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zecoritheweirdone · 2 years

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so..

dream smp superhero/villain aus, am i right

recently(as in, about a few hours ago at the time of first writing this), i just had the sudden urge to just.. write a whole essay about this topic. and like, who am i to not bend to the will of my own mind?

so, strap in, and prepare yourself for me rambling a bunch about how people write plot twists and identity reveals in these kinds of fics(this is gonna be mostly, if not all, positive, if i may add).

(also, quick little disclaimer, for anyone who sees this who doesn’t know of me(which, fair), yes i will be writing in italics the whole time — it’s just a thing i do. just letting y’all know now jandkdndjd.)

now, i’m sure we all know, or at least have heard of the superhero/villain fics, of which there are many, that us dream smp fic writers have latched onto. we all know of the fic that, while may not have invented it, has definitely popularized it — tommyinnit’s unbeatable method. while i myself have never read it fully — got a little bit too crack, for my personal tastes, and pure angst has never been my forte, either (but to each their own, of course!) — i cannot deny the effect it had on this fandom, and i, for one, absolutely love it.

i’m not here to simply talk about the super fics(which is what i shall be calling them from now on, for simplicity's sake) in general, however. no no, here, i want to focus on something specific, something that typically is the main thing that draws one in to this kind of fic.

that is to say, as i’m sure you already know if you’ve read the intro.. the identity reveal, as well as just plot twists in general.

now, i could really have used any sort of fandom to use as an example here, but the dream smp is the first fandom that comes to my mind when i think about this — plus, well, dsmp fics are the only kind of fics i’ve been reading recently, so.. haha, yeah.

so, let’s get this straight, right out of the bat — it’s incredibly obvious to a reader who exactly the supposedly hidden identities are supposed to be. most fic writers, and do note i say this with love, i promise; are not all that great with coming up with original names. when i read a fic, i know that siren is wilbur, that the blade/blood god is techno, and that the angel of death is philza. and while those are the most common names to see, there are more that alert one to their true identities, as well: orpheus, whippoorwill, jubilee, zepherus, crowfather..

(dude i looked so hard(not really) to find other common names ppl use for techno but i could not find any.. either they use blade/blood god or they’re using a unique name or something else that isn’t used much by people.. in which case kudos for them.)

that isn’t to say that most official superhero media have great names, though. i mean.. captain america? ironman? spider-man? batman? whole lot of blank-man’s..

but, well.. for the people who know the characters well(which, well.. if you’re reading the fic, chances are, you’re gonna know the characters), it’s pretty obvious who’s who from the get-go.

but..

that isn’t really.. the point of these fics.

while it isn’t unwelcome to be in the dark about certain people’s identities(or at the least, have semi-original names),, that’s not the point.

the point is to see how all the characters interact with each other.

and.. it’s to see how they react to the reveal.

because, while the reader may know who the character’s real identities, the characters themselves don’t. and that, folks, that’s why most of you lot read them.

if not because of their names, then the summary often clues you in on what exactly you’re reading — that is, typically, an identity reveal between either a civilian or vigilante tommy, and a hero or villain trio of techno, phil, and wilbur; with some sort of extra spice thrown in to make it unique. what that is can vary, either tommy and gang are some sort of experiments, or are otherwise wanted by a not-so-good group, or maybe a different, just-as-good(that is to say, not as good) group is causing mayhem, and everyone around them has to pick up the pieces while keeping secrets locked tight. maybe nothing is as it seems at first glance, or maybe tommy is a kid with a power who heals the wrong(or right) person.

there are a ton of ways you can take this to keep it from going stale — and even if a fic is just like those that come before it, well.. two cakes is always better than one, you know?

brief fic plugging aside, and to reiterate a previous point.. it’s the characters’ reactions that drive a fic forward, not just their secrets.

a great example of this in a popular media is in this show, i don’t know if you all would have heard of it, it’s called, uh.. lemme think real quick...... oh yes, the owl house.

jokes aside, the owl house does provide a wonderful example of what exactly i’m talking about. major spoilers for the show for the next few paragraphs, for those who haven’t watched it — which, i highly recommend doing so, for it is very good. the start is a bit weak, i will admit, but the rest of the show absolutely makes up for it. definitely gets better halfway through the first season, if not a bit earlier than that.

(warning this went of for way too long,, woops djndkdjd)

now — and forgive me if i get a couple details wrong, it’s been a hot second since i’ve seen the earlier episodes — in season two, luz, with amity’s help, comes across a book, one written by a human who was previously trapped in the demon realm, just like luz is currently — you know, after she destroyed the only portal door they had to keep belos, the show’s main antagonist, from getting his hands on it. and apparently, he was building a portal door to the human realm — and was presumably successful.

so over the next few episodes, they build up this human, named phillip wittebane, as a fairly nice and smart guy. mans is just trying to get home, you know? and as luz reads the book, she begins to idolize phillip a bit. she follows his instructions, and eventually, she manages to rebuild the portal.

it uh, fails.. but that’s a story for another day.

she goes back to the book, and finds out phillip needed to go consult this being called the collector — who is important but not to this essay — and luz assumes he needed to find him to help with the portal.

with help from her aunt, lilith, she manages to go back in time(don’t ask how that’s not important), and find phillip. they team up, and adventure to find this macguffin that’s used to summon the collector.

good news! they find the macguffin.

bad news? uh.. phillip, isn’t quite as nice as was first believed. in fact, he happily tries to sacrifice his new companions in order to get away with the macguffin.

the two manage to get away, and end up confronting phillip once more — which ends with lilith punching phillip in the face, hell yeah girl!

but once they return to their own time, well.. the show cuts back to phillip, and..

it’s revealed that he’s belos, who is, if i may reiterate, the show’s main antagonist.

fans theorized about this for a while now, but this was the first time it was confirmed.

but folks, we’re not done with the owl house talk yet!! (i promise this is relevant okay the toh talk will be over soon).

so, it was revealed to the audience that phillip was belos..

but the cast, all they know is that phillip is a bitch. for all they know, phillip was a human, and belos is a witch.

but this all changes when the episode hollow mind airs.

luz and hunter — the golden guard, belos’ right hand, and supposedly his nephew — end up traveling into belos’ mind(again don’t ask it’s not important).

they end up falling deeper into his mind, and find out all the terrible things belos has done(which absolutely crushes hunter’s mindset, as he was advocating for his uncle earlier, poor kid) — launch an attack on a witch town, claiming it was by wild witches; horrifically kill a bunch of witches with a test version of the sigil system(well, they were still alive when we last saw them, but they were in agony, and i wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up dying a while after), and literally murder his own fucking brother.

and if that wasn’t enough, turns out? he cloned said brother. and then had to kill that clone when they fell out of line. rinse and repeat for the next, oh,, four hundred fucking years.

icing on the cake? hunter is a clone — or a grimwalker, as the show calls it. which, in of itself is another great example of the fans knowing something before the characters, but if i touched in it deeper this section would be longer, and y’all probably came here for the dsmp talk,, jdnkdmidj.

anyway, luz ends up getting confronted by belos — or rather, inner belos, but if you haven’t seen the show you don’t need to worry about the difference — and this.. this is where he reveals his true identity to luz.

and were this a lesser show, this would probably be very underwhelming for fans. like, c’mon, dude, we already knew that, give us something new.

but, again.. this wasn’t a reveal for the fans. this was for the characters.

and by god, did they deliver on that.

luz, who was already kicking herself for idolizing the prick that was phillip, now has to deal with the fact that, not only was she idolizing belos, albeit his past self, but she also helped him.

so, all this to say.. plot twists don’t need to be a surprise to have a reaction.

now, i just accidentally made like half of this essay so far about owl house, which, in a thing that’s supposed to be for, well.. you know, not the owl house.. probably not a good thing?

so, well.. how about i spend the rest of this time talking about a fic that i believe handles plot twists really well — that is, both ones that a surprise to the audience, and ones that aren’t.

let’s talk about.. tommyinnit’s services for villains, vigilantes, and various other vagabonds by scorpionoesit.

that’s right, folks, this whole post was secretly an advertisement for vagabonds this whole time!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! YOU WERE FOOOOOOOOOOOOLED.

[coughs].

anyway.

in my opinion, vagabonds perfectly handles both types of twists.

for those who haven’t read it before, the TLDR of the fic is that tommy is just.. some guy, who ends up helping all sorts of people, be that civilians, vigilantes, the mafia.. even villains and heroes.

granted, we haven’t seen the latter two yet, but it’s only a matter of time!

and usually, these sorts of fics would have tommy have some sort of healing powers, like tommyinnit’s clinic for supervillans by bonesandthebees, which i linked earlier. but.. this fic doesn’t do that.

that isn’t to say fics that do have him use healing powers aren’t good — for one, have you seen tommyinnit’s clinic, or like- literally any other fic like it? and two, the last thing i want to do is talk down in writers for using tropes, even if they seem overused. once again, i’d like to bring attention to the two cakes theory.

but, i do have to admit.. it is refreshing.

i could explain his power, but tommy puts it together better than anyone could, over in the second chapter. the tldr of it, though, is information. which.. doesn’t sound all that good, until you see what he can get up to in the fic. i won’t spoil much(i say, knowing i’m going to spoil so many other things),, so if you’re really interested in knowing, and haven’t already, i’d say check out the fic!

and, just to state again, i’m gonna be going over some things that are spoilers for the fic, so either go and read the fic, or proceed with caution. and if you’ve already read the fic before, hell yeah!! take a peanut butter cookie.

now, as i’ve said before, there are some things — mainly characters — in this fic that are pretty obvious to a dream smp fan — which, as stated before, is not a bad thing.

there’s the vigilante orion, who’s stated to have a “large red cape” and a boar skull — who you can immediately pin down as techno from that description alone. and then, when tommy mentions a protégé of orion’s, who just know he’s talking about ranboo(technosensei for the winnnnn).

then we have masquerade, who, if not from his name(presumably being a reference to one of the tftsmp episodes), or his power(semi-time travel and portals), then by his outfit, we can say safely that he’s karl.

the hero marauder, even if you haven’t seen that name used for her before, is also pretty clear to be puffy, seeing that she’s stated to be dream’s mother.

and the author isn’t hiding their identities, either — in fact, they want you to know. because trust me, you’ll know when they’re attempting to hide it. or, well.. not quite hide it, but they aren’t giving any obvious clues, either.

jägerbomb is a villain that hasn’t shown up much, beyond a few mentions here or there, but even his identity can be found, if you know where to look. there’s the fact that jägerbomb is a type of cocktail, and the fact that, apparently, his power causes him to not be liked a lot by micheal(who, for those who don’t know, uh.. doesn’t have good parents, to say the least). all this to say, well.. there’s only one person in the dream smp that’s so obviously connected to alcohol. jschlatt.

schlatt, though, even through his minor appearances, can still be found out(unless we’re wrong but like.. [points at the villain jschlatt tag] we’re.. probably not). but, what if there’s a person who isn’t so obvious?

enter, geyser. or, sewage boy, as he’s more commonly known as.

at first glance, especially at the latter name, you’d probably think, like.. they’re charlie, right? which.. sounds plausible, until you take into account their power. manipulation of water — or, more specifically,, steam. which, well.. probably not charlie, then? especially considering he shows up later in chapter three, with.. you know, not steam powers.

when looking into at sewage boy’s identity by focusing purely on their powers, there’s.. not many people you could pin to them. maybe foolish, but, if anything, he’d be related to water, not steam. boomer, mayhaps? i don’t know much about him, but he’s like, some frog guy, right? again, still related to water, not steam. and while this fic was first posted a bit after he joined, i can only assume that it was planned out beforehand, so.. again, probably not him.

again, looking purely at their steam powers, or their name,, doesn’t really reveal anything about their identity.

but.. if you look deeper.. it can be done.

looking at their powers at the surface, as i’ve said before, doesn’t help much. but.. their powers isn’t just steam — or, well.. it is, but they can do more than just control steam.

specifically, in the fic, it’s said that they can, and i quote..

“..turn all the surrounding water...into steam so fast that the steam so fast that the expanding pressure could and would rupture every pipe in the vicinity with an explosion powerful enough to level every building in the area.”

and, i should mention, just a few paragraphs before that quote, he’s said to wear a trench coat.

folks, is there any sort of character that comes to mind when you think of explosions and trench coats?

that’s right, the one and only wilbur soot.

now, personally, when i first saw this theory, i shot it down real quick. knowing what we know about him and his son, fundy, back when chapter two first came out(which is it’s own can of worms), i thought it didn’t make too much sense. if wilbur wanted to protect fundy, yeah, i could see him being a villain, but.. wouldn’t it make more sense to just.. lay low?

but.. then i saw more and more evidence leaning towards it. the first two things i mentioned, as well as the fact that he is absolutely down to murder a kid because he might threaten his son’s safety — something i assume someone who is willing to become a villain would do.

plus, well.. all we know about wilbur’s power is that he needs to charge it, which.. makes sense if he needs to summon steam to use in a fight.

and then there’s the fact that both wilbur and fundy are a bit weird about sewage boy — specifically when wilbur finds out tommy and tubbo went to fight between orion and sewage boy.

“But the Lower is dangerous, Niki,” Wilbur argued. He glanced at Fundy for a second before continuing. “There was a massive villain attack just down the street last week!”

Fundy glared at him instantly. “Really, Dad? That’s your argument?”

…

“That attack was a major outlier, dude,” Tommy argued. “Besides, I was there, and I got away literally without a scratch.”

...

“You were what?” Wilbur yelped, at the same time Fundy yelled, “Wait, you guys actually went?!”

Tommy turned to Fundy, confused. “Yeah? We said we were going as we left, we weren’t exactly hiding it.”

Wilbur turned Fundy. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

Fundy turned a fierce glare on his dad. “I’m sorry, I was a little busy freaking out over why the fuck Sewage Boy was in the Lower.”

...

Wilbur suddenly looked sheepish. “F-Fair point.”

so.. yeah, i am definitely on the side of sewage boy = wilbur soot now.

(also there’s the fact that villain wilbur is literally in the tags but shhhhhh this is the more fun way)

all this to say, well.. uhh. something something plot twists.

okay i’ll be honest this deviated a little bit from my original point but uh. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

and all of that,, is just the stuff from the first two chapters. and it’s not even everything there is. we’ve got tubbo’s stuff, i’ve only kind of mentioned ranboo, micheal is lovely, clementine is the best character, tommy’s got a whole thing, and.. [gestures at fundy] yeah.

and then there’s the stuff in the third chapter. this fic isn’t even done yet we’re not even halfway done yet.

i could go on for so long about this fic. like i didn’t even get into the non-superhero/villain related foreshadowed stuff. eret’s powers,, niki’s connections.. and like, duuuuuude i could ramble so much about the fucking implications of the peanut butter cookies. was thinking about those implications since like the first week of may.

but i’ve rambled for far to long, and at this point it’s only vaguely related to my original point. so i should really wrap this up by now, hahaha.

so, tldr.... the best plot twists and identity reveals aren’t always reliant on the audience being surprised as well, character reactions are important as well; the owl house is a good show, and read vagabonds.

#zecori rambles #dream smp #my writing #<< i guess??#dude you don’t know how long it took me to format this #wrote it originally in a google doc; pasted it here; and had to redo Everything #PLUS… i had to italicize the whole post…. the work i make myself put up with /lh #tumblr mobile only lets me edit things a paragraph at a time H #anyway woops i meant to have the vagabonds bit link a bit more into my og point #but uh. i mean if you squint-#..yeah okay this entire thing was just an excuse to ramble about vagabonds jsjdkjfknffk my bad #but ngl tho; i would absolutely love to see a legitimate #-essay about the superhero/villain trope (whoops hit enter too early)#it’s genuinely neat to see how the fandom just flocked for it after unbeatable method #and the stories i’ve seen…… i won’t claim to have read all of them; or even a significant portion; but of those i have…. they are good #also also whoops the toh portion of the thing took up longer than i wanted it to jfjfkfjfif. sorry i like to talk a lot rkjdkfj #not tagging it bc they don’t need to see dsmp stuff in their place dkjdkdjdkdj #anyway i don’t expect this to get far but to those who did read it: i hope you enjoyed it. have a s’mores cupcake #also it’s 10:30 at night so i should sleep

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leaderintitleonly · 2 years

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Anonymous asked:

BRO YOU'RE GONNA STEP ON THE CRICKET

“M’really anxious ‘bout this! Stop worryin’ me more!” Doc immediately is on his toes. “I jus’ gotta punch ‘im once an’ it’s over, right?! I gotta get back to normal so I can jus’ give ‘im the presents an’ run.” So far away. He’s gonna run so far away.

#doc speaks #flock of seagulls anybody? no? bueller?

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sweetsweetjellybean · 8 months

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A night out with friends turns into a surprise welcome home party for the man who broke your heart, Eddie Munson.

Masterlist Listen to Scar Tissue Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago, with flashbacks at the beginning of each chapter. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:5162. Beta'd by @superblysubpar

“Have a good day,” your mother calls out as you shut the front door to the gray clapboard-sided home that your parents had fallen in love with the moment they laid eyes on it. You hadn’t even gotten past the front steps before she appears in the doorway, pulling her purple terry-cloth robe tighter around her shoulders as she calls you back. “You don’t have to come right home after school,” she tells you, pressing a few folded bills into your hand, “Go out with your friends. Have some fun.”

“Thanks, Mom.” You muster up a smile, shoving the bills into the front pocket of your Levi's, certain they will end up in the ceramic pink elephant bank that sits atop your dresser, just like the money she gave you last week. She watches you walk down the steps, giving you a wave before she turns away, shutting the door behind her.

She tries her best, but she doesn't understand that friendships in the seventh grade aren't made as easily as they were in kindergarten, and you can't tell her that in the six weeks you've been enrolled at Hawkins Middle School, not a soul has spoken to you unless asked to by a teacher.

This was the life that your parents had chosen, a career that demanded constant relocation and upheaval. "It's an adventure," they'd tell you as your things were being packed into boxes. But the older you got, it felt less like an adventure and more like a test. A test to prove yourself over and over. There’s a phrase your mom has uttered so often over the years, that it's surprising it's not embroidered on the throw pillows. Bloom where you're planted. But here, in this town, you're only a weed in the garden.

Hawkins isn't any worse or better than any of the other ten places you've lived in the last seven years, but these kids have been together since birth and aren't eager to welcome newcomers into the flock. Pouring your efforts into being confident and friendly, projecting a cool and unbothered facade, the constant exposure has left you empty. The mask is too heavy, and you’ve been wearing it far too long. If this were one of the comics you kept in the box under your bed, you'd be discovering your superpower–Invisibility. They don't see you here, and maybe they never would.

The edges of folded bills in your pocket press into the meat of your thigh. Adding them to your total should give you enough for the new Elastica CD. With a bit of luck, you might be able to talk your dad into driving you to Tower Records in Indianapolis this weekend. A few houses away, the battered front door of a small yellow cape opens with a click and thud, drawing your attention. The house was more run-down than the others on this street. The grass was left to grow a little longer before being mowed, and a few nights a week, you could hear the yelling coming from inside before seeing the slow flash of lights of a cruiser parked in front.

A boy with curly shoulder-length hair bounds out from inside the house, slinging on his worn backpack as he hits the sidewalk.

Right on time this morning.

The scuff of your white Doc Martens falls in step with the crunch of his black Converse hitting the pavement. The chain running from his back pocket to his hip sways with his movements. It’s more of a determined bounce than a walk. Your eyes stay trained on the frayed holes of his Jansport, corners of textbooks and papers pushing through. You keep waiting for physics to kick in and the thing to give way entirely.

“Quit following me.”

His voice floats over his shoulder, shattering the quiet of the morning. Your head swivels from side to side, looking for whoever he is speaking to. His body turns until he’s walking backward, both hands gripping the straps of his backpack, casting his expectant brown eyes on you.

“Me?” You ask, touching your chipped painted fingernails to your chest.

“You’ve been following me for weeks, and it’s creepy.”

“I’m not following you,” you say incredulously, “We’re just going to the same place.”

“Well, walk on the other side of the street or something,” he says, turning back around, continuing on his way like he assumes you’ll comply.

“No.”

Your defiance comes out flat and solid, drawing a line, sick of him and this whole town.

“Yes,” the word comes back without a glance, utterly unbothered by your show of determination.

“No,” you repeat louder, your eyebrows pulling together in a scowl, “If you don’t like it, you walk over there.”

“I was here first.”

“Seriously?” The anger in your chest turns to heat, rising up your neck and settling in your face. Your mouth opens, ready to unleash the venom sitting on the tip of your tongue when he stops walking.

“Might as well walk beside me then.”

Surprise melts the words in your mouth as your feet carry you forward until you’re close enough to see the freckles covering his nose. His eyes stay forward as his stride lines up with yours, moving forward at a more relaxed pace. A light breeze rustles the leaves of the Maples lining the street. The sound of your footsteps is interrupted by the occasional passing car.

“You’re in seventh, right? You got Schnider?” He asks, his eyes darting to your face.

“Yeah.” You nod, looking down at your boots.

"Bad luck. She's a real bitch. I had her last year."

Answering with a shrug, you risk a look back at him. Long eyelashes framing big doe eyes, a sweet face he tries to hide with a hard shell. He wears a mask, too.

Your brain’s on overload for the rest of the day—thoughts of the boy coloring away the hours like a secret, overanalyzing every bit of your interaction. When the shrill sound of the final bell rings, you join the current of students, gathering your belongings and exiting the building in a wave.

The fresh air is a welcome escape from the stuffy classroom as you cross behind the school past the football field, heading toward the path through the woods where the boy is lingering just beyond the gate, digging through his pack but coming up with nothing like maybe he had been waiting. Without a word, he falls into step beside you. When you look at him, this time, he meets your eyes. The sunlight flickers through the swaying leaves as your footsteps resonate through the trees as you continue together.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," his voice cuts the quiet air when you reach the front steps of his house, his tone revealing a hint of uncertainty.

"I'll be headed the same way," you answer.

He turns away from you, pausing with his foot on the top step, looking up at his house before looking back at you.

"I'm Eddie, by the way," he offers, his cheeks pinking at the vulnerability his words carry.

"I know," you respond, a small smile gracing your lips as you continue home.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," you mutter, tucking your phone into your clutch and bolting up the marble steps to the second floor of the Kimpton Grey Hotel. Composing yourself as you pass through the lobby and open the double doors into Vol.39. The bar exudes timeless elegance with its dim, warm light shining on the dark-wood accents. Vintage jazz playing through hidden speakers, sounding like smoke and liquor. Everything here is steeped in leather, old money, and sophistication. It's no surprise that Nancy chose it.

"You're late," Nancy says flatly, no amusement in the blue eyes framed by the blunt cut of her black, sleek hair as she glances at her watch with disapproval.

"Sorry." You slide into the open seat on the tufted couch across from her, adjusting the material of your dark emerald midi skirt so the slit wouldn't be showing off too much thigh, "There was traffic." It definitely wasn’t the extra half hour you spent with your feet up on your desk at Stax listening to the new release from Band of Horses.

"This is Chicago. There's always traffic," she counters, keeping her voice low enough that it doesn't travel past the lit bookshelves lined with leather-bound encyclopedias framing the seating area that your friends are currently occupying. "That's why I gave you a time a week ago. So you could plan ahead."

"She’s in a mood," Argyle says from the corner of his mouth, his hair falling around him like a curtain as he leans closer from the velvet upholstered club chair beside you.

"Where's Steve?" Nancy demands, setting down her crystal tumbler on the gray marble table in the center of the space.

"He's not here?" you ask, scanning the bar. "It was Robin’s turn to watch him."

"Me?" Robin exhales from the other end of the couch she shares with Nancy.

"You're his best friend," you point out with a quirk of your brow.

"Yeah, but you're his–"

"I don't know why I bother to organize nights out for all of us if no one is going to be on time," Nancy cuts off Robin, huffing as she crosses her slender arms over her chest.

"It will be fine, Nance," Johnathan reassures, coming back from the bar carrying a flight of martinis he sets down in the center of the table. "Just relax. Everyone's going to be here in plenty of time." He takes the seat beside her, comforting her with his arm around her shoulder.

Nancy and Johnathan have been on again-off again since she left Hawkins for school in Boston. Rekindling their relationship when she moved to Chicago and accepted a position at Spectrum Media, where she still works as their vice-president of content strategy.

"Plenty of time for what?" You ask, leaning forward to choose a martini, picking the Astoria with a knot of lemon.

"There's a mystery guest," Robin says, wriggling her brows and hooking her thumb towards Nancy. “Full of surprises, isn't she?”

"Where's Flora tonight?" You ask Robin, noticing she is without an escort.

"Flora?" She asks, picking up a drink for herself, "That was over a week ago." She dismisses her with a wave of the hand before running it through her wavy blonde streaked locks, "Sadly, she left for a goat herding commune in Sacramento. I've been seeing someone new, a painter named Taylor. She's on exhibit at Magnolia. Her florals are really dreamy." She bites an olive off the end of her toothpick, sighing.

Smiling around the lip of your glass, you shake your head. Robin works as an exhibit coordinator for Magnolia Gallery in Wicker Park, falling in and out of love with artists as quickly as she sells their pieces. You give her credit, she's having fun.

"Did you text him?" Nancy asks, her lips twisting with impatience. The tense clench of her jaw has you setting down your drink and reaching for your clutch with no arguments. "Do you know how hard it was to get this reservation?"

"Then why are we here?" Argyle complains, gesturing around the room while he slumps back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with the other. "You know I own like six bars, right? No reservations required."

"But then you'd be working," Nancy explains, as Argyle smoothes out his handlebar mustache.

"I'm always working, babe," Argyle says with a smirk, looking the part of a restaurateur and music promoter in his shiny flat-front trousers and short-sleeved silk shirt.

Argyle is a new friend - meaning not from Hawkins. The California transplant, whose family owns a chain of successful pizza restaurants, has breathed new life into the Chicago music scene. Booking up-and-coming acts as well as big names into his bars and venues all across the city. He's a good friend to have, especially in your line of work–a music journalist for Stax the city's premiere music, arts, and culture magazine.

“He’s on his way,” you inform them, setting your phone face down on the table before settling back on the couch.

“On his way or leaving now?” Nancy shakes her head, knowing with Steve it’s probably the latter. “Why didn’t you ride with him?” She asks, turning toward Jonathan.

“I wasn’t in the office today. I was on a shoot,” he says, pulling his arm away from her and setting his drink down harder than necessary, his patience with her at an end.

Jonathan, like you and Steve, works for the conglomerate Second City Media. Nancy likes to think that she permits the three of you to work for her competitor, but Steve had already gotten his foot in the door, securing himself an entry-level position at Metro Sports division before she was even out of grad school. Jonathan had been doing alright freelancing as a photographer, but when Nancy started at Spectrum, Second City recognized their competitor would wind up with an edge and hired him on as full-time staff. Everyone knows it's better for their relationship not to be working in the same place, especially with Nancy as his boss.

“Give us some clues about this mystery guest,” Robin interjects to lower the temperature between the couple, which is ready to boil over.

"Okay, I'm here." Steve comes from behind you, his voice alerting you to his arrival before you see him. His tie is already missing, the first three buttons of his starched shirt undone beneath his midnight blue suit, and his hair tousled from a day of running his hands through.

"Really, Steve? You couldn't be on time just this once?" Nancy scolds him, rolling her eyes.

"Meeting ran late. You know how it is," he leans down to kiss her cheek,"Or maybe you don't. I heard things are a bit slow over there at Spectrum," he teases, earning a smirk from Johnathan.

Steve worked his way up from the sports division to chief content officer for Second City Media. The position puts him just shy of the power Nancy holds at Spectrum, fueling the pair's competitive and ambitious nature until their bickering often drives everyone else crazy.

"Steve," Robin draws his attention before Nancy gets the chance to respond, "About tomorrow–"

"Just a minute, Robin. I haven't gotten to kiss my beautiful wife hello." He steps over Argyle's legs and gives the man a quick handshake in greeting before sitting next to you on the sofa.

"I'm not your wife yet, handsome," you tell him as his strong hands cup your cheeks, tipping your head up toward him.

"But it sounds good, doesn't it?" He asks before soft lips close over yours, his thumb pressing on your chin, asking for access to deepen the kiss beyond the line that's appropriate in front of company.

"Niiiice," Argyle hums as the others snicker. Steve takes a hand off your cheek, holding it in front of you to block some of their views as his mouth moves hotly over yours.

"God, you two are sickening," Nancy's remark is probably accompanied by an eye roll, but you're too occupied to notice as you tighten your grip on the front of Steve's shirt, drawing him nearer.

Four of his fingers curl down, giving Nance a one-fingered message as he continues to kiss you until he's had his fill. Breaking away with a gentle peck. "How was your day today, Ace? Did you write me a Pulitzer?"

"You ask me that every day."

Despite teasing you, he wouldn't be surprised if you had what it takes. That's how much he believes in you. He takes your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips to place a kiss next to the glittering diamond he put on your hand a little over two years ago.

"Excuse you." Robin climbs over Argyle's legs that are still stretched out in front of him, taking up all the space between the chairs and the table, and walks over to the couch, squeezing her way onto the sofa between you and Steve, "Best friend privileges." She winks before launching into a conversation about the next exhibit she's putting together.

"You two crazy kids set a date yet?" Argyle asks at a volume higher than you'd prefer. Raising your index finger to your lips, eyebrows drawing together as your eyes flick over to Steve.

"I'm just making sure my invite didn't get lost in the mail," he says, sipping his drink. "I love weddings, man—all those tiny little versions of regular-sized food. Maybe I should open a restaurant like that, where everything is tiny. Tiny little kebabs and tiki drinks with tiny little umbrellas. I don't know what's taking you so long. You need to make an honest man out of him." His voice grows louder at the end of his sentence, earning him another look from you, a distraction that diverts Steve's attention from his conversation.

The waitress chooses that moment to appear, saving you from another conversation about setting a wedding date. It's not that you don't want to marry him–you do. Someday. Decisiveness has never been your strong suit, along with dressing up in big puffy dresses that look like frosting and being on display for everyone you have ever known and their plus ones.

While Steve squints down at the drink menu, fondness warms you like the opening notes of your favorite song. Reaching across Robin, you tap his chest. He looks over at you as he pulls a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and slides them on his nose.

Your lips move without sound–I love you.

You too, he mouths back. His mossy eyes softening as he smiles just for you.

You're happy. Why change a thing?

“I’ll have an old-fashioned. Top shelf. Please,” Steve tells the waitress after she had gone around taking orders for small plates to share and more cocktails from the others. “Another Martini?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yes, please. An Astoria,” you tell her as she finishes scribbling everything down on her pad and heads off toward the bar to put in your orders.

“The ladies?” You tip your head at Robin, who nods, getting up to follow you. Steve squeezes your hand as you walk by as he continues his conversation with Nancy about the effectiveness of paywalls on digital content.

“God, she’s in rare form,” Robin comments as you enter the empty ladies' room, each of you closing yourself into a stall.

“Are she and Jonathan fighting again?” You ask once you’ve finished up and moved to the sink to wash your hands. The echo of your voices bouncing off the black and white hexagon tiles.

“When aren’t they fighting?” She pulls a few paper towels from the machine bolted to the wall and drys her hands. “It’s like foreplay for them at this point.”

You laugh, checking under your eyes for make-up smears. “Any ideas about this mystery guest?”

“No idea.” She tugs the brass handle of the door open, and you follow her back into the bar. “Maybe her brother?”

“That would be nice,” you say, your boot heels tapping on the dark chevron floors, “He just got married, right?”

“So young, practically still a baby,” she tuts, her head shaking from side to side.

“Robin, he’s not that-”

Robin's hand clamps onto your forearm, a squeal escaping her mouth as excitement radiates through her. She bounces on her toes, leaving you in her wake. Whoever elicited such a reaction is being blocked by Steve and Jonathan. When she gracefully maneuvers past them, you catch a fleeting glimpse of dark curls before the two men shift back into place, obscuring your view once more. The clinking of glasses and chatter from the other patrons swells in your ears. Your feet carry you forward, curiosity resonating like the reverb of a guitar. Steve feels you coming up behind him and shifts to the side. Without warning, rich chocolate eyes are locked onto yours. Eyes you haven’t seen in eleven years when he left you a mixtape instead of a goodbye. The eyes of the man that shattered your heart into so many pieces, all the edges are still sharp.

“Hey, doll.”

The breath trapped in your lungs forms a suffocating bubble, its dull, aching pressure stifling any movement in or out, causing your body to lock in protest. You're tugged forward, unable to fight it, until your body collides with his. The faint but familiar scent of him embraces you, lingering beneath the spicy notes of expensive cologne. Triggering a flood of a hundred painful memories, like songs you’ve overplayed and can’t bear to hear again. They jar your instincts into overriding the shock, compelling you to push him away. Eddie's solid frame absorbs the force. To your relief, the others haven't noticed as you retreat to your seat. Your trembling hand raises your martini to your lips, taking larger swallows than you normally would, but nothing with this situation is normal.

"Desperate times," you mutter under your breath, tipping back your glass. By the time everyone has settled back into their seats, your martini glass stands drained, the lingering taste of its contents bittersweet on your tongue.

Steve directs the waitress to bring another drink for you and a double Mescal for Eddie. The others' voices are a distant buzz in your ears, but their words don't breach the barrier of your thoughts. The chords playing in your mind are more discernible now. Their lyrics printed onto the faded photographs of a boy that you struggle to reconcile as the man before you. He's older, but you are too. His long hair is much shorter, the dark curls a richer brown pushed away from his face. A few lines grace the corners of his eyes and forehead–a reminder of the life he's lived without you.

Steve's comforting hand wraps around your shoulders while the other finds a home sliding between the soft skin where your legs are crossed, exposed by the high slit of your skirt. Eddie's eyes are on you, his stare focused on Steve's big hand covering half your thigh. Your left hand moves on top of Steve's, adjusting to make sure the sparkling rock on your finger gleams with brilliance in the soft, ambient light.

"Well, this is a blast from the past," Robin notes, her voice full of whimsy as she dangles her cocktail glass between two fingers, swaying it gently like a pendulum.

"Aren't you all glad I forced you to come out?" Nancy quips, much more relaxed now that her plan has come to fruition.

"You did good, love," Johnathan murmurs. His fingers tangling with hers before giving her a quick peck.

"Absolutely. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this," Steve agrees, "How long has it been, dude? Three, four years?"

"Yeah, I think that was the last time you were in L.A." Eddie scratches at his chin, covered with just enough scruff to almost be a beard.

Steve keeps in touch with Eddie? Had he told you when you hadn't been paying attention to him, your mind wandering with the words you would write for other people's songs?

"Now, I know that I told you only old friends," Nancy says, angling herself towards the plaid upholstered chair that Eddie occupies. "But Argyle knows all the local talent, and I thought he'd be a good connection to have since you're moving here."

"What?" You ask, as if a sudden vacuum has just sucked the air from the room.

"You're moving here?" Robin's eyes light up with excitement at the prospect of all her friends in the same city. She was the original connection that brought you together all those years ago.

"When you say here. You mean Hawkins, right? You're moving back to Hawkins," you clarify.

"No. I mean here. I'm moving to Chicago," Eddie says, leaning back into his chair, his long legs spread in his tailored black suit, the black v-neck underneath giving off a laid-back California vibe. "I told those corporate studio fucks I was done. I'm opening my own place to record music that's actually good, not just the kind that will sell. I'm surprised you don't know all this, doll. Isn't it supposed to be your job or something?"

“Fu–”

"Why Chicago?" Jonathan asks, cutting you off before you let loose a very appropriate response to his question, "Why not stay in L.A. or New York. Aren't there music scenes bigger than here?"

Eddie tips his head to the side, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "You know, L.A.'s lost its charm for me. Too many fake people made out of plastic. And, well, Wayne's not getting any younger. Thought it's about time to be closer, you know?"

“You'd be much closer in Hawkins. Bet you could find a place downtown real cheap. You should go look there.” You cross your arms over your chest, drawing a line in the sand.

“Hawkins doesn’t really scream rock ‘n’ roll, and I already got a place, but thanks,” he says, unconcerned as ever by your tone.

“Look at you two,” Robin says, clapping her hands, “Just like old times, back to your usual banter." Her mischievous grin widens, "Remember when she had that massive crush on you, Eddie? You’d stroll into Musicland during our shift, and she’d follow you around with those big heart eyes.”

Your ears ring as heat rushes up to your neck to your cheeks,the whole world spinning. Eddie looks down, swirling the remnants of gold liquid in his crystal-cut glass.

“You’re exaggerating, Robin,” you sputter, reaching for your drink, hiding behind the lip of the glass, “We were just friends. And it couldn’t have been too major. I don’t even remember it.”

“Oh, come on,” she protests, “Everybody knew.”

"I didn't," Steve's voice cuts through her teasing, leaving an awkward stillness in its wake. The distant sounds of high-pitched laughter and the faint scrape of utensils against plates fill the void. Your friends exchange uncomfortable glances, even though there was no malice in his tone.

“Hey, it’s no big deal, though,” his smile puts everyone at ease. “Right, Ace?” His head dips, brushing your lips in confirmation. You nod as he continues, “Robin, remember when we both went on dates with the same girl. What was her name? Brenda.” His fingers snap with the recollection.

“That’s right, Brenda! Brenda Mackenzie!” Robin laughs and begins to regale the group with the story.

When you lift your eyes, Eddie’s stare remains fixed on you, amusement replaced with an intensity you can’t read. An unfinished sentence or lyric. Words hanging between you like a question that you can't answer—one that you don’t want to.

“I’m going for another drink,” you say to Steve, picking up your empty glass.

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asks, brows drawing together.

“No, I’m okay,” you tell him with a plastered-on smile, “You want anything?”

He shakes his head no. “I let my car service go early. I’ll drive us home in your car.”

With gentle fingers, you sweep aside a stray lock of hair that's draped across his forehead, planting a tender kiss on his lips before making your way to the bar.

There is a soft creak of the leather as you seat yourself on a high stool in front of the polished wood bar. A bartender with an easy smile takes your order and leaves, giving you a much needed moment alone. Your lungs expand and contract without releasing any tension. You study your reflection in the mirror behind the rows of brightly lit bottles. If you could rewind the tape to a few hours ago, you'd have happily stayed in your office. Calling Nancy tomorrow to grovel for forgiveness for messing up her plans. But you can’t and the song plays on. It’s always the music that hurts the worst.

You release an audible sigh, your breath escaping through parted lips, as he settles onto the stool beside you. With a casual tap of his rings against the bar, he signals for the bartender, raising a single finger, his tongue peeks out, grazing his bottom lip as he gestures toward his empty glass.

"What’s the matter, doll? You really that unhappy to see me?" Eddie drawls, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"It’s been eleven years, Eddie. Sorry I’m not organizing a parade." You settle back into your seat, glancing around as if you're bored.

The bartender lowers his eyes as they deliver your drinks and wisely retreats to the far end of the establishment.

"I didn’t come here to fight," Eddie replies, his tone softening. He shifts his weight slightly on the stool, one arm resting casually on the counter, the glint of a gold chain around his neck catching the dim light.

"Then why are you here?" Your eyes narrow as your fingers trace the condensation on the side of the full glass.

"A fresh start. To build something of my own." He looks at you with determination, his dark eyes reflecting the soft glow of the bar lights.

"Then build it somewhere else," you respond curtly, your words laced with frustration. You pick up your drink and down half of it in one go, the chilled liquid leaving a slight burn as it slides down your throat. Setting the glass back down, you turn to leave.

He stops you with a gentle hand wrapping around your wrist, his touch causing your pulse to quicken beneath his fingertips. "There are some things I want to say to you. Let me take you to lunch unless Harrington has got you on too short of a leash."

You pull your wrist back, the feel of his touch lingering like smoke in the air. "Whatever you have to say has waited this long, try again in another decade. Unless you're dying."

"Would it make a difference if I was?" He meets your gaze with amusement playing on his lips.

"Let me think about it… nope." Your reply is quick and sharp, meant to cut.

"I know you're mad–"

"No. Mad would imply some kind of emotional attachment. What I feel is indifference. In case you don't know the definition, that means nothing at all." Your voice stays cool and detached as you hop off the stool. "It's a big city, Eddie. There's no reason we have to see each other again."

"We'll have to see about that," he smirks.

"Have a nice life," you say a final goodbye to your past and turn away, walking in the direction of Steve when he stops you with one more question.

"Did you listen to it? The tape, did you ever listen?"

The lie comes without hesitation.

“No.”

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Read Song 2. here

AN: I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. If you have a song that you think Eddie would have recorded on the mixtape send it to me in an ask and it might be included. Anything before 2001. I'd love to hear from you. Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated.

#steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series #torn #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #Spotify

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bloodytittiez · 1 month

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys [*gets shot*] I know I've never posted any of my writings before, even though I write fanfiction, but this has been collecting dust in my google docs page for nearly two years and it was too good to not share it with you my little kinky freaks/lh/aff (at least I think so)! I hope you enjoy this little smut fic - English isn't my first language so excuse some possible spelling and grammar errors, please... also, KEEP IN MIND THIS WAS A DRAFT! There's a lot of time skips and I doubt I'll ever finish it.

CONTENT WARNING: AFAB reader, vaginal sex, oral sex, teasing, heavy dirty talking, sex without condom, consensual non-consensual, phone sex, masturbation, public sex, porn with plot.

———

Red and blue lights flickering outside, tree branches tapping against the snowy windows of the sorority house. The soft, slow tunes and delicious scents of cinnamon and ginger cookies flowing in the air...

Christmas, such a family centered holiday where there's only place for laughs and sweet surprises, was completely ruined yet another year by him.

It was the fourth time in the night the moaner called. You could see your roommates gag at the blasphemies and curses the stranger yelled at the phone to each one of them– while you seemed to enjoy them in secret.

《Nasty… F-Filthy piggy. Bi-Billy has a big juicy fat cock he k-knows you’d love to suck on… I-It’s dripping wet and it f-fits in your mouth.》

You crossed your legs as ‘‘Billy’’ —you had no idea if that even was his actual name— spat nonsensical words for the sake of feeling some friction against your womanhood. His descriptions were so detailed that you could picture them perfectly in your head.

《Billy w-will kill each one of you… Tonight.》He breathed out in a way that felt almost a threat, his sentence getting distorted when it reached the other side of the line. Everyone could tell he was all tensed up for the way he gripped the phone.

《I can’t stand you anymore, you fucking pig!》

《Pig… P-piggy! Naughty piggy…》 The moaner repeated, mocking a very stressed out Jess Bradford.

《Jess.》 You interrupted the leader of your group with a serene expression, finally standing up from your seat when you felt her anxiety grow. 《Let me take care of the situation.》 You suggested while you took the device out of her hands before she would say anything, and covering the speaker you added something;

《Why don’t you guys go to bed? It’s way too late already.》

《But we can’t leave you alone with that creep!》 Jess exclaimed.

《Don’t worry about it. Someone has to confront him already and that’s going to be me.》 You answered, already building up enough courage to complete the task. 《Please.》 You looked up at the concerned eyes of every girl occupying the room while you could hear Billy talking to himself on the other side of the line. 《You girls need some rest. It’s been a long day.》

Jess and the rest stood there in silence, trusting your words. She gave you a small nod and parted her lips to articulate a silent ‘‘thank you’’ before leaving the room with relief. You knew she didn’t have enough energy to argue, and so did the rest.

You smiled when you returned to the call, grabbing the phone with distinguished elegance in your movements. A soft smile formed in your face and felt a sudden flock of butterflies inside of your stomach. It definitely wasn’t a good idea to play along with who you knew was a creep, but a part of you loved the thrill and danger in doing that. You could hear your sweet mother’s voice in your head begging to stop what you were doing as you answered Billy. To hell with her warnings of not picking up the phone to strangers!

Tonight was going to be different. May this be your very own Christmas gift…

《Hello, Billy.》 You tried not to come off as rude at first.

《Yes, yes… Hello there, my darling… It's so nice to hear your voice. You sound like an angelic creature.》

《Do you know who I am?》 You asked.

《 Yes... Yes, I know you. The quietest slut of the bunch. Billy loves to see your pretty ass swaying around when you walk. Yes… You filthy, nasty whore love to tease Billy’s cock. I know that well. Billy saw this naughty piggy touch herself… S-saw you cry out for Billy in the intimacy of your room.》

You couldn’t help but fluster at his obscene rambling and switched the phone to your other hand. You were the kind of person that would move around constantly when you felt nervous about something. In this case, a stranger that saw you masturbate plenty of times before. Poor you… How many times exactly did Billy hear you pronounce his name under muffled moans? You could feel your heart rate at the top of your throat, flooded in embarrassment as he playfully mocked you.

But; back to his confession though, you definitely couldn’t deny something that was completely true and after spending some seconds in silence you finally spoke up, a cigarette being held in between two of your shaky fingers so you could calm yourself down.

《Would you like me to do it now? Touch myself for you?》

《Yes. Yes. YES!》 He demanded in an almost feral manner.

You nodded in response to his pleas as the flame of your lighter lit the cigarette and kept paying attention to his delicious blasphemies. You were enjoying the moment more than you would like to admit. 《Touch yourself f-for B-Billy...》 He insisted, despair breaking in his voice. 《I want to hear your sweet moans like when you finger yourself alone.》

You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder, letting one of your hands completely free and trailing down to your skirt as the mysterious man dictated. 《Roll your skirt up… Billy wants to see your juicy ass aswell.》

Your pussy soon got filled with two of your fingers, exploring every inch of your insides.

You were so warm…

So wet…

It was hard to believe how turned on you could get by the phone calls of a creep. Being manipulated in such ways by a man that you'd never seen before.

《I'm doing it, Billy…》 You sighed, moaning his name under your soft breath. 《I'm touching myself.》

The mysterious man groaned and panted on the other side of the line, incapable of forming coherent words. 《Move the phone down to your pretty slick… Billy wants to hear the sound of your wet cunt.》

His voice sent chills down your spine while you placed the speaker close to your pussy, fingering it with oh, such passion in every one of your circular motions. Obviously, you made sure that the sound of the friction of your digits was audible enough for Billy.

《Fuck…》 He groaned once more. 《I want to taste your pretty pink cunt… Oh Y...Yes… I will. I bet it tastes as sweet as you do. B-Billy wants to lick your tits and your round juicy ass.》 The man chuckled with a childish tone as you could hear him stroking his length while getting indulged in his fantasies. 《Suck on your nipples too… Squeeze those tits ‘till they turn red like two christmas ornaments…》

His words made you shove your fingers even deeper in you. You were getting too carried away right when you heard the mysterious man hang up the phone.

You grabbed it close to your ear, wondering what happened.

《Hello? Billy? Are you still there?》

Only the empty beeping of the phone answered you, leaving you completely disappointed and wet.

You took a deep puff of your cigarette and hung up the phone in return when you got tired of listening to the dull melody of the lost connection, then mumbled something and decided to go to your room for some rest too. Maybe Jess and Barb were right after all, there was no point on wasting your time on that fucking moaner guy you all couldn’t stand.

You turned off the lights outside, blew the candles in the living room and grabbed a little candy cane from the coffee table. You thought the night was over and your only comfort now was a little sugary treat.

But, when you suddenly walked into a dark corner of the stairs, a pair of big hands pinned you on the wall. An audible yelp escaped your lips as you heard a man's voice speaking in an attempt to reassure you. It was the same one you'd always hear on the phone.

《Shh… S...Shhh… It's okay… It's me, Billy.》

The man caressed your cheeks in a sloppy manner and covered your mouth. 《Pretty piggy… Where do you think you are going? Billy isn't finished with you yet… There are so many nasty things Billy wants to do to you…》

You tried to pick small bits of his face in the darkness when he slowly released you from his grasp. It felt rather strange to see him in person.

A tall figure partially hidden in the shadows, green eyes that would stare directly into your soul and long, curly hair caressing the sides of his forehead. Billy's description didn't fit his personality at all. He had the looks of a gentleman but the mouth of the devil. Although; you had to be honest about something. You still wanted to fuck Billy despite of his looks. They didn't matter much to you when his low and menacing tone is what drove you absolutely crazy for him at first.

His hot breath hitting against your neck soon turned you on again.

《Billy… I thought you weren't interested in me anymore. Why did you hang up on me?》You pouted, wanting to tease him as an act of revenge.

The way you said those words, with such a sweet yet innocent tone made the man react in ways you exactly wanted him to.

《N...No. Billy came a-all the way here to see you. Billy craves your body.》

You dragged his fingers across the line of your lips as an excuse to turn him on as well. You liked the way he sounded, so nervous. He could break down at any moment and you liked that.

The warmth of his digits along the surface of your puffy lips, bringing goosebumps across your whole body. You parted your lips and spoke again.

《How much do you crave my body?》 You attempted to lick his index finger to which got you a slight moan in response.

《S-So much...》

《Show me then, Billy. I’ve been wanting to do this for the longest time…》

You finally confessed while you rolled your tongue out of your mouth and placed his finger on top. You sucked on it gently from the base to the tip.

———

Billy yanked your hair with such strength, dragging your puffy velvet lips to his dripping cock. His tip forced them open and soon his shaft filled your mouth hole.

Strands of hair tangled up around his fingers, both of you now locked together for god knows how long. You made the man shiver with anticipation as his tip brushed the back of your throat, leaving it hot and irritated.

You couldn't help but gag and drool repeatedly for he didn't give you a single break. But you didn't mind. You finally had what you craved.

‘‘Billy's juicy fat cock…’’

His words showed up in your brain, accompanied by a clear image of the cock that was stuffing your mouth in that very moment. Your horny mind couldn't help but recap every single quote that made you fall madly in love with him. Blame it on your degrading kink as a result of many failed relationships.

Billy bent you over with the same strength as before, ripping a yelp out of your throat while you grabbed the handrails so you wouldn't fall down the stairs and cause a scene.

Your ass now completely exposed was facing him, rubbing against his wet cock.

The man leaned over you and hands crawled around your stomach to hold you firmly as he would start rocking his hips at a slow pace. His left hand roamed free around your belly and later your clit, while his right one stayed busy pinching and twisting your nipples ever so slightly.

Billy could make you scream at any given time.

He could definitely break you. Turn you into his pretty little fucktoy, but having sex in a set of stairs definitely required some precaution.

《Billy. We should move somewhere else…》You gasped as soon as you could catch some air and already felt your whole body sore from standing up there. 《What if someone wakes up and sees us here?》

《If someone sees us…》 He repeated. 《I…It won't matter. I want them to see YOU moaning f-for Billy. Want them t…to see just how good you can take a cock.》

He purred into your ear as he covered your mouth to force your jaw open widely for him. Holding your breasts better around his hands he rubbed them together and squeezed them. You felt his wet cock pressing against your folds, desperately trying to make its way inside of you. God it felt so good to finally experience how all of his sinful threats came true one by one. Little whines came out of your mouth when you tried to accommodate to his size but he didn't let you. He was more than aware of his power and chuckled playfully.

《Billy's cock feels so good inside of your wet cunt. You are taking it so well. So tremendously well. Don't stop squealing, my little dirty piggy.》

You obeyed and let out a bunch of more moans caused by the pain of quick and deep thrusts. It was embarrassing to echo your satisfaction to an empty living room... And definitely hoped the girls closed their doors upstairs.

———

Billy noticed the red and white swirled candy that you were holding in your hands and took it from you while he turned your body around so that you could face him now.

Still holding your waist, he licked the candy cane until it would remain a little damped. You were staring at his eyes in a mix of excitement and curiosity the whole time and snickered.

He spreaded your folds and shoved the candy inside.

《Billy's gonna make this wet cunt even tastier.》

———

The chorus of early birds singing outside and gentle sunrays kissing your face woke you up the next morning. You stretched your arms, your legs and then… A pinch on your sore waist fully woke you up. You remembered what happened last night soon after that and smiled.

You sat up in bed and noticed a candy cane wrapped its plastic with a small green bow and a note. You had no idea when and how it got there, perhaps Claude; the sorority cat stole it from the silver platter downstairs and left it in your bed as a mere coincidence. You elongated your arm to pick it up and brushed strands of hair behind your ears to read it better.

It said ''Merry Christmas. With love, Billy'' in a surprisingly tidy calligraphy.

His name made your heart flutter and cheeks aroused when you remembered more details about last night.

You unwrapped the candy cane and tasted it, its sweet flavor melting in your tongue.

Maybe Christmas wasn't completely ruined this year.

#fanfic #smut #black christmas 1974 #black christmas #billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #billy lenz x you #slashers #slasher community #slasher movies #slasher smut #billy lenz smut #female reader

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in-a-mountain-pool · 10 months

Text

Blossoming Over You

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

pronouns: She/her (afab)

rating: Explicit/18+

warnings: NSFW/Minors DNI, 69 position, smut

word count: 4500+

summary: Aemond and his new bride, Lady Y/N Baratheon, steal a moment together alone at their Wedding dinner.

author’s note: The people have spoken! After my poll to celebrate gaining 69 followers (which is now a lovely 100 followers!) there you have it, an Aemond x Reader 69 smut fic. You’re welcome. As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are not a requirement, but always love to come home to. Thanks again to @bottlesandbarricades and @ewanmitchellcrumbs for your lovely encouragement and commentary in my google doc!

Masterlist

The Great Hall was shrouded in the shades of your family's colours, with deep reds and blacks against the golden yellows of the House Baratheon. Not a plate was empty, nor a glass unfilled as the great households of Westeros came together to celebrate the wedding of Prince Aemond Targaryen and his Lady Y/N.

The betrothal had been a long one, starting at the very beginning of the Dance of Dragons on that fateful night at Storm’s End, and after a year of near unending grief and loss, your love was the salve to heal the deep wounds left behind. The Greens had triumphed over your betrothed’s half-sister only 6 months prior, and now was the time to march onward into a time of peace.

The Queen Mother, Alicent Hightower, watched on from afar, taking in the merry celebrations. All of her children were prospering, thank The Seven, and hopefully soon the realm once more. Prince Aemond and his bride had been missing from the party for quite some time, slipping out just after the speeches had ended and their guests had flocked to the dance floor. In amongst the beautiful patterns created by dancers in dresses of the finest silks, she’d watched as he’d lovingly sought her hand and pulled her away to his chambers.

Later that night, out of the corner of her eye, Alicent sees them return hurriedly through a servant's side door. Y/N was hastily straightening her dress and the priceless jewels hung around her neck, her youngest son rose-pink in the face, his usually perfectly tied hair uncharacteristically mussed and knotted. His mother could hardly contain the hearty chuckle that escapes her mouth as she notes the way he scans the room nervously to see if anyone had noticed their absence… Like it hadn’t been the talk of the Red Keep that the young Prince had hardly been able to keep his hands off his little bride since the end of the war. They were head over heels, and after all of the tragedy that had befallen them, no one could find it in their hearts to judge them for it. It was a match made by the Seven indeed.

It was clear in the way that Aemond would gaze at her when they would dine together, the tender way he would cradle and protect her on dragonback, and the way that no matter how beaten and bloodied he had been during the war, he had never so much as raised his voice at her.

Aemond had always been a gentle soul as a child and this shone brightly whenever he was around his betrothed. Whilst her son had never said the words outright to her, not in plain, it was clear to all that there was a deep love between them. A love that would no doubt last the rest of their days. They’d proven it to the Realm already, before wedding bands and great feasts had even been necessary.

Alicent feels a soft nudge on her arm as Helaena leans over to pass her a goblet of wine, raising her eyebrow playfully to gesture at the couple. Her heart swelled as she watched his new wife reach over to brush back the unruly loose strands of his hair from his face, adjusting the strap of his now rather wonky eyepatch with a care that spoke a thousand words.

He never let anyone touch him, especially not his face. But with her, it was different.

An affectionate smile grazes Aemond’s face when Y/N’s hand lingers upon him to stroke at his scarred cheek, his ringed fingers coming up to enclose themselves around her own, bringing her palm to his lips for a sweet kiss.

The Queen laid her hand softly on the top of her Daughters, leaning back into her chair and sighing as the heavy cares of the last year washed away. She knew that when all was said and done, after all of the blood, the horrors and regrets, brighter times were here for her son, and she knew in her heart that they would be here to stay.

By the Gods, would the speeches drag on much longer!?

The week before their wedding had been the longest week in all of recorded time. She was sure of it. There had scarcely been any time to see her betrothed alone, what with all of the wedding planning and the countless rehearsal dinners at the insistence of the King. Aegon had proclaimed that he’d wanted everything to be perfect for his little brother, though Aemond had known better that it was because he’d used your wedding as a convenient excuse for a week filled with feasting and drunken festivities.

You’re sitting politely, half-way through listening to Ser Tyland Lannister’s slurred speech, telling tall tales of his supposed ‘great friendship’ and comradery with the Prince, when you feel a soft warmth spreading upon your thigh. Aemond’s hand had slipped under the table to squeeze at the soft flesh of your inner thigh, stroking small circles and with his thumb.

“I don’t know what’s worse, this speech, or those ice sculptures.” Aemond whispers, his lips tickling the shell of your ear through your hair.

You try not to snort laughing as you take in the look of pure contempt on your husband's face as his gaze falls upon the already dripping ice carvings of Vhagar and the Baratheon Stag, towering above the crowd at the centre of the Great Hall.

To Alicent’s and the Iron Bank’s dismay, Aegon had been adamant that the wedding would be one the greatest celebrations the Realm had ever seen, not only to honour the bravery of his dear brother during the war, but as a show of power over the scattered remains of the Blacks. And ice sculptures in the height of summer in King's Landing to him had seemed positively lavish.

“My darling, are you surprised? Lest you forget, there is a statue of you in the Dragonpit as tall as Brandon’s Wall.” You murmur to him, tongue-in-cheek and drinking your wine to hide your coquettish grin.

“It is simply his way of showing you that he loves you. Aegon is ever so proud.”

Aemond coughs slightly to mask his mirth, squeezing your thigh once more before purring into your ear.

“I, on the other hand, have several ways that I plan to show you my affection tonight... ” His thumb creeps inward, rising further towards your centre through the layers of your wedding dress.

“That is, if Tyland Lannister ever stops to draw breath.”

Your heart races, as you try as hard as you can to focus on the great tapestry at the end of the room opposite you, another exuberant commission of Aegon’s, detailing your husband’s victory over his Uncle at the God’s Eye earlier that year. You bite at your plush bottom lip as Aemond’s hand moves to cup at your sex, a dark chuckle leaving his throat as the hand gripping your goblet wobbles, almost spilling your wine down your front.

“Sweetling, please, it’s rude not to listen.” He drawls, his nose nuzzling at your temple, breathing you in.

When your new Mother-in-law looks over to you with a small furrow in her brow, mouthing to see if you are okay, you shoot a tight smile her way, and a swift kick to her son’s foot under the table. This only serves to make him chuckle even more, his large hand sliding down to squeeze at your knee lovingly, before returning back to the table to take your hand in his.

“... there has not been a finer warrior in all of the Seven Kingdoms, since Aegon the Conqueror himself. To Prince Aemond, and his bride, Lady Y/N Baratheon. May you live long and happy lives, free from war, and with love in abundance!” Slurred Tyland, raising his tankard of ale into the air.

The room exploded into cheers and hear, hears, the band starting to play once more. The sound of rich strings and flutes fill the air as your guests flood onto the dance floor. Aemond’s chair scoots closer to yours, his thigh pressed hotly against yours. He hastily grabs a plate and starts collecting an assortment of your favourite nibbles and treats for you, before placing it down and leaning over to whisper into your ear.

“You will need a full stomach. Take what you like now and we can take the rest with us.”

You look up in quiet surprise, gently biting into a small lemon cake he’d had made for you specially.

“Aemond- but it’s not the bedding ceremony for another three hours. There are speeches to be made, dances to be had-”

Aemond stares Y/N down with an unmistakable gleam of lust in his eye and a playful smirk on his lips. “I’m not talking about that. That will not take place for hours yet… But did you really think I could wait that long before I tasted you again my love?”

He surveys the room, watching the great houses of the realm eating, drinking and dancing, before he stands up suddenly, lacing his hand with yours and pulling you up to his side.

“I’d love to stay and chat with our guests, but I find myself completely enraptured by you… Y/N, come.” Aemond murmurs into your hair.

He walks you forward towards the servants entrance door with a serious look on his face as you slip behind an old tapestry on the wall and into the depths of the castle. You’d used this passage countless times before, the last time when you’d had to make a quick escape after Aemond had brought you to completion upon the steps of the Iron Throne. Aemond knew a lot about the architecture of the old castle, and by the God’s had he made good use of it during your betrothal.

Within a few moments you’re there in his bed chambers, slamming the door behind you and locking the latch, something that had quickly become second nature after Aegon had walked in on you both one too many times before.

Finally. This was the first moment you’d been alone all week, free from prying eyes watching or judging. No more interruptions.

He places the small plate of food on his bedside table, and strides towards you, grabbing your face and devouring your mouth with his lips and tongue. His large hand splays itself on your small waist. A deep sigh escapes your lips as he hikes up the many layers of your wedding dress, cupping at your ass desperately through your smallclothes.

“Aem- Aemond, take care, my dress… we can’t get too carried away-”

“I don’t give a shit about your dress.” He says panting between kisses, backing you up towards the chaise lounge beside the fireplace. “I can’t help myself. I need you. I want you.”

Aemond grabs you by your hips, lifting you to lay you down upon soft pillows with an indisputable urgency, pressing his weight upon you and attacking your neck with fervent kisses and small bites.

“Ah! There’s no time… Please don’t start something you don’t intend to finish, my love.”

With a growl he pushes up your skirts to your waist and hooks his finger into the soaked crotch of your smallclothes, pulling them down to your ankles. “Oh we will finish… just not in the way you might expect.” Aemond says, with an impish smirk and a rather devilish gleam in his eyes.

“I had something else in mind. Something we have never tried before.”

You lean onto your forearms to meet his harsh kisses, a look of intrigue forming on your face. You and Aemond had certainly tried a lot of things. After countless nights ‘researching’ in the library, he had been able to convince you that there was a lot of enjoyment to be had in each other that did not involve the loss of your virtue. It was really the least The Seven could do to turn a blind eye to their pursuit of happiness.

You blush intensely at the perverse grin decorating his cat-like lips as he gently pushes your shoulders back again, biting at your collarbones beneath the collar of your dress, and sucking small love bites along its edge. You struggle to get your words out at his ministrations, your hands clasping at his strong shoulders, still covered in the soft black velvet of his doublet.

“S- something in mind, my love?”

“I can see that your curiosity is getting the better of you, little Doe. I can assure you, you are not the only one who thinks the waiting has been going on just a little too long.”

His voice is husky, dripping in heat and passion. Aemond moves to kneel partially between your thighs, his lilac eye raking over your body.

“I have a thought. A thought I have had in my mind in your presence for some time now. Aegon told me, against my will of course,” he chuckles before continuing, “of a time he and one of his lovers had pleasured each other with their mouths… mutually, and simultaneously.”

You’d taken him in your mouth almost countless times, as he in turn had devoured you. Aemond was insatiable, especially after a battle. The thought of such heady pleasure taking place at the same moment made your centre throb with desire.

Aemond starts to crawl over your body fixing you with a smouldering look. “If we are quick and efficient, as I know we can be, I believe we can subdue ourselves for the next few hours… lest your husband be driven to madness, resorting to cupping his pretty little bride's cunny under the dinner table once again.”

He unlaces the ties of his tight black trousers with deft fingers. “I promise you, I can be very swift if the reward is sweet.”

Wordlessly you push down your bodice as far as you can to release your heaving chest, causing him to growl in contentment.

“My Dragon, the speeches… they commence in a half hour, and my handmaid's have left for the evening. If you mess up my hair-”

A feral laugh leaves his lips as he shifts around and lays on his side, his face level with your middle, swiftly hooking your leg over his shoulder, pressing hot sloppy kisses up the soft skin.

“Fuck your hair! … Though, that is a very convenient piece of information, my Lady. Even more privacy tonight… and even more opportunity.” With a soft kiss to your smouldering core he murmurs against your bare stomach. “I promise to be gentle with you, my love.”

He shifts his hand down to release his length from its confines, his hard cock springing free and flushed against your face. Aemond’s brushing kisses on your thigh creep closer and closer towards your heat.

“And… you wish for me to taste you, Husband?”

Aemond nods his head in a slow deliberate movement whilst stroking himself, his long hair tickling your stomach. “That is what I wish for, and I think you will come to like it.” He whispers, his breaths growing shorter, and his length swelling harder still.

Shyly you reach to take him into your hand, your dainty fingers not even coming close to meeting. Aemond was heavy and silky to the touch, and oh so hot. He was already leaking, your absence in the week leaving him hungry and craving the warmth of your mouth.

With a swift lick to your folds, he ducks his head between your legs and groans against your cunny in a way that has you shaking. “... If you would be so kind, little Doe…”

All you can do is whine softly, as you feast your eyes on the spectacle of a Targaryen prince, your Prince, nestled between your legs and devouring you like a man-starved. Unable to hold back anymore, you press your face forwards, your tongue brushing little kitten licks over the head of his cock. Aemond can scarcely contain the rumbling moan in his chest when your hand comes to join your tongue, eagerly sliding the gathering combination of spit and precum down his shaft.

“Ah- my sweet little one… a little slower if you please. Lest the moment be over too quickly.”

Aemond drawls out breathlessly, his eye squeezing shut in the sheer bliss of your wet warmth, all the while he starts to suck teasingly on your nub. Rough hands slide up to cup and caress the sensitive skin of your thighs, your flushed skin framing his handsome face.

Your face presses forwards, his hips rocking up purposely to slide home into your mouth until your nose is brushing against the soft blonde hairs at his toned navel. Hollowing your cheeks, your needy groans have him twitching inside of you, before he starts to thrust into your willing mouth. His movements are slow and purposeful, dragging his head against your tongue and against the back of your throat with a need impossible to ignore.

“Yes- Yes that’s it. Oh that’s divine. You are divine. Like the very Maiden herself.”

You have to remind yourself to breathe through your nose when he props up your leg with his hand under your knee, plunging two of his long fingers into your tight hole. Aemond crooks his lithe fingers upwards to tease relentlessly at that sensitive patch inside of you that try as you might you could never reach yourself. What you can’t fit in your mouth you grasp at tightly in your small hands, wrapped around the thick base of him now slick with your spit.

When he pulls out to tease your lips with the tip of his manhood, a pathetic high-pitched whine escapes your throat, a pink blush dusting your cheeks and breasts.

“Aem- Aemond… Are you sure The Seven will not condemn us for such- ah- impropriety? Such sin?”

You swear you can feel his sly grin against your cunt and the vibrations of his tremulous dark chuckling against your clit, shooting waves of white heat to the base of your spine.

“The Seven can judge me all they want.” He rasps gazing down at your slick dripping down onto your thigh, a thin line of saliva connecting his shining lips to your slick cunny. “Though I believe, just like you and I, they would find this very enjoyable.”

The thought of The Seven watching you in such a compromising position, the thought of such divine beings coveting the primal pleasure only he could bring you was almost too much to bear, only serving to add more fuel to the building fire inside of you.

You continue to work his length with your hand, curling your wrist to stroke the head of his cock with your palm before sliding straight down to the base. You duck down to suck at the sensitive skin of his stones, which seemed to only tighten at the very sensation of your plush lips and the warm breaths blowing out as you speak.

“That is blasphemy my Prince… but such blasphemous ecstasy is it not?”

You let out a gasping moan as he adds yet another finger into your swollen heat, licking up your folds and slurping at your sweet release.

“I might- oh- I might be willing to suffer the consequences of such sacrilege… if it means even the slightest possibility of tasting such sweet nectar once again.” Aemond pants out, gripping your thighs in a vice-like grip and pressing forward to lap up the slick gathered at your puckered hole, before diving down to slide his tongue into your cunt.

The sounds of wetness and lewd sucking and slurping fill the room in a manner so intoxicating that you can feel your release approaching swiftly. You take him deep into your throat now, feeling his hips tense under your fingers as he starts to frantically thrust himself into your face over and over, his stones slapping at your jaw.

Aemond gravels out his words through gritted teeth, his long fingers plunging into your sex hard and fast now, as his control starts to waver. Every word he utters is accompanied by a needy gasp at the end as a small tremor begins to make its way through his body.

“Fucking Seven… can do whatever they want to me… just so long as I can have you. And fuck you…. And love you.”

All at once it hits you, the week without his touch, the year you’d had been torn apart by war… the love he’d never really spoken of until this very moment. Your head lolls back against the cushions and suddenly you’re and moaning in ecstasy around his cock as he continues to fuck your throat. You clench tightly around his fingers, shaking and trembling as you reach your peak, completely overstimulated as he laps at your centre with an unrelenting passion.

Soft guttural groans fall from his curved lips, trying so hard to bring you to release once more. His hips stutter, his movements flustered… and he’s spilling into you. The feeling of you swallowing every drop washes over him like the waves crashing onto Blackwater Bay, and he cannot help but moan your name loudly and shudder, hands desperately stroking the at soft curve of your ass. He loses himself in you completely. Every dream he’d ever had, all his aspirations, meant nothing in the wake of you. He could be King of Westeros for all he cared. You were everything.

You release him with a soft pop of your mouth, panting as you let yourself breath for the first time in what felt like an age. The two of you lay spent, catching your breath. Ever so gently, you lean forward to press a tender kiss to the slender dip of his hip bone, nuzzling your nose against his naval.

“... Have I stolen your voice, love?” You whisper.

Aemond takes a few deep breaths, gathering himself and wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand raggedly. A lazy smile grazes his gorgeous flushed features. For a man so pale, you loved more than anything how only you could make him so pink and rosy.

“... I do believe The Seven had stolen it. To punish me for experiencing something so glorious and so holy, that no words ought ever to be able to describe it.”

Shakily he sits up and tucks himself back into his breeches, before pulling your back against his chest. You remember yourself and the party outside, and hastily pull up your bodice, fixing your hair until strong arms encircle you from behind, and gentle hands still you. Aemond presses languid kisses to your neck, his nose brushing into your unruly locks.

“... Just a few more moments.” He whispers pleadingly, his body still trembling from the bliss you had just given him. After a short while with tender touches, he starts to fix your hair for you, tightening loose ties, repositioning pins he’d skewed, all the while pressing small innocent kisses to your cheeks and collar.

You smile up at him adoringly when he finally stands and extends his hand to you.

“Alas my dearest one, we will have many more moments like this. In our own chambers…. In our own marriage bed.” Your voice is husky as he laces his fingers with yours and a boyish smile decorates his blushed cheeks.

“Indeed. We shall have many, many more tonight. And many, many more after that.” He steals a bashful look at you as you both start walking hurriedly through the secret passage once again, feeling a lot warmer than the time before, before he continues quietly, his voice just above a whisper.

“I believe we shall have them for the rest of our lives, in fact.”

You both hesitate before you head back into the great hall, Aemond’s pace faltering and softly taking your hands in his to gaze down at you with a purposeful glint in his eye. The faint sounds of your guests echo from behind the tapestry, the clatter of servants rushing by.

“... Come now, Aemond, my Dragon, we must go back. They will fear you have kidnapped me! To think, before my arrival to King’s Landing I was told that you were a rather wicked Prince?”

You giggle, watching Aemond ignore you entirely to lick at his thumb, reaching up to your face to brush away a wet patch of his spend from the corner of your mouth.

His hand lingers on your face to stroke at the apple of your cheek with his thumb, his lilac eye hooded and dreamy. “Oh I intend to be wicked with you however and whenever I can. You can be quite sure of that.”

Something shifts after he says this, his face still pink but seemingly for another reason entirely. You watch as his lips tremble and the tendons in his neck contract like he’s struggling to speak.

“But, I wonder… did they ever tell you how much the wicked Prince… loves you?”

A warmth like no other spreads across your chest and a blinding smile blossoms on your face.

He loves you.

“... Because I do love you, Y/N. Most ardently.”

As your eyes locked to his, the celebrations outside, the whole night seemed to fade away, leaving only the pulsating rhythm of your heart and his. You’d kissed countless times but in that moment it felt timeless, your lips gently meeting in a breath-taking embrace that whispered promises of a lifetime ahead full of happiness and devotion.

“... Now come on, little Doe. Let us away.” Aemond whispers tenderly against your lips as you break apart.

Taking your arm in his he parts open the tapestry, the light of the feast flooding into the dark space you had stolen yet another moment together in. With a deep breath, you take a step towards the Great Hall, and a greater step towards your future with him.

#Ewan Mitchell #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fic #aemond smut #hotd fanfiction #Fics by me

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