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joequiinn · 6 months ago

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The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 9

[chap eight] | [all chapters here] | [chap ten]

Summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, slow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: Me?? Taking another unexpected writing hiatus?? Never. But forreal, you all know how life gets. So, as a treat here's a longer chapter (that may or may not be a bit rambly) to make up for my absence. As I wrote, this just kept going and going, so I hope you all enjoy the extra few thousand words lmao

wc: 8.6k

Chapter Nine

The rest of Monday was absolute shit following your fight with Eddie. After spending the entirety of lunch break hiding out under the bleachers in an attempt to pull yourself together, facing your peers for the rest of the day was the last thing you wanted. The trek to your fifth period class was like some walk of shame, as if you were wearing some damned scarlet letter; it felt as if the entire school was watching you, waiting to see if you’d make yourself look like an idiot again or if you’d erupt. You had never felt so scrutinized before, so susceptible to judgment, but you fought tooth and nail not to give people the reaction they were hoping for.

The next day wasn’t any better. Once again, you felt the weight of everyone’s attention, you felt the pressure of all their judgment. Was this how it felt to be in Eddie’s shoes, how it felt to be a total social outcast? It was even shittier than you could have predicted, and you found yourself questioning the stupid little plan you and Eddie had been hatching that led to this.

It only grew worse as the day went on. Third period was arguably the most frustrating - you were stuck sitting next to Eddie for a whole damn hour, and he didn’t speak a single word to you. You didn’t even think it was possible for that boy to go quiet for longer than a few minutes, yet he proved you wrong, keeping his mouth zipped tight and his eyes on anything but you. Being ignored by Eddie caused your anger to flare, and if you had less self control you would’ve said something about it, would’ve given him a piece of your mind, but your frustrations had kept you, too, surprisingly silent. Or maybe it was the fear of looking stupid again.

Wednesday continued much the same way, although you felt less frustrated by everyone’s critical glances and Eddie’s willful ignorance of your existence. You thought maybe you were starting to get your shit together, that you had finally combatted all your pent up emotions and pushed them all the way down to the pit of your heart, where you'd just ignore them like you did with any challenging feelings. Hell, you were even beginning to fool yourself into thinking that you were feeling better, though deep down you knew that wasn’t true.

The worst that the week had to offer came during lunch that day, though, when you foolishly tried to approach Duncan and demand to know what the hell his deal was. You thought you had pulled yourself together well enough - you spoke with a sharp tone and a cool demeanor, but he and his gang of friends simply mocked your attempts at an argument. They did everything they could to make you feel small, but you kept it together, retreating from their harsh words with all the poise you could muster, hoping that your anger wasn’t too obvious. Their laughter and whispers wouldn't get to you, or at least you'd never show it - the whole school already saw you vulnerable once, it was not about to happen again.

Consider your reputation officially fucking ruined.

The thing that hurt more than any of their insults and derogatory words, however, was the look on Eddie’s face as you two met eyes across the lunch room, the way he watched you as you tried to march away from Duncan with your pride still intact. Eddie had been witness to the entire shitty interaction, you realized as you kept your eyes locked on his; the worry and concern so clear on his face caused a crack in your otherwise icy exterior, and you had to rip your gaze away so he couldn't see the hurt in your expression. You nearly broke down the very moment you were out of the cafeteria, the look on Eddie’s face burned into your mind.

The rest of the day was a fucking blur, and you were so emotionally worked up that you were grateful to leave school and go to the one place that could normally calm you down - the ice rink. Wednesday was always your skating day, and today you felt like you needed it more desperately than usual, thankful to spend a few hours on the ice after school. In all your moments of frustration, skating always did wonders to even you out, reminding you why you still enjoyed it after all these years - it helped calm your nerves, clear your head, and relax your heart. It helped to de-escalate your emotions, to make you think straight, and after how hard the past couple of days were, you desperately needed that.

Your anger at Duncan was still burning hot as ever, and even as you slowly relaxed you were still desperate to get back at him, not above stooping to his level. You’d have to corner him when he was alone, without his posse to back him up - then you could really hurt him with your scathing words. You also couldn’t help but wonder just how involved Amelia and Janet were in all this shit - if anything, this stunt was Amelia’s idea, but Janet? She couldn’t have been this cold and heartless; or maybe you just desperately hoped she wasn't.

As you looped around the ice far less elegantly than you normally would, you tried your damnedest not to think about Eddie, as if ignoring the thought of him would somehow remove you from fault. Now that you’ve actually had time to think about it, you knew you’d been mean to him just for the sake of it, just to let your frustrations out on someone. A younger you wouldn't have cared that you mistreated someone, would've just waved it off like a brat and moved on with your life. Hell, only a few months ago, you probably would've still found it comical to talk down to someone like Eddie the way that you did.

But you were not that girl anymore, although you also weren't emotionally ready to acknowledge that Eddie didn’t deserve your vitriol; after all, you were mean to just about everyone, what made him any different? You knew that you’d treated him badly simply because it was easy, because he was the only person there and you needed to let it out. The less prideful part of you knew that you were wrong for that, but that side of you had thus far been outweighed by your own stubbornness. Now, however, you were starting to think maybe you needed to do something about it.

On the one hand, you considered that you had no obligation to make things right with Eddie, and yet, something about that upset you. Were you really so terrible and bitchy that you’d avoid apologizing to him? Were you going to simply ignore him, if not treat him even worse than you’d already had been? That’s certainly something you would have done in the past, but somehow Eddie fucking Munson had made you a little less harsh than you once were.

No, you didn’t need to make this right, but you wanted to. Somehow, Eddie had undeniably grown on you, and at this rate he was virtually the only person you had on your side (that is, of course, if you don’t take into account his ignoring you the past two days). If anyone had even suggested a month ago that you’d be getting along so well with Eddie Munson, you probably would have gagged. What could you and a guy like him possibly have in common, what could you two possibly bond over? These were questions that you were still seeking answers to, even as you drove home after hours of skating at the rink.

Perhaps it was your sense of humor, so much more aligned with his than either of you had expected. Or maybe it was the effortlessness with which you could talk to one another, like you’d already known each other far longer than a few weeks. Hell, maybe it was that Eddie challenged you without even being mean about it, how he so simply gave you new perspectives to take into account and made you reconsider things you thought you knew.

It was strange to realize that, in your own way, you two had become almost-friends quite rapidly. Was that normal? Did other people feel so at ease with someone they’d known for only a few short weeks? You couldn’t remember what it was like when you became friends with Amelia or Janet or anyone else that ran in your former circle - had you bonded with them just as easily as you had with Eddie? Something in you suspected no.

But you tried to avoid thinking about that too much, because you certainly weren’t going to dig into it any deeper.

As you walked through the front door of your home, the silence of the house confirmed to you that your father was still, supposedly, at work. The only time you heard the buzz of electronics throughout the house was when he was around, because your mom never left a television or radio on unnecessarily. You’d bet that she was probably in the kitchen with the radio down low, just a bit of background noise to keep her company as she prepped for dinner. Or maybe she was on the phone in the home office, chatting away with one of her friends about the latest gossip in town.

You hated to admit it, but you and your mom were both used to your father not being around often - most days, he was gone before you left for school and didn’t return home until well into the evening. This had been the family’s routine for years now, so your father’s lack of interest in spending time at home no longer phased you. His absence was just as routine as your school schedule or your mom’s biweekly nail appointments.

You found it far more surprising when he was around - in fact, it almost dared to make you suspicious of him. Because you figured he never seemed interested in spending time with you or your mom, you couldn’t help but speculate what would prompt him to suddenly spend every night at the dinner table for a couple weeks, or to even suggest the family go out together on the weekend. You assumed it was some form of guilt - for a while now, you had yourself convinced that he was having an affair, so perhaps his brief bouts of attentiveness were his measly efforts to reconcile his infidelity with himself.

Of course, you’d never dare even imply this suspicion to your mother, for all you knew it could send her spiraling. And a part of you was convinced that perhaps she’d had her suspicions as well.

As you closed the front door behind you and slid out of your sneakers, you had every intention of running off to your room to avoid your mom entirely. After the week you’d had thus far, you’d rather be left alone, you didn’t want to get caught up in her usual superficial conversations. But before you could even take a step towards the staircase, your mom zipped out of the kitchen towards you, an eager shine in her eyes that almost made her appear younger. You gave her a quizzical look, taking a step back as she got just a little closer than you cared for; even with your parents, you preferred people stay at arm’s length.

“How was your day, hon?” She asked as if in anticipation of something. Your face twisted with even more confusion - what the hell was she so excited about? Was she really that oblivious to the funk you’d been in the past three days?

You stepped around your mom, intending to end this conversation quickly so you could disappear to your room. Your tone was dismissive as you replied coldly, “Not great.”

Her joy seemed to falter a little as she followed just a step behind you; clearly, whatever she wanted to talk about seemed to be important to her, “What do you mean?”

You paused to look back at her again, your agitation clear on your face as you studied her. You weren’t certain, but it seemed as if she were expecting a different response - a particular response. What exactly was she fishing for?

“Today sucked. Just like the rest of this shitty week.” Your tone was cold as you raised your brow, hoping that your attitude may deter her from asking anymore questions. Your callous word choice caused her to pull a face, studying your expression as if she were seeing you for the first time in a long time. For a moment, you thought maybe she’d actually act like your mother, you thought maybe she’d ask you what was wrong and offer a shoulder to cry on.

“I figured it’d be good,” she started with concern in her voice, putting on something of an encouraging smile, “considering the assembly on Monday.”

Dread immediately washed over you, her words causing your heart to drop into your stomach - how did she know about the assembly? The school wouldn’t have called the parents about it, they didn’t care that much. Maybe one of her friends had heard from their kid and then told her? Possibly, but not the most likely. So, how did she know?

All you could do was stare for a few tense moments, fighting to keep in all the feelings you’d just worked through on the ice rink. Your jaw tightened as you swallowed hard, attempting to quiet your mind and take a deep breath. Your intense eyes burned into your mother, who seemed to recognize that what she’d just said may have been a mistake.

“How do you know about that?” You probed with an edge to your voice, feeling as if all your emotions were going to come spilling out of you at any minute.

Although she appeared hesitant, your mom kept her composure, persisting to act bright in the foolish hopes that it would help you relax, “Amelia called while you were out.”

If your heart could drop any further, it would have. You began to feel almost out of body as you started to piece it all together, already realizing Amelia’s fucking game. She knew you wouldn’t have mentioned your dissolved friendship to your mother because of your distant relationship with your parents, and now she was using it against you. To what end? Simply to torment you more?

Receiving no response from you, your mother smiled encouragingly, still trying her hardest to keep things chipper as she continued, “She wanted to know if I’d like to be a chaperone for homecoming. She seemed so excited that both of you were nominated for homecoming queen!”

Your jaw clenched in anger, eyes growing harsher as they burnt into your mother. You had no reason to be mad at her, but at that moment your rage was coming back up, clawing its way out of you. It took everything in your power not to shout expletives in her face.

So, you turned away from her, trying to collect yourself by taking a few deep breaths. From over your shoulder, your mom continued, trying in vain to understand what was going on with you, “Honey, what’s wrong? This should be exciting news.”

You whipped around angrily, but bit your tongue as you two stared at one another, you in vexation and your mom in concern. You took one more deep breath while rolling your eyes, looking away again.

“Did Amelia tell you who I was nominated with? Or that we haven’t spoken a word to each other in nearly two weeks?” As your frustration bubbled, you met her eyes again, “Or that I was only nominated as some shitty prank? Did she mention that I ran out of the gym like a fucking coward because of how humiliated I felt?”

Your mother’s face was awash with concern as she looked between your eyes, and for a moment you really did think she’d comfort you, in fact, you were almost hoping for it. But that was quickly squashed, “Will you please watch your language? You don’t have to get so worked up.”

The upset on your face only increased - despite everything else you said, your language was the thing that concerned her most? You scoffed with frustration, shaking your head in disbelief as you all but shoved past her, keeping your wild eyes away from hers.

“You don’t even care!” You said venomously, stomping back towards your belongings left by the front door. Haphazardly, you shoved your feet into your shoes and dug around for your keys, “I’m not good right now, mom, and all you’re worried about is my fucking language! Do you care how I’m feeling?”

With a flustered look, your mom approached you, “Of course I care, but I can’t even understand you anymore! You’ve been so different recently, so much more distant. How am I supposed to know what’s going on if you won’t tell me?”

You simply shook your head, throwing your bag back on your shoulder once you had your keys. As you swung open the front door, it bounced off the wall, causing your mother to gasp at the aggressive act.

“Where are you going!?” She insisted while following you outside. You didn’t dare look back, marching towards your car as your anger continued to bubble over.

“Anywhere but here!” As you whipped around to the driver side door, you finally looked at your mother, who lingered on the front steps with a disappointed and confused expression. You were sure you looked absolutely wild and irate as you flung open the car door, carelessly tossing your bag inside and holding your mother’s gaze.

You could see that she was trying to make sense of the chaos happening right now, trying her best to keep it together as if that would calm you down now after everything that just happened. She wasn’t used to seeing you like this, so emotional and out of control - she’d seen you angrier these past couple weeks than you’d been your entire fucking life.

“Please just come back inside.” She tried earnestly, but you were too far gone to hear any of it. You ripped your gaze from hers and slammed the car door once you were settled into the seat, zipping out of the driveway fast enough that you nearly hit the mailbox.

You didn’t make it far, though, having to pull over only a minute later because you realized you were on the verge of crying. Fuck, when was the last time that had happened? You were never the type to get emotional like this, but shit, you’d had a stressful week. You had to catch your breath, to hold back your tears of anger, slamming your fists on the steering wheel a few times as if that could make everything better. You didn’t dare let a single tear roll down your face, but they were so welled up in your eyes that you could barely see, forcing you to blink and wipe them away.

What the hell were you doing? Where did you expect to go? These melodramatics felt fucking ridiculous, and you tried to convince yourself you were freaking out over nothing, although your emotions were clearly telling you otherwise. You couldn’t keep acting like this, you wouldn’t allow it - it wasn’t you, and it made you feel weak.

But shit, you felt like your world had been crashing down around you all week, and it was impossible to keep it together right now. So, you pounded your fists against the dashboard, hissing foul words while continuing to fight back everything that was swirling in your chest. You were certain that if any of your neighbors walked by your haphazardly parked car, they’d think you were having a total mental break. And maybe you were; fuck if you knew. You weren’t exactly thinking clearly right now.

After what felt like an eternity, you’d exhausted all your rage, dejectedly catching your breath and attempting to regain your composure. Shit, what were you going to do now? There’s no way in hell you’d go back home - you weren’t ready to deal with your mother again so soon. Or worse, your father, whose temper would simply set you off again.

As you swallowed down the lump in your throat, you couldn’t help but think of your fight with Eddie, and without any hesitation you accepted that right now you missed him. If you weren't so emotional, you'd have stopped to consider how strange that was. Maybe the past few days wouldn’t have been such shit if you’d just been nicer to him; maybe this was karma at work, making you miserable for how you treated him.

You had to apologize to Eddie. Right fucking now.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

As you drove through Forest Hills, you realized you’d never once set foot in a trailer park before. Looking out your windshield at the dark street, you were certain that one trailer home would maybe fill only two bedrooms of your own home. How people lived in such close quarters was something you couldn’t even comprehend, and on a normal night maybe you would’ve lingered on that thought. But considering that you came here on a mission, you were unable to become distracted; no, the anxiety that was rapidly growing in your chest kept you laser focused on the task you set out on.

It wasn’t until you reached this side of Hawkins that your fear began to mount - should you really be showing up to Eddie’s place unannounced? Is this terrible timing? What if his uncle was home? The further into Forest Hills you drove, the more worried you became. For all you knew, Eddie would slam the door in your face, tell you to fuck off and leave him alone. And after all the shit you’d dealt with this week, you couldn’t handle any more rejection.

Maybe you should just turn around and get out of here while you still have the chance.

But as that thought crossed your mind, you spotted Eddie’s van in front of one of the trailers, and your heart rate sped up to a frankly concerning pace. Shit, it was now or never. Turn back around and head home or face Eddie and his possible rejection. Frankly, both options sounded fucking awful.

For a few long moments, you simply lingered on the road, staring at Eddie’s trailer as your heart drummed in your chest; your eyes roved over the illuminated windows, half expecting to see Eddie’s silhouette appear in one of them any second now. But when no visual indicator of him appeared, you shook yourself back to the present, pulling up alongside his van with the brief thought that maybe he saw your headlights. You hesitated at that, waiting yet again to see if he’d appear in the window or at the door. Fuck, if you were going to be this nervous, you might as well just get out of here.

But you knew you couldn’t do that. You knew you had to talk to Eddie again, you had to have at least one decent relationship in your life right now. Considering that he was the closest thing you had to a friend at the moment, you had to make amends with him. Not that Eddie owed you any forgiveness, of course - again, the fear that he’d want nothing to do with you came creeping back up, even as you pulled the keys from the ignition and slowly stepped out of the car.

Fuck, what were you going to do if Eddie didn’t want to talk? You didn’t think you could manage to survive the rest of the week if he didn’t forgive you. Despite trying to ignore the thought, in a way you realized that right now you needed Eddie.

This shit better work.

You felt almost shaky as you approached the front door, hearing thrashing metal music reverberating inside the trailer. You had to take another pause at the door to collect yourself - you were not nervous like this, and you refused to appear this nervous in front of anyone. You were here to apologize, not to be vulnerable. So, you pulled yourself together with a few deep breaths, marching up to the door and knocking strongly before you could think to hesitate any longer. Considering how loud the music was, you realized Eddie probably didn't hear you, so you roughly pounded your fist against the door once again. You put on a brave face, taking one more deep breath as the music quieted and someone approached the door.

Of course, once you and Eddie locked eyes, you suddenly froze. All the things you’d rehearsed on the way over here momentarily left your head as you took in his surprised expression, the look in his eyes that suggested you were the last person he expected to see on his doorstep. For what felt like hours, the two of you stared at one another as you attempted to collect your thoughts, attempted to keep all your hurt from showing on your face.

You eventually had to rip your eyes away from Eddie, maybe then you could finally find your voice again. As you stared at his feet, you straightened out your back and clenched your jaw, trying to quiet your mind and get out at least one coherent thought. With a deep breath, you flicked your gaze back to his face.

“Can we talk?” Your voice came out strong, if not a little cold - good, at least you didn’t sound as weak as you’d been feeling recently.

Eddie’s expression was still a little taken aback, even as he tried to put on a calm, collected air. Had you not caught him so off guard, perhaps you would’ve been fooled by the lazy smirk he gave you or his seemingly relaxed posture. But given the look of near astonishment that was on his face only a moment prior, you knew he was probably just as unprepared for this conversation as you were.

“Well, since you drove all the way here…” Eddie trailed off in what was meant to be a casual tone, stepping to the side and nodding his head towards the trailer behind him. You looked between his eyes and the entryway for a moment before stepping up into his home, immediately taking it all in attentively - it was easier to focus on your surroundings than to focus on him and your emotions.

You weren’t sure what you had expected of Eddie’s home, but as you stood in his small living room, everything appeared exactly as it should have - the place was cozy, decorated with items that were clearly personal, reflecting the taste of someone so unlike your own family. Back in your own home, the art on the wall was perfectly curated by your mother, the only photos being staged family portraits; the furniture was also meticulously decided on, meant to look cohesive and clean and modern.

Here in the Munson trailer, the space actually felt lived in - the coffee table was stacked with car magazines and western paperbacks, the walls adorned with collections of hats and mugs. The furniture was worn from years of use, the kitchen was cluttered, a fold out bed was pushed off to one side - yes, this home actually had life to it, unlike the stale living environment you were so used to. Without having met the man, you already had a strong sense of Eddie’s uncle just by looking around the place.

The more you looked at the Munson home, the more your curiosity grew - you wanted to ask more about Eddie and his uncle and all the little details that made them a family. But before you could get to know any more about Eddie, first you had to actually make things right with him. So, you turned your attention back to him, briefly catching the self-conscious look on his face that he very quickly corrected - did he feel judged, having you in his home like this? Was he worried what you’d think now that you had this more intimate glimpse at his life?

The two of you stared at one another for a few long moments; Eddie was clearly anticipating what you’d say next, and you were still trying to decide where exactly to start. You raised a brow as you let out a breath, forcing yourself to look away again so you could actually speak - looking Eddie in the eye like this made it harder to apologize.

“I shouldn’t have acted like that.” You started, letting your gaze continue to roam over trinkets and decor in the living room. Off to your side, you heard Eddie hum in acknowledgement instead of saying anything, which seemed to be your cue to continue. You sighed a little, forcing yourself to be honest, hard as it may be; your voice was a touch quieter as you added, “You didn’t deserve that shit.”

“No, I didn’t.” Eddie responded with a hint of harshness to his tone, but considering the circumstances, he didn’t sound nearly as mad as you’d expected. You slowly spun around, looking anywhere but his direction so your words would come more easily.

“I… like having you around.” The sentence sounded juvenile to your ears, but you simply continued, “I know all I wanted was to stir shit up and be left alone, but the past couple days--”

You had to cut yourself off, suddenly feeling a sadness well up in your throat - you were not about to break, not right now, not in front of Eddie. So, you swallowed hard and tried to calm down before he could see the chink in your armor.

“Not so fun being on the other side of things, huh?” Eddie chimed in, saving you from yourself with his comment. You turned to him with a nod, hoping your eyes didn’t give too much away.

“Fucking sucks, actually.” You managed a small, sad smile. It looked as if Eddie, too, wanted to mirror the expression, but he kept it to himself. You took in his posture, his crossed arms and guarded look, hoping that you were getting through to him.

You let out a sigh, your gaze drifting down to the floor as you struggled to find your words. God, being sincere shouldn’t be so damn hard, but you were never one to admit your faults, never the type to open up easily. Despite your usual confidence and brashness, you couldn’t even seem to form proper sentences right now.

“I forgive you.” Those three simple words drew a surprised look from you, to which Eddie shrugged as he continued, looking away with a coolness that surely had to be for show, “Your apology could use some work, seeing as you couldn’t even say ‘sorry,’ but you were forgiven the second I opened that door.”

That last statement was shockingly honest and somehow a touch too vulnerable for your liking - it made you nervous, and you couldn’t say why. Was Eddie just being hyperbolic, saying that to make you feel better? Or was it the truth, could he have possibly been willing to forgive you just like that simply because you showed up on his doorstep? Both of those ideas made you apprehensive in vastly different ways.

With a quick shake of your head, you tried to pull yourself together, straightening your shoulders and wiping the vulnerable look from your face. You met Eddie’s kind eyes with as much coolness as you could muster, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that you were relieved with how this conversation had gone. There was a glint of amusement in Eddie’s face as he watched you, as if he knew exactly what was going through your head, as if he knew your calm demeanor was all for show.

Eddie looked down, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke, “So long as you don’t drag me to that stupid homecoming, we’ll be alright.”

You couldn’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at the suggestion, thankful that Eddie made the effort to break the tension in the room - you were done trying to be vulnerable, and it seemed that he could sense that, too.

“As if I’d let myself be the Carrie White of their shitty joke.” You gave Eddie a playful glance, catching the way his brow furrowed.

“Carrie, huh?”

You also gave him a look, “Yeah, you know - telekinetic chick who killed everyone at prom?”

The smile that graced Eddie’s lips was nearly infectious as he laughed with a shake of his head, “Oh, I know Carrie, I’m just surprised that you do - you don’t seem the horror type.”

You cross your arms teasingly - it was so easy to fall back into this pattern with Eddie, easy to bounce off each other. Admittedly, you missed it.

“There’s still a lot you don’t know about me.” You counter with a small smirk, to which Eddie gave you a challenging look.

“Well, it would help if you opened up a little more, princess.” The nickname rolled off Eddie’s tongue with ease, and it was a relief to hear it - that had to mean you really were forgiven, that he hadn't just said so to make you feel better. Even still, you narrowed your eyes, prompting Eddie to continue in his defense, “I know nothing about your hobbies, but you know practically all of mine.”

You looked him up and down once, “You know that I skate.”

Eddie rolled his eyes teasingly, although he sounded deathly serious as he said, “There’s clearly more to you than that.”

The sincerity in Eddie’s tone juxtaposed his playful look, giving you pause, making you nervous. You answered simply and with a dismissive shrug, hoping it didn't lead into some deeper conversation, “Guess that makes you the first person to notice.”

You turned away from Eddie to continue looking around, taking in the room as you debated whether or not you’d elaborate on your interests. Considering that Eddie made a good point about not knowing you well, you caved - after all, did you want him as a friend or not?

“I love horror movies.” You take a few steps towards a shelf filled with videos and cassettes, your eyes slowly looking over the titles, “Books, too, but the movies are way scarier, so they’re more fun.”

A few familiar horror titles sat on the shelf, causing you to grin and glance back at Eddie, who seemed to be watching you attentively. Realizing he was caught staring, he quickly righted himself and met your gaze, his curious smile growing. You could see in his face that questions were forming, that he probably wanted to ask what you liked about horror or what movie was your favorite. Expectantly, you turned to face him with an eager raise of your brow.

Eddie looked between your eyes for a moment as if he wasn’t sure what to say first, finally nudging his chin towards the VHS collection on the shelf, “You pick a movie, I’ll order us a pizza?”

You couldn’t help but be surprised at the suggestion - for two days you didn’t speak a word to each other, but again you were reminded of just how effortless it was to go back to the way things were. You smiled in appreciation for Eddie’s ability to make anything easy like this.

As much as you loved the idea, you hesitated, “It’s getting kinda late…”

Eddie waved it off before you could say anything else, “So? My uncle won’t be back for hours, and I don’t think either of us has anything better going on.”

So, you nodded, eagerly turning your attention back to the small collection of movies on the shelf - you wondered which ones were Eddie’s and which were his uncle’s. Quickly, you settled on a movie that you were excited to see there, grabbing it from the shelf and spinning to face Eddie as he dialed the nearest pizza place. You felt like an excited child as you held up Videodrome for him to see. Again, Eddie appeared surprised, but didn’t get the chance to comment as he was greeted by someone on the other end of the call. He probably wouldn’t have guessed Cronenberg to be your taste in horror.

With the pizza ordered and the movie loaded into the VCR, you and Eddie settled on opposite ends of the couch. Within a minute of the movie starting, however, you couldn’t help yourself as you began to eagerly go on and on about how technically impressive the effects in this movie were. You weren’t sure how long you went on for, but after a while you realized you were going on a tangent, cutting yourself off as you looked at Eddie for the inevitable judgment to come. You’d grown used to your friends rolling their eyes or your mom telling you to stop talking about disgusting horror movies, but Eddie looked so… attentive? So interested to listen to what you were saying?

You looked back at the screen almost sheepishly, but you could still feel the burn of Eddie’s eyes watching you.

“You’re kind of a nerd.” He said with far too much glee, causing you to whip your mean gaze back to him; Eddie was smiling from ear-to-ear, clearly pleased with himself and his discovery of your hidden interest.

“I am not.” You scoff, trying not to grin back at him. Eddie leaned across the couch as if to emphasize his taunting, his eyes challenging as he stared at you.

“You just spent five minutes talking about how much you love to watch a fake head blow up - seems kinda nerdy.”

It felt as if no rift had ever formed between you two, as if you hadn’t just been awkwardly trying to apologize to him some fifteen minutes ago. Eddie just made it ridiculously easy to relax, to forget all the bullshit from the past few days.

You gave Eddie’s shoulder a playful shove, so he sat back up in his seat, that wicked grin still on his face, “What, don’t want to be lumped in with the rest of us?”

Despite trying to give Eddie a threatening look, you knew your eyes were betraying you - all of the menace in your expression was destroyed by the way your eyes blatantly shone with amusement. You had to look away again, otherwise you feared you might laugh.

“Liking horror doesn’t make me a nerd.” You insisted.

“No, but considering you made a whole speech about how impactful Cronenberg’s use of gore is, I wouldn’t call you a casual fan.” Eddie teased, and even without looking you knew just how big his grin was.

So, you kept your eyes trained on the screen, hoping to become absorbed in the movie as you tried to ignore the way Eddie was studying you. And it worked for at least a few minutes - you began to smile at the familiar film, attentively following the story development, all the while slowly forgetting about the eyes practically burning a hole in your skull.

But in his typical fashion, Eddie couldn’t stay quiet for too long.

“Jason Voorhees or Michael Myers?”

Without missing a beat, you looked back at Eddie, unable to hold your tongue on the debate. Your tone was perhaps a little snobby as you answered, “Michael, obviously.”

Again, Eddie grinned largely with a challenge in his eye, “‘Obviously?’”

Of course, you knew what he was doing - he was clearly trying to poke at you, but damn it, it was working. You couldn’t resist the opportunity to talk about movie slashers to a captive audience, even if said audience was likely going to keep egging you on.

You rolled your eyes, folding your legs up on the couch as you turned your body towards Eddie, “Jason isn’t scary.”

“Not scary? He and Michael are basically the same guy.” You pulled a face at the comment, noticing that Eddie seemed pleased with himself for getting you going on the subject.

“And I guess you think they’re also just like Bubba?” Eddie grinned wickedly, so you quickly reached over to smack his shoulder, “Don’t you dare say it.”

“Say what?”

You narrowed your eyes, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to debate your point. You took a deep breath before looking back towards the movie, “Michael is better, end of conversation.”

“I’m more of a Freddy guy myself.” Eddie taunts, clearly not done tormenting you. You shot him a look from the corner of your eye, but didn’t dare give him the satisfaction of a response, trying to keep your attention on the movie instead. A minute later, Eddie chimed up again, “The Exorcist or the Omen?”

To that, you didn’t have as quick an answer, mulling it over for a moment before replying - when you answered with the Exorcist, Eddie couldn’t help but say that response was predictable.

So, it led you down the rabbit hole, Videodrome being totally forgotten in favor of debating your horror opinions. For every answer to Eddie’s questions, he had a counterargument - it didn’t matter whether or not you two agreed on something, he clearly just wanted to get you riled up. Maybe he enjoyed seeing you get excited about something, maybe he enjoyed the way you’d argue your case on characters you loved and hated.

When the pizza arrived, you raced Eddie to the door, paying for the food despite his protests, the pair of you clearly annoying the delivery driver who didn’t give a shit where the money came from so long as he got it. All through your meal, you two continued talking over the movie, which eventually reached its end and prompted Eddie to start playing another that you also wouldn’t pay any attention to.

As the night wore on, your debates eventually died down; your seat on the couch became increasingly more comfortable, and the shitty horror movie you had on was beginning to lull you to sleep. Considering how long your day - no, your whole week - had been, you were surprised it took this long for your exhaustion to set in. So, you slowly settled into the couch, progressively slumping into the cushions.

Seeing the tired look on your face, Eddie nudged you and insisted you lie down, and you were tired enough not to argue, resting on your side so you can continue watching the movie. You keep your legs curled up to avoid getting in Eddie’s space, but nonetheless your knees rest comfortable against his thigh. At some point between half awake and half asleep, you thought that maybe you felt his hand resting comfortably on your leg, but you were too tired to say for sure.

As the night wore on, you must have inevitably fallen asleep, because next thing you knew, you were being pulled out of a dream, a hand gently shaking your shoulder and Eddie’s far off voice encouraging you to wake up. You figured at first that the voice was just a part of your dream, but as the tone grew more clear and insistent, you were brought back to reality. Groggily, you blinked your eyes open with a confused glare - how long had you been out for? And what time was it?

Catching your eyes with his, the corner of Eddie’s mouth pulled back in a small grin, “Jesus, you sleep like the dead.”

A tired moan rumbled in your throat as your eyes narrowed. You tried to roll onto your other side as if you could somehow avoid Eddie that way, your words nonthreatening and heavy with sleep, “Fuck off…”

As Eddie sighed with annoyance, an unfamiliar huff of a laugh met your ears, but you weren’t nearly awake enough to even wonder who it belonged to. Eddie pulled at your shoulder so you couldn’t turn away from him, to which you whined again.

“No, you’re not sleeping on the couch, it’ll ruin your back.” Eddie insisted, teasingly pulling at your arm - if you weren’t still half asleep, it wouldn’t have annoyed you nearly as much as it did, “Come on, get up.”

You opened your harsh eyes again, knowing Eddie wouldn’t allow himself to be ignored. As your eyes adjusted, his face slowly came into focus, his hair haloed by the light of the TV; kneeling beside you, he was clearly trying to hide the amusement he found in your sleepy attitude.

The two of you stared at one another for a long minute as the fog slowly lifted from your brain, making you more and more aware of your surroundings. Your gaze drifted away from Eddie, noticing movement in the corner of your eye; turning in the direction of it, you made eye contact with a man who had to have been Eddie’s uncle. He quickly turned away, pretending to be preoccupied with something in the kitchen, as if that would give you and Eddie a measly sense of privacy.

With a deep yawn, you looked at Eddie again, begrudgingly accepting that you had to get up. You slowly rose into a seated position, your feet brushing Eddie’s leg as you moved to set them on the ground; he rose and took a step back to give you a little more space. Stretching your arms above your head and popping your neck, you looked between the two men, noticing that Eddie seemed to be somewhat sheepish, which made you curious. Was he embarrassed that this was how you and his uncle were meeting? Was it because he felt like you two were caught doing something wrong? Or was it something else entirely that influenced that expression on his face?

You sighed heavily as you rose to your feet, your face scrunching up a little as you looked around the room; your voice was still heavy with sleep as you asked, “What time is it? I have to go home.”

Eddie shook his head at the same moment that his uncle silently disappeared to the bathroom, the sound of the shower running drifting out from under the door; maybe he was trying to give you two a bit more privacy.

“You don’t have to go.” Eddie says in a surprisingly gentle tone, to which you furrow your brow, “It’s late and you're exhausted - just stay here tonight.”

You weakly tried to protest, although you were so tired that it was a relief to hear that Eddie wasn’t kicking you out in the wee hours of the morning, “I really shouldn’t.”

“You really should.” Eddie insisted, clearly not open to argument. Luckily for him, you accepted the response instantly, your head still too foggy to find a good enough reason to leave. So, you nod smally while trying to stifle another yawn.

Eddie points his hand in the direction of the bedroom, and you immediately accept the invitation, confidently heading that way as if you owned the damn place. You didn’t catch the tug of a smile that graced Eddie’s lips as he followed just a step behind you.

You entered the dark bedroom and all but collapsed onto the bed, hearing a slight laugh leave Eddie’s lips; at least he found it funny instead of rude, not that you were terribly concerned with that right now. No, the only thing on your mind at the moment was curling into the mattress and sleeping undisturbed for the rest of the night. You comfortably wrapped your arms around one of Eddie’s pillows, inhaling his lingering scent without considering what you were doing.

“You gonna sleep in that?” Eddie teased, reminding you that you were still in the workout clothes that you wore for skating. Like a stubborn child unwilling to do a task, you grunted, sitting back up and trying to find Eddie in the dark. You caught his silhouette digging through what you assumed to be a pile of clothes, eventually pulling something out and tossing it in your direction. The t-shirt weakly hit you in the chest before falling into your lap, so you started to pull off your own soiled shirt, letting it fall forgotten somewhere on the floor.

Light still filtered into the room through the gap in the door, so you caught the way Eddie spun around to give you privacy just as you started to tug at your bra; you couldn’t help but smile, finding it funny as he pushed the door closed. After all, it was dark enough that he probably couldn’t see anything; and even if he could, it didn’t matter. Right?

Eddie kept himself preoccupied, returning his attention to the stack of clothes as you pulled his scratchy t-shirt over your head; thanks to the darkness of the room, you didn’t catch the way he glanced back at you curiously. Once you were comfortable, you lied back down and began to burrow in the blankets, pulling them over your head as you listened to Eddie strip out of his own clothes.

A few moments later, one of the blankets was being yanked from the bed; you greedily tried to grab it before it was gone, but to no avail, which prompted you to poke your head out from the cocoon you’d built. You couldn’t quite find Eddie in the dark, but you nonetheless furrowed your brow in the direction you figured he was in.

“What are you doing?” You questioned groggily as your eyes began to adjust; you could now make out Eddie’s shadow as he appeared to turn to you.

“Sleeping on the floor.” He answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, nudging things aside with his foot before dropping the blanket to the ground. As he leaned over the bed to grab a pillow, you rolled your eyes and reached out to nudge him, making contact with bare skin before shuffling over to make room on the small bed.

“Like hell you are.” You attempted to snuggle into your new position, but seeing Eddie awkwardly lingering prompted you to reach over and give his arm a quick tug, “Get the fuck in the bed, Munson.”

Eddie hesitated a moment longer, and although he couldn’t see it, you stared at him in amused scrutiny. With a huff, you threw aside the blankets and hit the mattress once for emphasis, “Don’t tell me you’re nervous to share a bed with a girl.”

You readjusted to face away from Eddie, wrapping your arms around your pillow again and burying your face in it, getting cozy almost instantly. Behind you, he sighed before his weight shifted the mattress; just from the feel of his movements, you knew Eddie was awkwardly trying to stay as close to the edge of the bed as possible. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes with a smile at how stiff he was - at this rate, he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep.

“Stop worrying about it, Eddie.” You muttered gently, curling up in the blankets as if you were a cat lying in the sun. A big yawn escaped you as you felt Eddie shift a little, and you knew you’d be out like a light any minute now, “Try to get some sleep, okay?”Eddie hummed in acknowledgement, and despite his best efforts to keep his distance, you could still feel his body heat radiating near you. Smiling comfortably to yourself, you quickly began to doze off, barely catching Eddie’s whispered “Night, princess…” before you fell back into a deep sleep.

additional a/n: I couldn't keep these two apart for even an entire chapter, so I hope their lil reconciliation was worth the wait!

taglist: @3rd-conchord @a-queen-blr @avalon-wolf @costellation-hunter @daisy-munson

@daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @em0220

@frogtape @fromasgardandback @fckyeahlames @graciehams @kthomps914

@lotrefcp @love-anonymous-writer @marrowfrog00 @maskofmirrors @mewchiili

@miaajaade @mmmunson @munsonssweets @no-bueno-writer @rach5ive

@rcailleachcola @sav12321 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @steeldaisies @stormgrl19

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #em #dos and donts

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throneofsapphics · 1 year ago

Text

the ebb and flow of fate epilogue

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five)

Cazriel x f!Reader

Summary: “Pure silence filled the room, and Feyre shifted on her feet, wondering if maybe she’d crossed a line.”

Warnings: illness, mentions of violence, death, & blood

A/N: I’m sad this is over, but I've really enjoyed writing it. thank you all so much for your love on this little series <3

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for this conversation. “When I die-“

“We don’t know -“ Cassian interrupted.

“Please,” she cut him off. “Just .. I need to say this.”

His mouth tightened, but he nodded.

“Don’t give up. This world still needs both of you,” she swallowed harshly. The tears had already come.

“And it doesn’t need you?” Azriel said, voice breaking half way through.

“The world doesn’t get a choice, with me.”

Cassian ran one hand through his hair, gripping hard enough she thought he might tear it out. “I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

She snorted. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he didn’t find this amusing, not one bit, but he knew laughter and humor was one of her coping mechanisms.

“Do you think I want to die?”

“I didn’t say -” She held her hand up, and Cassian’s mouth slammed shut. Her mouth quirked up at the corner, well trained. Azriel rolled his eyes. She did hold both of their leashes, but he wouldn’t tell her that.

“It’s happening. I refuse to insult myself or the healers pretending otherwise,” she reached out her hands, palms up, and they each took one without hesitation. “If you want to be angry, do it when I'm dead or not looking. I’m the sick one, you have to listen to me.”

Cassian looked like he was about to disagree, thought better of it, and pulled her into his chest. “We’ll see who’s listening to who tonight,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair.

Pure destruction stood in front of him. A killing field. Some parts scorched, raw power incinerating everything in its path, others still coated with blood and mismatched body parts. There would be no identifying who had fallen.

Rhys would never be glad his cousin died, not in millenia, but he’s glad she didn’t have to see the war waged. She’d died weeks before it broke out, and triggered a deadly rage in both Cassian and Azriel. One the world might never see again.

They never missed starfall.

“You’ll still get to see me once a year.” She waved her hand towards the sky, about to say the most ridiculous love-sick words he’d ever heard, “I’ll be waiting for you, my spirit still traveling between worlds. We’ll find each other in whatever comes after, in the next life, maybe even shoot through time and space together.”

Cassian’s mouth quirked up at one corner, before he picked her up and spun her in circles until she flicked his wing.

Cassian braced his forearms on the railing, eyes fixed on the sky. “Which one do you think is her?” He didn’t need to look to know Az was right beside him. They asked this question every year, and each time came up with a different answer. He liked to think she was switching forms, maybe trying to play a joke on them, or play another game.

Azriel peered down in the Cauldron again, after pulling Amren out. He’d hoped, foolishly, that she might be in there too.

He knew Amren, even spluttering and catching her breath, caught his movement. Azriel tried to avoid her, but she eventually caught up to him and Cassian.

“She wasn’t there,” the sorrowful, almost pitying, look in her eyes pissed him off.

“I didn’t ask,” he said coolly.

“Maybe not,” she assessed him. “But there’s your closure.”

“What … what does it mean, she wasn’t there?” Cassian asked.

“It means her soul isn’t trapped in limbo.”

Azriel really, really didn’t want to speak about this, but Cassian kept going. “So she’s moved on?”

“No,” Amren said sharply. “It means she’s waiting for you idiots,” Amren really never missed the chance to throw an insult in there, “in peace.”

Cassian caught Azriel’s eye. In peace. It was a small comfort, like a bandaid stuck on a gaping wound. He knew she wanted him to move on, to go find his “peace,” but it was never the same without her. An empty space inside of him he couldn’t fill. For years, he avoided every reminder of her, did everything he could to drown out the screaming abyss threatening to tug him under. It took Cassian to pull him out, to knock some sense into him and tell him she’d be pissed off.

“Cassian and Azriel had a mate.” Rhys told her quietly. Feyre paused. The sorrow in his voice threw her off. Had.

“What happened?” She asked softly.

“She died. Y/n was my cousin, Mor’s younger sister.”

A part of her heart shattered. She hadn’t known he had another cousin, or that Mor had a sister. They never spoke of her. Feyre didn’t … she didn’t like that. Not that she hadn’t been told, but that they weren’t keeping her memory alive. Maybe that was unfair of her, all things considered she hadn’t been around them that long, and some wounds never truly heal.

“Will you show me her?” She let Rhys read the silent request in her eyes; I’ll make a portrait. Her mate swallowed, before giving a short nod.

Winter Solstice came, and to say Feyre was nervous would be an understatement. She’d decided to pull Azriel and Cassian aside before, not certain if they’d want a vulnerable moment like this in front of the rest of them.

She handed them two identical portraits, wrapped in soft paper.

Cassian shot her a grin, “Finally take up the offer to paint me in the nude?”

Feyre snorted, huffing out a laugh. “Open it.”

They both did. Pure silence filled the room, and Feyre shifted on her feet, wondering if maybe she’d crossed a line.

For the first time, she felt like she could see every raw emotion going through Azriel’s features.

Rhys had shown her a specific image, the three of them perched on the roof of the Townhouse, her feet swinging back and forth over the edge, a glass of wine in one hand. Azriel’s shadows subtly pinning her - keeping her from tumbling into the rose bushes. She leaned to the side, Cassian standing trying to snatch the glass from her - a wide grin on his face. Azriel watched from behind, amusement lining his features. An open emotion she hadn’t seen frequently from the male. Her mate had flown in, catching the perfect angle.

Cassian carefully placed the painting on the table - like it was made of pure gold, and wrapped her in a tight hug.

taglist: @infinitely-kate @foreverrandomwritings, @anuttellaa @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @justasillylittlegoofyguy, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @bookishdeer @sidthedollface2 @mis-lil-red, @acourtofbatboydreams @blessthepizzaman @hallucynatiing @summerloversposts @i-am-infinite @fanfiction-for-my-soul, @brandywineeeee, @oktievia @inloveallthetime, @sleepylunarwolf

#cazriel x y/n #cazriel x reader #cassian x azriel x reader #cassian x azriel x y/n #acotar fic #acotar x reader #cassian x reader x azriel #azriel x cassian x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x reader

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maxislvt · 1 year ago

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Hey!

can i request a one shot where Nat is a secret agent who's supposed to babysit r while collecting info on r's parents. r sneaks to a party and many incidents take place which show nat eventually starts getting possessive (smut too please!)

warnings: possessive behavior, smut, afab!reader, dom!natasha, fingering, edging

Natasha didn't believe in distractions.

Distractions were a sign of an untrained spy. Natasha only saw opportunities. It was easier to do when she was on missions that lasted a long time. If she played her cards right, anything could happen.

But you were different.

Natasha knew you were something different, but she couldn’t figure out exactly what. At first, she told herself you were just entertainment. She could play with your innocent little heart and tease you whenever she pleased. Maybe she'd squeeze some information out of you, but that was never a priority with you.

As innocent as you were, it seemed you had your methods of seduction.

You were helpless and Natasha felt almost obligated to keep you safe. All that whining whenever she disinfected the cut you got from your latest kitchen adventure and your excited little squeals whenever you saw something cute. But, you were still a young adult at heart, and that always left room for rebellion. It wasn't always bad or destructive. That rebellious spirit is what led to both of you saving a stray cat that you had affectionately labeled as your baby, but sometimes it was dangerous.

Now, Natasha had to chase you around the city because you decided to sneak out and go bar hopping with your friends. She foolishly assumed that it'd be one of those stupid late-night snack runs you and your friends liked to go on. But after a few too many pings from the phone tracker, Natasha realized what you were up to.

Bar hopping wasn't your style. If you were to come home tipsy, it'd probably be because you had too many glasses of wine at some fancy restaurant. You were just much too timid to be out at a club and taking shots from the first person who offered to buy you a few. You were incredibly too shy to make out with that same person in the corner.

It appeared Natasha didn't know you that well, because that's exactly what she caught you doing. The relief of finding you was immediately replaced with a bitterness Natasha hadn't felt in a long time. Watching that bumbling idiot try and shove their tongue down your throat made her skin crawl. You deserved better than that.

She slipped through the crowded room without any concern for the others. Natasha practically threw the girl off of you. "Text your friends, I'm taking you home." Her grip was unusually harsh for handling you, but she didn’t allow you to argue with her. Natasha ignored the curious stares and murmuring as she dragged you out of the club. She stopped in front of the car and finally turned to face you. “What do you think you’re doing? I look away for one second and then you run off and start whoring yourself out?!��

You were taken aback by how mean Natasha was being. She’d never talked to you like that. Between the shock and embarrassment bubbling under your skin, you couldn’t think of anything to say. You snatched your hand away and got in the back seat of the car.

The ride back home was painfully quiet. Both of you had a lot to say but were much too pissed off to speak. Natasha was mature enough to at least use the silence to help her calm down.

You brushed past Natasha once she unlocked the door to your parent's house.

"You know we have to talk about this." Natasha said as she locked the door. You were either drunk or loaded with sass at this point, but something was better than nothing. Though she didn't comment on the frustrated groan you let out, she decided it would be a great time to teach you a lesson.

You refused to sit down as Natasha grabbed a bottle of your father's favorite whiskey and two glasses. "I'm not drinking that crap." You grumbled. Your throat burned just thinking about it. All you wanted to do was shower and forget about the embarrassment you faced tonight. "Look, you already ruined my night out. Isn't that enough?"

Natasha sat down in the recliner with her leg spread. "You certainly didn't seem to mind it when blondie was buying it for you." She could only laugh at your poor attempt to look upset with her. When she realized you wouldn't sit down, she patted her lap. "What's all this about, hm? I know this isn't you."

You looked down at her lap then back up at her. "God, you're impossible." Nevertheless, you sat down. The way her arms wrapped around you made you feel safe. Natasha's hold was comforting. "I wanted to hang out with my friends like an adult, then you came in and caused a scene before taking me home against my will." You grumbled.

Natasha examined the expression on your face. Her own lips curled into a devious smirk. "Really, because I think it's a lot more than that." Her hands squeezed your hips before positioning you on her thigh. "I think someone has a little crush they don't know how to deal with it." She whispered in your ear before placing a kiss on your neck. "Now, you wanna act out in hopes of making me jealous." Her fingers slipped into your underwear without hesitation.

Your breath hitched in your throat. "That's not…you can't just- ah!" The protest was quickly cut off by a string of moans Natasha's fingers are much too skilled for you to really try fighting back. Not that you wanted to. "You're not being fair!" You whined softly.

Natasha rested her chin on your shoulder. "And it's fair for you to tease me like that? I didn't even know you owned clothes this tight." Her fingers curled just at the right angle to make you squirm. "I think it's only fair I have the upper hand for a bit." She pressed open mouth kisses along the column of your throat. If she wouldn't get in trouble for it, she would've gladly left more than a lipstick stain. "Are you about to cum already?" She asked with a knowing smirk.

There was no point in lying to her. Your legs were shaking and you could barely think. You'd be screaming if you knew your parents weren't home. "I- Yes, please just let me cum." You whispered desperately. Never had you been the one that needed permission. You had grown used to playfully bossing Natasha around, but now you were entirely at her mercy. "Please, I promise I won't sneak out again…"

Natasha coed at you. "I know you won't do that again." She said, "I wanted you to promise me that you won't run around letting other people touch you. That includes yourself." Her teeth latched on to your ear making you yelp.

You were going crazy. "Fine, fine! I just wanna cum please." Your body was practically buzzing. "It's coming, I'm cumming." You whimpered pathetically. The orgasm built into an unbelievably tight knot in your stomach and you were just ready for it to pop.

Then, Natasha pulled her fingers away.

"No, no, no, no!"

Natasha examined the slick dripping down her fingers. You were quite messy. She sucked the tangy liquid off her fingers as you complained. "Oh come on, you should know by now I don't go around rewarding bad behavior." She tapped your side, signaling you to stand up. "Maybe if you go back to being your obedient self I'll consider giving you a proper one."

#panther speaks #anon #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha smut #natasha fanfiction #natasha fanfic #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #panthers drabbles

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miheartsedthings · 10 months ago

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Happy Valentine's Day, Loves!

Ready for a treat? 😊 I've got just the thing. Let's take a look at your first kiss with Billy Hargrove.

Summary: Because of an altercation with his dad, Billy shows up late for your first date, and with a black eye. The two of you end up on the playground looking at the stars.

SFW Billy x Reader

Warnings: Implied child abuse.

Note: You and Billy are both 18 but you haven't graduated yet.

❣️The First Kiss❣️

You're watching the clock on your nightstand slowly countdown to 6pm. Your nerves are rattling, and you can't find the bracelet you wanted to wear. You started getting ready two hours ago, yet it feels like time has flown by and you're still rushing around putting on finishing touches. This is what Billy Hargrove does to you.

You'd met in detention. You were there for your alleged involvement in a fight. In truth all you'd done was pull a girl off your friend when it looked like she was losing. You may have tossed a couple words at the other girl but nothing that wasn't true. Nevertheless your friend got suspended and you got detention, where Billy Hargrove sat leaned back in his chair, arm slung around the back of the empty seat beside him.

The chaperone left halfway through the hour to run an errand, leaving you alone with the mischievous hottie who, unbeknownst to you, was stealing glances at you whenever he could. Before you knew it, he was plopping down in the seat beside you, tossing his arm behind your back like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Didn't know you were the fighting type.”

You were surprised to hear him talk to you. Billy Hargrove who only associated with the popular and blonde. It hadn't occurred to you that he knew anything about you, let alone why you'd gotten in trouble.

“I broke up the fight, actually.”

“That's real heroic.”

You cut your eyes at him, annoyed by his condescending tone. He only smirked.

“You better be careful making that face at me.”

Your face warmed, nerves fluttering in your stomach. He laughed because he could tell what kind of effect he had on you. Before you knew it the two of you were talking about the hardass way Hawkins approached discipline. He asked if you wanted to ditch the rest of detention, and when you said you couldn't risk getting into more trouble, he teased you. You asked if he would stop bothering you so you could pass the rest of the hour in peace, and he asked you out.

That was a few hours ago, and now you're freaking out because you can't find your bracelet and the clock just struck 6. You rifle through your jewelry case one more time, then finally give up. You snatch your phone from the charger, add an extra puff of perfume, and rush out of your bedroom. In the end, all the rushing is for nothing, because you get downstairs and go to the window, just to find that Billy isn't there. Not a big deal, he's never come across as a punctual person. You sat on the couch and waited, still excited. You wonder if he'll like your outfit, the way you styled your hair. Minutes tick by.

“He's still not here?” Your mom asks, clearly disapproving.

“He's just a little late. No big deal.”

You try to hide your nerves but you're starting to worry. Wondering if the whole thing had been a joke. You've heard rumors about Billy being rude and sometimes downright cruel, but you figured they were exaggerations. Maybe you'd been naive in this.

Five and then ten minutes goes by, and with every moment you doubt more and more the fun you'd had with him in detention. Maybe you'd imagined that he'd been into you. Foolishly believed he'd break from his asshole behavior and show you a better side of himself. After nearly 30 minutes you're ready to call it. Your mom is saying he doesn't know what he's missing and you're trying not to feel like an idiot, when your phone rings. You stare at the phone a moment before you answer. You bring it to your ear and don't even say anything. Too angry to speak.

“I'm here.”

Is all he says before hanging up.

“Tell me you're not going.” Your mom says, giving you a look.

“I'll be back before curfew.”

Outside, Billy sits in his black Camaro with his sunglasses on, bobbing his head to “Symphony of Destruction” by Megadeath. You slip into the passenger seat and stare at him for a moment, not even closing the door. He looks over.

“Yeah?”

You snip back. He smirks.

“Damn, you really are so cute when you're mad.”

He goes to touch your cheek and you turn your face away.

“You're late.”

You say, fighting your attraction to him with your arms crossed. His demeanor is cold, and he watches you behind those shades with a flat expression.

“I got into somethin’”

“You got into something.”

His jaw tensed.

“You gonna let me make it up to you?”

His tone is sharp and wounding. You're conflicted for a moment. If he hadn't shown up at all you would've been sure he was just fucking with you. If he'd sat there in detention without saying a word to you, your life would've gone on as normal. But, he'd spoken to you, and nothing's normal anymore. You're sitting there with Billy Hargrove, he's late but he's there, asking to make it up to you.

You shut the door and the song changes from Megadeath to Metallica. Any giddiness you'd felt for the date has already drained away and now you're more curious than anything. What exactly did he ‘get into’ that made him so late? Why was he being so uncharacteristically quiet? And why in the goddamn hell was he wearing sunglasses at night?

You hoped this wasn't the legendary Hargrove charm; showing up late in a shitty mood paying lazy homage to some tacky rock song? No thanks.

The burger place is pretty packed when the two of you arrive. People crowded into the space. One booth is full of kids graduating under you who recognize Billy instantly. They lean into their little cluster and whisper, not even attempting discretion. You focus on the menu, remembering your appetite in a sudden rush of hunger.

“Man, I forgot how hungry I was.”

You say as the two of you settle at a booth with your meals.

“How do you forget something like that?”

He doesn't take off the sunglasses to eat. You shrug and answer with your mouth full.

“Thought I was getting stood up.”

“Why would I ask you out just to stand you up?”

“Happens all the time.”

“To you?”

“Well, yeah. Once.”

He stops mid-chew, looking at you.

“No shit.”

“I'm serious. I really liked the guy, too. Left me waiting at a roller rink.”

He shakes his head.

“Fuckin dumbass.”

You smile a little. It can't be helped. After food you climb back into the car. You've already missed half of the movie you were meant to see.

“Wanna wait for the later one?”

You ask him, only to be met with a shrug. He's noticeably distracted and drives with the music turned up. Every once in a while he winces as if in some invisible pain.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm great, doll, how are you?”

He looks at you, cracking his lips into a forced smile.

“I'm wondering why you're wearing sunglasses?”

“Is it a problem? I'll take you home if you don't like it.”

“Is that what you wanna do? Go back home?”

This makes him settle, and the little sneer recedes until he's flat again. Hidden.

“I have an idea.”

You direct him to your old elementary school’s playground. Once there, you're reminded of your favorite pastime and your giddiness returns. As soon as the car is in park you unbuckle and hop out.

“Damn,” he exclaims, hurrying to follow you.

You glance up at the sky, ecstatic to find the street lamps are dim enough to see a bounty of stars.

“Ah, it's perfect.”

You race through the wood chips heading right for the swings.

“Alright,” You hop onto one of the swings and start pumping “I'm about to show you my special talent.”

“Don't get yourself hurt,” he chides and you shush him, already going faster and swinging higher than his head.

“You just stand back. Don't get in my way.”

He does stand back, shaking his head at you with a little amused smile.

“If you break your fuckin legs I swear to God.”

“I won't. I'm going over, up and over!”

“What?”

He's more than a little concerned when he sees how high you're going and realizes what you're talking about.

“What the fuck? Are you kidding?”

You swing up, your belly dropping with the familiar momentum, the world tilts backwards and for a moment you're flying.

“Nope.”

The trees bend away at an angle, and the city skyline stretches far beyond. You can see fields in the distance.

“You're not a kid, you're gonna fuckin tip this thing.”

“I won't!”

Your words whip by on the wind rushing past your face, then, a smattering of stars smears across your vision and for a moment you and the world are upside down. The chains rattle as your swing comes clammering back down to center, one loop completed. You're laughing uncontrollably and stagger off the swing on wobbly legs. Your head rushing.

“Holy shit.”

Billy’s mouth is hanging ajar.

“Told you.” You switch your hips like a boisterous pigeon, teasing “You're gonna fuckin flip it, you're not a fuckin kid.”

Before you can finish the taunt he's after you. The two of you take off in a game of chase, dashing through the chips, over the see saw and under the monkey bars until finally, he snatches you into his arms. His grip is tight around your waist from behind.

“Okay, okay, I give up.”

The two of you relax, and his grip eases, but there you are in his arms. Neither of you want to let go just yet. You stand there, his breath warm on your ear, his arms around your middle and your arms over his. The two of you fit together so perfectly. You turn your head, finding his lips right there, his handsome face, and those sunglasses. You reach up to remove them and he catches your hand.

“You're so weird.” You say, softly.

“Me? You're the one who almost nut yourself over the swingset.”

He had a point. The two of you make your way to the playset and lay down on the brown plastic, looking up at the stars.

“When I leave here, I'm going somewhere warm." You say, eyes on the stars "All I'm gonna do is sit outside drinking white wine and all I'm gonna eat is lobsters and coconuts.”

“Sounds like you're going to Cali, then.”

“I'll try it out, for sure. But I gotta see Jamaica, too. And the Virgin Islands. Miami, even.”

“I could see you in Miami.”

You rolled onto your side to look at him.

“Yeah?”

He smiles, and for once it's a real smile instead of a smirk.

“Yeah. But Cali’s better.”

You smile back.

“I'm glad you showed up.”

He doesn't say anything, but there's a response, a change in the way he regards you that you can't help but notice. Maybe it's the set of his mouth or the softening of his brows. Either way, the air is filled with static. When you speak again, it's so softly you think he might not hear you.

“Are you gonna tell me why you were late?”

He looks at you for a long moment. So long that you start to make your peace with the idea that you might never know. Then, he lifts up on his elbows and slowly takes off the sunglasses. Around his left eye, a darkening bruise. Your heart sinks looking at it, and registering the trepidation in his gaze. He isn't looking directly at you, his eyes focused on your lips, his expression flat, as if bracing for the worst.

You do something you've wanted to do for a long time, which is trace your finger along his jawline and then along his bottom lip. His eyes are kind. So kind it's a wonder he can be so intimidating. Looking at him now, you can't imagine this person hurting anyone. His eyes are kind, catching the light of the stars.

“Still so cute,” you say, and the relief he feels crumples his brow. He touches your cheek with the backs of his fingers, caressing gently. Then, you could be imagining it, but it seems like he's leaning in. No, he is leaning in! Your heart jerks to a start as he comes slowly closer. You close your eyes, and sure enough there are his lips, soft against your own.

You never imagined a kiss with him would feel so pure. You didn't think his tongue would be sweet, you didn't think he'd hold your chin and kiss you like you were so precious. But soon you'd know this kiss, you'd come to know it as the way he kisses you when he means to say: “I love you.”

Thanks for reading!! 💖

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove 18+#billy hargrove smut #stranger things #fanfic #billy #billy hargrove imagine #valentines day #miheartsedthings

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jayzioxx · 19 hours ago

Text

Cuz i cant sleep... some slight angst following up this and this fic isn't the follow up from the poll im just sleep deprived and sad

Also WARNINGGG ooc soft emotionally ✨️mature✨️ wanderer~

Wanderer who tries to atone for his past sins realized how much he's broken [name] throughout the years. [Name] who was undeniably loyal and trustworthy, [name] who nearly gave his life away to help him reach godhood.

"You..." Wanderer muttered as he looked at [name] who was fast asleep on the sofa in his living room. He wondered if he should bring a blanket to cover that scrawny, malnourished body resting so peacefully, but he couldn't take his eyes off the bruises, cuts, and old battle scars littering the skin of those once strong limbs.

"Idiot. Nothing would have changed even if you died for me." He thought. And he was so glad that didn't happen. He couldn't have lived with himself if he caused pain for another he loved.

Wanderer's cold fingers traced around a healing wounds on [name]'s face, which was one of the many he'd gained during his final battle fought as the right-hand man of a fatui harbinger, likely from when he foolishly intercepted the rough attacks from the traveler just to buy some more time for Scaramouche.

Wanderer absentmindedly continued to carass his scarred skin, not noticing how [name] was waking from his afternoon nap.

"Sorry." He croaked, bringing a thin hand up to rub his tired eyes. "It was warm. I didn't mean to fall asleep here."

Wanderer felt a pang through his heart (despite not having one). He'd gained a lot of emotions and grew to feel things during the months he spent under Nahida and at the akademia, but [name] had only spent 3 days in this new setting after roaming around homeless for so long.

Wanderer didn't realize how lucky he was in that aspect, for being given a chance to overcome his past when his counterpart was suffering the entire time.

"Lord Scaramou- Forgi- Sorry, Wanderer." [Name] spoke, stuttering to correct his words as he was still struggling to adapt to his new life. "You were zoning out."

He was. He only noticed how much he had been thinking over things when [name] pointed it out.

[Name] was still laying on his side on the sofa with Wanderer's hand on his cheek, staring at Wanderer's face with his sleepy eyes.

The puppet moved his hand from [name]'s face to his back to gently help him sit up. Truth be told, Wanderer was scared. The man in front of him was far too thin and far too weak. Almost to the point he would fracture at a light breeze.

Without a word, Wanderer got up and went to make some tea, and the other sat perfectly still, eyes unmoving, not even turning his head. He almost seemed like a porcelain doll.

When Wanderer got back, [name] sat in the same position he had been, faced the same direction, with only his eyes following the one who had just come back from the kitched and placed a warm cup of tea in his hands.

"He's like a doll." Thought Wanderer, which only made him feel more upset. He knew he shouldn't be frustrated, that he was the one responsible, but he just wished that [name] would at least move his head a bit more, or maybe shift in his seat. Act a bit more alive.

Or, at the very least, not act like he was living dead.

"Hey." Wanderer said, carefully choosing his words and speaking as gently as he could. [Name] had a slightly uncomfortable look on his face, seemingly confused with how to respond.

"You can respond however you'd like to. Or dont if you don't feel like it." Wanderer spoke softly, noting [name]'s discomfort. [Name] just smiled, a bit relieved. He found it a bit strange to see Scaramouche so... kind.

"I'm not Scaramouche." Wanderer said. He looked apologetic.

"I won't be either." He felt like his words didn't get through to [name], but the sunken look on [name]'s face told him how much impact his words had.

"I'm sorry." He finally apologized. He didn't exactly understand why he was apologizing, all he knew was that there was a lot to say sorry for.

"If you're not him, then why are you apologizing."

[Name]'s words stung like salt on a fresh wound.

"Because I stopped being him without considering you."

Wanderer couldn't stop the bitter tears falling from the other's eyes. He seemed to have a knack for making him cry. Scaramouche's strongest general and the broken human marionette wanderer picked up.

"I'm sorry for how I used you."

...

"I'm sorry for how it broke you."

...

"I'm-" Wanderer choked."...I'm sorry for not telling you I loved you when it mattered the most."

He wasn't crying. He had much better control over his feelings than [name]. But being unable to stop [name]'s tears made him feel as helpless as he felt when he was first abandoned.

The tea had become cold and untouched, and Wanderer gently took the teacup from the other one's hands and placed it aside, engulfing him in as warm a hug he could provide. [Name] too allowed his skinny frame to be held as he quietly sniffled.

For the first time in a long, long time, both Wanderer and [name] felt as normal and human as the rest.

Meanwhile nahida accidentally spying on then through whatever weird magic she's got crying her eyes out with kaveh who's crying cuz he saw nahida crying so now the two of them dont know why the other is crying and they're crying togerther because of that.

Al haitham in the back wondering what the 🦆is going on...

#fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #male reader #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x you #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #jayzioxwrites #no scara is not an abuser #no there was no [name] abuse going on pre irminsul #this is all from dottores shenanigans and fatui work #also going around homeless in a weird foreign place does not help with nutrition #yes scara is ooc i dont care

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yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy · 2 months ago

Text

How Rolan got his nickname

A Tsundere Rolan (OVA)

This is how Rolan acquired the nickname that this Tav calls him in my fanfics about them.

(This isn't a part of the Tsundere Rolan series per say, but it is canon. I know OVA stands for "original video animation", but you get the gist of what I'm going for here, yeah?)

I've color coded the dialog for Rolan, Tav, Lia, and Cal for easier reading.

AN: Tav's normally high charisma flies out the window when he tries to flirt with someone who he has romantic feelings for. Tav vacillates between cocksure and bashful around Rolan. Boi is in loooove and doesn't know what to do about it. Lust, he can handle. But love? Panic.

TW: Lorroakan's abuse is mentioned.

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

Rolan was trying to get some important work done.

Trying being the operative word, because Tav had somehow made his way up to the top of Ramazith's Tower where Rolan was attempting to work.

"Don't touch that." Rolan snapped at Tav without even bothering to look up from his papers.

Tav startled, sheepishly pulling his hand away from a particularly volatile looking alchemical concoction as he glanced at Rolan.

"How'd you know I was going to touch something when you weren't even looking at me?" He asked.

Rolan let out a long suffering sigh as he sat back, giving up on accomplishing anything productive while Tav was around.

"I asked myself 'what would a particularly droll child be getting into right about now?'" Rolan said in an acerbic tone.

Rolan stood and began to organize the papers which were strewn haphazardly arranged in an organized chaos across his desk.

"I've also set up wards that warn me whenever an idiot is near something they shouldn't be." Rolan added offhandedly, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Ouch, snapdragon. You're a bit spicier than normal today." Tav said with a good natured chuckle.

Rolan's tail spade flicked in annoyance.

"I wouldn't be acting 'spicier than normal' if you hadn't-" Rolan began before stopping himself.

"What did you just call me?" He asked in a low tone that would dissuade most people from continuing to poke the cave bear.

Tav was not most people.

"Snapdragon!" Tav cheerfully repeated, heedless of the owlbear nest he'd just walked into.

"...the flower?" Rolan asked, his anger temporarily waylaid by confusion. Did he like that Tav nicknamed him after a flower? Why was he blushing!?

"Yeah, it really suits you!" Tav responded in a jovial tone.

"It does?" Rolan asked, still undecided if he was irked or pleased.

"Yeah!" Tav said.

"Dragons are incredibly powerful, fearsome creatures and you're so powerful that with a snap" Tav snapped to emphasize his point, "you can take down an impressive number of enemies before they even knew what hit them!" Tav said with star-struck eyes.

Pleased with Tav's reasoning, Rolan's tail began to lazily sway from smug satisfaction.

"And snapdragons are my favorite flowers and uh, they're beautiful." Tav blushed, "Like you are." he bashfully added.

Rolan's tail loosely coiled in delight.

Maybe the bard wasn't as annoying as Rolan thought he was.

"Uh, not only that, dragons are known for being grumpy— like you are. And you snap at people a lot, so I thought that as a nickname it fit you perfectly!" Tav foolishly continued.

Rolan's tail began to lash in irritation.

The bard wasn't as annoying as Rolan thought he was, he was more annoying than Rolan thought he was.

"You don't know when to quit when you're ahead." Rolan humorlessly chuckled.

"Huh?" Tav questioned.

Rolan had just opened his mouth to tell that moron exactly how moronic he was when the whoosh of the teleportation portal being used interrupted him.

"Rolan! Some arsehole customer is refusing to speak with anyone who isn't you. I'd tell them to bugger off but they're wanting to buy some really expensive merchandise." Lia said in a clearly exasperated tone.

"Hey Lia!" Tav said, oblivious to how close he had just come to receiving the verbal lashing of a lifetime.

"Hi Tav!" Lia replied, happy to see the large man.

"I presume that they're refusing to speak with my simulacrum?" Rolan redundantly inquired, his ire shifting from Tav to the problem customer.

"Yep." Lia succinctly responded.

Rolan rubbed his temples as he sighed, "Zurgan."

Tav, sensing that Rolan was no longer in a mood to tolerate his presence, wisely decided to leave.

"Damn, that sounds annoying." Tav said as he inched his way over to the portal.

"Not quite as annoying as you." Rolan spat.

"I'll leave you too it!" Tav continued, ignoring Rolan's barb.

"Bye Tav!" Lia cheerfully said.

"Goodbye, Tav." Rolan sourly said.

"Bye Lia!" Tav said as he meandered over to the portal.

"Bye snapdragon!" Tav flirtatiously said, winking at Rolan as he stepped through the portal.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Rolan yelled after him, but it was too late— the minotaur had already teleported away.

Lia had the grace to not tease her brother about the nickname for a whole 2 seconds before she started in on him.

"Snapdragon?" she teasingly inquired.

"Lia." Rolan said, shooting his sister a withering glare.

"You've a customer waiting for you, snapdragon." Lia replied in a teasingly-smug voice.

"Only Tav can call me that!" Rolan objected, desperate to prevent his sister from adopting the use of the nickname.

Rolan realized his mistake too late, as Lia quickly pounced on the opportunity to tease Rolan about his obvious crush on Tav. "Oho! I see, only Tav can call you that." She leered in delight.

"Zurgan." Rolan cursed, blushing.

---

Later that night Rolan was diligently working in his office when a soft knock interrupted him.

"Enter." He said distractedly.

Cal opened the door, a cup of tea in hand.

"Brought you some tea." He said in a soft voice.

"Thank you, just set it on the desk." Rolan replied, not looking up from his papers.

"I have an important letter for you as well." Cal said after he'd carefully set the teacup down on the only (mostly) clear portion of the desk.

That sentence made Rolan instantly look up from his work.

"What!? Why didn't you tell me that immediately?" He asked, vexed.

But Cal didn't say anything as he pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to his crabby older brother.

"Goodnight Rolan." Cal said as he left, a knowing smile on his face.

Rolan sighed, he loved his siblings— but they drove him mad.

The envelope was sealed with a wax signet that Rolan was sure he'd seen before, but he couldn't recall from where.

He carefully opened it and began to read.

Rolan, I am so sorry about earlier. It took me much longer than it should have, but I finally realized that I'd offended you when I likened you to a grumpy dragon. Earlier today when we were hanging out at the top of the tower I was worried that I had made you uncomfortable by comparing your beauty to snapdragons and so I kept talking in the hope that I would make you un-uncomfortable. Instead I opened my big, dumb, mouth and ended up insulting you. I like you. I really like you. I like you so much that I am thrown off-kilter and I panic. I am trying so hard to not mess things up, but I am way out of my depth when it comes to this sort of stuff— romance 'n such. Had I not been a foolish coward, I would've told you all the reasons why I think that snapdragons perfectly represent you. Snapdragons are my favorite flower, and you're my favorite person. I especially like red and purple snapdragons, and their specific meanings make me think of you. Snapdragons are not only beautiful, they also symbolize grace under pressure and inner strength in the face of hardship. Red snapdragons symbolize love, passion, desire, and energy. Purple snapdragons represent dignity, respect, spirituality, and a mastery of the Weave. Snapdragons have delicately soft petals which beautifully sway in the lightest of breezes. Yet in spite of their delicate appearance they are sturdy and resilient, standing tall and proud against harsh conditions— symbolizing both perseverance and resilience. The duality of their grace and strength represent the dualities of life itself. And you. Snapdragons represent exactly what I see when I look at you: Someone who is passionate and dignified. Someone who is determined and resilient. Someone who has put an incredible amount of work into mastering magic. You've gone through the actual hells to get to where you are today. You've faced horrors that would've broken most people. You didn't let the world's rothé-shit beat you down, you rose above it and came out stronger from it. You've achieved the impossible, you fulfilled your dreams despite all the obstacles you've faced. You've displayed immense inner strength in the face of many hardships. You did not let anything stop you from achieving your goals. Not prejudice, not poverty, not a lack of a "proper" education, not being banished from your home for the crime of being born a tiefling, and certainly not everything that came after it— you persevered through it all. You wouldn't allow anything to keep you from fulfilling your destiny. You wouldn't allow anything to stop you from giving your siblings a better life. The moment that made me fall for you was when you stood up to Lorroakan after you'd found out what he was planning to do to the Nightsong. I know that bastard abused you. I would've known even if you hadn't been covered in bruises— your normally vibrant eyes were dull when I first saw you behind the counter of Sorcerous Sundries. Yet there you were, standing tall and proud against the man who had tried very hard to snuff out the roaring fire that burns in you— and in that moment your soul was blazing brighter than the sun. Seeing you stand up to him, seeing you decide to do what was right even if it cost you everything you'd worked so hard for and then some— it was utterly mesmerizing. I knew that I liked you, but that moment was when I figured out that I really, really like you. I was so captivated by your display of bravery and candor that I nearly got scorched by the fire myrmidon which that dickwad had summoned. I know that you don't always feel as though you've properly earned the title of 'Master of Ramazith's Tower'— but you have. We couldn't've defeated the Netherbrain without you and the improvements you made to your tower's defenses. You're amazing, snapdragon. I don't ever want you to doubt that I think the world of you. Even if you don't feel the same, it would be an honor to have you as my friend. — Tav p.s. I asked Cal to give you this letter, he seems less likely to snoop than Lia.

Rolan wasn't sure when he began to cry. This letter was the most heartfelt thing he'd ever received. He smiled as he dipped a quill in ink and began to write.

Tav, You're an absolute buffoon, but I feel similarly. Meet me at the tower tonight after the shop is closed. — Rolan Your snapdragon

Rolan was going to entrust Cal, who is indeed less likely to snoop than Lia is, to promptly deliver his very important note to Tav.

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green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle · 3 months ago

Text

Hell's comin' with me

Aventurine and Boothill are on a mission to send Oswaldo Schneider to hell. You have your own reasons to team up with them. Implied Aventurine x reader.

GENERAL MASTERLIST

It was getting harder to breathe. At this point you weren't sure if you should blame your tight dress chosen by Aventurine for this evening, crowd of powerful people surrounding you or expensive wine you indulged in for this strange heaviness in your chest.

Everything about your appearence from expensive jewelry matching golden attire to artistic but elegant make up you spent hours doing had one purpose - getting people's attention off your partner in crime and his attempts to get more informations about Marketing Development Departament's head, Oswaldo Schneider from his assistant's private devices.

Your eyes scanned the room impatiently while you desperately tried to keep up your conversation with one of the most important IPC workers hoping he won't realise somebody is tinkering with his phone, foolishly left inside his bag by the table. Not an easy task if you don't speak the business language of numbers and statistics.

Old man paraded his knowledge and experience in finance, seemingly hoping to come off as a professional and wealthy man to impress you. You smiled at him politely and did your best to ignore the way he stared at your body.

Wave of relief washed over you when you saw Aventurine giving you a discreet sign that he downloaded all of the needed information already. Next thing you know gambler was right by your side.

- My dear, I hope you didn't get bored already... - he interrupted assistant's monologue, taking you by the hand. - I know very few people able to stand my lovely coworker once he gets a chance to talk about his job.

- Sir, we were in the middle of conversation... - old man looked at Aventurine with irritation, inhaling sharply.

- Unfortunately, this needs to end right here. - Sigonian gave him a fake smile. - You see, I still need to introduce my partner to my colleagues from Ten Stonehearts. - he guided you away from other male, towards the exit.

***

- Do you have everything we promised to that guy? - you spoke up to break the uncomfortable silence.

- Not really, Oswaldo's assistant isn't stupid enough to keep such personal information about his boss in his phone, even if he looks like a complete idiot. - Aventurine smirked maliciously, opening the door of his car for you.

- Do we have enough to make sure Schneider won't be able to hurt what's left of my planet or any other inhabitet place in this universe? - you glanced at Aventurine. He carefully drove past the wall littered with IPC recruitment posters before responding.

- Yes, it's enough to make sure Oswaldo can't do anything like that in the future, but it doesn't really matter. Once he's gone somebody else will take his place and do exactly the same things.

- If you think so then why are you doing that? - you argued. - I didn't expect you to be optimistic about the outcome of our mission, but come on. What's the point of this in that case.

- I have two reasons. First of all I work for Ten Stonehearts, my departament and the one ruled my Oswaldo are competing with each other. - he stated calmly. You rolled your eyes at his words in disbelief. - My second reason is much more important. Schneider is responsible for IPC's reaction to humanitarian crisis on Sigonia.

His gaze turned cold and sharp. You gulped nervously, knowing history of that planet. Conflict on Sigonia in it's last stage resulted in wiping out almost whole clan of Avgins, with only one survivor left. The man sitting by your side. You were more than eager to help him get his revenge for broken promises of safety.

- And you? - he turned his gaze to you. - Why do you want to take part in this mission?

- My family lives on one of the planets terribly indebted to IPC. In exchange for quick advancement IPC took over our independent government and made sure our debt could only grow. - you sighed, rubbing your temples. - They control our politics with threat of punishment for all the money we own them. My sister is one of the brave people who work towards setting us free, she hopes to get some of the debt forgiven by legal means. Somebody ordered to get her eliminated, with all evidence suggesting it has a lot to do with Oswaldo. She made it this time but as long as he's alive I won't be able to stop worrying about her.

- I understand. I know how it feels to lose your family and the whole world you used to know. - Aventurine squeezed your hand soothingly. - I will make sure you won't know this feeling.

***

- Is this all you have? ! Mudlefudger! Weren't you supposed to give me his full data and everything about his past as Nameless? - tall man with metal body and cowboy attire growled at the two of you.

- Hey, why not concentrate on what we have, Boothill? - Aventurine suggested. - Oswaldo's complete, detailed harmonogram for the next three days.

- Why would I give a love about how he spends his time?! I need to know his weaknesses, not what he eats for his fudging breakfast. - Boothill lashed out at gambler.

- No need to argue, guys. - you interrupted their friendly banter. - I noticed interesting break between bussines meetings and usual off-duty activities in our target's plans...

- That's exactly what I wanted to point out. - Aventurine glared at cowboy. - I checked his closest coworkers and their schedules in our system. It seems that for about an hour none of his official bodyguards will be guarding him. I don't know why is that so, but it might have something to do with his past. He might want to keep some secret from everybody, including his own subordinates. If we spy on him and make sure he's completely isolated at this time...

- I will finally be able to avenge my little daughter. - Boothill completed the sentence through gritted teeth. His fingers clenched around his gun.

#honkai aventurine #honkai star rail #honkai x reader #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #x reader #honkai boothill #hsr boothill #oswaldo schneider

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rainverry · 2 years ago

Text

warning/s: profanity, consumption of alcohol, tiny bit of angst @nct-writers

[12:29 AM]

jaehyun is drunk – you can tell by the redness of his ears and the way he slurs his words. his stubbornness is also clearly amplified when he’d arrived on your doorstep moments earlier and refused to come in. instead, he chooses to stand on the sidewalk, staring into the dark and empty street with you.

“i love you so much, baby,” he whispers, reaching out to touch your face. your body warms at his words, but you’re taken aback when he pulls away and suddenly shouts into the dead of the night, “i fucking love you!”

“jaehyun, shh!” you reprimand, grabbing his hands that he had dramatically thrown into the air to emphasise his declaration. “you’ll wake the neighbours up.”

jaehyun looks down at his hands clasped in yours and smiles sorrowfully. “i don’t care,” he mumbles. “you don’t love me anymore.”

with that, his eyes turn glossy with tears and your heart breaks at the sight.

“hey, what are you talking about?” you ask softly, caressing his cheek which pains you even further when you realise he’s started crying. jaehyun leans into your touch, closing his eyes and savouring the comfort that he may never get to feel again. when he doesn’t answer, you take his hands into yours. “jaehyun, what’s wrong?”

his mournful smile is back again. “taeyong said you’re leaving me. i’m sorry if i did anything wrong, i love y–”

the sound of your ringtone slices through the night and you rush to answer the call and put it on speaker.

“hello?”

taeyong’s frantic voice cracks through the phone. “is jaehyun with you?”

“no, i’m not,” jaehyun replies foolishly before you could speak.

“oh thank god,” taeyong’s relief is clear as he rambles on, “listen, y/n, jaehyun’s been drinking and–and johnny gave me this stupid dare to tell him that you were going to break up with him, so i did it and i left him for a split second and he was already gone, i’m–”

“taeyong, you idiot,” you snarl, “i’ll deal with you tomorrow.”

when you kill the call, you look up to see a glimmer of hope that flits across jaehyun’s expression.

“so you don’t want to break up with me?” he asks meekly.

“of course not, babe, i love you too much!” you wrap your arms around jaehyun in a hug, and you immediately feel him melt into your embrace as all of his worries fade away. “come on, let’s get you sobered up and into bed.”

masterlist

#nct-writers #jaehyun angst #jaehyun fluff #nct angst #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct reactions #nct timestamps #jaehyun scenarios #mine #*#my finals are over!!!!#so what better way to celebrate other than writing some angsty fluff?#this fic pairs well with gold dust btw

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simplifiedemotions · 1 year ago

Text

Dreams

His love for her was a sharp-edged knife he had to learn to breathe around.

First, a seven-year war. A turncoat after his parents were killed. Little reason to live but too much of a coward to die.

Draco joined the Order. He’d traded in finely-barbed insults for a med kit because they had seemed to know that his greatest torture apart from dying was having to endure the presence of Hermione Granger.

Their great bloody healer with her manic schedules and biting instructions. She’d made it clear she hated him when he showed up to the dingy room she used for potion brewing.

It came as no surprise that he’d fallen in love with her.

It came as no surprise that she’d broken his heart.

They had no choice but to keep him on as healer after the war. His skills made him indispensable. Even if they hated him, they needed him.

He looked down at his clipboard, shock stuttering his heart to a stop before it started pounding against his chest.

Patient: Hermione Granger. His eyes skimmed past information he already knew, before they landed on the reason she was there.

It had happened a year before the war ended.

She was a Healer and Curse-Breaker. She was never meant to be caught in a skirmish, but she was foolishly soft-hearted and had responded to an urgent call for backup.

He had been in another safe house treating injured Order members when she’d gone.

He returned to see her convulsing on the ground, her throat torn from a precise-impact bombarda.

His hands shook as he healed her ravaged throat, as he directed his wand over sinew and bone, over ruptured veins.

He was the one who took care of her, who took on her workload whilst she recovered. Who shoved potions down her throat when the pain overroad her coherency.

It wasn’t the first time they’d known intimacy through hurt.

It hurt to look at her now. Sitting primly on the hospital bed, she met his gaze with a shrewd assessment.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, and he hoped against hope that sound would come out; that she’d somehow reveal to him that her brilliant brain had found a way to heal her ravaged throat.

Nothing. He watched her take in a heavy breath before exhaling in frustration.

“If this is some joke, Granger, I’ve not the time nor the energy for you.” He knew he sounded cold. He told himself he didn’t care, even as her face fell, her large brown eyes a spark of hurt.

She rose, untucking her wand from her sleeve and turned her back to him, and he watched the shift of her shoulders as she straightened her spine and raised her wand. He knew what the spell was almost immediately. The flagrante curse, used to make objects searing at first touch. It could also be used to write out words, which she was currently doing.

She’d learned to do a charm known for draining magical energy at an incredible speed—and she’d done it without incanting it.

Anger moved through him suddenly and sharply. He moved quick as a flash, taking Granger by the shoulders and pivoting her towards him before taking both her hands in his, her wand clattering to the ground but he barely noticed because—his eyes widened in horror—there were scorch marks patterning most of her hands.

“You idiot!” he snarled at her. He felt cold with rage. “Have you been using this as your method of communication this entire time? Do I really need to remind the Muggle-born that paper would suffice?”

Hermione shook one of her hands out of his and pointed up and to her side. Realising that he didn’t read what she’d said earlier, he turned his head to see the words outlined in a red-gold hue.

I tried to fix my voice for five years on my own. I’m sorry I hadn’t contacted you. I—

But it ended off there from when he’d grabbed her.

What was the rest of her sentence going to be?

His heart wrenched inside his chest. He turned back and demanded, “why?”

She picked up her wand from the ground, drew out new words. There was something sad and resigned to her face as she turned back to him.

I’ll explain.

Granger explained all her attempts at getting her voice back. Potions, spells, even—horrifically—performing surgery on herself.

Draco stood, horrified at what she was telling him, staring at the raised scars on her throat as she took off the scarf she was wearing.

More words, more explanations on procedures they could do if Draco was willing to help her, inspiring in him a maelstrom of emotions: rage, fierce protection. But it was mostly unbearable longing that he felt as he looked at her, remembering the soft moments they’d had, the sound of her voice in his ear as they made love, at the bite in her arguments whenever they would fight, at how she looked softer in sleep, made better by the way she would cling to him, as if he were her only anchor in a desolate sea.

“Why didn’t you ask me, Granger?” He could hear raw pain in his voice, and she seemed to notice because she gave him a wan smile and shook her head.

She didn’t think she needed to consider Draco in her after. He felt as if she’d punched him in the stomach.

She was softer without the war. It hurt him that he couldn’t have experienced it with her.

He straightened his shoulders. “If you think there is something I can do to help you, Herm-Granger, I will.”

He gave her a bitter smile. Best not get too vulnerable.

He looked away when she smiled at him again.

Bloody weeks spent on every single thing Draco could think of. Potions. Modified spells. He was sure he’d burned through the manor library on every single Charms book just to find a working revitalisation spell.

Tests, speech therapy. He’d even in a fit of mania researched if he could somehow purchase a new voice box for her. It wasn’t an option, but he also realised how much he didn’t want to hear any voice but hers.

There was absolutely nothing he could do. Still, he wouldn’t give up.

I have something to tell you.

Draco looked at her from his crouched position on the small table he’d transfigured for himself to write on. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Granger fidgeted with her wand. She raised it again to write.

I don’t want you to be angry with me.

Still, that didn’t stop her from giving him the truth.

Draco stood for long minutes, just staring at her. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to parse out her words into something that made sense.

His throat was dry as he finally said, “If you knew all this time that you couldn’t fix your voice, why did you come to me?”

She drew her wand up, writing, I didn’t know if you’d forgive me.

Something burned behind his eyelids. He was losing his control. He had to leave before she decided to rip his heart into further shreds. The knife slid deeper. “Forgive you for what, Hermione?” he said, voice cracking on her name.

Tears welled in her eyes. She made slashing movements with her wand, her normally clean letters changed by her emotions as she wrote out another sentence.

I loved you—still love you, but I didn’t want you to be stuck to this broken version of me. I didn’t think you could love me unless I was whole—so I left.

Draco crossed the room in three long strides and crushed her in his trembling arms, ignoring the spark of pain that hit him as he crossed right through her searing words.

Words do hurt, he thought ruefully as he breathed hard against her hair, taking in her flowery scent, feeling at home in the circle of her arms as she pressed herself against him and drew her hands up his shoulders to clutch at his robes.

“You could have told me. I would never have stayed angry with you.”

He just wanted her to stay. Even if it was only as friends. Even if the knife tore at him each time she smiled.

He let her go long enough to meet her unamused expression.

“You can’t love me, though. I know you don’t.” He didn’t know if it was anger, or a bone-deep sadness, that prevailed against his calmer emotions. He’d gotten so good at hiding it all, until the storm of her stepped back into his life. “I know what we had—it was a distraction. You wouldn’t have chosen me in other circumstances.”

He knew he sounded self-loathing. Couldn’t help it. There was a quake of emotion rising in his chest, bypassing all reason and logic.

A raised brow, Granger stepped out of his arms and lifted her wand again.

His eyes widened when he saw the word legilimency in red.

“You can’t be serious.”

She only gave him a nod. He imagined she'd say something like of course, you idiot, if she could speak.

“Hermione, I’m not—” he was interrupted by her stepping right up to him, taking him by the collar and pulling him down to her level. Her eyes were fierce, and in them he saw her demand—and her permission.

She wanted to show him something that he wouldn’t believe with words.

He looked up, meeting her steady gaze, pressing forward as his wand met her temple and uttering the spell, spilling himself inside her head.

What he saw—oh what he saw. He almost called her cruel for the images she gave him, before realising the truth of them.

Him, through her eyes, seven years ago.

He felt the way she peeled him apart in her mind, that day that was defined by several dust motes in the rickety library where she sat to watch his interview with Harry and Lupin. He expected the riling energy of looking at your enemy, but there was also inquisitiveness there. A curiosity.

Flash forward, one month later and they were screaming at each other. Draco accidentally knocked into her, sending a new batch of healing potions crashing to the floor. Her screams of accusation turned to waves of anger turned to pointing fingers and cruel words.

The next day, he’d brought her a new batch. Ignored her indignation that he’d stolen into her potions stores and demanded he come back as he walked out the door. He watched her as she stared at his younger self’s back, surprised to see her frowning. Still, that feeling of curiosity that went over all other things.

A rare empty night at the main safe house. They were the only occupants in an otherwise quiet house. A surprise shared drink, but even more was the surprisingly pleasant conversations. He felt the pleasantness between them; he remembered how tense he felt because he was so sure they were about to fight again. But it was only a tentative conversation that was their third guest of the evening.

He still remembered the small smile she’d given him, at how it prompted something in his heart to go wild. Now, he was hit with the force of her emotions, too: a pounding heart, a nervousness she was confused by and didn’t know how to name, a lingering feeling of heightened emotion.

Was it his or hers?

Later, their first kiss. The boy who had made all the wrong choices never felt more right than in the moment he had grabbed Hermione’s face, stalling her argument about a jealousy she’d insisted she didn’t feel over Susan Bones touching his arm in a flirtatious way.

What she felt for him was nothing soothing. Pure horniness. He’d felt the same.

More scenes flashed. Their first time together, which Granger of the present nudged him to move on from. He could feel her embarrassment through their connection and couldn’t help his grin.

He loved that night. Loved how she responded to him. Loved how much she could say with her body. He kept moving on, finding more like them. They spoke so often through sex at first. Anger, curiosity, resentment, all wound up as tightly as her legs around his waist.

He didn’t understand what she was showing him.

The scenes slowed down. It was the fifth year of war. She had still looked at him a lot. He’d never realised how much.

Year six: a sick yearning he would call his own if he wasn’t so aware he was seeing all this through her mind—her heart.

Year seven, near the end: she, watching him as he slept beside her. She’d already lost her voice. It was only days from now that the war would end, and she would disappear from his life for five years.

He normally slept fitfully. They all did. So he was surprised to see he didn’t wake as Granger tenderly traced his face. As she swept gentle thumbs across his cheekbones and over his closed eyelids, as she used her hand to cup his face and kiss him sweetly, so so sweetly, on his forehead.

She was looking at him—she was feeling something he could never fully put into words. The same as he felt—the same.

it was—

He realised why he couldn’t name the difference. He was looking for something to discern her feelings from his, only to realise they were one and the same.

He pulled out of her mind, wanting—needing to see her face. He knew with certainty her first words to him in the hospital—the words he’d interrupted before she could finish them.

I tried to fix my voice for five years. I’m sorry I hadn’t contacted you. I—

I love you.

He pushed her hair out of her face.

He knew her heart. Her dreams. He knew her.

They kissed for a long time under the bright hospital lights. Tears stained their cheeks and their teeth clacked as they kissed clumsily, as they slid onto the floor and made a mess of the neat tiles.

There was nothing clean about their coming together. There were no words to carry out the breadth of feeling that passed between them.

Maybe that was the whole point all along.

#dramione #dhr #dhr fanfiction #hermione granger #draco malfoy

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saphirered · 1 year ago

Note

Sending you a spice request from the prompts list! Steamy baths with Eris ;) can’t wait to see what you come up with!

Okay I may have gone a little filthy with this one. I'll own up to my spot in horny jail with the rest of you. 😘

It’s been a long day. The sun has yet barely reached it’s highest point and Eris is this close from incinerating the room for a moment of peace. Instead he is stuck dealing with the woes of politics, of presenting himself like an arrogant bastard, which he is admittedly but that does not mean he should let himself give in and speak his mind so freely. He has a reputation to uphold, a game to play and a throne to earn and until he sits upon it he shall play this game, however much it might annoy him to death. He will restrain the wildfire until freedom beckons. Oh how he longs for that freedom. His imagination gives him some escape and drowns out the useless words of bickering nobility.

He may sit at his father’s side but his mind is elsewhere, far from this council room in a distant court. Instead Eris finds himself in the vast forests he calls home. The leaves crunch beneath his feet, the smell of the autumn air relaxes his mind and body. The cooling breeze turns his fingertips slightly cold and numb. He finally feels like he can breathe. There is no eyes to be wary of. There is a presence beside him, some incoherent and far too distant words and he wishes nothing more than to have those words overshadow what his senses back in the real world pick up on. He would recognise that voice anywhere. You’re right beside him. Memory replays the feeling of your hand in his, your fingers warming that gentle chill. He looks to his side and there you are, smiling. What a beautiful smile you have. What beautiful eyes. He could drown in their depth. He could be lost forever if you did not snap him out of it. No that wasn’t you. His name was called by different voice, one intrusive and unwanted. He’s pushed back to reality, away from you and he mourns the lack of your presence. The only relief his mind offers is the knowledge he will see you soon.

You had known the promise he’d be back in your arms before you knew it was an empty one. You would never fault him for it. Eris, while a man of his word, could not control the circumstances of his extended life and responsibilities. Perhaps you might claim he was foolishly optimistic, but then again, he’s probably also aware of this fact and so it must be not but wishful thinking. Instead of a swift return to your side to watch the sunset you witnessed it on your own. Instead of a lovely dinner together you consumed your supper at the mostly empty table with the others left behind and excluded from the inter-court meetings. Not that you complain. You would rather be here enjoying a peaceful meal than deal with the bickering and moaning of idiots, vipers and idealists. You will attend if asked but will not mourn the lack of invitation.

You’ve other means to keep busy and you are not one to sit around and wait for someone to whisk you away and so you did. You tended to the hounds, read up on the latest ongoings, socialised here and there, trained, made yourself useful, saw to your correspondence, went out for a ride, helped tend to the gardens and more. You kept busy on your own but every once in a while your mind would wander and think what your darling love would be up to, how he must be fighting the urge to roll his eyes or verbally tear apart another, how he must be polishing his shields both social and mental and weave a narrative that puts him at the advantage. You know Eris pretends it doesn’t affect him but you know the truth. You have seen him sit on the edge of the bed, his hands in his hair. You’ve watched him politely excuse himself to unleash the boiling of his blood upon some poor unsuspecting clearing. You have listened to his rambling about courtiers and high lords. You have held him when he questioned if it was all worth it.

It is because of these things you know you do not mind the lack of his constant attention. In fact, you do not think you could bear it in the first place. So you dine without your lover, you find your own amusement come sundown. In the spirit of this time to yourself you have the staff draw you a bath. If you are to spend this night alone you will do so in comfort. A bath will ease the ache of your muscle and soothe your skin quite nicely. That’s where you find yourself now, a large bath filled with steaming water, the scent of bergamot in the air. You’ve sunken down to your neck, leaning back and enjoying the warmth. You’ve sent off the maids with the implication you will tend to yourself and do not need to be coddled by their nurturing grace. Peace and quiet and solitude, that’s what you require and that’s what you shall get. Your mind wanders far and pleasantly so. You forget the meaning of time and the water must have long since cooled to a lukewarm but you care little.

“We shall conclude this meeting some other time.” Eris had both dreaded and longed for those words. The meeting has finally ended and so he is finally dismissed. It ended up taking another hour or so before he could detach himself from his own entanglement, before he could escape further dealings with the Night Court and turning down Helion’s open invitation to visit the esteemed libraries once more. Finally he left behind the blabbering high lords’ council and found himself back int he comforts of cool darkness graced with lantern light. The feeling of leaves crushing beneath his boots is a stark contrast from the marble and stone he’d been surrounded by for the day. He has missed the sunset but the stars breaking through the clouds offer some relief at last.

With each step the takes, even after he walks through the threshold and back into wood and stone, the burdens stay at the doorstep, the further he gets from it, the more his body relaxes, or so he thinks. Everything feels easier. He chooses to ignore those in passing, using his power within his own court to brush them aside; nothing out of character for him. Nothing anyone can blame him for either. They expect him to be upset with another meeting ending in a stalemate waste of time. Let the court know. He will turn it to his advantage either way. Finally the portal to his comfort comes within sight and had he less restraint he might have ran and locked away the world behind him forever. Instead he slips through the doors quietly and closes them behind him.

The candles are alight. The fireplace is but embers at this point. He simply throws in another log. A simple breath of air sparks the flames to life and allow them to catch. When the wood crackles Eris is satisfied. With whatever graces he found within him he carries himself to the bedroom, discards his shoes and socks, letting the cold run through his feet in an attempt to remind himself he is not but floating upon the winds of exhaustion. He unclasps his tailored jacket and casts it aside as if it were not the livelihood of the ones who made it. He has lost the will to care. He could have collapsed onto the bed when he first laid eyes on it but the gentle candle glow from the bathing room kept him standing.

With a soft creak the door opens and within lies a sight beholden, a true treasure and one that should be captured for eternity. Perhaps he would owe the High Lady of Night a favour if that’s what it took to eternalise this. Perhaps the only thing stopping him is how you’d scold him for it. Perhaps he fears it might inflate your ego far past measure. Your eyes are closed. You are leaned back, head just above the water and neck fully exposed. The light graces your features just perfectly as it reflects.

“The bed is far better suited for sleeping than a bathtub. No matter how comfortable you might look.” Eris slowly makes his way over to you. You take a deep breath and open your eyes. Your eyes. He forgets all he’s endured with but a single glance. Sadly this only lasts but a second.

“You are quite right but I’m not tired. Just relaxed.” You let your fingers dance over the surface of the water. “You should try it some time, my love.” Even now you find it within yourself to humour him.

“Some of us do not have the luxury to relax this much. I shall reserve and defend that right for you and you alone.” He takes your hand and brings it to his lips to kiss but then realises. “The water is awfully cold.” he simply states, still he kisses your fingertips.

“Well I didn’t have you here to help me warm it.” The sultry look you give him has him nearly undone in that instant. How he’s longed for your company. The once certainty that keeps him from insanity in the chaos; the serenity you bring but what rushes through him right there is anything but serene and the implications you present are anything but innocent. Eris forgets the tiredness that haunted his body and finds a different spark of life. You’ve learned to light it, made an art form out of it.

“How unbecoming of me.” He’s on his knees at the side of the tub and gently brings your fingers back beneath the surface of the cooling water. With but a brush from right where your legs are bent, all the way to just in front of your chest the water heats in but seconds, steam evaporating but those fingers do not stop trailing there. they trail a scalding but never painful path up your sternum and the column of your neck until they settle and lift your chin. That same heat burns in the kiss he plants upon your lips. Far too short. His lips pull away far too quickly and you might as well have been exposed to the frigid cold of winter then and there. By the looks of it Eris know it too.

“If you are in no mood to assist me, I suppose I shall simply retire.” You rise exposing all the delicious curves of your body and giving him an ample view as the droplets run across your skin. Eris imagines he could kiss them all away, let his lips trail across you like they do and perhaps you shall grace him with the lovely sounds you make when he takes his lips to you.

“You misunderstand, my dearest. But if you wish to cut short this bath I am more than willing and consenting to helping you to bed. Or we can stay here and enjoy a bath… or two.” You seem to weigh your options but simply by the way your pupils dilate; the way they do when he’s broken through your composure, to where your desire truly sparks and you will not be afraid to make him eat his words.

You do not reply in words but simply hold out your hand and raise an eyebrow. Eris is quick to take your hand and help you out of the bathtub. You are dripping onto the floor but seem to care very little as you saunter over to the towels. The sway of your hips and sultry look over your shoulder are definitely intentional. Nevertheless you take a towel and pad yourself dry until he can’t help himself and gently eases the towel from you and equally gently uses it to pad you dry until you’re satisfied. Once you are you stand in front of him, close within arm’s reach. You trail a nail along the neckline of his shirt and sigh content. The wickedness in your eyes is but a giveaway of your next actions. Your fingers grasp onto his shirt and pull him to you, once more your lips meet his and this time the kiss is anything but soft and sweet.

Your lips grace his in a feverish kiss. Eris does not hesitate to return the favour. He lets his hands wander until they settle on your behind. In one fell swoop you are off your feet and wrap your legs around his waist. Never once do you break your kiss. Your tongues meet and you wrap your arms around his neck clutching him ever closer. Like he has done many times before, Eris caries you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, graceful as ever and never once stumbling. He has committed this path to memory but finally he has to break away. You are a sight to behold; lips swollen, out of breath, and eyes filled with desire honing in on him. He takes great pride in being able to make you come so undone. he lays you down on the bed and you crawl backwards to give him space to join you among the pillows.

Eris crawls overtop, trailing a path of kisses from your calves over your knees and thighs and you think, you hope he would settle among the apex of your legs but instead he just looks up at you and trails his lips up further across the plains of your stomach. It’s difficult to resist the urge to whine in protest and by the looks of it he noticed. Still he trails up and up until he meets your lips in another desire filled kiss so you decide fair is fair and let your hands wander over his clothed chest, down to where his shirt is tucked into the waistband of his fitted trousers and let your finger slip below that cursed waistband but never enough. All you do is release the shirt and Eris decides to undo your torture by taking it off entirely with a knowing look.

“If you wished to get my out of my clothes you could have just asked.” He muses casting the garment aside. It’s torture to keep yourself together right now and not just succumb to carnal pleasure. This is just foreplay and it’s a game you’d hoped to win but you see your chances of success fleeting. To see him on his knees before you, cauldron boil you.

“Dick.” You curse and his chuckle does not make you feel any different.

“You’ll have to work harder for that.” He crawls back overtop just to place a peck upon your lips. When you go in for more, you feel his hand on your neck, to keep you at bay. His grip isn’t strong or suffocating, just present, floating and preventing your lips from meeting his. You huff.

Eris’ response to your dissatisfaction is cruelty, he knows. Leaving kisses, letting his tongue trail he takes to your chest until you cannot hold back the whimpers and moans, until you fight to hold back the beg for more, only then does he trail lower yet always too slow. But then finally, it all pays off when he descends between your legs and puts his mouth to work, licking and kissing your inner thighs inching closer to the centre, until finally he does. He does not relent, not when your breathing increases and your whines turn to whispers of his name, not when your fingers settle within his hair and hold on, push him closer. When your legs wrap closer around him he grasps onto your thighs, spreading them further while placing a hand onto your abdomen just in the right place. He doesn’t relent when he feels you shudder and shake in your pleasure, not until you come down from that high and your body goes limp for but a second.

He keeps going and soon without a moment of rest you tumble into pure ecstasy again and again. Only when you pull his hair, pull his face away from between your legs, when you are truly out of breath and your eyes are burning, your skin is on fire and you have lost the ability to speak, only then does he relent. You guide him up, to meet his lips. He knows you can taste yourself on his tongue when his dances with yours. He knows you need this right now. It’s the only break you’ll receive, especially when he feels your hands wander down below and undo the buttons of his pants. His own arousal is undeniable and while he would be more than satisfied using his tongue to make you cry his name, you have other intentions and ideas he’s more than happy to help you see through even if it takes all his restraint not to spill at your touch and your disheveled look when he parts and you help him out of his last clothes, casting them aside he cares not where.

You have vengeance on your mind and when he is caught of guard, when you are so close to kissing him you push him back onto the bed and straddle him. Your fingers lace with his as you hold them on either side of his head. You lean down to kiss him once more with a wicked smirk. Perhaps it would be you who wouldn’t be done with him for some time.

#acotar x reader #eris x reader #acotar eris #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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janeofcakes · 4 months ago

Text

One Night in Palermo: Chapter 7

I'm so sorry for the extra long wait, but it's finally here! Thank you for your patience and sticking with me, and thank you to my wonderful beta, Al. Enjoy Everyone!

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Fresh from the shower, Sherlock wiped away steam from the mirror and readied himself for bed. He saved blow-drying his hair for the last of it. It would take the longest, even though he didn’t need to get it completely dry. He intended upon hiding his curls for the following day’s trip and needn’t bother with styling, but drying would make his locks more cooperative under a hat all day. He was loath to do it, part of him fearing any extra time away from John would give the man more time to regret the events of the evening. Sherlock undoubtedly did not want that to happen and his foolishly optimistic side told him it wouldn’t. Realism, however, dictated that it would and trying to delay the inevitable would prove a constant source of frustration and terror. Much to his chagrin, Sherlock had vowed to conduct himself as usual. What would be, would be, and he would be prepared. Or… his heart would shatter on the spot and never be the same.

Looking at his own reflection as he turned off the blow-dryer and placed it next to the sink, Sherlock studied himself again. He still looked more alive than he had in months. He also seemed oddly calm in spite of the turmoil battling within and hoped John felt the same way on the other side of the door. Sherlock had nearly always thought hope a fool’s errand, but had little else to ground himself for the last eighteen months. As a result, it had become a friend of sorts. He didn’t want to become reliant on it, lest he be disappointed with the result, but he found it always close by. Hope was at his side now as he opened the bathroom door and entered the bedroom.

The moment Sherlock saw John, he knew something was wrong. He was not two steps into the room before stopping dead, his feet lead weights not even the strongest man could lift. Sherlock’s sharp eyes were locked on John, who stood still as a statue before the bed. He looked as though he hadn’t moved since Sherlock shut himself in the bathroom. Every muscle in John’s body was tight as ripcord and tension colored his face. His jaw was clenched, teeth grinding, and his hands clasped into fists at his sides. He stared at Sherlock without really seeing him, fury burning in his dark eyes. Sherlock inhaled deeply and released the breath between parted lips. They had made a terrible mistake.

“John?” Sherlock took a step forward, ready for all possible reactions, or so he thought. He repeated his friend’s name before the man snapped from the trance and focused his vehemence on Sherlock. Unsure how to proceed, Sherlock wet his lips to speak. What to say, he had no idea.

“What happened to you?” John demanded loudly.

Sherlock’s mouth opened, but no sounds came out. He was taken aback and racking his brain for John’s meaning. The question was not one of the many he had expected from John’s angry lips. Sherlock closed his own mouth and swallowed hard. A delaying tactic and a pathetic one at that.

“Your back,” John clarified sharply. “The scars. What happened, Sherlock?”

Sherlock felt his jaw go slack and his senses numbed. Surely he had misheard. John couldn’t have said that. He couldn’t know. Sherlock’s back hit the mattress as soon as his shirt came off. He couldn’t account for every minute afterwards, but knew he was lying face-up on the bed the whole time. Yet, there was no mistaking John’s expression and no other reason for him to be so angry. Sherlock’s jaw moved, but no sound came out.

“I didn’t see it when we…” John forced out the words, struggling to keep his voice even and not allow the bubbling fury within him to burst through. “I didn’t feel… touch it.”

The pieces clicked into place and Sherlock’s eyes closed in regret. John had seen his back when he got up and turned it on him on his way to the bathroom. Idiot. He had wanted to share the story of his torture with John months or years from now when their friendship wouldn’t be so fragile. If he was honest, he hadn’t truly wanted to tell John at all, but knew keeping it from him indefinitely was not an option. And what about the new aspect of their relationship? Where did it leave that? Sherlock did not know the answer and that frightened him to his core.

“Ah,” Sherlock croaked inelegantly, taking a step forward and trying not to stumble.

“Yes, bloody ‘ah’,” John bit out. Every nerve tingled through his skin and Sherlock could see it. John’s body radiated wrath. “What happened, Sherlock?”

It was the wrong thing to do, but Sherlock found himself speaking before gaining awareness of his own words. John would never forgive him for this.

“I don’t think…” Sherlock began the brush off, but John swooped in before he got another word in.

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, don’t do this,” John snapped in a low voice. His eyes blazed and the fire burned straight through Sherlock to his soul. “Don’t lie to me. Just. Tell me.”

Sherlock stared at John without a word. What could he say? The longer the moment stretched, the more memories flooded back. Sherlock’s brow wrinkled in pain and the muscles around his eyes twitched. The eyeballs themselves felt like they shook, trembled. It was the slightest of movements, but yielded enough power to bring Sherlock to his knees.

“Serbia,” he said simply and John blinked. He had probably decided Sherlock was not going to respond. “I was captured in Serbia. They wanted secrets. They tortured and burn… burned me. Gave me only enough bread and water to stay alive.”

John’s eyes widened and then went dark with fury.

“They knew I was British,” Sherlock continued, valiantly showing only a minimum of emotion. “They thought I was a spy. It would’ve been worse if they’d known who I really was.”

“How long?” John demanded bluntly, but his voice wavered and not with anger alone. He was shaken. Sherlock ached to touch him, to assure him that he was safe and alive and right in front of John.

“Six weeks,” Sherlock replied honestly.

“Six weeks?” John was nothing less than horrified, probably imagining Sherlock’s visage in his mind’s eye. With all John had seen in Afghanistan, Sherlock was sure he had a very good grasp of what the dungeon had looked like. John’s hands were clenched in fists of rage again, the artery in his neck pumping fast.

“Mycroft and Anthea came for me personally when they learned of my location,” Sherlock supplied in a haunted tone. It didn’t even sound like him to his own ears. John obviously thought so too because his fingers dug further into his palms with the force of his anger. “It was not an easy place to find, or penetrate.”

“Is he dead?” John asked so suddenly he nearly cut off Sherlock’s words.

Sherlock looked at him, his brow furrowing. He only just stopped himself from replying with his brother’s name. Of course John didn’t mean was Mycroft dead. He knew the man was perfectly fine. Still, it was not a question Sherlock had anticipated, much to his chagrin John always had a way of keeping him on his toes.

“What…” Sherlock started to say.

“The man who hurt you,” John interrupted unapologetically. His eyes were hard as steel. “Is he dead?”

Sherlock watched his friend carefully. He didn’t know why John was so convinced that only one man had inflicted punishment upon Sherlock during his captivity. He was correct, but there was no way for him to know that, no evidence that Sherlock could see.

There had been only one man in the compound to beat Sherlock. He was their leader and he reserved the privilege of torturing such a fine British spy for himself. He was relentless, but not very imaginative. Sherlock knew what to expect the moment he saw the man, which made withstanding the pain tolerable and uncomplicated. He knew Mycroft and Anthea would find him. What he had not anticipated was the sight of his brother walking through the cell door after hearing a shot bring its guard to the floor. Mycroft had paused only seconds before rushing forward to wrap his arms around Sherlock and lift as gently as possible to remove the weight from his aching arms and shoulders. Anthea had released his thin wrists from their shackles and Mycroft lowered Sherlock to the ground as though he was the most precious thing in the world. Sherlock had tried to speak, to say Mycroft’s name, but he had shushed him immediately with some rubbish about saving his strength. Meanwhile, Anthea radioed a member of their task force to come and help hoist Sherlock to his feet. Mycroft watched Sherlock silently until the other man arrived. The only other words Mycroft whispered to him in that place echoed through Sherlock’s mind now as he tried to chase away the memory. I’m sorry, Sherlock. I should have been here.

Pushing away the past, Sherlock forced his eyes to focus on John once more. Taking in the fierce glare and tight jaw, he quickly deduced this was no time to insist John explain why he thought Sherlock had only one tormentor.

“Yes, he’s dead,” Sherlock said with more than a little satisfaction. “He disappeared the very night the compound was attacked and was not seen again until nearly a week later when his body was found in a neighboring town. It was in a very poor condition, indeed. He had clearly suffered terribly at another’s hands.”

“Good,” John muttered after a moment of silence. Sherlock thought his words might have eased John’s anger, but they almost seemed to have spurred it on.

“I’m alright, John,” Sherlock assured him, raising an arm and taking a step closer. “It’s alright.”

“It’s fucking not!” John nearly shouted.

Startled, Sherlock dropped his hand and shuffled back a few inches. If he had seen John more angry during their friendship, he could not recall it.

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John sounded more exasperated now, but was still furious, “I’d have killed the bastard myself for laying a finger on you.”

“I know, I know,” Sherlock consoled as he went straight for John and placed a hand on either of the man’s biceps. “I’m safe now. I’ve healed and I’m here with you. You don’t need to be angry for me.”

John studied him for a long moment, obviously working to calm himself. His anger was not misplaced, but did no good now. The man was dead. It was all in the past. There was no need to waste energy on it now.

John took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His dark eyes began to clear and he regarded Sherlock with a hint of wonder. Sherlock tilted his head slightly and raised his brows in silent inquiry. John’s tongue darted across his upper lip and Sherlock tracked the movement.

“Mycroft came for you himself?” John asked in a light tone. Sherlock recognized the deliberate shift toward levity and allowed his lips to curve upward.

“Black polyester and all,” Sherlock replied wryly.

John’s eyes widened and then crinkled at the edges.

“Polyester? Jesus,” he chuckled quietly and glanced away. When he met Sherlock’s eyes again, they were filled with a mirth that had not been there before. “Remind me to thank him when we see him next. Right before I punch his face in for this rubbish scheme.”

Sherlock broke. A smile spread across his face and he was laughing before either of them could say a word. John soon followed and, in minutes, the air felt lighter, the room around them brighter. Sherlock let go of John’s arms somewhere along the way and they were not touching when the laughter died down. With a smile still on his face, John turned toward the bed. He gave Sherlock a cheeky look and motioned in its direction with his head.

“Come on then,” his good nature warmed Sherlock’s heart. “Let’s go to bed, shall we?”

“My pleasure,” Sherlock grinned.

Once they had both climbed into bed, they settled themselves with eyes looking up at the painted ceiling. Sherlock tried to keep his face neutral, but found sorrow overtaking his features and mood with every silent minute that passed. Much as he tried to ward it away, doubt crept into his mind. Would John grow to regret their intimacy? Did he regret it already? It seemed likely. How on earth did John “Not Gay” Watson get himself into a situation like this in the first place and with his best friend, no less? His best friend. How long would that last?

Sherlock closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, grounding himself for whatever John might say next. That was assuming he said anything before falling asleep. He may just turn his back and slumber the night away. Sherlock, however, was sure not to for the whole night. Letting out a long breath, he opened his eyes and reached for the lamp on his bedside table, but John rolled toward him at just that moment and wrapped his left arm around Sherlock’s torso. His cheek came to rest low on Sherlock’s chest and he nestled comfortably against the soft t-shirt covering the pale skin beneath.

Sherlock was frozen to the spot, his arm still extended. Of all the scenarios he imagined before moving to turn off the lamp, this wasn’t even on the list. He slowly moved his hand back toward his own body and let it hesitate in mind-air when he found no good place to put it. Finally, he rested it on John back gingerly. John let out a little sound as he sighed and relaxed against Sherlock’s body.

The moment hovered. Sherlock’s wide eyes stared at the ceiling unseeing. He did not dare look down at John, lest the spell be broken. He could scarcely believe any of the evening’s events had actually taken place and feared it would all vanish the moment he allowed himself to believe. He swallowed audibly and cautiously let the fingers of his other hand graze John’s side. John chuckled quietly and then raised his head just enough to look at him.

“Are you okay?” John asked with a smile on his lips and just the barest intonation of concern.

“Fine,” Sherlock answered quickly, glancing down. Once he met John’s eyes, he could not look away. They were a fathomless blue, soft and affectionate. The hours Sherlock had spent wishing John would turn such a gaze as this in his direction were embarrassingly numerous. Now that his wait was over, Sherlock had no idea what to do or say and shut his mouth abruptly. Fortunately, John did not seem to notice. The corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement and he rested his head on Sherlock once more.

“I can’t believe I get to do this now,” John remarked wistfully after a moment of peaceful silence.

“You could always do this,” Sherlock said easily. “You hadn’t realized.”

“Bollocks,” John said indelicately. “Not from the beginning.”

“Nearly so,” Sherlock countered and John snickered derisively.

“You would’ve told me off if I’d asked you out that first night in Angelo’s,” John propped up on one elbow and lifted his head fully for a better look at Sherlock. “ ‘Not my area’, you said. ‘Married to my work’, you said.”

“I’d only just met you, John,” Sherlock told him. “We’d spent no more than a few hours together.”

“You knew my life story at a glance,” John argued.

“I know everyone’s life story when I look at them. It doesn’t mean I’d date them,” Sherlock protested in a dull tone.

“We were flatmates,” John declared incredulously.

“Stamford vouched for you,” Sherlock shrugged. “Honestly, John, do you really think I would accept the advances of a man I’d just met? What about me tells you I’d ‘warm up’ to someone that quickly?”

“Mm, yeah. You’ve got a point there,” John conceded. “You’ve known Greg for years and still pretend to forget his name.”

Sherlock smirked in response and didn’t even bother to deny the veracity of the man’s claim. Feigning ignorance when it came to Lestrade’s first name was one of Sherlock’s greatest pleasures at a crime scene. It started as a means of getting a rise out of the DI, but grew into a kind of game between the two of them. Greg Lestrade was firmly rooted on Sherlock’s secret list of friends and had been since nearly the beginning of their association.

“Still,” John continued thoughtfully, “I’m not everyone.”

Sherlock met his eyes and found an entire conversation in their depths. There had always been something between the two of them. A crackle in the air, an undeniable snap in the electricity the moment Sherlock’s thumb touched John’s fingers as he said, “Here, have mine,” and offered his mobile. Sherlock definitely would have shut John down if he had gone so far as to ask him out that night, and in exactly the same way he did. “ ‘Married to my work’, you said,” but Sherlock knew full well it would not have lasted. He had wanted to be in John’s orbit in a way he had never felt with anyone else. He was the exception to every rule Sherlock had. Sherlock had never acted on any impulse because keeping John in his life as a friend was worth not having the alternative, but…

John lowered his head again, reclaiming his place on Sherlock’s chest. Both men were quiet again, the conversation seemingly at an end.

There was something Sherlock had always wondered. Something he had always wanted to ask…

As the moment threatened to pass, Sherlock bit his lower lip nervously. He could let it go, let the opportunity slide as he had so many times before, and say goodnight to John. Done, just like that. But would he ever have this chance again? Regret turned his stomach at the thought of the loss. He could not dismiss it this time or push it aside like it didn’t matter to him. This, John, whatever was between them was the most important part of Sherlock’s life and he had spent every moment since he leapt off Bart’s finding out just how much.

He had to ask.

“John?” Sherlock said quietly. He knew John wasn’t asleep, though the man could easily pretend to be if he wanted.

“Hm?” John hummed, much to Sherlock’s relief.

“Why didn’t you try again?” Sherlock could hear the hesitance in his own voice. John’s body tensed against his and he already began to think this was a mistake, but couldn’t make himself stop. His whole body ached with the need to know. Sherlock had to know how John felt about him. They’d had sex, for god sake. Sherlock had to know that it meant something to John, that it wasn’t just another release of sexual tension like with all of his pointless girlfriends. Sherlock had to know if he meant something to John. Something more.

“Did you never think I might change my mind?” Sherlock ventured. John sighed and shrugged.

“You seldom change your mind once you’ve set it,” John answered in resignation.

“We had only just met,” Sherlock repeated, his voice wavering, “but as we became friends, best friends… You never thought I might change?”

John raised his head and pushed up his torso so no part of his body rested on Sherlock’s anymore. They were still touching, their bodies side by side. Sherlock held his breath, fearing that John might pull away completely. His heart sank as John pulled his arm from around Sherlock, but then he stopped to rest his palm on Sherlock’s chest. A thrill bubbled tentatively through Sherlock’s body that despite pulling away, John did not want to break contact fully.

“I…” John cleared his throat and fixed his eyes on Sherlock’s, “was afraid to hope.”

The door to a room filled with golden light burst open in Sherlock’s mind and his restraint flowed out with it in a rush. He sat up immediately and dragged John up with him, pressing their lips together with fervor. His hand cupped John’s cheek, the other clasped his waist. John’s arms were wrapped around Sherlock and holding him close, scarcely an inch between them. Their lips moved together like they had years of practice. It was passionate and honest, filled with desire and emotion. It differed from the other kisses they had shared that evening and was also exactly the same. Sherlock could see now that nothing they had done was motivated by lust alone. It was sentiment, love. God, he loved John with all of his being. It flowed from his fingertips, his toes. Every part of his body was alight with it and John felt the same way. He could tell. Sherlock thought he might die on the spot with this revelation.

When he pulled back from the kiss, Sherlock gasped for breath and smiled to find John in the same boat. John returned the grin as he panted and leaned forward to touch his forehead to Sherlock’s. Their noses bumped lightly. Sherlock stroked John’s cheekbone with his thumb and sighed before sucking in another breath.

“I… John, I…” Sherlock stopped himself and swallowed down the words he knew would be in English this time. It was still too soon to say out loud. Even if they both knew it, even if they had spent their friendship dancing around it, it was too soon to tell John he loved him. His heart ached to say it, burned with it, but Sherlock resisted.

“We should sleep,” he breathed instead.

It was clearly not what John had expected, but he nodded anyway.

“Yeah,” he agreed breathlessly. “We have to be on that ferry soon.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, already regretting the loss of John’s lips on his own. He tried to free himself from John’s grasp, but was held tighter. He looked into John’s eyes and saw warring uncertainty.

“Sherlock, can I…” John paused, words failing him. He gave a gentle squeeze and quirked a tentative, lopsided smile. “Will you sleep with me?”

John said the words slowly, making his meaning clear. He did not want to sleep side by side as they had done on numerous cases before, Baskerville being the most memorable. John wanted to be together.

A smile curved Sherlock’s lips and he gave a shallow nod, lying back and bringing John with him. They cradled one another and cuddled close. There was really no other word for it and Sherlock found he couldn’t care less. He felt John relax next to him and let his body do the same, reaching to brush a thumb across John’s cheek once more. John smiled almost shyly and pressed a light kiss to Sherlock’s lips.

“G’night, Sherlock,” he all but whispered.

“Good night, John,” Sherlock replied and both men finally closed their eyes for the night.

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See, I can be nice sometimes. Or can I? Will their travels put them in danger again or will they make it to the safehouse in Rome without incident? Hey... it's me. 😈😈

Love, Jane

#johnlock #sherlock #sherlockholmes #johnwatson #johnlock fanfic #sherlock fanfic #sherlock holmes #john watson #one night in palermo

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