll see something new in you. Answer me this, who did you think was nice?"

"Oh, fuck off - nobody cares for that - "

"I do," she snapped. "Now, answer me. Who do you think is nice? Which Prince? Either? Neither? Both?"

You hummed in consideration, answering nervously, "Jace was nice - is. Is nice, Jace is nice."

"Who do you think you have more in common with?"

"Maybe Aemond."

"Are either of them funny?"

"Jace has a sense of humor, Aemond is so very... Rigid and stoic."

"I imagine it takes longer than a week to truly know someone, perhaps he is anxious?"

"Or perhaps he is simply doing his duty," you scoffed gently. "At the very least, Jace seems... Somewhat..." You shrugged, "Excited to be here, maybe even intrigued."

She nodded. "So, no matter who you choose, we're looking at war - but the end of the war, so... Where do you wish to stand? Since it's inevitable, I think this comes down to what kind of chaos you want to see - a chaos we've endured or one we've never seen before? I mean, never before has a woman come so close to the Throne..."

There was a long silence. Like, several minutes long. After deep-enough contemplation, you whispered, "If this past week if any indication..." You trailed off, sighing deeply for the hundredth time; staring at Balerion. "I think I know what I should do."

"Oh?"

"Talking it out helps."

"Then talk," she leaned back in the grass. "Tell me about this past week - tell me about the Princes."

And where to start?

< < < previous part, part one: read here

> > > next part, part three: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread series masterlist

[mousy-nona]

If you're still accepting prompts: Lucifer and Alastor are getting closer and closer, and Lucifer makes it clear he's interested in Alastor sexually. Alastor's uninterested in sex with anyone, but goes along with it because he thinks that's what he's supposed to do in a relationship. Lucifer stops when he realizes Alastor's dissociating through the whole thing.

They fell together like a storm. Furiously, without regard for those who might be caught in it. It started with a few raindrops – a few petty insults here and there, nothing too serious. But before they knew it, they had graduated to psy-ops (oh dear, your favorite duck is gone? You must learn to take better care of your things!), campaigns of terror that sent the residents of the hotel fleeing for cover, and full-on fist fights.

And finally, during one of those fights, they found the eye of the storm: an accidental brush of the lips. So quick, so innocent. Easy to brush off as if nothing had happened. 

But Lucifer found his heart was beating so fast it felt like a buzzing in his ears, and he knew he had found the truth of it. The reason why Alastor’s presence was like a perpetual itch he couldn’t scratch. Why he couldn’t take his eyes off of the demon whenever he was in the room. 

So he kissed him again (furiously) and Alastor had kissed him back (tentatively). 

Things didn’t change much after that. But Lucifer found himself making excuses to touch him, his fingers trailing a second or two longer on his chest when he grabbed his shirt during a fight, or lingering at his back when he pushed him out of the way. There were more of those sweeter moments too – cups of coffee shared in silence as they watched the morning sun rise over Pentagram City, reading together in front of the fire when everyone else had gone to bed, Alastor making biting (but helpful) comments as Lucifer glanced over the agenda for the annual Hell Assembly. Lucifer started moving some of the stuff from his workshop to Alastor’s studio, and when Alastor worked on his script for his next radio show, Lucifer would tinker with his experiments. And Alastor only got a little mad when he accidentally set the curtains on fire. 

They fell together so naturally that Lucifer didn’t even realize he had fallen in love until he found himself making Alastor a cup of coffee just the way Alastor liked it – black as sin, with cinammon sprinkled in – and he turned around to find Alastor had made him a cup just the way Lucifer liked it – a healthy splash of milk with five sugars. It was automatic, a thoughtless habit born of a hundred mornings where they’d done the exact same thing. 

“What?” Alastor asked.

“I’d like to keep you forever.” 

“What?” Alastor repeated.

“I love you, you idiot.” 

Alastor didn’t say it back for several weeks. Lucifer tried not to let it affect him, because love was freely given and Alastor didn’t have any obligation to love him the same, but Lord in Heaven it hurt. Were the rumors true? Was he really heartless? 

Then one night, when Lucifer was bent over a particularly difficult blueprint, he found the room had gone eerily silent. He glanced over at Alastor, who, instead of studying the current events in Hell for his latest broadcast, was staring at him with an intensity that made him nervous.

“What do you want?” 

Alastor melted into the shadows, and reappeared inches away. 

“Alastor, what in the world–” 

“Hush.” Alastor pressed the very edge of his claw against his mouth. “That’s quite enough out of you. I’m trying to concentrate.”

On what? Lucifer thought. 

Suddenly, Alastor leaned forward, and their lips met. It was just as delicious as the last time, and Lucifer felt himself melting into the kiss. Then Alastor’s tongue prodded against his lips, asking for entrance. Lucifer gave it, letting out an embarrassing moan as the taste of smoke and freshly roasted coffee and the barest hint of spice invaded his mind. He pushed forward, toppling them both onto the ground as his hand brushed against the hem of Alastor’s shirt. 

And Alastor, for his part, did…nothing. He didn’t touch him back, but he didn’t push him away either. Lucifer took that as a win and brushed his fingers across the bare, smooth skin of Alastor’s stomach. 

Alastor stiffened, his muscles locking in place. Lucifer glanced up, breaking their kiss. “Is everything okay?” He asked gently. 

Alastor’s expression was as unfathomable as the deep, but he nodded. “I thought I told you not to talk.”

Lucifer frowned. “Are you sure–” 

Alastor leapt forward, their mouths crashing into each other again. “Don’t. Talk.” He hissed in between desperate, ragged breaths. Lucifer groaned and resumed his exploration, running his hands up and down the hard planes of Alastor’s chest, his broad shoulders, his thin waist, his hard hips – so different from Lilith’s voluptuous curves, but different was good. His pulse fluttered like a bird’s as he reached for Alastor’s belt and started tugging. 

“Alastor,” he moaned, arching up to see if Alastor was feeling as good as he was – and abruptly stopped moving.

Alastor looked…empty. Far away. His eyes were like glass marbles, staring past and through Lucifer into the quiet darkness beyond.

Lucifer hissed and jerked away. Alastor stirred, as if rousing himself from a deep sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Lucifer nearly snarled. “If you hated it, you should have told me! You didn’t need to put yourself through this!” A bitter taste filled his mouth. His hands felt dirty somehow, and he held them behind his back, as if that would somehow make them both forget what had just happened.

“I don’t hate it,” Alastor insisted.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” 

“It wasn’t terrible,” he amended.

“Fantastic,” Lucifer groaned. “I’m just going to – I’ll just see myself out, shall I?” He tried to escape to the safety of his room, but Alastor’s hand wrapped around his wrist, holding him tightly in place. 

“But this is what people do, isn’t it?” He huffed, his strange red eyes gleaming with an emotion that Lucifer had never seen on him before. “When you–” He broke off, as if he couldn’t quite make himself say it. “When they’re like us,” he finally finished. 

“Like us?” Understanding hit him like a lightning strike. “Oh. Alastor, did you do all this because I told you I loved you?”

“And I…feel similarly for you,” he choked out, looking like he was contemplating jumping out the window while he said it. “And people who feel this way –” 

“Alastor, this is you and me.” Gently, so as not to scare him away, Lucifer held his hand and pressed it to his heart. “When have we ever done things the way other people do? That’s the beauty of relationships – we can write our own rules, and to hell with what other people might think. Besides, we’re not exactly the conventional couple. I think I hate you almost as much as I love you. And now I know you love me too. You put your own comfort aside to try and make us work.” He swallowed, running his finger along Alastor’s sharp jawline. A love he hadn’t known since the Fall filled his spirit, and the room lit up with a gentle golden glow. “Thank you.” 

The relief emanating from Alastor was nearly palpable. He swallowed, then wrapped his hand around Lucifer’s. “One small correction.” 

“What’s that?”

“I think I hate you more than I love you.” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. Tacky prick."

"It takes one to know one."

[slytherinboysappreciation]

This Dance - T. R. x male!Reader

This is just a self-indulgent little fic for week four of @thatdammchickennugget’s hogmarch challenge, using the prompt ‘May I have this dance’. This is my first time writing for a male reader so please be nice 💛 Fic is unedited with no use of Y/N

CW: reader is a Hufflepuff with some insecurities and doubts, slight hurt/comfort, and mentions of Bellatrix Black

957 words

“Excuse me. May I have this dance?”

You look up, eyes wet with tears. Your suit is stained with melted snow from how long you’ve been out here. Your face is blotchy from crying. You’re sure whomever’s asking is doing it as a prank.

But your breath catches. There, in front of you, majestic in his suit, is Tom Riddle

You stare up at him blankly. “What?”

Tom blinks down at you, as if not expecting your question. “May I have this dance?”

You look around, as if expecting to be laughed at. But there’s no one. You can barely hear the music from inside.

“You… want to dance… with me?”

Your incredulity is not hard to understand. Tom is the most popular guy in school, and the most handsome and charming guy you know. So why is he asking you to dance?

As far as anybody’s concerned, you’re a nobody. The too-quiet Hufflepuff boy on the outskirts of several friend groups, but never actually in the middle of one.

You’re the boy people pick on, the butt of jokes when no one else is around. You’re not popular or special, though your friends certainly are. Maybe one of them sent him out here as a favor.

“Yes.” Tom’s answer interrupts your depressing thoughts. You blink, having forgotten you’d asked him a question at all.

“I want to dance with you,” he continues, arching a perfect eyebrow. “That’s why I asked.”

“But… why?” You slowly pick yourself up and wipe at your eyes. Even when you’re standing up, he still towers over you. Just another reason his fangirls love him.

“Dance with me,” he says, “and I’ll tell you.”

Slowly, you nod. You weren’t really going to say no anyway. He is the most popular boy is school, after all. A dance with him is a rarity some people would kill for.

You think of Bellatrix Black specifically.

“So,” Tom’s smooth voice again interrupts your thoughts. You don’t really mind it. “What are you doing out here alone?”

“My date dumped me,” you mutter. Thinking about it makes your heart hurt. You’d been so over the moon that your crush had said yes to going to the Yule Ball with you, only for them to ditch you once the dance started.

“Hmm.” Tom’s eyes narrow. “How unfortunate for them. You’re quite a good dance partner.”

“Thanks.” You can’t deny the spark his compliment ignites in you. You try to temper it with the knowledge that he’s probably just being nice.

You dance in silence for a while after that. Tom’s gaze keeps lingering on you and it makes you nervous. So you keep quiet while frantically trying to think of something to say.

Finally, with an air of uncomfortable awkwardness, you ask, “So… why’d you want to dance with me?”

Tom’s gaze flickers with amusement. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well,” you hesitate. “I mean, I’m a guy, first off… and I’m not very popular or anything… and we’ve barely ever spoken to each other.”

“I’m aware you’re a guy,” Tom says, tilting his head a little. “That’s why I asked you to dance.”

You pause. You’d never really considered the possibility before that Tom was into guys. It makes your stomach flutter a little.

Thankfully sparing you from having to respond, Tom steps back and bows gracefully, ending the dance. You bow back, relieved and disappointed. You want to hang out with him more.

“Would you like to come inside with me?” Tom asks.

You blink in surprise and nod. “Uh, sure.”

Tom holds out his hand. You take it, trying so hard not to smile. It’s dumb; the way your stomach flutters at such a simple gesture.

Tom leads you back inside. You’re expecting him to drop your hand as soon as you get inside the castle, but he doesn’t let go. He just continues holding your hand all the way to the Great Hall.

A few people stare when you enter. Tom’s fangirls, no doubt; with venomous looks on their faces. You’re not really surprised but it still makes you nervous. You start to let go, but Tom grips your hand tighter.

“Ignore them,” he says firmly. Your cheeks warm.

You look up at him. “You’re sure you wanna be seen with me?”

“Of course.” Tom looks down at you. “Why wouldn’t I wish to be seen with you?”

“I—“ You don’t know what to say to that. Your insecurities seem laughable in the face of his smooth confidence.

“I just wanted to make sure,” you mumble, gripping his hand a little tighter. You feel like he can see right through you, and you don’t want him to let go.

Tom smirks a bit. He leans down, close enough that his breath ghosts over your ear. It makes your body shiver and your stomach flutter.

“I’d rather be seen with you than with any of the girls here,” he whispers, voice soft and silky. Practically dripping with charm. “My reasons are my own, but do not think that’s cause for you to doubt me. I chose you.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to burst. Your face is hot, your stomach filled with butterflies.

“Oh,” you say softly. “Okay.”

Tom smiles, a thin smile but a genuine one. He holds out his free hand to you. “Shall we dance?”

You take his hand with a shy nod. Perhaps it’s his effortless charm, or the way his words soothe your anxieties, or even just his good looks themselves; but something about him is irresistible.

You’d say yes to anything he asked. The smirk on his face shows he knows it. You’re done for, and you don’t think you've ever been more excited for anything in your life.

[crucifiedkiss]

◌ೆ୧　 ͢YOUR MAIL HAS BEEN DELIEVERED ♡

𓈒⠀⠀⁺⠀𝜗 crucifiedkiss ╱ p. jackson x gn! reader 𝜚

ꨄ︎ drbl ++ hcs dating percy pt2. ⏤ ﹙cupid﹚ 🪽 ˖ ׁ ⁩

  ಲ ͏ㅤ ׅㅤㅤcw: show!percy (i havent read the book(s) ...), season not specified, requested by 🦇anon ♡, ooc (proudly), not much plot, kissing (obv ..), fluff, silly teenagers being silly teenagers, drabble (drbl) ++ headcanons (hcs), drbl is pre-dating/before dating, YAPPING SO HARD IM SO SRRY 😭😭ㅤ✿𝅼

( ｡>﹏<) "YIPPEEEE TY 44 THE REQUEST !!! percy jackson my sweet bb GRAAHHHH !!! enjoy ml 🫂 IVE STARTED READING PJO BTW GUYS IM ON THE 2ND ONE (THE SEA OF MONSTERS) :3" ⏤ c.k.　と

　ㅤ، ׁ 　 ͢🦇ANON SENT A LETTER ♡

ㅤㅤ❛ ⠀⠀YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD??? AND YOUR ART??? AUGHH eats your art (it tastes like marshmallows) ^,_,^ can you write literally anyone from percy jackson... 🫂 :3 SORRY I DONT HAVE ANY PROMPT IDEAS😪⠀⠀— 🦇

𝜗୧ ּ݂⠀💌 dating percy jackson would include ﹗

　　　⏤　 him being extra soft when having to spar/practice fighting with u. the way his movements r a little more sluggish in a way, hesitant to put full force into attacking u, him usually ending up letting u win just so he can see that victorious look on ur face which leaves him happy for the rest of the day knowing he made u happy :3 the way he sheepishly laughs when u ask if he is actually putting effort to which he just shrugs and awkwardly rubs his nape, rejecting eye contact. he rlly wasnt a good liar😓 ... the way he barely even tries to swing at u but still does, not wanting to seem like he has completely no spark to him. the way he waits until ur fully gone before huffing, mumbling smth abt how its kinda embarrassing to act like a noob at sparring .. it was worth it tho to see ur the glee on ur face :) he never did want to hurt u, practicing or not. if he did, ur getting DRAGGED to someone as he begs for them to see if ur hurt rlly bad (has done this before definitely when u fell and scraped ur knee just BARELY or smth) (<- just wants u to be ok) (<- biggest green flag lowkey...❗) u have to tell him desperately that ur fine or else he is just going to proceed to bring u to someone to help u

　　　⏤　 kissing percy and him tasting like seasalt .. could u expect anything less tho? not in a bad way or anything, but he just tasted like the ocean physically lived in his mouth 24/7. never tell him so tho, he will whine like a baby and deny it – for a guy who likes water so much, he seems not to like that certain information. if u do tell him, no matter the amount of reassuring, he is brushing his tongue extra good that night and next morning, leaving you feeling slightly bad. it, of course, the taste doesnt go away. he is literally the son of poseidon: why WOULD it go away ??? be wary tho, it will leave ur mouth tasting of the same seasalt ,,, good thing is is that the taste is more faint, only lasting for a minute or two before fading ! hope u can last that long with the taste of the literal sea ..! ^_^" .... him being nervous abt kissing u aswell thooo. like, not nervous like "OH MY GOD UR MY FIRST KISS SAHSOHDODNWKX" or whtvr, but like "oh jeez ur rlly cool and stuff and what if i mess this up and and and" type nervous. normally, he was a confident and outgoing person, but smth about u just makes me a lil stiff in his movements – he does eventually get better, but would probably be vry hesitant at first ... idk idk just a thought :3 OMG WAIT: him, on a few occasions, wearing blue lipstick on purpose just for the reason he knows it will show up a LOT better and because it is rlly fun to see u frantically trying to wipe away the lipstick as percy smiles mischeviously. he looks a lil silly with the blue lipstick on but seeing ur face covered in lipstick marks from HIM ??? physically giggles, kicks his feet, and twirls his hair at night thinking about ur face covered in those lipstick marks (he is a little delulu pls excuse him😞) ... overall likes seeing ur skin covered with the pretty blue. would do it again and again and again and again and .. yeah .. SRRY FOR YAPPING BUT ALSO ???? ESKIMO KISSES ??? the tired giggle he lets out in the morning as he gives u the faint brush of his nose against urs is make me SICK thinking of it /pos does this as a way to say goodmorning :3 also, absolutely would BEGGG for a spiderman kiss. he doesnt know how to initiate it, but the moment ur upside down, he is SPRINTING 😭😭 pls do a spiderman kiss he is inlove with the idea. like ... a kiss ?? upside down ?? lowkey chaotic but in a cool way ??? yippee !!! sign him up !!! ALSO ALSO: tango dip kisses (dipping someone down, usually done during a dance/tango dancing, and kissing them), butterfly kisses (kissing someones eyelashes), underwater kiss (self explanatory, but kissing underwater), ETC. !!! sign him up🗣🗣🔥🔥

　　　⏤　 him worrying about everything he does, thinking about what u would think abt him doing this one thing. "is my hair curled enough today? i hope they like it ...", "would they appreciate the small details on this outfit?", "would they like my different cologne? would they even notice it?" type of thinking. takes everything into consideration and rlly hopes u notice the small things he does for u. makes sure it doesnt seem desperate .. works sometimes. always asking annabeth her opinion on stuff, assuming she would know tons on u, true or not. cue annabeth coming up to u one day and huffing abt percy practically daily asking her questions about u – he is just trying to be sweet but oh my gods😓 always yapping. takes u into consideration with almost every action/decision he does lowkey😭 has saved him plenty of times honestly ... not all the time tho cause he is still the silly dumb person he is but /silly/pos

　　　⏤　 him absolutely hyping u UP and just being rlly sweet/supportive !!! oh, ur feeling down ?? immediate compliment and a chasted kiss to ur cheek. having a bad day ?? gently brushing his knuckles against urs, just to remind u that he is open to talk about anything at any moment ... etc. etc. he is HAPPY to give u a new compliment/fresh joke each day if that is what makes u happy or just anything u enjoy. u like rocks ?? gives u tons. u like astrology ?? getting u a telescope so u can look at the stars and books on stuff like such, AND SO MUCH MORE !!! just wants to support what u like doing, featuring motivating and joyous grins. never turning down a opportunity to let u know ur doing amazing or just doing ur best, sneaking a few silly flirts in there aswell cause its PERCY were talking abt😭

　　　⏤　 lingering everything. and by that i mean: lingering touches, lingering stares, lingering ... everything, as said. just seems like the person to be rlly obvious with how much he loves u. the touches were so gentle, as if a feather just lightly caressing over the skin, and the stares were so loving that u would expect his pupils to be practically shaped into hearts and the ocean blue of his eyes overall would become a pink-ish color just filled with affection alone and seeming as if he had been blessed by aphrodite themselves. it is such a painfully obvious thing that he just cant help, wanting to let his touch stay a little longer to feel the nice comforting feel of ur skin against just the tips of his fingers, his gaze to dash all over ur face as he tries deciding what to actually stare at which ultimately ends up everytime on ur own eyes just a little longer– he wanted time as a whole to stop just so he could stare at u forever. maybe it was the way the sun just beautifully illuminated ur skin, the way ur eyes shimmered ... blah blah blah. ur perfect in his eyes, case closed !!

dating this, dating that. it was always romantic stuff these days. percy never found the appeal at first, making a playful gag sound as someone longed on about their one and only. it wasnt like he never thought of having a partner of sorts, but it just seemed, well, weird, which was understandable for a kid of his age. being young, desiring a relationship could be likely, sure, but with percy he was unsure. as life progressed, he slowly came to realization that a partner could not only be a romantic interest he, himself, could long about like others have, but also be someone he could just lean onto at times. arguably, a partner was someone he could just really be himself with.

with ever-so much hesitancy, he slowly got into the loving life, and gods he never regrets it. maybe fate, maybe not, but the fact he stumbled upon you just on the day he finally decided to try out dating was a miracle to him. you left his heart clenching comfortably, stomach swirling with feelings he was just never sure of. was this what love truly felt like? maybe you were the one. he prayed to every god out there and to aphrodite specifically that he wouldnt stumble over his words like a love-sickened idiot.

would you even like him? his hair was really messy today. maybe you would like his messy hair? gods, he was thinking to deeply into this. youre just another person at camp. 'calm down,' he thought to himself and, obviously, it hadnt worked. when has that ever worked for him, realistically? whatever. off topic.

first time speaking to you and he, embarrassingly enough, had stuttered and his voice cracked about three times – great going percy, absolutely peachy job! one awkward conversation later, you surprisingly became his friend. he didnt know how that even happened, thinking on the spot of you seeing him that you would just ignore him or something ... where was his confidence? he sighed in relief nonetheless, knowing that with enough encouragement from him—and likely others because he was horrible at both keeping and hiding secrets—, that he would maybe have a chance.

"just say tons of jokes. maybe they like jokes ... gods i hope they like jokes." he mumbled to himself before slowly beginning to walk towards you, pace so slow it would almost seem like he dreaded talking to you which was quite the opposite. just talk. that was simple enough, right? hes got this, hes got this.

[dear-satan]

take care of me

virgin!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!Reader summary: Leon relives his first time with you warning: sexual content, love marks, oral (male receiving), dominant reader, Leon re2

You had been dating Leon for six months and your relationship blossomed day by day. Despite your short tenure, you got along really well, actually acting as one organism. He was the perfect boyfriend and you did your best to be the perfect girlfriend for him, although one issue had been bothering you for some time.

Proximity to another person was a need for every human being, so it was no surprise that you needed Leon's touch on your skin. Kisses, caresses were not unfamiliar to you, however, you craved something more as time went on, which you sometimes let Leon know about. And his behavior really shocked and slightly worried you. Whenever you tried to initiate a rapprochement Leon would go all numb, excusing himself with a headache, fatigue after a hard day at the police academy or other really abstract excuses. At first you pounced on this, believing him to be unwell, but eventually you began to wonder about the real reason for his reluctance to have sex with you. After all, every day he told you how beautiful you were and how much he loved you, so without any prompting you decided to ask him about it.

"Virgin." you repeated after him. You were sitting on the bed in your bedroom. Leon sat across from you, in his T-shirt and boxers carefully watching your reaction to what he thought was an embarrassing confession.

"I... I wanted to tell you earlier honey, I really did," a blush flooded his face from second to second "But I had a feeling that.... It would change something between us..." he said the second part of the sentence much more quietly.

You looked at him. His head was lowered as if he wanted to protect himself from your appraising gaze, to which you only smiled slightly. You reduced the distance between you, placing your hand on his warm cheek making him look at you with those beautiful blue eyes. "It doesn't change anything, silly." your sweet smile melted his heart.

Leon leaned in joining your lips in a passionate kiss and his hands went to the sides of your waist. He tilted you so that you were lying on his chest. Your thighs rubbed against his half-hard penis deepening the blush on his face. You were perfect, just as he had dreamed.

A thread of saliva was hanging from your lips when you finally pulled away from each other. You could feel his arousal and your pussy was clamoring for attention, but you waited for any sign from Leon to go a step further than you always had. "Will you let me take care of it?" your hand grasped his still boxer-clad cock.

Leon only sent you an excited look expressing one hundred percent agreement. He helped you to get rid of his T-shirt as if hypnotized you stared at his naked torso, even though you had seen him hundreds of times before. You began to slowly place kisses on his heated skin, savoring the sounds he made.... God, he sounded so sweet and innocent, and this was just the beginning.

You reached the line of his boxers from under which the head of his cock protruded. The pre-cum oozing from it formed a sizable stain on his lower abdomen. In one motion you slid down his white boxers freeing his penis entirely and your eyes shone at the sight. "Such a pretty boy."

"B-baby wai-" a moan broke out of his mouth as you licked all over him to then put him in your mouth. You wanted to take Leon to heaven, and even further, so that he would remember this moment for the rest of his life. Your tongue caressed his head while you pumped him slowly. Your other hand gently massaged his balls. His moans filled the room and his hands tightened on the bed sheets, refusing to pull your hair. "G-God... I c-comming..." he arched his back however you interrupted your activities.

"Not yet" you kissed his tip one last time. You climbed on top of him getting rid of your T-shirt in the meantime and Leon became still at the sight of your hard nipples. You sat on his cock whose warmth caressed your wet pussy through the material of your panties. You wanted to wait for moments so that he would normalize his breathing and not come too quickly.

"You look so beautiful," he groaned, lifting himself up. He put his arms around your waist and his lips caressed the skin of your neck gently, biting and sucking on it every so often, leaving red marks. "So beautiful and only mine."

You, unable to restrain yourself, raised your hips slightly, tilting back the material of your panties. You grabbed his cock so that its head caressed your hole in order to plunge it into you in one smooth motion. Leon's body trembled and his moan was smothered against your skin. He felt amazing, completely different from when he satisfied himself with his hand. He began to regret delaying it for so long.... Damn, if only he knew how pleasant your pussy would be he would have given himself to you long ago. "So good." He cooed into your cleavage trembling slightly. You only smiled, kissing the top of his head. You began to move your hips slowly, gloating at your desired closeness with Leon. Your moans filled the room along with the sounds of your bodies colliding. His cock fit you perfectly.

"Love y-you Lee" you moaned into his hair as his thrusts grew dull. You felt your orgasm approaching and the sounds he made only chilled you to the brink. "I-I'm so c-close."

"C-come for m-me, baby," he managed with a gasp. He breathed loudly into your skin feeling his orgasm approaching. He wanted to slow down, to gloat over this moment for eternity, but ecstasy and the urge to cum inside you completely took his mind off it. He pounded into you one last time, hugging you tightly as the hot cum spilled inside you triggering your own orgasm. Your walls tightened around Leon's cock, milking him to the very end. This was something you had been dreaming about for a very long time and it was finally becoming a reality.

You both fell on the bed greedily taking air into your lungs. Your fingernails gently scratched Leon's sweat-wet skin. You were proud of him, and you knew that from now on your relationship had jumped onto a whole new and better track.

[bitchiswild]

Jealous Ex

G!P Kim Chaewon x F! Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: toxic chaewon? Creampie, restroom sex, idkk

A/n: another chaewon smut 🙏

REQUESTED

Chaewon wasn't necessarily a terrible girlfriend, but she also wasn't the best. There were moments when she could be overly jealous and clingy, making it difficult for you to maintain your independence. Her possessiveness became increasingly frustrating, especially when it meant you couldn't spend time with your friends without her accompanying you. Eventually, you reached a breaking point and decided to end the relationship.

You found yourself missing Chaewon, but what you really craved was her cock. She knew your body like the back of her hand, knowing exactly how to fuck you until tears streamed down your face and your whole body quivered. Chaewon was skilled with her cock, but when it came to her emotions, she struggled to keep them in check.

"Still thinking about her?" Yunjin asked, catching you lost in your thoughts as she took a sip of her drink. We were at the club; Yunjin had invited you to help take your mind off Chaewon.

"I...I don't know," You replied with a groan, prompting a chuckle from Yunjin.

"Come on, Y/n, you're single now. Let loose. Meet someone new, find yourself a rebound," she suggested, handing me a drink.

Taking it from her, you sighed, admitting, "You're right. I need to forget about her, but damn, Chaewon knows how to fuck me right."

"Ew, I did not need to know that," Yunjin grimaced in response.

After downing our drinks, You and Yunjin hit the dance floor, ready to have some fun. The both of you danced with others, got a little touchy, and even flirted with a few people.

But as you scanned the room, you spotted someone familiar in the distance: Chaewon. She was watching you, with a drink in her hand, jealousy written all over her face. When your eyes met, she smirked and winked at you, sending a shiver down your spine. Despite the loud music and crowded dance floor, it felt like it was just the two of us at that moment.

You quickly excused yourself , your heart racing as you glanced at Chaewon and made a beeline for the restroom. Thoughts raced through your mind - why was your ex-girlfriend here? How did she know you were here?

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice Chaewon entering the restroom behind you. Suddenly, her arm wrapped around you, pulling you close as she breathed in deeply. "Oh, how I missed you, baby girl," she purred, her hand caressing your stomach.

You pushed her away, your voice trembling as you demanded answers. "Chaewon, what are you doing here? How did you know I was here?"

With a nonchalant shrug, Chaewon stepped closer, her hands sliding down to your ass as she pulled you back into her embrace. "There aren't many clubs in the city, baby. I knew you'd turn up eventually," she smirked, her touch sending a jolt of conflicting emotions through you.

The tension between us hung thick in the air as we stood there in the restroom, Chaewon's presence both familiar and unsettling. Despite your attempts to keep your distance, her touch ignited a spark of longing deep within you.

"Chaewon, we can't keep doing this," you whispered, trying to assert some semblance of control over the situation.

She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your ear as she murmured, "But you know you still want me, baby. I can feel it."

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, stirring up memories of our passionate past together. But you knew you couldn't give in to temptation, not when things had ended between the two of you for a reason.

Summoning all the strength you had left, you gently pushed her away once more. "I have to go," you said firmly, determined to break free from her grasp and leave the restroom behind.

But Chaewon wasn't ready to let you go that easily. She grabbed your arm, pulling you back into her embrace. "Come on, baby, I know you missed me. I can feel your heart racing," she whispered, her words sending a shiver down your spine.

You trembled under her touch, torn between the desire to give in to her and the knowledge that it would only lead to more heartache. "Chaewon, please," You whimpered, your body betraying you as your legs nearly gave out.

She leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. "Don't you miss me, baby girl? Miss my touch? Miss my cock?" she husked, her words igniting a fire deep within you.

You let out a shuddered breath, unable to resist her any longer. "C-Chaewon," You whimpered, your need for her overwhelming.

"I'm here, baby. What do you need?" she teased, her eyes burning into your as she watched your every move.

"Please," You pleaded, your thighs rubbing together in anticipation. "Please, fuck me." And just like that, you fell under her spell once again.

Chaewon pulled up your dress and swiftly yanked down your panties, you gasped in surprise. Before you could react, she pushed you over the sink, causing you to brace yourself against the cold porcelain. A sharp slap to your ass made you jump and whimper, the sting mixing with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

In one fluid motion, she whipped out her cock, jerking it teasingly before pressing the tip against your soaking wet pussy. You moaned as she rubbed it against you, the anticipation building with each tantalizing touch.

"I never want to see you with anyone but me, okay?" she growled in your ear, her words sending a shiver down your spine. And then, with a forceful thrust, she buried her entire cock inside you, causing me to scream out in pleasure.

She wasted no time in pounding your pussy, the sensation overwhelming as you surrendered to her entirely. "Your pussy is mine, Y/n. Only I can fuck you this good. Say it." she growled, each hard thrust sending shockwaves of ecstasy through your body.

You cried out as her relentless pounding pushed you to the brink of bliss. "Yes! Yes! I'm yours!" you screamed, unable to deny the overwhelming pleasure she was giving you.

As Chaewon continued to pound into you with unrelenting force, the vines of her cock rubbed inside you deliciously, igniting a primal hunger that consumed the both of you.

"Fuck, you're so tight, baby," she groaned, her breath hot against you ear as she gripped your hips firmly, her movements becoming more urgent with each passing moment.

You moaned in response, the sensation of her cock sliding in and out of you sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. "Harder, Chaewon, please," You begged, your voice thick with need as you arched your back to meet her thrusts.

With a growl of desire, Chaewon lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around her waist as she carried you to the nearest wall. Pressing you against it, she held you up with one hand while her other hand tangled in your hair, pulling you close as she ravished your lips with her own.

The rough texture of the wall against your back only added to the intensity of the moment as Chaewon continued to thrust into you with a relentless rhythm. Each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

"You like this, don't you? You love the way im fucking you?" she growled, her voice dripping with desire as she pinned you against the wall, her cock driving deep into you with each thrust.

"Yes, Chaewon, yes," You gasped, your body trembling with need as you surrendered completely to the intoxicating pleasure of her touch.

The door started to rattle as someone called out, "Hello, is anyone in there? I need to use the restroom!" Panic surged through you, but Chaewon's thrusts didn't falter.

You whimpered, "Chaewon, someone's outside..."

She smirked, her grip on you tightening as she continued to pound into you relentlessly. "Don't worry, baby," she purred, her voice dripping with desire. "I locked the door."

Chaewon's cock drove into you with a primal urgency, each thrust sending you closer to the edge. You clung to her desperately, lost in the dizzying whirl of sensations as she claimed you completely.

Slaps echoed in the restroom, mixing with the sounds of our fervent moans and the rhythmic pounding of our bodies. "Fuck, you feel so good baby" Chaewon growled between thrusts, her voice thick with desire as she unleashed her passion upon you.

You whimpered in response, the sting of each slap only adding to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. "Yes, Chaewon, I love it," you gasped, your voice trembling with need as you surrendered to the intensity of the encounter.

Her hand came down hard on your ass again, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body. "You're mine, Y/n," she husked, her words sending a shiver down your spine as she claimed you. You were her possession.

You moaned in agreement, your body writhing with pleasure as you surrendered to her every touch. "Yes, Chaewon, I'm yours," You whispered, lost in the dizzying whirl of sensations as we chased the release together.

You felt a surge of ecstasy rip through you, your body convulsing uncontrollably as you came hard. Your ears rang with the intensity of the sensation, and your legs gave out beneath you, leaving you trembling in Chaewon's arms.

She held you up with a firm grip, her own climax building as she continued to thrust into you with urgency. With a guttural groan, Chaewon reached her peak, releasing her hot seed deep inside you.

Feeling her cum inside you sent you over the edge once again, your body pulsating with waves of pleasure as you rode out the aftershocks of the intense fucking.

"I've got you, baby girl," Chaewon whispered, her gentle caress soothing the tingling sensation that lingered on your skin.

Chaewon pulled out, watching as her cum dripped onto the tiled floor. With a husky voice, she then shoved her finger into you, ensuring that every last drop of her seed remained inside you.

"Make sure to keep it inside you, baby," she husked, her words sending shivers of pleasure down your spine as you nodded in agreement, completely lost in the blissful haze.

After we had both caught our breath and cleaned up, Chaewon looked at you with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Let's head back to my house," she said, her voice laced with a smirk.

You couldn't help but smile in response, knowing that the night was far from over. With a nod, you followed her out of the restroom, feeling a sense of excitement building within you as we made our way back to Chaewon's house.

[formosusiniquis]

find your Suzie

Written for Day 2 of @stevieweek Gender Euphoria with bonus prompts t4t and Scoops. Coincidentally also hitting Day 5 of @steddie-week with Reunion/Getting back together lucky me!

Stevie Harrington/Eddie Munson WC: 7679 | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | CW: Features Eddie using the word tranny to refer to himself | Tags/Themes: Transfem Steve Harrington; Transmasc Eddie Munson; Steve & Robin Best Friends Forever; Steve and Dustin have a sibling relationship; Childhood Friends to Strangers to Lovers; Small Town 80s typical discussions of gender

AO3

It’s been a long summer. 

That’s probably the least of what can be said about the month Steve has been working at Scoops. He has a coworker that hates him, the emotion he’s sure of the reason not so much. The kids only want to see him when he’s either giving them something or letting them in the back to sneak through to the movies. And his favorite kid isn’t even here.

Wasn’t even here.

It’s finally the week Dustin is supposed to be back from camp. And it’s not like Steve expects to be the first stop on the welcome back tour, Dust had sent a letter from camp -- surprising when he told Steve before he even left not to expect anything. Camp Know Where was the kind of camp, “that demanded your full attention the entire time you’re there, Steve.” Except when the counselors are requiring you to send one letter a week to the homestead so there’s no parents worried about dead kids or something.

That hadn’t been something anyone was afraid of when Steve went to camp. But he also didn’t have parents who cared if he went missing. If Mrs. Voorhees went nutso on his summer camp they would probably have just liked having the excuse to sue. Everything is a money making opportunity.

But Dustin’s Mom liked him, and Steve knew Mrs. Henderson would want first dibs on smothering her precious son with all of the attention that she hadn’t been able to give him in his month away. Then there was supposed to be some big Doorknobs and Dipsticks thing -- a name he was going to have to remember to repeat in front of Dustin just so Steve could appreciate the way it’ll make him groan.

Then after all that there will probably be time for Steve and Dustin time.

Which is only serving to make the day stretch longer. Because that’s the kind of summer it’s been.

After a month, it’s probably safe to say that nothing is really going to make this summer feel like a success. Something that he knew he was going to be able to say from the moment they handed him the uniform that it was going to be a miserable time. It was square and boxy, the ascot so long that the little red tie hung at his bellybutton. The shorts are okay, well they became okay after a trip through the dryer on the wrong setting changed them from baggy and saggy into something that cupped his ass and displayed a work safe amount of thigh.

He doesn’t even want to talk about the hat.

There’s a voice in his head that gets a little louder, a little more insistent with each shift as he puts on the uniform. There are only so many more things he can do while staring at his reflection in the mirror to make it shut up.

An end of the year haircut turned into highlights, when the thought of losing any of the length he’d been steadily growing out made him feel the same way getting called Little Guy used to make him feel. Which turned into figuring out the perfect way to get the blowout style waves in under twenty minutes, because he wasn’t spending more than that on hair that was going to get hidden under a stupid hat that was just going to push it back and make his forehead look weird. Which turned into noticing that his forehead looked weird so the things below the forehead had to look better so that no one would notice when the hat was on. The brown mascara had probably been Mom’s but could have been Nancy’s or possibly Carol’s, but either way it was sitting in the drawer of the third bathroom he looked in -- Steve knew it was there the whole time, it rolls in the drawer everytime he opens it looking for the nail clippers and every time it did he looks at it the way he thinks people who haven’t seen monsters probably look at snakes.

And the mascara was good. Gave him big, doe eyes that he liked watching in the mirror as the girl in there swayed this way and that, making sure the blonde highlights didn’t need to be toned to keep from going too brassy.

Only after a little while that stopped working too, and the mascara turned into a two step routine. Lipgloss, chapstick really, toned because it tasted like cherries.

And that was enough to feel like normal, for a little while longer. But the itch was there, a mosquito bite Steve wouldn’t stop itching until the skin was picked open.

But it was just loneliness. He’s always been like this. Left alone for too long without someone to distract him and he’s prone to spiraling. 

The summer right before freshman year when Tommy and Carol both got grounded for a month for getting caught at the quarry drinking, he spent hours alone in his room wondering what life would have been like if he’d been born as a girl instead. Thanksgiving Break ‘84, without a girlfriend and his parents in Toronto or Cabo or Ohio, he sat alone in the living room with the curtains drawn as Some Like it Hot played on the TV. With a blanket pulled around his shoulders, he watched Daphne more than any of the others. Wondering if he could ever go back to being Jerry now that he’d gotten to experience being other. By then he could quote along with the movie by heart, he had seen it so many times he could practically play it in his head when someone else had it rented. He flopped down on the sofa in time with Daphne, spoke aloud into the empty house with her, “I'm a boy. I'm a boy. I wish I were dead.”

Now, in the middle of the worst summer of his life. He’s had the movie out so long he thinks it would be less embarrassing to just never go back to Family Video ever again. It’s been so long since his parents have been home or looked at the entertainment center he probably could have bought his own copy. He plays it every night until he wakes up to the static of the television. Still it’s not enough to keep him from laying in bed wondering about the girl who first told him to watch it and what she would think about what he is and isn’t now.

But Dustin is coming home and maybe he’ll bring the Steve Harrington he’s supposed to be in a suitcase or something.

The next day the blue of his uniform washes him out. That’s the reason he comes up with to rub a little bit of the pink Avon blush he found abandoned at the back of his Mom's vanity. A thumb rubbed gently through it, picking up just enough of the color that it shimmers on the pad of the finger. He rubs it into the round of his cheek. Swiping and rubbing at each one until it's impossible to tell if any of the color is still there or if it's just from his touching that's left them cheery and pink. The blush, the lipgloss, the mascara, the hair. Steve feels something like happy at the reflection in the mirror. Everything settling less like the costume he put on everyday since the middle of senior year.

Then Dustin gets home, and he's found a top secret Russian code. 

They never would have made Jill or Kelly or Agent 99 wear a stupid fucking uniform like Steve's. But no one looks at him more than twice as he scurries around the mall with Dustin like the Moneypenny to the kid’s Bond or whatever.

He wouldn't hate it if the alt guy with the ratted out hair and vest browsing in the record store or the jazzercise guy looked a couple extra times.

Dustin stays at the mall for the rest of the day, hanging out in the back working on the code. In between customers Steve does what he can to help. Mostly that looks like trying to run interference with Robin. Her antagonism seems a little friendlier lately, but with her fun stolen now that Dustin was back -- and more important than trying to land a date he cared less about than sating the loneliness -- he could tell she was watching. When the mall is closed he walks Dust out the employee hallway, his bike shares the rack with Robin’s, the only two left even with cars still dotting the lot. He offers like every shift to give her a lift home.

“Like my bike would even fit in the trunk next to kid genius,” she says as she kicks off. Dustin unusually silent beside him. “I’ll catch you tomorrow, Harrington.”

The kid brother that forcibly adopted him stays quiet the entire time Steve is loading his bike into the back. But worry doesn’t set in until they’re pulling out of the parking lot and he still hasn’t said a word.

“So other than the girlfriend-”

“There’s really nothing going on between you and Robin?” Dustin interrupts, something steely but unsure on his face. “And don’t just say the same stuff about her being a nerd. You exclusively hang out with nerds. You obviously aren’t still holding on to that high school stuff anymore.”

He doesn’t know if it is that obvious, but even as he consciously setting that thought aside; the thought of dating Robin, taking her out and showing her off and possibly getting so far as intimacy, it feels weird. The kind of weird that thinking about dating Carol felt like, a half step in the direction of wrongness.

“Even if she didn’t totally hate me, dude, that’d be like if I asked you about dating El or Max.”

Belatedly, he remembers Dustin did have a capital T Thing for their random girl. But the comparison carries the correct weight.

“You have to find your Suzie then, man.”

It's hard to bite back the hysterical laugh, the thought that they'd rather be someone's Suzie. It's easier to push the twerp off than to touch that sticky, raw scab they couldn't stop picking. Still something about being in the car, the comfort of having their favorite kid back makes it feel safe to talk about a girl they’ve never stopped thinking about.

“I already met my Suzie,” a laugh makes it out before Steve can even think to stop it. “Literally Susan M. Even met her at summer camp, she called herself my boy named Sue.” Smiling out the windshield, they think back to that summer. It hadn’t been a reference they’d understood as a kid, not until Sue had made the joke again too close to one of the counselors. At home Steve had made Mom go get the album the song was on. They played it so many times they could find the track on the record without even looking.

“She called me her sweet Stevie,” they finish. It’s something they haven’t said to anyone.

That uncharacteristic quiet is back. Dustin looking at them; but with the softest parts of themself turned over, half exposed in a way even they haven’t looked at before, Stevie doesn’t look back. Just keeps driving the familiar path to the Henderson house.

“What happened?” Dustin asks, softer than they think they’ve ever heard his voice.

Maybe bringing up the lost summer camp love to a recent summer camp boyfriend wasn’t as smart as they thought.

“Tried to write but I guess they moved. People do that sometimes, I guess, send kids to camp so they’re out of the way during the move. Letter came back return to sender and she wasn’t at camp the next year.” They weren’t back the year after, determined old enough at 12 to stay home alone during the summer.

“Maybe you’ll find her again. If she was really your Suzie.”

“Maybe,” Stevie says. It’s easier than digging any deeper.

Later it won’t feel so much like digging when they’re sitting in the bathroom high.

Stevie feels like floating away, like underneath the skin it’s all bubbles. They’re there lifting up everything: the mood, smiles, secrets.

When Robin asks, “Have you ever been in love?”

It feels easy, for once, to bring up Nancy. It feels just as easy to say, “I think I met the love of my life when I was 10 years old and it was a girl who acted like a boy and treated me like a girl. Do you think that's like a sex thing and I'm just now realizing it?”

“I had a crush on Tammy Thompson and she liked you, that’s why I hated you.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

The moment feels loaded. Bubbles popping in the air. Stevie doubts that’s what an OD feels like.

“Tammy’s such a dud.”

“What and you think I should have had a thing for a girl like you?”

Bubbles again, bright and fast and fizzy like a shaken up coke. Exciting, explosive.

“Yeah, well, at least I can sing.”

Dustin and Erica interrupt karaoke but Stevie can feel something solid setting into place beneath the foamed up feelings.

It turns out being an adult and not having to go to school leaves you with a lot of time to kill. 

Being reported as the hero of Starcourt who pulled a bunch of kids and a coworker out of a burning building bought another year of living rent free in the Harrington house. That and the passionate bond with the female coworker who was still in high school. It was easy to make promises that neither of them planned to keep while on the phone with her parents. Lies laced with truth, the two of them would be leaving for whatever city Robin picked for college with every intention to stay bonded for life. That was good enough for Dick and Diane to look the other way for another year.

So with time and money to kill Stevie spent the hours Robin was in school looking for the kind of secret bookstores that Robin’s heard about. The ones with zines and pamphlets about people like them.

And they learn and they change. And she's chasing that feeling she felt in that dingy mall bathroom where her best friend called her a girl. She’s a girl, she’s a girl, she’s a girl. She sometimes feels like she’s Daphne at the end of the movie. Shaky and a few wrong sentences away from pulling off her wing and throwing in the towel.

And Eddie Munson is stealing her goddamn kids.

That’s a separate part of her new life. Not that it’s any less frustrating. She’s figuring out how to be her own person in a way that’s not gonna get her killed, and she has to compete for attention with the king authentic.

“If you’d just meet him,” she’s barely listening to Dustin’s insistences. She’s heard them all before and Keith is lurking somewhere in the store waiting for her to slip up.

“I don't want to meet your Geek Mother.”

“It’s Dungeon Master,” Dustin tails her around like a second shadow. “And I think you would actually have a lot in common if you’d just talk.”

“That there’s something wrong enough with both of us that we want to spend our free time with you gremlins?”

“Ha. No. You both like those shitty, pulp, horror novels, you both like cars, you both have a secret love of Johnny Cash.”

“Oh yeah, a real recipe for best friendship.” She rolls her eyes into the cover of Flashdance, somehow he feels like Alex will be more receptive than her brother. “I’ve got Robin, I’m not really interested in any more friends right now.”

“Okay, well, he’s kinda meeting me here so.”

“What? Dustin!”

The bell above the door tongs, Stevie glares daggers and nailbats at Dustin while she shouts out the required, “Welcome to Family Video.”

The sound of metal hitting something solid carries over the sound of Oxford Blues. Normally it’s the sound of feet shuffling on the carpet that gives her the chance to make sure she’s the right amount of everything. Surviving this slow paced transition on the virtue of already being known around town as a pretty boy, as long as she keeps the right amount of butch it’s fine. At least Molly Ringwald and Ally Sheedy keep their hair short. She’s taken them on as hair icons until she’s in a place where she can grow it out long like Farrah or Brooke Shields.

A place where hopefully she’ll be able to add the occasional skirt to her wardrobe. She adjusts the rise on her jeans, she’s got no idea where Munson is. It’s hard to track the slap of his chain in the store the way she can dragging footsteps. Tugging at the belt loops of her pants, the ones she got from the women’s side of the thrift store, she feels like it’s obvious from the cut they’re different. Swears they hug her differently.

She doesn’t know if she wants Munson to be able to tell, but he’s coming around the bend from the Romance section and she can’t really do anything about it.

“Henderson,” Munson greets even though his eyes are locked hard onto Stevie. It’s been a quiet day, maybe she left one of those butterfly clips El gave her in her hair.

“Eddie! Did you grab the movie you said you were gonna show me?”

“Where’s the fire, Henderson?” He has a nice voice. Pitched in a nice warm tone it has a husk  she thinks she can feel. Gives her goosebumps. It’s not that she didn’t know that already, or maybe she didn’t, in all the ranting and screaming he did at school she thinks she remembers it higher. Cracking even as late as his junior year.

He’s looking at her again, something molten and complicated in his eyes, “Why don’t you officially introduce me to your favorite babysitter.”

Dustin sighs, full bodied and dramatic. “You went to school together, do I really need to?”

“No manners in these kids these days,” Eddie jokes. “You are not the same person I went to English third period with.”

Something bubbles up in the pit of her stomach, a little bit fear and a little bit joy at being recognized as something different. “That could be because you were barely ever in third period English.”

“Touche. And in that case it's all the sweeter to meet the fabled Stevie.” He grabs her hand by the tips of her fingers, sweeps his other arm out as he bows and presses a kiss to the little gold ring Robin gave her. She’s surprised by the sound of her own giggle.

“Can we be done with what’s happening here?” Dustin interrupts the fireworks happening in the back of her brain like a mindflayer on the Fourth of July.

“You were the one that wanted us to meet,” she reminds him.

“And I immediately regret it now that it’s happening. I need better impulse control, you and Ma were right.”

“Really are the best babysitter in the world, humility out of Henderson is like getting blood out of stone,” Eddie teases.

“You were coming out of Romance, what is this favorite movie you were going to show me?” Dustin demands now, a pink flush to his face like they’ve succeeded in embarrassing him too.

“I could like romance, I contain multitudes. And I said I was showing you my favorite horror movie, Re-Animator got shelved there a couple weeks ago. My favorite is a comedy and never on the shelves.”

“Someone just brought back Ghostbusters today, and we were holding Goonies for movie night this weekend, but the kids have seen it before,” she offers, taking a blind stab at the kind of comedies that might make it to Eddie Munsons's favorite list. It's really a puzzle made more for Robin.

"Excellent features both, but I'm afraid my favorite is a little more black and white. Caught Some Like it Hot in a Marilyn Monroe double feature at the Hawk with Wayne as a kid. Used to rent it at the Blockbuster all the time before I moved to Hawkins full time, it's always rented here so," he grabs Dustin by the cap, shaking the kid's  head roughly back and forth, completely oblivious to the way Stevie's palms have started to sweat around the sticky case of Halloween.

"Who sorts their favorite films by genre?" Dustin asks, the question wobbling out of him with the shake of his head.

"I do, shortstack, by genre and all kinds of criteria your yet to be enlightened brain hasn't even thought to try."

"Sure, whatever, did you grab your favorite horror movie yet?"

Instead of answering, like a normal person might, Eddie Munson takes a step closer to her. He leans in close enough that she can smell the cigarette he must have smoked before he came in, the smell of his deodorant below that. His arm brushes against her lower back as he reaches and reaches.

She's gotta talk to Keith about getting the a/c fixed.

Eddie is close enough she can count the stubbly hairs of his not quite mustache. There's something about his eyes that reminds her of someone, but it's hard to place. Unlike the exact location of his right arm, currently brushing against the waistband of her jeans.’

And then he's gone.

In his hands he's got the black clamshell box of the movie, and Stevie feels a little bit like an idiot. "I could have moved."

"But then I wouldn't have gotten to appreciate the sweet, sweet smell of your hairspray."

With a sigh that could probably propel him into space, Dustin announces, "I'm going to the van."

And even though it doesn't really mean anything, it kind of feels like it might mean everything when once he's out of earshot she decides to tell Eddie, "I actually have that movie. That's why you can't ever find it, it's one of my favorites too."

Before he can finish the door alarm sound again, and she would recognize the sound of converse on the dirty store carpet even if Robin didn't immediately shout, "Stevie, you better get a brick someone locked your kid in their dirty van." She rounds the corner to find whatever scene she and Munson must make, the two of them too close together to be in a store with Family in its name right beside the horror section. "Oh."

"I'm across from Little Red, in the park," Eddie takes a big step back, hands stuffed in his pockets in a way that makes him look a million times more suspicious than if he'd just pulled away. She'd been right that it was a mistake to ever meet him. "If you wanted to bring that movie over sometime."

"We'll see, Munson."

He’s got the widest smile on his face that she only gets to appreciate for a second before he sweeps down low into a bow. The dimple in his face screams of a mischief that makes her think of childhood. “I know I shall, fair Stevie.” He nods at Robin, who trails him to the desk to check out while Stevie goes back to putting the returns on the shelf while they have that moment of quiet.

Moment of quiet from customers anyway, the second Eddie is out the door he takes Stevie’s last chance of peace with him.

“Were you just flirting with Eddie Munson,” the thought doesn’t tick up because Robin isn’t asking a question, she’s making an accusation.

“He was flirting with me.”

“But you were receptive to it.” She decides correctly and immediately. “Are you gonna go over there?”

Reaching under the counter for the wipes she’s started keeping there, Stevie carefully wipes off the gunk on her hands from the grimy video cases. Taking the time to try to figure out what she even wants to say.

“I’m just trying to survive. He knows who I am, who I was,” she corrects, “I’m not trying to do anything stupid that’s going to jeopardize our escape from Hawkins or being able to protect the kids.”

Pushing up to her tiptoes, Robin takes a quick glance around the store. Even though the room must be empty for her to even risk continuing the track Stevie has started them down, Robin still leans in close enough that she can smell the fruity scent of the gum that Robin always chews after lunch. “Maybe don’t jump to conclusions, you know the kind of rumors that go around about him. Like why he flunked gym twice before he got that doctor’s note, because he wouldn’t dress out with everyone else.”

She’s thinking about the guy who kissed the ring on her hand even when she says, “I think we already know that you can’t trust rumors. If they were all true then I’d be gay but compensating and you’d have gotten fired from the Hawk for letting the film burn because you were having sex in the bathrooms.”

“Part of that is true, I did burn that film reel.” She waves him off with a flap of her hand, stopping the movie on screen as it reaches the credits and tossing it to Stevie to rewind. She snags one off the counter at random and tosses it in the VHS player connected to the main screen. Stevie recognizes the start of Victor/Victoria as Robin leans against the counter in a way that screams she isn’t feeling as casual about the thing she’s about to say as she’s pretending she does. “And I mean, visually, it’s six of one or half-a-dozen of the other, right? You like both.”

“Okay, well,” she’s scrambling for something to say and she knows Robin can tell. “Eddie can just be my Vickie then, how about that?”

Stevie has backed them both into a conversational suicide pact. But she knows Robin well enough to know that she’s too scared to take the Vickie bait. While she’ll glare, and boy does she glare, she’d rather let Stevie get away with the blatant denial than admit she might have a real chance with her fellow bandkid.

“I think I’m gonna add Notre Dame to my application list.” She changes the subject, right on time.

When she’s holding a single VHS tape outside of Eddie Munson’s trailer with her hair carefully styled and her favorite lipgloss on. It’s too late to be wondering if maybe she’d been a little bit too right about calling Eddie her Vickie. The cab of the beemer is looking especially inviting, but she’s been in the Mayfield trailer when people have pulled up to their houses and there’s no way in hell that the Munsons haven’t heard her pull up.

A curtain twitches, like someone inside is aware of her internal debating. She tugs on the sleeve of the soft, colorblock sweater she’s got on, forcing the neck to ride a little lower on one shoulder.

And as the plastic case creaks in her hands she gives in and knocks.

Eddie is breathless when he answers the door, even though she was positive he was the one twitching the curtain just a second ago. He has a hoodie on that matches her out of season sweater.

“I wasn’t expecting you to actually show up,” he says, “I didn’t think to mention that my Uncle is asleep.”

“Oh!” She isn’t sure what else to say, standing on the porch with the news that she wasn’t actually expected.

“I just mean I would have told you to come by after he was awake so we could actually watch the movie.”

She glances back over her shoulder at her waiting car, “So should I-”

“No!” A strong hand closes gently as the friendship bracelet Robin made her around her wrist. “I’m not doing this right. I just mean you’ll have to kill some time in my room with me.”

“That’s some line.”

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs, the faint flustered pink that had been taking over his cheeks blooming into something someone who wasn’t staring intently at his face would notice. With a doglike shake of his head, he says, “This isn’t going the way I thought, hold on back to one.” And the door is shutting in her face.

When it reopens a bare second later, Stevie is sure she must be gaping.

“Hi Stevie, thanks so much for coming and bringing that movie we talked about. My Uncle is asleep in the living room right now, but don’t worry he works nights so he’s a sound sleeper. If you’ve got time, we can hang out in my room for an hour until he gets up and then we can watch it together.”

“Hi Eddie, thanks for giving me the 411 so clearly and without any possibility of confusion. It sure would be embarrassing to think that you hadn’t actually wanted me to come over.”

He pulls her in off of the front porch into a house that has things. After keeping herself awake last night worried that she would accidentally reveal something with her familiarity with the movie or that she wouldn’t be able to stop staring at Eddie. But with the mugs and the caps hung up on the walls, there are hundreds of things to distract herself with while she hangs out with him.

“Wayne’s a semi-professional thrifter.” Eddie tells her, it's hard to know if he's correctly interpreting her awe.

“Is he not good enough to go pro?”

That dimple is back, deep as the quarry dug into the side of his face as he drags her past the man in question, asleep on the pullout couch. “Oh he is, but he's too scared to quit his day job. He prefers to keep it a hobby.”

Before she knows it, she's a girl in a guy's bedroom on what's questionably a date. And according to some of the zines she's been a girl in a guy's bedroom a lot of times, at team overnights and birthday party sleepovers. 

But this feels different right now. Maybe it's the knowing: that there isn't something wrong with her and that she is what she is. Maybe it's the not knowing, does Eddie have expectations for the afternoon? And she doesn't have a clue what he does and doesn't know. 

As her wheels are spinning against the road, trying to grab onto anything to get moving, the babysitter brain kicks in. Instinct the snow chains of the mind, later she'll talk to Robin about whether she should be concerned about that.

“3 inches!” 

Eddie freezes with his hand on the door, more like an inch from latching.

“I, um.” He's looking at her now, and she's scrambling for an explanation that sounds better than ‘I've listened to multiple baby teens complain about this particular prophylactic and now that I'm on the other side of the bedroom maneuver I'm feeling a little inexperienced.’ She just isn't sure how well that would go over.

“The hinges squeak, good call.” He flops down on the bed, beckoning her a little closer. All she can think to do is sit at the edge, it makes her feel prim, too proper and too aware of the way her body fits in this room.

After the silence starts to drag, and she starts to question whether or not she's made a single good decision since November of 1983, Eddie asks, “So, what makes Stevie Harrington tick?”

“What do you mean?”

“Single handedly supporting the social lives of a generous handful of mouthy teenagers via unpaid taxi service, enjoys black and white cinema or at least enjoys this movie enough to risk the wrath of the VHS gods,” he ticks each one off on his fingers as he goes. “What else is there that makes you, you? Do you like piña coladas, getting caught in the rain? You look like you could be into yoga.”

The tension breaks like it had never been there to begin with, she tries to hide her laugh in her hand. The door is open, and Eddie's uncle is sleeping. “Oh my god is that that Jimmy Buffet song?”

“Escape is not a James Buffet number, your majesty, that's Margaritaville. And you're dodging the question.”

He's calmer than she remembers from high school, but still that bright passion he seems to have for everything is too much to look at directed at her. The warmth of him as hard to look at as the noonday sun. “I don't think I'm that interesting,” she casts her gaze around the room instead looking at all the personality that Eddie has shoved into the place in the few years he's lived here.

“I think you're lying.”

His closet is bursting from its boundaries. A sea of black pushing its way out in a waterfall of clothes onto the floor. 

“You think I’m lying about being boring?”

Jeans, shirts for bands she’s never heard of, a skirt.

“Tell me one weird fact about you, and I’ll tell you how you are definitely not boring,” he insists.

Skirts, multiple, now that she's looking she can recognize the shape of them. Is that a heavy metal thing? If she changed her style could she get away with finally wearing one in public.

“When I was a kid, I rode my bike to see 101 Dalmatians in theaters like six times. Then one day I found this fur coat in my mom’s closet and I made her get rid of it because I didn’t want her to be the kind of person who could own fur.”

“An animal activist,” Eddie says, “see, interesting. And proof of my bigger point that you, Stevie, are one of the best Hawkins has to offer. Aren’t you?”

It’s hard to imagine how he got there when she’s mentally rifling through his things, trying to figure out a way to ask about-

“They’re gifts from confused but well meaning long distance relatives.” Eddie explains, done politely ignoring where Stevie’s attention was actually focused. “I was a tomboy as a kid, so when they heard I was a tranny I guess they got confused. I felt bad donating them or throwing them away, made with love.”

That’s probably the bravest thing she’s seen that doesn’t involve flesh eating monsters. Stevie musters up the courage she taps into when fighting those monsters to say, “Me too, opposite direction. Obviously.”

“That would make you the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen then, Stevie Harrington. And definitely still the most interesting.” 

Euphoria, big like soap bubbles, fills her chest. It already feels like she could float away when he asks, “You wanna try one of them on?”

“You wouldn’t care? You just said they were homemade.” She’s already off the bed though, running a thumb over the soft black cotton. Up close she can make out the faintly lighter blacks and greys of a flower pattern. It’s beautiful.

“Well I wasn’t blessed with the gorgeous ass you’ve got, but it should fit just fine.”

She doesn’t have to be told twice, it's off the hanger and clutched in her hands before Eddie’s finished complimenting her. And oh, that sends some of that bubbling joy flooding a little farther south.

That new not revelation is easy to table. Drowned out by the feeling she gets when the skirt swishes around her knees. Light and floaty as cotton fabric. She’s a balloon flying out of some kid's hand disappearing into the clear blue sky.

“What do you think?” She twists and twirls, the long fabric spinning out around her like a princess in a Disney movie.

“Pretty as a picture.”

Her eyes snap up from the swirling black of the skirt, in time to fall down deep into the dark expanse of Eddie’s focused gaze. Hot and heavy on her.

For a second, it throws her back to when she was a kid. Standing on the dock at the camp lake, a pair of dark brown eyes staring at her while her beach towel wrapped around her like a dress. Twisting this way and that, posing with a hand in her hair that had grown longer than she was usually allowed to keep it after a missed summer cut. They’d just climbed out of the water, fingers pruny and faces ruddy from laughing. 

“How do I look?”

“Pretty as a picture!”

“Thanks, Eddie.”

Mouth open, whatever he’s about to say that warrants the way his eyes go soft and nervous is swallowed by an older man’s voice shouting down the hall, “Ed, you and your friend can come out and use the living room. I’m up.”

It’s refreshing, having one more person she can be herself with, fully. Having someone who understands even better than Robin what it feels like to be different. To feel the way she’s always felt. It’s hard to believe he hasn’t been in her life for forever the way he slots into it so easily.

But then maybe Dustin had a point, she has a way of attracting nerds.

And once they’ve found her they latch in and don’t let go. Feral cats every single one of them.

“Just put something on, Stevie, I swear to god.”

Eddie’s where he is most of the time these days, flopped sideways across her bed. Hair hanging off the side in a dark wave. Ratted out as it is it’ll defy gravity for longer than natural when he sits up again. But it looks beautiful now, the way Eddie always does.

“You say that now and then it’s all, ‘did the estrogen break your eardrums? How can you even like Wham?’ and ‘The only good thing Fleetwood Mac ever did was break up.’”

There’s a thump behind her, she doesn’t have to turn to know he’s flailed his way onto the floor. She does turn to see how his hair lifts up from the roots like the bride of Frankenstien. “I did not say that shit about Fleetwood Mac, Rumours is one of the best albums of all time.”

“No, you’ve just defamed everyone else in my record collection.”

 “It can’t be everyone,” he groans, “your entire collection can’t be Wham and Huey Lewis.”

“You’re forgetting Madonna and Blondie, pretty sexist of you Munson.”

“No, the ladies are where your taste shines through. That’s my planned window in, you see,” Stevie turns back to her record shelf, carefully paging through each one while Eddie talks. ABBA, Adams, Benetar, Bowie. “I’m gonna make you a real rock’n’roll mixtape, get you on the right path. Joplin, Heart, The Runaways, Girlschool.”

She lands on the perfect album, tosses it on the table and starts it spinning. It’s not until the jaunty guitar starts bouncing that she realizes what she’s done.

“Shit, sorry, let me set it back. You probably want to listen from the actual beginning of the album.”

“No, no, leave it, it’s fine.” Eddie says in the toneless way she’s noticed he gets when he’s focused. “Do you always skip straight to this track?”

“Yes?” Stevie knows this is one of those times when the answer she’s giving is going to mean something even if she isn't sure what the question hiding under the first is.

“Is there- I mean, is this just your favorite song or do you always start three tracks in on the B-side when I’m not here?” His laugh is weak, and it’s noticeable when everything about Eddie is so sure and strong.

She tugs on a single lock of her hair, twirling it around her finger before tugging. A nervous gesture she’s picked up from Eddie, now that it’s long enough. “There was this kid I went to camp with, first love shit, you know. We lost touch but she called herself my Boy Named Sue all summer. When I got home this was the only song I’d play for months. It’d finish and I’d pick the needle up and put it back at the start for hours. I really hope she’s doing okay now, however okay looks like for her. 

“Anyway, it’s just a force of habit. I can put it back to the start or pick a new album if you’ve got shit to say about the man in black too.”

There’s a dazed sort of reverie on Eddie’s face that he doesn’t snap back from until she moves for the record player. “No, no, play it again. I, um, shit- Okay, so I need you to not be mad at me.”

She doesn’t even need to look to set the track back to its start. Eddie’s got his hand fisted in his hair, pulling at it hard enough that it hurts her scalp, chewing at his bottom lip. Nerves have always made her a little mean. “I’m already feeling a little mad at you, say what you’re going to say.”

“I was going to tell you that first day we were hanging out,” he’s digging around in his back pocket for his wallet like it isn’t on a leash he could tug on like a dog, “we were sharing these mutual coming out moments and I thought, ‘now’s the time I’ll tell Stevie, everything is going to be great.’ Only Wayne woke up and ruined the moment and the longer we kept hanging out the harder it was to bring up again.”

“Just spit it out already.”

The photo insert hits her in the chest. Fumbling, she bats at it between her two hands before she’s able to get a firm catch. Raising both her eyebrows in a question Eddie barely answers with a wave of his hand. Even as she rolls her eyes, she looks down at the photo in her hands. A larger picture, carefully folded so that two kids are at the center. She recognizes the picture, has a copy of it in a shoebox in the back of her closet where she keeps all the tiny precious things she doesn’t want her mom to throw away when she starts decluttering. A picture of everyone who made it to the last day of summer camp, and now made center of this one is a ten year old Stevie with her arm flung tight around… Around Eddie.

“Surprise,” he says.

“You're? And you've been?”

“We moved right after that summer, I’ve told you the kind of guy my dad was. Not like evil or anything, just incapable of keeping his nose clean and he’d gotten into some trouble in Fort Wayne that sent us to Indianapolis for a bit. When I tried to write, I realized I’d either lost your address or it’d been thrown away.”

“What about when you got to Hawkins, with Wayne?”

“My voice still cracked when I got nervous, and you’ve always been the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. And it wasn’t like I looked the same way I did when we were kids, and at first you didn’t either.” She remembers the way she styled her hair back then, the tragic mustache she’d tried growing freshman year cause maybe that would make her feel the way everyone else said she was supposed to. “You looked muted, sad. But then I saw you laughing, at an FFA party I was dealing at, and when you tossed your head back I finally saw Stevie again.

“And when Henderson started coming around talking about his best friend Stevie. Stevie, who was the coolest person in the world. Who kept taking on all the worst parts of the world to keep people safe. And I latched on to him as hard as I could hoping I might get to see you again. If it was puppy love when we were ten, I've got a whole dog pound now I'm so in love with you. Maybe that's crazy to say.”

She can't listen anymore.

“Eddie, stop.” Before he can shut himself down, shutter closed and make his excuse to leave, she lets her own confessions tumble out faster than she can think of what she even wants to say, “You have made me feel more like myself since we first met.”

Her skirt, a deep plum and stolen from Eddie's collection, gets tangled around her ankles as she knee walks close enough that she can touch him. “You've given me confidence and clothes and a name.”

“I added an -ie, Sweetheart.”

“And I like it! It feels like me. I feel like me, and you helped me get there.

“Maybe it is too early to say things like I love you, but I loved the boy who refused to make friendship bracelets for anyone else at camp but me and now he's just promised me a mixtape.”

Stevie knows she could go even longer, could give a Shakespeare worthy speech about all the ways she likes Eddie Munson and what he has come to mean to her as the summer love she cherished in her heart and now. She could, but it's swallowed by the press of Eddie's mouth against hers. An ugly, spitty, puckered lip, perfect first kiss.

She gently corrects the motion until the kiss becomes something sweet and gentle. The kind she'd been hoping for when she'd gone back to camp that following summer. Something that belonged to sunscreened skin and freckled faces. Soft, innocent. But felt just as right here in the bedroom she’d grown up in with Johnny Cash on the stereo and the scent of the perfume she was trying out hanging in the air.

Eddie pulls away, moving just far enough to lean his forehead against hers, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck. She can feel each slow exhale against her mouth. “I’m really glad I found you again.”

“I’m really glad you found me too.”

[shadamyheadcanons]

Shadamy in high school headcannon

For Shadamytober 2024 - Day 3: Highschool Outcast

One poor anon sent in this ask an eternity ago. I started writing a full story for it, but I lost steam because I just can��t connect with high school romance stories the way I could when I was younger. I’ve been looking for an excuse to share the parts I did get done, though, and I just realized it suits the High School Outcast prompt for Shadamytober, so I can post it now!

Ignore that I’m late for that, too

Fair warning: I wrote this years ago, and I won’t be continuing it. It doesn’t end on a cliffhanger, but don’t go into this expecting any more!

@shadamytober

Amy sat in her math classroom at the start of the year, shaking like a leaf. She stuck out like a sore pink thumb in a class full of “the troublemakers,” as she’d always called them.

“Hey, Pinky, haven’t seen you around before.”

“What’re you doing Friday night? I’m free if you don’t have cheerleading practice.”

“I suck at math, but I’ll still give you private lessons if you want.”

In the process of averting her eyes from the student in front her, Amy spotted him in the far corner of the room: Shadow the hedgehog. A cold pit of unease settled in her stomach.

Of course he’s in this class. As if this room weren’t terrifying enough.

Most people agreed that Shadow was the scariest guy in school. His identity was shrouded in rumors. Some claimed he was a thief. Others said they’d seen him beat people up. Whatever the truth was, though, Shadow was surely bad news. He sat in the far corner of the room surrounded by a buffer of empty desks...and his red eyes were locked on her. She snapped her gaze away and held herself tightly.

It was actually a relief when the teacher started the lesson, shooting a glare of warning at the boys who were harassing Amy. She let out a sigh, hoping that would be the end of it as she stared at the board and attempted to make sense of the numbers and letters the teacher wrote. She tried to sort out the binomials, polynomials, functions, and variables as best she could, but she was hopelessly lost from the get-go. She shook with fear.

Something light hit Amy on the head. She frowned as she opened the balled-up piece of paper that had landed on her desk...only to find that it was a crudely-drawn image of the male anatomy. She yelped quietly, startled and disgusted, and the Mobians around her cackled quietly at her reaction. She swiftly crumpled up the piece of paper with her shaky hands and pushed it off of her desk.

The ruckus was loud enough to draw the teacher’s attention, but apart from threatening the boys with detention, he didn’t do much. Amy peeked up from her notebook and saw Shadow’s red eyes staring at her again. Her lower lip trembled.

She spent the rest of the period trying to write down equations she didn’t understand with a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking from the way her creepy classmates were leering at her. On top of that, she could practically feel the pair of red eyes watching her struggle through it.

Once the bell rang, Amy bolted straight to the bathroom and burst into tears in one of the stalls.

Is the whole year going to be like this?

Amy arrived as early as possible the next day so she could take a seat in the front right corner of the room. I’ll be closer to the door this time, and only three people can sit adjacent to me, so I won’t be surrounded. She nodded, confident in her reasoning.

A wrench was thrown into her plans when Shadow dropped into the seat next to her, having entered the otherwise empty classroom just after she did. She stiffened with anxiety and stared directly ahead with wide eyes.

Why here? WHY HERE?! Literally every other seat is empty! Don’t tell me he’s going to mess with me, too. I can’t handle this!

She whimpered quietly, but Shadow didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at her. He took out a battered notebook and a pen with a chewed cap from a messenger bag that had seen better days, then placed them on the desk and rested his chin in his hand, half dozing off as he waited for class to begin. Amy watched with confusion out of the corner of her eye as she gingerly retrieved her pristine pink notebook and pencil, but he did nothing more.

More students started entering. Amy shrank in her seat and averted her gaze from the ones who had bothered her on the first day. Surprisingly, though, no one said a word to her. Some of them opened their mouths, only to snap them back shut and turn pale before scurrying off and sitting as far away as they could. Amy frowned, then looked over at Shadow. One of the boys from yesterday came up, only to turn tail when Shadow glared at him. She tilted her head, confused.

Is he...trying to isolate me...? She frowned. That can’t be it. He’s not even talking to me. Why bother?

By the time the teacher arrived, Amy and Shadow were sitting in the front corner while the rest of the students were gathered on the other side, leaving a row of empty desks around them. She would have laughed at the absurdity if she weren’t so terrified.

The subject material proved to be as elusive as ever, the equations being just as unsolved as the stoic, unmoving hedgehog beside her. To add to the enigma, Shadow wasn’t even taking notes. He examined the board with half-shut eyes, but there wasn’t a single word on his paper.

Amy rolled her eyes. Why even open the notebook if you’re not going to write anything? Is this guy even here to learn?

Still, it was nice not being harassed by multiple boys who wouldn’t leave her alone. They wouldn’t even look her way now. She decided the silence wasn’t so bad; even if she still didn’t get the math, at least she could focus on trying.

The teacher rattled off some problem about Train A going north and Train B going south at such-and-such speeds, then gave them a few minutes to work on it. Amy wrote down the information she hoped was important and started plugging in numbers to guess-and-check her way through it, knowing that even if she didn’t have the right technique, she’d get there eventually.

I guess the situation today is technically better. Just so long as he doesn’t do anything weird.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Amy jumped at the voice. She turned with trepidation to see Shadow was staring at her, eyes just as harsh as ever. She’d never actually heard him speak before. His voice was low and smooth, oddly relaxing despite his blunt manner and message.

“Well...I was just gonna...” she squeaked, trailing off at the end.

Shadow looked at her for a moment longer, then turned back to his own desk. She let out a sigh of relief, only to freeze up when he ripped a page out of his notebook and shuffled his desk right up next to hers. Her heart pounded in terror at the close proximity. He spoke up again, apparently oblivious.

“You can make equations out of both of these. The ‘y’ value for both is where they are at a given time, the constant term is where they started, and the coefficient of x is their speed. Since we know they’re in the same place for the collision, the ‘y’ for both should match, so you can set them equal to each other and solve it.”

Amy’s mouth dropped open, and she looked back and forth between Shadow and her paper, torn between confusion, understanding, gratitude, and intimidation.

Shadow kept staring. “Solve it.”

Amy hunched down in front of her paper and picked up her pencil. “Okay,” she replied in a small voice.

It took Amy a minute or two, but she finally got it. She turned her elated grin to Shadow. He didn’t smile back, but he nodded approvingly and shuffled his desk back to its original spot.

After another ten minutes of perplexing explanations, the teacher gave them a few more problems to work on by themselves. By the time Shadow had raced through them, Amy was still stuck on the first one. He looked up from his desk, checked her notes, and sighed, almost sounding exasperated, but he shifted his desk back over and patiently explained the processes once more.

With his guidance, she completed the rest of the problems and sighed in relief. He shuffled his desk away to give her space again. She finished just in time for the teacher to assign their homework.

Amy peeked over at Shadow, trying to figure out what to say. Eventually, she settled on a simple “thank you.”

Shadow looked up one last time. Then, he snatched up the paper he’d used to show her the procedures and quickly scrawled something on it. He handed it back to her, and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw his name with a number written under it.

“Text me if you have trouble with the homework. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

Amy’s mouth dropped open, and she gawked after him as he packed up his bag and left.

What the hell?!

Amy’s eyes scrunched up as she stared at her homework that night. She’d finished about half of it with little trouble, but she stalled out when the equations grew more complex. She pressed her lips together before turning her gaze to the stray piece of paper she’d folded and kept in her notebook. She packed up her courage and picked up her phone, entering the unfamiliar number with shaking hands. She typed out a careful message and hesitated for a few seconds, then pressed Send.

Amy shifted from one foot to the other just outside the school library. She checked the time and held her books a little tighter in front of her.

A minute later, Shadow rounded the corner and walked directly toward her, looking just as intimidating as usual. She let out a sigh of relief. Thank God Shadow’s here... She scrunched up her nose. Now that’s something I never thought I’d say.

“Thanks for helping, Shadow. It’s super lucky that we have the same study period!”

Shadow just grunted in assent and walked right past her into the library to look for a seat. She frowned. He’s so helpful, but he’s like...this. Nice...but weird.

He made a beeline for a table all the way in the back next to a window. She took out her pink notebook and pencil once more. Just to make small talk, she asked, “Any reason you went for this table? Just curious.”

“The view from the window,” he explained. “The foliage is nice in the fall. In the wintertime, a layer of snow blankets the pine trees, and the pond freezes over. There’s a brief time in the spring when cherry blossoms bloom on that tree over there.” He said all of it calmly, his neutral expression still casually fixed on the pen he was retrieving from his bag.

Amy’s heart thumped. She gulped and clutched at her blouse over her heart. What the hell was that?!

Shadow glanced up at her pose and her wide eyes, then frowned. “What?”

She stayed tense for a moment, then shook it off. “Nothing! So, uh...I got this far...”

Shadow shifted closer to examine her answers. He nodded in approval and started walking her through the rest of the problems with quiet words and careful strokes of his pen. Her frazzled nerves calmed down at his soft voice, his easy explanations, and the muted sounds of the library.

When she had to do the problems herself, though, it was less relaxing. She could feel his eyes on her while she wrote. Wanting to break the uncomfortable silence, she gathered her courage while she erased one of her attempts, then spoke to her intimidating companion.

“So, um...if you’re this good at math, why aren’t you in the advanced sequence?”

Shadow stared down at her shy expression for a moment longer. He suddenly let out an amused “hmph,” though he still didn’t smile. “You know Mr. Robotnik?”

Amy groaned and let her head roll back to look at the ceiling. “Oh, God, do I!” His gaze turned inquisitive, and she smiled sheepishly. “Ah, yeah...why?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “His class was boring, and he was really annoying, so...I amused myself.” Amy tilted her head, curious. He crossed his arms. “He insists on being called “Dr. Robotnik” and gets pissed off if you call him “Mr. Robotnik,” but I was bored and didn’t like him, soooo...I did that. A lot. On purpose.”

Amy’s eyes went wide at his deadpan expression. She tried—and failed—to hide her laughter. She stifled it as best as she could to avoid being scolded by the librarians. Shadow just stared, seemingly thrown off. Once her giggles died down, Amy quietly asked, “Let me guess: he put you in the lower sequence just because he didn’t like you?”

Shadow put his elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand, interested. “How’d you know?”

“Pfft.” Amy shook her head. “I wasn’t always this bad at math. I was pretty good with numbers, but once they started adding letters, they kinda lost me. I probably would have been okay if I hadn’t been stuck with him.” Shadow’s expression changed. It almost looked...sympathetic? Amy decided she was imagining things and continued on. “He’s brilliant, but he’s a horrible teacher. I just kept falling behind, and he was too much of a jerk to help me. Thanks to him, my grades took a nose-dive. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to catch up.”

“You will.”

Amy paused. “What?”

Shadow nodded to the paper and pointed to all the problems she’d gotten right. “You’ve already gotten better. With a little help, you’ll catch up again in no time. You’re a smart girl.”

Amy was stopped in her tracks once again. That’s the first compliment he’s given me. It’s the first nice thing I’ve heard him say about anyone. Knowing it came from someone like Shadow only made it hit harder. A grin spread across her face.

Shadow remained stone-faced as always. “So what were you saying about him not liking people?”

Amy laughed shyly. “Well, ah...you know how you messed with him because you didn’t like him? Uh...I didn’t like him, either, so...” She scratched the back of her head. “I’m the one who got everyone to start calling him ‘Eggman.’ It was just too much fun to see him get bent out of shape! Even if I’d had the grades, he never would have sent me to the advanced classes.”

Shadow’s neutral expression finally broke, leaving surprise in its wake. “That was you?!” He looked her up and down, from the pink variation of the school uniform she’d chosen, to the matching flower-adorned headband, to her cheery, innocent face. “Really?”

Breaking through his façade sent a thrill through Amy’s chest. Mischief crept into her tone. “What, a girl like me can’t have a rebellious streak?”

“Huh.” Shadow scratched his chin, intrigued. “I guess people can surprise you.”

Amy grinned back.

No kidding.

With Shadow’s help, Amy finished her homework just before the bell rang. The two of them walked to class together, drawing more than a few stares. She was shy about it at first, but something about the way Shadow never seemed bothered by how people looked at him rubbed off on her, instilling her with a unique form of confidence she’d never had before. It wasn’t just his flat, unfazed expression, either. It was the way he walked, head held high, never hunched down under the stares he drew. He didn’t even bother to wear his uniform correctly; his jacket was partly unbuttoned, and his red tie hung loosely around his neck.

At last, one set of eyes stopped him in his tracks. The vice principal loudly scolded him for his disheveled appearance. He reluctantly tightened his tie and buttoned his jacket properly, sighing and rolling his eyes as he did so. The vice principal snapped at him about his uniform and bad attitude once more before walking away, her high heels clacking harshly against the tiled floor of the hallway. Amy peeked at his dapper ensemble and examined it in surprise.

He’s...actually kind of handsome like this...

Amy shook her head furiously to try and rid herself of the strange thought. Then, once the high heels were no longer audible, Shadow let out a single chuckle...and smirked just a little bit.

While Amy was still processing the first kind-of smile she’d ever seen on Shadow, he unbuttoned his jacket all the way. He slipped a finger into his tie and pulled out the knot entirely to let it hang completely free around his neck. He even unbuttoned the top two buttons on his dress shirt, showing a white patch of fur underneath it. He put his hands in his pockets and strutted defiantly to class, oblivious to Amy’s inner turmoil. She snapped her head forward and tried to ignore the flush she knew had spread across her cheeks.

Why does he look even more attractive when he’s sloppy?!

A week or two passed, and Amy fell into a routine: math class, homework, getting help from Shadow during study period, then math class once more. At one point, she admitted that she felt bad monopolizing his study hour and offered to pay him or leave him alone, but he just looked confused, so she didn’t mention it again.

One day, Amy was checking her schedule at the end of math class, sensing she’d forgotten something important. Shadow packed up his bag and spoke.

“Library as usual tomorrow?”

Amy opened her mouth to answer, but then she cringed. “Shit...I have a dentist appointment tomorrow!”

“Hmph.” Shadow shrugged. “No school. Nice.”

She shook her head. “No, see, I’m only missing half the day. I’ll be here just in time for math class, but I’ll miss study hour!”

“Ah.” Shadow nodded in understanding. “That’s a waste. You get time off, but it’s a study period instead of an actual—”

He was cut off when Amy took his shoulders and started shaking him. “Shadow, you don’t get it!” Panic crept into her tone as she shook him. “If I’m not here for our study period, I won’t get any help, and I won’t be able to do well on my homework, and I’ll fall behind again, and I’ll flunk out and have to run away and join the circus—”

“Amy. Stop.” At his firm command, she froze. His expression was half-amused and half-exasperated as he gingerly removed her hands from his shoulders. “None of that is going to happen, I promise...especially not the circus part...but if it’ll make you feel better, we can work on it somewhere else, okay?”

At the comforting look in his warm red eyes, she relaxed. “Okay.” She thought for a moment, and her eyes lit up. “Can’t we just go to the library after classes are done?”

“The library closes early on Mondays and Tuesdays. It stays open later Wednesday through Friday, and it’s open from ten am to ten pm on weekends. It’s Monday, though, so we won’t have enough time.”

Shadow stared at her and waited, having rattled off his response rapid-fire. Amy’s baffled look made way for a small smile. “You’ve really got those hours down, huh? You must love reading!”

He looked away and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, something like that.”

Amy thought for a moment more, then shrugged. “We could always just study at my house, if you don’t mind.”

At that, Shadow jammed his hands into the pockets of his school uniform and looked sideways at her. “I’m comfortable with that, but...are you?” he asked tentatively.

Amy looked at him funny. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I—” She cut herself off when she remembered she was talking to Mr. Scariest-Guy-in-School, and that he probably knew that just as well as she did. She smiled and waved it off. “Yeah! For sure!” When he hesitated, she added, “My mom will be there. She gets home early on Mondays.”

Shadow visibly relaxed. He looked off into space, and then something seemed to occur to him. “Oh, but I can’t go right away. I have something to do at the end of the day first. It’ll take maybe fifteen minutes.”

Amy shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’ll give me time to get set up.” And clear off my cluttered desk...and hide all my embarrassing stuffed animals...and make sure I don’t have any weird tabs open on my computer... “I’ll text you my address, okay?”

He paused and shifted his weight to his other foot. “So...how far is it?”

“It’s close.” She typed in the address and sent it. “I normally just walk there.”

She almost missed the way his shoulders relaxed. “Walking distance. Cool.”

Amy nodded happily and put away her phone. “Thanks, Shadow. You really didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Amy snorted. “I still appreciate it, though.” On a whim, she stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, just as she did with her other friends.

Technically speaking, it was the strangest hug she’d ever given. He didn’t push her away, but he didn’t hug back, either. He just stood a little stiffly and waited for her to finish. When she pulled away, his face was completely blank, as if he’d never encountered a hug before and didn’t know how to react.

Amy had to hold back a loud snort of amusement at his lack of response. “I’ll see you in a bit, Shadow!”

She dashed out of the classroom, ignoring the confused students around her and still sensing the inquisitive red eyes at her back. She giggled to herself.

We’ll work on it.

Amy shuffled the last of the clutter under her bed and grinned in satisfaction. Good enough! She peeked out the window. No Shadow yet. She glanced back at her desk and the second chair she’d dragged in, and concern briefly crossed her mind. Maybe it’s a bad idea to choose the desk in my room to share with the kind-of-scary guy I barely know. She frowned. Is this why my dad says I have no sense of self-preservation?

The doorbell rang out, jolting Amy out of her thoughts. She bounded down the stairs to answer it, and her eyes bugged out when she saw Shadow there.

I couldn’t see him anywhere two seconds ago. How fast is he?!

She set her thoughts aside and opened the door for him with a smile. “Hey, Shadow!”

He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, his face was turned upward. He tilted it back down to fix her with a deadpan look. “Your house is huge.”

“Huh?” She was thrown off, but he just walked right inside. “I mean...kind of? It’s not really—Shadow, wait!”

He flinched and stopped. “What?”

Amy stepped past him and pointed to her own socked feet and the shoes lined up neatly at the door. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. He looked unimpressed, but he rolled his eyes lazily and slipped out of his own shoes. She nodded, satisfied.

Shadow followed her up the stairs. The humbled expression he carried on his face as he looked around didn’t escape her notice, especially when he stepped into her room and blatantly examined its pink and red decor. She held her hands behind her back and looked at him sideways. “Is everything okay?”

His gaze snapped back to her. “It’s really girly.” She hesitantly opened her mouth to speak, but then he slipped his messenger bag off his shoulder. “It suits you.”

He didn’t look at her again as he sat down. She stood awkwardly, mouth open. “Uh...thanks?” He nodded a little, either not comprehending the weirdness of it or not caring. She shook it off and took out her math homework. Was that a compliment? I swear, I’m never gonna figure this guy out.

The two went over the premise of the homework, and Shadow helped iron out the bits she hadn’t gotten in class. While she was working on the second problem, she broke the silence. “So what did you have after school? Anything exciting?”

“Hmph. Not really. It’s the same thing I do every day.”

“And what’s that? Oh, but you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to—”

Shadow shrugged. “I don’t mind. Sometime last year, a group of guys were bullying this rabbit middle schooler outside the west wing of the school. Teasing her, pulling her ears, shit like that.” She looked up in surprise to see he was fixing the paper in front of him with a searing glare. He shut his eyes and crossed his arms. “So I beat the shit out of them. Turns out she was waiting for her mom, so now I wait with the kid every day after school to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He opened his eyes again and looked up at Amy, who’d stopped writing. “What?”

Amy snapped her mouth shut, realizing it had fallen open a bit as he told his story. Her heart softened, and she smiled adoringly at him. “That’s so kind of you!”

He fidgeted and looked at her sideways. “Uh...beating people up...?”

His uncharacteristic hesitation and movements reminded Amy that he wasn’t used to being looked at that way. She felt a twinge of pain at the idea, but she pushed it aside. “No, I mean standing up for her! Waiting around every day just to make sure she’s okay. That’s really sweet of you.”

Shadow opened his mouth, clearly unsure of how to deal with the sentiment. He crossed his arms again and shut his eyes. “It’s not a big deal. Anyone else would have done the same.”

Amy wasn’t sure about that, but she didn’t want to argue. Instead, she rested an elbow on the desk and leaned her cheek into her palm to look at him more closely. “Everything people say about you is wrong, huh?” When he just blinked at her, she panicked and backtracked. “I mean—! It’s not like—there are, well...y’know, rumors...and you know how people are...” She cringed and trailed off.

He huffed. “It’s fine, I know what people say about me.” He leaned his arm on the desk and turned his body to face her. “People talk. It happens.”

Amy pouted. “Are you...okay with that?”

He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Being the ‘scary guy’ isn’t always fun, but it’s not all bad. No one messes with you if they won’t go near you.”

Amy thought of the empty desks that always surrounded Shadow and the wide berth he was always given in the cafeteria. She thought of his atypical social habits and the way even a simple hug could throw him off. Her heart stung.

Oblivious, Shadow kept going. “And if no one messes with me, then I can protect other people, too. My family. Kids who are being bullied. And, uhh...” He scratched his head and looked away.

Amy narrowed her eyes in suspicion, and then a bright smile graced her face. “That’s what you were doing in math class, wasn’t it? On the second day, when you sat next to me.”

At the reminder, Shadow’s expression twisted just a little in...embarrassment? He covered half of his face with his hand. “Yeeeaaaahhhh, uh...I may have overdone it. You looked so upset on the first day, like you were about to cry...so I scared off anyone who I thought might upset you again...but by the end of it, I’d scared off everyone, and you were more afraid of me than you were of them.”

Amy matched his cringing face with her own. “Was it that obvious?”

He uncovered his face. “By the time we got around to the math part, you looked like you were about to piss your pants.”

Amy’s expression turned bitter at the image, and then she let out a brief chuckle. “Gotta admit, I was pretty petrified...but I still felt comfortable enough to text you for help, didn’t I? That has to be worth something.”

He scratched his chin and looked up at the ceiling. “So you’re more scared of math than you are of me...” He nodded. “I’ll take it. It’s better than I usually do with people.”

Amy wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at that. She chose to laugh, and she considered it a victory when she saw him let out the slightest chuckle in response.

By the time they’d hit the five o’clock hour, Amy had been done with her homework for a while, but she hadn’t asked Shadow to leave, and he hadn’t shown interest in going anywhere anytime soon, either. After plenty of surprisingly enjoyable conversation, though, the alarm on Shadow’s phone went off. He squinted at the cracked screen, then showed a face that looked almost disappointed, though it could have been Amy’s imagination.

“I have to get home and make dinner for my family. You all set?”

Amy’s heart sank more than she’d expected it to. “Yeah.” She reluctantly descended the stairs with Shadow in tow.

Once she reached the door, though, her eyes lit up. “Hey, um...” She steeled herself. “Do you want to, maybe...hang out again? Not just for math.” When he just stared at her, she panicked. “Oh, I don’t mean—not in, like...a weird way, I just like talking to you!”

She didn’t know how to say ‘it’s not a date’ without actually saying that, but Shadow seemed to pick up on her meaning anyway. He stared off into space for a moment, then nodded a little, as if mulling it over. He looked back down at her and shrugged. “It’s been a while...but yeah. Sure.”

Amy grinned, then frowned as a sad thought hit her. “Do you not have any other friends to hang out with?”

He frowned a little. “Yeah, but...” He scratched the back of his head idly. “I used to hang out with my friend Rouge a lot, but then she graduated, and now she’s in a training program to become a government spy.”

Amy made an intrigued noise. “Government spy? That sounds impressive!”

“Hmph. Don’t tell her that, she’ll get a swelled head.” He paused and looked away. “We’re still good friends, but she lives three hours away now, so...I don’t have...” He cut himself off and pressed his lips together. “I spend a lot of time by myself these days.”

Sympathy touched Amy’s heart, but she shook it off in favor of smiling up at him. “Well, I’d be happy to be your friend! What do you say, Shadow?” She held out her hand for a handshake.

He looked from her chipper face to her hand. After a moment, a small smirk showed itself on his face. He ignored the hand and pulled her into a quick side-hug. “Sounds good to me.”

After that, he abruptly dashed off with such speed that the wind he whipped up nearly knocked her over. Her heart pounded at his dramatic exit. Once she’d calmed down, Amy smiled.

It was only a quick side-hug...but it’s a start.

[That’s all she wrote...literally. From here, Amy convinces Shadow to join the track team along with her, Sonic, Blaze, and Espio so he can have more friends, and they become a couple along the way. Some people are disapproving at first, but they come around in time. Shadow’s family is also poor, and he’s very dedicated to his chronically ill sister, who winds up being very fond of Amy. I mentioned a few more details in this post.

Cliché? Maybe, but it’s a nice reminder of how far I’ve come as a writer, I think.

Poor anon probably forgot they even sent this ask. I hope they’re still on tumblr to get the notification, lmfao.]

[yuri-is-online]

Hi hi, Can you please to prompt 4 with Malleus,Vil, and Riddle?

4. You met someone really wonderful at the Masquerade Ball and have been ranting about how he was totally the love of your life to your abnormally quiet friend. Actually wasn't he invited too? Maybe you should ask him how that went.

Hello hello and of course I can, and I agree with the first ask you sent me. I was not really thinking of Malleus specifically when I wrote that prompt but it really does suit him doesn't it?

Oh also, welcome to the hell site. I noticed you're new from the few asks you sent me (I was so confused as to how a blank blog was talking to me), I hope you have fun with the content on here. New people are always welcome with me, I know all about being shy and uncertain of how to interact with people. I'll answer the other Malleus prompt you sent in after I have done some others, it was my bad for not realizing you were the same person haha.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, full shojo manga lack of self awareness here in Malleus's part (it is implied to take place before the Ch. 6 reveal), just don't think about it is Yuu's middle name. The rest of the requests can be found on my masterlist here.

Malleus

"Tsunotarou, you know a lot about gargoyles, right?" Such a foolish yet welcome question. Truly your unawareness of just who you are conversing with never ceases to amaze and infatuate him.

"Of course, I am something of an expert." He smiles, trying to keep it from showing the whites of his teeth.

"Oh well then you must be very happy to be in Diasomnia." Your eyes are sparkling, and he pauses. Yes he is very happy to be in Diasomnia, but not for the gargoyles. Briar Valley has long respected the legacy of the Thorn Fairy, and what better house could there be for the noblest of nobles than one that's very core is the spirit of nobility? But these are not exactly things he wishes to speak with you about, it would require detailed revelations he fears the consequences of.

"And what makes you think that, child of man?" Still there must be cause for your reasoning, and he does wish to hear it.

"Well your housewarden is one, isn't he?" You seem very pleased with yourself, but your mind is clearly very far away. Malleus stares at you, eyes wide in shock as he attempts to piece together what logic might have drawn you to such a conclusion. "I met him last night." Your dreamy sigh fills him with jealousy, just irrational enough that the thunder crack above you is quite small enough that he can convince you to remain outside of Ramshackle in conversation with him.

"Your mask is really impressive!" Your eyes always shone at the simplest displays of magic, it filled Malleus with a joy he could never quite find his fill of.

"Mask?!" Roars Sebek, his volume matching the pride rapidly feeling Malleus's chest. "Foolish human, this is more than a mere mask! This is a display of my lord's skill! A perfect recreation of old Briar Valley Masquerade tradition! His artistic talent has been woven though magic to bear his true face for the world to see-"

"That's quite enough Sebek." He does enjoy his retainers praise, but he has a task in mind that the over excited boy might- no will definitely endanger if he speaks further.

"But my lord!" Poor Sebek is torn between embarrassment, jelousy, and concern as he watches his precious lord observe you in the same manner one might a particularly expensive jewel.

"They have given me a most treasured compliment and I wish to reward them in turn." He bows, making sure to flourish his hand as he extends it, taking great pleasure in the little shudder that he only sees unaccompanied by fear in you. "May I have this dance, prefect?"

"Y-yes. You may." You seem in a daze as he takes you to the floor, just as unaware of the others around you as he is. It's wonderful, no matter how many times he visits you he has never had such a good excuse to hold you as this. Your scent, the weight of you in his arms, the way he can better familiarize himself with the subtle movements of your face is all much more real and overwhelming than he had ever imagined it being. It's all Lilia can do to drag him away, whispering teasing things about impropriety and duty to soothe the storm at his fingertips as he sees your friends scoop you up where he left off.

"He is a very handsome gargoyle. And so polite! But then I guess he is royalty so that makes sense..." The continued thunder has you inviting him in, mentioning something about tea he really can't be bothered to think about.

"No he isn't." Malleus pouts. "The nobility of Briar Valley has a reputation for being extremely dour and irrational."

"Oh. Well no wonder he seemed so happy I danced with him. Poor fellow must be very lonely." Oh if only you knew.

"Enough about my housewarden." Malleus declares without a hint of irony, bowing in a familiar fashion to prevent you from entering your kitchen. "He isn't the one you are talking to now is he? He isn't the one who you will be thinking about when you dream tonight." In a slight daze you take his hand, the living room fills with green fireflies as the storm outside slows to a halt as kinder, not softer emotions fill the young lord's heart. "He isn't the one your last dance is for, so focus on me, won't you?"

Vil

"This is why I told you to make sure whatever costume Crewel gave you came with a coat." Vil is beyond angry, with you certainly, but mostly at- life? The fact humans have an immune system that doesn't always work? You have no clue and your head is much too stuffed up to care. What you do care about is that Vil is here, and he really shouldn't be. Colds are contagious and Vil has so many things that he should be doing other than fussing over someone who is not in his dorm and not his responsibility.

"You could get sick." You say and he laughs, if you could see him, if he was not sat behind you on a bed in one of Pomefiore's empty rooms, you know the look he would have on his face. You would see his stupidly beautiful smug smile he has when he has something particularly cutting to say; instead you have to close your eyes and picture it as he pats your head dry just a bit more forcefully.

"Not my responsibility you say? You certainly seem to have a funny view of this." Vil has a word on the tip of his tongue. A word that's ambiguous, a word that would make his manager have a fit. If only she had been a fly on the wall during the Masquerade last night.

"My my, you seem a bit out of place." The tall stranger must be confused at your staring, but he seems more amused than offended. "Does my costume enchant you that much?"

"It reminded me of something." It would hard enough to explain to a friend what you are thinking of, harder still to a stranger. The scarlet costume could have been taken from a playbill, you find yourself looking him over for any sign of a folio. You highly doubt it's you the Red Death wants to capture tonight, but you cannot say you will protest too loudly if that's what he decides. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"Quite the opposite," the stranger does not ask you to dance, merely extends his hand and gracefully leads you off to the side when you take it, "so long as you praise me out loud you can look as long as you like."

"It's not like you got me sick." You sneeze into your tissue and Vil frowns, satisfied with your care but not with your answer. He had his suspicions that you may have made a... mistake in your assessment of your time at the Masquerade. But it did hurt him slightly to think that you did not know his essence well enough to have recognized him at once. "And I did get a costume with a cloak, I just gave it to the Red Death because it was too weird to see him without it."

"Mhmm I don't know." you say. It's such a shame Vil can only see your lips, he loves it when you tease him so much already it isn't fair he has to focus on something so tauntingly close and yet so far out of reach. "I think your costume is incomplete."

"Oh?" Vil makes sure to hold you close to him as the song ends, daring anyone to come close enough to try and steal your attention so he can laugh at the attempt. "What's your reasoning for that? Depending on what you have to say, I just might agree." You back out of his arms and make a frame with your fingers. "Kiss me." He begs silently. "Kiss me and leave a mark." But instead you unwind your cloak and fix it to his shoulder.

"Perfect. Now you really look like the portrait." And to his great despair you are gone.

Despite your earlier stated worries, you fall back into Vil's chest, tilting your back to look up at him. "When I'm not sick remind me to tell you about the Phantom of the Opera? I wanted to spend more time dancing with him, but I was feeling too much at home and got scared he'd vanish." Vil's eyes shine with a strangely familiar light, and he gently guides you under the bed's covers. Just before he leaves he kisses your forehead so gently it's all you can do not to cry.

"I think your phantom might be closer than you think." He murmurs against your skin and leaves you to sleep, tucking you under a mysteriously familiar red cloak as soon as your eyes are well and truly closed.

Riddle

"You will be too tired to do anything after the ball, so make sure to shower and go directly to bed."

It was good advice based off of a reasonable assumption, and technically you were not in fact physically doing anything. You were also quite tired, you had expected to spend most of the ball on the outskirts observing the display of feathers and paints but that was far from what actually happened. You don't think you had ever danced in your life as much as you had in the past six hours. It would be extremely reasonable to assume that after scrubbing yourself free of makeup and sweat you would be down for the count.

But you weren't. Your mind was running a mile a minute, eyes constantly glancing at your phone on your nightstand. It's an odd feeling, wanting to call someone and not being able to. It is also a feeling you have become deeply familiar with, the ache it produces might as well be permanently woven into your heart, you should be immune to the pain at this point.

This time though, this time the person you want to call could theoretically be within reach. This person was someone you could touch, someone you could hold, someone whose touch still lingered against your hands.

The little knight was just as awkward as you were, if he didn't immediately stutter out a protest you would have thought he was just as inexperienced with the whole formal party thing as you were.

"I know what I'm doing I just-"

"Then can you show me how to dance? I've been practicing but I'm not great at it." He stares at you, and you are worried you said something wrong until he laughs, it sounds smug you think but you can't be sure.

"That's the proper way to ask for a dance." He takes your hand in his as he bows, kissing it so gently you half think it was your imagination. "This is."

You pick up your phone before it buzzes, immediately sitting up in shock when you see just who is messaging you at 3:30 am on a Friday.

[Riddle] Are you still awake prefect?

[Yuu] Ace is that you.

[Yuu] I'm not covering for you if Riddle finds out you took his phone again (¬_¬)

[Riddle] What do you mean again?

The little knight's dance is stiff at first, but he relaxes as you continue. He has been guiding you to the center of the room, you belatedly realize. You must have looked frightened once you did. "It would be rude to stay in the corner during the slower songs." He squeezes your hand to bring your attention back to him. "It isn't against the rules to be bad at dancing, but it is to monopolize other people's space."

"Aren't you doing that right now?" You tease and he stops leading you, almost as if he hadn't even considered that.

"Are you not enjoying yourself?" He almost sounds afraid and you find yourself having to take over the direction of your movements.

"I didn't say that." Your knight almost seems to grow ten feet tall at your praise before he becomes aware of himself again and gets a bit bashful. But he does not take over again, content to let you set the pace of your dancing for the rest of the night.

[Riddle] Actually disregard that. Since you are awake, would you mind coming to your window? I understand throwing rocks is considered romantic but breaking a window would be most unfitting behavior for a housewarden.

You are tempted to tell him you are waiting for a message from someone else, but the unusual behavior has you at your window before you can even full form the thought. You almost drop your phone at the sight you see below you.

Riddle expected to have difficulty making eye contact with you. He expected to be teased about his failure to follow his own good advice, his costume has got to be a mess between the dancing he did with you earlier and the pacing he did once he got back to Heartslabyul.

But neither of those happen. Neither matters, instead you see him and the familiar scrap of paper you had given him with your number and a heart and fly down the Ramshackle steps into his outstretched arms.

"I'm so glad it was you I danced with tonight."

[burning-academia-if]

Lmao not me reading the ask that said bedroom eyes thinking they just wanted to go to bed to sleep cause they're tired😭.(is it obvious I'm on the ace spectrum-)

But on the other hand how would the Ro's react to that?? Like just Mc getting really sleepy at a gathering cause it was late or smt

LOL I feel like there are some prompts that have been sent that were meant to be nsfw and I didn't realize due to also being ace

Rook: He can stay up ungodly late, so when he notices how you look, he pops up next to you, "Falling asleep on me already?" Hooks an arm through yours so the two of you could leave. Depending on how tired you are, he will use it as an excuse to carry you, yes even if you're like 6'5 and definitely bigger then him (that's what magic is for, an infinite cheat code to carry your partner whenever you want).

Beck: Gently takes both of your hands and gives them a squeeze, "Come on, it's late." His voice is soft, and you can hear the edge of sleep in his own voice. You're not sure whose guiding who back, hands wound together, encased in a bubble of sleepiness

Rhea: It's a perfect reason to excuse herself as well, likely just as tired as you are, if not showing it. She drifts towards you, smoothing away at your hair or lightly touching your cheek to make sure you're still somewhat awake. Her voice is thick with sleep, "The night's over for us, come along."

Zoe: They are now on MC duty, guiding you by the hand, making sure you're not so tired you bump into things. You hear them say, "You could have told me if you were tired. I wouldn't have minded leaving early." They almost seem to fuss over you, and their a little more forward like this, guiding you out of the venue

Lars: "Let's go." He practically drags you out of there the second he sees your eyes start to droop. He keeps you awake long enough to get to the car, before letting you drift off. He listens to the sound of your breathing as it evens out, and leaves the music off so he doesn't wake you

???: For a moment, they admire how cute you look drifting off on them, before they finally come to you and ask "Are you ready to go?" When you get into your ride, they let you lean on their shoulder to sleep, hand combing through your hair or tracing circles on the top of your hand to lull you to sleep. You have time. The drive back won't be so quick you can't sleep now