Hockey Boyfriend! Aerion & Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Headcannons about what Hockey player! Aerion and Valarr Targaryen would be like as boyfriends, knew I had to write these as soon as I saw this fanart ughhhh
Warnings: Suggestive, Some violence obv we're talking about Aerion
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who teaches you to skate on the team's private ice during off-hours. He holds both your hands, skating backward, pulling you along while you wobble and curse. He laughs at you with that sharp, beautiful laugh but he never lets go. When you fall, he falls with you, cushioning your body with his, and suddenly you're both lying on the cold ice, his breath fogging in the air between you. "Again," he says, helping you up. He'll stay out here all night if that's what it takes. He loves watching you improve. He loves catching you when you fail even more.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who makes you sit as close to the penalty box as possible, right on the aisle, first row, directly in his line of sight. Because he knows he's going to get sent there. It's not a matter of if, but when. And when he does, skating off the ice with his helmet off and his silver-gold hair plastered to his forehead, he wants the first thing he sees to be your face. He'll sit on that narrow bench, jaw still tight, and mouth three words to you across the divider: Worth it. Every time.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who insists you wear his jersey to every single game, home or away. Not just any jersey. His. The one with his name arched across the back and his number on the sleeves. He pulls you into it himself before each game, tugging the hem down over your hips, smoothing the fabric over your shoulders like he's dressing a prized possession. "Let them see," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. "Let every man in this arena know exactly whose name you wear." He gets a certain look in his eye when he skates past your seat and sees his number on your back. It's the same look he gets right before he scores.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who fights like a man possessed every time someone on the opposing team so much as looks at you in the stands. He doesn't care if it costs his team a power play. The moment some defenseman checks you through the glass, accidentally or not, Aerion drops his gloves and goes for blood. The refs have to pull him off. He'll sit in the penalty box with his knuckles split, breathing hard, and the only thing that calms him down is your hand pressed against the glass. He doesn't look at the coach. He doesn't look at the scoreboard. He looks only at you.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who has your name written inside his shoulder pads, right over his heart. You discovered it by accident, rummaging for a clean towel in his gym bag, and found the lining of his pads marked with a silver Sharpie. Mine, he'd written next to it. When you asked him about it, he just shrugged, but his ears went red. "Superstition," he said.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who smells like ice, sweat, and something sharp, like winter air and cedar. But after a shower, he smells like your shampoo. He uses it on purpose. When you confronted him, he said, "If I can't have you on the road, I'll have you in my hair." He travels with a tiny travel bottle of your conditioner. His teammates tease him relentlessly. He threatens to break their kneecaps. They stop teasing.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who keeps every ticket stub from every game you've ever attended. They're in a box in the back of his wardrobe, rubber-banded in chronological order, along with the first napkin you ever wrote your number on. You found them once when you were looking for a spare hoodie. He caught you with the box open and, for the first time in your relationship, looked genuinely embarrassed. "Don't," he said, voice rough. "Don't look at those." You looked anyway. You saw your handwriting on a crumpled bar napkin from two years ago. You kissed him so hard he forgot to breathe.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who, after a win, pulls you into the empty locker room before the press gets there. The team knows to give him five minutes. He's still in his gear: sweating, flushed, adrenaline humming through his veins and he lifts you onto the equipment table like you weigh nothing. His hands, still wrapped in sweaty tape, grip your thighs. His forehead presses to yours. He doesn't say anything. He just breathes. And then he kisses you deep, hungry, tasting of Gatorade and victory. "This is what I play for," he whispers against your mouth.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who has a very specific ritual after particularly brutal away games when he comes home at 2 AM. He finds you in bed, half-asleep, and peels off his clothes in the dark. He slides under the covers and pulls you against his chest, his body still cold from the ice, his skin smelling of arena air. He buries his face in your hair and holds you so tight you can barely breathe. "Need you," he mumbles, already half-gone. His hand slips under your shirt, not grabbing, just resting flat against your stomach, feeling your warmth. He falls asleep like that, his palm pressed to your skin, his thumb stroking slow circles. You've never felt more wanted in your entire life.
Hockeyplayer!Aerion who, on nights when you're both restless, pins you against the mattress with his body, not aggressively, but deliberately, like he's settling into the only place he belongs. His weight presses you into the bed, his thighs bracketing yours, his forearms planted on either side of your head. He looks down at you with those sharp violet eyes, still half-feral from practice, his silver hair falling across his face. "Say my name," he whispers. You do. He shudders. He lowers his mouth to your neck not biting, not yet, just breathing against your pulse point. "Again." And when you do, he smiles against your skin. That slow, dangerous, possessive smile. The same one he wears right before he scores. Only this time, you're the goal he's been aiming for all along.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who plays Centre like a ghost: silent, precise, almost invisible until he isn't. He doesn't fight. He doesn't trash-talk. He just reads the ice better than anyone, steals pucks with surgical precision, and threads passes through defenders like he's weaving thread through a needle. He leads the league in assists three years running. The announcers call him "the Silver Shadow." His teammates call him "the quiet king." He doesn't correct them. He just skates to the faceoff circle and wins another draw.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, before every game, finds you in the crowd, section 112, row C, your seat and holds your gaze for exactly three seconds. No wave. No smile. Just a look. He doesn't need to say anything. You know what he's telling you: I see you. Thank you for being here. Then he turns away, taps his stick twice, and drops into position. His coach has learned to give him those three seconds. His team has learned to wait. It's not a ritual. It's a lifeline.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who never asked you to wear his jersey. He just left one in your closet one day, folded neatly, with a note that said: Only if you want to. You wore it to the next game. He saw you from the tunnel and, for the first time all season, missed his pre-game stretch because he was staring. He didn't mention it. But you caught him tracing his name on your back during the post-game hug, and you felt his heart hammering under his pads. He doesn't need you to wear it. He needs you to choose to wear it.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who has anxiety before big games but handles it with quiet composure. He doesn't tremble. He doesn't hide. He sits in the corner of the locker room, eyes closed, breathing slow and measured, running through every play in his head. He doesn't ask you to calm him down. He doesn't need you to. But when you brush your fingers over his knuckles, he relaxes , just a fraction, and he opens his eyes to look at you. "Thank you," he says, and nothing more. He doesn't need you to save him. He just needs you to remind him he's not alone.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, after a loss, processes it in silence. He doesn't disappear. He doesn't break down. He sits in the locker room, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling with a stillness that unnerves his teammates. His coach tries to talk to him. He listens, nods, takes responsibility for the missed assignments. He doesn't deflect. He doesn't blame anyone else. "I should have been faster on the backcheck," he says, voice level. He carries the weight because that's who he is. Later, when he finds you waiting outside, he pulls you into a quiet embrace and presses his forehead to yours. "One more game," he says. "I'll fix it." And he always does.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who has a pre-game routine he doesn't break: black coffee, no sugar, exactly seventeen minutes before warmups; a specific playlist he never shares with anyone (mostly classical, some ambient); and a five-minute phone call with you, no matter what time zone he's in. He doesn't tell you he loves you. He doesn't need to. He just asks, "How was your day?" and listens to you talk about something mundane, traffic, your boss, what you had for lunch. He takes that sound, that grounding, ordinary warmth, and carries it onto the ice with him. It steadies his hands more than any superstitious ritual ever could.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, on road trips, texts you one thing before bed every night: Goodnight. Be careful. I'll call tomorrow. It's not clingy. It's not desperate. It's matter-of-fact, steady, like a man who knows he has something good and doesn't need to overcomplicate it. Sometimes you reply with a photo, your face, a cute animal, something silly. He saves every one. He doesn't tell you that, either.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, when he comes home from away games at 2 AM, finds you in bed and slips in behind you without waking you. He doesn't pull you close. He just lies there, one hand resting on your hip, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing. He doesn't need to talk. He doesn't need to be held. He just needs to be near you. In the morning, you'll wake up to him already up, making coffee, looking at you with those tired, steady eyes. "Morning," he says, and it sounds like home.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, when you initiate intimacy, responds with quiet intensity. He's never rough. He's never demanding. He's simply present, completely and utterly present, his hands on your body like he's memorizing the shape of you. He looks at you like you're the only real thing in a world of noise and speed and bright lights. He just breathes your name, once, like it's a prayer he's been saving. And when it's over, he doesn't fall asleep immediately. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes open, watching you. "You're still here," he says, not a question. You kiss him. "Still here." He closes his eyes. He finally lets himself rest.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, at the end of every season, gives you something small, a puck from his first goal, his A from the alternate captaincy, a necklace with a silver skate charm that he had custom-made. He doesn't make a speech. He doesn't get emotional. He just hands it to you and says, "I don't keep much. But I keep you." That's all. That's everything.
Hockeyplayer!Valarr who, on the rare nights when he has anger from a game left over, rolls you onto your back and hovers over you with that tired, wondering look, like he can't quite believe you're real. He doesn't rush. He never rushes. He takes his time undressing you, kissing each inch of skin as it's revealed, murmuring your name like a prayer. His hands shake, they always shake, but his touch is so gentle it almost hurts. "You're the only thing that quiets my head," he whispers against your collarbone. "The only thing." He makes love to you like he's apologizing for every game he lost, every night he kept you awake, every time he came home too exhausted to hold you properly. And when it's over, he curls into your chest, smaller than a man his size should be, and sleeps for ten hours straight. You don't move. You wouldn't dare.
Notes:
GUYS I'M BACKKKK!!!! Exams had me so damn drained but I missed writing SOOOOO MUCHHH UGHHHH
I'm literally so excited to continue PR Stunt and Chivalry, I've also finished the sequel for Hung by a Thread, just editing it now and I'll post it later !!
Alsoooo I'm writing some more headcanons but for Vampire! Aerion & Valarr which i might make into a series but I want to finish PR stunt and Chivalry first :)))
i talked about what tattoos 141 would get for you, but what about the other way around? a little part 2 to this post
Price: if you don't have any tattoos, he'd tell you "don't go marking up that pretty skin, love." or something stupid like that. if you already have a few, he'd want you to wait until he married you, just to be sure. a few months after the wedding you finally convinced him to take you to the shop and get a small J on your ring finger, and he capitulated simply because he bought you a big enough rock that between that and your wedding band it was covered to anyone but you and him, a nice personal reminder of the man you married.
Soap: during a one month op you spontaneously got his first name in cursive in the same spot he has his kiss mark, curving tantalizingly inwards. not telling him until he was finally home, ripping your clothes off and diving between your legs only to freeze and stare at the ink for a good 45 seconds before giving you the best head of your life. he often jokes with you that you need to add an 's after the Johnny (and maybe one day you will. after he one ups you with the bite mark tattoo, you get the word 'soap' in Scottish Gaelic on your side, right next to your boob and he drools over it for months
Ghost: you had been struggling to think of a cute way to surprise him since he's so casual about tattoos. first thing you thought of was his name, but you could hear him laughing about how the name Simon would look in ink plus he never really cared for the Riley surname as it was. so one day, passing by a tattoo shop with a 'walk-ins welcome!' sign out font, you pop in and ask if you could flip through a flash book for ideas. while your looking through the pages you find one that makes you smile to yourself. you walk home with a little skull tattoo under your ear and when you find him at home you show him proudly. he stops short, a million things racing through his head before he snaps out of it and kisses you harder than he ever has before.
Gaz: you're less superstitious than he is, and once the two of you have those drunk matching tattoos you figure why not get a tattoo just for him? knowing how he felt about it you didn't surprise him with it, you talked it over with him and he made sure you were 100% in (of course you are). something small and simple, the numbers of your anniversary along your ribcage in a simple font, something he can't help but rub his thumb over whenever he sees it
Thanks so much to @ weregonnaneedabiggerboat !for this ask!! Sorry it took so long friend! 😋 strap in it's a hefty one!
---
"Welcome back my Dynamic Didgeridoos!" Caine greeted them with a new weird nickname as they stepped back through the portal.
Everyone let out a separate sigh of relief stepping back into the circus tent. Which was ironic in its own way, seeing as they were trapped there.
"I can't believe you thought treasure scuba diving would be a good adventure.." Zooble grumbled, shaking off the water from their body.
"Whaaat? It was a good adventure. I always wanted to see the ocean."
"Not when there's giant squids trying to EAT US!" Zooble groaned. Caine thought giant squids who wanted revenge on the group for stealing their treasure was a good idea.
"Hey now I didn't think of the squid part. That was all Gangle! She knows all about tentacles right, Gangle?"
"WH-WHAT? M-Me?! I-I don't know what you're talking about!" Gangle scrambled to deny the implication.
"Oh really ? So I didn't catch you readi--"
"HAHHAHA OK GOTTA GO!" She nervous laughed loudly to try and cover the sound of Jax's words so she could retreat to her room before the shame took over, her face all red.
Jax let out a chuckle as he scanned the room for Pomni. He needed someone else to tease & she was his favorite for that. He hasn't heard anything from her in a moment.
She was plopped on the floor by the entrance floor, like a wet stuffed animal.
"Somebody's all washed up"
"Did you uuuuug seriously just make a pun at me?" She pulled her head up too guve him a swap
"Oh c'mon, don't make me flounder Pomni."
"Stoooop" She tried her hardest not to smile through the annoyed groan.
"Alright alright. Hey, want to see that thing in my room I told you about?"
"Sure." She smiled softly after walking after the tall bunny.
---
The lock clicked as Jax opened his door.
His room looks a lot like Pomni's except witn his colors on the bed, walls, even random bunny art around the room.
"Nice..room." She smiled awkwardly.
"Yeah, you're lucky to be here. I don't let anyone in here. Now cmere, here's what I wanted to show you!"
He directs her towards the closet in the corner. She raises an eyebrow.
He opens the door slowly, his grin as big as always. Pomni flicked her gaze back and forth from Jax to the doorknob. The door creaked open and a light inside lit up the space.
"Welcome to my manly outfit closet! All the outfits I have worn on adventures are in here! Space suit, cowboy outfit, even my poacher outfit~" he held up the digital clothing on a hanger.
"Really? All your outfits?" Pomni glanced around the racks until her eyes found what she wanted. The maid dress! It was there! In the very back corner but it was still there! Did he know it was in here?
"Well, what do you think?" Jax turned around and froze in his spot. Pomni... was holding his maid costume. His face lit up pink with embarrassed rage.
"H-HEY! WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?!"
"It was back here, you didn't know this was in here?"
The bunny scoffs loudly. "O-Of course I knew it was in there! I-I just didn't think you'd go snooping around my stuff, you creep!" He tried to snatch the dress from her with a lunge. Pomni let out a yelp and dodged him. Jax was now on all fours; crawling towards her in a feral manor.
"J-Jax! Wait! I just wanted to say I thought you looked really nice intneh dress!" She held out the dress in front of her as she shielded her body with it, hoping it would act as a shield.
There was a momentary pause. Jax wasn't making any noise. Pomni cracked her eyes open slowly. Jax was standing up again right in front of Pomni, who was still shielding herself with the outfit.
"You...think I look nice in this?" His voice was monotone but he wasn't making eye contact with her. His cheeks still bright pink
"Yeah, you really did. I could see why maybe you didn't like the makeup, but the dress was nice. It... fit you well?" She was even getting pinker with her trying to describe how nice he looked in the dress.
You better not be [BLOINK]ing with me" a brief moment of pain flashed across his face. Pomni caught it but she could tell he didn't want to talk about it.
"I-I'd never do that Jax. I'm being honest, I... really think you looked nice in the dress." She offered him a smile to prove she was sincere. Jax said nothing as he raised his hand & Pomni froze. Was he gonna hit her? She flinched as his hang dove for her. She flinched hard with a cry of an expected slap.
But nothing came. She peaked open so see Jax had grabbed the dress off the hanger in Pomni's hands.
"If I do this for you... and you tell anyone..." He was looking down at the dress as he spoke. "I'll hide Kinger's bugs in your room every day for a month."
Pomni blinked in suprised, this was actually happening. Jax headed for a privacy screen in the corner of his room
"Hey, no looking pervert, you're already getting more than you deserve." He snapped his head around the corner of the privacy screen, motioning for her to turn around. She turned around and covered her eyes. She heard some clothing rustling and she could feel her heartbeat.
Riiiip "Ah dang it!"
"What happened?" Pomni asked
"The stocking ripped, *sigh* whatever. Just doing it without, you'll have to deal with it." There was a little more rustling before she heard his paws on the floor again.
"There..Happy now?.." his voice was quite but still had that annoyed tone. Pomni turned to see the most adorable blush on his face as he looked to the side. His ears were down & his legs bare, his toes looking like they were clinging to the digital carpet.
"You..look really nice Jax." She smiled at him even tho he wasn't looking at her. He made some sort of grunt noise of embarrassment.
His eyes still glued to the floor he took a couple more steps forward till he was right in front of her.
"Do you...want to touch it?"
"W-What?! I - You-- want me to.." Pomni voice squeaked, her face red as a tomato.
"Not that IT you FREAK, I--" Jax was also unbelievably pink from the implication of what "it" would be.
"I'm talking about the dress." He growled in a whisper, glaring down at his jester friend. She let out a sigh of relief.
She reached out to place her hand on Jax's stomach, her hand landing gently in the center. He flinched a little at the contact, almost like he wasn't expecting her touch to be gentle, even though it always was with him.
"It's really soft." She smiled up at him with that cute little smile she had, and Jax felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest.
Pomni was just so cute, and her touch felt so nice. She slowly began to let her hand wander as Jax seemed to enjoy it.
"Duh, you think I'd keep a uncomfy outfit?" He tried to sound snarky, but it didn't work out.
What was happening to him? As Pomni's hand gently rubbed his belly, the side of his waist, and even his chest, he felt his mind begin to fog in relaxation? No... pleasure? Not that intense...what's the word?
He was moving into Pomni's touch. His head coming down to nuzzle against her cheek, head butting her gently like the way cats do.
He wanted to be putty in her hands as she pet him to sleep. He wanted that so bad.. he needed it. That's what it was. He felt needy.
"C-Could we lay down?" Jax mumbled, pointing his thumb to his bed on the other side of the room. Pomni looked over at the large plush looking bed & smiled at him again with that adorable look in her eye.
"Lead the way" she took his hand, her hand looking so small wrapped in the rabbit's. Jax started walking them towards the bed, he couldn't believe this was happening.
How was this going to go? He hadn't been this close with anyone since... fuck it. If he was going to do this. He wasn't holding back. Who knows when an opportunity like this would happen again.
Without thinking, he snatched Pomni into a hug, holding her close to his chest as he plopped down on the bed. She let out a yelp of surprise, her cheeks burning against the soft dressed material.
"J-Jax?" Pomni lifted her gaze slightly to try and meet his eyes , but his hands gripped the back of her head, pressing it back against his chest.
"Don't go...please.." His free hand slipped around her back, holding her closely. There was a pause as Pomni took in the request.
"I'm not going anywhere." She smiled softly, her hands wrapping around his waist as she settled into her new spot laying on her bunny.
Until Jax flinched, away from her touch. A soft grunt escaping his lips.
"What's wrong? Are you in any pain from the adventure?"
"No, it's nothing, just watch your hands alright?"
"Oh...kay?" She experimentally dragged her hands back down his waist, and what do you know, he flinched ahain.
"Hey! Whahat did I say!" He tried to bark but there was a giggle too?
"Jax.."
"No"
"Are you ticklish?" Her eyes darting around his slender frame for possible tickle spots. Jax's face got red as the small jester
"'Me ? T-Ticklish? Pff-- You wihihish, wahahahahit!!" His chest started to bouce with laughter. Pomni's nimble fingers had worked their way between Jax's sides and lower back.
"Wait? Wait for what?" She giggled back at his silly request.
"Ffff[BLOINK!] youhuhuhuhu!" The large bunny squirmed and dug his heels into the digital carpet as he fought to resist himself from gripping Pomni's wrist.
"Well that wasn't very nice... you should apologize. I'm just giving you what you wanted~" She slipped her hands further around to his lower back, tickling upward to
"AHACK! I dihihidnt want thihihis! POMNIHIHI!" He kept letting out random squeaks in his laugh as she dug into certain spots like his armpits, hips, and even reaching back to squeeze at his knees and lower thigh. That seemed to get him the most.
"Yes you have, you've been giving me signals all day! You're touch starved Jax, and that's ok. So just let me help you."
"EHE! I dohohohont neheheheed your heEHEHlp!! S-Stahahahahap!" He half heartedly begged, just leaving all his spots wide open and barely blocking anything.
"I don't think you mean that, do you Bunny Boy?" She finally went for a spot she knew Jax would love. One hand started gently massaging the end of his ear, the other had, gently scribbling around the other ear's base. Jax. Absolutely. Melted.
"W-W-Wait Pomnihihihiiii, d-don't touch my- ehehehehehehhears! Nonono it's too muhuhuch~" there was a mix of whines in his laughter, Pomni didn't listen & just kept gently petting his ears. Her small fingers wiggling around and along his floppy ears. His face was bright red , with a wobbly grin and slightly musty eyes. One hand even wandered to Jax's chin, giving it a light tickle. Her other hand gently rubbed the end of his ear between her fingerpads in a circle.
"N-NOHO! Nohot thehehere I'll --"
Jax was silenced by a loud repetitive thumping sound. Pomni froze and looked around of the source but she didn't need to look far. Her body shaking confirmed it. One of Jax's feet had started thumping on the ground when she started petting his chin.
How adorable!!
"I am nahahahahat adorablessstaahahahap" Had Pomni said that out loud? Whoops. Now Jax was actually gently pushing her hands away, maybe holding up a white flag, Pomni wasn't sure so she decided to stop. His foot thumping kept going for a moment longer than stopped.
"That was pretty cute, the foot thing you did." Pomni's face was warm and pink in color. She was having such a fun time with him like this. All soft and snuggly. She really missed this form of contact. Not just from the rabbit, but from anyone really.
"Y-Yeah yeah... don't get used to it. You're a brute.." he complained emptily as he regrabbed Pomni, pulling her into a hug. His chin rubbing against her forehead and top of her head, making her giggle. He was always so silly for doing that.
"We need a code phrase for the next time you feel like this, so I can know how your feeling sooner. So you don't have to flat out say it." She pointed out as she nuzzle back into his fluffy chest.
"I...guess that could work. What did you have in mind?" He looked down at her, eyebrow arched.
--- after episode 5 adventure ---
"That was...actually not as worse as I thought." Zooble sounded suprised they had a little fun.
"Honestly, me too. I liked the lower stakes adventures personally." Pomni gave Zooble a soft smile in response.
"Eh, the first two were great, the rest? Nahhh.." Jax butted in, leaning his head down to Pomni to speak. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again.
"Oh yeah, Pomni, I can show you that thing in the hall I was talking about."
"O-Oh, yeah sure!" She smiled as she followed Jax off back towards his room, sneaking a poke in his side before dipping around the corner towards his room, the tall rabbit hot on her trail, big grin on his face.
Dónal returns home after weeks of filming... and weeks of tormenting you with selfies of him looking positively delicious on his daily runs. You show him exactly how happy you are to have him home.
Word count: 2.7k
Warnings: mature content 👀🔞this is a spicy one y’all! (oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, sorta dom!Dónal if you squint, plentyyyy of praise, unprotected sex, Dónal Finn’s fingers (yes they do need a warning all their own))
Masterlist | Part 1
a/n: written for and because of @winniemaywebber 🤭 love sharing lots of Normal and Fine thoughts about our fella with you, bestie 🫶
If you enjoy, feel free to like, reblog, comment Shakespearean declarations of love, whatever strikes your fancy. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you'd like to be added to my tag list, let me know!
Your phone pings with a notification, and despite being entirely alone in your little apartment, you find you have to brace yourself for a moment before looking at it— if it’s one of his running pictures again…
Dammit, it is.
Dónal’s grinning into the camera, crinkles around his eyes as prominent as his dimples. His freckled face is flushed, shiny with sweat, his curls damp with the same, and he’s wearing that black, red, and green jersey you love
You’re so fixated on the picture, it takes you a moment to notice the message he sent along with it.
See you soon, mo ghrá ❤️
You type back a reply, a miss you of your own and a reminder to hydrate and wear sunscreen— you can tell by his sunburnt nose that he’s still not used to the Palermo sun— and return your attention to the picture.
One week, you tell yourself. Just one more week, and then he’s home.
The week simultaneously speeds by and seems to move slow as molasses, your impatience broken only by the seemingly never ending messages and photos from your boyfriend as his flight home approaches.
There’s the usual good morning and good night texts, the midday check ins, the selfies of him with Hero and Max and Zine and Holly, his costars sneaking silly selfies of their own to send to you when he’s not looking…
And then there’s the running pics.
There really shouldn’t be this many, there’s no way he’s managed to go on this many runs in only a week— but he’ll send one from seemingly a week or two ago, with a message about how he’d meant to send it to you before, isn’t the sunrise in the background gorgeous? Or one from a few days before, a view of the city in the background, or one of him holding your favorite drink as a post-run treat and… he has to know what it’s doing to you, inundated as you are with pictures of his dimples and flushed cheeks and curls damp with sweat.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to come pick you up?”
“No, I’ll be fine, sweetheart. I’ll be getting in late anyway, I’ll see you when I get home.”
Your boyfriend’s voice is slightly fuzzy through the phone, airport announcements and distant conversations drifting in from the background.
“Alright… be safe, my love. Text me—”
“When I’m on the plane, and when we land. I know, mo ghrá.”
Despite his mock annoyance at your reminder, his voice lilts back into softness and warmth at the endearment, and your heart flutters.
“I love you,” you say, grinning. “See you soon.”
“See you soon,” he murmurs, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he tacks on your name at the end. There’s a few seconds of dead air, like you’re teenagers, neither of you wanting to be the first to hang up, and then the call ends.
With that, you start getting ready.
You’re practically vibrating by the time the text from Dónal arrives telling you he just landed. He’ll be home soon, and you can’t wait.
The telltale sound of keys jangling at the front door has you sprinting towards it, pausing just as it swings open to reveal your boyfriend.
You sweep your eyes over him, cataloging: curls a touch mussed under his trusty baseball cap, glasses the tiniest bit crooked on his nose, white shirt clinging to his chest and shoulders, the barest amount of stubble scattered over his chin, and his St. Christopher pendant tucked safely under his shirt.
He blinks in surprise, though his shock quickly transforms into a grin at the sight of you.
“Hi, sweethea— mph!”
You’re flinging your arms around him before he even finishes speaking, lips crashing to his.
He blindly tugs his bags inside as you pull him over the threshold, hands flying to pull you closer the second the door is closed behind you. You’re feverishly running your hands over his arms, his chest, savoring the feeling of him here, home, finally.
He grins into the kiss, body pressed flush against your own.
“What brought this on, mo ghrá?” He murmurs against your lips, driving you positively mad because he knows exactly what brought it on— the weeks of him away, the endless stream of pictures…
His mouth moves away from yours, a series of kisses pressed to your cheek in a trail until his lips are brushing the shell of your ear. His hands are low on your hips, his body pressed against yours, and all you can feel, all you can think of is him him him as he whispers:
“Missed me that much?”
His voice has gone low and gravelly in a way that sends heat right to your core. You’re suddenly grateful for his firm grip on your hips, because your knees go weak for a moment, and you could swear you genuinely stop breathing for the barest second.
He chuckles at the soft whimper that escapes you unbidden, a dark, delicious sound.
This man is going to kill you.
“Missed you too, mo ghrá,” he murmurs against your skin, brushing kisses everywhere he can reach.
You can’t even begin to form words, your brain gone deliciously fuzzy at his touch. His lips return to cover yours in a heated, hungry, open mouthed kiss just in time for his hands to drift down to your thighs and hoist you up into his arms, the little gasp of surprise muffled by his mouth. Your hands find their way under his shirt as he carries you to the bedroom, roaming over his skin. Had he been this… broad before he left?
You feel yourself being lowered gently, the familiar duvet over your bed hitting your back. Dónal’s lips retreat, and you try to follow, stopping short when you register your surroundings enough to take note of him stripping out of his shirt, his hat lost somewhere between the foyer and here. You swallow thickly, taking him in— it seems he’d been bulking up during his time in Italy, and you didn’t mind one bit.
Shirt discarded somewhere on the bedroom floor, he steps forward, between your spread legs, eyes dark with desire. His hands have just brushed the hem of your tank top when your own hand lifts, trailing up his broad chest, over his shoulder, and up into his mussed curls. You drag him back to your lips, doing your best to make up for the weeks he was away. You can’t help but grin into the kiss at the strangled groan that escapes him when you tug at his curls— god, you’d missed that.
Your grin morphs into a gasp when you feel his hands slip under your shirt, the cool metal of his ring a delicious contrast to the warmth of his skin on yours. His fingers slide up your body, taking your tank top with them. As it lands somewhere on the floor, he wastes no time in pressing his lips to yours again, pressing you back against the bed. One blasphemously large hand grips your waist, fingers splayed to cover as much flesh as he can, like he needs to feel as much of you as possible, while the other is at your chest, thumb brushing over a peaked nipple and eliciting a keening whine from you.
His teeth snag on your bottom lip, tugging gently before releasing it in favor of scattering hungry, open mouthed kisses over your cheek, your jaw, your neck… his teeth graze your skin, nipping playfully at your pulse point, at the hollow of your throat, at the spot just below your ear that drags out a moan every time, his tongue coming along to soothe the ache shortly after.
You shiver at the cool metal of his pendant dragging over your skin, and find your fingers digging into his stupidly large biceps— honestly, it was ridiculous how attractive his damn arms were, absolutely unfair— as his mouth migrates south, sucking marks into your neck, your collarbone, the tops of your breasts… and then his lips wrap around your peaked nipple, his hand remaining at your other breast, his thumb rubbing the soft skin on the underside of your breast, trailing up to rub back and forth against the peak as he begins gently twisting it with his forefinger. His mouth leaves your breast with a pop, quick to soothe the other as your grip tightens.
“God,” you sigh, arching into his touch, “I missed this, missed you—”
His wide brown eyes flick up to meet yours, mouth releasing your breast in favor of pressing a line of kisses to the valley between them.
“Missed me what, sweetheart?” He murmurs, his mouth moving lower to scatter kisses over your bare stomach, “Gotta finish your sentences, love.”
On autopilot, you lift your hips so he can yank down your shorts, words utterly lost as his lips trace along your hipbone and then lower.
“F-fuck…” you gasp, his name tumbling from your lips in a whine.
“I know what I missed,” he murmurs almost conversationally, breath ghosting over your skin. “Missed seeing you like this.”
His hands nudge you, your legs spreading, and his sharp inhale at the sight of you just barely reaches your ears, a cheeky murmur of oh you did miss me, didn’t you following.
He brushes a kiss to your inner thigh, eyes flicking up to meet yours as a soft moan slips out.
“Missed hearing you.”
His lips move up your thigh, scant inches away from where you’re aching for him.
“Dónal,” you plead, threading your hands through his unruly curls. You’re seconds away from just putting him where you need him. “Baby, please.”
His breath ghosts over your core, eyes locked on yours.
“Missed tasting you.”
And then he’s devouring you, licking a thick stripe up your folds, groaning at the taste of your arousal on his tongue. Your hips rock into him as he dives deeper, whimpers escaping from your parted lips each time his nose brushes just right against your clit.
“Y’taste so fucking good, sweetheart,” you feel more than hear him say, his voice sending shivers cascading throughout your body. The little sigh he lets out turns into a deep groan when you tighten your grip on his hair and yank him closer. His mouth works feverishly against you, drifting up to clamp around your clit as his fingers trail up your leg towards your core.
“Oh my god,” you whine as he slips a finger, then two, inside you. You feel him hum against you, fingers pumping in and out at a pace just short of what you need.
You lift your head, mouth open to… you’re not really sure what, honestly. Beg? Plead? Order? When his fingers curl just right into that spongy spot inside you, and you’re suddenly right there at the edge.
“Fuck,” you gasp, tugging relentlessly at his hair in an attempt to bring him closer, hips rocking against him as his fingers pick up their pace, “Dónal, honey, I’m so close, fuck—”
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he speaks into your core, eyes flicking up just in time to watch your head fall back in pleasure. “Such a good girl, doing so good, love, just let go for me, come on.”
Your thighs tremble around him, your grip on his hair tightening, and your climax crashes over you.
Dónal groans against you as he works you through your high, your hold on his hair finally loosening and he lifts his head to look at you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, mouth glistening.
“Fuck—” is all you can get out, utterly breathless, before he surges up to press his mouth to yours. You groan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, melting back into the bed. Your hands trail greedily over his torso, drifting down, down, down, until you reach his jeans, which are doing very little to hide the evidence of his arousal. You blindly scramble to unbutton them, Dónal squirming and wriggling above you in an attempt to get them off without having to pull his lips from yours, but he eventually acquiesces to standing. His jeans and boxers hit the floor, your boyfriend kicking them away as soon as they do.
Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, just barely holding back an appreciative moan as you take him in. Before you know it, he’s moving to hover over you once more, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. His hips rock against you, groaning into your mouth as his generous length glides deliberately through your folds. Your breath hitches, his groan cutting off sharply as the tip of his cock snags at your entrance.
You remain like that for one breath, two. And then…
The noise Dónal makes when he presses into you is indescribable— some delicious combination of moan and groan and sigh, tuned perfectly to be released directly into your ear, caged in by your boyfriend’s limbs.
“F-fuck,” he grits out, hand tracing up and down your side, “sweetheart, you feel… fucking perfect.”
Your only reply is a keening moan, breath stuttering as you adjust to the stretch of him inside you.
He pulls back just a touch to meet your eyes, lips brushing your cheek on the way.
“Ready, mo ghrá?”
You nod feverishly, hands gripping his unfairly large biceps.
“Yes, please—”
He pulls out slightly, thrusting back into you with practiced ease, a stream of praise tumbling from his lips.
A delicious heat washes over you as he fills you over and over. Your nails are digging into his back as Dónal pistons in and out of you, face buried at the juncture of your shoulder and neck. His breath comes in short gasps and grunts, and it’s all you can do to hold on as you feel that coil low in your core wind tighter and tighter.
Your fingers digging into his flesh aren’t good enough anymore— now, your teeth come into play, biting down on his broad shoulder.
A little thrill of satisfaction travels up your spine at the sound of a groan catching in his throat when your teeth meet flesh, hips stuttering the barest bit before returning to their normal rhythm.
In what can only be revenge, teeth scrape at your neck, his hand sliding between you, thumb finding your clit and circling it in a way that has you clenching feverishly around him.
“Oh god—”
“You close, mo ghrá?” He pants, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His nose brushes yours, breaths tangled as you nod frantically, toes curling as he hits that spot again and again.
“Yes,” you gasp, fighting to keep your eyes on his— it’s taking all your strength to not let them roll back in your head. “Yes.”
His mouth crashes to yours as the wave builds and builds and then crashes over you in a rush of heat. You’re still recovering, the world a haze of light and color and him, when his hips stutter once more against yours and then he’s spilling into you with a groan.
Breathless, the two of you simply stare at each other for a moment before he dips to capture your lips in a tender kiss, muffling your whine at the loss as he slowly pulls out.
“You alright, sweetheart?” He murmurs, forehead creased as he takes you in.
You smile, giving into the urge to smooth away the concern from his skin, your thumb stroking over his forehead.
“I’m perfect.”
“Good,” he grins, pressing one last kiss to your lips before scrambling off of you. “Be right back.”
He returns with a washcloth, tenderly cleaning up the combined mess between your legs, scattering kisses everywhere he can reach as he murmurs about how much he missed you, how happy he is to be home.
Soon enough, you’re snuggled up in bed, legs tangled, you wearing his t-shirt, surrounded by the scent of something clean and fresh and entirely him.
“Hey,” you murmur, lifting your face from where you're resting on his chest.
a/n: i am SO ill about bloodymary y'all. i don't know how long this fic is going to end up being i'm just going where the wind takes me. warnings for blood/gore and injury in this chapter! more detailed tagging is on AO3 and full fic summary are there as well as on the tumblr masterpost. enjoy!
Read on AO3!
Tumblr Masterpost
chapter 1: i heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
-
Grace woke up to blaring alarms. He shot up out of bed, scrambling up and immediately falling to the floor in a tangled heap of blankets. He shot up to stand, blankets wrapped around him like a bizarre toga before he shoved them off.
“Armando? Rocky? What’s with the wakeup–”
Grace was cut off with the sound of Mary’s automated voice shouting “ANOMALY DETECTED. IMPACT IMMINENT.”
“Impact– anoma-what?”
“BIODOME MAY BE COMPROMISED. PUT ON PROTECTIVE GEAR AND SEEK SHELTER.”
Grace cursed (or at least, as much as he did “curse”) under his breath, dashing over to where his spacesuit from the Hail Mary was kept if anything should happen to the atmosphere in the biodome. Which would apparently be happening any second, judging by Mary’s frantic warnings.
“I’m on it, I’m on it– what about the Eridians?” Grace asked, hopping on one foot as he pulled on his suit.
“NEARBY ERIDIANS HAVE EVACUATED. ROCKY IS ON THE WAY.”
Grace lost his balance at that, slamming to the ground. “WHAT?! But the– the anomaly? Imminent impact?!”
“HE WAS INSISTENT.”
“Insistent on getting himself killed,” Grace muttered, clambering to his feet once more and grabbing his helmet.
Then, right on cue, came Rocky’s insistent knocking.
“Not the best time for a visit, buddy!” Grace shouted, securing his helmet in place.
“Grace saved Rocky. Now Rocky save Grace!” came Rocky’s protest from the other side of the door.
“I didn’t save you so that you could get yourself killed!” Grace protested, throwing open the door.
Rocky burst in, heedless of Grace’s protests. “Follow, follow! Grace not know where safe zone is.”
“I literally do! We put these protocols in place together, remember?” Grace scoffed.
“Grace very forgetful.”
Grace rolled his eyes, and followed Rocky to the bunker below his home. The bunker had originally been put in place for Grace to stay when the biodome needed maintenance and there was a risk of Erid’s atmosphere getting in. Grace just hoped it was solid enough to protect himself and Rocky from whatever was about to crash into the biosphere.
“I still can’t believe you came here,” Grace muttered once they were both inside the bunker.
Rocky didn’t answer, suddenly very interested in the bunker door’s locking mechanic.
“It auto-locks, buddy. We’re fine,” Grace sighed.
“Rocky not want Grace to be alone. If bunker does not hold…” Rocky trailed off, awkwardly shuffling and still refusing to face Grace.
“If does not hold… at least Rocky and Grace are together,” finally turning to face him.
Grace felt a knot forming in his throat. He opened his mouth to respond– but didn’t get the chance to before a mind-numbingly loud crash sounded, and the bunker shook.
“Anomaly here, broke shield!” Rocky cried, scrambling to press against Grace’s leg. Grace immediately crouched beside him, wrapping his arms around Rocky.
“The bunker’ll hold, it’s gotta–”
The bunker rumbled again with another crash, this one MUCH closer than before, causing Grace to hug Rocky tighter. Grace heard the distant crash of waves– whatever the anomaly was, it must have hit the water.
Grace waited for the bunker to settle before pulling back from Rocky.
“See? Told you the bunker would hold. Let’s go see what that was,” Grace said, straightening up.
“NO! Grace stay here. Biodome not safe!” Rocky protested, scrambling to stand in front of the bunker door.
“That’s what I’ve got this for,” Grace said, knocking on the side of his helmet.
“Anomaly dangerous maybe!” Rocky pointed out frantically.
“BIODOME BREACH. HUMAN LIFE SIGN DETECTED.” Mary interrupted.
Rocky and Grace both froze.
“H-Human?” Grace choked out.
“Detected where, question?!” Rocky managed to get out at the same time, a leg tapping insistently on the bunker floor.
“HUMAN LIFE SIGN DETECTED IN BIODOME. ATMOSPHERE UNSAFE, MUST RETREAT TO BUNKER.”
“There’s another– a human? The anomaly was a–”
“Grace and Rocky go, save new human!” Rocky cut him off, activating the bunker door’s unlock sequence.
Grace couldn’t help but agree, thoughts whirling. There would be time to figure out why and how another human ended up on Erid later. Right now, they had to make sure the new human didn’t die in the corrupted atmosphere.
Rocky and Grace scrambled out of the bunker and out of Grace’s house to a bizarre sight. A large metal… ship? That was the only word Grace had at the moment to describe it.
In any case, the ship had washed up onto the shore in front of Grace’s house. It was rusted over, which was odd because it couldn’t have been in the water for that long. Grace could see the hole in the biodome from where it had crashed in– which the Eridians were already beginning to repair.
Then Grace’s gaze fell to the water. And with dawning horror he realized the ship may not have been covered in rust. Because red was blooming along the water’s surface in a trail from where the ship now lay. Grace wasn’t sure what the red substance was– it unsettlingly reminded him of blood. But– but it couldn’t be blood… right?
The ship itself was rather odd, even if it wasn’t rusted over or– Grace shuddered– bloody. Its construction was crude and antiquated. There was some sort of prod on the front of it, as well as a porthole. And as Grace and Rocky got closer, Grace noticed some sort of propeller mechanism on the back.
That caused Grace to stumble to a halt. “A submarine?” he realized.
“What new word mean, question?” Rocky asked, turning to look back at Grace.
“A submarine. It’s– it’s a type of ship, I guess. It’s meant to go in the water… what was one doing out here?”
“Submarine in water now,” Rocky pointed out as the waves lapped at the end of it.
Grace rolled his eyes. “Okay– it is now, but it fell from the sky first!”
Rocky didn’t comment on that, instead turning towards the submarine again. “New human still alive. Can hear heartbeat and breathing. But not moving. Wait until biodome fixed to get out.”
“I– right. Okay. Better see where the entrance is on this thing in the meantime,” Grace said, mind still running a million miles an hour. A human. There was another human.
Grace slowly circled the submarine, looking for any discernable entrance. And at first, Grace found nothing. Maybe it was a top entry? If the submarine had even landed right side up, that is. Grace had no way of telling if it actually did or if this was going to be more complicated than he thought.
It turned out that this was going to be more complicated than Grace thought. But not because the submarine had landed upside down– but because the door seemed to be sealed shut from the outside. Which made Grace’s stomach do all sorts of uneasy maneuvers. Why would the person inside have been sealed in? Who had done that to them– clearly there was no intent on getting them out.
What if whoever was inside was dangerous. What if they had been sealed in for a reason.
Grace shook his head. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that there was a human inside. And as much as Grace liked the Eridians… there were certain things he missed about human companionship that Eridians just didn’t quite get.
“Rocky? We’re gonna need a laser cutter,” Grace said, steeling his resolve. Whoever was in there, and whatever they might have done to be stuck in there… Grace was going to get them out.
-
Soon enough, the hole in the biodome was fixed and Grace and Rocky could safely open up the submarine. And once they cut through the submarine door… Grace wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t… this.
What seemed to be dried blood and viscera covered the entire interior of the sub. The red substance in the water… that had been blood too. A larger mass of viscera clung to one of the pipes in the sub, while another larger lump lay in the center of it.
Until Grace realized that wasn’t just a lump of viscera– that was the human. Grace scrambled to their side without a second thought, ignoring Rocky’s concerned protests. He turned the person onto their back– and his stomach lurched.
The person– if he could even call them that at this point– was thoroughly caked in blood. But it wasn’t just that– their skin was… bubbly, for lack of a better word. There was a tear in their cheek where inhumanly sharp teeth poked out. Their arm looked like it had been torn clean off as well– and that was when Grace realized the chunk of viscera clinging to one of the pipes was the person’s arm.
And despite all of that, the person was breathing. Shallowly, sure– but breathing all the same.
“Rocky–”
“New human not look right. Is what all humans meant to look like, question? Grace abnormal for humans?” Rocky asked frantically.
“No– no, humans don’t typically look like this. We– we gotta help them,” Grace said shakily, not quite sure how to even approach safely moving them.
“Yes, yes! Must help! Human dirty and hurt!” Rocky cried, nervously shuffling in the entryway of the sub.
“You make sure Armando’s up and running– I’m gonna try and pick them up,” Grace said, eyeing the person warily.
They seemed shorter than Grace, but definitely had more muscular bulk than he did. But somehow, Grace managed to scoop them up into his arms, trying not to get too grossed out by the amount of blood and viscera he was now getting on himself.
He carried them all the way back to his house, where Rocky was waiting with Armando and a makeshift medical station using a spare cot from the bunker. Grace laid the person down as gently as he could, then stepped back so that Armando could work his magic.
Grace just hoped it would be enough.
-
Armando had managed to get the person stable. They were (presumably) male, and frankly looked less frightening once the blood was cleaned from them. Their face was still distorted– some sort of mutation, according to Armando’s scans– but at least they were now recognizable as human. Dark hair framed their face and brushed the top of their shoulders (Grace had to about arm wrestle Armando to make sure he didn’t cut their hair). The rest of their body, minus some concerning scarring and bruising, seemed completely normal. They had some sort of tattoo on their neck as well, but Grace couldn’t quite make out what it was– it almost seemed like it had been burned off.
As if the mutation, scarring, and blood weren’t enough, Armando’s scans also detected something rather concerning– radiation poisoning. It seemed that this person had been exposed to extreme amounts of x-rays. They seemed fine for now, but they had a long road of recovery ahead of them.
Grace rubbed his face with both hands, pushing his glasses up into his hair. What had happened to this person? Everything he managed to discover about them just gave Grace more questions. But there was nothing he could do now but wait for them to wake up.
My Writing with a Zero Draft post is now available (in a slightly updated version) to read for free on Medium.
I've only become more of an evangelist for this approach after talking with people who have turned to AI to overcome writer's block or who have found themselves caught in a space between outlines and messy first drafts. You don't need a computer to generate an outline of your own ideas for you. And for many of us, that messy space is exactly where we need to be! Let's call it the zero draft!
