#the riot club smut

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

[dewdropdinosaur]

Transparent Heart

Human! Alastor x Ghost Reader Summary:Alastor needs a new source of inspiration. Nothing sparks that bloodlust anymore, nothing can satiate the growing desires he has for more and more carnage. One night, while all a party with Mimzy, he meets Y/N. Or does he? The sweet woman seems innocent enough but in reality she is a ghost, a being of chaos gilded by a fasle innocence. His new muse may be undead but it sure sparks some life in him. Warnings: Undead reader, smut, mentions of P in V, Alastor is a warning in and of himself, Demi-sexual Alastor, non-sex repulsed. MNDI, 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Pt 2

Celebrating 500+ followers!! Omg, everyone you cannont imagine my gratitude for this community. I started writing in January and just how much love and support I have recieved is mind-blowing. All of you are freaking amazing and I hope you know I adore you, my lovelies!

Alastor leaned against the dark wall of the burlesque club, his brown eyes scanning the vibrant display of sinful transgression before him, yet feeling none of it. The room pulsed with music, laughter, and the clink of champagne glasses, but none of it stirred him. He should have been thrilled—there were scantily clad dancers twirling and shimmying on stage, Mimzy was in normal form, charming the crowd with her flamboyant flair, and every inch of the room screamed excess. Innocent souls, ripe for the taking. A little southern charm here, a lingering touch there, a knife sliting their throat in a delectable squish that would send shocks of pleasure down his spine. It was a celebration, a riot of decadence that should have made his very soul hum with delight. 

But alas, the radio host. Felt nothing.

Once upon a time, this would have been his kind of night. The heady energy of sin, the delicious tang of chaos, the joy of being surrounded by souls desperate for something—anything—to fill the emptiness inside them. So desperate would they be, to fall into his greedy hands and he would grace them with the gift of death so sweet. It used to fill him with such vigor, such delight, like a fine wine sliding down his throat. But now, it was all just noise. Annoying noise.

The laughter? Grating. The champagne? Flat. The dancers? Nothing more than fleeting distractions. He watched as Mimzy flirted with a particularly tipsy patron, her laughter like tinkling bells, but it was all so... tiresome. 

He tilted his head slightly, and his sharp grin never wavered, but the sparkle in his eyes had dimmed. It was all a game, wasn’t it? A never-ending circus of false joy. No matter how many times he twisted the dance floor or how many souls he swirled into his web, it was all the same. Hollow. 

The feeling had come upon him suddenly a few weeks ago, stuck in a never-ending cycle of ambivalence. Nothing stirred the oh-so-normal bloodlust within his chest anymore. Nothing excited him to enjoy the chase, the screams. 

Alastor’s fingers tapped rhythmically against his glass, his gaze shifting to the stage as the dancers performed their latest number. It was all so… mundane. The bright lights, the glitter, the exaggerated performances—they meant nothing to him anymore. Maybe this is how he died, being a wallflower.

He exhaled softly, his voice barely rising above the cacophony. “Mimzy, darling,” he said, his tone languid, “do you ever get the feeling that all this glorious spectacle is just a bit... tedious?” 

Mimzy, amid her own little charade, paused and shot him a knowing look, her eyes twinkling with a touch of amusement. “Oh, Alastor,” she said, grinning wide. “You sound like you have been alive for centuries? Enjoy a bit of decadence. Pour some whiskey, put on some jazz!”

Alastor’s smile didn’t falter; a shadow passed across his expression. “Maybe that’s the problem, my dear. I’ve danced this dance for far too long.” 

And somewhere, deep in the pit of his chest, a voice whispered: Is there anything left to live for?

In the middle of his mid-but young-life crisis, a soft tap planted itself on his shoulder. His body became rigid, a dangerous flash passing through his eyes at the unwelcome contact. It was not entirely unpleasant, cold and soft. Strange, considering he hated all touch but one could suppose he had too much to drink. 

Alastor turned slowly to face the guilty party, only to find a petite woman standing before him. Pale, no doubt, almost sickly looking if her eyes hadn’t been the faintest shade of amber that brought the only sense of warmth to her face. Her hair was a light blonde, or was it gray? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that this little pet had imposed themselves—

“If you are done staring, mister, may I continue my question?” 

Alastor blinked, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly. The soft tap had already left a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and now this woman, audacious and unsettling, dared to speak to him as if he were some mere pedestrian. 

"What question?" His voice was smooth but cold, each syllable wrapped in the chill of his natural cynicism. It wasn’t the first time someone had approached him on a whim, but there was something different about this one. Something off-kilter, like a mismatched note in a song—one that lingered just long enough to be more than a fleeting annoyance.

The woman tilted her head slightly, the pale light accentuating the faint shadows beneath her eyes. There was something about her eyes, too—lifeless but sharp as a hawk’s. She seemed entirely unperturbed by his cold demeanor. 

"I was wondering," she began, her voice soft yet steady, "if you intend to stand like a wallflower all night or become something worth my time?"

Alastor’s eyebrows twitched, and his lips curled into something akin to a grin, though it was closer to a wolf’s smirk than anything resembling warmth. A question like that—drenched in disrespect, a dance with death itself. Was she…playing with him?

“Is that so?” His voice was laced with amusement, yet his eyes remained icy. “And what would a fragile little thing like yourself do with finding me interesting?”

The woman didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head just slightly more, a ghost of a smile appearing at the corner of her lips. “I’ve seen it,” she murmured. “How you find no pleasure in this display around us. It’s no stranger to you and I am not a stranger to it either. I see you come in here and revel every week until recently. Why is that?

For a moment, Alastor was silent. He had heard words like these before, though they usually came from those who lacked any real understanding of the ruthless, visceral nature of existence. But something about her tone, so deliberate, so knowing, stirred something within him. Something deep. Why would someone he had never met, though who apparently watched him, ask such a personal question?

“Well aren’t you a brazen one, my dear. I would suppose, these events have just lost their…usefulness.”

“Oh, because you kill people?” 

He hadn’t expected that at all. How did she know? How could he play this off? A shadow passed over his gaze, darkened as he looked down at the calm woman. She was baffling…but certainly, the most intriguing thing he had interacted with in a while. He hadn’t expected anyone—let alone a delicate little creature like her—to speak with such clarity about the one thing he’d devoted his entire being to understanding: death. But then again, he realized, perhaps this little conversation had more teeth than he’d first assumed. 

Grabbing her wrist discreetly but with a vice hold, he dragged his newfound muse into an empty room on the other end of the club. Throwing her in the room, he assumed her frail stature might cause her to fall, but instead, she simply looked like she floated across the floor. Strange. 

He chuckled, but the sound was dry, devoid of humor. “You’re quite the curious thing,” he said, his eyes glinting as he regarded her more closely. “Now, how does a little thing like you, make such a bold assumption as that?”

“Well, I have seen you,” she replied simply, her gaze meeting his with a directness that was both unnerving and intoxicating. “You are quite clean with it I must say, well, except for the eating part…but then again I guess everyone has their preferences.”

Alastor was taken aback. A brief flicker of something like appreciation passed through his mind, quickly followed by annoyance. Was she toying with him? Was this an act, some mask for her true fragility? 

For a moment, he considered walking away, dismissing her as yet another oddity to forget. But the words she spoke lingered in his thoughts, gnawing at him like a restless hunger.

"What about you, Alastor?" she continued, her voice softening, almost as though she were coaxing him, "Do you fight it? The lack of bloodlust you’re feeling? Or do you surrender to the inevitable?"

Her words hung in the air between them, and the sound of her quiet challenge echoed in Alastor’s mind long after she’d spoken. He exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation flashing across his features. This woman had a way of pushing him in ways he didn’t particularly enjoy. 

And yet…

He growled lowly, stalking up to her with an imposing stance. Just kill her now, kill the witness. All his problems would go away, he could go back to standing on that stupid wall, drinking that flat champagne.

He glanced at her, a flicker of something approaching amusement in his eyes. Or…or he could have the most fun he had in weeks.

 "I suppose I don't have the luxury of surrender," he said, his tone colder now, sharper. "I’ve long since learned that life is more… interesting when you push against its edges. Though, I confess, there’s something rather invigorating about someone who understands the dance with death as well as you do."

She smiled this time a full, knowing grin. “I thought you’d understand,” she said with quiet certainty, leaning closer just enough for him to catch the scent of something oddly familiar—something sharp, like iron or fresh rain. “The world doesn’t stop spinning just because we want to rest. We can’t simply wait for the end to come. Until it gets here. No, Alastor, it’s all about taking it—grabbing hold of that final moment and making it yours.”

At first, Alastor found himself irritated by her relentless inquiries, the audacity with which she wove her words into the space between them. He considered walking away several times, but then, a strange thing happened.

Then, the irritation faded.

The longer they spoke, the more he felt the edges of his personality, drawn out by her words, her very presence. She was no weakling, no frightened soul. No, this woman was a kindred spirit of sorts—a creature of the abyss who spoke the language he had long since mastered.

But he supposed, it had gone on long enough. Even those whom he found mildly amusing had their time to go. And now, this woman had come to hers. Walking over to a desk in the room, he pulled the drawer open with the mask of preparing himself a drink. This was his typical room…to engage in his activities. As the woman faced away from him, staring blankly at the wall with what seemed ignorance, he approached. The blade was hidden deftly behind his back. 

“Well, my dear, as pleasant as this has been, I think it’s time we end this little game of ours.”

Raising the blade to her throat, he made the slice with a quickness that came with practiced ease. 

Only sweet, rich, red blood did not spill from her body for him to lap with reckless abandon. Her head remained intact, the blade leaving no mark. Backing up in mild shock, Alastor’s eyes widened in what he could only call horrific intrigue. How much had he had to drink?!

“Now, that was rather a rude thing to do.” The woman’s head turned…180 degrees, backward facing him. A small smirk painting to face. And then, her body started to float, righting itself to face him fully as he glided in the air to meet him. Her cold and frail fingers came to caress the edge of his cheek with a gentleness that surprised him. 

“Why would you do that to me, Al? I thought we were friends.” The woman….or ghost woman started to shed alligator tears. Her voice was a high-pitched wail that irked him to no end. 

“What…what are you?”

That caused the woman to pause, eyes sharpening as she looked at him with a look so fierce he felt like his own knife had pierced his heart. 

“I am Y/N. I…I am the ghost that lives here.” 

Now that would have caused him to howl in laughter had he not seen the spectacle before him. Y/N….the famed ghost story Mimzy would tell to scare customers into scam ghost tours of the club after hours for an extra buck. But here she was…in the flesh?

“I thought you knew me Alastor. I thought you understood me. Understood the darkness–” Y/N brought her hand back to his cheek, trailing it slowly, even seductively down his chest to the buttons of his vest. He felt a strange pull to the being, confusingly enraptured by her now. The transparent but uniquely cold nature of her touch sent shivers down his spine, in a way he almost did not mind. 

Where had this feeling come from? Had…had his interest in the conversation been actual interest in the woman before him? He usually never felt this way about anyone. Alastor’s lips parted in an attempt to refute his thoughts but nothing came out. 

Y/N’s hand lingered on his chest, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his vest with calculated precision. Her touch was cold, yet there was an undeniable warmth to the way it ignited something in him—something he couldn't name. Alastor's usual composure began to slip, the confident, omnipotent mask he wore trembling in the presence of this woman.

"You always talk about control, Alastor," she purred, her voice an intoxicating melody that seemed to bypass his usual defenses. "But perhaps you’ve never been in a position where control slips through your fingers, like sand... or, more aptly, like time."

Her words struck him like a thunderclap, rattling his thoughts. Time? Had he been so blind, so consumed by the world of his own making, that he failed to see what was right in front of him? He wasn't sure how to answer, only aware that something was shifting, like a piece of the universe slowly aligning to something he couldn't yet understand.

The smile she gave him was a little too knowing, and he hated it. But more than that, he couldn't seem to hate her—an emotion he had learned to master long ago. For a fleeting moment, her eyes softened, not in pity, but in a way that unnerved him. She was dangerous, yes, but there was something else there—a depth, a complexity that tugged at him.

“You look so lost, Alastor,” she whispered, leaning in closer, her breath cold against his skin. “Let me guide you..”

Her hand slid down, brushing against his vest, the tips of her fingers brushing the edges of his buttons, slowly popping them open one by one.  Every movement of hers seemed deliberate, calculated. And yet, as if it was just for him. That he was the sole focus of such tender devotions. 

Alastor swallowed, his mind scrambling to form the words to push her away, to reassert his authority. But instead, something inside him relented. He wasn’t sure if it was the warmth of her presence, the pull of her energy, or the simple fact that for the first time in ages, something made him feel alive.

“You think you know me, don’t you?” he said, his voice low, almost... intrigued. “But I assure you, darling, you know nothing.”

“Then let me learn, Alastor,” she whispered, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “Let me see the darkness you keep hidden. Let me understand what makes you... human.”

The word struck him like a jolt of electricity, and for the first time in a long while, Alastor felt something unexplainable deep in his chest. Was it love? Was it obsession? Or was it the terrifying realization that maybe, just maybe, he could understand her too? 

—————————————————————————————————

Clothes lay discarded on the hardwood floor, Alastor’s suit jacket among the heap. His body pressed her bare one flush to the hardwood floor, her lips continuing their long and languid assault on his own.

 All that remained was Alastor in a white button-up and boxers, his clothed member rutting onto her bare cunt. Moaning into the kiss, he tentatively brought his hands up to find themselves settling at the nape of the Y/N’s neck. Experimentally giving the roots a small tug, a growl emitted from Alastor’s lips, enjoying the way she shivered before him. 

It was almost like her form wasn’t there at all, that her body was transparent. Though, at this moment, he did not question the physics of how he could touch a ghost. 

Laid bare before his hungry eyes and desires, his cock came to be inside Y/N with one thrust; cunt wet and ready for him like it was made for this purpose. Like she was gifted to him by the divine to hold him close in the darkness and relish in his desires. How the serial killer, had come to be with a being who could not be killed. The one thing he could never kill. The irony wasn’t lost on him, though not his main idea at the moment. 

Conceptually, rationally, by all means of logic, Alastor knew it would never work. Except, in this very moment, cock pounding into her wet and inviting cunt, he couldn’t help but pray to whatever power was listening that something would come to fruition. 

Her moans were sweet on his ears, like southern sweetwater molasses taffy. The kinda of stuff you just can’t get enough of. With every rut of his hips into hers, those delicious noises would fall from her parted pale lips. Now, those were the kind of noises he would search for in the middle of the night. Screams, still scream, but those he wrought by giving her the utmost pleasure his mortal form could apply. 

All for her. His little ghost. 

[cybrsan]

Light It Up! — K.HJ, P.SH

STORY SUMMARY: The year is 2077, and the world is a lawless dystopia where tech giants and major corporations hold all the power. Kim Hongjoong and Park Seonghwa are an infamous criminal duo who have made names for themselves fighting against the "techno brainwashing" of society. Discovering they're on the brink of getting caught, they decide to go out with a bang—and who better to help them than their favorite plaything?

PAIRING: Kim Hongjoong x F!Reader x Park Seonghwa

RATING/GENRE: M ; smut ; criminal / cyberpunk / dystopian AU

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Arson, breaking and entering, clubbing, alcohol + drug use, pet names (doll, precious), rioting, violence

NSFW WARNINGS: Choking, creampie, cum stuffing, cunnilingis, deep throating, exhibitionism, fire play, fingering, free use, hair-pulling, knife play (light), multiple orgasms, play party, public sex, spitroasting, sub drop, threesome, overstimulation

A/N: Don't blame me, blame the MATZ m/v.

LINKS: Masterlist, cross-posted on AO3.

“And… there!” 

After days of meticulous planning, organizing, and making shady, back-alley deals, it’s finally done. The last camera is in position—everything is ready for the big event. All that’s left for you to do is step back and admire your work.  

Switching on your illegally procured holodeck, you press a few buttons and watch as the space around you completely transforms. What was once an abandoned warehouse is now a club that could rival any in the city center. Neon lights pulse to heavy synth, serving bots whiz from place to place,  and the makeshift bar looks inviting enough with rows of expensive bottles on display. Whether or not the liquor in the bottles is worth the price, well… Hopefully people will be too distracted to notice. 

The focal point, the one thing you are most proud of, is the transparent stage that extends at least 15 feet above the dance floor. Taking in the grandeur of it all is more than enough to get you excited for what's to come. You're certain that Hongjoong and Seonghwa will put on the performance of the century. 

Today is incredibly important for both of them, and the fact that they have trusted you enough to include you more than makes up for the long hours and strenuous work. They’re currently out setting up their "grand finale," which they have been painstakingly cryptic about. You have your suspicions, not that you need or even want to know the specifics. 

A low whistle pierces the air. "You really outdid yourself this time, doll." 

You turn to look at Seonghwa as he enters, and your heart practically skips a beat when you take in his appearance—he must have changed in preparation for the big event. His hair, pulled away from his face, lets you focus on his features; dark eyes, full lips, all beautifully accented by his smoky makeup. His outfit is one you haven't seen on him before, but it suits him perfectly, from the gold chains hanging around his neck to the deep cut of his silk shirt.  

"Thanks, Hwa," you reply bashfully, dusting off your hands on your jeans. "Just trying to do my part." 

He approaches you, a smirk tugging at his lips. The way he stares at you, drinks you in… it makes you feel like a prey animal who has found itself in the sights of a predator. You blush and cast your gaze to the floor, suddenly fascinated by the specks of dirt at your feet. 

"And you have done it spectacularly." He lifts your chin with his pointer finger, forcing you to look him in the eyes. "I think you deserve a reward." 

Seonghwa drops his gaze to your lips for just a moment before he leans in, closing the space between you with an almost agonizing slowness. The kiss is gentle and commanding all at once and you shiver, immediately pulling him closer. The fatigue, the stress—all of it melts away.

His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling on it with just enough force to make you gasp. His tongue slides expertly against yours, the taste of him something sweet and darkly rich, like cherry liquor. It’s addictive. But the moment ends too soon for your liking, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

Seonghwa doesn’t pull away entirely, resting his forehead against yours as he lifts a hand to brush a stray lock of hair away from your face. He lets his touch linger as he traces a path down your neck, lithe fingers playing with the necklace dangling above your chest. Three dainty, silver hearts. One for you, one for Seonghwa, and one for—

The rev of a motorcycle engine cuts through the air, and your head snaps toward the sound just in time to see Hongjoong park his bike at the door. He takes off his helmet and shakes out his hair which you’re surprised to see is freshly dyed. It almost makes you laugh; of course even as he’s out running errands for his coup de grâce, he finds time for fashion.

“Not starting the party without me, I hope?”

Hongjoong’s heeled boots click pleasantly atop the concrete flooring as he walks over to the two of you. His synthetic fur coat is a bright orange, the complete opposite of what one might expect a criminal on the run to wear. But both he and Seonghwa have never been ones for hiding.

“Never,” Seonghwa replies, clapping a hand on the back of the younger’s neck. “Did you get it done?”

Hongjoong scoffs in a teasing manner. “Did you doubt I would?”

“Of course not.” Seonghwa squeezes Hongjoong’s neck once before letting go and clapping his hands together. “Looks like it’s time for the show.”

A few hours later, the party is in full swing. The once-empty warehouse is now filled to the brim with people dressed in cloaks and masks for the sake of anonymity. Some are on the dance floor, grinding against each other, while others have drifted toward the bar, downing shots and laughing.

Toward the back of the room, there's a group huddled around a table, huffing glitter, black lace, and who knows what other kinds of drugs. Meanwhile, others are tangled together on couches, lost in the throes of ecstasy. The air is so thick with the smell of smoke and sweat that it almost makes you dizzy.

A hand wraps around your neck from behind, pulling you against a warm body, and you gasp. “That’ll be us later, precious,” Hongjoong whispers, hot breath fanning against your ear. Your nervousness ebbs away, immediately replaced by eagerness.  “Do you like watching them? Or maybe you’d prefer to be the one being watched?”

You lean back against him, the hand around your neck a welcome pressure. “Both,” you breathe.

You feel his chest rumble with laughter. “Good.” 

He separates from you, and you turn to face him. He seems so confident, so excited, that it’s hard to believe he and Seonghwa are about to paint targets on both of their backs. Hit by a wave of anxiety, you lean forward and kiss him. He immediately reciprocates, nipping at your bottom lip and eagerly exploring your mouth with his tongue. 

Kissing him is always different than kissing Seonghwa. Seonghwa’s kisses are controlled, with a hidden power brewing behind them. There’s always a promise of more, a hint at what is to come when he finally lets go. On the other hand, Hongjoong kisses with reckless abandon. He is uninhibited, always ready to devour you whole. When he pulls back, a string of spit hangs between you before snapping.

“You nervous?” You nod, and he gently tweaks your chin between two fingers. “Don’t be. Those tech bastards have no idea what we have in store.”

“I just want the two of you to be safe.”

“And we will be,” he assures you. "After everything goes up in flames. Trust me, precious. Trust us.”

“I do.” And it’s true. You trust them with everything that you have.

“That’s our girl.” He kisses you again. “It’s time to go live.”

You take out your holodeck, and with the click of a button, all the cameras you set up switch on. You hurriedly switch channels through all the local stations, thrilled to see that it worked and the entire club is being streamed live to every device in the city. 

You stop the music and make the lights go out, causing a hush to fall over the crowd. You shine one beam of light directly onto the stage and you watch as Seonghwa steps out to address the throng of people below. He is captivating and has no problem commanding all of the power in the room. 

“Welcome one and all,” Seonghwa begins, voice booming over the speakers. “If you’re here, it means you are brave enough to fight against the corporations that enslave our society!”  

Hongjoong steps up next to him, and while he’s smaller in stature, he exudes no less power. However, he stays silent as Seonghwa continues, “We will not be silenced any longer. Tonight, we raise our voices in defiance; we will no longer bow down to those who seek to control us!” 

The crowd explodes into thunderous applause but immediately falls silent when Hongjoong raises a hand. "But tonight isn’t just about the revolution—it is also a celebration of our freedom, our individuality, and our unity. So let loose because everyone in the city is watching and we all know that, deep down, they wish they were us!” 

Cheers and shouts fill the room once again as everyone raises their glasses in solidarity. Your heart swells with pride as you take it all in. You have become a part of something far greater than yourself and, just like your boys, you are willing to do whatever it takes to see it through to victory.

You switch the music and lights back on and the party resumes in full force. People seem to go even harder than they were before, playing up their hedonism for the cameras. Seonghwa and Hongjoong have disappeared into the crowd, likely to mingle and spread their message one-on-one. 

Seonghwa favors the dance floor, hypnotizing those around him as he moves. A contented smile tugs at the corner of his lips as his hips sway to the beat, as beautiful as he is provocative. He flits from person to person, holding them close as he whispers into their ears. He occasionally catches you watching him, always making sure to tease you with a wink. 

On the other hand, Hongjoong stalks the perimeter of the room, moving from group to group. His skill lies in charming people with his words, and tonight is no different. Everyone who speaks to him smiles and laughs, completely enamored with everything he says. He shakes hands, claps shoulders, and you have no doubt that if people weren’t loyal before, they will be when he’s through.

You stick to one of the quieter corners of the room in order to keep an eye on the cameras. You need to make sure that everything is running smoothly both in and out of the club; the last thing you need is for someone to reveal your location or try to hack into your network and ruin everything. You also keep a close eye on your boys, making sure they stay safe.

It’s past midnight by the time they come and find you. Hongjoong sits on your left, placing a hand on your thigh as he leans toward you and kisses your cheek. His lips linger a moment longer than necessary, and as he pulls back, he purrs, “You should be out there, dancing, having fun.”

“I am having fun,” you say, taking the champagne glass offered to you by Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa sits on your right, throwing his arm around your shoulders and pulling you against his side. “You would be having even more fun if you put down the holodeck.” 

“But—”

Hongjoong takes it from you, throwing it haphazardly onto the cushion beside him. “Don’t argue.” 

He leans forward again, this time lightly nibbling your earlobe with his teeth. You gasp, knuckles turning white as you tighten your grip on your glass out of instinct. Seonghwa watches the two of you with half-lidded eyes, his hand trailing down your side and slipping underneath the hem of your shirt to trace patterns over your flushed skin.

“It’s a night for celebration, doll,” he murmurs. “You have done your job. The only thing we need from you now is… well, you.” He squeezes your hip and you jump slightly. “The badges will be here in a little over an hour according to one of my sources. While not as long as I’d like, it gives us just enough time to have a celebration of our own.”  

Your thighs clench in anticipation—you know exactly what he’s hinting at. 

"Lead the way, then," you say, setting your half-empty glass down.

Seonghwa’s gaze meets Hongjoong’s over your head, an unspoken agreement passing between them. They stand up and pull you toward the dance floor, surrounding you, one at your front and one at your back. You sway between them to a slow, seductive rhythm, closing your eyes as you let yourself enjoy their attention.

Seonghwa’s hands rest on your waist, pulling you against him as he starts to move his hips in tandem with yours, grinding against you. Meanwhile, Hongjoong cups your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip. His eyes are dark and intense as he captures your mouth with his own in a searing kiss. 

Seonghwa’s grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin as he watches Hongjoong devour you. He keeps one hand on your hip while the other snakes around to cup the back of Hongjoong’s neck, causing the younger to moan into your mouth at the touch. Now with a possessive grip on you both, Seonghwa gets to work nipping and marking the exposed skin of your shoulder. 

The room seems to disappear around you as they continue to explore you, their mouths and hands feeling like they are everywhere at once. It's intoxicating, even more so than the champagne you were drinking earlier. You feel Seonghwa’s hand trail even lower, disappearing under your waistline, snapping the band of your underwear against your skin.

You gasp and Hongjoong laughs against you, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling back with a satisfied smirk on his face. “Let’s give them a good show, hm?” 

You let the two of them drag you onto the stage, cheeks ablaze as you realize exactly what they’re planning. You’re hyper aware of the fact that you are being watched; even though most of the club-goers are lost in their own pleasure, the viewers that are steaming have nothing better to do than keep their eyes locked on you. 

Seonghwa clicks his tongue, squishing your cheeks between his fingers. “Look at our girl, acting so shy.” His fingers find your heart necklace, tugging at it just hard enough to make you gasp. “As if wearing this doesn’t mean we can do whatever we want to you, whenever and wherever we want.” 

Hongjoong takes a switchblade out of his pocket, flipping it open with a maniacal grin on his face. He uses it to cut away your clothes, exposing your body for everyone to see. Your knees shake and whether it is out of anxiety or anticipation, you can’t tell. 

He traces the tip of it against your skin, the cold metal leaving goosebumps in its wake. “We know you love it, precious,” he says. “Don’t you want everyone to see how good we make you feel? Think of all the viewers out there that will feel oh-so-scandalized but still won’t be able to look away. Not to mention all the greedy whores who will be getting themselves off to us, wishing they were in our places.” 

Seonghwa pulls you against him just like he did on the dance floor, once again letting his fingers tease his way down your stomach. But this time, he lets them travel even lower, dipping into your folds. 

“Look how wet you are just from this,” he remarks, bringing his fingers back up and spreading them so you can see the evidence of your own desire. He then extends them to Hongjoong who greedily laps at them, sucking them clean. 

You whine, trying to keep your legs closed from embarrassment, knowing anyone below the stage can look right up at you and see exactly how aroused you are. But Seonghwa won’t let you, shoving his knee between your thighs. Almost instinctively, you grind down on it, letting another pathetic sound slip past your lips. 

Hongjoong’s eyes glint with wicked delight at your reaction, his own hands reaching out to cup your breasts. “Someone’s eager,” he teases, tweaking a nipple between two fingers.

You hear a few wolf whistles from the crowd, a few lewd comments being thrown your way, but they only make you more excited. 

“I…” You’re panting heavily, making it hard for you to speak. You have to take a deep breath before trying again. “I want you. Please.”

“Anything for you, doll,” Seonghwa coos, returning his attention to your core. He pushes in one finger all the way to his knuckle with no warning and, if it weren’t for his hold on you, your legs would have buckled. 

“Fuck.” The curse slips from your lips, half whimper, half moan, as he continues pumping his finger inside your wet heat. 

Hongjoong lowers his head, taking one of your nipples in his mouth as he pinches and tugs at the other. You grip his shoulders for purchase as your head lolls back to rest on Seonghwa’s chest, whining at the onslaught of sensation. The feeling of Seonghwa inside of you while Hongjoong lavishes his attention on your breasts is unlike anything you have ever felt. 

As Seonghwa adds another finger, Hongjoong’s lips mark a path from your breasts, to your stomach, and then lower as he sinks to his knees in front of you. He grabs your thighs, fingers digging into your skin, just as his tongue finds your clit. His tongue draws figure eights around it as Seonghwa continues to pump his fingers relentlessly inside of you. 

“T-too much…” you gasp. But neither of them slow down—if anything, feeling how close you are makes them double down on their efforts. Hongjoong sucks your clit into his mouth at the same time Seonghwa adds a third finger, curling them inside of you. 

Seonghwa kisses the back of your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs. 

That small bit of praise is all it takes to send you tumbling over the edge, eyes rolling back as your body goes taut with pleasure. Hongjoong eagerly laps up your release, only prolonging your orgasm. Seonghwa gently removes his fingers from you and you hear rather than see when he brings them to his mouth, tasting yourself on his skin. 

Hongjoong pulls back, licking his lips to clean them of your release before his trademark smirk returns. “I think it’s time for you to return the favor, precious. Don’t you think, Hwa?” 

Seonghwa trails a hand down your spine, humming. “I don’t know if she can handle it.”

“I can,” you gasp, eager to please them just as they did you. “I can, I promise. Anything you want.” 

You almost jump from surprise as some spectators in the crowd start yelling their vulgar suggestions as to how exactly they think you should please your partners. You’re sure if you looked at your holodeck, the live chat would be filled with similar comments as well. 

Hongjoong laughs, grabbing your face in his hand. “Don’t worry about them. You can have us however you like.” 

Blushing, you say, “You choose.” 

His eyes light up and he immediately looks behind you to Seonghwa. Just like earlier, some sort of silent communication passes between them, and then you feel Seonghwa’s hand on the small of your back, urging you to bend over. 

“Why don’t you show our Joong what that pretty mouth of yours can do while I fill you up, hm?”

You barely have enough time to nod your agreement before Hongjoong is unbuckling his belt and freeing himself of his constraints. You nearly salivate at the sight of his cock, red and wanting. He grabs your hair and pulls, tugging you forward as much as he can with Seonghwa’s bruising grip on your waist keeping you in place. Tears prick at your eyes but it’s as pleasurable as it is painful, and you take him into your mouth eagerly.

The head of Seonghwa’s cock teases your folds before he finally pushes forward into you. He starts moving at a slow, torturous pace, pulling out of you before slamming right back in. Each thrust propels you forward, forcing you to take Hongjoong deeper into your mouth. You feel so full, so used. It’s incredible.

“Look at her,” Hongjoong coos, staring down at you. “Look at how well she takes us.” 

Seonghwa just groans, grinding into you so deeply that you have to choke back a moan around Hongjoong’s cock. He’s gotten quieter, his thrusts sloppier, a telltale sign that he is losing himself in his own pleasure. Meanwhile, Hongjoong’s grip tightens around your hair, guiding your head back and forth on his length. Each thrust cuts off your air supply, making you see stars.    

Seonghwa’s hand snakes around to your front, fingers finding your swollen clit. You moan again, and Hongjoong echoes you as the vibrations travel up his cock. 

“Shit,” he curses. “So fucking good.” 

Seonghwa’s thrusts grow increasingly erratic and you hear his breath hitch; instinctively, you clench around him, and he spills into you. His release sends you spiraling into your second orgasm of the night, walls fluttering around him as you milk his cock of every drop. 

Hongjoong pulls out of your mouth not long after, squeezing the base of his shaft to prevent himself from following the two of you over the edge. The second Seonghwa steps away from you, he is taking his place, forcing himself inside of you before any of the elder’s cum can drip out. 

“Hongjoong,” you gasp, nearly falling forward from the force of his thrusts. Seonghwa maneuvers himself so that he can support you, holding you in his arms as Hongjoong pounds into you with bruising force. 

“Gonna fill you just like Hwa did,” he growls. “Make you mine. Ours. You’re ours.” 

“Can’t… can’t…” Words escape you, your mind going blank. 

“Yes, you can,” Seonghwa says, stroking your hair. “You can take it. You can come for us one more time.”

His voice is comforting, but you also hear the command in his tone. You choke out a sob, nodding weakly as Hongjoong guides your hips back against him again and again. You can feel another orgasm coming on already, the coil tightening in your stomach. Seonghwa continues to murmur words of praise, stopping only to pepper kisses along your heated skin. 

The coil snaps and you cry out as you come undone, Hongjoong’s cock still buried deep inside of you. His hips stutter and he curses, his warm release mixing with Seonghwa’s. He slowly pulls out and you can feel as some of their cum trickle down your thighs. You collapse against Seonghwa completely, no longer able to stand on your own two legs. 

You feel light-headed and blood pounds in your ears, muffling the cheers you assume are coming from the crowd. You’re too far gone to be embarrassed, and a lazy smile tugs at your lips—the three of you surely gave them the show of a lifetime. 

Suddenly, you feel heat lick at your skin, and you snap back into yourself fully, cringing away from it. Your eyes focus, and you see Hongjoong flicking a lighter open and closed, open and closed.  

“There’s our girl,” he remarks. He brings the lighter to your skin again, just close enough for you to feel the heat of it without it burning you. “I think we were a bit rough with you, precious. You were totally out of it, shivering and everything.” 

Seonghwa is behind you again, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. You press further against him, squirming as the heat tickles your skin. 

“Back with us?” Seonghwa asks.

You nod. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” 

“Okay. Hongjoong—enough.” 

Hongjoong stops immediately, flipping the lighter closed with a tsk. “Fine. It’s gonna get hotter in a minute anyway.”

Now that you’re focused, you finally hear the shouting and crashing coming from below. The very people who were just watching you on stage are now rioting, destroying the warehouse and everything in it. The cameras, the bar, all of your hard work—now there is just destruction, everywhere you look. 

You shoot up, hurriedly dressing yourself so that you are no longer the only one naked as panic begins to take hold. “What’s going on? Seonghwa, Hongjoong, we need to—”

You waver on your feet, nearly tripping. Luckily, Seonghwa catches you. “Calm down, it’s okay,” he says, hushing you. “This is all part of the plan.”

Hongjoong gestures to the crowd, pointing out some things you missed. “See how some of them are drenching the place with gasoline? We’re gonna light it up.” 

Maybe you’re still delirious from your multiple orgasms, but you are having trouble understanding what the two of them mean. “Why? I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“This was all a distraction,” Seonghwa explains. “The club, the livestream, us putting on a show. We did it so that all eyes would be on us, and all the badges would be wasting their resources trying to find our location.” 

You nod slowly as the pieces begin to come together. “So, while I was setting all of this up…”

“We were out there. Planting bombs at some of the biggest tech headquarters in the city.” Hongjoong smiles, spreading his arms wide. “Our coup de grâce, just like we’ve been saying.” 

Despite all of your suspicions, this is something you never would have been able to guess. Before you can even begin to truly comprehend the magnitude of what they’ve done, sirens pierce the air. Everyone screams and begins to run out of the warehouse. Seonghwa grabs your hand, and nods to Hongjoong. “Now!” 

Hongjoong throws his lighter to the ground below and flames erupt instantly, devouring everything in sight. Luckily, most of the crowd has already escaped, and you feel confident no one should get caught in the aftermath. Still, it’s pandemonium, and smoke fills your lungs as Seonghwa pulls you closer, shielding you with his body as he hurries toward the nearest exit. 

Hongjoong follows after you, but lags behind as he keeps looking over his shoulder at the fire with a sadistic grin on his face. “That’s how we do it,” he yells, voice barely audible over the blaze.

“Get yourself together,” Seonghwa barks. “We need to get out of here before the cops realize what’s going on and find us.” 

Suddenly, Hongjoong trips, his foot catching on some loose debris. Seonghwa reacts instantly, yanking him back to his feet and throwing an arm around his waist. The three of you continue onward as the heat of the fire licks at your back. You crash through one of the exit doors, and stumble away into the night, disappearing into the sea of masked faces. 

All across the nation, devices light up with the same headline: “City in Chaos as Blazing Inferno Distracts from Large-Scale Bombing of Tech Giants.”

“Nation-wide manhunt underway. Suspects Kim Hongjoong and Park Seonghwa believed to be connected to an underground criminal group called The Black Pirates…” 

NETWORKS: @cromernet @kflixnet @pirateeznet

TAGLIST: @yessa-vie @nebulousbrainsoup @ad0rechuu @sanniesbunnie @seonghwaddict @fruitcakebin @kickti @abby-grace @fireseo @yunhofingers @ohflorah @oiminho @baekbao @byuntrash101 @hyukssunflower @thatnerdytomboy @straykidsholicleigh

[skhv67]

prisoner/patient!nam-gyu x therapist!reader

word count: 2.170

trigger warnings: partially non-con, it gets a bit steamy but not smut really, blood, murder, reader is gender neutral but has a coochie, nam-gyu is a bit manipulative, English ain't my first language

"Ten minutes and 59 seconds."

The sharp piece of metal he had hidden under his bed was now on his hands slightly piercing through the pale skin of his hands while he was lost in his thoughts. Fixing his gaze on a blank spot on the wall, he let his mind wander freely over the possible things he could do after this evening. He could probably go to his plug to get himself a treat for all the time he had endured in this facility, or maybe go to the club to see some familiar faces.

"Six minutes and thirty seconds..."

The adrenaline started to spread through his limbs and the excitement made it hard for him to stay still but he tried his hardest to keep himself composed to not draw any attention while the day was so silent.

While he knew that he probably should be thinking about a strategy or going over the plan again to avoid mistakes, his excitement wouldn't let his mind focus. As he kept picturing what to do after everything was over, images of you plagued his mind suddenly. How could I forget that? A little smirk peeked through his lips as he tapped his foot on the floor in an awful attempt to contain the sudden rush of excitement he felt.

"Three minutes."

Nam-gyu stared at the self inflicted wound —though not intentionally— expressionless. He breathed in and out slowly to calm his nerves as he put the handmade blade up his sleeve, which covered his whole hand anyway. He didn't even have the time right now to reminiscence how hard and painfully long the process of getting a sharp object in a place specifically made to avoid this at all costs was.

He forced himself to go over the plan during the last minute he had before the disaster began. It was simple, he didn't have a big role during the riot, he left that to the ones that had orchestrated all of this, he'd just take the sweet part of the consequences, that being having an opportunity to escape or at least killing a person or two. Worst outcome would be extending his sentence and reinforcing his therapy which meant more time with you, and he couldn't complain about that. He imagined that at this time of the day you'd be listening to one of the plenty of weirdos this place has to offer, but with a pretty smile adoring your face while you carefully helped them with the most gentle and sweet tone he has ever heard. The little smile that has crept up his face leaving immediately as he felt a sting of jealousy at the thought of you helping these people, — at the thought of him just being like the rest in your eyes.

He had to shake his head to bring himself down to earth again, he kept getting distracted. He just had to wait for the signal after the recreational activities end and immobilize —or kill— the guards during the distraction. It'd be easy as the place was understaffed and some of the prisoners had smuggled in some guns... Besides about two guards were paid to turn a blind eye to what was going to happen.

The sound of the rusty door being opened brought him back to his senses and he got up immediately to follow the guard to the room where his lessons would begin in a few minutes. On the way he couldn't help glancing at the door with your name in a little plaque, your charge on the bottom of it. His jaw clenched when he heard your voice talking sweetly to an inmate through the silence of the hallway. Stop, stop, stop...

I'm special to them.

The lesson went painfully slow and he counted down the time for it to be over every five minutes, his mind wandering every time he tried to focus on the time. He was so eager to use the makeshift knife he kept caressing under his sleeve, to get out of here and finally sleep on a real bed, to get the pills he missed so much, to pay you a visit in the middle of the chaos...

"If nobody has any questions, the class is over."

As the guards guided them to the hall, some screams alerted them. A fight between a few inmates broke out, and a few men were trying to separate them. Nam-gyu looked around, nervous eyes trying to connect with anyone that could confirm to him that this was the signal they needed, but everybody was focused on the fight.

He quickly noticed that the fight was getting a little too big to handle for the few poor guards that were there. As one of them was about to call reinforcement, a dark red spot appeared on his chest, probably inflicted by a makeshift knife like the one in his hand.

As Nam-gyu saw this, he didn't waste time burying his own weapon on the neck of one of the guards that was escorting his group. The rest of the inmates followed his lead and shortly after, the mess of bodies and noise induced him in a euphoric state ha hadn't been in a while.

He helped for a bit to take out some guards for the sake of it until he was stopped by the hand of another inmate.

"We need hostages."

Nam-gyu stopped in his tracks, remembering that all of this was part of a bigger plan of some of the leaders of the prison to bargain about the denial of resources and some medical negligence, though he didn't doubt that a few people would use the riot to escape. Like him.

He left the scene as quick as possible, he knew for certain where he had to go first. He sped up his pace to your office and opened the door carefully. The silence of the room contrasted with the loud sound of the mess outside, but he was sure he could hear a faint breathing inside. He closed the door making sure to lock it behind him and looked around with his weapon visibly on his hand. He walked slowly to the desk where he heard the breathes become more rapid and anxious.

He called you by your name, without missing the title, as to show respect even in a situation like this. A little sob escaped your mouth and now he exhaled of relief as he peeked through the desk to look at you. He thought you looked strangely cute with your cheeks wet and sweat all over every bit of skin visible on your outfit. He couldn't think of any other person he'd swoon over looking like that.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Your trembling hand tried to reach the pocket of your cardigan, which didn't go unnoticed by him. With a frown he used his force to take you off the floor and bring you to your feet in front of him.

"What are you doing?"

No coherent response came out of your lips but begs and prayers.

"I'm so sorry, please don't hurt me."

He was undoubtedly getting annoyed by your reaction, not expecting you to be so apprehensive of him.

"Why would I?" Nam-gyu grabbed your wrist with a little too much force than he probably should. "You think I'm like those out there?"

He pointed outside with disdain and venom, if not jealousy, covered his words. You looked at his weapon, which was as covered in blood as his clothes and skin. Bringing up a hand to his face you took some blood off his cheek, which made his breath hitch. You showed him your fingers now covered in blood too.

"You think I killed someone?" he asked with feigned disbelief. "I had to get some people off my back on the way here, there was no other way. Nothing serious though."

She seemed still doubtful of his words but she chose to believe him for her own good.

"I came here as soon as I could to make sure you were okay." The strong hold on your wrist became a soft caress of your arm. He even dared to put his forehead against yours to soothe you.

"Thank you-" it came out as a whisper. "Nam-gyu."

His heart jumped at you addressing his name, feeling that the situation was finally under his control.

Choosing to ignore the mess outside for a while and give in to his impulses he pushed you gently against the desk, enough to force you to sit on it.

You gulped down nervously, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation. Being on his good side was obviously the best decision here but you didn't know how much you could handle. You weren't expecting Nam-gyu to come here in this moment out of all people, but you'd be lying to yourself if you didn't notice the way he stared at you during his check ups and how he requested your assistance more than any other inmate. You should've stopped this months ago, but who knows who would've come to this office with different intentions if it wasn't him. Maybe you'd be dead.

"I need you to get me out of here." He muttered caressing your thighs through the thin material of your clothes. You cursed your decision of coming with a skirt and some thighs, but how could have you guessed this was going to happen.

"I don't know how"

He laughed briefly and brought your body roughly to his, forcing your legs open. Seriousness covered his face, making your heart race again.

"You have five minutes to think about it" he hovered over and whispered in your ear. "I'm sure you won't make me regret helping you."

Holding back the urge to cry you started to think how on earth you could help a prisoner break out of this facility. While this place is understaffed and away from the city, you're sure help will come any time soon. Right?

Your train of thought came to a halt as you felt his lips on your neck. You had to stop the moan that threatened to leave your lips at the suddenness of the action to remind yourself of the pathetic situation you're in right now. Intense guilt spreadt through your heart when you found yourself enjoying the way his hands were caressing your inner thighs making little circles while he placed soft kisses down your neck.

"Four" he whispered over a wet spot on your neck, giving you chills.

Convincing yourself that your reactions were outside your control, you focused on planning the exit again.

Maybe in the trunk of my car?

His blood stained hand touched your skin under your cardigan and you whined, getting a little laugh out of him.

If the cops aren't outside yet I can get him in my car...

"Are all the guards inside?" you managed to say with the most stable tone he allowed you to have.

He groaned against your skin. "How would I know, doc?"

You gritted your teeth and kept thinking. He kept counting down out loud whenever he wasn't torturing you tracing every bit of your skin.

"Fifty seconds."

Your eyes widened when you felt his fingertips against the most sensitive part of your body. You weren't able to focus at the task in hand no matter how much you tried anymore to distance yourself from the situation. He traced circles through the piece of clothes between you two and you had to fight with every fiber of your soul to not push your crotch against his hand.

"Thirty..."

You started to try to struggle out of his hold but he held you firmly. You didn't think he had it in him. You could only hold his wrist to push his hand away.

"You don't want this, pretty thing?" he whispered, poorly masking the eagerness of his voice. "I'm sure you do. I know you do."

His movements became faster and so did your breathing. You couldn't even hear the noise outside anymore, only his breathing and your own heart.

"I'm sure that pretty pussy feels so much better without all this." He pinched the thighs against your crotch, making you yelp. "That's why you have to get me out of here, pretty. Time's up."

He moved his hand away and you had to hold back a whimper at the loss. You felt a wave of shame and guilt that you had to repress due to the urgency of the situation you were in. You also felt the embarrassingly wet spot in your panties that you're sure he couldn't have noticed through the thighs.

"We can only try to get you out in my car, but I don't know how safe that is, I don't know how many guards are outside or if they'll check my trunk-"

He stopped your babbling with a little peck on your lips and a little smile.

"Let's see."

[bootsukki]

warnings: suggestive? ooc tsukki idk, league of legends pro!tsukishima x fem! reader sooooooooooo.... part 2 with smut? hehe (haven’t played lol in a long time but….)

the finals of league of legends worlds was reaching a fever pitch and no one could believe that a team full of rookies had made it to the final stage.

it all started at high school where hinata shoyo, kageyama tobio, yamaguchi tadashi and tsukishima kei had joined the gaming club with 0 expectations. the reality was that the club, created by three third-year students, had nothing until they arrived. alongside sugawara koushi, the only third year interested in league of legends, they reached the unimaginable: winning trophies in amateur championships, moving onto higer-level leagues until they were spotted by one of the greatest organizations in the history of japan's gaming: karasuno's gc, leading them to the international stage.

after a clutch semifinal match, tsukishima kei—newest, most uncharacteristically smug face in the professional scene—was brought to the interview stage for some post-game questions. tsukishima had a lot of fans but also a lot of haters. he was well-known for his sharp comments on stream and his calm and calculated style that made him one of the best junglers in the world.

during the interview, he was calm as usual, deadpan even, while he answered questions about strategy, his playstyle and his future goals.

"so, tsukishima, you're officially one game away from taking the world championship which is amazing, considering this is your first year playing professionally at the level—do you have a specific motivation that's been pushing you to win?"

for a second, tsukishima's usual bored expression gave way to a smirk and everyone was caught off-guard by his sudden shift in expression. he turned to look at hinata, his teammate, friend and adc and smirked, again.

"actually, yeah", he drawled, folding his arms. "if we win, i'm expecting the cute girl at the analyst desk to give me her number"

the crowd erupted with laughter, cheers and gasps as his teammates—who'd been watching from the sidelines—started clapping and jeering. it had all started at a joke one night, about tsukishima having this big fat crush on you since he first saw you in another competition, checking your socials and always liking your posts and although tsukki was not one to keep his comments to himself, they didn't expect such a statement from him.

the camera cut to the analyst desk, where you were currently seated along your (male) co-workers who were laughing at you and trying to keep their composure to keep working.

the crowd cheered as kageyama tobio made his way towards the trophy, nearly jumping in excitement as his hands grabbed the worlds' trophy.

the whole team had made an incredible finals, winning against their enemy team after five excruciating games. in the final game of the series, they pulled of a dramatic win after making their way towards the baron nashor and killing their enemies. the whole team stormed through the enemy base to secure the worlds championship and the crowd went wild as the nexus exploded, signaling their victory.

tsukishima allowed himself a rare grin as their teammates tackled him in a giant celebration pile on the stage and as he grabbed the trophy, he knew this was probably the best day of his life.

as the celebrations died down and the stage had been empties of fans, they made their way backstage to pick up their things and rest for a bit before they had a mandatory after-party with other teams and people from riot.

"tsukki", yamaguchi nudged him. "sooooo...."

"so?"

"she's going to be at the after-party, you know? (y/n)."

tsukishima rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool. "yeah, okay."

"aren't you going to say something?"

"what is there to say?"

"oh, c'mon!" yamagushi smirked. "that you have the biggest crush on her, duh."

"shut up."

"okay, okay!" yamaguchi laughed. "i'm just saying, maybe this is your best chance to talk to her."

tsukishima grabbed his things and made his way towards the car that was taking them to the hotel wjen his phone buzzed, and he saw a twitter notification. it was a dm from you.

@y/n: so, i guess you earned that number. want to collect it in person?

tsukishima felt a little heat creep up his neck. he smirked.

@tsukishima_jg: see you at the party.

the party was in full swing and almost everyone had made their way towards it. executives from riot, players, interviewers and other people were inside the large local riot had rented for the occasion. music thumped in the background and laughter echoed into the room as everyone celebrated to victory and the end of the season until january. tsukishima had been hanging back for most of the night, nursing a few drinks and watching the chaos, aka hinata trying to show his dance moves, unfold. that was, until he spotted you walking into the room after leaving it for a few minutes.

he had been watching you and although he had been confident enough to say that he wanted your number on stream, his nerves were catching up to him.

you looked stunning, confidence radiating off of you as you made your way through the crowd, trying to find something to drink, but, as you turned, your eyes locked on his and you forgot about your desire for a drink, heading straight towards him.

"you've been avoiding me", you teased as you stopped in front of him, tilting your head.

"i don't avoid people", he replied, taking a short sip of his drink.

"can i try it?"

tsukishima raised an eyebrow and nodded, letting you grab the straw. you swirled his drink and drank for a second, a soft "hum" leaving your lips, looking straight into his eyes. "i didn't take you for a man who likes sweet drinks."

"i'm full of surprises."

"are you as sweet?"

tsukishima smiled.

"maybe", he said, voice low and teasing. "you want to find out?"

"maybe." you said, "i came to give you your prize"

"worth the wait"

you laughed, shaking your head. "is that why you played so well? thinking of this moment?"

"i've been thinking of more than just this moment."

"hm, you're bold for someone who spent the majortiy of his game glaring at the rivals."

"boldness pays off." he stepped closer, the space between your bodies shrinking. "you don't seem to mind it."

"maybe i don't," you countered, holding his gaze. "although i have to say, i was expecting something a little more impressive after all that talk"

"oh?" what were you expecting? a grand speech? romantic gesture?"

"i don't know," you said, pretending to think. "begging for my number? you did call me out in front of millions."

"begging's not my style," he said, leaning in just slightly, voice dropping an octave. "but if you want to make me work for it, i don't mind."

"you talk big game, tsukishima. are you this smooth with every girl?"

he shook his head, hand brushing against yours, the warmth of his skin making you shiver just a bit. "so? about your number... are you giving it to me?"

"depends," you said, voice quieter now, confidence faltering slighty under the intense gaze of his brown eyes. "what are you going to do with it?"

he chuckled, "you'll find out. that is, if you're braver enough to answer my calls."

you blinked, caught somewhere between fluteres and impressed and he leaned just a bit closer. "in the meantime, though," he murmured, "maybe i should make up for calling you out on live stream."

before you could respond, his hand slipped lightly to your waist, pulling you a little closer, his lips brushing against your ear but before he could even say something, he felt your hand getting inside his pocket, taking out his phone.

"unlock it"

tuskishima's finger tightened slightly on your waist, leaving his drink in a table and taking his phone from your hand, unlocking it and giving it back to you, watching you save your contact information.

his eyes flicked to your lips, smirk returning briefly before it melted into something else entirely.

"can i kiss you?"

you nodded and without another word, he closed the distance between you, leaning down to crash his lips into yours, his hands sliding to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

the kiss was raw and passionate, the kind of kiss that leaves no room for uncertainty. one of his hands came up to cradly your jaw, tilting your head just right as he deepened the kiss and you smiled, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

the heat of his body pressed against yours, his lips moving with a mixture of precision and need. when he pulled back just sightly to catch his breath, his forehead rested against yours, his glasses slightly askew, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

"well..."

you laughed softly, placing a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat at an alarmingly fast rate.

"is that good for an apology?"

you pulled back enough to look him in the eyes, a sly smile curling on your lips. "i think you're going to have to do more than just a kiss"

"i better get to work, right?"

"right" you pulled away, taking his drink and chugging it completely "my room is 279."

[denim-mixtapes]

Nothin' but a Good Time - [1/?]

Wealthy!Steve Harrington x Fem!Stripper!Reader Rating: Eventually E, this chapter contains no smut yet but mentions drug and alcohol use and strip clubs. Words: 3.7k

AO3

It's 1996 and Steve Harrington has found himself, somehow, with the fancy office job and lush apartment and more than enough disposable income to spend on booze and drugs and one night stands to distract himself from how much he HATES his scummy corporate law job and too-big, too-empty apartment. You, after years of saving, begging cheapskates and creeps for tips as a waitress by day and dancing for bigger tips from bigger creeps after dark, finally afford yourself the opportunity to move into the fancy downtown apartment of your dreams. When you move in next door to Steve Harrington, there's no way of knowing if you've just met the next great love(r) of your life or the biggest pain in your ass you'll ever know. It's entirely possible that it could be both.

November, 1996 – Steve

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

A faint rhythm builds from behind the door of Steve Harrington’s office, slow, steady, louder and louder until eventually the sound is muffled and interrupted by a low groan. 

“Fuck!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just outside the door, his secretary is left aghast, wondering when she missed the arrival of this midday rendezvous and exactly when Harrington had become so daring. Sure, she’s seen her fair share of interns and lower level assistants escorted into his office after late stressful nights or the occasional holiday party, but he’s never been so brave as to interrupt the work day for a bit of afternoon delight. The kid may be a little dense sometimes, but he isn’t that dumb. 

Usually Harrington is by the book, strictly on schedule and often working through lunch to stay on the boss’ good side. So the fact that he’s running late to a meeting in favor of a roll in the hay, well, she is shocked to say the least. 

Corralling all of her bravery into one swift motion, she knocks on the door and is surprised to hear his, “come in,” right away. Maybe a little haggard and hushed in one breath, but immediate nonetheless. Needless to say, the stout woman is nervous about what she’ll find on the other side of the door when she opens it. 

What she finds, however, is nothing more than a slightly rumpled version of Steve Harrington. Tie undone, sleeves of his collared shirt shoved up to the elbows, and his glasses placed gingerly on the desk beside him. His hair is a riot from where he was just repeatedly banging his forehead against the desk, sporting a wide swath of plump red skin above his eyebrows as evidence of the act. No, she hadn’t walked in on anything indecent, only the culmination of stress and burnout on her young boss. 

“Sorry for the noise, Linda,” he breathes, scrubbing a palm over one tired eye and down his cheek. “I just– there’s no elaborate explanation here. It’s just been a day.” He types something quickly into the computer before him and then presses the power button on the boxy monitor, turning to give her his full attention with his hands folded on the desk in front of him. “What can I do for you?”

She mirrors his posture, fingers laced together but hanging limp at her midsection, “I was just wondering if I should call Mr. Greene and inform him you won’t be able to make it to the 3 o’clock partner meeting.”  

Eyeing the clock on the wall beside him, Steve’s eyes widen to saucers and his chair scrapes loudly against hardwood floor as he stands up in a haste, collecting paperwork and wayward supplies into his briefcase as he does. “Shit.” His brows knit in a gesture of apology for his language, but Linda simply chuckles and steps out of his way. “Sorry, sorry! Thank you, Lin!” 

—

No matter how hard he tries to act the part of a corporate bigwig asshole, Steve is convinced he may never get the hang of it. If he were to be honest, he isn’t entirely sure how he made it this far. Truthfully, he’s hanging on by the skin of his teeth and the Harrington name. 

After a year of hopping from minimum wage job to minimum wage job, he finally broke down and listened to his father’s demands. Just get the damn degree, Steven, he’d said, I have a job all ready to be laid at your feet, all you have to do is pull your head out of your ass and get the degree. So he did. He sucked it up, used the influence of his family name and a bit more of the Harrington fortune to attend the most prestigious law school he never would have been able to get into with his academic record alone. When he graduated, as promised, he was offered a position just above entry level with a 401k and a more than generous benefits package. He wasn’t sure how many strings his father had to pull or how much bribing it took, but he landed this cushy job that got him out of his childhood home and into an apartment of his own, something that he’s sure benefited not only himself, but also the parents who were clearly sick of putting him up well past 18. Over the better half of the last decade, he took ‘Fake it till you make it’ to heart and managed to charm his way up the corporate ladder, and now here he is: pushing thirty with a private corner office, the title of junior partner, representing corporations he didn’t care much for and working under senior lawyers he liked even less…but this job pays more than generously. It affords him luxuries like the latest new apartment with more square footage than he knows what to do with and the city view from his living room window. It affords him as many trips out to Massachusetts to visit Robin and Nancy as he’d like, stunning suits and flashy watches he never could have dreamed of affording when he worked at Family video and refused his family fortune. And then there’s the extravagant gifts for said family that make up for his absence at Christmas dinner.

This job is draining, but it’s purchased his peace, in a way, so he does what he has to do to make it worth it.

Lately, what he has to do to make it worth it is party until he forgets how much he hates it. 

If he had to recall the names of everyone in his apartment at this moment, he would fail. There’s faces he recognizes, sure, people from work and their friends he’s seen at many other parties. Clark from down the hall, who always manages to have the best coke, is in the corner making friends, and Eddie is around here somewhere peddling his own stash…but between the thumping bass and raucous laughter and the blur of lights, there’s about 25 to 30 other people he doesn’t recognize. When a bottle is thrust into his periphery, he gladly takes a swig, drowning the worry of strangers in his apartment and the stress from the day at work with amber liquor. 

Clark beckons him over to the mirrored coffee table where he’s set up shop, offering a rolled twenty with one hand and clapping Steve’s shoulder in a shallow gesture of friendship.

Fuck it, it’s Friday. 

November, 1996 – You

Dropping one last box at the foot of the doorman’s desk, you sigh and brush cardboard dust from your hands. The two men from the moving company just went upstairs with the last of your large furniture and are set to take off when they return to ground level, having only been paid through 11 AM. So you managed to unload the back of your car and the rest of the boxes from the moving truck into the lobby, promising the doorman – whose name you swear you’ll memorize soon – that it will all be out of the way momentarily. He graciously offered to make sure nobody messed with it in the meantime. 

It’s hard to even wrap your head around the fact that you’re moving into an apartment with a doorman in the heart of the city at all, let alone one within walking distance of your diner waitress job, and close enough to a bus route to the club where you danced. You’ll have to remember to pay your grandma a visit in her new nursing home and thank her for keeping her rent-controlled lease and illegally subletting it to you. Just another thing to add to your overflowing calendar. 

When you make it up to your shiny new apartment on the ninth floor, you say your goodbyes to the movers who are on their way out, sign the appropriate paperwork for them, and drop off your armload of boxes before heading back down. 

It takes quite a few trips on your own, but after another half hour, you exit the elevator in the lobby to see only three boxes remain and heave another sigh of relief. The end is in sight, and by the grace of whichever God is looking out for you, you might even be able to sneak in a nap before work tonight. You bend over to pick up one of the last few boxes of your belongings and suddenly feel the all too familiar prickling heat of someone’s intense stare. Rolling your shoulders, you let go of the cardboard handles and stand to turn and face whoever is continuing to stare.

Behind you, leaning one hip against the front desk, is exactly the kind of man you would expect to live in a building like this. Slightly older than you, but not by much, tall and lean, but the sleeves of his tight white tee shirt show off the perfect sculpt of his bicep. The man is etched in sleep, draped in it like the blankets he surely just crawled out of, the fluffy length of his hair sticking out in every direction, pushed up and out of his face by round wire-framed glasses. He smiles in a way that feels friendly, but has the sly kind of charm behind it that makes you want to shy from it. 

“You know,” he says, grinning wide, “I know I had a hard time waking up today, but something tells me I might still be dreaming, pretty thing like you moving into my building.” 

You want to scoff at his comment, knowing exactly how you must look right now. Sweat drying on your skin, messy bun practically falling out of its hold, sporting a plain black tank top and a pair of your ex’s old basketball shorts rolled at the waist. You manage to hold back the scoff, but do roll your eyes with a soft smile at your new neighbor. “Cute, you use that line often?” 

His sharp jaw ticks, but his smile softens around a friendly laugh as he rubs tiredly at one eye. “Can’t say I do,” then, dropping the hand in favor of offering it to you to shake, “I’m Steve, need a hand with these?” 

Accepting his secondary offer and shaking his hand, you smile in return and introduce yourself, but decline the first. “Thank you, but I’m sure you were headed somewhere. Don’t let me keep you from your plans.” 

“Nonsense.” When he shakes his head, there’s a pinch to his forehead, eyes slamming shut at the motion, but he recovers quickly and hides the pain. This man is clearly fighting a monster hangover, and yet he insists. “I was just going to pick up some coffee. It can wait.” Without waiting for you to agree, he takes the smallest box and stacks it atop another, picking them both up and tacking on, “lead the way.” 

You decide there’s no arguing with him, so you grab the last remaining box and head back to the elevator, punching the 9 button once inside. 

“No way,” he says in disbelief, “ninth floor?” 

“Mhm,” you mumble softly, “9C.” 

Your eyes are drawn to the crinkle around his eyes when he laughs again despite the dark circles below, the two moles just below his cheekbone that dance when he smiles. Damn it, he really is pretty. 

“I’m in 9B, right next door! You’re moving into Ms. Ruth’s old place?” 

There’s practically a lightbulb above your head when you make the connection, and in comical time with it, the elevator dings, signaling your arrival. “Oh, so you’re the Steve Grandma warned me about!”

All color drains from his face. “W-what did she say?” 

Steve follows you down the hall to your front door, and you can’t help but giggle at his change in demeanor. Both of you set the boxes down just inside your front room and you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Just that you’re too handsome for your own good and a habitual flirt. Both of which I’m finding to be true already.” 

“Oh, well,” not only does his color return, but his cheeks pink noticeably. He gives a small nod that tips his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and sends a tuft of hair curling into his face – he couldn’t have choreographed it better if he tried. With an exaggerated wink, he continues, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.” 

You scoff, “sure, sure,” and lightly push his shoulder out toward the hallway. “Thanks for your help.” 

He strides down the hall back to the elevator and points at his own front door as he passes it. “Anytime…and you know where to find me if you need anything. You know, cup of sugar, little company. Whatever.” 

With a shake of your head and the elevator doors closing around him, you punctuate, “bye, Steve.” 

—

Later the same night, in the dressing room before your shift, you’re practically glowing from the long afternoon nap you allowed yourself in place of unpacking. You did your makeup at home – never really did care to leave your expensive products in the locker room, no matter how much you trust the other girls –  so all you have left to do is get changed. There’s a lounge just outside the locker rooms for the dancers and bar staff. It isn’t much, a cracked and peeling old leather couch, a few folding chairs around a card table, and a kitchenette for snacks and drinks, but it serves its purpose. After changing into your first outfit of the night, a bedazzled fishnet body suit over a metallic hot pink matching set, you practically bounce into the lounge and land gracefully on one end of the couch, heels in hand. 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” comes a sleepy voice from the kitchenette where Eddie Munson, club security, resident dealer, and occasional fill-in DJ, makes his routine evening coffee. 

“Didn’t you hear?” One of the other dancers, Charity – though you’re not sure her real name, stage names only even back here, that’s the rule – asks, draping herself onto the other end of the couch. She pokes at your thigh with the toe of her heel and scrunches her button nose in your direction. “Honey here is fancy now, moved into that luxurious new apartment of hers today.” 

“It’s true,” you boast with a dramatic lean into the couch, lazing, a cat to sunbathe under the fluorescent lights and clutching at pretend pearls, “I am one with the fat cats, now.” 

“The fat cats living off their granny’s handouts, maybe,” Says Felicity, the club manager, through a playful snort as she enters the room. 

You concede, “yeah fine, I could never afford this place if it wasn’t for her subletting it to me, but it’s all a part of my master plan.” 

Eddie settles into one of the folding chairs, propping his feet up on the armrest of the couch beside you. “Master plan? Do go on.” 

“You know,” you swat at the heavy, thick-soled boots before leaning forward to don your shoes and look up at him over your shoulder flirtatiously, “find a rich, hot man who can afford to live in the building and make him fall in love with me.” 

“Solid plan, how’s that working out for you so far?” Charity laughs playfully. 

It’s quiet for a moment as you contemplate the question. You were joking, of course, but when she asked the first thought that came to mind was of your interaction with Steve. It could be nothing, after all Grandma Ruth did warn you that her next door neighbor is a major flirt and for all you know that’s how he interacts with every woman he meets – maybe even every man, you don’t judge. On the other hand, it could be something. You never know.

“Well, actually there was this guy–” 

You’re interrupted by one of the bartenders leaning in the doorway. “Eddie, we’re about to open, need you at the door!” 

On his way out the door, Eddie twists his mess of curls up into a bunch atop his head and as a goodbye, says, “fill me in later, ladies, duty calls.”

—

The next time you see Steve, it’s under wildly different circumstances. For him, anyway. 

You’re still sweaty and worn out after a long morning shift at the diner and the walk home under blazing July sun. Your fifties-style uniform wrinkled and stained with sticky syrup and dried milkshake from the bratty kid who “accidentally” dumped it on you in passing. Your apron is slung over your arm carelessly and you have just let your hair loose from its scrunchie when you entered the building so you have no idea how wild it actually looks. 

Steve, however, is nothing short of stunning when you run into him at the mailboxes. He’s sporting a navy blue suit that fits him so well it must be tailored, still slightly disheveled at the end of his workday but clean cut and endlessly handsome despite it. There’s a dusting of five o’clock shadow along his sharp jaw, and his glasses are perched low on the tip of his nose as he sorts through the small stack of bills before tucking them into the inside pocket of his blazer. When he looks up and meets your eye, he visibly brightens.

“Well hi, neighbor,“ he greets with a warm grin dimpling his cheeks. He leans with one arm above your head against the wall of mailboxes and looks softly down his nose at you. “How’re you settling in?” 

Shifting the strap of your bag up higher onto your shoulder, you try to cover up the stains, once again shying under his attention. You’re more than used to attention from men, used to their intense stares and acute observation, but only when you have prepared for it. When your makeup is done to perfection and you’re fresh and clean as a whistle. Not now. Not smelling of fryer grease and pancakes and the sweat of a hard day’s work, with melted makeup and dried mascara flakes accentuating the bags under your eyes. You finally answer, “alright I guess. I’ve been working a lot lately so there hasn’t been much time for settling, but I’ll get there eventually.” 

He scrutinizes your outfit with a playful sneer. “I can imagine how hard it is, having to commute back to the fifties every time you have a shift.” He reaches out to untuck the collar of your dress that folded itself inward on your walk, smoothing it down with a caress of the thumb. “This suits you, by the way. ‘S cute.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm away with the apron in hand. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it. I wouldn’t have chosen it, otherwise.” 

Without ceremony, you both start walking to the elevator, step in step as if this was routine, as if you’ve been doing together for years. He presses the elevator button and shakes his head as you wait for the doors to open. “Does it, though?”

Swallowing your offense, you give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?” 

Together you step into the elevators, and Steve holds out an arm to make sure the doors don’t close on you as you pass through. An unnecessary gesture, as the doors don’t close if they detect motion, but it’s appreciated nonetheless. 

“Not that I’m judging, because I am not, I just find it a little hard to believe that you can afford this place as just a waitress. What else have you got up your sleeve?” 

The elevator once again signals your arrival with an overhead ding, and you just shrug as you brush past him toward your door. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

—

Working two jobs to keep up with your discounted rent is tough. You’ve never been ashamed of either job, both of them honest work and both of them something you’re good at and damn proud of, but there’s no denying that it’s tough sometimes. 

The late hours at the club, though not every day, followed by an early wakeup call for the breakfast shift at the diner often called for little to no sleep, trudging into the building well past three AM with only enough time to shower and fall into bed for two hours before the alarm went off again at 5:30. But you made it work. Naps in the middle of the day and strategically planning which days you went into the club, you always made it work. Which means on the off nights you choose not to go into the club, you value your time and the opportunity to go to bed before midnight. 

It’s a rare Saturday night that you choose to stay home a few weeks after your move. Usually Fridays and Saturdays are your biggest tip nights so it’s rare that you skip, but it had been a particularly rough day at the diner and you have to go in even earlier than usual tomorrow to cover the overnight server’s vacation, so you decide it isn’t worth the added stress. You’ll just take a nice relaxing bath, maybe watch a movie on cable, and get to bed early.

Only, ever since Steve got home, there’s been a constant flow of people outside your front door, trailing from the elevator to Steve’s, some knocking, some letting themselves right in with a slam of the front door, most of them shouting. Their voices echoed off the walls and floated through the crack under your door. You wrote it off as a simple get-together and hoped it would die down soon, but to no such luck. The swell of voices and bass heavy music and generic party ambiance only grew louder as the night went on, and here you are. 

It’s two AM, your alarm is supposed to go off in just over an hour, and you’re wide awake, no, kept awake by the thumping of the party music on the other side of your shared wall and the boisterous laughter of Steve’s guests. 

You try not to be annoyed, really. Sure, it’s well past midnight, but it’s also Saturday, and you’re no square. Obviously people can have a good time and enjoy their weekend, but God, it’s so hard to not let the noise get to you, your anger bubbling just under your skin the longer the ruckus keeps you awake. 

Angrily shoving a pillow over your face, clamping it around your ears, you make note to say something to Steve the next time you see him. 

[thatbanditqueen]

Louisiana Saturday Night, a new fic.....

I have been working on a new WIP set at the Louisiana Hayride from 1954 - 1956, and will probably post chapter one in the next few days. It starts in October 1954, when 19 year-old Elvis had never played outside the small clubs of Memphis, except for that once. At the Opry. And that didn't go too well.

Now he faces his biggest audience ever at the Lousiana Hay Ride: over three thousand people in-person (a thousand more than the Opry!) and millions over the radio. He has only recorded two singles, never been away from home much or gone beyond second base with a girl, and doesn't know much about life as a touring musician. But he's eager to learn and grab every opportunity he can with those long, inexperienced slender fingers.

This fic will have my usual blend of poorly executed dry humor, fluff, smut and angst.

please comment or reblog if you want to be tagged - here is a preview.

Here is a snippet from Chapter 1: Hot Wax

Approximately 9:15 p.m.

Saturday, October 16, 1954

The Municipal Auditorium in Shreveport, Louisiana

The first time she saw Elvis up close he was hunched over the sink tapping his fingers along the porcelain rim. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, he reminded Freddie of a bottle rocket about to blow. She smiled at the thought of him bursting through the ceiling like a comic book hero, his oversized sports coat trailing behind him like a long pink cape.

She wasn’t sure if he was recovering from his first set or talking himself into the second, but what she did know was that this kid was as green as they came. Horace had been reading Pappy the riot act yesterday when she walked by his office, yelling at him for booking “some hillbilly who just fell off the turnip truck, cuz Sam Philips brings you a bottle of Jack every time he comes through town.”  The audience out there had been so taken aback by his country bop they’d forgotten to clap, and she doubted Pappy would be allowed to invite him back.

As she watched the show up in the control booth, Freddie had wondered if Elvis’ performance had gone over better with the radio listeners who hadn’t had to watch his stilted, awkward movements on stage. There was a ragged emotional tenor to his voice, and now that she was standing right in front of him she had to admit he had a dark, sultry allure that was strikingly different from all these other boys doing their best Gene Autry impression.

But geez, now the poor kid began to mutter into his reflection and she hoped he wouldn’t cry. Freddie barely knew how to deal with the girls she found balling in the bathroom. 

“Um, hey there. You ok?”

Elvis jerked around and ran his hand through his sopping wet hair and straightened up, stiff like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“Most folks are nervous their first time. That’s a big crowd.”

“Don’t you worry about me, honey, I ain’t nervous.” He looked her over, a sneer forming at his mouth. “Didn’t you heard the man? I’m the hottest thing on wax. Mr. Logan just asked me to play a second set.”

“Oh - uh - well, I guess I was wrong.”

“MMhmmm. Just getting geared up to go back on stage.” He settled his hands at his waist and shot her a sulky fierce glower, then waggled his eyebrows in a challenge.

“Oh, well that's good. Maybe you can answer something for me then.”

“Anything baby.” 

He softened and bit his lip, giving her what she took to be his version of a come hither look. He looked like he was fighting back a sneeze and Freddie had to swallow her laughter. 

“Why are you in the Ladies’ Powder Room?”

Elvis paused and looked down for a beat as he shook his head and laughed.

She nodded toward the shelf of perfume bottles, powders and the basket of dainty pink sanitary napkin boxes with Kotex printed along the sides.

He let out a low whistle and rubbed his mouth.

“Man o man, I guess you got me, might be jus a lil nervous. I ‘spose I really weren’t watching were I was going, huh?”

Freddie couldn’t help the way she dumbly smiled back, noticing up close how long and thick his eyelashes were as he looked down at her through them. She suddenly had the urge to take his hand and lead him to the green room where she could make him a hot cup of tea and comfort him and give him all the advice she had from her four years of working at KWKH. But instead she took a deep breath and fidgeted with her cardigan.

“I won't tell anyone you were in here. It can be our secret."

other fic taglist - i won't tag you again on this unless you comment you want to be tagged:

@whositmcwhatsit

@from-memphis-with-love

@vintageshanny

@shakerattlescroll

@peskybedtime

@be-my-ally

@ellie-24

@missmaywemeetagain

@powerofelvis

@arrolyn1114

@lookingforrainbows

@eliseinmemphis

@kingdomforapony

@everythingelvispresley

@richardslady121

@dkayfixates

@artlover8992

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@18lkpeters

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@louisejoy86

@notstefaniepresley

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@j-v-9-2

@beeandheroddobsessions

@doll-elvis

@burningloverdoll

@ohjustpeachy1

@everythingelvispresley

@velvetelvis

@horror-movieshoes

@ooihcnoiwlerh

@moonchild-daniella

@lialocklear

@obsessionisthecure

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@elvispresleywife

@bisexualwvtson

@father-of-2cats

@lillypink

@godlypresley

@crash-and-cure

@misspresley

@daffieapple

@louisejoy86

@burningloverdoll

@stargirllily19

@amydarcimarie

@elvisrealgf

@littlehoneyposts

@eapep

@stylespresleyhearted

[songforeddiemunson]

Haunting in Blackwood Hollow Part 2

An Eddie Munson x F!Reader Miniseries

Series Summary: It’s the year 1991. Eddie and reader check into a rented house in the Appalachian woods, joined by Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin. Unfortunately for our gang, things in Blackwood Hollow are never as they appear.

Tropes: established relationship, Jonathan x Nancy, no mention of the events from ST, smut, comedy, fluff, scares, bit of whump (but nothing too crazy)

Series Warnings: Swearing, drinking and weed use, sexual and scary situations, minors please DNI.

Chapter Two: Fool Me Once

Chapter warnings: naughty language, mentions of drinking, weed use. Smut, p in v sex, bit rough (you like it) wrap it before you tap it. Spooky situations

Author's Note: Thanks so much for the smut inspo, @hiscrimsonangel (with this post haha iykyk)

Word Count: ~3K

PART ONE

You stayed up quite late that first night catching up with your old friends, drinking cans of pilsner or oversweet margarita mix from sticky solo cups, laughing your asses off, the ouija board forgotten and back in its box. No longer a big fan of heavy drinking yourself, you cut yourself off after just a few drinks, preferring the more mellow buzz of herb than bubbles. 

Jonathan got quite drunk, which was a riot, and his friendly ribbing of Steve always increased in that state, to the delight of everyone in the room. Despite Steve’s history with Nancy (and subsequently Jonathan), the three of them managed to become great friends. 

Robin bemoaned what she referred to as her perpetual spinsterhood, making you all laugh; “I don’t think you can legally call yourself a spinster at 23,” Steve said. “Just enjoy not being tied down yet,” he finished, causing the rest of the room to tease him for projecting, considering he couldn’t seem to find his one-and-only either (but he pretended he didn’t mind, fooling nobody). 

Steve dated plenty, but Robin struggled with it more than he did for obvious reasons. The two of them were roommates for a time in Indianapolis before going their separate ways. The catalyst; one of Steve’s hookups once implied she would like Robin to join them in the bedroom, which horrified them both so much they ultimately got separate places but still lived on the same block. Robin managed a coffee shop and spoke about her wish to try out for the Indianapolis Philharmonic, which thrilled her but made her so nervous she became nauseated whenever she thought about it for too long. Steve had been employed as a junior high school basketball coach for the past year and decided he would like to go back to school for academic sports; he loved working with the kids.

Nancy filled in the group regarding her grad school studies at Columbia University in New York City for journalism. It was hard work but, true to form, Nancy was excelling, and she had a bright future in print journalism in the city. Jonathan had relocated to be with her and was working as a freelance photographer when he wasn’t working in the kitchen of a popular Brooklyn restaurant. He had ultimately decided not to pursue college and chose to support Nancy instead, thinking that would be the best chance for them as a couple. It caused a lot of friction at first, with Nancy initially pushing Jonathan to go to college, but they were able to work through it and had come out stronger.

After high school Eddie had tried his hand at being a musician, mechanic, bartender and assorted other odd jobs with limited success, and ultimately decided to attend vocational school to become a tattoo artist, which was truly his calling. All the doodles he made for Corroded Coffin and the Hellfire Club paid off, and he was one of the most sought-after ink artists in St. Louis, earning enough for the two of you to live in a nice apartment, despite your modest salary as an administrative assistant for a dentist’s office.  

You were all thriving, and it was wonderful to celebrate each other’s successes. The wedding rehearsal was the following evening, and you looked forward to catching up with the younger kids there– “kids” who were all legal adults by this time; a fact that none of you could believe nor enjoyed thinking about. You were all relieved that you weren’t staying with them, despite the less than ideal location in which you found yourselves; those kids were like a pack of ferrets on cocaine, especially when they were all together. It would be too much, so you stuck with your own age bracket.

Finally, around two in the morning, Robin decided to turn in. Nancy and Jonathan followed about fifteen minutes later, leaving you and Eddie alone with Steve.

You stretched and yawned. “I think it’s time for bed. You coming Eddie?”

Eddie waggled his eyebrows at you. “I don’t know, am I?” he asked, his voice dripping with hyperbolic innuendo.

You laughed and gave him a smack on his tightly bedenimed rear end. “Just get moving, Munson.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted, while Steve rolled his eyes.

It turns out that mercifully, someone did actually change the sheets.

A blessing, honestly, considering you were currently tangled up in them, with the sharp bones of Eddie’s pelvis almost painfully pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs. The bed, old and squeaky with a metal frame that resembled something out of a cold war era prison, was a loud testament to the rhythm of your sex. You couldn’t be bothered to care much, since it felt incredible. The few cans of PBR you had chugged didn’t hurt either.

Eddie had you pinned to the mattress, caged between his arms as he nuzzled and suckled your neck, punctuating soft kisses with nips that would surely leave a mark. You enjoyed it like this sometimes, when he would manhandle you just a bit, claiming you, marking you, and fucking you roughly into the mattress. Sure, there was a time and place for soft lovemaking, but sometimes, you just wanted to be nailed.

“Feel so good baby,” he murmured into your ear, barely more than an exhalation, most of his efforts being concentrated on slamming his cock into your depths. You could barely do more than wiggle and squeal with the way he had you immobilized, which seemed to heighten every sensation. Even his breathy little grunts and gasps were sending you into the stratosphere. You clawed at his back, and the resulting moan in your ear helped bring on climax number three, and you bit into Eddie’s shoulder to stifle your cries.

Eddie’s pace began to falter, and he grasped your waist roughly with his fingers as he shuddered and thrust to his own completion, ending with a final grind of his hips against your sensitive clit, making you yelp. “Ha,” he burst triumphantly; he could be a cocky shit when it came to the pleasures he could draw out of you. He also wasn’t wrong. 

After a tender kiss, Eddie rolled off of you and retrieved his boxers from the floor, sliding them on before fumbling around on the bedside table for his smokes.  He lay back down with his back propped up against the pillow, lighting a cigarette and sighing contentedly. He looked at you and grinned.

“You think everyone heard us?”

You chuckled. “I don’t see how they couldn’t,” you said, as you dressed in a tank top and sweatpants. “This bed is so squeaky, it almost wasn’t worth even trying to be quiet.” 

Eddie laughed. “You sound so cute though when you try,” he said as he flicked his ash into the ashtray on his nightstand. “All squeaky and whiny,” he finished with a wink.

“How dare you,” you joked. “I’m a vision of propriety.”

“Properly fucked, you mean.”

“Eddie!” you scolded, laughing.

“I’ll take it back when it stops being true darlin.’” 

“You’re the worst,” you countered.

“You love me,” he said.

“Dammit, you’re right, I do,” you said. You bent to kiss him, and as you pressed your lips to his, you felt him smile.

“I love you too babe,” he said. 

It was incredible, how he could still make your heart beat faster after all this time.

You headed into the ensuite bathroom and started to go through your usual bedtime routine of brushing your teeth and washing your face. You were suddenly struck by how exhausted you were; between traveling, cleaning, drinking (and smoking) and some vigorous sex, you were thoroughly spent. You glimpsed through the open bathroom door that Eddie had picked up his paperback of Needful Things, and was reading it by the light of the table lamp.

You clicked off the bathroom light and were just about to exit when something caught your eye out of the window. You peered closer to the thick glass to get a better look.  

There was someone standing below on the lawn.

You couldn’t make out any details, but you had the sudden, hair-raising sense that whoever it was was looking right at you.

You jumped backward in alarm.  "Eddie!” you shouted. 

He was out of bed and by your side in an instant. “What?!  A rat?  Why are you standing in the dark, babe?”  He peered around the room intently.

“No, down there!”  You pointed out the window, down onto the grass, but now the figure was gone.  “But…but it was there a second ago…”

Eddie bent to the glass for a closer look, brows furrowed.  "I don’t see anything. What was it?“

"A person! They were definitely standing down there. And babe– I swear it was looking at me.”

A look of intense wariness crossed his features, and he straightened, all business.  "Are you sure?“

"Yes! It was right there!”

“Stay here.”  He was out of the bathroom like a shot. He quickly pulled on his flannel pajama pants and strode from the bedroom.  You waited with your heart in your throat as you heard the front door below you creak open.  You watched out the window as Eddie came into view on the lawn, carrying a fireplace poker in one hand. He clicked on a flashlight and began to sweep the property with it.  It was late, and the shadows from the trees that peppered the property created long ribbons of darkness across the grass that the lights from the house were unable to penetrate.  You realized that it must have been difficult for Eddie to see out there, even armed with a flashlight, and you broke into gooseflesh at the thought.

Screw this, I’m not leaving him alone out there, you thought to yourself, and left the bathroom.  Eddie hadn’t turned on any of the lights in his wake, and in the darkness the house had taken on an even more sinister quality than when you had arrived. You tried to push it out of your mind, dismissing it as the aftershock from your scare. It permeated regardless, with a nearly palpable weight. You hurried downstairs and toward the front door, clicking on lights as you went.  The downstairs area was deserted; everyone else must have also turned in. You quickly scanned the entry area for a weapon, finding only an umbrella. It would have to do.

You stepped outside, eyes sweeping the lawn for Eddie, hearing only crickets as you peered into the trees. In the moments since you had taken your eyes off of him he had disappeared from view. Your heart was pounding and your breath misted around you in the chilly night air.  You crept forward slowly, and you found that your eyes were having difficulty adjusting to the darkness. The shadows were too inconsistent. Anyone could be watching me from those trees and I’d never know it, you thought. Dammit babe, where did you go? 

“Babe?” you called softly.  Silence. “Eddie,” you called again, a little louder this time. Was that a twig snapping?

“What?” said a voice, from directly behind you.

You squeaked with fright and whirled, striking out with the umbrella.  "Ow, what the fuck?!“ Eddie bent forward, clutching his head.

"Oh my fucking god Eddie! You scared me!”

He rubbed his head in irritation where you had whacked him, mussing up his curls. “What are you doing out here? I asked you to stay inside!”

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t just stand there waiting for you. Are you alright?” you stood on your toes to get a better look at your boyfriend’s scalp, but thankfully there was no blood.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, then sighed resignedly.  "I didn’t see anything in front, so I circled round the back to be sure. There’s nothing out here that I can see.  Are you sure you saw someone?“

"Positive.”

“Your eyes couldn’t have been playing tricks on you?”

“Edward,” you said, your voice taking on an acerbic tone. “You know I’m not prone to hysterics.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, and hugged you to him.  "Maybe it was Steve or something.”

“If it was, where is he now? I didn’t see anyone when I came downstairs.”

Eddie could only shrug at that.

Once back inside, he bolted the front door. "Seems solid,” he said.  He went around the house and checked to be sure all the windows and the back door were locked, and when he was satisfied, you went back to the bedroom together.  As you passed Jonathan and Nancy’s room, Jonathan opened the door and poked his head out, his hair mussed and sticking up in every direction.  

“Someone scream?” he mumbled blearily.

“Eddie saw a spider, go back to bed,” you said. Eddie shot daggers at you with his eyes, but a slight upward curl of his lips belied his irritation. Jonathan only nodded and closed his door.

Back in your own room, you undressed and crawled under the covers, snuggling up to Eddie.

It was quiet for a moment, but the wheels in your mind were still turning. “Maybe it was just a local cutting across the lawn on the way somewhere. They may not be used to the house being occupied,” you offered.

"Maybe,” Eddie replied, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Will the light bother you if I read for a while?” he asked.

“Not at all,” you said.  "Going to sleep with the light on will be okay with me tonight.”

The following morning you shuffled downstairs for breakfast, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as your housemates warmed up the oatmeal or ate the boxed cereals that Nancy helpfully supplied the previous evening.

“Did anyone see or hear anything strange last night?” you asked the group as you poured yourself a cup of hot coffee.

“I think I did,” Steve began. “Some sort of instrument I think. What was that Robin?”

“Bedsprings,” Robin stated simply as she swallowed a bite of peaches ‘n cream flavored oatmeal, looking the worse for wear.

“Uh, besides that,” you said, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. Eddie laughed.

“Don’t hate,” he said.

“I heard Eddie scream at a spider,” Jonathan said, and this time it was your turn to laugh.

“It was NOT me, and it was not a fucking spider!” Eddie yelled, offended by the notion.

“No,” you said, quelling your giggles. “It was actually me. I– I thought I saw someone outside last night, watching me when I was getting ready for bed.”

Steve sat forward, suddenly wide awake. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “Eddie went out to look for whoever it was but he didn’t find anything.”

“Oh shit,” Robin said, “that’s the last thing I needed to hear. Can we go to a hotel now?”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” Nancy said. “Maybe it was just a local?”

“The nearest neighbors are a quarter mile away,” you said. 

“I dunno,” Jonathan chimed in, “you hear stories about cannibals living in the woods in Appalachia…”

“That’s a gross stereotype,” Robin scolded.

“Feel free to ignore him,” Nancy said with a sigh.

“My mom was from Appalachia!” Eddie spat.

“Okay, nevermind,” Jonathan said, as he shrank down in his seat and went back to his oatmeal.

“Well if it wasn’t a local, what could it have been?” Steve asked.

“Maybe messing with the ouija board woke something up,” Robin said, and though you normally didn’t place much stock in those things, you felt something akin to an ice cold finger trail down your spine. You shivered.

Steve chuckled. “You can’t be serious.”

“No really!” Robin cried defensively. “In the movie Witchbo–”

“I am not using a shitty 80s horror film as a guidebook!” Steve shouted.

“Whatever,” Robin said. “If you guys get murdered by an evil axe-wielding ouija spirit, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You laughed it off along with everyone else, yet the idea wouldn’t leave you. It was unsettling, to put it mildly.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie was studying your expression. You did always wear your emotions on your sleeve, and he could sense your unease.

“So,” Eddie said. "What’s everyone wearing to the wedding?"

His umber eyes slid over to yours as the conversation devolved into fashion and hairstyling chatter.

Thank you, you mouthed to your boyfriend, and his Mona Lisa smile wordlessly said, I’ve got you. And he did, that much you would never be unsure about. Regardless of what was happening in your life, Eddie Munson would always have your back, which made you feel very lucky indeed. 

You didn’t know it yet, but it was a sentiment you would come to rely upon much more in the days to come. 

To Be Continued...

More is coming! As always, comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of every fic writer!

MASTERLIST

[rreskk]

FREAKSHOW

Hey guys, excuse any gramma errors or whatever. I’m still sick lol

Summary: You were apart of the goth subculture. There was an open venue for a goths night, including punks as well. It was all going well before you crossed paths with a particular man.

Pairings: goth fem!reader/Trevor Philips

TW: smut

Word count: 4860

New wave. Simultaneously on the spectrum with punk-rock when it came to growing popularity. Once frowned upon, now you are looking around the room, seeing people express that “satanic” ritual of black dresses, corsets, white makeup, dyed black hair. Of course you had the casuals! People who were standing around drinking from the cup of beers, wearing that once relevant band from the 70s, but it was the thought that counted. It was not only new wave for the goths; it was new wave in general, the population intensifies with experimentation and new fashion. You even saw a few mohawks clotting through the endless crowds that surrounded the loud speakers.

You smiled, contently. You were one with the crowd, exchanging knowing glances to other people within your subculture, nodding to appreciate their whole attires and appearance. It was nice like that. Especially in the low-developed areas within the Midwest where things were usually slow, more media-shy. Heavy music was only just celebrated due to the solemn nature of the town you were based in – North Yankton. With all the rapid snow, you would’ve thought it was the hotspot for likeminded people? Surprisingly, no. This club was a few hours aside, still within the area but more in the region of human life. Where you lived, it was in the rural region. Snowy fields, broken-down cars, lost tourists (who went the wrong way), weirdly growing criminality rates?

The criminality has died down a bit but a few weeks ago there was a robbery at the local cash-in. It shocked the neighbours and locals, the community automatically downgraded with trust.

So it was great to hit the clubs again.

It was packed, but you liked that. Finding a drink was hard until some lovely lady, twice your height, handed you a glass of wine. Red. It was typical for the goth agenda and luckily you were in the mood for some classy drinks as the night commended into a phase of adrenaline and spirit!

You sipped the fruity delight and meandered within the crowd, making small-talk with the occasional men who were drunk as a skunk. It was something you couldn’t escape when clubbing. You usually wonder away as they slur out an age that was definitely not theirs… A man full of grey hair with wrinkles of a scaled fish would lie about their age being under the 30s and you immediately slick out of them lies. What could you expect in a room full of misfits. A murderer could be in this room and none of the people here would care. They would, however, riot if something happened to the drinks and music.

“Hey, hey.” You heard someone hush as a hard hand grasped your shoulder. Turning around, your eyes met this largely obtained frame of a man whose face was vaguely covered by the dim lights. You barely made out the hand that pointed towards your drink. With a husky voice, he spoke again. “They got something other than wine?”

Trying to understand him from over the music was hard enough. You shouted out and pointed towards the bar. “They’ll have menus over there or something.”

The man sniffed loudly when you spoke. He shifted forward, the majority of his face revealed. His nostrils were red and his eyes were a bit twitchy, but he was fairly normal looking. Well. For a scene like this. He wore this moustache and shaggy mullet that spiked up in every direction, effortlessly as well.

“Eh. Eh – Atta girl.” He ruffed and sniffed again. You wanted to assume it was the cold weather outside but you knew it was something other. The man released his grip and squeezed past you, his large shoulder accidentally knocking your wine. It fell onto your dark dress and leather corset.

“Fuck…” You murmured but he hadn’t of noticed, only walking further away from the destruction he had caused. There was a temptation to call him out for the clumsiness but it was stupid to blame a man who was high on whatever substances he had snorted in the past hour. It was obvious, you even noticed the powder sit on the skirts of his moustache. White; cocaine.

Watching him from afar, the guy was quite tall. He wore nothing to suggest he willingly came in here. Probably drinks, right? It was an obvious reason, maybe the only reason. He made no attention to the dressed up figures around him. In a room full of liveliness, he sat there on the bar, his green parkers coat and tanned cargos. His posture hunched and you saw him take a swig of a glass that wasn’t even his. The lady beside him grew disgusted and walked off despite paying for the beverage but you couldn’t blame her – he was intimidating.

People automatically avoided him and continued dancing around to the wave of music. However, your eyes struggled to move away from the stranger. As you were patting down the damp fabrics from the accident, you took small steps forward, slowly edging towards the bar. Maybe you could get an apology or something. This corset was expensive and now it had small specs of the wine imprinted.

It took courage. You stood beside him and cleared your throat for the bartender who came to your service. If you weren’t going to face the problem in a confrontational threat, you were going to give passive hints.

“Hey.” You smiled when the bartender stood at your front. “I was wondering if you could refill my wine? Someone knocked it over a few minutes ago.”

“Ahah, accidents like that happen all the time. I’ll get you another glass.” The good worker took your glass and went back to refill.

This left you alone with the stranger who gave you a snarky side-eye. Now you could see it for yourself, he was high. Them eyes were dilated like a UFO and his face was struck with this nasty gaze. You made eye-contact and he held it, making you stiff.

“I found the bar.” Finally, he muttered after taking a sly sip from the stolen drink.

You nodded your head in affirmation and looked away but he said something else, something faint. It took you a couple of seconds to recall the exact wording since his voice matched the heaviness to the music.

“What’s the fuckin’ occasion then? I walked in and everyone is dressing up like some BDSM get-together.”

“BDSM?” You repeated, rather offended. “No. It’s a venue event.”

“Halloween was months ago.”

“Yeah, I know – “

“I saw a random guy over with a leash around his neck.” The man grunted as he raised his hand to the far corner of the club. He then looked at you. “This ain’t some normal venue. You got some kinky shits in here.”

“It’s for the new-wave music. You know, gothic… Metal, punks?” You attempted to explain.

“In North Yankton? This is some Romanian vampire costume party.” He placed the glass back down and returned to his shell, covering his face with his arm and sitting there like a loner.

But you didn’t take this as a sign to stop.

“It’s not all about the clothes. It’s the music.”

With this, he edged his head up and stared through his brows at you. It took him a minute to recollect the energy and straighten his posture. “I always thought goths were to look at.”

You felt a bit disgusted as you knew what he was suggesting.

“Your clothes and all…” His voice drooled and came to a deep conclusion by the pitch of his tongue. “It’s erotic. Sexy.”

“Nice…” You whispered with discomfort. The wine was served and you held it close to your chest, not trusting the guy who was obviously taking an interest at the sight of you standing there.

“Oh, come on… Take it as a compliment. You goths have way more to look at than the strippers I just saw – “

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying… That you look… Nice.” The man gritted with his teeth. The shift in tension between you both grew as annoyance struck. He wanted you to take it as a compliment despite the “compliment” being pervy and disrespectful to the overall scene.

You dragged your drink away the bar and gave him a hefty glare. “Thanks.”

He sniffed up the molecules of coke from his moustache and returned your sarcastic remark. “You’re fuckin’ welcome, sugar.”

You uttered a small “whatever” under your breath before setting some distance between him, but he maintained this steady stare where you felt burdened to break the eye-contact. Whatever this was, it was intense. You returned his stare while taking slow sips of your wine, eyes flickering down towards his tongue that licked the lining of his glass cup. It made you grossed out and you looked away.

The man, with strength, slammed the cup against the table surface and leaned back in his chair, his body slump, his arms falling to his sides, staring – still. This is where you draw the line, finding this behaviour creepy and uncomfortable.

“Stop staring.” You muttered loud enough for him to hear.

His eyebrows raised at the confrontation. “That’s poor mannerism. Where is the magic word?”

The audacity of this guy. To refrain from further exclusions of emotions, you grounded yourself and turned your back. If he wasn’t going to find decency, you may have to ignore him, which is what you are about to do. He watched as you left the bar with the glass of wine idly in your hand.

“I didn’t hear you say the magic word!” The man called out before you could get lost in the crowd.

So turning back, you raised the finger and gave him one last sight to taste. But apparently that was not to his standards. Your eyes widened as he jumped out of his seat, his face full of hatred and feet rapidly following you.

He looked painfully angered yet his words, smooth as butter. You were forced to face him with inches sparing to save room for Jesus. His groin; pressed against yours mercilessly. Whether he meant to, it was warm and it made you shudder in a weirdly excited fright.

“There is no. Need. To. Be. So. Rude… Darling Dragula… You hear me?” Is what he said.

The threat became nothing but sweetness to your ears after the close, heated proximity where you wished it hadn’t of turned you on so much.

“I’m sorry.” You murmured.

“Oh, yeah, you’re sorry,” his voice rapidly tormented. “You can’t expect a man to not stare at the freaks in a freakshow.”

There was zero rationality that made your lip twitched. He needed to be corrected as this was your time to loosen up and have fun, being someone within a community so wronged.

“You willingly stepped into the freakshow. I wouldn’t complain if I were you…” You tried to ease the bitterness but it was prominent.

The guy grinned uneasily at your argument and leaned closer. His horrid breath filled with alcohol, bodily disgust, acidic death; an assassination to intimidate your nostrils and dominate the title of “freak.” Because he was one. You didn’t have to second-guess that.

“I ain’t complaining. The staring said otherwise.” He whispered directly against your ear, his lips grazing your earrings like he wanted to taste the material. The drug was definitely playing a role with his reasonings.

“Sometimes staring can be misunder….” You stopped talking when his nose gently rubbed against yours. You stopped talking at the closeness becoming 10x entrapping. Despite complaining about the staring, the stare he was doing right now was different and vulgar. Your spine shivered as it felt wrong to participate in this weird situation.

“Staring can be what?” He grumbled with a low voice.

“…Staring can be…” His persistent boldness had made you struggle to line up the right words. He had left you speechless which is where he wanted you to be.

The man smirked and leaned away, gifting you with freedom of space before grabbing your wrist and speaking. “What’s your name, sugar?”

You didn’t want to tell him. Whatever happened to the bitter-sweet argument where you wanted to continue your night, solo. But you couldn’t escape this one, not yet anyway.

“[y/n].”

“[y/n]?” He repeated and you nodded. The man inspected your face before nodding. “Your make-up. It’s… Cool.”

“Than – “

“The names Trevor.”

The pace was fast when he proposed his name. You didn’t know how to react. What was there to say? “Nice name…”, “Nice to meet you!”, “How are you, Trevor?”

None suited the present time. Neither was his name nice or was it to meet him. Trevor. It was so ironic. The syllables to his name was something to spit out, an opposite of a lullaby and melody. Trent, Travis, Troy, Trevor. Somehow you imagined people named after a “Tr” approach to be someone like him; a bit edgy and definitely questionable, morally. It’s the aggression and swift movement of the lips and teeth that makes his name unforgettable. It was masculine, indeed.

“Ahh, cool.” You uttered relatively quietly.

Trevor rocked his head back and took a deep breath before them frantic pupils scanned the busy room. He took turns to focus on each individual then returned to you, lips curling up into a snarl. You thought he was going to say something but instead, he just sneezed. You flinched and watched him adjust himself back into the close position.

“Bless me.” Trevor applaud with an overexaggerating tone.

You gave him a nervous smile and leaned away. He noticed the distance multiplying and tugged his cruel fingers around your corset where they felt the strings round back. This was alarming until he used it to pull you closer. Your body instantly went into meltdown as your groins fell in contact again. You could feel him, he was there, and he was hard. It unconsciously rubbed against you through the skirt. You didn’t know if he meant it so you remained silent. Mute.

“Don’t look so scared – I’m trying to be nice.” Seized the taller man as he noticed your discomfort. Them hands gripped harder around you and he looked through his brows with a scolding gaze. “Thought I’d… Endure the atmosphere a bit.”

“The atmosphere?” You spoke.

“Everyone else is enjoying themselves. Why can’t I?”

“You can, I… I didn’t mean – “ The way he phrased things. He seemed so offended all the time! You didn’t want to miscommunicate with him anymore since you could already tell he was a bomb to handle. A ticking time-bomb.

“[y/n], [y/n], [y/n]. Don’t sound so unsure. Try and enjoy your precious goths night, ay?”

You really wanted to say “you make it less enjoyable” as he took every chance to mock the subcultures in the room, but you could identify the slander being a pathetic attempt of teasing, maybe flirting.  

“Yeah, my night.”

Trevor grumbled in his voice as your bodies swayed together slightly. He was stuck to you like glue. “My night’s been a shithole. I need a distraction. Lemme dance around with you.”

“You want to dance?”

“Or fuck.”

“What?” You froze.

“What?” He snickered in return, gaslighting.

“You just said you wanted to fu – “

“What shitty, shitty music… Let us dance around with these other morons…” His voice would bewitch and charm, licking up them insults with a flavour of seductiveness; paradox-ing whatever the Hell you were experiencing with this guy who was high as a fucking kite.

Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but move around with the commandment of his hands that held onto your lower back, pulling you alongside. You looked at Trevor who grinned. God you wanted to go. To escape this. Your feelings were conflicted and you felt like you were going to puke. Your face was full of nervousness and you glanced to your side before his cold thumb grazed a pinch of your upper lip.

It made you jump as you watched his finger pull away, your black lipstick staining the tip of it.

“What?” You confusingly murmured.

Trevor raised an eyebrow and licked the lipstick from his thumb. Pervert.

“It smudged a bit.” Was his excuse.

“Sure… You fixed it?” You’d interrogate sternly, this time.

“No – it’s more smudged now.” Trevor smirked and threatened to touch you with his thumb again. “It looks hot on you though. You know, messy.”

Instantly avoiding his thumb, you broke away from his grip and crossed your arms, creating an invisible barrier between you both where he turned sour again, glaring like you disobeyed a law.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“You’re creeping me out.”

Trevor scoffed. “Oh, get over yourself – “

“I don’t care how lonely or high you are, I really don’t care! Just stop freaking me out with you… Touching me like that. It’s fucking weird.” You stressed.

“Weird, is it?” He took a step forward and grabbed your wrist, your nails automatically digging into his hand as he’d hiss at the pain. You marked his skin great enough to draw blood that trickled down his palm like a piece of artwork. His eyes shifted from your sharp, black nails and to the wound, caused by you, his face itching with disbelief.

This was the opportunity to rush off but then that same hand attacked your face. Your mouth was hit with this iron taste and you were thrown back into his arms, his hand covering your mouth, blood aching on your lips and tongue. Trevor was shaking as he kept you tight and grunted slightly since your warm breath penetrated the fresh wound from your nails.

Your words were muffled and he placed his chin on the top of your head, dragging you away into the furthest corner where the lights barely exposed it’s presence.

“C’mon…” He whispered in your ear and finally released you from his bloodiness, making you gasp for air. Though you were free to speak, his body cornered you against the wall.

However the situation… You were supposed to feel angered and scared. But there was something about it all. His blood marked your lips and you licked around it, the eye-contact between his brown ones and yours strong. You became aroused.

“You made me bleed.” Trevor groused with restless lips that stretched up into a grin.

The connection was shared and now you were both facing the consequences of this unwanted arousal. You were fuelling his fetish for “goths” and you couldn’t care less. Not after this.

“Am I supposed to feel sorry?”

“Don’t apologise. Don’t fuckin’… Ruin the moment…” He hurried, “and don’t threaten me, you cheeky fuck.”

“You threatened me first.”

“You wanna try and threaten me with my cock in your mouth, huh?”

“Now that… Was a threat.” You snickered.

Trevor adjusted his bulge and used his free hand to hold your chin, looking at you with desire. His thumb, stained with blood this time, smudged more of your lipstick before moving closer, searching between your lips and passing your teeth. You took this as a sign and began to sensually suck around his thumb, tasting his blood and your own lipstick.

“Oh…” He seemed more vulnerable watching you. His large frame hid you from the crowded room but that didn’t stop him from paranoidly looking over his shoulder. Possibly the drugs giving him that fear of being watched. He waited until you sucked for an extra second then draped an arm over your shoulder. You were guided by this shaky man as you entered the private bathrooms reserved for the staff.

One of them staggered over after noticing Trevor luring closer. He cried out. “Hey, that’s staff on – “

But in return, he received a massive “FUCK OFF!” that echoed over the music, some of the party-goers turning to gaze over but you were pushed into the private bathroom, the door locking behind you.

Immediately his lips were on yours. Trevor lifted up your hips and held you against the wall as he carelessly aloud your make-up to splutter against his rough skin. You grabbed the back of his neck and gently applied pressure with your nails while he worked labour with his tongue that adventured around your wet mouth, tasting every inch like he was deprived from touch.

He made whining noises throughout the clingy kisses and he couldn’t hold back. You gasped out loud when he ripped off your leather corset, the strings snapped in half and your body becoming free from that tightness. It made you feel naked. You leaned your head back and breathed heavily as he ran his hands down your frame, the dress becoming loose due to this rough nature of his playfulness. It took you a life-time to prepare yourself for the venue today but something about Trevor ripping every layer was more sexier. Soon your back was naked against the wall and he had his hands groping your freed breasts.

You looked at him, his face partially white with the occasional smudges of black. His moustache had white ends from the endless kisses too. He didn’t seem to noticed, you loved it.

“I’m so… God…” Trevor groaned as he zipped off his green coat, throwing his shirt from over the head and easily undressing himself in front of you. His body type had great muscle mass but with the balance of thick and thinness. Your eyes shifted to the hairs leading down to the buckle of his belt, in which you saw his injured hand undo. The buckle came loose and he made sure you watched. Trevor’s other hand grabbed onto your neck as he positioned your head to face the reveal of his cock. He brought it from the briefs and lied it in the palm of his hands, smirking at you. “You like that, [y/n]? You want that?”

The dirty talk edged you closer and you nodded your head, the dyed black strands falling onto your face.

“I bet it fits perfectly in you.” Your body shivered as he held you against the wall, his hand introducing himself with your intimacy. He said this while stroking over your pussy. He gave himself an insight of your shape, feel, touch. Trevor must’ve loved the way you were since he’d let out a soft moan when his finger perfectly moved into you without struggle. The way he came in – you whimpered silently.

Trevor continued to finger you until it was loose enough for his preference. He liked it wet and messy before the deal. You opened yourself to him and felt obliged to the access of his shaggy mullet, dragging your nails down his strands, repeating the cycle from the scalp downwards

He hummed at your affections before lining his cock, with the guidance of his bloodied hand, easily fucking the looseness as it would slide right in. This made you both moan behind the heaviness of music that dominated the atmosphere still. At least no one would hear you. They may suspect, after Trevor’s “kindness” to the worker, but there was no evidence to propose the truth. It was only you and him.

“Yes, yes…” You finally encouraged Trevor through the increased pace. The make-up was damned and ruined, your breasts bouncing at the force of his thrusts. Your back kept on beating the wall behind since the bathroom was too small to execute a full position. The cramp space, however, made it all so better because you two were made into this close proximity. The proceeding sweat from his neck and face would only transfer onto you due to this. It was the definition of “hot and bothered.”

“Oh, my… Oh, ah!” Besides, his noises were pathetic. Before you assumed he was this masculine character, yet the way he sloppily fucked into you with them whiny cries said otherwise. You were allowing this pervert to treat you like so! It was abnormal, amazing even! How the time passes when you are having an awful interaction with this intoxicated man. There were nothing but lust and coke behind his eyes and you showed mercy; resulting in legs spread, cock in, mouth puking out moans. Dirty work. You wondered if the strip-club he allegedly stayed in, before the venue, was at your level of satisfaction. Maybe you were proving him right though…

Goths were so much more than them strippers. You damned that right.

���I fuckin’ love you… Love me!” Trevor angrily sobbed as he pounced in and out aggressively. You’ve had rough sex before but this was another category. You were light-headed at the heaviness of his touch, it was disgustingly attractive.

Your hands clenched onto a handful of his thin, longish hair and you pulled as you as you can, liking the way he responded through snarls and moans. The painful dosage mixed with pleasure. You could’ve sworn his cock had the stains of his blood too, and now it was inside you.

“I… Shit…” You moaned, “I think I’m gonna cum, Trevor… Trev – Fuck!”

He nodded his head rapidly and consistently fucked you. His lips were sucked in and he only made sounds of whimpers and whiny chants. From the hardness and twitchiness though, you knew he was close too.  

“Fuck me! You fucking… Freak! Fuck!” This came watering out from your tongue unnaturally. So into the moment, so infused, that the filter was beckoned. Your eyes wondered from realisation but Trevor, dear old Trevor, he nodded his head again.

“Oh, yeah… I’m a freak, baby. I’m all yours. All yours… My cock fits so good, don’t it?” He weakly responded after the intense echoes of your skin slapping together.

“You’re all mine?”

Trevor placed his lips against your forehead and murmured a muffled groan. “All fuckin’ yours…”

What had gotten him so worked up and needy? It was hot. You smirked and took in the scent of his nastiness before the sensation became present again. He cried in frustration and ignored your distressed moans, the climax approaching you both at the same time.

“Trevor… Shit…” Your legs started to shake and you stared upwards, suddenly…

Both finishing. Warmth rinsed out of you, squirting. The noise you made was painfully good. You had arched your back and allowed the cum to drain out as Trevor came onto the softness of your stomach. He rubbed himself to encourage the orgasm that was awakening the sobriety in his mind. Loud wasn’t even the right word for it. He was obnoxious. You breathed heavily after he released a high-pitch pant, the bathroom slowly becoming silent, making you realise just how randomly steamy it had got.

And it smelt of sex, massively.

“Ohhhh, and I hate myself…” You heard him whisper as the rush came to an end. Your pussy though? It stung, in a good way.

You picked up the scattered leftovers of your clothes and decided that after this, you may go home since your attire was… Presumably inappropriate looking. From the way your make-up was running down your face with sweat and the sweat mess of your hair. You didn’t mind, a good nap was what you needed from this anyway.

“Dare I ask for your number, sunshine?” Trevor managed to speak, his coat on but his shirt not. He lazily had his chest out like he couldn’t be bothered.

“Yeah…” You whispered and routed for your phone before realising that it was in the car still. The way you fell in defeat and sighed. “Fuck. I haven’t got it with me.”

He scoffed. “Where am I gonna find a chick like you again, ay? I gotta have something. An address?”

“Woah, too fast. I’ll just tell you where I work… You know, day-time job. In the town still.”

“Strip-club? – “

“The café a few blocks down. You know where that cash-in is? The one that got robbed?”

Trevor fell silent before grinning. He nodded his head and looked at you. “I know that area very well, sugar.”  

This didn’t seem to tick any flags in your head as you smiled. “Yeah, I’m there from 9 to 3 usually. Am.”

“Good to know.”

“I’ll see you around, maybe?” You hoped.

“I’ve got a load of business around there… So yeah, you’ll see me around, sugar.” He said with an entertained grin before zipping up your dress and ensuring you looked somewhat presentable.

Well, he didn’t help. You had to persuade him. He did complain but was silenced when you slapped his shoulder.

Then you exited the bathroom. It was awkward and you avoided eye-contact with anyone, especially because he still had his chest on display from under the open coat. He probably forgot about it. His shirt was stuffed in the waistline of his cargos as well, it was pretty obvious.

“Keep them sharp nails to yourself, [y/n].” He said in your ear and wondered off without another word. He left you standing there dazed. With a sore pussy as well.

“Keep them sharp nails to yourself…” You mocked back and walked out of the venue, the freezing air drying up your sweat as you walked back to your car, half-proud, half-ashamed.

[baddiewiththebook]

ONE OF THEM [PART 2]

-> Dating your best friend Eddie Munson might have been pictured differently in your head. Despite a blissful weekend, you’re met with a few bumps in the road; and, your friends slowly figure out that what you're doing in private crosses the boundaries between friend and lover.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, secret relationship, angst

-> warnings - strong language and suggestive scenes [no smut]

[Part 2] [Part 3]

This is a sequel to One of the Boys

-> <-

"Five minutes," Steve counts on his watch. "I swear I'm leaving her."

Adjusting the itchy Family Video vest against his chest, Steve has had enough patience with Robin. He slams his fist into the horn on his car hoping the entire neighborhood wakes up. Maybe they could riot to her front door to get her out of bed.

Steve twists the dial to his radio. Seriously, where is this girl? Every morning at seven o'clock, Steve stops by her house to give her a ride to school. And, every morning the same routine plays like a horribly tuned piano. Well, today's the day, Steve puts his foot to the gas pedal.

"She can walk to school," hand on the gear shift, Steve readies to peel off the curb and zip down the street. But, he doesn't.

No, Steve is far too gentle of a soul to leave his friend out on the edge of a cliff like that. Allowing a puff of hot hair to escape, he rests back in the drivers seat and takes his foot away from the pedal. Maybe knocking some sense into his head would do the trick. He bends forward onto the steering wheel. The horn beeps, and deafens him.

Robin yanks open the car door. "Good morning, sunshine!"

"Next time-" Steve says lifting his head.

"'Next time, I'm leaving you!'" Robin slots into the passenger side, and buckles herself into the car. "Anything new with you?"

Steve doesn't like to believe that he's gotten so predictable. In fact, all driving around Robin to school and the the endless amount of freshman that need rides to go to and from their stupid after school club, Steve contemplates asking for compensation. But, again, he's not that guy.

"What took you so long?" He asks.

Robin scoffs. "I was in the bathroom. What? You want me running out here with my pants down leaving a trail behind me? I don't think so."

"Thank you for that visual, Robin," Steve winces.

Sure, she's running a few fifteen minutes late, but doesn't everyone have at least one bad day - or a week - or month - or year?

Robin sat straight up in her bed that morning with a pile of drool next to her on her pillow. Hair stuck straight out on one side of her head like it was trying to escape her. Yes, she could hear every horn honk that came from Steve Harrington's car, and no she did not make it her mission to torture him every morning by being late.

Her power went out. Or, maybe she slept through her alarm. Potayto; potahto. Either way, she smudges on a bit more blush from her compact in her bag, she's in the car now right?

"Did you eat breakfast?" Steve already know's she'll say 'no.' "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know. And, don't you have a test in first period? Shouldn't you be focusing on that instead of . . . what is that pink stuff?”

"It's blush, Steven," She teases. "You sound like my dad."

"Ha ha," he quips back. "Backseat."

Robin stretches around to see a brown paper bag soaking in it's own juices. He's stopped at the diner, before he came to pick her up. Sure that might have been his lunch for later in his shift, but he would rather not have his friend pass out while trying to recite the alphabet or whatever they teach these days.

"Stevie!" Robin pouts her lip.

"Shut up," he jokes.

Their relationship is platonic, although Robin did have to wave off Steve’s crush on her. She’s not into him, nor is she into any other man she’s ever come across. As a friend, however, Steve has turned into one of her closest. She relies on him, especially with him withholding her biggest secret. She’s very gay.

On the way to school, Hawkins is still all the same gray town. Cool weather blows winds through the streets freezing them all like icicles. Snow this year is said to be minimal, but freezing temperatures suggest otherwise.

Pulling into the parking lot of his old high-school, Steve hits his breaks sending Robin sliding forward. She clutches her bag, and adds a screwed look upon her face.

“My bad,” Steve doesn’t sound very apologetic. But, nonetheless, they’re friends and he has to pull her leg when she pulls his.

Robin springs from the car with her backpack in her hand, and her breakfast sack hanging out of her mouth. She muffles something along the lines of ‘thank you’ lost in translation behind the paper bag.

You wouldn’t know from the outside looking in, but Robin is quite apprehensive about school. There’s only so many crowds, and so many people that she can manage at one time. That’s usually why she’s on the hunt for someone she knows so bright and early - to defend her of the rampaging school children.

For example, Jason Carver is one of the biggest a-hole’s in the school. But, people still praise him like a King. That was Steve once, so she tries not to be too harsh when she judges him. But, he’s not making the best case for himself when he’s threatening a freshman boy for flunking Jason's homework. Jason’s minions are given the order to toss him into the dumpster, and Robin has the smarts to look away.

Robin swings open the double doors to be smacked in the face with the thick musk of high school air. She’s a bit late, so she thought that maybe people had begun flocking to class. Wrong. She dodges some kid parading around with an easel with the legs sticking out, so at least no one would bump into him.

There’s a window of opportunity for her to swing into her home room, and chow down on her breakfast before Mrs. Brown doesn’t scold her for not sharing with the rest of the class. She’s got about ten minutes until the bell rings, and Mrs. Brown is no where to be seen. She’s probably got her head over the copier grinding the gears a little too hard to give out weeks worth of homework due tomorrow. That’s her favorite.

As Robin sits in her usual spot, she opens the greasy bag in front of her. Bundled under a pile of trash from Steven’s breakfast burrito, she does find herself a single sandwich. Ham and Swiss cheese with far too many thick slabs of tomato for her liking. She lets the tomato slide off in a pile of sad gooey slime, and then places the bread back on top of the sandwich to complete it.

“I’ll see you later,” the usual conversation between classmates bores Robin, but the sound of your voice piques her interest.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later,” Eddie’s words draw out low and deep.

You’re giggling now, and Robin tilts her head to the open door. Without checking for other occupants, you swing Eddie into your shared home room to plant a various amount of wet kisses to his lips.

Frozen in time, Robin sits like a statue. She knows she’s not supposed to witness the exchange. Especially by Eddie overlooking his shoulder a number of times, before running off down the other hallway. You chase after him, but only to learn into the hallway to watch him run off.

You’re completely smitten.

Robins never known you to be this unaware. There’s a time and a half that she’s readied you for dates, but she’s never seen that shine in your eye, the flush on your cheeks or the floating just above the ground where the rest of us are.

How she skirted past being caught by you or Eddie is mind blowing. But, you’re in a ‘love bubble’ that’s impenetrable.

Robin grabs a thick needle, and jabs at the edges until the bubble bursts as you sit down. Forgetting the sandwich, and the painful growls from her stomach, Robin now twists in her seat making the chair moan.

“Good morning, Robin,” you’ve got cupids arrow in your ass. “When did you get here?”

“I don’t know,” her sarcasm is drooling from her mouth now. “Sometime before you and Eddie started making out at the door.”

Your stomach flips, and your face drops down back to earth. “Uh, oh.”

Robins bounces. “When did that happen?”

“Last Friday, after school,” you blurt as the bell rings. “Listen Robin, you can’t tell anyone what you saw. Please? We’re just trying to keep a low profile for a while.”

The classroom begins to fill, while you’re still silently begging for your friend to keep her mouth shut for once in her life. Robin’s the worst at keeping secrets!

And, Robin does go through the list of who she’ll blab too first. She could tell Steve because he would just reply ‘Who?’ and get all squinty. Or, she could tell Dustin, who’s really close to Eddie. That’s a fair trade.

That’s when Robin notices the gray plume of smoke floating into the classroom. A haze of green and gold glitter spiral into the archway. Suddenly, the mask drops to the tile floor. And what’s left?

Roxie Martin.

Robin might have a bit of an imagination, but what is very real is the absolute terror stricken fear written across your face. She’s a ball of evil with a bat hidden in her bra - probably.

Yeah, Robin thinks that she’ll keep quiet for a while.

“Good morning, class,” Mrs. Brown zips into the classroom with a years worth of paper stacked in her grip. “Roxie, please find your seat. And, unless you have enough to share with the rest of the class, put away your food, Robin.”

Robin’s stomach growls.

-> <-

tags: @stardustingold @loves0phelia @ogoc-19 @hellfirenacht @blackholegladiator @alligator-person @eggo-segual @rustboxstarr @harmfulb1tch

[glacialpacer]

Can’t We Just Fall? by Bast_Sloan has inspired these photos. It’s an AU story in which Andy, Serena, and an original male character called Cristi are best friends and also European royalty. They take on the moniker “The Riot Club” and they also take NYC by storm. Each of them falls in love with a member of our beloved Runway team and chaos inevitably ensues. Andy and Miranda are originally rivals until their passion for one another becomes explosive. It’s really a rollercoaster of a story but I enjoyed it. One of the best Mirandy smut scenes ever (in my opinion) is also in this story… if that’s your thing 😏

Miranda Priestly & Lady Andrea Sachs

Lady Serena Van Visser & Emily Charlton

The Riot Club

[acourtofladydeath]

WIP Game

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

Thank you for the tags @yanny-77 and @alltoowellread!

My WIPs:

Last One Standing

Ch5: You Were Only Waiting

TBAV: Brotherly Competition

RttHC: All Tied Up

ASOLB Ch4

Nesta RH

LoA TBAV Outline

Azris Patrochilles AU

6-How Dare You

5-And So, We Danced

Who Have We Become

The Process of Progress

sad wet rat and the club rat

Rhys's mom massages little Cass's back

Lauda/Hunt F1 AU

Carhysta Smut

A Court of Hurting & Healing

Casris Hounds

Multichap fics only have the next chapter listed.

No pressure gats: @chunkypossum, @born-to-riot, @housetomte, @nocasdatsgay, @augustinerose

[yeolsaintlaurent]

Nocturnal Reverie ch.2 [PCY]

pairing - chanyeol x fem reader

genre - mature, smut, angst

themes - power imbalance, romance, crime, justice, class divide, politics, sex

synopsis - In the sprawling, dystopian city of Emberhaven, where power and corruption reign supreme, the lives of two unlikely individuals collide in a tale of passion, intrigue, and moral reckoning. Chanyeol, an enigmatic and wealthy scion of the city's elite, finds himself captivated by the elusive Y/N, a cunning and resourceful thief who navigates the treacherous underworld of Emberhaven. Their first encounter, sparked by a chance meeting in a luxurious club called The Velvet Lounge, sets the stage for a whirlwind romance amidst a backdrop of crime, politics, and danger.

Chapter two: Unveiling Secrets

Chanyeol - 06:00

Chanyeol's morning began with the precision of a well-oiled machine. He awoke to the soft hum of his penthouse's automated blinds, allowing the first slivers of dawn to infiltrate the room. The muted skyline of the city stretched before him, its jagged edges and monolithic structures a stark reminder of the world outside his sanctuary.

The city, with its stark contrast between opulence and despair, unfurled below him like a tattered tapestry. He had once been a part of the elite, born into a family of power and wealth. But now, as he looked down upon the struggling masses, he could not escape the gnawing realization that he was an outsider in his own city.

The divide between the rich elite, like his family had been, and the downtrodden underclass seemed impossible to bridge. The wealthy politicians, ensconced in their lavish mansions, held no sympathy for the plight of the underprivileged. His anger flared as the morning news flashed scenes of a riot unfolding in front of a politician's home.

On the screen, the indifferent politician shrugged off responsibility, blaming the impoverished for their own circumstances. Chanyeol's jaw clenched as he watched, his fingers tightening around the remote control. He wanted to scream at the screen, to make the arrogant politician see the suffering that he and his ilk had wrought upon the city.

But he knew better than to act impulsively. Chanyeol had plans, carefully calculated and patiently waiting for the right moment to unfold. His quest for redemption and justice required patience and precision, and he couldn't afford to tip his hand prematurely.

With a sigh, he turned off the television, his pent-up frustration dissipating into the air. It was still too early, and he had much to do before he could take action. He moved through his morning routine with the discipline of a soldier.

His private gym was his sanctuary within a sanctuary. He worked out with dedication. The weight of his past sins bore down on him with each repetition, pushing him to his limits.

After an intense workout, he headed to the luxurious bathroom, where the steam from a hot shower enveloped him in warmth. His mind wandered back to the events of the previous night, to the fiery-haired thief who had ignited a spark of intrigue within him.

As he dressed in meticulously chosen attire, Chanyeol couldn't shake the memory of their encounter at the Velvet Lounge. Her audacity, her charm, and the air of mystery that surrounded her had left an indelible mark on his thoughts. He wondered if their paths would cross again, and what secrets she held beneath her beguiling exterior.

Breakfast was a solitary affair, a healthy meal that reflected his commitment to taking care of his body. He savored each bite, the flavors a welcome distraction from the weight of his responsibilities. But as he finished eating, the television screen flashed images of the riot once more, and the politician's callous words echoed in his mind.

Chanyeol knew he couldn't remain idle for much longer. The city's wounds ran deep, and he had a role to play in mending them. He had to be patient, but the burning desire for change gnawed at his soul, driving him to the precipice of action.

For now, he would bide his time, honing his skills, and watching the city's plight from his penthouse perch. He couldn't save everyone, but he was determined to make a difference, even if it meant walking the perilous path of redemption alone.

Y/N - 13:00

The same day, in the late afternoon, Y/N stirred from her slumber, her body accustomed to the nocturnal rhythms of her life. She yawned and stretched, the afternoon sunlight casting a warm glow across her modest townhouse. Her late lunch consisted of a slightly overcooked microwaveable pizza, a hasty and unceremonious affair.

Y/N paid little heed to the burnt edges of her meal, devouring it with a sense of indifference. She had never been one to fuss over the finer details of life's comforts. After all, her existence thrived in the shadows, where imperfections were her allies.

Following her meager repast, Y/N retreated to her bedroom, the heart of her secluded haven. She indulged in moments of leisure, playing with her feline companion, Kat, whose sleek black fur seemed to absorb the room's shadows. Netflix offered a temporary escape from the realities of her world, and she basked in the glow of the screen.

As evening descended and the city surrendered to the embrace of darkness, Y/N emerged from her sanctuary, ready for the night's endeavors. Her chosen attire was a testament to practicality and grace, designed to allow her to blend into the shadows or traverse the city's rooftops with agile finesse.

With a satchel bag containing her essential tools, Y/N added a touch of lip gloss and a spritz of Libre by YSL, an olfactory veil as well as her signature scent. It was a ritual of preparation, a transformation that marked the transition from her ordinary existence to the life of a cunning thief.

Tonight's mission had a purpose beyond personal gain. Y/N shared in the city's frustration, the anger at the indifference of the elite. Her target, the Fabergé eggs, was a symbolic choice, a strike at the opulence that seemed oblivious to the suffering below. She was no vigilante, but she knew where to hurt those who believed themselves invincible. She had heard about them a couple days ago at the Velvet Lounge, when she overheard the boastful wife of the same politician going on and on about her husband’s extravagant present. The other affluent womens’ reactions at the table served her vanity, her expressions all haughty. 

Silently, she had managed to infiltrate the mansion, her years of experience making her a phantom in the night. Evading security measures and avoiding the occasional wandering resident, she made her way to the opulent lounge where the coveted eggs were displayed. Looking around she couldn't help but let out an airy laugh at the interiors and the decor of this mansion. Her humble abode was a far cry from this disgustingly outrageous place.

With careful precision, Y/N secured four of the five Fabergé eggs, knowing their absence would be a sting felt deeply by the politician and his wife. Her escape had to be timed perfectly. With the last egg clutched in her hand, she smashed it on the floor, creating a cacophonous distraction that would draw attention away from her escape. The last smashed egg also served as a way to twist the wound of the theft deeper; symbolic in a manner.

Bounding onto the balcony, Y/N leaped into the cool night air, executing a flawless roll as she touched down on the ground. She sprinted through the darkness, her movements fluid and calculated.

She soon reached the high street and in her haste, collided with a tall figure, a mere blur amongst the ocean of people walking up and down the street; some shopping for shiny things to fill whatever void the city left within them, the others looking on in envy and self-pity. Without looking back, she yelled an apology and continued her mad dash, weaving through the labyrinthine streets to evade capture.

The tall figure she had bumped into was none other than Chanyeol, en route to meet his longtime friend, Kyungsoo. The unexpected encounter left him momentarily bewildered, his thoughts racing as he watched the fleeting silhouette of the mysterious woman disappear into the night.

Chanyeol's heart raced as he watched the fleeting figure of the fiery-haired thief disappear into the night. He recognized her by the vibrant hue of her hair and the lingering scent of her perfume that hung in the air. It was her, the enigmatic woman who had stolen not just Fabergé eggs but a piece of his thoughts since their encounter at the club. 

Unable to contain his curiosity, he quickened his pace, pursuing her shadow through the maze-like streets of the city. But he soon realized that chasing her through the labyrinthine alleys was a fruitless endeavor. Y/N had vanished once more, leaving him with nothing but a sense of intrigue.

Frustrated and determined, Chanyeol decided to abandon his pursuit for now. He couldn't let this mysterious woman consume his every thought, not when he had other matters to attend to. Besides, he felt  that destiny had a way of orchestrating encounters when the time was right.

With a sigh, he made his way to the Velvet Lounge, the same place where their paths had first crossed. He felt a strange connection to it now, as if it held the answers to the enigma that was Y/N.

Inside the dimly lit establishment, he spotted his friend Kyungsoo at the bar, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a tight-lipped, smirky smile. The lawyer was a man of unconventional methods, unafraid to throw a punch when he believed it was deserved, even in the pursuit of justice.

Chanyeol slid onto the barstool next to Kyungsoo, offering a nod of greeting. "You always pick the most charming places to meet, Yeol."

Chanyeol chuckled, his eyes twinkling.. "What can I say, Soo? I have a knack for finding the hidden gems."

Chanyeol couldn't contain his excitement. "Bro, you won't believe what happened to me," Chanyeol began, his voice tinged with a sense of exhilaration. "I had an interesting experience right here yesterday. I came here for some drinks, as I always do, and this…very sexy and captivating woman walked up to me, started sweet talking me, and… well you know me… I reciprocated, and just as I thought I could uh, you know, bring her back to mine and show her a good time.. she went ahead and tried to rob me dude!”, he chuckles.

Kyungsoo raised an intrigued eyebrow, his lips curling into a sly smile. "What the fuuuck, the way your telling me this, and your expressions are kinda leading me to believe you actually let her go?? Bro, come on!!” “You should have seen her Soo, you should have spoken to her. Then maybe you’d understand why I actually find this amusing. Also she managed to disappear into thin air it seemed like before I could even stop her.”, Chanyeol replies. 

Kyungsoo shakes his head and looks over to the bar, where he sees Suho stationed, and nods at him in a greeting. Suho smiles back before serving the customers seated in front of him. In a way, this got Kyungsoo thinking. He knew his best friend had never been this taken with a girl in just one encounter. And when he was, it wouldn’t usually last past a couple nights, after Chanyeol has had his fun and decides to call it quits. The women couldn’t find themselves angry with him though, even his breakup texts oozed charm. He had a way with words and the ladies.

Chanyeol leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. " I can't get her out of my head, bro. She's like this siren, you know.."

Kyungsoo chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, dude, you've always had a flair for the dramatic. But I can see why this woman has captured your attention. Perhaps she's a riddle worth unraveling."

Their conversation shifted to more serious matters, as they discussed their long-standing plans to bring justice to the city. Chanyeol leaned forward, his eyes filled with determination. "Soo, it's time we take matters into our own hands. The city is drowning in corruption and indifference. We can't just stand idly by any longer."

Kyungsoo nodded, his expression serious. "You're right. I've been working on building a case against some of the politicians, with the help of our local police chief, Kim Minseok. It won't be easy, but we have to start somewhere."

Chanyeol's eyes gleamed with resolve. "I've been preparing too.. My family's past may be tainted, but I want to make amends. I have a plan, and it involves exposing the truth and bringing those responsible to justice."

Kyungsoo raised his glass in a silent toast. "To justice, Yeol, and to the mysteries that bring us together. We'll make this city a better place, one step at a time."

[thoughts-with-hailey]

My Life in Prythian - Chapter Ten

Bargains and Croissants

Summary: After the incident I've been enjoying slowly getting to know Velaris. Now I'm about to get to know one of it's inhabitants a little better.

Things were tense after that night at Rita’s. 

I still wasn’t sure what had been said to Azriel about everything, all I knew about it was that Nesta mentioned in passing that Rhys was on her shit list for the way he had read Azriel the riot act afterwards. Apparently Rhys had taken him aside to scold him for what had happened without actually revealing what had happened, so no one but Feyre, Rhys, and I knew why exactly he was being yelled at. I considered telling Nesta, then came to the conclusion that I didn’t want to cause anymore discourse within the group.

 It wasn’t worth it. 

I just wanted to forget everything. 

Truthfully I was fine after all that had happened. I was still mad, sure, and still felt a little violated, but things way way worse had happened to me in my life than that, so processing that had been nothing. 

Rhys and Feyre both seemed to feel really guilty about everything even after I had told them time and again it wasn’t their fault, so they decided to make sure I was allowed outside during supervised excursions. 

I mostly spent time with Feyre who took me to a little tea shop, book stores, the art studio she had opened up, and even went to aid in the small remaining shelters that had been set up after the attack from Hybern. I even got to meet Nyx once they had all deemed that I wasn’t a danger to any of them, and even though I had never really been a baby person I had to admit he was a cute little dude. He took one look at me and decided I was his best friend, so Feyre hoisted him upon me every chance she got so she could take much needed breaks from his constant need for cuddles, even going as far to leave him with me for a few hours while her and Rhys ‘took a flight’. 

I don’t even want to think about that. 

Spending time with Feyre and Nyx outside the house was a much needed fresh air but more importantly was much needed time away from Azriel, who had decided to be my shadow. 

Not only was he a shadow slinger, he had become my perpetual shadow around the house. Whatever Rhys had said to him during his angry dressing down had stuck, because Azriel never talked to me or visited my room again, but he was always there. Out of the corner of my eye I would see him watching me like a hawk, eyes focused and shadows swirling while he watched my each and every step. I went to the library? He was there. I went to the dining room? There. Poking around the kitchens for a snack? There. Reading smut inside my bedroom? There, lingering outside the doorway and acting like he wasn't. Every step I took he was following me around like a little stalker, and the only time I had a moments piece was when Feyre. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I love a stalker romance. Azriel, though? He wasn’t being a fun stalker. 

He had gone silent. 

There was no flirty remarks or playful banter. Whatever had happened that night at Rita’s and then with Rhys, he had truly backed off. He barely even made eye contact with me. 

Which was why I was shocked when one day about two weeks after Rita’s he broke his self imposed isolation. 

Nesta had once again disappeared for headboard acrobatics with Cassian, judging from the faint rheumatic thumping I could echoing through the house, so I curled myself up in front of a fire with one of the books Nesta had lent me from her own library. Both Gwyn and Emerie, who had visited a few days prior, had insisted I join the book club so I had to catch up on the series they were reading. Of course, the house sent them home with ipads as well so they could enjoy the unlimited world of the kindle library. The next book club meeting would be amazing, no doubt. 

So anyways I was curled up in my favorite chair by the fire, wrapped in a plush blanket and my shadow lingering in the shelves somewhere behind me when I heard a sudden sharp inhale. 

Turning sideways in my chair I spotted him a few feet away, his eyes wide as his shadows twittered around his ears erratically. 

“Fuck!” he swore, his tone harsh as it filled the previously silent room. 

I nearly jumped from my chair, sudden panic filling me at whatever could have broken his apparent vow of silence. Quickly I slammed my book shut and rose to my feet. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

His eyes moved frantically between me and the door then back again, displaying more emotion than I had seen him express since arriving in Prythian. Gone was the stoic, hard eyed Azriel and he had been replaced by someone who looked almost…panicked. 

“Azriel,” I said carefully, moving towards him. “What’s wrong?”

“I need a favor!” he blurted out, eyes widening as if he had shocked himself with these words. “Fuck, this is stupid. This is so stupid. I don’t care though. Hailey, please, I need a favor.”

“What is it?”

He reached up and ran a scared hand through his hair, dislodging his normally perfectly styled strands. Oh yeah, he was flustered. “Elain is on her way, with Lucien. I-I need you to pretend to be interested in me.”

I blinked, processing. 

Then a maniacal grin curled over my lips when I understood what an opportunity this was. 

“You want me to fake date you, Azzie?” I purred, stepping closer to him. His eyes danced with both panic and irritation as I placed a palm over his rock hard chest, drumming my fingertips against him. “Elain is coming here with her mate, who she chose over you, and you want me to be your fake girlfriend? For why? What purpose would that serve?”

“She keeps trying to set me up with people,” he bit out, his eyes darting towards the door once more like he expected her to walk in any minute. “She’s been getting out more and she’s made a lot of friends because shes, well, Elain, and I guess she feels bad about the whole Lucien thing so she’s been trying to make up for it by working to find me a girlfriend. Please, just pretend to be interested in me so she thinks that there’s something going on between us. I need her to stop sending all these females my way. It-”

I clapped a hand over his lips, effectively silencing him, and laughed when his eyes narrowed. “Oh Azzie, you needn’t say more. I only wonder what I get in return for this bargain.”

His expression hardened at the word, obviously understanding what I was hinting at, and one of his shadows wrapped around my wrist to tug it away from his mouth. “What do you want?”

“Train me.”

“What?” he scoffed. 

Yeah, maybe this was an insane thing to ask, but it was what I really wanted. I had little desire to go back to my old life in my old world which meant that I was going to do everything I could to stay in Prythian. Even if Rhys found a way to get me back, I was going to beg for him to let me stay. And if I was going to stay? I needed to learn to defend myself. Even if there wasn’t any active threats on Prythian or Velaris, it was only a matter of time before there was and I wanted to be ready to defend myself. So yeah, I was asking for training. I had been thinking about it for a few days, trying to figure out how to bring it up, and this was the perfect opportunity. 

“I want to train, like you and Cass trained Nesta. I know she and the others still do trainings in the mornings and I want to be allowed to join. If I’m going to stay in Prythian it’s important to me. So, if you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of Elain so she leaves you alone, you need to get me in on the training. Tomorrow.”

Azriel fell silent for a moment, eyes still narrowed and mouth set in a firm line of disapproval. No doubt he was still thinking I was a spy of some sort and that letting me in on their training regime would be another way for me to find out their secrets. If I were him I would think that. Whatever this thing with Elain must’ve been important, though, as after a moment he let out a low growl. “Fine. It’s a bargain. You start training tomorrow.”

Instantly the warmth of magic whirled over me, enveloping me in its mystical little bubble as an acrid taste filled my mouth and a jolt went over my neck. 

Oh hell yeah, a neck bargain tattoo? Sick. 

I turned, intending to go find a mirror to see it, only to be intercepted by a pair of giant hands clamping down on my hips. 

Azriel really did have giant hands. Covered in scars and callouses, they were thick fingered and wide palmed, built from his years training and working with weapons. They splayed over me, thumbs curving around my hip bones and fingertips digging lightly into the curve of my ass as the heat of them infiltrated my clothing to warm the skin underneath. 

“She’s coming,” he whispered, pulling me closer so our bodies were brushing. “Put your hands on my chest and smile at me.”

I might have never been an actual theater kid in high school, but growing up with a narcissistic mother I had spent most of my life acting. Pasting a loving smile on my face was something I had learned to do at a very, very young age so it was nothing to slip into that persona once more and slide my hands up Azriel’s impressive chest. I let one hand linger on his pec while the other snaked around his neck, tangling my fingertips in the edges of his hair. Tilting my head up towards his and lowering my eyelashes to look up at him with a slightly dazed expression, I had little doubt that whoever was the owner of those footsteps walking into the room would think that they had interrupted an intimate moment. 

Azriel seemed to be aware of our audience as well, altered by the shadows probably, and slipped a heated expression on his own features as he backed me towards the sofa behind me. 

Not expecting him to move, and honestly a little turned on by the smolder he was giving me, I stumbled backwards tripping over the edge of the carpet. 

Using that momentum Azriel maneuvered us onto the sofa that had been is intended target and I let out a small gasp of surprise as my back connected with the cushions, and Azriel’s body landed on top of me. I didn’t even have time to react before his face was buried in my throat, his lips brushing my skin and his hands skating up my ribs as a chuckle rumbled his chest. 

I swallowed. 

That wonderful smell of him, spiced and warm, filled my nose once more as his hair tickled my cheek. Combined with the weight of his body braced over mine and the steamy scene of the book I had been reading? The room had to be filled with the scent of my arousal. 

“You smell so fucking good,” Azriel said against my skin, loud enough I was sure whoever had entered heard it. “You’re driving me insane.”

He..he sounded so convincing. Gods. If only. 

Despite the arguments and his weird lingering shadow stalker tendencies, he was still hot as fuck. I’d have to be dead not to respond to him. 

“Azzie,” I groaned. “Not in the library. I don’t want to traumatize the books.”

“I’m sure they’ve seen worse,” he chuckled, hands running up and down my torso, giving me the sweet pleasure of his touch without giving me anything where I actually wanted it. 

A loud throat clearing from across the room alerted both of us that whoever was there was not interested in voyeurism. Azriel froze, lifting his head towards the door, then let out a low curse as if he was actually shocked that we were being interrupted. 

He glanced back down at me and winked , he fucking winked , as he murmured, “We can continue this later, my little liar. We have company.”

Before I had time to dissect that he got to his feet and tugged me with him, turning me so we were both facing the door to the library and his arm was wrapped firmly around my middle, pinning my back to him. 

In the doorway stood a shocked looked beautiful brown haired woman who I had to assume was Elain, standing next to the one and only Lucien Vansera with his metal eye whirling and a shit eating grin spreading over his face. 

“I knew he liked redheads,” Lucien murmured. 

“Sorry,” Azriel murmured, sounding not at all apologetic and more irritated than anything. “We weren’t expecting company.”

“Obviously,” Lucien grinned. 

Elain only looked between us, confusion swirling in her delicate features, before she schooled her face in a pleasant smile. “Azriel, lovely to see you. And you must be Hailey. I apologize for our interruption. Feyre mentioned how much you enjoyed the chocolate croissants from the tea room, and since I wanted to come meet you now that I have time, I baked some for you. I hope they are up to par with Madam Murser’s.”

My gaze went to the small basket she held on her arm that was brimming with pastries, and my mouth watered. 

Chocolate croissants were my weakness. 

Azriel, who no doubt knew this weakness as he had been stalking me in the shadows for weeks, released me so I could make my way over. Of course, he was right on my heels. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Elain,” I grinned, trying not to let my gaze focus on the basket and make the small talk that was needed for me to be considered polite before I could get my treat. “I was hoping I would finally get to at some point.”

“I apologize for the delay! Things have been hectic with setting up our new home. We’ve spent the last few weeks setting up furniture and settling in. Feyre has said nothing but wonderful things about you, as has Rhys, so I’ve been anxious to make time to come. I hope we aren’t intruding too much…” she trailed off, her eyes flicking to Azriel again for a moment and I saw the flash of confusion again before she masked it. 

“Not at all,” I smiled, desperately trying to prevent myself from snatching the basket from her like a cartoon bear in the woods. “Would you like some tea? I have a fresh pot over by the fire.”

“That would be lovely,” Elain nodded, looping her arm through Lucien’s. “Come on, dear. Let’s get to know our new friend.”

[ao3feed-kiribaku]

Public Indecency

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/mfPFag8 by Benderjspark “Riot,” Deku greets pleasantly. “Haven’t heard from you in awhile.” “Deku…you’ve been hiding something from me,” Riot growls playfully and takes a swig of his drink. Both of the dancers across the table stare at him wide-eyed. There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. “Ummm…what do you mean? I’ve made my payment on time. Everything should be in the black,” he says cautiously. Deku makes his payments every month like clockwork, but Riot can see how he might be nervous with such an accusation thrown out like that. “Nah, Deku…I’m talking about the hot little blonde that just took down a fully grown man in the club like it was child’s play…” Riot chuckles. **Kinky Katsu/Blood Riot Public Sex Oneshot: Read tags carefully :) Words: 8383, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 13 of Let's Start A Riot Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Midoriya Izuku, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, Kaminari Denki Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou Additional Tags: Stripper Bakugou Katsuki, Mob Boss Kirishima Eijirou, Kirishima Eijirou's Villain Name is Blood Riot, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Shameless Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Mildly Dubious Consent, Due to Alcohol, Sexual Assault (Not Between Main Pairing), Manipulation, Midoriya Izuku is a Good Friend, Possessive Behavior, Protective Kirishima Eijirou, Drinking, Flirting, Fluff, Dirty Thoughts, Dirty Talk, Size Difference, Biting, Marking, Praise Kink, light degradation, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Hand Jobs, Come Eating, Kissing, Midoriya Izuku is So Done, Anal Fingering, Katsuki's Flexibility, Kirishima Eijirou Has a Big Dick, Anal Sex, Rough Sex, Coming Untouched, Multiple Orgasms, Hyperspermia, Belly Bulge, Come Inflation, Quirk Use During Sex (My Hero Academia), Dry Orgasm, Overstimulation, Ambiguous/Open Ending read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/mfPFag8

[lilmissnatcat24]

Turn Left Ch 10- I Took the One (More?) Traveled By

Shepard and Garrus try to go to C-Sec for support, but are faced with an obstacle they aren't sure they can overcome.

Relationship: Femshep/Garrus Vakarian

Archive Warnings in author's note (CW- addiction)

Additional tags: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, slow build, alternate universe- canon divergence, detective noir, sex club, anonymous sex, canon temporary character death, murder mystery, drug use, dom garrus vakarian, whump, smut, heavy angst, alien sex, dual pov, an overly sexual elcor named candy, earthborn, ruthless, fake/pretend relationship, dead dove: do not eat, identity porn, yall when i say slow burn i mean SLOW like they're not getting together in this fic slow

Detective AU mixed with identity porn mixed with so much whump my fingers are bleeding

(or, start from the beginning here)

lil text blurb:

“Listen, Shepard. I want to believe you. I do--” you could try harder , she thought bitterly-- “But you have to admit, this is all a tad bit outlandish, even for you.” She didn’t want to know what ‘even for you’ meant to Pallin. She wanted to scream, she wanted to throttle him, she wanted to curl into a ball and sleep for days. But more than anything, she wanted the big, stupid turian to believe her.

“If you’re too blind to see what’s going on right in front of you, we’ll go above you,” Shepard snapped. “We’ll go to news sources, ambassadors, anyone who’ll listen.” 

“What you’ll do is cause mass hysteria on the Citadel,” Medina spoke ahead of Pallin, as Pallin was gearing back to snap back some snarky retort. “Shepard, tensions are high right now. You can’t go screaming on the corner like some conspiracy theorist that there’s geth hiding in the walls on the Citadel. You’ll cause riots.” 

“Then what the hell are we supposed to do?” Shepard threw her hands up in the air. “Just ignore it? Let it slide? Sir, that was a geth we fought! Geth! On the Citadel! Just hours after they’ve been seen on Eden Prime-- hell, they destroyed the colony! This is big, this is… it is…” Words escaped Shepard. She never thought she would have to plead her case this much. She expected pushback, she never thought that Pallin would instantly try to discredit her. 

“Well, lucky for you, it’s now officially out of your hands.” 

  The voice came from behind Shepard and Garrus. Pallin’s eyes went wide, his mandibles flicked out. Shepard turned behind her to about the scariest looking turian she’d ever seen in her life. Light gray plates, violet eyes, mandibles that stretched out all the way behind his fringe. He stared at Pallin coolly, his voice deep and finite. Shepard had no idea who he was, but even the way he was standing there gave her goosebumps-- and not in a good way. 

Garrus stood to his feet, swaying slightly but at attention. Shepard could hear the sharp intake of breath, she expected from the pain from his wound. “ Saren ?” he said incredulously.