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rosewaterandivy · 1 year ago

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9. part-time soulmate, full-time problem

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, sexual situations - SMUT & idolatry (my usual bullshit), we think we’re ~prank Sinatra~ to disastrous effect i.e. a fake elopement, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: hey girl, u up? lemme come thru ��💦💦 🥵🥵🥵 *slaps roof of fic* You can fit so much reverence and smut in this bad boy. Here’s 5.1K of pure filth and debauchery, holy water can’t help me now! Poetry excerpt from Sue Zhao. 18+ mature content (minors dni). Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, please let me know what you thought; enjoy & thanks for reading! 💜

series masterlist | playlist - newly updated!

Steve's playlist for Trouble: trouble will find me

previous || next

Now, Spring Break, Joshua Tree, CA ➡️ Las Vegas, NV

“You did what?”

And it’s not a question, not by a long shot.

If Nancy Wheeler wasn’t some 1,800 miles from you, you’d be seeing the patented snarl right now. The one that says ‘you’ll be dead by my hand and my hand alone.’

There’s a very real possibility that you’ve overplayed your hand this time. What started as a prank, a harmless lark, had devolved into one screeching phone call from Steve’s mother for him and a blistering series rapid-fire of texts for you, followed by a phone call during which Nancy was going to rip you a new asshole.

She didn’t appreciate your texts as you’d hoped.

Trouble 👁️👄👁️: so BDE is not *just* an energy with Steve. got it, good to know.

Natty light 💯: She lives! We haven’t heard from you in days. Wtf did you idiots do?

Trouble 👁️👄👁️: nothing to be concerned about! on an unrelated note, before you check insta remember that i am your BESTIE and you would miss me terribly(!!!) if i died, even if it was at your own hand

Natty light 💯: … I’m going to kill you, and resurrect your dessicated corpse so I can strangle you … slowly and painfully

Trouble 👁️👄👁️: pls mother, no, i’m scared

But hey, it’s not like you woke up and decided to potentially fuck up your life today.

So, yeah. Definitely went too far with it this time, but in your defense, it’s not like anyone was there to reign you in. Steve was just as liable to go on with your half-cocked schemes, even more so now that you could sit back on your heels, all pretty smiles and wide, sweet eyes as your hands unbuckle his belt, still supplicated with chin on his knee, “You said anything...”

Folded like a house of cards the second you got your mouth on him. Shudders when you begin with your tongue first before eager lips stretch to fit him, guiding until he’s nestled in your mouth. And then you move, deliberately measured, building a lazy pace, sluicing him up with spit.

“Ah, shit…” Steve’s words are already betraying him. You smile as his cock pops out of your mouth.

“How’s that? Still wanna make that dinner reservation?” Thick lashes framing glittering doe-eyes peer up at him. Purposely coy. “Or do you want to stay here?”

He returns to himself. Dazed, he blinks at the bright lights and the glossy tiled floor. The marble countertop of the sink where he grips like a lifeline.

The restroom down the hall of the restaurant. Turn a corner and twenty people are sitting at tables, drinking cocktails and cajoling. Your mouth back on him wipes the thoughts from his brain.

Squelching when you push him back past your molars, crushing your tongue.

You slide him out, voice hoarse and breathy and it chills him to the bone the way you whisper, “C’mon baby, let’s have some fun.”

The second day in California runs a lot more smoothly, and the third day is as easy as a breeze. Granted, it’s a hot, humid, sticky type of desert breeze as you wipe a hand across your forehead in the heat of the day.

Steve hums a patient tune, leans back on both palms and you watch the sunlight drape his bare chest in a warm flare. Glowing gold and bronze as if it’s transmuted from the hue in his very eyes.

He is hard and hot when your bare skin touches his. Steve lies down on his side to face you, panting slightly as you glide your hand up and down his arm. Oh fuck, it’s been months and the first man you touch is more like something carved by a master sculptor of Renaissance than any other man. It should be illegal for someone to look this good.

Trembling, you touch the hard planes of his torso, the ridges in his abdomen, the swell of his chest taking hard breaths. You shut your eyes and imagine the way he looks right now—breathless and wild. His knee parts your legs easily and one hand descends to feel your center, saturating your underwear.

“Jesus, baby,” Steve sighs into your neck. “You’re makin’ me crazy. This–” He begins to slide his digits up and down, getting the slippery wetness all over his fingers, “Already…”

A shudder rolls through your body upon hearing his words and you arch into his touch, moaning when he rubs your clit in perfect pulsing circles. He moves forward, kissing the tops of your breasts through your bra, nipping at the soft flesh spilling from the cups.

“Steve, you’ll make me come.” You admit, a little shyly even as your hips rock consciously into his hand. You paw at his arms, squeezing the ridges of muscles.

And you’re abruptly startled awake by the sound your own moans. It’s past four in the morning when you rouse from sleep, frustrated to leave behind the pleasant escape the dream provided.

Damn it all to hell.

A creak of the wood door alerts you to his arrival. Steve is quiet when he sits on your bed, one knee pulled up to his chest while the other leg slinks down by your side, thigh brushing yours where your legs kicked off the covers. A sigh rolls through him at the early hour.

There is discomfort. His body retreats with the shift of your atmosphere. Always too itchy in your own skin. Afraid of being seen, noticed, thought about. He’s good at hearing your silence. Good at reading your language.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He glistens like a god come to drown you in the sweetest of dreams. It makes your heart plummet to its death at the thought of his departure when you shake your head.

“Me neither.”

He lays back on your bed with a tired sigh, close enough to touch. Your own personal wonder.

“C’mere then,” you tug him to your side. Steve presses his lips to your neck, smiles into the wispy hair at the nape, nuzzles your locks aside to reveal more shoulder. Breathing soft and slow with his face against your neck, chest to your chest. He’s folded and tucked against you, all his strength and gravity nestled to your side.

“Honey—” Steve murmurs, more purposefully now, rasps your name, so soft and reverent you almost don’t hear it.

A confused noise, a second of readjustment to a new position, to his touch, and then you stir and purr.

“Hey, you.” Voice like warm fire, even with disrupted sleep from past few days.

A heavy silence falls between you.

Tell me what you’re thinking. If it was a mistake, tell me. If it wasn’t, tell me. You’ve been avoiding me and look—I want your goddamn babies, but c’mon. You gotta throw me a bone, I’m shit at reading signs.

He wants to take you to pieces, eyes roving your sleep-drowsy form, shorts rucked up on your thighs, shirt askew. Would devour you whole if you’d let him, savor your cries and moans at his capable hands. Make a ruin you only to build you right back up, unable to think of anyone else save him.

Steve arches, brushing the tip of his nose against your chin, up to your own nose, mouth hovering but not quite touching, just feeling each other’s atmosphere. You cross the distance and kiss him, grip tighter now like he could collapse right into you and god, you wish he could. Let you keep every last bit of him forever.

“Can we—”

You savor his lips, caressing the line of his cupid’s bow with your own, tongue flicking over the corners of his mouth, punctuating it chastely like a ritual. He moans, hand on the plane of your back moving, fingers scrambling at your spine before he palms your thigh and slots you flush against his torso with one leg hooked around his waist.

“God yes. Lemme just—”

He tugs at the waistband of your sleeping shorts before he changes his mind and his hands slip into the leg opening of the silk instead, keeping you right where you are. He rucks his own sweats down, just enough to spring himself free, shushing your whines, never letting you get too far, slipping upward, finding your heat.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

“Okay, Steve—ah—”

Right. So this is happening. Like, right the fuck now.

Oh god.

You’re both surprised and terrified, blinking at his urgency, and then you start scrambling, too. A beatific grin blooms on your lips before you tip forward and slowly glide yourself down his considerable size, rubbing back and forth, hips moving easily.

Steve stutters breathlessly like he might go into shock. “You’re all fucking— oh fuckin’ hell.”

You only arch into it, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger, kissing the bristles of his jaw. You’re soft and warm and he’s utterly overcome. Little noises fall from one mouth to another. An awkward shift and your thighs slip off his, head knocking into him, but neither of you are bothered.

A half-hearted cluck of your tongue gives way to a low moan and you shuffle, flush against his chest, bare bodies warm and growing hotter now. Your palm rubs down his chest, savoring the rougher feel of his hairs there, contrasting your own skin, grasping his jutting hipbones, the strong plane of his abdomen.

Eager fingers slip between flesh. Velvet and surprisingly slick and wrapping around his digits like syrupy flower petals. “Baby girl,” Steve hums at the way you sigh. “Pretty girl.”

Shudders. You’re weak and boneless, slack and supple, pliant to his fingers and words. Little sweet-talker, you never knew he had such a clever tongue until he first slid it against yours in that fevered kiss in December. Now he’ll know all your weaknesses, know every lock and how to pick them until you’re all the way opened up for him.

It’s hard to focus when he’s like this. Perfectly warm. Perfectly adoring. Perfectly fitted. So, so bright with the faintest pink bursting over his cheeks.

You whimper with his every stroke. Every plunge. His other hand runs itself up the nape of your neck, fingertips in your scalp and you arch like a cat for more.

“So good,” Steve praises, “Nice and tight, squeezin’ around me. All wet for me, aren’t you?”

“Uh— mhm.” Inarticulate noises. Woozy and wrapped in his affection.

His eyes– pupils blown wide, half-hooded with lust and love– immobilize you, memorizing every inch of your face. He smiles. Christ, a smile that could launch a thousand ships. That could blind the whole world.

You curse quietly, blood pounding in your ears, your chest, your throat where he latches on with his perfect mouth, marking you up with his spit quickly followed by his teeth.

“Keep going—oh, don’t stop–“

“You want it like this, honey?” He sucks on your collar, on your shoulder, taking every whimper and cry as a command to continue.

They flower all over your chest. Red and purple and swollen bright for everyone to see—just like him. And the very thought of him, of you, lost to it takes you over the edge, calling his name like you’re at an altar in supplication.

“That’s it, honey. Be a good girl and come for me.”

With a tremble that vibrates all the way to into Steve’s soul, you obey. Onto his hips and abdomen, gushing a little, and with some embarrassment that it happened all so quickly.

Your lids flutter open and you see as Steve hitches himself deeper, grinding his hips, gripping your thighs, and fills you all the way up until the stars behind your eyes whites out your vision, making you stutter and keen as you continue to fall apart.

Then he stills, pulling you even closer, body slick with dew in the early morning light. The two of you lie in perfect symmetry, trembling in each other’s arms.

And because you’re a sap with too much poetry rattling around your brain, all that pops into your head is:

In my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering ‘where have you been?’ I say, ‘I’ve been lost but I’m here now. You’re the only person who has ever been able to find me.’

You allow yourself to sink into the feeling, expecting the tight fit of something new but finding that not to be the case at all. But rather brushing against something well-worn, as if it had been waiting for you all this time.

“God, Steve—” you rasp. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Steve laughs low, kisses the blooming bruises up and down your neck, makes you whine again, sensitive and aching. His clever tongue wonders sweetly, “How’s staying in bed all day sound?”

You laugh. He’ll learn everything you like. Know all your weaknesses. How can you say no to something like that?

It’s different, almost tender in the afternoon.

His abs clench in time with his fists, wet fingers digging into his palms, bit-back groans barely contained. You keep going, marveling at the way he’s sensitive, kissing his neck, letting him feel good. Steve begins to protest, embarrassed at the way you’re moving, at how he’s powerless against you.

“S-slow—hold on—“

“Let me do it, Stevie.” He’s so hard it hurts. “I wanna learn everything you like.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Steve holds himself to calm down, other hand steadying your teasing. Nothing’s happened yet, you just started back up again after a late breakfast, having slept soundly through the morning, and he might already blow his whole fucking load.

“Okay—just—will you give me a second–”

Using the position you’re already in, he pushes you up against the mattress and guides you back down, hitching your thighs around his hips, sinking a bit at a time until you’re landing on him with a gasp. He eases into you with what he hopes is restraint, letting you have it slow, feeling you shudder from inside your goddamn bones with every further inch until he takes it away and you shimmy down to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back. And you look perfect.

“Was it good?” He blurts, “With Eddie?”

He doesn’t know why it slips out; he never thinks about it, honest. It was a series of hook ups. A few times over the years—and he’s not jealous like that because you’re all adults, and it’s not like he’s a virgin or an ascetic, either. You freeze, but he really is an idiot because instead of apologizing or rectifying that outburst, he cuts you off.

“I can give it to you better.”

Because Steve wants to. He really does.

He presses onward before you can respond, taking hold of what little courage he has, making you whimper, feeling prouder as he goes. Another one and you’re meeting him with a roll of your own hips. Another one, harder now, and you’re shaking down below him, tipping back into the pillows, grinding recklessly with that exhilaration he adores.

“Baby, you feel amazing.” Tongue-tied like a schoolboy, he’s keening after your words. “Can I have you all the time?” And Jesus wept who knew you could talk so sweet and filthy.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Steve promises, his jaw hanging open in awe, “I’m yours. You can have me as much as you want— anytime.”

You bite your lip, skin of it pulled taut and snapping back bruised, light-headed and reeling. Glistening across your collarbones with his spit, body trembling like a high note. He feels it— just a little more— god, you look incredible— he’s gotta hold out for this— and then—fuck.

It’s wet and divine when you come. Slick and tight, dragging him under as you ride out your orgasm, pulling him in like he belongs in you forever.

And he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Steve could die happy seeing your face like this every day.

Two weeks prior…

“Eddie…tell me the truth,” You ask slowly, folding clothes (well, that’s a generous term— it’s more haphazardly tossing and bundling laundry into your open suitcase). “It’s good, isn’t it? Shawty, tell me what that thang do!”

You waggle your brows, make a V-shape with your fingers, and lewdly run your tongue up and down between them. Steve thinks he sees you looking at him, but he feels himself flushing at your comment and pretends like he’s enthralled with the most recent episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Half-keeping an eye on you to make sure you actually pack actual pajamas and pants for this trip.

“Dude. Stop it.” Eddie groans, knowing you’re all too familiar with his endowments and prowess from previous experience.

Whomever currently was getting the Eddie Munson midnight special was having a helluva time.

You lob a pair of leggings toward your suitcase, “Kobe!”

You miss.

Eddie cackles, “How’re you gonna disrespect a legend like that, and miss?!”

“Okay!” Steve yells, pushing you off the couch in the living room, “That’s enough of that. I’m going for a run.”

Landing on your shoulder with a grunt, you brush away the rough sting of the carpet and catch the last second of his shadow before he’s gone from the room.

“What?” You call, projecting your voice and hoping he hears, “What’d I do? Steve!”

The scrape of the chair legs signals Eddie standing up, too. A shake of his head and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You know,” he starts, “For all your insight, you’re pretty dense.”

There’s nothing in your head but sawdust and thoughts about his… activities under the sheets his flavor of the month. You shake it out of your brain before it lingers too long. Eddie points sharply down the hall to where Steve’s shadow has slipped out of view and hearing-distance.

“You know he likes you, right?”

Uh? Your brain is the mac loading wheel, just spinning. “Of course he does? We’re buddies?”

Eddie cuffs you in the back of the head, “Get it together. Like is putting it lightly, too. Love is closer to the truth.”

“Now,” Eddie leans over you, menacing you with his height. “How about you go listen to the record he gave you and think about what you’ve done, hmm?”

Then, he saunters off, shaking his head all the while, leaving you to gape down the hall like a fish. Steve? In love? With you?

Flashes explode in your brain like fireworks. His jacket over your shoulders—not the first time. Sitting underneath your legs— nearly tradition. Morning errand runs even though he hates them. The banter—him, scolding your motor-mouth, you— never stopping. Circles he rubs on your knees— the laughter—damn it, so much laughter.

Steve? In love? With you? It’s more likely than you think.

Back in your bedroom and chastened, you wait until the front door closes signaling Steve’s exit. Turning to the wall dedicated to your impassioned analytical skills, you eye the various colors of yarn showing the various connections that could be drawn from the song choice and order in which they were placed.

Printed out pages of lyrics have been annotated to death, some phrases scrawled more largely than others for importance. You stare at the wall for the better part of an hour, long enough to come to the end of the playlist. Sufjan Stevens rhapsodizes on the mystery of love and fades into Matt Berninger singing how he needs his girl.

A gasp. A choke and a wail somewhere deep inside your chest as you slowly, methodically begin removing the pins and pages from your wall. Realization settling on you heavy with mood.

Clearly, this was not some bush-league bullshit.

Hesitant, but growing in the knowledge that Steve, your best friend whom you annoy to no end, is irrefutably and undeniably in love with you. You’d have seen it sooner if you weren’t such a dumbass, all the signs had been there just lying in wait. The front door opens once more, his voice calling out to Robin in the kitchen about dinner.

“Steve.” You light out of your room, tearing down the hallway. “Stevie! Steve! I’m sorry! Steve oh my god! I’m a fuckup!”

You trip on the corner of the floor runner, as he turns, slightly confused, one hand reaching out to catch you as you careen into his chest with a thunk.

You must look a wreck, hair in disarray and panting hard, him sweat-slick, bearing your weight as he sets you right on your feet.

Steve raises an eyebrow, blinks at the way the front of your shirt slides from your shoulder and takes his ear buds out, looking at you like you’re a first-rate idiot.

And well ... he’s not wrong.

The flight to Vegas is painless, though you are put out at having to leave the love nest that bloomed like a night flower in the Californian desert. A lazy, slow start to the day. Sticky and sweet like biting into a ripe peach, juices flowing down against sun-warmed skin.

His hand pulling at yours, guiding you through the crowds of the airport, looking back to you frequently, as if he can’t bring himself not to. One hour later and viva, Las Vegas!

As it turns out, it’s fairly easy to fake a Vegas elopement. Just a matter of subterfuge and a wedding chapel, which are a plenty in Clark County. Steve in a suit (“You weren’t even wearing a tie, Steven! Who gets married looking like that!?”), rotating the signet of his ring out of sight, the ‘H’ resiting against the underside of his ring finger so just the band was visible.

You in a dress, something white and off the rack from Neiman’s, your ring, courtesy of Steve, moved from your right hand to your left. Sapphire earrings as your something blue, Manolo Blahnik pumps in your favorite color, a gift from Steve, as your something new.

A well-timed call to Jonathan, he was in town for a shoot and just so happened to have a few hours to kill. An appointment at the Graceland Wedding Chapel and 250 dollars later, you have yourself a believable elopement, no marriage certificate required.

Even drove out to the Red Rock Mojave desert outside of town for a photoshoot courtesy of one Jonathan Byers, professional photographer. By the time you’d made it back to your room at the Wynn that night, he’d already done a rough edit of a few photos for you to post to the ‘gram. Piece of cake, really.

It was all well and good. Steve even let you tag him and posted his favorite images himself, miracle of miracles. The man does jack shit with social media, claims he only has the account for the groupchats and memes. Captioned it something like ‘married AF’ because he’s a dork; first photo in the carousel was a shot of your hands, showing off the new bling with the wedding chapel sign in the background.

You opted for the more truthful, ‘ew, boy. you’re, like, obsessed with me’ and selected a photo where your legs wrapped around Steve’s hips after he’d told you to ‘time to giddy-up, yeah?’ with a wink and caught you in his arms before kissing you stupid. You were quite pleased with yourself until the phones began to ring.

“Jus’ ignore it, honey.” His teeth pull against your bottom lip, bringing your attention back to him. You screw your eyes shut, hand falling to cup the nape of his neck as his lips continue their mapping of your skin. Purposefully, he plays with a lock of your hair, tucks it behind your ear, and lets his finger ghost over your neck. “Gonna kiss you now,” you murmurs, “Doin’ some of my best work here and you’re missing it.”

He pouts.

Your throat clenches, bobbing with a thick swallow and Steve thinks if this wasn’t so tender and sweet, he’d be latching onto that pulse instead. “Okay…” Your mouth parts expectantly, eyes fluttering closed, hand coming up to caress his jaw.

It’s sublime. It’s perfect. It’s the biggest relief he’s ever felt when you return his touch—parting your lips to receive the tip of his tongue against yours. Thirst. Desperation. Enthusiastic limbs scrambling to feel more of him. A bucking of your hips against his thigh and he’s soaring up into heaven with the sensation.

Except the damn phone won’t stop ringing.

“Steve,” you pant, hand reaching up to fist his hair and pull him from your the sensitive spot he’s located behind your ear. As you tangle your fingers in his mane of hair, securing your grip with a tug, he breaks contact with your slick skin with a strangled moan.

Oh.

You file that particular reaction away for further investigation and direct his attention to the loudly ringing phone on the nightstand. He rolls off of you with an exasperated noise and answers the call in a sulk. “Hi, Ma.”

His expression changes so quickly you nearly have whiplash; lazy and pouty one moment to shocked silent in the next while his mother lectures him, a mile a minute. Eyes cutting to you, he grabs your phone from the same table and holds it in font of you to unlock it via Face ID. You roll your eyes and bat him away, taking a slug of water from the glass on your bedside table.

“Shit,” Steve mutters, putting himself on mute and his mom on speaker as he scrolls through your phone. “Holy fucking shit, nonono.”

You lean over and take a peek. He’s thumbing through Facebook, pupils blown wide in shock at the sheer number of notifications on his accidental post. Because yes, Steve accidentally cross-posted the photos from Instagram to Facebook as an update, like genius.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

He drops your phone on the bed when it starts to ring, like it’s a venomous thing that could take him down in one strike.

Sheepishly, he looks to you and mouths ‘I’m so sorry’ as he returns to his mother’s raging diatribe.

After checking the caller ID, you answer, voice flat. “Hello.”

“You little scamp,” Eddie tuts, “Stole my idea of eloping in Vegas and everything, I hate you.”

In spite of yourself, you crack a smile. “It’s a prank, babe.” A sigh as you pull your hair up and off of your shoulders. “Not legally binding at all. Having Byers on deck really sold the idea though.”

“You are the absolute worst, Trouble.” You warm at his soft laughter, “What’d you do to get Steve to agree? Drop to you knees all nice and pretty?”

A swell of pride accompanies the rush of heat at the thought of your earlier rendezvous. “Y’know Eds, I did exactly that. How perceptive of you.”

He cackles. “It’s tried and true for a reason, babe.” Steve is nodding furiously at whatever his mother is yammering on about, bare back toward you as he sits on the edge of the bed.

A push and a slide across the rumpled sheets and you’ve wrapped around him like a vine. His thumb rubs at your ankle, pulling your leg to envelop his hip. Opposite arm dangling across his chest as you press your face into his neck, revelling in his scent—cypress, vetiver, and something slight musky tinged with salt. All warm and pliable.

“Nance may have called in some reinforcements.” Eddie says carefully. “I told her to fuck off, but she’s beyond reason at this point.”

“Whaddya mean?”

He sighs, “Just be on the lookout for an angry lesbian, alright?”

You snort, drawing Steve’s attention. He twists in your hold, phone discarded on the table finally, fingers trailing tantalizingly up and down your sides. Pushes you back against the bed, chin resting on your sternum as you talk with Eddie, head tilted as he listens.

Begging off the phone call, you say your goodbyes. “Hey,” Eddie says before you go, voice soft and warm, “You happy babe? You sound it.”

“Yeah,” you turn your head and grin at the ridiculousness of your life. Steve follows your lips, his own blazing a trail across your chest and up to meet your shoulder. “I’m really happy, Eds.”

Steve plucks the phone from your hand, “Bye Munson!” He sings before ending the call and unceremoniously dropping your phone on the floor.

And Steve never thought a person was supposed to laugh so hard during sex, or maybe that’s just your own brand of love, but he doesn’t want to find out with anyone else.

It’s the fifth time, and Steve’s dick is about to fall off—how are you still doing this—just a few thrusts in when the banging on the door frightens the both of you into your clothes.

Robin swings it open and Steve is desperately tucking himself into his pants before—please, no.

“It smells like ass in here!” She hollers, “The hell have you two been—oh my god.”

“Shut up, Rob!” You respond from the corner of the room, head ripping through the neck hole of a shirt, legs wiggling into a pair shorts. Steve is still shirtless, hoping he might spontaneously combust.

“Oh my god,” Robin whispers again, “Oh… my god.” She sputters on the verge of either eruption or death.

“You freaky little—” she hisses, before screaming, “Oh fuck no! I’m here picking your asses up. Got on a flight at ass o'clock from Indy— you're butt-ass-naked in here—” She stands ram-rod straight, hands on her hips angrily. “I’m tellin’ on you.”

“Telling on?! What are you, five!? You’re so annoying, Rob!”

“Annoying? What’s annoying is—I’m exhausted! And well— you're exhausted too, huh?”

“I hate you.”

She snickers, high-fiving herself before crossing her arms, “Now get your freaky asses outside so I can go home and drink myself into forgetting I ever saw Harrington’s dick.”

You pat her on the shoulder, “It’s nice, huh?”

Robin dry-heaves, “Uh-uh. That’s enough. Go wash your damn hands.”

A few minutes later, Steve closes the door to the now-silent hotel room, damp with sweat and the lingering aroma of musk. Robin trots on ahead, leading the pair of you through the lobby and out into the dry desert heat.

His hand pulls at yours, reassuring and warm. A small smile blooms across your face and you allow yourself to revel in it for a moment: heading home with Steve, can't even bring yourself to be all that mad at Robin's antics.

Not when he turns back to check on you, all tan skin and that devastating smile. Tugs you closer as Robin flags down the Uber, lays his lips against yours, and kisses you with a sweetness only he could bring.

Oh yeah, you think tangling your free hand in his shirt. This'll do just fine.

#steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #reader insert #teacher!steve #the kids aren't alright - rosewaterandivy

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autumnshighlady · 2 years ago

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I’ve Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 5)

NESTA ARCHERON X FEMALE!READER (future Neris x reader)

summary: You arrive in the Spring Court, and things take a drastic turn

warnings: inner circle slander, sorta pro-Tamlin pls don’t kill me

word count: 8.5k (y’all said you liked long chapters)

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: please do not come at me for defending Tamlin. He is not one of my favourite characters or anything BUT I do think that he gets treated unfairly so this fic is meant to address that and see things from his perspective. i hope you enjoy this chapter regardless, it took me forever haha

feedback is appreciated, just no hate pls! these are just my opinions, i’m more curious to see how you all like the writing and characterization and storylines!

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

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“I expect a regular report once a week, and any important updates as soon as they come up.” The High Lord’s voice droned on and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. The meeting had been going on for half an hour, which was half an hour too long in your opinion. The Inner Circle had gathered to discuss your working in the Spring Court. A few months ago, you’d have squirmed under their gaze, like a lamb surrounded by lions. Little did they know that this time you were the lion, and they were the lambs.

You hoped they all suffered at the end of it in some way.

“And you remember how to reach us?” Feyre said, snapping you out of your trance.

“I do,” You said through gritted teeth. “Because Azriel and I have gone over it a million times, as well as what to do if it doesn’t work. Can we move on?”

“I hope you’re taking this seriously, girl.” Amren spoke up from her chair in the corner. Her silver eyes glared at you with distaste, so you glared back.

“Why are you even here?” You challenged the tiny female. “You apparently don’t have any powers anymore so what do you contribute other than just being a cunt?”

“Enough, (Y/N).” Rhysand spoke up before Amren could fire back. “Amren has earned her seat at this court and you will show her respect.”

“I’m the one risking my ass for you guys,” You snapped. “I’ll respect her when she stops glaring at me from the corner and making snide remarks.”

“I thought you trained her properly, Azriel.” Amren quipped, ignoring you. “She should know when to hold her tongue.”

Azriel audibly sighed, “We covered just about everything except that.” He mumbled.

“But she is ready for this, is she not?” Feyre asked the Spymaster.

“As she’ll ever be.” He grumbled in response.

“Then it’s settled.” Rhysand said, clasping his hands together. “Azriel will winnow (Y/N) to the border of the Spring Court. From there, she will make her journey to the manor. Our reports say Tamlin hasn’t even bothered to check on her village since it was attacked, so it will be easy for him to believe that she survived and has been laying low the past while. She will offer him her services, and keep us updated on the High Lord. His movements, any mention of working with anyone outside his own court, the likes. Any questions?”

“I have one.” You piped up. The inner circle turned to look at you – Mor’s eyebrows were raised, and Azriel’s were pleading as if begging you to not start anything else.

“Go ahead.” Feyre said hesitantly.

You resisted the urge to grin at how the rulers of the Night Court tensed in anticipation. “So my salary,” You continued. “How is that gonna work? Do you guys pay monthly or?”

Azriel rubbed his face with his hands, and Amren rolled her eyes. You found it funny how the richest fae you knew groaned at the idea of paying someone for their work – granted it was a more than fair wage, but given how much wealth they possessed, you knew their accounts wouldn’t feel its impact.

“You will be compensated upon your return to our Court.” Rhysand said, violet eyes glaring at you.

“Which will be?” You asked, meeting his stare.

“When we are satisfied that Tamlin is no longer an additional threat. Once we have taken care of other matters, you will be relieved of your duties and can return here so we can deal with him on our own.”

“Right. But that could be months, years even. I’m not waiting that long to get paid, especially since I have no money. I’ll need it anyway to get by in Spring Court since Tamlin probably won’t have much to pay me.”

You could feel the annoyance simmering off the High Lord as he spoke. “Fine, we’ll get it sorted out. Just do what you have to do and we’ll take care of the rest, ok?”

You nod, shuffling on your feet. To them, the action may have appeared nervous, but you were excited. You finally got to go home, but it was more than that, you finally got to give the Inner Circle a taste of their own medicine. Granted, you felt a bit guilty – Cassian was kind enough, and Nesta did care for him in some way. And as annoying as Azriel was during training, he hadn’t really done anything wrong either.

But you remembered what Mor had said to Nesta, that she’d fit right in with the Court of Nightmares. Nesta had filled you in on the Morrigan’s past, how her family sold her into marriage with Eris, only to dump her at the Autumn Court border with a note nailed into her womb saying she was Eris’ problem. Apparently it was Azriel who found her after Eris supposedly left her there, and thus her rise to power under Rhysand’s protection.

Mor, who had endured the cruelest of horrors in the Court of Nightmares that you would not wish upon anyone, had told Nesta that she belonged there. In a place that sold women like cattle and tortured them if they did not obey their fathers or husbands. It disgusted you how Mor could survive that only to tell a suffering female that she would deserve such a fate, not counting the fact that she herself had done nothing you know of to help other females like her who didn’t have a High Lord as a best friend.

Then there was Amren. You were underwhelmed upon meeting her – since losing her powers in the war, the mighty creature was just a bad-tempered High Fae female who did nothing but make rude comments to people. You honestly couldn’t figure out why she was even feared anymore.

You didn’t like Mor and Amren, but they were not the true targets of your revenge. Feyre had destroyed your court and was never held accountable for it. While Rhysand didn’t have any part of it, you still saw him as a controlling dick – he made no effort to help those in his court who weren’t part of his precious circle, and clearly did not care about the fates of innocents if he praised his mate for ruining their lives. Yes, Feyre and Rhysand would be hit hardest by your plan, and you were glad for it.

“Good luck,” Feyre said, nodding at you. “And thank you for doing this.”

“I’m not doing this for you.” Was all you replied with before following Azriel out of the room.

I’m doing this for me and Nesta. You added in your head.

*********************

Azriel winnowed you to the edge of the Spring Court border, as promised. You were clad in a Spring Court attire designed to look like one of your old dresses, since you obviously couldn’t appear in any clothes from the Night Court. You had been given a small sack with a few coins, stale bread, and a canteen of water – again, designed specifically to look like you had salvaged it from your village’s wreckage.

As the sweet air of the Spring Court filled your senses, you swallowed nervously. For the first time in a while it hit you what you were actually doing. You pushed aside your doubts before they could form, reminding yourself of why you were doing this.

Nesta and I need to get away from the Night Court. It’s suffocating us both and we need a way out, which may be through Eris. I just have to get to Eris and convince him to help us, then we’ll be free.

You thought of Nesta again and your last interaction with her. You had to consciously make an effort not to touch the star that was magically inked onto your sternum, remembering the kiss you shared with her after the spell. Your lips still tingled with the taste of her mouth, how soft yet passionate it was–

“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?” Azriel’s deep voice snapped you out of your trance.

“No, sorry.” You mumbled, earning a huff.

“As I was saying,” He continued irritably. “You should reach the manor in less than a day from here. Take that path–”

“I know my way around my own court.”

“Yet you have spent several months in Night so I am simply reminding you.”

“Reminder taken.”

You felt a hand grip your shoulder, turning you around and forcing you to look at him. Azriel’s hazel eyes bore into yours. “Are you sure about this?” He said, eyes scanning your face as if he was searching for something. “If not, that’s ok. We can take you back and figure something else out–”

“No.” You cut him off, almost too quickly. The spymaster did not show any reaction to your interjection, but you’d be stupid to think that he wasn’t analyzing and calculating your every move. “I can do this. I just don’t like lying to Tamlin.”

Azriel blinked, and you weren’t sure if he believed you or not so you continued. “I’ve known him since I was a child. I worry he’ll see right through me.”

The spymaster nodded slowly before answering. “Remember what I taught you. And just do your best – Tamlin knows you, use that to your advantage. He’s not himself, and he won’t be doing what’s in the best interest for his court. Perhaps you can nudge him in the right direction, but if he’s doing anything that threatens the Night Court of Prythian we need to know. I hope you understand that.”

You froze at his last words. I hope you understand that. A pit of dread formed in your stomach as one of your worst fears began to crawl into your mind. Azriel was not entirely fooled by you, and you knew it. Your mouth went dry as you met his gaze. He stared at you no differently than he had before, but you knew that as a spy those shadows were always whispering to him, always picking up on details that you may have missed….

No, You assured yourself. If he knew about my plan with Nesta I wouldn’t be here. No way. He may suspect something, but he can’t have any evidence to act on yet. I have more time.

“I do understand.” You said as calmly as you could. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Ever so slightly, Azriel’s gaze softened. “Those of us in this line of work rarely do.” He said.

“Then let’s hope I don’t have to be in it for long.” You said, silently adding, for many reasons.

“We shall.” Azriel said, before straightening up and stretching his wings slightly. “Well in that case, good luck (Y/N).”

You gave him a small smile before turning away from the shadowsinger, heading down the path through the forest. You knew Azriel was gone by now, but felt his shadows linger as if they were watching you.

*********************

After a day, you reached Tamlin’s manor. It was an unnerving journey to say the least – the normally buzzing forest was quiet, as if all happiness had been drained from it. The birds rarely sang, the flowers looked sad and withered. There were no happy cries of children playing in the streams – the whole Spring Court had gone quiet. The manor was overgrown with vines, stretching across cracks in the once pristine walls. There were few guards, most hardly noticed you as you walked through the gate. Daeron, a sentry friend of your father’s, only glanced up at you as you walked by, a hollow look in his eyes. He said nothing, just looked at you like you were a ghost.

The fact you were able to get to and enter the manor with no resistance was worrying. Tamlin must be in even worse shape than you thought to let it get like this. Even the inside of the manor was overgrown in many places, thorns and vines creeping into the spaces.

“My Lord?” You called out, not wanting to startle Tamlin if he even was home. Carefully, you set your bag on the table, noting how tendrils of dust skimmed the air as you did so.

The manor was a ghost of its former glory. Paintings on the wall were broken, some gone entirely. The shiny floors were dull, pieces of splintered wood littering across it threatening to pierce the bare feet or anyone who dares tread here. The windows were dusty, the room devoid of any life. If Tamlin was living here, it was hard to tell.

You wandered over to the end of the table that didn’t have dust on it. A kettle sat there, along with a singular cup that hadn’t been washed yet. Gingerly, you reached out your hand to touch it, and the metal was still slightly warm against your skin.

Well, at least you knew somebody was home.

“Tamlin?” You called out once again.

A heavy set of footsteps sounded from the stairwell in response. You turned to face them, and watched as the High Lord of the Spring Court descended.

His blonde hair was shaggy and as lifeless as the room around him, and a layer of scruff had grown around his face. The green eyes that had shone with kindness when you last saw them were haunted, looking at you like Daeron had – as if you were a ghost. Not that he looked much better than one himself.

“High Lord.” You greeted him, bowing your head. No matter what state his manor was in, he still remained the leader of your court, and you would at least try and show him respect.

“(Y/N)?” Tamlin rasped as if he hadn’t used his voice in weeks. The bags under his eyes were accentuated in the dusty light of the room.

“It’s me.” You said quietly. Tamlin only blinked.

“I thought you were dead.” He said in a monotone voice. “Your village burned.”

You sucked in a breath. “Did you come looking for me?” Maybe the Night Court’s reports were wrong, and he did come looking. Part of you hoped he had, that the strong High Lord you had known was still in there. But your plan rested upon Tamlin not caring enough to go to the massacred villages.

Tamlin laughed heartlessly in response. “No, I didn’t.” He said. “Everyone’s dead. Or gone. Too hard to keep track, there’s no point.”

Part of you was angry at him for not caring, but the other part was sad. The male you admired growing up, had always thought would protect you, didn’t care enough to see if you were dead or alive. Feyre’s damage to the Spring Court was more extensive than you realized, and it filled you with rage.

“So you’ve just given up then, is that it?” You questioned. Rhysand had warned you that Tamlin was unstable and violent, but all you saw now was a broken male who had lost his desire to fight. “You knew me well, and when you heard my village was slaughtered you didn’t even come to see for yourself?”

“My reports said there were no survivors, what else would I have done?” Tamlin snapped, gazing at something in the distance that wasn’t there. “Clearly they were wrong. How did you get out, (Y/N)? And why are you here after all this time?”

“My family is gone.” You said quietly, causing Tamlin’s gaze to return to you. “Everyone is gone. I barely got out, and it took me a while to heal on my own. I could have healed faster if you had come, but I laid low for a while. I wasn’t sure if Hybern was gone, but yesterday I gathered what I could and came here.”

There were a few minutes of silence, both of you staring at each other. Whether or not he knew you were lying, you couldn’t tell – or even if he cared. Tamlin simply looked empty, a husk of his former self.

“I am sorry.” He muttered before turning to go.

“I have nowhere else to go.” You pleaded, hoping he’d let you stay. The High Lord didn’t even spare you a glance.

“Make yourself at home, there’s plenty of space.” Was all he said before retreating back up the staircase.

If Rhysand really thinks he’s a threat, he’s insecure or just plain stupid. You thought bitterly. Yes, Tamlin had made major mistakes that made you lose respect for him – locking up Feyre was beyond wrong, and you knew it. Letting Hybern in was wrong, although Nesta told you that Feyre had sent Tamlin a letter saying to stop trying to get her back, yet as far as Tamlin knew, Feyre was still illiterate. Therefore, it wouldn’t be hard for him to assume that Rhysand was behind the letter.

The High Lord of Spring wasn’t perfect, he had let his trauma from Under the Mountain cloud his judgment and Feyre paid the price for it. But he did not deserve this, he did not need to have his court wiped out from under him to learn his lesson.

You would make Feyre pay, if only to see the look on the Inner Circle’s faces when they realized what you had done.

*********************

You had chosen a room a few doors down from Tamlin’s, right next to Lucien’s chambers. With the help of a few remaining servants, you had dusted and cleaned the room, changing the old sheets to fresh ones. It would be your first night back in the Spring Court in almost six months, you realized. It made your chest ache as you thought of your friends and family. There would be no more river picnics with them or afternoon teas, no more lounging in the fields with your mother…

A tear found its way down your cheek, but you quickly swept it away and opted to get ready for bed. After changing into a nightgown, you laid on the soft mattress, gently resting your fingers on the tattoo on your chest. It was warm to the touch, as if begging to have its magic used.

Nesta? You thought, not quite sure of how to reach her.

(Y/N?) Her reply came into your head after a few seconds. Can you hear me?

I can hear you. The spell worked.

Clearly. Are you okay? Did you make it to Spring?

Yes. It’s a mess here. Tamlin isn’t even trying to keep it together. I don’t think he’ll be a problem. The hardest part will be getting Eris on our side.

No, the hardest part was getting you out of Night. And you did it.

I wish I could have taken you with me.

I do too. But it’s not so bad here with just Cassian and the priestesses in the library. I made a friend, Emerie. She’s Illyrian, you’d love her. We’re all training together.

As happy as you were Nesta was getting along well in Night and was having extra support, you couldn’t help the twinge in your chest.

Hey, none of that. Came Nesta’s voice. I still miss you, and I still want to get the hell out of here.

It’s not that, You assured her. I want you to be getting along as best you can be. I’m happy for you, I just wish I was there joining the fun. Wait, you could feel what I felt?

Oh it’s not all fun, trust me. And yes, I could. Apparently the spell does that too. Also Cassian was talking today about how good it was you agreed to do this for them. He was completely clueless.

I don’t think Azriel is clueless, You admitted, tracing the lines of the star. I think he’s onto us in some way. Has he said anything that you know of?

No, not to Cassian at least. But he’s Azriel, it’s his job to be suspicious. If he knew what your intentions were, you wouldn’t be in Spring right now.

True. I feel bad, he hasn’t done anything wrong really. His constant brooding is insufferable, but I got used to him. But I know he’ll probably go running to Rhys the second he gets a crumb of evidence against me.

Probably. Cassian’s genuinely trying to help, he thinks it’s for the best. I wish he would understand and take off the Rhysand blindfold, but unlikely.

I get what you mean. They’ve been friends for centuries, Nesta. I don’t think we’ll be the ones to change that. It’s been a really long day and I have lots of work to do tomorrow so I should probably sleep.

Okay. Goodnight. We’ll talk soon.

The warm light that caressed your chest as you communicated with Nesta faded as the line of communication was cut, and you were left with what felt like a hole in your chest. You missed her more than you wanted to admit, but it gave you all the more reason to get your shit together and start your plan.

*********************

The next few days were spent cleaning up the manor with the servants. You assured them that you didn’t need their help, but they did anyway – clearly wanting something to do other than making tea. Slowly, the manor living room began to come back to life. The broken paintings were taken down, and replaced with hanging flower pots. The dust was mostly gone, a process which left you all sneezing for hours. You didn’t see Tamlin once in the three days you worked on the living room.

“He spends all his time upstairs,” One of the servants told you when you asked about him. “We bring him food, and he’ll eat it sometimes in his room then leave the tray outside. But that’s it.”

After trimming the thorns away and preparing a hot meal with the chef, one of the servants came with a tray.

“It’s ok,” You assured him. “We’ll put it on the table.”

“But, miss,” The servant boy stammered. “The High Lord eats in his room every day.”

You snorted. “He’s the High Lord of the Spring Court and he has work to do, he’s going to dine at the table like a normal lord.” The boy looked pale, frightened at the idea of disrupting his Lord’s routine so you bent down and grabbed the tray from him. “It’s okay, you can go home. I will deal with Tamlin and be fully responsible for dinner, ok?”

The boy nodded with relief, scampering off into the kitchens. Sighing, you grabbed the dishes from the counter and lugged them to the table. You and the chef, Mairon, had prepared a harvest salad for dinner with a side of roasted potatoes, chicken, and freshly baked bread. Your mouth watered as you resisted the urge to bite into it, using great self control to place it on the dining room table and leave it there.

You trudged up the stairs to Tamlin’s room, knocking once on the heavy door. No sound came from inside, so you knocked again. “Tamlin!” You yelled, pounding your first on the wood.

The lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing the still haggard-looking High Lord. “You can leave the tray outside the door.”

“No.” You said stubbornly, sticking your foot in the doorway as he attempted to close it. “You’re High Lord of the Spring Court and you’re going to act like it and come eat dinner with me. Now get a move on, I’ll see you down there.”

You did not wait to see his stunned face as you turned on your heel to head back downstairs. If younger you knew you’d spoken to your High Lord that way, she’d probably faint on the spot. You knew that no amount of gentle coaxing would pull Tamlin out of this place he was in, you just prayed he wouldn’t take your head for your approach.

Entering the dining room once again, you took a seat a few feet down from the head of the table. Worry began to eat away at you – what if Tamlin just stayed in his room and completely ignored you? He can’t protect his court in this state, and he clearly won’t even try. You needed to get him back on track, so he could go back to doing his job. As you began piling food onto your plate, you contemplated how your report to Rhysand and Feyre would go. You decided not to tell them that you were actively trying to help Tamlin regain his strength – they’d see it as a threat. Therefore, you concluded that you would have to make things up in your reports. If all the Night Court received was claims of nothing happening, they’d get suspicious and perhaps investigate themselves and that could not happen. If they figured out you were not only helping Tamlin, but actively trying to find a way out of the Night Court’s grasp, you were dead.

Heavy footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts a few minutes later. To your surprise, the High Lord wordlessly took a seat at the head of the table. He still looked a mess and did not glance at you once, but nonetheless reached forth and began to add food onto his plate.

“You could have at least combed your hair.” You remarked after he took a few bites of salad.

“I came down,” Tamlin mumbled between bites. “Is that not enough for you?”

“No.” You said firmly.

The High Lord paused, turning his emerald gaze towards you in a glare. “Excuse me?”

“Your court fell apart,” Your breath tried not to shake at the boldness with which you spoke to the powerful male. “So what? Move on. Not everyone is gone or dead, some of us are still here. And we are not safe, not without your protection.”

“Thanks to Feyre.” Tamlin hissed, bitterness laced in his voice.

“Yes, and I hate her for it. Whatever happened between you two doesn’t matter, she took her revenge out on the rest of us. I don’t care that you’re upset right now, we are the ones who suffered more. The innocent people of YOUR court who never asked to be dragged into any of this.”

Instead of lashing out at you, either with his words or with those talons that hid beneath his skin, Tamlin simply stared at the table.

“Feyre leaving you does not relieve you of your responsibilities as High Lord,” You continued. “You have a duty to your people to protect them no matter what. There are others like me out there who have had their villages destroyed and everything lost. You need to help them and strengthen your court.”

“And this is the part where you tell me that you can help me with that, I assume?” His laugh was empty, as if he didn’t quite believe you.

“I can.” You promised.

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I remember those three days when I was a young girl that you looked after me while my father was sick. And I’m hoping the compassionate High Lord I knew back then is still in there somewhere.”

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the candles at the table. After a few seconds, Tamlin simply turned back to his plate and shoved food in his mouth. Your heart sank a little at his lack of answer, but you cursed yourself for thinking he would even listen to you in the first place. Angrily, you stabbed a potato with your fork, wondering how the hell you were going to help get the Spring Court back on track before you attempted to leave with Eris.

When the High Lord finished his plate, he gulped down the glass of wine in front of him before standing up. He stood up, looking down at you. “Your help would be appreciated,” He said. “But I cannot promise it will do much good. You are, however, welcome to try as you see fit. We have nothing to lose anyways.”

Without waiting for a response, Tamlin left you in the dining room, mind whirling. He had not seemed as enthusiastic as you had hoped, but at least it was something. You were going to help the Spring Court as best you could, with or without Tamlin.

*********************

You ran yourself ragged the next few days, hiring more servants and sentries to help clean the place up. After almost an hour of pestering, you convinced Tamlin to go with some guards to nearby villages to check up on them, offering any aid. Your biggest accomplishment, however, was your idea to turn the manor into a sanctuary. It had dozens of empty rooms, and with many citizens displaced by the recent events, you convinced Tamlin to use this space as a shelter for them. Therefore, when he traveled to the villages again next week, he could offer those who were suffering a place to stay.

The manor’s preparation took a ton of work. Tamlin hardly helped, still preferring to just sulk in his room, but he had given you authority to run the minor things in the manor in his stead. The gardens were being replenished to provide more produce, the windows repaired and skylights fixed, and the floors were polished and finally cleaned. By the third day, it looked less like a haunted house and more like the beautiful manor you had known growing up.

It was on the evening of the third day when you composed your first report to the Night Court. Azriel had provided you with a special set of ink and parchment that you would write on, and the ink would disappear after 15 seconds and the message would be received by the Spymaster. You had spent all of dinner planning exactly what you wanted to say, and decided on a mix of truth and lies. The letter had read:

I arrived at the manor on Sunday – there were almost no guards, and the ones who were there did not care. Tamlin greeted me, he was a bit suspicious but didn’t seem to care much. I have not seen him leave the manor since. He has let me stay here. I surveyed the whole place like you taught me and aside from a few beds in the servants quarters, the manor shows no signs of anyone else being here. I will keep you updated if anything changes.

When the ink disappeared, you had let out a breath. You had left out everything about the manor turning into a sanctuary, an attempt at rebuilding the trust between the citizens and their High Lord. You had just prayed Azriel wasn’t also spying on the Spring Court and would see you were lying.

The next day, you decided to help wash all the sheets in the manor. Taking the basket of wet material from the servant, you lugged it outside where you had set up clotheslines. It was peaceful, with everyone else mostly at the other end of the manor organizing the dining hall, you were mostly alone in the gardens.

Sighing, you gently shook the soft sheets and placed them over the line to dry. It was methodical, a simple mundane task that brought you peace. At the House of Wind, servants had done everything for you, no doubt also acting as spies meant to keep an eye on you and Nesta. You missed the freedom, the autonomy of something as simple as doing your own laundry.

Halfway through the basket, a sudden wave of dread made your entire body go cold, despite the warm sunlight.

“What the…” You gasped, heart racing all of a sudden. Dropping the sheet in your hands, you stared down as a white glow began to peek through your lilac dress. “No, no no no!”

Frantically, you pressed your hands against it, whipping your head back and forth to see if anyone could see you. You cried out as your entire body went ice cold, as if submerged underwater. Your ankle burned like it was being grasped tightly, and whatever it was would not let go.

You remembered what Nesta said when you asked her if the tattoo from your bond would always glow: No. Only when the other is in danger.

Nesta was in danger, you realized. And you were feeling what she was feeling at that moment. Your lungs ached, and you realized the sensation you were experiencing was drowning.

Where is she that she’s drowning? You wracked your brain trying to think of bodies of water in the Night Court that she may be in. But nothing came up, you could only sit there hyperventilating, glowing from your sternum as the magic between you and the eldest Archeron sister consumed you.

“Nesta!” You cried out, gagging before throwing up thick, sludgy water. It splattered on the ground before you like black ink, unforgiving against the soft green grass.

And then it stopped, and the light faded. Everything was quiet, and you felt an eerie calmness washing over you. The air flooded back into your lungs, but your panic was gone – everything was. You stood up, but didn’t feel it – it was like you were not in control of your own body, like someone was pulling the strings for you. But still you felt no panic, no pain, simply nothing. You remained standing in the gardens of the Spring Court, staring into the nothingness. And then the emptiness subsided, and everything came rushing back. You cried out, collapsing into the grass as everything faded to black.

*********************

A soft light crept into your vision as you cracked open your eyelids. Everything was hazy, and your body ached. You looked around as your vision cleared up – you were no longer in the gardens, but in a bed in the healing ward of the manor. The room was empty, save for a table littered with ointments and medicines, and a chair across from you that currently sat a bulking, blonde male.

“Tamlin?” You croaked, voice raw as if you had been screaming.

“(Y/N),” The High Lord sat up, green eyes boring into you. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit. What happened?”

Tamlin leaned forward, not blinking once as he stared down at you. “I heard you scream, so I came out just in time to see you collapse. I brought you in here, but not before I saw the black water on the ground in front of you. Water which definitely does not come from Spring Court.”

You froze, blood running cold as you tried to remember Azriel’s training about what to do if you got confronted. “I…” You stammered nervously before Tamlin interrupted.

“Spare me any lies, they will do you no good.” He growled. “I know where that water comes from, what dark magic and curses it holds. It magically appears right in front of where you collapsed, after you so miraculously waltzed back in here after months and generously offered to help me.”

“I know how this probably looks-”

“Then you have one chance to tell me what the hell is going on here, (Y/N), or I will get it out of you myself.”

You fiddled with your fingers, debating what to do. Either you could come up with the most miraculous lie of your life and somehow sell it to Tamlin, like Azriel taught you, or you could just say to hell with it and tell him the truth. If you told him the truth, he may not believe you and just lock you up – either way, that could end up with him confronting the Night Court about them sending in a spy. Whether or not you told him you had your own agenda it did not matter, either you betrayed the Inner Circle now to save your own skin, or still pretend to side with them and risk them feigning innocence and abandoning you to face Tamlin’s wrath.

So you decided with the truthful option. “Everything I am about to tell you is the whole truth,” You began slowly, sitting up stiffly. “I swear on my life. Please, hear me out fully.”

Tamlin said nothing, still glaring, but nodded. Taking a deep breath, you began your story. “When my village was destroyed, Lucien found me barely alive. He brought me to the Night Court, since that’s where he was staying. They healed me, but kept me locked up because I was from the Spring Court and they were worried I was sent as revenge for Feyre’s destruction. My first interaction with the High Lord and Lady was…unpleasant. I hated them both, especially Feyre, because they were the reason I lost everything. Feyre may not have killed my family, but she destroyed our court enough to let Hybern do the rest for her. I called them out on it, and they sent me to the House of Wind. I was not allowed to leave, I don’t think they knew what to do with me.

“I met Nesta Archeron there. They had locked her there too, Tamlin. They did the same thing to her that you did to Feyre. We were trapped with no way out unless we wanted to comply with the Night Court’s wishes. After a few weeks we started to speak to each other, and eventually we….. we became friends. She defended me when the Inner Circle arrived for dinner and tried to persuade me to spy on you in return for them saving me. I refused, and Nesta and I became closer after that. We agreed that we needed to get out of the Night Court, so we formed a plan. We staged a fight so that the Inner Circle would think we had grown distant, and I eventually agreed to train with Azriel, and she with Cassian. I agreed to come to Spring under the guise of spying on you, but I swear that is not what I intend. I’ve only sent them one report so far, and all I said was that nothing was happening.”

Tamlin narrowed his eyes. “So you’re admitting to spying on me, then.”

“No, you fool,” You snapped. “Were you not listening? I was lying to them. I would never betray Spring for Night, not after what they did to us. I’m feeding them misinformation to keep them off your back as best I can, at least until it’s time for the rest of the plan.”

“The plan which you better start explaining right now.” Tamlin growled. “Because I don’t see how any of this fits together.”

“Nesta had mentioned that Cassian met with Eris by the border just inside the Spring Court. Which you would know if you cared enough to actually monitor it. I’ve known Eris a long time, and have reason to believe that he could help Nesta and I be free from the Night Court. He hates the Inner Circle almost as much as we do, and would gladly take us in, even if only to rub it in their faces. The plan was that I would agree to pretend to be a spy in the Spring Court so I could get to Eris, since he seems to be here regularly without you knowing. Then I will convince him to help us out, and we can finally be free.”

“So let me get this straight,” Tamlin said, brows furrowed. “You’re double crossing the Night Court for revenge, and trusting you’ll be able to get Eris Vanserra of all people to help you out? What makes you think he won’t just sell you back to them? He’s a cruel, sadistic bastard who shouldn’t be trusted.”

“I know the risks, Tamlin.” You replied, taking another deep breath. “But I don’t care. I will do anything to be free from the Night Court.”

“But you are here. You’re home. You got out already, is that not good enough?”

“I am not leaving Nesta there alone. I have to go back for her.”

A few moments of silence encompassed the room. Your heart raced – you had no idea if Tamlin even believed you. Admittedly, your story was outrageous, even to you. So much had happened within the past few months, you didn’t even know if you would believe yourself if you heard this story. So you sat there, fiddling with the corner of the bedsheet as Tamlin’s immovable gaze stared you down.

“You care about Nesta.” He said quietly.

“I lo…” You stammered. “I care about her a lot. She helped me through literal hell and I cannot just leave her there to end up as another pawn in Rhysand’s games. Nesta deserves better than that, and so do I.”

“And how do I know that you are not making this up?” Tamlin asked. “Granted, it would be an impressive lie. But Rhysand is known to play cruel mind games and mess with one’s memory. And with Feyre apparently having that same ability, I want to believe you (Y/N) but I have to be sure.”

You took another shaky breath. “Nesta and I did a spell,” You began. “An old spell that she found in a book. It gave us a daemati-like line of communication to each other, and was binded by a tattoo on our chests. It glows when the other is in danger, and that’s what happened earlier. We think that in some ways, we can feel what the other is feeling through it. I felt Nesta drowning earlier, and I think I collapsed when she lost consciousness.”

Tamlin frowned. “So is she dead then?”

“No,” You almost shouted. “No, she’s not. I can’t explain it, but I can feel that she’s alive.”

“Interesting, it’s almost as if…” Tamlin muttered, shaking his head before trailing off. “Never mind that. This magic spell, this tattoo…. show me.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and searching for that string that bound you to Nesta. Within a void of darkness you felt it call out to you like the sweetest song, leading you towards its light. So you followed, reaching out your mind to that cord before grabbing onto it and letting its warmth consume you.

Opening your eyes, you were met with a glow peeking through your dress. Tamlin’s face went white as he stared at the mark, visible through the thin fabric of the gown. “Impossible…” He muttered.

“Do you believe me now?” You asked before whispering the disappearing phrase. “Evanescere.”

The glow faded, leaving Tamlin stunned. “I believe you,” He said softly. “I just don’t know what to do now, or what this means for my court. If Rhysand is spying on me, I have every right to confront him about it. But then that puts you at risk, and I am not willing to do that.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, relieved. “I know this is a tough spot for you. You have every right to be angry with them and confront them right now, but I promise it will be worth the wait. I fully intend on letting them know everything I’ve done when I am free, and I will leave you out of it. They do not know that I am helping you now, so when they realize that your court is strong again thanks to me, it will be the cherry on top of everything else we have planned.”

“There’s more to the plan?” Tamlin sighed, exasperated.

“Yes, but it is solely my and Nesta’s own vengeance we will carry out,” You assured him. “You need not know what it is, and I promise you it will not bring harm to the Spring Court. You have my word.”

“You hate them that much?”

“Yes, but not just because of what they did to us. I see the Inner Circle on a mountain of wealth while their people suffer and starve if they do not live in Rhysand’s favourite city, building castle after castle. I hear stories of women being sold and tortured by their families in the Court of Nightmares while their High Lord does nothing to help them, even though his Third in command is a survivor from that very court. I know that the High Lady flies around flaunting her Illyrian wings she shapeshifts into while hundreds and thousands of Illyrian females get their own wings clipped and are kept for breeding while the High Lord and Lady do nothing to stop it because they prefer keeping their pigheaded military leaders happy over the safety and lives of all the females in their court. I look at the Inner Circle and see a group who could do so much good for their Court, but refuse not to because they want to live in their own special bubble, rest of their court be damned. I see a High Lady who is not qualified for the job and only has it because she is mated to Rhysand. I see a High Lord who loves his found family so much he would let the rest of his court burn to keep them happy. Qualities which make for a romantic story, but a shitty leader. That, Tamlin, is why I hate them. And why I cannot wait to see their faces when they realize not everyone wants to bow to Rhysand.”

After your ramble, you took a shaky breath, sipping the cup of water from the nightstand beside you. Your anger you had suppressed for the past week was fired up, a rage that you had burned with for months now and thought you had pushed down enough in the peacefulness of home. But you knew that it would not go away, at least not until you had gotten your revenge.

“I understand your anger, and agree with you completely.” Tamlin said after a few moments before standing up. “The Night Court needs to be humbled. But I will take no part in your plan other than turning a blind eye to whatever you need to do. I have my own bone to pick with the High Lord and Lady, but I will not drag you into it. For now, rest. We will figure this shit out later.”

He left you in the room to sleep, but it would not come. Letting Tamlin in on everything was not part of the plan, but strangely enough it pulled a weight off your chest. You didn’t need to sneak around him anymore. Maybe he could even help you, if you needed it. At least he knew of your plans now and wouldn’t think you were betraying or abandoning him when the time came for you to leave.

Rearranging the pillow, you tossed and turned, desperately trying to reach Nesta.

Nesta? Are you okay?

Nothing. No response, no feeling from the other end of your connection. You knew she was still alive – something deep inside of you knew that you’d be able to tell if she was dead, but her presence lingered somehow. Perhaps she’s just busy. You tried to assure yourself. Eventually, exhaustion overcame you, and you fell into a haunted sleep, plagued by images of dark water and something golden glowing beneath it.

*********************

It had been two days since your conversation with Tamlin, and two days of not hearing from Nesta. You tried to push your worries aside, comforted by the fact that nothing in your chest had snapped indicating she was dead. Wherever she was, you would find her. Even if you had to go to the ends of the earth to do it.

To your delight, the manor’s progress had continued splendidly. More guards were in training, sentries roamed the grounds once again, and servants bustled about. Tamlin had even combed his hair and shaved, which you thanked the Mother for. A few lesser fae from the nearby towns wandered into the manor grounds escorted by sentries. You could tell they were nervous, eyes wide as they saw the High Lord waiting to greet them by the gates. But Tamlin simply smiled, welcoming them warmly and leading them into the manor. After settling in one of the guest rooms, which had been converted to accommodating four people, the first group of citizens joined you for lunch. They practically gasped when they saw that the High Lord would be dining with them, but Tamlin simply gestured for them to sit down and enjoy the vast array of food the cooks had prepared. You could tell his cheer was still more forced than natural, but you were happy that he was making the effort. It was a step in the right direction.

With Tamlin’s guidance, you wrote another report to Azriel a few days later. It said that nothing had changed, except that Tamlin had begun making more appearances to prepare for the Spring Equinox in a few weeks. You sent it off, smirking at yourself.

“I need a break,” You said after the ink disappeared on the parchment. “I’m going for a walk.”

“I’ll come with you.” Tamlin offered as you grabbed your shawl.

“Absolutely not,” You argued. “You have guests to host. You just patrolled the forest so I know it’s safe. I’ll be fine.”

The High Lord opened his mouth to argue, but closed it and simply nodded. You organized your papers before closing the door to your room and heading out in the direction of the forest.

You wandered through the paths, lost in your own thoughts. No word from Nesta still, but you clung onto the fact you knew she was alive. It was all you had keeping you together, thankfully, and you would not fall apart. So you distracted yourself with mentally planning tomorrow’s schedule – what documents needed to be signed and sent out, inventory of supplies, and organizing a meeting to discuss using funds collected from that year’s Tithe to build secure shelters across the Court for those who had lost their homes to Hybern’s armies. It was a brilliant plan, you gave yourself credit. One of the best parts of your revenge was knowing that Feyre had not destroyed the Spring Court, and you longed to see the look on her face when she realized that not only was it coming back stronger than ever, but that it was the perfect example of how leaders should help their people.

Suddenly, a twig snapped a few feet ahead of you, pulling you from your thoughts. You blinked, taking in your surroundings – you were at the old oak tree several miles near the Autumn Court border, not realizing you wandered so far. Reaching under your dress, you slid out the dagger you kept strapped to your thigh as footsteps approached. Your heart raced, praying it wasn’t one of Amarantha’s lingering beasts – while Azriel taught you a lot, you were still no match for a monster.

Instead of a lurking monster, a slender and beautiful figure emerged from the shadows of the tree, red hair elegantly tied back and lips stretched into a smirk you’d recognize from anywhere.

“Why hello there, darling.” Came the velvety voice of Eris Vanserra. “This is quite a surprise, isn’t it?”

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

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974

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mer-acle · 24 days ago

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Ahhhh I need to catch you up on some alisha lore.

Okay some trigger warnings for now but I'll add more later: child abondonment, heavy depression

So we are still at the quest™️. Alisha failed and ofc there is consequences- like she went directly against athena's words. Ofc she's mad. (Also one thing Athena wasnt watching the quest very closely but she had been keeping tabs on her and looking through her memories. So she doesnt know the whole stuff either but it doesnt matter to her anyway alisha failed to listen to her and she failed her test. She isnt good enough for whatever mark of athena is. (She is checking so she doesnt keep sending her children to their death. Also I really need to read mark of athena wtf happens in that book))

Athena says Alisha failed and she isnt good enough. She isnt worthy of being her warrior. And alisha (poor girl. On her last strand.) says but I got the item. I won. (I feel like this is when you get the question right in maths but the teacher doesnt give you any point bc you didnt do it their way. But ten times worse.)

"No alisha. You failed. You failed to listened to me and you failed at keeping yourself safe. You would have been dead if you werent lucky."

"I can fix this I swear. I'll-" alisha hiccups. "swear I can. I'll-"

"No." Athena interrupts her. "You failed. No child of mine fails. You arent fit to be a warrior of mine."

"Mom please- I'll- I'll never stray from your word again, please" Alisha sobs out

"Enough." Athena says, ignoring her daughters cries. "This is final, I don't want another word from you."

With that, she starts to walk away but the girl clings to her feet, wailing uncontrollably, begging for her to stay.

The goddess of war frees her feet from the girl. She starts walking away, not even glimpsing back at her daugher sobbing on the floor, begging for her to stay, covered in her own blood and monster dust.

"No mom please don't go no please please mom I'll do whatever you want please dont leave me. No mom please please stay mom!!" Alisha continues wailing at her, screaming the words until her throat becomes raw. She doesnt even register Athena’s already long gone, she keeps crying and crying and begging and begging until she cant no more.

HELP WHILE I WAS WRITING THESE ODY WOULDNT SHUT UP SCREAMING ATHENA'S NAME. LIKE LOVE IN PARADISE. PLS ODY YOU ARE MAKING THIS EVEN HARDER ON ME.

Anyway athena abondons her ass. To her this isnt that big of a deal. She wont even remember it. But this shaped alisha's life. (Sth sth you saying to your parents oh X thing you did was pretty traumatizing and them not even remembering bc it was just a normal tuesday for them sth sth)

Wanna hear about sth worse. After her breakdown is over Alisha has no choice but pick up the pieces herself and pull herself together as best as she can. Something inside of her is broken now. Its only a matter of time. But she pulls herself together bc she's gotta go back to camp, she's gotta see luke, annabeth. Thalia's tree. She's gotta convince camp everythings okay, better than okay, it is time for celebrations. Their hero has just came back victorious. So she has to pull herself together and put one last grand act. Convince them everythings okay. Its fine. Its fine. Maybe athena didnt mean it. Maybe with enough sacrifices, she'll forgive her. She has no reason worrying anyone.

She puts this mask on, stronger than ever, happier than ever. Even though she has never felt weaker, never felt worse.

Nobody sees through it but luke and annabeth. (And laurie but that is for later) They see it in the way her smile feels a little too tense, how it almost doesnt reach her eyes. They see it in the way she stares at the fire after sacrifing her food. Annabeth sees it in the way she starts eating less and less, sacrificing all she can to her mother instead. Luke sees it in the way she flinches when anyone touches her back, gets close to it even. Luke sees it in the way her moves get sluggish when they swordfight. Luke sees it in the way she stares at the water when she thinks she is alone. Annabeth sees it in the way she starts sleeping less and less. Annabeth sees it in how she tears herself down everyday by overworking. They see it in how she goes to thalia's tree even more. They can see it in her eyes. But what can annabeth do? She is just 10 years old. What can luke do what alisha wont even let him ask what happened? How can they help her when she refuses that she needs it?

Luke hears the warning bells when alisha slowly starts to try to get him used to the idea he'd be the one to take care of annabeth. Alone.

Oh wow I really need to go to bed. Its five am. Sorry. Anyway. Uh. The rest is the saddest scene I wrote to this day. It still hurts. Big trigger warning suicide attempt :(((

That is the worst of it I promise after that scene it will start to get better. Its nothing graphic either, mostly an outline.(Also you absolutely dont have to read it. Please take care)

Poor alisha my baby. I feel so bad but the angsttt

IMMA FUCKIGN THROW HANDS WITH THE GODDESS ISTG

THAT'S SO MUCH WORSE THAN MY GOODBYE AT LEAST ODY YELLED BACK AND DIDN'T LITERALLY BEG HER IN TEARS TO STAY

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

WHY TF DO YOU HAVE KIDS IF THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT THEM? AT LEAST EPIC ATHENA BECAME FRIENDS ACCIDENTALLY SHE NEVER PLANNED TO

I AM LIVID

Why do parents do this istg so many people just shouldn't have kids but no they just take the little beings and fuck them up and act like it's not on them

If this was a god thing I'd be less mad but it's not

This happens and I hate it

FUUUUUUUCK

Poor Alisha

She does need that other timeline I fear this one is fucked

Oh gosh the poor baby

No I need the rest of the scene now actually. I'm a little worried nobody will intervene and she'll be alone even then but ahhh I still need to know I fear. (Dw i am very much writing scenes like this too, I'd add the topic to FtbL as well, I've been wanting to, but I don't want to add the tag atp when people have gotten invested so we're keeping it out of it. Has Marielle a scene like this tho? Naturally. Very unsurprising)

Screaming into the void.

#tw depressing stuff #tasha asks #alisha tag

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typekiku · 11 months ago

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TSUKIHIME FASHION REVIEW!

Ok y’all i may be new here but im glad to introduce my _fashion review_!!!

Yes you read that right your beloved arcadia shall break down the single greatest visual novel known to mankind and review the drip contained within its sacred uhh program ig

Lets get right to it with our very own lunar legend ARCUEID

Arcueid Brunestud

The icon, the goddess, the brain of the planet, and my very own wife (don’t correct me please) Arcueid Brunestud has a umm unique fashion taste…

Her OG version is certainly a drip of all times.. im not the biggest fan but hey who am i to argue with my wife (again dont correct me here)? the granny skirt is well… its a skirt!! and she has a white shirt too!!! What is this; the 50s?

On the other hand, i love her hair and will fight anyone who says different. In fact, her hair here is better then it is in the remake and thats a fact because i said so and my opinion is objectively correct.

I kneel before her. I can see why roa fell in love with her here. Her long hair… beautiful blue dress that simply demands your love and devotion to the princess of the true ancestors.

In other words, Peak. Kino. Fire. Gorgeous. Other words.

Archetype earth moves me on a different level. Her design is the best in the game! Well i mean she didnt actually appear in tsukihime itself afaik (or can remember actually) she did appear in Kagetsu Tohya and that was nice.

This is Arcueid at her best looking and i wont accept any different opinion because again only MY opinion matters here!!

On a side note, damn you altrouge for cutting arcueids hair. Damn you a million times i hope nasu NEVER puts you in the story (im lying pls type moon put her in the story)

This is the airhead that we know and love. This design suits that image of her more then og. While im not a complete fan i find this arc to be terribly cute and my wife (dont correct me on this matter)

The boots and leggings are perfection itself and while i dont like the mini skirt much it still works.

I do wonder tho what is that necklace supposed to mean. DAMN IT NASU TELL US… sorry i know itll be explained in red garden coming out in 2024 in the true arc route.

Overall i give arcueid an arcueid /10 (not biased) and recognize her as peak fiction and the love of my life

Ok this is it for me soon ill post a shiki drip review. If you see this feel free to suggest… stuff idk im new to tumblr. Like or blaze or whatever it is. Honestly, how does this even work anyways?

#tsukihime #type moon #arcueid brunestud #inlovewitharcueid #seriouslyiam #kagetsu tohya #melty blood #nasuverse

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nemesis-is-my-middle-name · 2 years ago

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Omy God, noooo, them holding onto the hats - BOTH their hats!! - is gonna make me cry! And it reminding Lady Sneasler of her nest, probably complete with Smells Of Ingo, which is familiar and comforting to her, and Smells Of Emmet, which is familiar and comforting to Ingo. It helps that like, to humans smell is typically the sense that lingers the longest and deepest in memories, and also that as Clamberclaw Lady Sneasler's sense of smell is amplifies Ingo's. So being in a soft nest with smells associated with safety, in an area that feels safe to Ingo, and having already ran themselves ragged, is a very good recipe. They just went from 100 in terms of bad stimulation and feeling like they're under attack, to a flat 0. Finally, what they need, finally a place to hide.

And then Emmet comes! And he is Very confused!! But again, this is someone who reads as a complete non-threat to them. Even though Emmet is expecting a fight and is all tensed and poised to throw out his very powerful pokemon to subdue this creature, they just... have exactly zero intention of doing anything violent towards him. If it were literally anyone else they might feel kind of cornered, even with the frenzy having died down some from exhaustion, but Emmet? They're more likely to drag him into the nest than scare him off the train.

Meanwhile, Emmet is so unprepared for literally all of this lol. Poor guy, he has no idea what to expect, but I love that he's already coming up with various strategies to account for various responses. Presumably the train has been stopped as soon as people started panicking, but I winced at the thought of something being so freaked out they tried to go out the front of the car.

Although, if the subway car was dark, did they like kill the lights? Or is this actually a battle car that wasn't being used so the lights were off or on low? Not great for seeing if he needed to battle them, but better for making them feel safer and calming them down. Like hooding a bird lol or letting a cat hide under the bed. The hard part isn't going to be calming them down, it's going to be coaxing them to come out and leave!

re: lights, i think what most likely happened is one of their moves went wide and broke something and took out the lights, probably just to the one front cabin? in my head this scene has to be mostly dark (and pls kill those bright lights for their sanity...) but this is the only way i think that would work

anyway they just want to sleep forever now thanks. they feel like shit mentally and physically, their brain still feels vaguely on fire from the frenzy, but it's soft and sheltered and there's a Good Person that they trust (that ingo trusts) more than anything to not let anything else bad happen to them. so. time to rest. emmet's still bracing to get ambushed, but then he gets a better look at them with the dim light filtering in from the last car, beaten and bruised with fur matted by sweat and blood, pinprick pupils and heaving breaths, and realizes this isn't some aggressive predator, this is something that's disoriented and possibly sick and scared out of its fucking mind.

what hopefully happens, once the frenzy's receded enough that it's not overwhelming, is that ingo can regain enough control over the fusion to Make Words Happen and try and explain what's going on. the most important part i think is communicating a) they're a fusion and b) even if he could, he doesn't want to disconnect from lady sneasler until he's sure she's unfrenzied (and also just, calmed down and reassured in a regular sense as well), for the safety of everyone else in the city.

(maybe he also mentions that he hunted this place down bc it felt familiar? that emmet has the same effect at a much more concentrated level? or even just his name. ...and maybe emmet remembers hearing about plasma's experiments in the P2 Laboratory, wretched biological-modification experiments on pokemon, and... oh, oh god, is this where his brother's been all this time?)

#the nemesis speaks #the nemesis answers #anonymous #warden fusion au #in actuality the truth is far more complicated.#...honestly. you could have that be partially true. if you wanted to be extra evil #that some scientist from genesect's project saw 'pokemon and person that could fuse'#and went 'wow i just HAVE to do something horribly unethical with that information'#not necessarily tho

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sparatus · 1 year ago

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1, 10, 15 for the weird writer asks pls

weird questions for writers

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

i write in calibri, mostly because that was the default font in microsoft word two laptops ago and it was easy to read so when i was switching softwares (gdocs and libreoffice) i just. stuck with calibri cause it was what i was used to seeing and i hate changing shit lol

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

i would say it means the writing that sticks with you, stuff that you remember long after you read/write it and continually come back to it.

in terms of others' writing, probably the books speak and wintergirls by laurie halse anderson and fire bringer by david clement-davies. all three have scenes that still live in my head, and i think about them fairly regularly and readily as examples of various things in writing. for my own writing, it comes and goes on what sticks around, but i think the finale of broken mirror (all like, the final 10 chapters or so), memory, and the man in the mask are the ones i keep circling back to - it's always the really poignant scenes and heavy stuff, about trauma and coping and the scars we bear whether we show them to people or not, that sticks around.

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

i don't because i'm very particular about things staying nice because of how i was raised, but i don't really care if anyone else does it you do you i don't really care lol

#press conference #korblez

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96ymh · 2 years ago

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hihi everyone it's kira and i'm here to bring you mr yoo "idk i just work here" minhyuk aka the university librarian!! under the cut are a few bullet points abt his past and personality but generally, his mind tends to be a little bit here and there for personal reasons (aka he's deluded himself into thinking he's content with his life) but he's v diligent with his work so chances are you've probably run into him at the library and he's refused to write off your one day late library book :^) i'm super excited to meet you all get the ball rolling so pls feel free to dm me or like this post and i'll dm u <3

background - only son to the yoos, a family of extremely wealthy lawyers and mugunghwa natives (though he personally does not act like it) so you'd expect him to be doted on but

was neglected heavily by his parents until he showed signs of childhood pyromania around the age of five/six, after which they stuck him in every counselling service possible. not really the epitome of familial love

although the fires he started didn't hurt anyone except himself and they were kept a secret within the family, word leaked out to the yoos' extended family (including the nams) and he was essentially ostracised by his aunts and uncles, being the subject of conversation every family event he dared to turn up to

his parents unsurprisingly lost any semblance of fondness they had for him, particularly when he showed no signs of academic excellence and instead preferred to spend his day painting, not really having an aim in life like the rest of his cousins. his parents often reminded him that he wasn't as talented as his great great grandmother, which unsurprisingly did little to affect him

(tw parental death) just sort of got used to being there like an unwanted addition, the classic black sheep of the family trudging his way through high school with absolutely no dreams or aspirations until his parents abruptly die when he's seventeen in a car accident

at this point, his pyromania had been cured long ago but his extended family members used it as an excuse to get disinherit him from the lineage like they wanted to all along, leaving him with only his family home and 0 time to grieve

barely managed to graduate high school tbh and worked odd jobs around the town before living in the house alone finally got too much and he packed up to move to seoul, where he continued to be a busybody

busybody meaning he rented out some tiny one bedroom apartment with windows that didn't close properly and picked up every part time job possible, living paycheck to paycheck, painting with shitty 10,000 won paintbrushes in his spare time

decided to move back to mugunghwa a couple of years ago and picked up a job as the full-time (🎉🎉🎉) librarian at the uni! currently living at his family home which he really really hates but when he's not working, spends the day doodling on every surface of his house

sort of regrets letting his family kick him out that easily and he wishes he would've made more of an effort because life for the past nine years has been almost unbearably hard, though he'll never admit it. can't really afford to go back into education but thinks being able to read books for free all day is close enough so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

that's pretty much it up until the fire which he was honestly the luckiest victim of (sorry jisoo 😵‍💫 and gws mina 😵‍💫) didn't know jisoo too well so he isn't affected on a personal level but definitely shaken by the events and the resurgence of fire in his life has left him feeling more antsy than usual. if you ask him about that night, 9/10 chances he'll lie and tell you he doesn't remember anything. the remaining 1/10 is when he ignores your question and tells you your book is overdue

personality wise - someone who's given up is the easiest way to describe him. think early morning cigarettes, the faintest traces of paint smudged across his fingers, a heavily read book with cracks down its spine and yellowing pages, keeping the windows open even when it's raining, the sound of waves crashing against the shore, feeling your hands go numb from the cold

pessimistic beyond words, though that stems more from the events of his life than something innate in him. withdrawn because he's sort of been alone for almost a decade and communicating with others is still new to him though human interaction is something he craves, aloof in the sense that he never seems to be quite here. seems constantly lost in his thoughts but is perceptive and picks up on things melting away into the background, including the group of students who just tried to sneak tteokkbokki into the quiet study room

most of his work hours are spent reading books at the counter or putting returned books back into their places on bookshelves. rarely starts a conversation first. sits on campus during his lunch break and has developed a habit of watching the students live their lives with a vague sense of jealousy, particularly towards the red and green club

sort of just feels stuck in his life. there's nothing propelling him forwards or backwards but instead of admitting that he's hopeless, he tells himself that he should be content with what he has

has probably also eaten every brand of ramen and triangle gimbap so if you want suggestions he's the guy

if you recognise him from high school he will do a terrible job of pretending he's a different yoo minhyuk

#mguintro #sorry this was so long T__T #making it longer by saying i also have a discord if thts easier for people to plot on :^)

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brimbrimbrimbrim · 2 years ago

Note

hi! for the eddie prompts, 27 + 49 + 45 pls uwu

Meshing two requests together on this one, and it's... beefy. I think I managed to squeeze all the prompts into this, but, well, you'll just have to read to find out, I guess. Also, huge thanks to @butterbabyflapjack for her beta skills. <3

💕 The prompt list is HERE for anyone else interested. 💕

Title: The End of the World and the Bed Frame

Words: 7k+

Tags: mutual masturbation, multiple orgasms, vaginal penetration, thigh riding, humping, one bed trope, magical powers, DnD logic, overstimulation, edging, unsafe sex, creampies, slight breeding kink (sorta), smut, dirty talk, fix-it fic, season 4 part 2 spoilers, and lovey-dovey shit <3

Summary: 27. being forced to share a bed and 49. mutual masturbation and 45. bed breaking sex and 31. "Say my name."

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

It’s midnight, according to the shitty, nicotine-stained alarm clock with burnt-out digital numbers and one of those attached quarter vibrators adjacent. Steve and Nancy have been gone for over an hour, and Robin is, as far as you know, on the other side of the motel. Hawkins is smoldering, but you’re both still alive—Eddie especially is still alive.

‘Naw, baby… not gonna make it. Just, tell Henderson he’s got-‘

‘Don’t, Eddie. You’re not dying because of a few stupid fucking bats,’ you snort up tears and snot and watch his eyes shed a few tears—watch his lips bleed another river of blood-lace spit, ‘and… besides, I’m a bard, remember?’

You stare at your finger in the golden light from the floor lamp in the corner, mixed with the blue tinge of Hawkins' night-blue sky. It’s bright with distant fires, casting your digits in an ethereal color that only makes them seem more unnatural. It’s strange to think there’s something within this flesh, these bones, and veins that gave Eddie enough life to haul him back through the gateway. Wild, you think, wiggling your fingers until they just seem like ordinary ones, not magical in the slightest.

“I wonder if the lake house is even standing, what with the portal in Lover’s Lake…”

You’re talking to yourself, not expecting the metal head in bed behind you to respond, though you wonder if he’s worried about the state of his trailer considering the portal on his ceiling…

From the bed, Eddie mumbles, “Only saving grace is my Uncle had to work a double tonight. Pretty sure everything I own is hot lava by now.”

“… Gonna miss the way you looked in that flannel,” you joke, but not really. Something about the stark red beneath his leather jacket turned his brown eyes into deep pools of pyrope.

“Shit was scratchy. Won’t miss it.”

You step away from the long, waist-high window by the motel door, fingers free from the blinds where you’ve been standing the past ten minutes in jittery paranoia. Eddie shifts stiffly back on the sole double bed and changes the channel on the static-heavy television set.

Your eyes roam the destruction of Eddie Munson from a safe distance as he snorts derisively at late-night cable game shows.

It’s been no less than twelve hours since you, Dustin and Eddie pulled yourselves back through the Upside Down into his dilapidated trailer and even less time since the portals dissected Hawkins into volcanic, fiery snot. And, after all that, Eddie’s still a wanted man, and the wounds he suffered thanks to those heavy metal-loving demo bats needed a place to heal. Your fingers throb with the memory of pinching his gashes together… pads pruned from his blood and the vigorous washings between spell-knitting his muscle and fat layers together… then wrapping them up with convenience-store gauze.

He looks like a patchwork mummy, kinda. All laid out in the middle of the bed with his tangled hair a halo around his head. He’s still in his boxers with a pillow over his lap because of side effects, though you’ve already seen… everything when you and Robin had him in the tub, viciously squeezing interdimensional saliva and inflamed poison from his bites in a numb haze. A few of the deepest gouges sit on his chest and sides, covered with gauze and medical tape, lightly stained through, while the rest of him is a tapestry and fresh scabs, raised welts, and plum-yellowing bruises. There’s only so much your powers could fix in a short time, and while you joked about it before, those fucking bats really did a number of him.

Eddie looks like living hell… but he finds something stupid on the television and snorts out a laugh.

“Need anything else from your lunch box?” You ask to fill the loud silence of recent memories.

Eddie turns his head, cheek stuffed in a mess of brown curls fanning the fluffed pillow, and licks his lower lip, “I’m good. I’m… shit doesn’t hurt anymore. But, ya know, like… feel free to help yourself to whatever you want in there. Got some pre-rolls in the pencil case. I think...”

While the offer is tempting, there’s too much tension for grass to cut through—too anxious to enjoy it.

“… umm, thanks, but I’m okay for now. One of us needs to be on alert in case… something happens,” you tell him, tugging close the smokey curtains and double—triple—checking the locks on the thin motel door. It still doesn’t feel all that safe, but Hawkins police have enough on their hands, more than enough to bother wasting precious time hunting down Eddie Munson, who, according to their limited knowledge, may not even be alive.

It was close, though, that whole nearly dying business… too close.

You pick at the fast food baggy on the corner table while the past twenty-four hours finally weigh on your rattled mind. A waft of cheesy oil and stale fries floats out of the paper bag, making your nose wrinkle. Eddie’s already eaten two burgers and slurped down a milkshake, but yours is still sitting there… cold and unappetizing.

“You want my burger, Eddie?”

From the bed, Eddie groans, “Nice try, but you gotta eat, my fair maiden.”

You twist your lips and ignore his well-intentioned response, shaking off the pet name with a rub of your itchy eyes. You can’t handle the Eddie-made butterflies on top of the tension.

“I think… I’d rather shower first; maybe then my appetite’ll return,“ you say, playing with the filth-heavy hem of your Mayhem shirt with a frown. “Will you be okay on your own for a bit? I just need fifteen minutes… maybe twenty, to scrub all this interdimensional crap off.”

Eddie’s gaze darkens over your figure. The elephant in the room becomes apparent as a blotchy blush paints the apples of his cheeks.

“Uh, what about your clothes… Harrington and Wheeler were supposed to bring you back some stuff, weren't they?”

“Yeah, but I’m so fucking itchy. I promise I’ll tightly tie the towel around my dirty pillows for your modesty.”

Hawkins’ most famous hellraiser looks back at the television, not voicing that you’ve seen him, so it’s not a big deal if you’re in a towel for an hour or more. For a moment, you think he’s gonna make a joke, but Eddie just bites his lip and changes the channel with a stiff shrug. “Don’t think you need to worry about that. I’ve seen enough tits in my time… besides, I’m too stoned to think about your boobs.”

You smile because the alternative is screaming.

“Don’t tell me one of those things made you high?”

“Dude, you eat one of those things and try not to pop a boner…”

And, there’s that elephant in the room too, but you're not gonna lose another second over that. Mainly because despite the apocalypse, you can’t stop thinking about crawling between his legs to suck his problem away—mostly, though, aside from that filthy desire, you’re just happy he’s not in any pain, even if hard drugs made you uncomfortable. Always bring with them the childhood trauma and your dependency on downers to get through the anxiety of life as some freak—some terrifying burden…

“Do you need another one?” You ask, crossing your arms, eyes avoiding the pillow over his lap and the redness over his cheeks.

“Naw, but… if you bestow upon me a spliff and a torch, I will stroke… uh, toke… meant to toke like puff… umm, until this thing is gone.”

It physically hurts not to give in and laugh at his blunder—at his awkward Dungeon Master voice that’s way too endearing for the end of the world. It makes more sense for the adrenaline and relief of actually surviving the shit they just went through to give him wood, though you both know that’s not the culprit, but… far be it for you to argue why Eddie getting more stoned might only make his wood problem worse. At any rate, you fish his lighter and a rolled joint out of his tin lunch pail and place both gently on the pillow covering his, as he called it ‘shame.’

“You’re just lucky Nancy got us a smoking room.”

“Yeah, she’s a real angel throwing you in here with me, my boner, and I. At least Harrington wouldn’t be offended by it.”

“… I’m not offended,” you mumble, ignoring the way he fumbles with the joint before shoving it between his teeth, “just wasn’t expecting it to still be hanging around, is all.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie scrapes the light, igniting the flint and taking a hard drag. On the exhale, he continues, “You saved my ass, baby. The last thing you deserved was my Maiden Slayer poking you in the eye.”

“Please tell me you don’t actually call it the Maiden Slayer.”

Eddie grins, still rosy-cheeked with thick smoke curling out the corner of his mouth, “This is what opioids do to me. Pretty charming, huh?”

“Endlessly,” you deadpan, unable to bite down your smile.

You nudge the remote closer to him and tap the dixie cup of water on the bedside table, silently reminding him to drink it while you’re in the shower. He doesn’t nod, but the smile says he’ll do his best—the one that creases beneath his eyes, dimples his cheeks, and makes you wish you’d met his Maiden Slayer before all this.

Once more, you check the locks, ignoring the urge to do it several more times before passing quickly between the bed and the television, all stiff and full of that tension Eddie has sustained, just like he’s sustained that boner you want to drain… but won’t.

Eddie’s eyes follow you like hot coals, but your tummy flutters—all knotted with emotion—and you hurry faster, throwing the door shut behind you.

<><><><>

As soon as she slams the bathroom door, Eddie slides up against the headboard, knocking the pillow off his lap to shove all five fingers in the elastic band of his boxers. The lighter clatters to the carpet, an irrelevant concern while he juggles his cock and balls with the wet roach smoldering in his mouth. His eyes hang on the door, swallowing fuzzy nerves, and he gives his aching cock a rough stroke, lashes fluttering at that first sweet hit of relief. He’s been stiff for the past hour, trying his fucking hardest to think about Upside Down slugs and bad grades to bid it back down, but the fair maiden’s touch still burns all over, and any inhibitions are gone with Eddie’s humble rock god origins. He put on the most metal show ever, survived the typhoon of demo bats, and got a slightly unsexy scrub bath from his one and only true savior, the party’s bard. Without her and those superpowers, he’d be demon guano by now…

“Goddamnitt… that’s fucking good.” Eddie holds in a whimper, eyes rolling back as he squeeze-jerks off his base until blood swells in his tip. Fuck… that’s it… only be better if she was doing it… if she was wrapped around him, seesawing in his lap like she wants him…

The vicodin gave him a juicy sense of relief, but it’s her magic fingers that have Eddie rock hard, and the fact that she knows it… and still doesn’t seem to mind sharing the room? Shit… Honestly, Eddie’s not sure how sold he is on the idea… of being stuck in a room with her—the heavy metal queen of his dreams— which has only fed his fantasies—helped the side effects of her healing spell flourish into the rock-hard erection throbbing in his fist.

Eddie hasn’t stopped thinking about what might happen tonight when it’s time to share this bed, and… maybe she has a nightmare? Needs comforting? And then one thing leads to another where Eddie spreads his mouth over her pussy, eating her out like tonguing cream out of a twinkie. She’ll squirm against his lips and moan loud enough to reach across the motel, fists full of his hair, while she tells him how good he is…

‘H-how do you eat pussy so well, Eddie? Oh, my god!’

“… shit,” Eddie exhales, picturing it in that wispy detail only afforded by combined drugs.

He moans low under his breath and reaches down his other hand to double-fist his cock until he can just pretend the all-encompassing grip is her—her mouth or her wet, eager pussy. It usually takes two joints to make his own callused hand feels this good… but, fuck… there’s something heady about surviving the performance of a lifetime and getting undressed by the hottest chick alive, even if it was to save his sorry ass from bleeding to death.

With his tongue between his lips, still glaring at the bathroom door, Eddie beats off until his eyes roll back in his head and carefully, silently, starts thrusting his hips into the tube he’s made of his palms… chasing his peak like it’ll be his last nut as a free man.

Well, maybe not silently… it’s hard to bite down a breathy moan here and there, especially when he remembers how her fingers had lingered on his neck, tracing the welt there from one of those razor whip tails… or how she blushed when they both had to work at the second skin of his bloodied jeans, soaking him in six inches of bath water to loosen it all, and then… see her eyes widen coming face to face with the wild, dark curls matted with sweat and blood around his dick.

“… fuck me, baby,” Eddie whispers, barely above an audible octave, “Yeah… that’s it—that’s it. Fuck, you feel so good… so good to me, always.”

His eyes are squeezed shut now, fingers threaded together, palms mashed at the heel, hip slapping his cock between the narrow funnel faster.

She’s in his lap, panties hooked to the side, exposing sweet, slippery pussy lips as they hug and glide over his shaft, raw humping it into his stomach. Eddie’s handcuffed to the bed, dunno why; he’s watching helplessly as his cockhead pops beneath her clit over and over and over… he takes it with a toothy grimace, watching her bare tits bounce… perfectly suckable nipples all hard and stiff beneath the sweat shining over her skin…

‘That’s it, Eddie… feels good, doesn’t it? Fuck, after everything you did—that fucking guitar solo—you deserve this.’

“I… ah, deserve this…” He says aloud, feeling his balls pull taut, swollen with a thick load. Everything is getting tighter—the pressure building up.

The damp slap of skin pulses in his ears with the gentle drum of his heartbeat, giving himself over to the all-consuming need in the hopes that he can squeeze one out before his fair maiden returns. At this rate, he just needs a minute or two. Just a bit, and maybe forty-five more seconds.

“S-so close… fuck… fuck, baby. Just a little… more…”

Her fingers dance around the engorged cap of his cock, sweeping all that sweet-scented pussy juice around with her touch, oiling him up to lift, hover, and slide down on his thick shaft. He struggles against the cuffs, arching up, shivering against his bondage as her body swallows him whole. She’s about to crush her ass in his lap—about to bottom out on him, and then-

The bathroom door clicks, and Eddie bites the tip of his tongue hard enough to taste iron. The hinges squeak, releasing a font of motel-soap-scented steam as he scrambles to grab that pillow and stamp it down over his red-raw dick. It twitches meanly… so close… fuck, he was so fucking close.

She steps out in a damp threadbare towel that leaves little to Eddie's well-crafted imagination, and his dick bounces beneath the pillow, weeping precum in a warm sticky stain against his stomach. This is hell… the worst thing since the Upside Down, and yet Eddie’s heart is racing not because he’s about to die but because no one’s ever given him blue balls like she has… right now. Still, if a black hole could open up and swallow him whole, that’d be totally cool.

“You still doing okay there, Eddie?” The fair maiden asks, rubbing a tiny washcloth against the wet tangles on the back of her neck. She’s so soft and dewy looking after that shower, like some ripe stone fruit with the fuzz that’ll just drip sweet syrup down his chin if he takes a bite.

“Good. Good. Yeah. Why, uh… why wouldn’t I be good?”

She gives him an incredulous look and drops the washcloth to the bed, “Well, aside from being mauled by interdimensional bat monsters, you’re also a bit flushed… like you’ve got a…” her eyes widen a bit, “a fever…”

Before Eddie can lurch away in a panic—pillow still white-knuckled in his fingers—she pushes the back of her hand to his damp forehead. Her tits strain against the fragile-looking towel knotted at their center, only further pushing the water-soft globes into his hungry gaze. Really, Eddie berates himself weakly; there’s no time for this shit. Then again… there’s nothing else for them to do but wait and recover… might be the perfect time to just lay back and drool over her for once.

Eddie’s eyes dart up to her face when his dick twitches meanly under the pillow, straining for something it can’t have.

Relief washes over her pinched features to find him clammy under her touch, not burning up. “Sorry, I just… Steve didn’t show any signs of infection or anything either, but I wanted to make sure. I can work my magic fingers on the physical stuff, but… but I dunno about the other stuff, ya know.”

“Sure,” Eddie nods, stiff in more places than one.

She can tell he’s uncomfortable, not like she’s stupid or naive. Her eyes drop down to her towel, gaze drifting nervously to the television set where the static is heavy over some talk show host presenting a line of expensive washing machines to the contestants. The fair maiden's fingers go to the knot between her breasts and fiddles there for a moment.

And then she releases the cotton tuck, exposing every water-soft inch of naked skin like unwrapping the only present Eddie ever needs. Her eyes glimmer with promise, roaming over his battered chest to land on the offending pillow in his lap. She tugs it away, revealing his painful erection, only to cuddle up close… right between his legs… and part her lips to-

“This is pretty badly scripted, huh?”

Eddie blinks away his fantasy and glances at the fuzzy set with a swallow. “Late night TV? What’s to be clever about?”

“No,” she glances down at him with a tight smile, “I meant this. Like, you and me, late at night… world’s ending as we know it, and I’m in a towel, and you’ve got a…” the word boner hangs in the air, “unless you don’t have it anymore.”

His eyes must widen, or his pupils blow out, or maybe he blushes so hard it's numb on his cheeks cause she chuckles, tits jiggling soft beneath the towel now clutched in her hand. Eddie’s dick pounds with blood, trying to burn through the cheap cotton pillow to say hello, but he pushes down on the plush fucker and takes a deep breath, “No. I’ve… definitely still got it.”

“You think it’s a side effect of-”

“Pills,” Eddie blurts out randomly, “… yeah, maybe.”

“No, not the pain pills,” she shakes her head and sits down on the bed, legs folded underneath her. There’s an enchanted pathway leading up her smooth, thick thighs that goes straight to what Eddie knows is her bare pussy, but the shadows from the hem of the towel hide her from view… also, he shouldn’t be staring. Not the time to be a fucking perv…

The fair maiden wiggles her fingers between them, looking at the pruney tips with a raised brow, “I kinda noticed it first in the RV when you had that headache—the one from being stuffed under the console when Steve got pulled over.”

Eddie nods—dick starting to drool—remembering the splitting migraine that sent him into the back of the RV, all the lights off, clutching his skull with every rock of the clumsy vehicle.

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you had an… erection after I got rid of it for you. It was dark and all, but you bumped against me when Steve took that turn, and-and I felt it.”

Where’s the hole Eddie prayed for earlier? He doesn’t want to be here with a raging hardon hiding under this pillow—a boner he was beating off with her on his mind five minutes ago.

“... and then in the bath, when I cleaning you up, trying to use the powers to knit together the worst stuff, I noticed you… well, get hard,” she pauses, glancing at the pillow in his fists with a frown, “and it looks like you’re still dealing with it. Unless… you took care of it while I was in the shower?”

Eddie shuts his eyes, feeling the humiliation reach a zenith before imploding into a mild form of acceptance. Granted, he’d rather be here, in bed with a hard dick, alive and well, than being feasted on by flying vermin in the Upside Down, but she’s got a way of talking about embarrassing things that could put a guidance counselor to shame.

Finally, letting up on the pillow, at least enough to get blood back into his fingers, Eddie shakes his head and wills himself to just relax—just fucking chill.

“Oh, I thought… sorry, I should have just taken my sweet ass time in there for you.”

A really sweet ass and perfectly soft, supple tits…

Not even the weed swimming in his head helps when the fair maiden scoots a little closer, dropping a hand on his bare shoulder, just above a patch of medical tape and gauze. “I can totally understand needing to release all this tension, even if it wasn’t my fault… we’ve all been through so much, it’s like… human nature to wanna-”

“You wanna release it too?” Eddie’s not sure where it comes from, but there’s no taking it back now. He peeks up at her through frizzy, unconditioned bangs. She's got an adorable dusting across her cheeks and nose, and that in and of itself is a fucking relief.

“... maybe,” she mutters, pulling her palm off his shoulder, nails dragging deliciously across his skin.

“Well, fuck,” Eddie curses, tapping a nervous melody into the pillow with his fingers, scratching calluses through the abrasive pillowcase, “how are you supposed to do it? Cause someone wise told me I wasn’t allowed to leave this bed until morning.”

“Umm,” her eyes skirt around the room, avoiding Eddie’s like they’ll turn her to stone, “... I was gonna wait until you were asleep and just be really quiet and slow about it.”

The visual of the fair maiden laying in bed next to him while he snored on his back, rubbing herself under the towel—beneath the sheets—maybe teasing her tits with desperate little pinches, biting her lip… trying so hard to not rock the mattress or make a sound. The thought makes Eddie groan, covering it up with a wince as he shifts up against the headboard a bit. Her hand shoots out, skimming his chest with light pressure, trying to keep him from moving too fast… even though Eddie feels fine… all boner-throbbing aside.

“Here’s an idea,” Eddie says carefully, looking up into her beautiful, lash-heavy eyes filled with some unnamed emotion he hopes runs in line with the beating of his heart, “we both close our eyes, settle down and just… release the tension. Doesn’t have to be a big thing, right?” He gives her his Munson grin, hoping it looks convincing despite how his pulse quickens, worried he just fucked shit up thanks to a fake sense of confidence from the vicodin and the joint… and about two hours' worth of stifled brain activity thanks to his blood-lodged cock.

In the silence, all Eddie can hear is the television static and his own heart in his ears.

After an eon of waiting, the fair maiden bites her lip and nods, “Okay… I mean, only if you’re okay with it.”

Holy shit, she said yes.

Eddie almost tosses the pillow across the room without thinking, half-shouting a frantic, “Yes!” then floundering when she smiles coyly, “I mean, yeah… totally okay with it. Eyes closed. Human nature, and nothing weird.”

“Right…” she agrees, still smiling, “just two friends, releasing tension next to each other… in bed… alone… totally fine.”

Fuck. What did he just fucking agree to??

<><><><>

A few minutes of settling in and getting comfortable lands you in bed beside Eddie, who still has that pillow on his lap. The bath towel rides high, allowing some chilly motel air beneath where it licks at the hot moisture cuddled between your inner thighs. Your heart is racing happily, excited and lusty as Eddie slides back down the headboard, thick, messy curls pillowing his head as he exhales dramatically.

“Ready?” Eddie asks beside you.

Your pussy throbs, suddenly one of the only things on your mind despite the distant sirens racing down the highway adjacent to the motel. Suddenly, you feel like you’re basking in an oasis in the middle of chaos. Nothing can hurt him anymore, at least not right now… not as long as you can keep him in bed until your magical touch has finished healing the wounds littering his body. And, you’re fine too… both safe and sound, too.

You lower your lashes, recall his shredded, punctured state in the bathtub, right before you caught sight of his cock rising with blood—before terror was replaced with an ache—and cup your stomach.

“Yeah,” you breathe, taking in some air, filling your lungs, then slowly… you close your eyes, “… ready.”

Eddie hums in the back of his throat. Everything is amplified with your eyes shut, especially the slinky shift of the pillow against his skin—against his cock—as he moves it aside. Only when your ears pick up the ragged sound of his breathing and the soft, near-silent palm slide around his dick do you dare draw the thin cotton towel over your hips. As you wiggle into a comfortable position, the bed springs whine. You open your thighs in inching increments, listening intently as Eddie’s hand works himself over a little faster…

“... are you… doing it… right now?” you ask, whispering, knowing he is but wanting to hear him confirm it.

“Mmhm,” Eddie sighs, releasing a throaty groan, “I couldn’t hah… wait any longer.”

Suddenly, the near-soundless drag of skin—rhythmic and dry—goes slick…

You bite your lip, listening, imaging the rough pads of his fingers swiping precum off his weeping slit, lathering it into his shaft, squeeze-tugging up and down, wringing blood into the swollen head that’s perfectly flared and rounded... if only you could look, just a single peek…

As you take it in—the hazy fantasy behind your eyelids, the subtle shift of the mattress, and the sounds (fuck… those airy, desperate sounds)—your fingers reach down and inward, pressing a single finger to the drenched folds just beneath your clit.

You whimper in your personal darkness as gentle heat roars to life in your tummy, doused in gasoline. Eddie responds with a loud, uninhibited groan, as if he’s listening just as intently as you.

Beside you, the bed dips. He’s moved closer, you think, as if he’s turned his head to the side, facing you while his pace quickened… while he jerks off in the same bed, only inches away. Hot breath fans against the side of your face to prove your assumption, seeping into your whole body as a warm shiver.

“W-what,” Eddie pants, more heat flooding down your dewy neck and shoulder, “... what about you? Are you touching yourself yet?”

You nod, worrying your lip, realizing after a few swipes up and down your drooling slit that he can’t see.

“… yes,” you exhale, feeling a pulsing thrill when he nearly growls.

It’s obscene how wet you are now, feeling the outpour of desire dripping to the bedsheets.

With a whimper lodged in your throat, you turn your head towards him, eyes squeezed shut and open one thigh until your calf slides off the edge of the bed, exposing the entirety of your soaked pussy to the chilly air.

Elbow shaking, heart racing, you twist your wrist and rub two fingers along your clit in firm, uneven strokes.

“Mnn... fuck,” you whine, a burst of pleasure blossoming thickly. You drop your chin to your shoulder as Eddie whimpers like he did in the tub, back when you had a washcloth scrubbing clean all those open wounds. You see him behind your eyes again, covered in brown-stained gauze, fisting his cherry-tipped cock while turned towards you, lips just as swollen from raking his teeth over every other groan—grunting hot and loud.

Suddenly, the bed springs whine beneath you, your body nearly rolling into the middle as Eddie bucks up. The mattress bounces, your elbow bumps some hot swath of Eddie’s naked skin, and your eyes just… snap open.

Dark, doe-like orbs stare back at you.

“Eh-eddie!” You gasp.

His eyes are wide open and glassy. His mouth is just as red as you imagined, tongue pressing to the back of his teeth as he breathes through a slack mouth… a little line of drool shining down his chin.

“You-you…” you gasp, sliding a single finger inside the slippery, snug heat between your thighs, “... you weren’t supposed to-“

“Neither were you,” he cuts you off, teeth denting his lower lip.

Your eyes waver in his, then dip downward, tracing the chords protruding around his adam’s apple, the tension in his shoulders and the undulating muscles of his chest and stomach and… and…

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie… that looks-”

“Y-yeah, been edging myself this whole time… I was literally about to ruin these sheets before you… shit,” he groans, lashes fluttering and hips jerking that hard, abused cock into his fist, “… shit. I…” he trails off, big browns sliding over your body, pupils blotting out the woody hue at the sight of your finger crooking inside your soaked hole, making an obscene slurping noise that has you both blushing.

“F-fuck-” he curses, swallowing a whine, “you’re fucking wet… aren’t you?”

His palm tightens around the base of his cock, making the whole thing surge with blood, beating veins bulging in little curls towards the bulbous head. A tiny bead of precum wells along the tip and then slides all gentle-like down the rim of his cockhead. It’s… the most erotic thing you’ve ever seen, and you’ve watched plenty of beaded-curtain tapes from the comfort of your living room… the nasty red-label stuff, though none of that has ever had you finger fucking yourself so furiously.

“Do… would you like to,” you pause, tugging your hand from between your thighs to place on the bed between you and Eddie, “… I mean… what I meant to say—to ask is…”

You trail off when Eddie gives his cock a slow, almost lazy stroke from base to tip, his hooded, heated orbs running over the loose knot between your breasts. He looks like he wants to rip the towel away and smother himself between them, and honestly… you’re far from opposed to the idea. But, you need to be sure because as sober as he looks, he’s taken pills and smoked a joint and-

“Can I kiss you?” Eddie asks, all smokey and quiet.

You nod shakily, holding your breath as Eddie lifts himself on an elbow, his wild mop of hair falling over his shoulders until his nose is an inch from yours, fist still strangling his dick. His hot breath rushes down your chin, tickling the tops of your breasts, and with a raw-lipped smile, Eddie leans in and gives you the most tender, softest kiss of your life.

… and almost immediately, you want more.

With a sharp inhale, you cup the back of his neck, fingers threading through fluffy curls, and draw him closer. You lean in, lips slanted, and give his lower lip a swipe of your tongue. Eddie groans, opening up, taking another hot lick against his teeth… and another over the slick tip of his own, then you’re on your back, smothered in naked body heat as Eddie smacks his lips wetly over yours. It’s messy—sloppy—and unforgettable. The motel room echoes with the gentle slide of bedsheets and the damp seal and click of your shared kiss. You break away once your head starts pounding with needed air, gasping and shuddering beneath a smoldering trail of wet kisses that Eddie lavishes down your chin and jaw… until he’s sucking at that sweet spot beneath your ear.

“You… oh, my god,” you hitch, eyes rolling back as his lips seal over your pulse, pulling blood to the surface with a throaty groan, “… you really shouldn’t be moving around s-so much.”

Eddie releases your neck with a pop, lips sliding down to the tops of your tits, “Oh, yeah? And what are you gonna do about it? Hmm?”

He kisses the swell of one breast, smirking, “Come on, baby… can’t seriously think I’m gonna miss this opportunity. Shit, not when you’re rubbing your pussy against me like this.”

W-what? When did you…

Your hips still against his planted thigh, a flush filling your cheeks. The immediate loss of that rhythmic rowing pleasure against your swollen clit leaves you trembling beneath him. When had you started doing that?

Eddie shakes his head, hair tickling beneath your chin as his breathing comes like summer against your cleavage, “No, no, no… don’t stop. Please, I got you.”

He presses his thigh against your soaked core, thrusting and grinding firmly to return all that lovely bliss ten-fold, “Shit… how’re you so fucking wet?”

“D-damnitt, Eddie,” you whine, nails scraping against his scalpl, hand gripping his shoulder and both thighs pinching his, “... you’re gonna open up your-ah!” The towel comes loose between you, exposing a tight nipple to the naked skin of his bicep beneath the plastic adhesive of medical tape. It sends a tremor down your belly, right into the slippery beaded nerve rubbing against Eddie’s thigh.

“T-too much… it’s too much. I’m gonna-“ you gasp, already on the precipice of that cliff face while the world burns.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie susurrates, tongue spearing between your free bouncing breasts, “... that’s it. I got you, just like you got me. Y-yeah… fuck, cum for me.”

Sticky heat tightens in your tummy. Another moan shivers between your lips, and… clutching yourself to Hawkins’ infamous metal head, you arch and hump yourself into a dense orgasm right there… right against him… All that tension from the past twenty-four hours—no, longer than that… since you saw him on your front porch, needing a place to hide, looking like some water-logged puppy dog—all that prolonged tension just fucking melts.

<><><><>

When she cums, it’s hotter than any weed-assisted fantasy Eddie’s vivid imagination could conjure, and he’s never been lacking in visualization skills, nearly been a curse… until D&D and her and Jesus fucking Christ she’s still shaking against his thigh, dripping moisture into the divot where his knee dents the mattress. Those blotchy-blushed cheeks deepen as her tongue wets her lips, eyes barely open. She’s never looked so serene; all the worry in her face smoothed to nothing. He can’t help but growl, almost monstrous, as her nails dig into his skin, working herself through the last licks of her orgasm on top of his fucking thigh like she needs every drop of pleasure… and Eddie’s more than happy to give it to her.

Who would have thought he’d have such an effect on the fair maiden, enough to get her cumming just from a bit of skin-on-skin grinding?

“That feel better?” He asks, sliding his knee across the sheets, shoving the damp surface of his thigh hard against her cunt, nearly getting off on the muffled whine it gets him.

“Mmph’hm,” she bites her lower lip and nods, tears edging her lashes, “... b-but what about you?”

“What about it?” Eddie shrugs, nuzzling his nose up her chest against her throat, and presses his face into the crook where she’s bleeding heat and a salty layer of clean sweat against his lips. Yeah, his dick is throbbing, leaking like a busted pipe into the scratchy cotton towel still wrapped around her hips, but he doesn’t wanna push his luck, not when she’s so clearly fucked out and tender and-

“Dude,” she scoffs, all busted and breathy, “... this all started because you’ve had that thing burning a hole through your boxers for hours.”

Eddie chuckles and gives her neck a soft kiss before locking his elbows, hovering over the state of her. She’s all soft tits with stiff nipples, crumpled cotton, a cute tummy with wide hips, and… Eddie’s dick twitches at the sight of her pretty, little pussy all sticky and inflamed from cumming on him. Alright, so he might die of blood loss if he doesn’t drain the Maiden Slayer soon.

Without thinking, Eddie says the first thing on his mind, “Can I eat you out? I mean, I’ve only done it a couple times before, but I’m a fast learner when It counts… and I promise, a few thrusts against this shitty mattress, and I’ll cum without you having to worry about-”

“Eddie,” she says so sweetly it almost tears his heart out, “why don’t you lay back, relax and let me ride you.”

For a long moment, Eddie wonders if he heard her right. She just looks up at him, waiting, carefully detangling the knots in his hair one-handed as his eyebrows slowly rise up into the tension lines of his forehead. Say what now?

“Wait. Did you just-” Eddie gulps, feeling like he’s sixteen again at a show about to lose his virginity in the bathrooms. “You wanna ride me? Like, sit on my dick with your-”

“Stop thinking, Eddie,” she whispers, pressing against the middle of his chest, shifting to her side until he follows her, falling back on his shoulder and then rolling to his back. His heart’s beating a fucking tattoo in his chest, hammering hard as the fair maiden swings a leg over his hips. Holy fucking shit… holy shit…

“Holy fuck,” he wheezes, hands hovering around her until they start shaking, and he can’t help but grip the give of her ass—squeezing the soft swell of her hip where it creases into the top of her thigh. Fuck, how’s she so fucking perfect? Maybe he didn’t really make it… perhaps he’s dead…

“Umm, what about babies and shit?” Eddie says smoothly, nearly cumming the second she lays that burning hot slice of heaven over the underside of his cock, pinning it to his tight stomach with a wet churn.

“I don’t care… the world might end tomorrow.”

“Fuck, fuck… okay. Shit, you know I’m not gonna last long,” he sucks his teeth in a hiss as she thrusts over him, lathering his dick up in slick so molten it’s akin to the fissures dissecting Hawkins, “... like, three strokes and… I’m done for.”

The fair maiden smirks, shifts her hips and rises to her knees.

She hums Master of Puppets like it’s his own personal anthem, picking his soaked cock off his stomach and sliding his puffy, raw head through her folds. Eddie grunts, feeling the cuddle of her burning center start to suck him in. His fingers curl into her, tugging desperately—yanking her down until he’s letting out a long, pathetic moan as he’s encased in the hottest, tightest pussy he’s ever tasted. Fuck, taste… he can’t wait to go down on her… maybe tonight… when she’s done fucking his brains out. Just, Eddie wants to motorboat her cunt until he’s bathed in it, munching down with lips, tongue, and teeth… finger fucking her drunk.

“… fuuuck-fuck… that’s… that’s fucking tight. Fucking shit,” Eddie feels his legs start to shake, her pussy sinking down and down until those delicate folds are stretched taut around his cock, nestling in the matted curls at the base, “... fuck me. I’m-I’m gonna cum.”

He makes it precisely three seesaws of her hips in before shoving his head back into the pillow, throwing his chin up, and biting his teeth through a lighting strike of liquid hot pleasure. His balls tighten, hugging against his body, sending lava shots through him and into the fair fucking maiden gyrating on him. She doesn’t stop either, just places her palms on his tattered chest, leans in with tickling fingers, and fucks her creamy pussy in his lap, slurping up his cock while injecting that dizzying spell of hers into his soul. Suddenly, Eddie can breathe into every capillary of his lungs—can feel the scabby bite wounds knit together—can count his pulse in his cock as it recharges with rich blood.

Eddie’s moans come in sequence with her thrashing hips. Choking grunts and hisses shoot out of him as the bed springs squeak. He readjusts his grip around her waist, digs his calluses in hard, rings branding her skin and brings her down with every cant of her hips.

“Th-this okay, Eddie?”

The way she says his name… holy shit, better than his most perverted dreams.

“Fuck me, yes-yes. Keep going,” Eddie whimpers, half-begging as her tits blur over her ribs, bouncing so fast he can barely keep up.

“You want me to fuck you until you can’t get outta this bed…” she pauses to bite her lip and whine under the battering of his dick, “fuck… uh’until you can’t move… not unless I let you?”

“Yes-ye’hesss… harder,” he pants, “Fuck!”

He’s snorting out sounds now, fucking up into her as she slashes back and forth—his fists tight, slamming her down. And the fair maiden does just as he asks; she fucks him faster, harder, swallowing his dick up until he can feel the spongey patch nestled deep, just below her cervix.

She yelps, sobs and keeps going.

“Y-you’re killing me,” and to prove his point, her pussy does this wild dance around his cock, just… strangling it until he feels like a melted icecream cone, “... baby-f’f’fuck!”

“I’m,” the fair maiden pants with a bright, sweaty smile, “bringing you back to life,” she giggles, breathy, tits jiggling—hypnotizing—and rides him all the harder, “gonna fix everything.”

Eddie nods until his chin aches against his sternum, finding himself saying nonsensical shit like prayers and how he wants to give her his babies (wild, pussy-drunk talk), grabbing at her tits as the bed creaks. The headboard starts slamming the wall. Eddie watches, mesmerized as the fair maiden leans forward, holding the noisy panel of wood, using it as leverage to row her pussy… everything going impossibly wet and tight like she’s… oh fuck…

“Fuck, you gonna cum again?!” Please, please…

She’s nodding, tearing up, eyes watching him with her brows upturned.

“Say my name… a’hah!—w-when you cum. Sounds so fucking hot…”

Eddie squeezes her breasts, flicks his thumbs over her nipples, and shivers as her pussy contracts sharply. The first gasp of his name ignites a tight, tug of heat.

“Eddie… fuck, just like that, Eddie!” Frantic energy bursts in her movement, fucking herself on his cock until wood cracks—his eyes snap open, both sharing a worried look but never stopping, not even when the support panel, or whatevers under the mattress, breaks, snapping the shitty motel frame right down the fucking middle.

Shit!

“Eddie!”

Eddie grapples her waist, keeping her from rolling off while her palms white knuckle the headboard, and… just when he thinks the mood’s ruined and they’re gonna burst into awkward laughter, that hot, suckling heat around his cock turns into a fucking vice. He hisses, bangs plastered to his sweaty forehead and bucks up, yanking her down, fucking her through the convulsions of another orgasm until he’s unloading into the sweetest, hottest metal babe of his dreams for a second, mind-melting time.

Like… this one’s world ending; fireworks behind his eyes, Metallica riffing in his brain kinda orgasm that blots out the chaotic knocking on the motel door.

“Hmm?”

Eddie’s ears still ring when the fair maiden pulls herself off his dick, unplugging a dense load of creamy, hot cum to ooze down his slippery, red dick. He blinks, releasing her with a whine as she crawls over the bed. The way her ass jiggles makes his brows shoot up, just… taking in the view with his tongue between his lips and his dick twitching happily.

“Uh, not that I’m complaining, but,” Eddie stretches out, feeling all those leftover bruises and scrapes from the demo bats pull against his skin, “... where’re you going?”

“The door, dude!”

Suddenly, Eddie hears the knocking and the sound of Harrington shouting through the thin wood, ‘Come on guys, it's a madhouse out here, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Let’s go!’

‘Hellooo?’ comes Henderson’s egotistical singsong, ‘Eddie… you both awake in there?’

“Henderson…” Eddie groans, then bolts upright as the fair maiden reaches the door in herbirthday suite and nothing else. Eddie shouts, stumbling up in the broken bed and waves his hands dramatically as she starts on the locks, “Towel! Holy shit, baby! Fucking towel.”

“Huh?!” She turns around, stark naked, wearing a few hickeys, finger marks on her waist and hips, and a long shiny line of cum between her inner thighs. For a second, she blinks in confusion, then drops her eyes down her body with a blush.

“Woah… I nearly open the-“ she points a thumb at the rattling door where Harrington is banging in frustration, “-and he would have… and Dustin… eww…“

Eddie bites his tongue.

‘I swear if you two are cooked out of your minds I’m gonna be… so… just… open the door!’

They both share a ‘holy shit’ kinda look and burst out laughing. Behind the door, Harrington grumbles.

‘It’s not funny, guys!’ then lower, muffled, he adds, ‘Dustin, tell them it’s not funny, man.’

‘I dunno, it sounds pretty funny. Kinda sounds like they’re having a great time, and I’m stuck with you, Mom of the Year, over here.’

The fair maiden sputters, trying to cover her laugh, only for Eddie to rise up on his knees, his bare, semi-hard, and thoroughly fucked dick on display while putting his hands on his hips in a very Harrington-like impersonation. It gets her laughing out loud again—gets Harrington knocking on the door and gets Eddie a bag of fast food thrown in his face. He falls back on the bed with a wide grin, the mattress sagging sadly beneath him. Everything feels fantastic; even the sweaty, musty sheets are like rich cotton as he rolls himself up in them while watching his fair maiden pull that stained towel around herself, looking flushed and fucked and happy as hell.

Course, Harrington doesn’t seem too amused when she finally opens the door, and the smell of sex hits the man square in the face.

“Seriously? Two hours… you guys couldn’t act like adults for two hours?!”

“Define adult, Harrington,” Eddie pokes his tongue out while the fair maiden pinches her lips to hold in whatever’s on her tongue.

Henderson curls his nose up, tossing a duffel bag into the room with a frown, “What’s that weird smell.”

Harrington points at the both of them, “Don’t answer that.” His eyes roam over the state of the room, hands on his hips like a true soccer mom and balks at the leaning mattress and rumbles sheets, “Wait… what the hell happened to the bed?!”

You can find me on AO3 and you can read my huge Eddie Munson/Reader fic Fortune Teller too. If ya want. <3

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ialwaysknewyouwerepunk · 3 years ago

Text

sign of the times - a close reading

hello, friends, here i am again <3 here's some more heartbreak. i swear it's not my fault, it's their fucking writing.

i give the same disclaimer below, but: this song is so layered, meaningful, beautifully vague and bursting with symbolism that it might hit every single person hearing it differently, so please just take this post as one of those people listening expressing their opinion and that's that. if it doesn't fit what you feel it's about, i am never anyone to tell you it's wrong. hell, you might think this is a load of crap and that's also fine (just don't come tell me tho, pls).

alright. make sure to imagine me hugging you tight after this <3

LYRIC ANALYSIS

Just stop your crying, it's a sign of the times

"it is what it is"

who is harry soothing?

what someone is crying about is a result of circumstance, of "the times"

～ "young man, hush your crying", coacoac

～ "stop crying your heart out", oasis

Welcome to the final show

last judgment vibes

～ "he's in the best-selling show" (life on mars)

Hope you're wearing your best clothes

cynical tone - if this is directed at the person he's soothing, it's with a bitterness of "pull yourself together bc there's no other option" (or "let's dress up to see the downfall of who/what's making us cry"?)

dressed up for your coffin? we're at a funeral? whose, then? a victim of the sign of the times, or someone who took advantage of the times? (-> someone firing the bullets?)

false exterior to trick ppl into thinking you're good; it's a bribe, but ->

You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky

at the end of the day you can't fake who you are

"sky" or heaven's gates?

You look pretty good down here But you ain't really good

on earth you can manipulate and lie (and even be very successful doing so), but in the end it comes out (could be seen as religious or not)

who is "you" in this first verse???

"you ain't really good": is it harry's opinion, or are they the words of others, who might think this about people like him, that they don't get into heaven because of who they are inside? who don't pass the door on the way to the sky?

or is this harry telling "you" "i know who you are deep down. you're a bastard that keeps shooting at me and the people i love"

We never learn, we been here before

-> does "we" include "you" from v1?

self-blame, despite being the victim

"here"? getting into shit? getting into a fight?

Why are we always stuck and running from the/YOUR bullets?

why are "we" being shot at/down?

harry doesn't even know why it keeps happening - "why?" - there is no preventable reason - "we're just being and it costs us"

"your bullets" - the bullets "you" from v1 is firing at them

Just stop your crying, it's a sign of the times We gotta get away from here

"here": the situation? earth?

Just stop your crying, it'll be alright They told me that the end is near We gotta get away from here

it'll be alright ⟷ "the end is near"?

the end of what? life on earth? "you" from v1's life/role in their lives? the situation they're in?

who is "they"? are these helping voices or not?

Just stop your crying, have the time of your life Breaking through the atmosphere

echoes of queen (i want to break free), elton john (rocket man), david bowie (is there life on mars?)

"breaking through" or breaking free? breaking through the glass ceiling?

～ "can't get through the glass", coacoac

And things are pretty good from here

looking down, distant, then it all seems "pretty good"

sarcasm

Remember everything will be alright We can meet again somewhere Somewhere far away from here

we can leave. "i would give up everything"

we'll always meet again, no matter what. we're soulmates

We don't talk enough, we should open up

theme of (bad) communication: all over h (and l)'s music

we (people in our community who are treated like shit, in the industry specifically) should open up in general: let people know what we're going through

Before it's all too much

we've got to stick together and open up, or we have nothing

before it ruins/kills us - the distance between us, the issues that surround us that somehow get in between - but we can prevent that by talking (～ "we're all in this together", coacoac)

Will we ever learn? We've been here before

learn how to talk? learn not to get fooled? not to get shot at?

～ "we keep taking turns, will we ever learn?", spaces

It's just what we know

"i can't change"

～ "been this way forever", coacoac

We got to get away

SYNTHESIS

This vague masterpiece of a song that has become a staple in Harry's catalog can be twisted and turned in many directions that suit the interpreter. I'll offer my two cents here, but please, if you have another interpretation that suits your heart, don't let these break that image. It's the beauty of art, anyway, that we can take something someone's made and make it our own. So, without further ado, some readings:

In one way, I interpret this song as Harry talking to someone like him, his partner, or even his younger self. The person has passed away and Harry is speaking from the same realm, so I imagine him in that in-between as well. Harry's encouraging the other to stop mourning and fly high, away from earth, where they were treated so badly (as queer people). It's a dream as a song, an escape from a reality where Harry's being shot down, so he'd rather close his eyes and imagine floating away, far from the place where he always seems to get into the same shit, where things will never seem to change. (The mv fits this pov, imo).

In another way, this song can be about loved ones fighting, especially the chorus and the bridge. They're stuck in a place where their love just can't work out, due to circumstance or timing, and they can't seem to figure it out. So Harry dreams, again, wistfully, of an alternate universe where they'd fly off to and be at peace.

Yet another interpretation can be that the first verse is directed towards someone in Harry's life that's a liar and a cheat, someone with a good image but a bad character, whose funeral Harry is imagining. They won't get past the doors to heaven, though, because Harry knows how full of shit they were on earth. This version of events only fits if you see the "you" in the other verses as someone else, though, in my opinion. (Which can perfectly be the case, of course.) (But the fucking "your bullets" really makes my eye twitch to this view yk yk.)

The way I personally interpret this song is a mix of all of these things.

It's Harry soothing someone/himself for very real bad shit that's been actively done to him and people like him. It's him projecting the world (or the times)'s hate onto himself, how he might pretend to be something else all he wants (play/force himself to be straight), but at the end of the day, you can't change/hide who you are inside. It's that hurt and guilt encapsulated in the experience of being rejected for what you are, that internalised homophobia.

It's Harry being cynical about it, though, with the sarcasm dripping off the opening line alone. He's not the crying victim (anymore).

It's Harry yelling from the top of his lungs that people are shooting at him and the people who are with him.

It's Harry saying the times are so fucked and won't seem to change anytime soon, and there really isn't anywhere to hide, so we have to suck it up or leave altogether. It's the sadness of the realisation that there's no solution. It's Harry finding comfort in the peace he'll find in the dream of somewhere far from here, an afterlife.

It's about people in the same situation sticking together and having each other's backs. That can be a lover, a friend, an ally. It's a desperation to save yourself, stay whole, stay good, in a place that doesn't allow it.

(breathe in, breathe out)

We'll never know what Harry really meant with this song, but it's clearly one that means a lot to him and still touches him every time (much like falling or fine line). To put it crudely, I do think it's about his closeting and the enormous tornado of emotions that surround that kind of experience, from the point of view of someone in the middle of it. In a broader sense, this song is about injustice. There's an eerie calm to the song, yes, but that makes the song even angrier to me. Nothing like a cynical, sarcastic, whisper of fury that gets the hair on one's arms standing upright. Though, obviously, sadness more than anything is soaked into every syllable.

I can hear this song and think it's a wail of sadness. I can think it's rage. I can think it's resigned, controlled emotion. And I honestly think it's all in there. In Harry's words, in his voice, in the music. It's cathartic, and an absolute statement, however you want to see it.

#okay i'm not gonna reread it anymore #it's out #lyric analysis #sott #my posts #lp #there is no one line in this song for me no one storyline #i just vomited my thoughts into paragraphs for this one that's all i could do #to represent my thoughts and feelings adequately ig #how am i nervous about posting this. it's like oa or fl all over again

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darkmulti · 4 years ago

Text

King of Hell

BTS

Series : part 1

Pairing: demon!Jungkook x human!Female Reader x demon!Taehyung x demon!Jimin

Genre: Angst & Smut

Word Count: 4.3K

CONTAINS DARK THEMES!

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! READ WARNINGS CAREFULLY!

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A/N: SHAIWJW, IVE BEEN “WRITING” THIS FIC SINCE LAST YEAR, HOLY FUCK. Anyways I hope you enjoy this shitty story:)

These are the warnings for the entire series!! This is a dark fanfic that is not meant for everyone! If these warnings trigger you, please leave!!

Smut Warning(s): multiple smuts, cockwarming, face slapping, saliva kink, thigh riding, humiliation, heavy degradation, dacryphilia kink, threesome, anal, blowjob, somnophilia kink, mirror sex, choking, spanking, hair pulling, rough sex, mix of ddlg, sleep sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, begging, small bits of praising, marking, fear kink, cum shots, cum eating

Other Warning(s): possessive!Jungkook, blood, murder, torture, physical abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, submissive reader

I’m probably missing something...

THIS FIC CONTAINS NON CONSENSUAL SEX! PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

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Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was wrong. But did she care?

No.

The girl laid supine on her boss's desk, sore legs bound around his torso, caging him in. His hand gently kneads her sensitive breast, earning soft moans from her. She grabbed his tie and tugged on it until he leaned down and passionately kissed her. The man gently pulled her up and swiftly wrapped his shapely arms around her body. She pulled away first, eager to catch her breath.

The excessive tension in the overheated room was unbearable. Her head remained low in embarrassment while her boss burned her with his gaze. To break up the tension, she awkwardly clears her throat and hops off his desk. For some reason, she desperately wanted to apologize but stopped herself. From what she remembers, her boss was undressing her with his eyes, so she let him have it. Deciding she’s not going to apologize, she frantically pulled up her skirt and opened the door to leave.

However, her boss was faster than her and instantly closed it again. He cupped her cheeks and attempted to kiss her again, but she stepped away. “I’m sorry, Dr. Kim. It’s getting late and my apartment is far from here, so I better get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Taehyung scowled at her. It was insulting to him. No one has ever rejected his touch. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and flung her onto his desk. She groaned in pain, protecting her injured side. Taehyung clutched her face and attached his lips onto hers, kissing her like it was his last time. She instinctively kicked her legs at him, but that made him more belligerent.

“Stop! Leave me alone!” She yelled, throwing her hands against his chest, trying to get him off. Unfortunately, she was no match for him. Taehyung pinned her down without a struggle and pulled her skirt down again. “I tried being nice, princess. But now you’ve gotten on my nerves.” He growled, forcing his cock in, despite her screaming at him to stop.

A sadistic smirk appears on his face as he picks up his pace. His warm cock fitted inside of her perfectly. It was like they were made for each other. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, enjoying the feeling to the fullest. While Taehyung was on cloud nine, the girl was bawling her eyes out underneath him. “T- Taehyung! Stop! It h- hurts!” She sobbed uncontrollably, breath hitching. Her vision started to blur as she felt her energy drain out of her writhing body. She's never endured this much pain.

Taehyung grunts as he pushes himself forward one last time before cumming in her. “Fuck! You feel so good, baby.” He leaned down and licked her tears away. He then created a trail of hickeys along her jawline, down to her collar bone. “How about another round, babe?”

“No, no! Please, no! It hurts!” She hiccuped, putting her hands together. “Please, Dr. Kim. I’ll do anything except for this! I c- can give you money… if you’d like.” Taehyung couldn’t help himself. Watching her beg for mercy was a turn on. “I don’t need your filthy money, slut. Now stay still or else you're fired.”

He ruthlessly entered in again. She let out a painful whimper but didn’t dare to move because her job was on the line. Taehyung held her hips down and quickened his pace. The helpless girl was fighting off the urge to push him away with all her remaining strength. Soon enough, her legs trembled on their own as ripples of forced pleasure went through her body. More tears gathered in her fearful eyes. A minute passed, she was still sprawled on his desk, catching her breath. “C- can I pl- please leave now?” She faintly whispered, on the verge of passing out.

Taehyung pulled her ragged skirt up then pulled her upright. He moved her hair out of her face and tenderly caressed her cheek, admiring her face. “You won’t tell anyone about this, understand?” She sobbed but nodded her head. “Good… get your stuff, I’ll drive you home.”

“No, sir. It’s okay. I’ll call a taxi. You can go home.” Taehyung’s eyes darkened. He grabbed her neck and squeezed it. “You’re making me repeat myself, Y/N. You out of all people should know how much I hate doing that. Now for the last time, get your shit and I’ll drive you home.” He took a step back and followed her to her office. She quickly grabbed her purse and jacket, then they both headed out.

The car ride home was silent. She didn't dare to speak a word. Not after what he did to her. All she could do is keep her head down and play with the hem of her shirt. Taehyung glanced over at her here and there, but he too didn’t speak a word. He looked in his rear view mirror and spotted his best friend sitting in the back, staring at “his” girl. “Keep your eyes off of her. She’s already taken, Jungkook.”

Y/N flinched when Taehyung started talking. “Huh? Are you talking to me?” She asked, confused. Red flags were popping up but she couldn’t exactly jump onto the highway. She bit down on her lip and waited for a response. “Took you a while to detect my presence, Taehyung. I thought you could do better.” She immediately turned around and saw a man sitting in the middle seat, legs spread apart. His long, jet-black hair almost veiled his eyes, and he was covered in tattoos. “Who the hell are you?!” She slightly yells, clearly startled by the man. “I wouldn’t raise my voice if I were you, sweetheart. Anyone who disrespects me will regret it for the rest of their life and afterlife.” Jungkook mockingly said, confusing the girl even more. She turned to Taehyung for an explanation, but he simply rested his hand on her thigh. “Calm down, angel. I won’t let him hurt you.”

“Bold of you to say that, Taehyung. You really think you can take me on?” Jungkook challenged.

“To keep her by my side, I’d knock you over without hesitation.” Taehyung said with a dull expression on his face.

“Don’t tell me you have feelings for this girl. Man, you keep letting me down. First living in the mortal world and now, falling in love. What’s next? Marriage? Family planning? Pathetic, Kim Taehyung. If Jimin were here, he’d be laughing his ass off.”

“If you have nothing nice to say, leave. I thought you didn’t enjoy the mortal world.”

“I don’t, I just wanted to see what my dearest friend is up to. I’m astonished, however. You managed to keep that unpleasant side of yours a secret.”

Taehyung glanced at his girl. Her face was pale and if you looked closely, she was shaking. Taehyung stroked her thigh in a soothing manner, signinally her to calm down. Out of fear, she clings to Taehyung’s hand tightly. This didn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook. He sensed her fear the moment she sat in the car. He enjoyed watching her crumble apart in the passenger seat. She looked vulnerable and afraid, he wanted to ruin her innocent looking face.

“Stop gawking at my girlfriend, Kook. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“No, I actually don’t. Next month, I’ll be announced king, but until then, I’ll hang around you and this lovely princess.”

From that point on, Taehyung knew he couldn’t leave her alone. If he did, Jungkook would 100% hurt her or even worse, mark her as his own. Jungkook’s one selfish bastard. He will always put himself before others. Taehyung immediately knew Jungkook was attracted to her; he could tell just by observing the way Jungkook looked at her. But he wasn’t going to let Jungkook have her too. Originally, Taehyung was supposed to be king, but Jungkook was stubborn and wanted to fight for the title. Taehyung didn’t want to fight his best friend, so he willingly surrendered.

30 minutes later, he finally arrived at her apartment. She quietly thanked Taehyung for the ride, then got out. However, Taehyung turned off his engine and got out of his car. “I’m staying with you tonight.” Without question, she nodded her head and grabbed Taehyung’s hand. She was terrified of what was going on. Of course she wanted an explanation, but Taehyung seemed to be protecting her. Therefore, she thought it’d be the best to stay with him until she knows exactly what’s going on.

She opened her apartment door and set her purse and jacket on the table. “I’m gonna go shower… Make yourself at home... I guess.” She mumbled the last part and headed to her bathroom until Taehyung stopped her. “Mind if I join?” Taehyung hinted he needed to talk to her so she said yes. Meanwhile, Jungkook plopped down on the couch with his arm behind his head. “Got any bourbon?” He yelled and she responded, “the cabinet behind you has all the liquor I own.”

Taehyung pulled her into the bathroom and hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry! I fucked everything up for you.”

“Taehyung, what are you talking about?” She worriedly asked. Taehyung looked at the door then quickly turned the shower on. “We have to be quiet. He might hear us.” “Please tell me what’s going on! Who is he? How did he get inside your car?!” She whispers as calmly as she can. “His name is Jeon Jungkook. Next month, he'll be announced king of hell. He’s a very powerful demon and currently, he’s looking for his queen. Someone who can be the mother of his children and someone he can somewhat tolerate. Y/N, he has his eyes on you. You need stay around me, so I can protect you. I know I hurt you not too long ago, but trust me on this one. Jungkook has anger issues and if he gets a hold of you, you will be his punching bag for eternity.”

“Demon? King of hell? Are you hearing yourself right now?” She whispers louder, being unable to control her anger and concern. “I’m not lying, Y/N. How else did he get into my car. Do you remember our conversation in the car? He said he didn't like the human world.”

“What about you? What are you?!”

“I’m a demon too.”

“Prove it because I don’t believe-” Taehyung towers over her and his eyes turn black. His teeth become insanely sharp and black, thick horns start coming out of his head. She stood there, staring at his true form. She reached out and touched his cheek which was freezing cold. “Demons are real?” She faintly whispered. “Take your clothes off. He’s coming.” Taehyung’s out of his clothes in a blink of an eye but she didn’t want to remove her clothes. Taehyung heard Jungkook getting closer, so he ripped her clothes off and pushed her in the shower. He followed behind and pinned her against the wall, kissing her forcefully. “He’s looking through the door, pretend you're enjoying it so we're unsuspicious.” She surprisingly listens and returns the kiss. Taehyung picks her up, and she wraps her legs around his waist, allowing him to enter her. “Moan loud for me, baby.” The girl digs her nails into his shoulder and releases her needy moans.

Jungkook was standing in the door way, watching Taehyung fuck the living out of her. What he would do to be in his position. A part of Jungkook was telling him to kill Taehyung and take his place. However, the other half of him knew that it would create a war between the Kim’s and the Jeon’s. Centuries of feuds have been going on between the two families and it finally ended when Taehyung’s father made a peace offering and Jungkook’s dad happily accepted. From there on, Taehyung and Jungkook grew up together as best friends. Jungkook stopped himself from making a big mistake but continued watching the two fuck.

Taehyung came in her one last time before pulling out and cleaning her up with some water. She clung onto Taehyung because she had no more feeling in her legs. Her clit was burning from the overstimulation, but she wasn’t complaining because it felt so good. He carried her back to her room and wiped her body off with a towel. Jungkook went back to the couch and tried to relax his mind. For some reason, her moans kept playing in his head and before he knew it, he was hard. “Shit!” He angrily muttered.

After tucking Y/N in, Taehyung came to the living room to see what Jungkook was doing. Jungkook was leaning on the balcony railing, staring at the full moon. “If you want, you can crash at my place.” Taehyung said, fiddling with his house keys. “Nah, I think I’ll stay right here… By the way, your girlfriend is hot. If she ever wants to have a threesome, tell her-”

“She doesn’t, Jungkook. One man is good enough for her.”

“That’s too bad. Well, tell her if she gets tired of you she can come to me any time and anywhere.” Jungkook cockishly smiled, raising one eyebrow. “Stop with the jokes, will you?” Taehyung's voice got deeper because he’s had enough of Jungkook’s irritating comments. “I’m going to bed now. Sleep on the couch or wander on the street, I don’t care. Just don’t kill anyone.” Taehyung said before leaving Jungkook alone on the balcony. “I'll try not to.”

Taehyung opened the door and saw Y/N struggling to fall asleep. He quickly got into her bed and pulled her into his comforting embrace. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here now.” He carefully laid her face on his chest then ran his fingers through her smooth hair. “I love you so much. You don’t even know how long I’ve been watching you.”

“How long?” She whispers back. “First year of university was when I first saw you. Ever since then, I’ve been looking out for you.” She giggled and wrapped her arms around his body. “Why didn’t you talk to me?” Taehyung smiled, remembering why. “I’m a little shy.” She climbed up his chest and kissed him on the lips. “Is he gone?” She asked, tracing lines on Taehyung’s chest. “He’s gonna crash on your couch. Sorry about him, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay.”

Soon, silence took over the room and the girl fell asleep on Taehyung’s chest. Taehyung continued to play with her hair and trace her back until the door slightly opened. He saw Jungkook in the doorway and sighed. “What do you want now?”

“Her.”

Everything happened rapidly. The door swung open and all Taehyung saw were 2 red eyes staring him down. Before he could react, Jungkook knocked him out and pinned the girl’s body down. He entered into her sore cunt, causing her to wake up. As soon as she saw Jungkook’s face, she started to scream and fight. “Stop! Taehyung, help me!” She shook Taehyung’s body, but he was unresponsive. “What did you do to him?!”

“Shut up and cooperate with me or else I’ll take you to hell.” Jungkook swiftly got into a better position and let his raging boner free. The bed frame began banging against the wall harder and harder each time. Y/N was in a state of shock. She didn’t know what to do. Jungkook viciously thrusted into her and held her down by her neck. “No! Please! Stop!” Jungkook flipped her around and took her from behind. He spanked her ass multiple times, leaving his hand print on her skin. He pulled out and got up from the bed, dragging her along with him. “Look at yourself, you fucking slut.” Jungkook pulled her hair and forced her to look at herself in the mirror. “Watch me fuck you, slut. If I see your eyes aren’t open, I’ll slit your family's throat and send you pictures.”

“No! No! Please don’t! I- I won’t close my eyes, I promise.” Jungkook thrusted in again and had no mercy on her. Tears were rushing down her face but didn't once close her eyes. Jungkook deliberately went faster seeing if she could handle the pain. It took a lot out of her, but she didn’t want to put her family in danger so she listened to every order. Jungkook continued fucking her hard. He could sense the fear that was taking over her body. She was shaking and silently crying, but it merely encouraged him to go faster. At last, he pushed his whole length in and came deep inside her. She squirted around him and collapsed on the floor. “No more, please” “Get on your knees, now!” She whimpered but got on her knees. Jungkook didn’t waste a second to shove his whole cock in her mouth. He grabbed her face and started fucking her throat as fast as he could. After some time, hot cum was running down her throat as he finally pulled out. The poor girl was choking on her own saliva when Jungkook clutched her hair and spat in her mouth.

Jungkook wanted to go for another round, but someone hit his head, knocking him out. Jungkook fell to the floor, revealing a conscious Taehyung. He immediately picked her off the floor and hugged her tightly. She started sobbing on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. We have to leave.” He quietly spoke. Taehyung quickly cleaned her up and gave her some warm clothes to wear. He carried her out of the apartment and into his car. He quickly dialed someone’s number and stepped on the gas.

“Hello?”

“Jimin! Take your fucking brother back to hell. He’s lost his fucking mind. He knocked me unconscious and raped my girlfriend.”

“Holy shit! Where is he?”

Taehyung quickly informs Jimin of Jungkook’s location.

“I’ll pick him up. Just find a safe place, Tae.”

“Yeah, I will.”

—————————————————-

After receiving the call from Taehyung, Jimin rushed to Jungkook. He was still on the floor, passed out. “How hard did you hit him, Taehyung?” Jimin muttered before bringing Jungkook back to hell and chaining him up.

Jungkook woke up with his head pounding. He groaned and looked at his surroundings. “What the hell?” He spoke in a raspy voice. “Wake up, brother. Taehyung informed me you were up to no good.” Right, that bastard Taehyung, he thought. Memories of last night came rushing to his head and he couldn't help but smile. “Where’s Y/N?” Jungkook asked, replaying last night in his head. “Y/N? As in Taehyung’s girlfriend?”

“Don’t call her Taehyung’s girlfriend. Soon, she’ll find her way back to me.”

“Brother, I knew you were absurd, but fucking Taehyung’s girlfriend? Really?”

“You’ve never seen her before, so you won’t understand. But as soon as you get close to her, I ensure you, you won’t be capable of controlling yourself.”

“I’ll see for myself.” Jimin said before getting up and closing the heavy metal door, leaving Jungkook alone.

————————————

1 month later

After the incident with Jungkook, Y/N and Taehyung got into a serious relationship. Every single day, Taehyung worked on becoming stronger to protect his beloved. He felt remorseful for placing her in this kind of situation, so the least he could do is protect her. Y/N was deeply in love with Taehyung. At first, she kept telling herself she only wants him around so he can keep her safe, however she couldn’t help herself. She let go of what he did in the past and focused on the present.

“Taehyung! I’m home!” Taehyung pops his head from the kitchen and she swiftly runs into his embrace. “I missed you.” She pouted her lips and kissed him. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I missed you more.” She giggles at his response and pecks him all over his face. Taehyung picked her up and sat on the couch with her on his lap. A sweet make out turned into a heated one quickly. She tugged on his shirt then removed it for him and he did the same for her. “How about we try something different?” Taehyung placed her on one of his thighs and placed both of his hands on her ass. “Ride my thigh, angel.” She started moving slowly, unsure of how it might feel. Once her clit started getting some stimulation, she kept going faster and faster, falling apart in Taehyung’s arms. She clenched and came around nothing while Taehyung attacked her tits with his mouth. He left a trail of hickeys all over her upper chest. Taehyung came in his pants just from watching her and feeling her juices leak onto his thigh.

They both eagerly kissed each other until Y/N pulled away. “Can we go out for dinner? I don’t feel like cooking today.” She panted, playing with Taehyung’s hair. “Of course we can.”

——————————————-

The long-awaited day had finally come. The crowd was larger than it ever had been. Everyone came down to watch the ritual and pay their respects to the new king. Torches were pointed downward, symbolizing death. In the middle of the stadium, there was a massive platform. On the platform, there was a throne, a crown, a pentagram and a tied up angel for the sacrifice. Jimin and his father stood side by side, wearing black suits. The crowd went silent when everyone detected a compelling, cold presence. Jungkook revealed himself from the shadows in his true form. He was shirtless with only a thin fabric wrapped around his waist. He walked to the platform and laid down on the pentagram. Everyone knew, this was the beginning of a new chapter.

Moments later Jungkook was screaming in pain. His body became a portal for all the previous kings. They were passing their abilities down to him, resulting in Jungkook's chest and back being burned. Everyone in the audience stood up and started chanting. Jungkook sat upright and headed towards the angel who was pleading for mercy. He manipulated his sharp nail and slit their throat, killing them in a matter of seconds. He attached his mouth onto their neck as the chanting got louder. The warm, thick liquid gliding down his throat was incredibly addictive. Jungkook could feel his power triple in seconds. He tossed the deceased angel away like a rag doll then faced his people. He stretched his wings and grew out his horns.

“I am honoured to be your new king. Thank you to everyone who came to watch the ritual. Please know I’ve acknowledged your presence and respect. I greatly appreciate it.”

Everyone applauded for Jungkook. Surviving the ritual requires an enormous amount of strength. Jungkook has proved to everyone that he is worthy of being king.

——————————-

“Are you ready? I feel like I’ve been waiting forever.” Taehyung said, sitting down on the couch. He was dressed up in his black suit and tie, looking flawless like always. 5 minutes had passed, and he still hadn’t heard a word from her. “Angel? What’s taking so long? Do you need help with your dress?” Taehyung walked back to their shared bedroom only to see Jungkook holding her down with his sharp nail on her neck. “I’m giving you two options, Taehyung. Let me have her, and I won’t hurt her or, she dies, I take her back to hell and torture her for eternity. What will it be, Taehyung?” All Taehyung saw was red. Without realizing, he changed into his demon form and attacked Jungkook. He managed to get him off of her, but strength and power wise, Taehyung was no match. Jungkook punched him over and over, until his nose and jaw was broken.

“Fuck you, Jungkook. I let you have everything! I gave it all up for you because I wanted to be a good friend! One good thing happens in my life and you fucking take it away!” Taehyung yelled, managing to punch him one last time. Y/N sprinted off the bed and rushed to Taehyung’s side. She didn’t care that Jungkook was there, all she cared about was Taehyung. “Taehyung! You’re bleeding! What should I do?! Should I call the ambulance?!” Taehyung looked into her eyes and his heart softened. Tears were streaming down her face. She was actually worried about him. Even after he revealed his true form, she stayed by his side. Does that mean she loves him? Taehyung slightly smiled. “I’ll be alright, love. I’ll heal by tomorrow.”

“No, you won’t.” Jungkook interjected as he got up and kicked Taehyung’s head. “STOP!” She screamed, protecting Taehyung with her body. She wrapped her arms around his head so Jungkook couldn't kick him. “C- can’t you see he’s hurt?! Leave him alone!” She bawled. “I’m not going to leave him alone until he makes a decision. So Taehyung, what will it be?” Taehyung wrapped his arms around her waist, refusing to let her go. “There are billions of other people in the world. Why do you want MY girlfriend?!”

“Don’t question me, Taehyung. Now give me her, or I’ll have to forcefully take her.”

Y/N started sobbing on Taehyung’s shoulder. “Please don’t take him away from me. I love him. Please don’t.” She begged, her tears staining Taehyung’s shirt. Jungkook was slowly starting to lose his temper. He massaged his temples then grabbed her arm, prying her off and away from Taehyung. “If you don’t come back with me to hell, I’ll kill Taehyung right here right now. Or better yet, I’ll make you help me kill him.”

Y/N began to shake. “Please don’t hurt him. I’ll go back with you.”

“No! Y/N he’s going to hurt you! Jungkook you can kill me but leave her alone after I die. You break the promise and will die too.”

“No, Taehyung! I can’t let you die! You can’t leave me alone!” Jungkook pushed the girl back and kicked Taehyung in the stomach. “If you want her so badly, you’re going to have to fight me.” With that, Jungkook turned around, picked her up and disappeared. “NO! Shit! Shit!” Taehyung cursed at himself.

Once again, he failed to protect his love.

——————————————————————————

Uhhh, hi🤠

This is terrible and I’m sorry if it doesn’t live up to your expectations. I completely understand because many people have been waiting for this fic to release and it’s not even good. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed what part 1 has to offer. At first, I didn’t want to make this into a series because I’m very inconsistent. However, I had a sickening plot in mind that I really wanted to do, so the next best option was to make this into a series.

I know, not a lot of Jimin was in this, but the next couple of parts will have him.

xoxo,

naina❣️

#taehyung smut #jungkook smut #jimin smut #bts yandere #yandere bts #bts smut #non con #yandere jungkook #yandere taehyung #yandere jimin #maknae line smut #demon jungkook #demon taehyung #demon jimin #incubus bts #incubus smut #bts incubus

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heliotropehotch · 4 years ago

Text

Silver - a.h. x fem!reader

Request by @moonstuffsteve :If you’re taking requests, I’d love Hotch smut with a wedding ring kink where the cold metal gets you more worked up (maybe ft choking bc of the ring??) pls and thanks so much!!!!!!!!

a/n: AHHHH its my first smut for Aaron! (and first smut i've actually finished in years!) Al, i love you. Thank you for this. If you have any suggestions on how I can improve my writing please let me know! I haven't written smut in a long time so I know this might be rocky. <3

CW: smut, under 18 DNI, 18+, jealously, unwanted ass grabbing, wanted ass grabbing, choking, wedding ring kink?????, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), rough sex, marriage kink??, dom/sub themes, possessiveness, fingering

Masterlist

author: abby<3

word count: 1919

have fun!

She hated cops. Entitled, jealous, and, for the most part, disgusting men, who thought well enough should be left alone. Meaning that, while help had been offered and given, it wasn’t wanted. What was wanted, however, seemed to deviate way too far off the course of the case, of the literal murders that were happening.

“Officer Walker,” Y/N’s teeth gritted out as sweetly as she could, as the man placed an unwelcome palm on the small of her back. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, sugar,” he chuckled deeply. “I was hoping you wanted to get out of here.”

“Out of here?” She pretended not to notice Agent Hotchner watching the interaction, slowing walking up behind him. “What do you mean, Officer?”

“I mean,” his hand swooped down, resting gently on her ass. Y/N’s eyes shot wide, mouth opening slightly with appall. “We should get out of here so we can have a little fun.”

“Excuse me-”

“Officer Walker,” Aaron Hotchner’s voice cut through the air of the precinct. “I suggest you take your hand off of my agent, and my wife.”

Walker’s hand shot off her body, smacking into his own side. “Your wife? Sir, I didn’t kn-”

“We have a case, Officer. There are people out there getting murdered. Get back to work. Agent, you’re needed in the conference room, please.”

“Yes sir,” Y/N said with a straight face, but she knew her husband could read the smugness on her face.

“In the future, Officer Walker,” she called out before following Aaron. “At least check a woman’s hand before you make unwanted passes at them.”

Y/N sauntered almost cheerfully behind her husband stalking into the closed conference room. She could hear the gears turning forcefully in his head, and could clearly see his hand clenching and relaxing at his side. Entering the conference room, tension seeping into the air, confining itself in the room as Aaron forcefully shut the door behind them.

“Aaron-”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, fingers smoothing out his eyebrows. “I was fine until his moved his fucking hand-”

She reached out to grab his arms, trailing down to intertwine their fingers together. “Honey,” she smiled sweetly. “I know, okay. I appreciate it, okay. But I had it handled too.”

“I should have him fired-”

“But you won’t,” she laughed softly. “If you fired every man who made a pass at me, we wouldn’t ever work with cops again.”

He grumbled indignantly, scrunching his eyes together in irritation. Y/N slipped her hands up his chest, sliding into their natural place at his jaw. Her lips pressed to his, seeping tension seeping out of him with every passing second. “Aaron,” she hummed against his lips, before pulling away. She smiled as his chased after. “I married you, remember? You don’t ever have to worry about anyone else. Like ever?”

He chuckled, slipping his hands into the pockets of her pants. “I just don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

“I’m only yours.” She smiled at him, taking a step back. “Now can we get back to work? I wanna go home with you as soon as possible.”

The case was nowhere near close to being solved, but tensions between all members of the BAU were running high. Derek, the ever hot head he was, had almost gotten into a physical fight with the Captain of the precinct, while Spencer had remained silent after a particularly loud conversation with one of the fellow officers.

“These cops just won’t let us do our jobs, Hotch,” Emily had groaned in the hotel elevator with Y/N and Aaron. “I’m two derogatory comments away from breaking Walker’s nose.”

Y/N snorted, eying her husband’s now tense back in front of her. “He’s a real piece of work huh?”

“I’ll be too glad when we get out of here. Why can’t we work with female cops for a change?”

It was Hotch’s turn to snort. “You would end up being the one that they complained about. You’re just as bad as Morgan.”

Emily gave an artificial gasp. “Am not.”

The elevator doors opened, and Y/N followed her husband out and down the hall to the left. “Night Em!”

Out of sight of the rest of their team, she jogged forward to grab his hand, giving a small kiss to his knuckles. A comfortable silence had settled between the heavy setted footsteps of the married couple. Y/N rocked on her heels as her husband fumbled with the key card to their shared room. She rolled her neck, letting the tension fizzle out in separated pops of her bones. She barely registered the click of the door, or the wrap of fingers around her wrist. She did however, notice the cool, fake wood of the hotel door being pressed against her back. “Aaron?”

“You’re mine,” he murmured, pressing his lips in the angle of her neck. She chuckled, winding her fingers in his hair.

“I thought we already clarified that, baby.”

He hummed a chuckle, his tongue lapping up whatever remnants of perfume traced his neck. “And I intend to make that painfully obvious to everyone in that precinct.”

His lips wrapped around the muscles at the junction of her neck, drawing out a moan out of her with passing second that the air left his mouth. Y/N hummed a laugh, lifting her hips to grind against his. “Seriously, a hickey?”

His hand snaked up her waist to rest under her chin, squeezing slightly. She could feel the metal of his wedding band warm to the temperature of her skin. “I’ve got a point to prove, sweetheart.”

His fingers left her throat and reached down to pull the backs of her thighs to wrap around his waist, grunting slightly at the movement. She worked on unbuttoning her shirt, the best she could. “Aar-” their bodies fell to the bed, his legs slotted between hers. Y/N squeezed his left hand that had found its way into hers. “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, remember?”

“Oh I remember, darling,” his mouth moved to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before letting it free. “I think you’re the one who needs a reminder.”

Aaron’s hands pushed up her skirt, adjusting it to pool at her hips. His calloused hands traced the edge of her underwear, sliding softly under the band. His mouth, trailing back up to her neck smirked as Y/N’s hips squirmed under his delicate touch. “Be patient, love.”

His attached his mouth to hers as his fingers slowly, finally began circling her clit. The metal of his ring brushing deliciously against the skin above. His teeth tugged her bottom lips, a small whine escaping her. He watched her blissed out expression morph into one of need, eyes scrunched with tension. His fingers dipped lower, circling her entrance before dipping two fingers in slowly.

“Aaron,” she gasped out, clenching around the fingers inside of her. “Aaron, please.”

“Shh, sweetheart,” he smiled into her neck, pressing his lips to her skin. “I’m gonna take good care of my wife, don’t you worry.”

His thumb, that had been rolling lazy circles against her clit, becomes more firm, with more intention. Y/N could feel the cold of her husband’s silver band pressing into her pussy as he pressed a third finger into her. The stretch of his hand, the way he stroked her walls with his fingers, and the words dripping from his lips were enough to put her body on edge.

“Oh you’re so tight, baby,” he chuckled darkly, breath blowing sweetly against her inner thighs. “Fuck, you’re wet. Is this all for me?”

Her fingers wrapped lazily between his black locks, tugging the strands. “Only you.”

“Of course, honey,” he cooed. “Look at you dripping all over my ring, I bet you’re gonna come soon, yeah?”

“Please,” Y/N whined loudly. “Please, Aaron, I can’t hold it anymore.”

“Come for me, baby, get nice and ready for my cock.” She let out a yelp, her back arching from the mattress as her husband continued to lazily stroke her cunt.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed, bringing his fingers up to his mouth for a taste, before pausing and redirecting his fingers to her mouth. Her eyes stayed on him and she hummed around his fingers, tongue lapping at her own juices around his wedding ring.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, tugging off his own shirt, and ridding his pants and underwear. Y/N’s panties now rested at her knees, twisting over on itself, until she lazily ridded the rest of her garments.

Aaron now positioned her on her knees, head resting on her forearms as her ass ground into his pelvis. “Please, baby, wanna feel you,” her muffled voice called out.

He sucked his teeth with mock annoyance, lightly smacking one of her cheeks with his left hand. “And what did I say about being patient?” he chided, before lining his dick up and thrusting in.

Her toes curled at the sudden, but welcome intrusion. A groan left her throat as he began pounding into her pussy at a rough pace. Thrust for thrust, the room echoes with grunts and moans from both Y/N and her husband. She could almost feel his smug grin with every whine that fell through her lips.

“Fuck, Y/N look at you taking my cock so well. I bet you just love how I fill you up.” Her only responses were loud moans that flowed through his own voice as she clenched around him.

The metal of his wedding ring now almost burned against her sweating skin as he wrapped his hand around her throat once more, pulling her body to be flush against him as he continued to thrust into her at a bruising pace.

“Who’s making you feel this good, huh?” She stayed wordless, only echoing in whines and moans. He squeezed her neck a little tighter, the imprint of the ring creating a delicious friction. “Answer me.”

“You!” her voice bursted out. “You, Aaron, only you.”

“That’s right, sweetheart, your husband. I married you, I put that ring on your finger-” he groaned, attaching his lips to the juncture of her neck before speaking again. “Fuck, are you gonna come for me soon?”

“Yes!” she cried, “Please, please.”

“Go ahead, and come for me like a good girl,” he panted, using his other hand to rub against her clit, squeezing his fingers again on her throat before speaking right into her ear. “Come on your husband’s cock.”

She yelled with her release, back arching to meet Aaron’s chest. He let out a few more strong thrusts before he found his own release and coated her walls with a groan. His forehead landed on her shoulder, her fingers lazily combing through his hair.

Eventually, he pulled himself out to clean themselves up and crawl into bed. She had rested on his side, but yelped when he pulled her to lay on his chest. She smiled softly, fingers tracing imaginary shapes along his pecs, then started chuckling softly.

He cracked a smile reserved only for her. “What are you up to?”

Her giggles quieted and she stopped her movements. “Oh, I was just thinking. I should make you jealous more often.”

He groaned, tugging her close to him, covering her ringed hand with his own. “Don’t you dare.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead as she chuckled sweetly. “You’re mine.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #hotch smut #hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #fem!reader #smut #cm smut #spencer reid fanfic #cm #smut request

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aftgficrec · 3 years ago

Note

So I read a fic about andreil making out and being intimate and I remember Andrew asking Neil to lay on top of him to get used to the feeling and they the continued making out. I think it was around 10k and I don't remember if they had sex later. It was really soft and wholesome but of course I forgot to bookmark it on ao3. I would be so happy if you found if but if you don't pls rec some similar fics.

I absolutely love your page and you are doing god's work finding lost fics. Thank you so much you're the best.

We’ve gone round and round on this ask. It’s possible you’re thinking of ‘the icarus to your certainty.’ It could also be one of the previous recs linked here, or it could still be out there.

‘Say It (Out Loud)’ is new to our blog and deals with andreil’s attempts to further intimacy, as do the previous recs. -A

mine for gold here:

You will find recs for canon universe building trust and getting comfortable with sex in this ask. Some personal faves linked there are ‘Right Side of Rock Bottom,’ ‘I want this touch to be familiar,’ ‘Blossom Under Kindness,’ and ‘lessons in trust.’

these fics contain a situation similar to your ask:

‘Trust Fall (And Welcoming Arms)’ here

‘Light fires at night (to push back the void)’ here

‘Hold me close, in fact bury me’ here

‘and we're just starting to get it’ here

(sharing a bed) ‘by my side when i fall asleep’ here

the icarus to your certainty by sinistercacophony [Rated E, 11216 Words, Complete, 2020]

Andrew knows how to get what he wants. He knows how to ask, how to indicate boundaries, and how to stab someone in the gut if they choose to ignore those boundaries. That’s really all he’s ever needed. He doesn’t let men touch him. He doesn’t let people get close enough to try.

Except Neil.

Except he wants Neil. In ways he’s never wanted anyone before. Never trusted anybody before.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: alcohol, tw: flashbacks, tw: suicidal self talk, tw: panic attacks, tw: ptsd, tw: internalized victim blaming

Say It (Out Loud) by queensguardian [Rated E, 7977 Words, Complete, 2018]

If Andrew doesn’t care about things as a coping mechanism, Neil doesn’t like things for the same reason. But he’s allowed to now, and trying new things is less scary with the people he loves.

Or: Neil tries new things. Five times with the Foxes, and once with Andrew.

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closhelby · 4 years ago

Text

HER. - Thomas Shelby

Smut

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: it’s peaky blinders, with smut

Word Count: 2472

AN: this is my first time writing smut, please give me any tips pls, it’s appreciate. It’s probably shite.

::::::

She always was on his mind. The woman, that always read between the lines, always two steps ahead of him, and had an incredible eye for business. She had left him years prior, leaving for a top business school in London. they never had a title, a label on their relationship, but it wasn’t exactly a secret that they always, somehow, gravitated back to one another. Often people, especially Polly, would say that there was no way two people would be so alike, strong headed but only rarely clashed.

However y/n’s degree had finished and she was coming back to Small Heath for a period of time before she was going to figure out what exactly what she wanted to do. Y/n was actually great friends with the Shelby family, since growing up with them, living just down the road, they practically lived together. Y/n was actually younger than Tommy, she was ages with Ada and John. They were in the same class throughout school, Ada and y/n regularly wrote to each other, updating each other on Ada’s eventful life as a Shelby still in Small Heath and y/n’s very exciting studying life in London.

They had actually planned to meet up, for a nice and quiet drink at the Garrison on her return. The thoughts swirled in y/n’s mind as she approached the Garrison, it had just gone 6pm, and she knew as it was a Friday, she did have a possibly of bumping into her first, arguably her only love. Pushing the thoughts to the back of her head, she pushed open the door to see a fairly crowded Garrison.

“Ah, y/n, how was London?” Harry shouted, from behind the bar. Y/n smiled at him, walking over to Ada sitting in the back corner. “It was good Harry, nice to be back in this clear Birmingham air”. He chuckled slightly, “Whiskey coming up love”.

Y/n nodded, taking a seat next to Ada, giving her a cuddle, “Unsure if ive missed this place or not” y/n laughed slightly, eyes scanning the pub, looking for the one man she questioned if she did want to bump into. The pair was throwing back drinks like it was going out of fashion, knowing they would both regret this in the morning. Apparently, Ada wasn't allowing y/n to go back home, and in fact y/n didn't have a home yet and wasn't willing to go back to her parents, so Ada was insisting that she stayed at hers until y/n found a suitable place. Y/n didnt put up a fight, despite them both being hot heads, and taking absolutely no shit from anyone, men or woman, y/n didn't argue. She was actually really thankful for her.

They eventually stumbled into the house in the early hours of the morning, their laughs echoing throughout the silent house.

::::

The sun caught y/n directly in the eyes, quickly awoke y/n from her sleep. Her head felt as though someone had been hitting her head against the floor multiple times. Y/n continued to lay there, turning away from the sun, trying to keep the contents of her stomach from getting sprayed all over her and the sleeping Ada. She made an attempt at moving, sat with her head in her hands as she was trying to give herself words of encouragement to get up and make herself something to eat.

“Fuck sake, why do we do this to ourselves?” Ada moaned from behind her. Y/n scoffed, “ Your bloody idea”.

Quickly standing up, in hope she could get it over with quickly. The room continuing to spin, as she attempted to walk to the door. Ada following closely behind.

They both sat slumped over the dining room table, as they attempted to sober up and embrace the oncoming hangover. John now present, laughing at the two dying woman in front of him.

“Good night?”

“Always.” Ada grumbled.

Pol placed a plate in front of them, toast with jam, “Does Tommy know your back?

Eyes falling onto y/n from every person in their, “No.” answering quietly.

Attempting to change the subject, “Told myself I would start looking for a new job today, since I shall be staying here for a decent period of time.”

John raised his eyebrow, “Tommy’s looking for a new secretary.” A slight smile on his face, “You've got a good background, business and that”.

“hm, I don't think so Johny boy”.

“Don’t say no too soon, your a good asset to the business.” Pol added. No one was ever in y/n’s corner more than Pol, they would bang heads sometimes, as neither of them would back down. But she accepted y/n was the only one that had the best interest for Tommy.

The front door closed, and there he stood, the room turning to face Tommy, silence filling the room, then he broke it, “Heard you were back.”

“Yeah,” she replied quietly.

“Well, you know where I am if you need that job, I’m sure you’ve already been told,” he spoke, cigarette hanging from his mouth, as he walked away from them and into his office.

Y/n let out a breath, as though she hadn’t been breathing the whole time he was there. Ada smiled at her, placing her hand onto y/n’s, “I’m just going to get ready for the day love,” and off she went upstairs. The boys getting on with their day, and Pol following suit.

Y/n sat collecting her thoughts while trying to tell herself to face her ex lover, who she was still so deeply in love with. She tapped on the door slightly, opening it before opening it, “hi”, seeing his eyes flutter onto her shot tingles throughout her body, his eyes quickly looking away

“You can start tomorrow if you wish, I need a few papers signed and sent tomorrow. I can get your contract drawn up tonight.” He spoke, his eyes still not lifting from the paper in front of him.

“Yes, that’s fine 8am?”

“8.45, shop doesn’t open until 9. And there are others to set it up, that’s not your job.”

Nodding, “I heard you have a new woman.”

At this point he did look up at her, “I heard you had plenty men in London,”

She laughed slightly, nodding before heading to the door, “none were ever a patch on you,” closing the door, leaving a smirk on Thomas Shelbys face.

The following day came around, as y/n got ready for the day. Putting on a formal black tightly fitted dress, flats and pin curled hair. A slight tint of red lippy, remembering it used to be Tom’s favourite. Assuming Tommy wouldn’t be at the shop at this time, she took a whiskey with her placing it on the desk infront of Tommy’s office. The place was silent, despite there being other employees now starting to arrive, something calming about the place, almost the calm before the storm, she thought.

The hour was now around ten thirty, and there was still no sign of Tommy. She had already finished the papers he had left for her on her desk. It wasn’t the usual small Heath lady, she was educated, and to a very high level. y/n was sat twiddling her thumbs, awaiting Tommy’s arrival to get other things done.

“Y/n. My office please,” his voice low, as he stood behind her. She stood up quickly, following him into the private room.

“There’s your contract, if you wish to have a read over it. I see you’ve finished the work I gave given you for the day.”

Y/n took the contract into her hands, scanning for any mistakes or anything to question. But he actually was paying her nearly double the rate of other staff, and just over that the London rate was, “you’ve done your research eh. More than London rates, impressive. The peaky’s are stepping up in the world” Y/n smiled at him, as she placed the documents on the desk, picking up his pen, and signing it. Y/n Y/l/n. Followed with today’s date. That was now it, she was a Shelby Co Ltd employee.

...

The days turned into weeks, spending time with tommy while no one else was looking was becoming a regular thing. She now had her own place, just doors down from the shop. He would regularly call her into the office, and discuss things that he would usually never utter a word about. It had always been that way with them, since they were little, he would confine in her, telling her all the issue and problems he was facing, both in his mind and with others. But it was also coming to her attention that he was still seeing Grace.

Later on in the day, the clock chimes 11pm, as y/n sat listening to the music that takes her back to a child, while sipping a whiskey. The knock of her front door bringing her out of her daydream, she picked up her handgun that she kept on her at all times. Growing up with The Shelby’s, she had to protect herself in someway. She kept it behind her, out of view for anyone who was in front of her, slowly creeping up to answer the door. She swung it open, gun clocked and pointed directly in the face of Thomas Shelby. Not wasted, but defiantly had a few.

“Ah, can never change a Shelby girl eh” He spoke, laughing slightly as she lowered the gun and he stepped inside.

“Although, I’ve never been a Shelby girl, have I Tom?”

“Depends who you ask.”

She sighed, stepping in to the fire lit living room, “Drink?”

He nodded in response, and y/n began to pour him a whiskey, topping up hers and handing a full glass over to him. “Why are you here?”

He stepped over to her, the closest they had been together since before she left for London. He placed a hand on her back, pulling her head into touch his, their foreheads touching. The sensation ran through her body like the first time they had ever touched. He placed his hand on around the back of her neck, pulling her into him, his lips crashing onto hers. Their tongues intertwining with each others as the kiss started to deepen. Y/n reached for his jacket, pulling it off his back, before making her way on to unbuttoning his shirt. Tommy pulled the bottom of her nightdress up, y/n only allowing the kiss to be broken to allow it to come over her head.

Their lips syncing with each other once again as tommy took his now unbuttoned shirt off, moving onto unbuckling his trousers revealing his already hard length. He began to push her back onto the couch, untangling her lace thongs from around her legs. His fingers trailing over her already wet pussy, “Do it” y/n whispered as she pulled his face back up to kiss hers.

He didn't even wait as he shoved his length into her. Their bodies rocked in sync together, “Tommy...” Y/n moaned, her fingers trailing down his shirtless torso. The stars were starting to align, the room was warm, full of love. It felt as though it was five minutes but in reality it was around fifteen all in.

Their breath shortened as y/n’s back started to arch as she came close to climax, “cum for me”. He spoke, looking at her directly in the eyes as he rocked her world. The love, chemistry, love and lust, all so very present just as it was back how they were before. Both of them moaning in pleasure, as they both came at the same time. The deep breaths and steamy windows showing the passion that had just unfolded.

::::::::::::::::::::

It was a Friday evening, a week following the night of sin that taken place between Tommy and Y/n. They had still had the talks in private in the office, and on another occasion she was fucked bent over his desk after closing time. Y/n wasn't one to hide her feelings, it would always be present on her face so when it came to facing Grace in the Garrison, it wasn't hard to tell how y/n’s feelings were over her.

Pol chuckled softly, clocking the glare Grace was on the opposite end of, “If looks could kill” Ada joining in on the hilarity.

“She would've been killed 8 times over” Y/n replied, turning back to face the women. Whiskey in hand.

“Feelings still there for him then?” Ada asked.

“No, I wouldnt say so” y/n lied.

“Cant lie to a gypsy woman love” Pol laughed, y/n begining to laugh with her when the doors open to reveal Tommy and his two bothers. Tommy’s icy blue eyes scanning the room, a slight smile shooting over to Y/n before approching the bar where Grace was, where he stood there for a good twenty minutes chatting away to her.

“I cant take this anymore.” y/n looked over to Ada, who was rising her eyebrow while taking a sip of her drink. She was fairly close to them, and y/n being y/n liked to have a slight stir up now and again. She stood up, smile showing on her face as Pol and Ada laughed, watching her approach them both.

“So, hows your little fling going?” she spok loud enough that Pol, Ada, Arthur and John could hear her.

“Y/n” Tommy warned.

“Who are you?” Grace questioned.

“Y/N,” she responded, leaning herself against the bar, “The woman he has fucked behind your back multiple times this week.”

Pol snorted, almost chocking on her drink, “ I fucking knew it. Gypsy senses never lie.”

“To be honest with you Grace, you had absolutely no chance when Y/N came back” Ada added.

At this point, Tommy had moved y/n away from the bar, into the small room, “what are you doing?”

“You cant take the piss out of me, fucking me but then fucking her thinking youll get away with it.” she was pissed, and he could see it in her face. They had never spoke on their feelings toward each other. Everyone knew that it was always each other but there was nothing that compared to them, they always seemed to go back.

“I have always loved you but you left to go to London, I had people follow you. I knew what you were up to so I assumed you would stay down there, I assumed you had moved on.” He spoke, almost showing vulnerability.

“Oh I know. I can remember faces Tom. I think you forget I can see right through you,” she seethed, through her teeth, “what are you going to do about this?”

Tommy cupped her face, pulling her into kiss her.

“I love you.” He mumbled, feeling her smile into their kiss.

“I love you Tom,”

#thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders #cillian murphy #tommy shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby x reader #tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder fanfic

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