#but it feels like treason if I take him out of there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luvrxbunny · 3 months

Text

churn

pairing: knight!Miguel O’Hara x princess!reader

summary: Your royal knight helps you in a way your fiancé never could.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has hair that can be pushed over her shoulder, reader has visible collarbones, infidelity, miguel seems to have a little thing for readers collarbones.. Idk, f! masturbation, IMPORTANT LINK (ill be refering to this throughout the fic)

wc: 4.9k

a/n: i don't even think this is good guys cry i just needed to post something but i tried ilya 🫶🏾 (not proofread one bit)

He hated this part of the day.

Miguel isn’t allowed to feel many things, he is even more limited in who he can feel them for, but he hates this part of the day. When you finally finish your chores and duties. You always tell him that you’re not going to get excited this time, that you know he’s busy but he always sees the excitement build in your face as you search tirelessly for your fiancé.

Ser Isaac was one of the more well-known lords of the land. He’s known for his outstanding looks and entertaining charm. Everyone has heard of his endless generosity, empathy, and care for others. But in Miguel’s experience. He’s a selfish dick.

He doesn’t hate Ser Isaac, of course not, that’d be treason. He is allowed to hate his actions, however; the way he neglects you. He hates how Ser Isaac is using you for your position, stature, and admiration throughout the kingdom. He spends all his time sucking up to your father, thanking him for his daughter's hand in marriage rather than worshipping the daughter for tolerating his artificiality.

You round the corner to find your father and fiancé at the bar, once again. This is where they’ve been for the past few weeks. You’d asked them to try to spend less time together, to make some room for you, but they both laughed you off and continued their boisterous chatter.

Miguel watches your smile melt off your face as you take in their inebriated state. You turn to him for a moment with a small smile, knowing he’ll give you the same pitying look you get every time this happens. It’s a small comfort; knowing that at least one person in your life cares about you, even if that person is your assigned guard.

You approach the pair of drunks with a brave smile. “Have you saved any for me, my love?” The two men pause to look at you before slowly turning back to one another and breaking out into a fit of laughter. Miguel can see your expression flush into one of embarrassment and anger. You open your mouth to speak again but their laughter raises in volume, drowning out anything you would’ve said.

Miguel sees a heartbreaking sadness flash over your face before you compose yourself.

In his mind though, it’s the same as you begging him for help, so he steps in. He moves from his corner by the doorway to stand at your side. His presence gives you a small boost of confidence and commands the men to give you more than 3% of their attention.

Your fiancé is the first one to quit his laughter and sober up a bit. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes at Miguel’s presence. “Is he necessary?” He doesn’t even look at Miguel, his eyes don’t flicker in his direction once. Miguel does the same, keeping his eyes forward and surveying his surroundings. He can’t help the slight smirk that worms its way onto his face, however.

You stand up straighter at the acknowledgment of your muscle. “Miguel is mine, therefore he stays by my side.” Miguel’s eyelids flutter and flicker to you for a moment. He tries his best to ignore the swirling in his stomach but his breathing stutters. “I’d like to confer with you about your schedule, dear.”

Your fiancé smirks maliciously at you before changing it into a faux kind smile. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll make so much time for you.” He stands up, looming over you but not taller than Miguel. “When I’m finished organizing all of our affairs, paying all your maids.” His voice gains more and more venom as he stalks closer to you.

Your confident gaze is gone, now looking at the wall rather than your soon-to-be husband. “Yes, dear. I’ll spend time with you when I’m done with cleaning your messes.” His voice raises to a shout, screaming right in your face as your eyes stay on the ground. Miguel’s hand goes to rest on the hilt of his sword, just as a reminder of what could happen if Ser Isaac decides to do more than yell. But that negatively catches his attention.

He scoffs loudly and turns to Miguel, who still isn't meeting his threatening eyes. “You think to strike me? You?” Miguel hears you take a breath, like you’re preparing to speak up for him but he can’t allow that. “I only mean to protect the Princess, Ser.” Miguel keeps his smirk from crawling onto his face this time, he keeps his expression stoic and straight ahead.

“Oh? OH? I’ll I have you know that I shall do whatever-” He raises his hand. “I’d like-”

It comes down toward you “with MY wife.” Miguel grabs his wrist, stopping all movement. You watch his grip tighten before your eyes, so tightly you swear you can hear Isaac’s bones cracking.

“You will not. Not in my presence, or ever, if I can help it.” You’ll never forget the look on his face. The pure shock on his face, the look of disgust and disdain. You don’t even want to think of Miguel’s face. The anger, and unwavering confidence. He exudes this certain dominance over Isaac that you can’t help but admire.

Isaac’s face shows a look of embarrassment once he sees how easily Miguel can hold him back, so he scoffs and goes back to his seat, grumbling about your ‘big oaf of a guard.’ He complains about the both of you to your father as if you aren’t even in the room. You’re not too sad about it, you’ve grown a bit used to his rejection, and it doesn't sting as bad.

A clock in the corner of the room catches your eye and excitement runs through you with a soft gasp. Miguel looks over to you and follows your gaze to see the time, 3:00 PM. The swirling in his stomach returns as you clear your throat and begin to leave the room. Although you know Mguel will follow, you keep pace with him once you both exit the room, choosing to walk by his side.

You’re always different for the next two hours. You linger by him more, find more excuses to touch him and talk with him. He knows why, he knows how princesses like to play their games, how they love all their suitors. But sometimes he slips up, sometimes he believes your advances are genuine, that you honestly wish for him to whisk you away from your castle life, your perfect, royal life. Then he comes back to reality.

You enter your chambers and stand by the foot of your bed, Miguel by the door. His heart is racing because he knows what comes next. It’s- unfortunately, his favorite time of the day. You stand by your wardrobe, just looking into the mirror before catching his gaze in the reflection. “Mig?” Your soft tone sends a suppressed shiver through his body. “Do you think you could help me?”

He’s walking towards you without hesitation. “I- I’d ask one of the maids but they’re all busy and-” He doesn’t need a justification, you don’t need an excuse. “Of course, Princess. I understand.” You do this every time. Your maids are always ‘too busy’. You both know it's a ruse, but neither of you wants it to stop.

He lets his hands rest on your side for a moment, relishing the way he can feel you expand with the deep breath you take. He slides them back to where you’re laced into your dress and takes his time untying the strings. You wish you could see his hands, the way they’d thread through the strings, how careful and gentle they’d be. Or how small the strings would look between his thick fingers.

Once he finishes loosening your corset he opens it for you, reliving the extreme pressure it puts on you and you thank him with a soft sigh. He’s in a trance though, he slowly removes the fabric from your body. Your spine seems to compress itself, making you seem even shorter than usual now that you don’t have this brace forcing you upright. You’re just watching him in the mirror as his hands come up to your shoulders and slowly turn you around. He’s not looking you in the eyes yet, he’s just looking at you. He looks at your collarbones and slowly pushes your hair over your shoulder to reveal more of you to him. But something snaps him out of his trance and he puts distance between the two of you before you even take a breath. “S- I’m so sorry, Princess.I—” You cut him off before he can say more.

“There's no need for an apology! I didn’t say anything, did I?” There’s a shy flirtiness in your tone that causes Miguel’s face to sink into a dark red color, bringing a giggle to your lips that only worsens his condition. He turns and walks back to the door while you finish undressing.

He keeps his eyes dutifully out the window. Pretending he can't hear the fabric sliding against your naked skin. How he yearns to look, it's like you have your own gravitational pull. It’s a constant struggle to hear you undressing and redressing yourself into something he knows is going to screw with him. You’ll probably change into your favorite nightgown. It’s an adorable sleeved gown with feathers at the top. You always mention you don’t like how long it is, and that it’s “unflattering” but in truth, everything you wear is flattering. You make it so.

Miguel suddenly becomes aware of the silence in the room. No rustling, no sliding fabrics. He risks looking over at you and his heart almost beats out of his chest. It’s new. You must’ve gotten it tailored because he’s never seen anything fit you so well. It’s a night dress, flowy but short, very short. It barely reaches the halfway point of your thigh. It has no sleeves, your neck, collarbones, and shoulders on full display, and the top hugs your breasts in a way he’s never witnessed.

You watch him admire you for a moment before speaking up with a soft “Hmm?” and his eyes fly to yours. “I think it’s quite cute!” You smile at him brightly, waiting for his opinion. He doesn’t give you one though, he just stares at you for a little longer. You grow conscious under his stare and anxiety begins to eat away at you. “W- What do you th—”

His face twitches before he blurts out. “Yes. Yes, you look-- It’s very- You look very cute. It’s beautiful. You- You look amazing, Princess.” His sentence ends with a sharp inhale that's followed by a calm exhale as Migusl straightens out. He’s been slowly leaning down, subconsciously trying to get closer to you. “You look incredible, Princess.” He tries to place his eyes forward again, trying to turn the environment back to professional, he can’t help but look at you one last time as you thank him.

Your eyes are on the ground and your hand sliding up your arm, uncomfortable with all the skin you’re showing. “You do.” Your eyes snap up to his upon his third confirmation. You seem to be searching his eyes for something, looking deep into him in a way he’ll never get used to.

Your brows furrow and you chew on your lip for a few seconds before declaring that he follow you and starting a rapid pace. He follows behind you urgently before realizing where the two of you are headed.

The castle has a lot of tunnels and hidden passageways, these passageways sometimes lead to other rooms in the castle or secret rooms in the castle. One of your handmaidens was kind enough to show you a passageway right by your washroom that leads to a secret chamber. You’d instantly fallen in love with what you found.

Miguel was there the first time you saw it, you laughed so loud it echoed off the walls. You thought it was a novelty. He was there when he saw it pique your interest for the first time. It had been late at night, and Miguel hadn’t retired to his quarters yet so he was guardian of your door. Inside your room, he could hear you giggling with a drunk Ser Isaac. Your giggle soon turned to breathy whines but they were interrupted with a dull ‘thump’ before a very disappointed sigh from you. It was a matter of seconds before you opened your chamber doors and told him to follow you with about the same amount of urgency that you just did.

You told him to guard the door and quickly shut it before you could see any opinion on his face. He was almost hyperventilating at his post. First of all, he was uncomfortable being out here, staring at your drunk, passed-out, fiancé, while you’re in that room doing god knows what. The other thing that bothered him was how he could not stop thinking about how he’d be so much better for you than that machine.

You opened the door again far too quickly with an even more frustrated expression on your face. “I cannot figure it out. It- It doesn’t work.” Your words come out as an exasperated whine that tugs at his heartstrings. “Show me.”

You chew on your lip for a second before opening the door to let him in and shutting it behind the two of you. There’s a single, yellow light overhead, shining down on where you would be sitting, where the heavy, metal rod protrudes from the seat. “This thing? It will not move, no matter how hard I try!” He examines the churning lever, immediately spots the problem, and starts removing his gloves.

“It’s rusted over, Princess. I can fix it.” You watch as his thick fingers curl around the lever and his biceps tense as he pushes, trying to break it free of the rust. There’s an awful screeching sound and Miguel grunts roughly as the lever begins to move. You try to hide your smile of excitement as Miguel rotates the handle a few more times before letting go. “There.”

You rush over to test for yourself and make sure you can operate it on your own. You smile and turn to Miguel after moving it around with ease. He smirks back at you while he brushes his hands together to remove the rust, and something about the whole scene does something to you. His hands are dirty, his knuckles hairy, his hands huge and thick as he stares at you with something you haven't seen before. You still have one more problem.

“It also…” You trail off before clearing your throat and starting again. “It doesn’t seem to fit.”

Miguel has to shut his eyes for a moment as arousal floods his veins. He takes a deep breath before looking up at you with the softest expression he could muster, hoping it would hide his lust. “You need to start with your fingers, Princess.”

Your eyes widen at his answer and you quickly nod despite him being able to see the confusion written all over your face. He smiles fondly before explaining further. “That.” He gestures to the machine. “Is too big for most girls.” He looks you directly in your eyes as he speaks, slowly bending to your height. “So you have to start with your fingers.” Your eyes dart to his dirty hands for a moment. “You put them inside you, however many you can take.”

You start blinking rapidly like your innocent little brain is having trouble processing what he’s telling you. All you respond with is, “Oh.” Miguel chuckles quietly before standing upright and putting his gloves back on. “Yes. I hope that helps.” You walk up to the door with him, to open it for him or accompany him out but you both pause when you hear a bit of commotion on the other side of the door.

You watch him as he identifies the noise, and breathe out a soft sigh of relief when you see his tense expression relax. “They’re cleaning up Ser Isaac.” He states with a certain disdain that makes you smile softly. You stare at him.

“Okay, then you stay here.” You walk over to the seat and churn the lever a few times to ensure you could do it yourself before sitting on the edge, not quite on the metal penis but close. Miguel is watching from the corner with wide eyes, unable to rationalize what’s going on. You simply tell him “Don’t look.” And he whips his head back around.

He stares at the dark wall, unknowing what he’s waiting for until he hears it. A soft sigh leaves your lips. He waits. He receives more. You grow in volume as you become wetter, he can hear it, the little squelching sounds getting louder, and faster as you get more desperate. Miguel is using all his willpower to not turn around and take in what he has no doubt is a beautiful sight.

He hears your whines muffle as you bite your lip and he wishes you could tell you not to, that he wants to hear them all and more. He heard you let out a ragged breath as you added another finger and he couldn’t help his desire to do it for you, but he happily settled with only hearing your beautiful sounds and movements.

He thanks the Gods every day for letting him stay in that room, for giving him the saccharine memories of you pleasuring yourself for the first time.

This time feels different though. You’re all dressed up and giving him that look. The one that swirls fantasies into his head and makes his hands clam up.

He follows you to the room and assumes his position in the corner, but never hears the metallic clink of you situating yourself in the seat. He waits and waits but hears nothing, no movement from you. So he turns around. He has to see what you’re doing, even if it's only for a second, just to make sure you’re safe.

He finds you standing directly behind him, staring right at him so you guys make eye contact the moment he looks over his shoulder. He instantly turns back around, embarrassed that you found him looking, and worried you might get the wrong idea.

Miguel tries to explain himself, stumbling and stuttering over the start of his sentence before you cut him off. “How come you never look?”

The question silences him.

“Do you have no desire to?” He turns around again. You seem genuine in your questioning, he feels like he detects a bit of hurt in your voice as well, but that’s most likely in his head.

“You know I cannot desire.” He states softly. He, as a knight, cannot desire any woman, and most definitely not a princess. Yet he sees anger flash through your eyes at his statement.

“Just because someone tells you you’re not allowed, does not mean you can’t.” Miguel stays silent, not knowing what you want him to say in response. He can see you scanning his face, examining his features to try and find any crack in his exterior. You must find whatever you’re looking for because you suddenly nod and take a step back.

“Who are you more loyal to, your oath, or me?” The question baffles him. “If I, your princess, were to tell you to disobey your oath… Would you?”

His eyes widen and you can see the gears turning in his head, trying to understand where his loyalties should lie. His mouth opens and closes with unsaid words and you decide to give him a break.

“Come here.” You demand, pointing next to the machine, by the churning lever. You take a deep breath, seat yourself by the metal phallus, and slip a finger under your gown before you can give it a second thought.

You slide your fingers over your panties for a moment, teasing yourself. Through a lot of trial and error, you’ve found that this is your favorite part; exploring your body, what makes you feel good, and feeling yourself soak your panties throughout the process.

You hear Miguel take a sharp breath of air, reminding you of his presence and sending a jolt to your core. You’ve never been like this in front of someone, aside from what Miguel could hear and the few times your fiancé was sober enough to attempt to get you off. But even then, it didn't feel like it does now.

You can’t help but imagine what it would be like if Miguel was the one touching you. If it were his thick fingers sliding under the satin fabric of your underwear to finally slide into you. There’s a burning stretch due to you using two fingers instead of one but it only furthers your fantasies of Miguel’s large hands. You peek your eyes open for a moment, your gaze still on the ground but you can see his feet, a small (or rather large) reminder that he’s right there.

You can’t help the whimper that slips out, louder than usual. You’re more desperate. You can’t think of any other reason aside from him. You’re soaking your fingers in a way you haven’t since your first time and it’s driving you wild. “Miguel” His name comes out with a small whine, pitching your voice up and scrambling his brain.

He has to take a deep breath before answering you out of fear that his voice will shake. “Princess?” His voice is rough and gravelly. He hears you take a sharp breath at the sound of it before clearing your throat in hopes of composing yourself.

“You will churn the lever for me today.” His heart stops. “Understood, Ser?” His eyelids flutter as his eyes burn holes in the wall he’s facing. He goes over your sentence in his head, assuming he must’ve misheard you. His brows furrow and twitch along with his face before accepting that he heard you correctly. “Un-” He takes a shaking breath. “Understood, Princess.”

His hand comes up to wrap around the lever without him even looking in your direction.

You stare up at him as you pull your panties aside and slide down the cold metal, your teeth digging into your lip to try and keep any noises inside. You only let out a satisfied sigh once you’ve sunk to the bottom before pushing yourself to the tip again.

You can’t help but focus on him. He’s right there. You can see the curve of his nose and the plush of his lips, the way they purse before his tongue comes out to wet them and pull one into his mouth to bite. He doesn’t have his helmet on so you can see his rich brown curls, the way they frame his face and dance over his neck. You can see his thick, bushy brows, and behind his beautiful lashes are his warm, chocolate-brown eyes looking down at you.

You gasp once your eyes meet and Miguel goes red. He just wanted to see you for a moment. You’re right there, practically whining in his ear as you impale yourself on what should be his cock.

He can’t take it anymore, he can’t hold his feelings back as he feels a ripple flow through him and blood rush to his dick. His head decides to conjure every arousing, heart-warming, lovable memory he has of you. He hears you whine again at the loss of eye contact, even if it was only for a moment. Another ripple flows through him, settling in his lower stomach, and creating a painful pressure as your whimpers grow. He tries to redirect his thoughts and focus ahead as he keeps churning for you, cranking the lever again, and again. Your moans pick up as he regains his steady pace.

He tries not to imagine that it’s him. He tries not to think about the fact that your moaning aligns with the throbbing of his cock. He definitely doesn't think about the way his dick is pressing into the metal plate covering his cock. He doesn’t note the way his free hand twitches behind his back, wishing to provide any sense of relief to himself. He doesn’t get distracted by the thought of him touching himself with you sitting right there.

You feel your orgasm building before Miguel starts to slow down again, his timing uneven again and you look up at him in confusion. He’s staring at the wall, his chest heaving and that same expression on his face. You don’t care to decipher what it means in your impatience. Miguel just feels your delicate hand on his, pushing his hand, forcing him to churn the lever.

You moan as your seat becomes functional. Your chin collides with your chest as you release all the moans and whimpers you’ve been trying to quiet. It almost feels like he’s been toying with you, with all his starting and stopping. You’ve been pushed to the edge of your sanity.

You can’t comprehend how embarrassing this might be for you, a princess burying this rod inside you again and again, wishing it was someone other than who you’re set to marry.

You shake the thought of Isaac from your head and replace it with Miguel. Just thinking about the life you could have with him has you tensing over the metal. Your fingers lace with his before you can even think about what you’re doing.

Miguel’s gaze is now on the ceiling, his eyes already slipping shut as your nails dig into his hand. His dick is leaking behind his crotch plate now, begging for your attention, a feeling he isn’t used to regulating. He feels himself pulse painfully and his free hand twitches again.

Just for a moment. He thinks. Just one second.

His hand comes from behind his back to crush itself against his crotch, trying to relieve any pressure before he loses his mind, but you hear the clink of the metal hitting and open your eyes instantly. You spot his hand over his dick before slowly looking up to meet his eyes. Miguel lets a moan slip out as he massages himself more thoroughly, squeezing more precum from his tip before pulling away and forcing himself to break your stare.

“Please.” Is all he hears from you. It’s weak, pathetic, and punches him in the gut, taking all the breath from his lungs. His eyes wander back to you before he can think better of it and he’s instantly stuck, locked into your eyes.

He watches your body catch alight. You tremble over the steel cock, holding eye contact with Miguel and pushing his hand, forcing him to churn, fuck you over and over as you cum. He can’t do anything but watch. He doesn’t even think about touching himself, not wanting anything to take his attention away from this moment.

He watches you come down, your body melting into a puddle before him. You drape yourself over the front of the machine as you huff. Even out of breath and covered in sweat, your hair a mess and your dress surely mussed, he thinks you look like an angel, and it breaks his heart that he’ll never be able to keep you.

He takes a deep breath before releasing the lever, relishing in the whine that leaves your throat as the rod slides out of you one final time. Despite better thinking, Miguel pats your head fondly, almost petting you before speaking as softly as he can. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you to bed.”

You only hum and bury yourself in his neck as he lifts you from your seat. He takes his time getting back to your room, letting you rest in his arms for as long as he can allow.

He lays you on your bed gently, propping your head up on the pillow and even going to cover you before you stop him. “Mmm Mig..” You begin sitting up again and stretch before opening your eyes to look at him.

Your eyebrows twitch, furrowing for a moment before he sees recognition in your eyes, quickly accompanied by mischief. “Sit down.” Your voice slurs adorably with your fatigue. He doesn’t get to hear this often. Normally, he’d do anything to stay with you, talk with you just a little more.

But Miguel is still harder than steel in his suit, so pairing that with the hard metal of his armor, and sitting down? It sounds like the most painful thing he could do right now. “Princess… You should get some res-”

“ Sit down, Miguel.” He stares at you, debating his options again in the face of your stubbornness. You, however, take this as more defiance. “Please?” You beg him.

You should know you never have to beg him for anything.

He’s seated before your mouth even shuts. Your mouth is shaped into a smirk before he can take a breath, and you’re in his lap before he can blink.

“Wha-?” Is all he can breathe out before your mouth is on his. His hands find your hips on instinct, grabbing all that he can and pulling it against him. You pull away. “Thank you.” And dive for him again.

He places one hand behind your head to ensure you don’t do it again.

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist or send me some motivation here!!

927 notes · View notes

yuellii · 9 months

Text

catch me if you can, salvatore

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 there are quite obvious red flags in your relationship, and they’re all from him

feat. neuvillette, zhongli, pierro ( separately )

note. reader’s gender unspecified, the old men of genshin ( i’m so sorry ), established toxic marriages given the prompt, possible fontaine lore inconsistencies

> [part one] . part two

NEUVILLETTE. always too serious

Your bedroom was a space sadly quieter than even the outdoors. For at least on your doorstep, the sounds of crickets were heard, the mechanical noises of distant construction were there—but here, there was not even a sound.

Perhaps you were too sensitive. But you also thought a spouse had every right to feel love and respect from their husband, and you felt none of that. The suffocation of this Fontaine air only brought up an even more suffocating man, and you fear you may lose your breath before even coming to your senses.

“You’re up late.” He stood right behind you at the opening of the balcony. Of course, you didn’t hear him coming from inside that silent fortress of a household. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

His words—you wish he didn’t say them, for they’ll unwillingly fill your thoughts with the idea that he cares. But sometimes ( or perhaps most ), you were too foolish to counteract that.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you simply said, continuing to stare out into the blue aura of the nation. A technicolor world made of music and machine—but unfortunately, your husband was only like a machine. “Was so caught up awake, completely immersed by your current court performance,” you yawned sarcastically.

He grumbled, “It’s a court hearing, not a silly performance.” Then, he joined you at the bar of the balcony, perhaps far too distanced from you for your liking. He was never next to you; always paces away just light tonight. “And I’ve been telling you, I can sign you up as a spectator or part of the jury.”

You almost snarled after he failed to pick up your sarcasm. “I’d rather die before you did that,” you scoffed. “Me? Sitting in that stuffy courthouse whilst you talk for hours? If it were my way, Her Grace would’ve had her way a long time ago. Perhaps you can learn from her, sometime. It can loosen you up for once.” He turned to glare at you.

“Oh, spare me the levity.” From the way he suddenly straightened his back, presenting himself a towering height over you, you knew you were about to be scolded. “If you cannot take the Court of Fontaine for what it is instead of a laughing stock, than perhaps you should be the next one on a treason hearing for exile.”

Your stomach dropped. As inconceivable as it sounded, you wouldn’t put it past him with how booming his tone was. And… coming from your own husband… “I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, good Monsieur.” To very man that wore your wedding band. “But spare me one truth…”

“Right now, are you my husband, or are you the Chief Justice?”

You immediately regretted the question once his eyes looked ready to kill.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

ZHONGLI. overprotective

Sunrise, Midday, Sunset, Midnight.

You could only see the light from the cold glass of your window, or the freshest air from your porch. Sometimes the fresh sea breeze of the harbor, but that was more of a rarity.

You loved Liyue Harbor; so did your husband. Living in Jueyun Karst was safe, sure, but it was boring. And maybe, there was a time that you loved the harbor so much during Lantern Rite—a time where lanterns graced the sky and fireworks were heard all the way from your small home in Minlin. So much, in fact, you almost felt like Rapunzel in those fairytale books when she leaped out of the comforts of her tower to chase the lights.

And even moreso like Rapunzel when Zhongli saw you at the harbor with a look of horror on his face, not caring of the genuine smile you carried before dragging you away by the wrist. Perhaps it was then that you felt more like his scolded child than his ‘beloved’ spouse.

Could he not see the light in your eyes as you pranced around the harbor? Could he not understand how boring it was to be cooped up in the mountains for your ‘safety’? It sucked, it really did. And it sucked even more once you tasted freedom at the harbor, once you met people that would never shackle down your life to never experience the many joys that Liyue had to offer.

“Am I your partner, or your controlled child?!” you seethed once he dragged you back inside the house.

“I am simply bringing you back after you failed to listen to me,” Zhongli calmly stated. Calm, he was also so calm, emotions be damned. “I told you not to go to the harbor, especially on your own. Have I told you what happened before through the tale of Osial?”

You coughed out in exasperation. “You’re acting like this during a festival?” There was a clear betrayal in your voice—it was truly something he had been hiding from you all this time. “You’re just going to let me be locked up in here, because you think a festival is unsafe?”

“It’s for your protection.”

“‘Protection’, give me a break, Zhongli.” You were near desperate to go back, like once you got an inch of freedom, you suddenly needed it all—but perhaps he only saw you like a partner who needs to be more controlled. “I married you for all your adventurous tales,” you reasoned. “You sounded much more excitingly interesting than you actually are, I fear.”

He continued to stare at you, face hardening into something of a glare like a parent disciplining a child. You hated it. You hated this, you hated him. And as he walked back out with the door locked by some force, you could only wonder how you married a man so cruel.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

PIERRO. a master manipulator

“You know I love you.”

The large pads of his fingers massaged coarsely through your hair at the very top of your head, brushing the your scalp almost delicately like a doll.

“Right?”

It felt almost like Hell itself to feel flutters in your stomach from the way the deep mess of his voice resounded in your ears. It was akin to signing a contract with the devil, like this feeling of infatuation was a demon’s sickly trick. “I do.”

He hummed in contentment. Not like you pleased him with your answer, but like you answered him correctly, as if this some sort of test where there was only one right answer.

He had you seated down on his lap, and it still made you feel like a doll. But there was an uncertainty in it—one that made you question if you should be feeling used and disgusted, or in love with being pampered by your husband like this.

You married a leading man of the most dangerous elites. Perhaps the fluttering feelings pulling at your heart were more of a warning sign than something good, but you couldn’t help it when he made you feel so special. Special words, special treatment—so painfully addicting and so obvious to win your favor for your hand in marriage.

“When the time comes,” he whispered once more, as if speaking the holy words only pure lovers could dare to hear, “would you die for me?”

You should’ve know this was coming, truly. It should’ve been clear the moment he courted you, and painfully obvious once he wanted to wed you. A puppet he could control at his will, someone who looked so innocent compared to the dangerous looks of the Fatui—a person easily stricken by love and compliments, easily you.

But he captured your heart in a way that was devouring, like your love was swallowed into a black hold the moment you showed any weakness. He trapped you in a web you could not escape once pulled in, and you feared you were truly doomed from the start. But that was how the leader of the Harbingers worked; and that was how you gave up your life.

“Yes, I would.”

#zhongli x reader #neuvillette x reader #pierro x reader #harbingers x reader #genshin men x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader

1K notes · View notes

hazashiovo · 2 months

Note

Omg that kuvira sub req was lit! Could you do one for Zuko please? Maybe after he’s become fire lord?

I decided that instead of writing nsfw, to just make it angst to fluff. Sorry that it's not what you asked for ,but this is what I got.

Genre:Friends with benefits to enemies to lovers ,angst to fluff,

Tw: mentions of trauma, burning and leaving a scar.

Zuko x Fem reader

Ever since you ran away from Zuko to help the avatar restore peace to the world,you kept thinking that he would let go of you.

But no, you can't catch a damn break, since you ran away he's been chasing you. He swore to find you.

How? You have no clue. But you never doubted his devotion for this cause,you knew that Zuko had that burning will in him.

I mean,you were his soldier,and things between you two were...complicated.

Sometimes you would have heart to heart conversations. Maybe about your life,or what you would be in the future, and other times it was just making out after a stressful day. But you never did more than that,he wanted you ,and you wanted him but there was always something holding you back.

Now this is something that fuels Zuko, his need for revenge is powered by those moments between you two. And not only that,but if he finds you he also finds the Avatar. Which is the perfect reason for him.

You get to be punished for treason,and at the same time he would finally have his honor restored. That's what he says to himself at night. It's not like he wants more.

So for months, almost a year he searched for The avatar,and for you,each time you managed to slip right trough his fingers.

The last time he saw you was at the northern water tribe,when he tried capturing Aang you fought Zuko while Katara protected the younger boy. Zuko knew he could do so much damage to you,but he simply couldn't.

You unfortunately lost,after all Zuko was stronger than you. You both knew it,but it never stopped you before.

You tried talking to him,you always thought that if you got a chance you would be able to at least get him to think of another way,a better way. Maybe this way things wouldn't be so complicated between you two.

But no matter how much you tried,he was just too stubborn.

You tried putting a fight again,he was so angry that he didn't even realize with what force he sent that fire at you,not even throwing you a second glance.

Too blinded by anger,now that you weren't in his way anymore he went for Aang.

If you wouldn't have blacked out you would've saw the way Katara fought the prince,after all he harmed you, and wanted to take Aang away.

You woke up on Appa,Katara was tending to your burn mark, trying to completely heal it.

"I'm sorry (Name),but it's going to leave a pretty big scar here." Her hand would lay on your shoulder comforting.

It was rough looking in the mirror,but you started getting used to it. The bad part was when you started having nightmares of your fight with the prince,the burning feeling awaking you in cold sweat.

You healed with time, fortunately for you,the prince and you didn't meet again after that. You split from the team,it was necessary for you to find a way to heal the scar that Zuko left in your mind.

Imagine the shock on your face when you finally got reunited with your friends.To see Zuko there was something you never expected. Deep inside you knew he could change but never actually thought he would.

He would be so awkward, and yeah he would talk to himself, trying to find the right way to apologize to you for hunting you down and kicking your ass. It was also this little thing, he never realized how much you affected him when you were around until you left,and it drove him mad. Never quite understanding why.

He kept his distance from you, mostly because he didn't really know how to approach you. It's not that he's as mad as he was before when you betrayed him, but it's still awkward.

So you two just stayed away from each other. The group could see something was up with you two,I mean they knew about your scar and journey ,but Zuko didn't.

Nobody told him about the scar he left on you back then, and you never confronted him about it.

One night when you wanted to take your mind away from all that's happening ,you found yourself in the lake near your camp.

A swim would do you good.

Unfortunately for you ,that's what the young prince also had in mind.

He was left speechless once he saw your naked form in the water. A certain part of you got his attention,your back.

There was this big part of your shoulder all the way to your waist that was just burned.

And then it clicked, when he fought you in the north water tribe,he did this.

"Stop staring." You speak,loud enough for him to hear you, getting deeper into the water so your back would no longer be visible to his longing stare.

"I wasn't staring." He turns his head away embarrassed,his face hot just thinking that you caught him staring at your form. He acted like a pervert. How could he be so stupid?

Zuko quickly took off, not allowing you to say anything else.

He spent the night thinking,about you ,your scar your body. It annoyed him so much that all he could think was you.

So he left the next day with Sokka, on a mission to free Sokka and katara's dad from a high security prison. Totally no big deal.

Each day he spent there he hoped he could get you off his mind,but no matter how hard he tried you were just stuck on him.

Let's just say that he had some pretty unusual taughts while he was locked away.

After he saw Sokka with Suki he got this weird feeling, it was some inside him pushing him to be this way,with you.

So there he was,back at the camp with a complete mission, trying to find a way to speak to you. And he couldn't really bring up the last time he saw you, 'Yeah I saw you naked and I stared at you, wanna date?' no way in hell, unless he wants to be seen as the biggest creep ever.

"Mind if I sit?" Zuko's eyes dart up at you,he didn't even hear you coming her.

"No one's stoping you." You sit down next to him, noticing how he quickly looks away.

"It's been a while huh?" Your eyes look up at the dark starry sky, hoping he's willing to talk to you.

Zuko furrows his brows, searching for the right words to say. He never had to think so hard while talking to you,why is it so hard now?

"I won't bite if you say something." You nudge him with your elbow, sending his thoughts away for now.

"Listen,I'm really sorry for what I did to you back in the north,I was just so blinded by my desire for honor that I was willing to cut trough-" your lips stop Zuko from saying another word, already hearing what you wanted.

He's sorry for hurting you,and he admitted that he was blindly chasing something useless,and that's all you wanted to hear from him.

He whidens his eyes for a second,finally realizing what's happening he cups your cheek with one hand and closes his eyes, kissing you back.

You break the kiss, looking at his face for any sign of reluctance. But all you can see in his eyes is this soft look,it's really cute.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that from you." You whisper, afraid that if you would speak any louder you would break this comfortable feeling around you.

He smiles, closing his eyes. All this time he thought so much , wondering how your next interaction would go,or what would you say to him.

He missed the kisses,soft ones were his favorite,but the making out had a tool on him too.

"I missed this." He speaks,hand trailing down your lip, carefully touching it.

"I never thought you'd forgive me." Zuko allows his head to meet with yours gently stroking your cheek.

"Thank you for becoming a better version of yourself."you smile, placing your hands on his wrist in a gentle manner.

"Okay what's going on here?" Sokka looks at the two of you like he witnessed a war crime. Did he drink cactus juice without realizing??

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't write Zuko smut yet ,I'm sorry 😭

#atla x reader #avatar #avatar the last airbender #atla #x reader #fem reader #zuko x reader #prince zuko #zuko atla #atla zuko #zuko x fem reader #sokka #aang #katara #toph #reader #fan fiction #reader x character

380 notes · View notes

diamondsunbursts-and-marblehalls · 6 months

Text

Coriolanus Snow's character is so fascinating to me.

At the movie's beginning, he is just this sweet boy, just trying to protect his family, keep them alive, and protect his tribute and keep her alive. And you adore him, and you're rooting for him; by the time you get to the end of the movie, he's slowly twisted everything around, until suddenly, he's not the person you thought he was, and even though you saw glimpses of that person, he's gone now, and you don't like what's left.

The thing I love is that you can see the inner fight that was there all along, the darker side is represented a lot by how Coriolanus is similar to his father and connects back to his past. He gives up pieces of that person throughout the games where Lucy Grey is his tribute, sacrificing them in the form of a handkerchief (a piece of his dad) that has the potential to implicate him in a crime that would cost him his life, but also the potential to grant Lucy Grey hers. You can see it in the way he gives her his dead mother's compact full of rat poison. In the way he cheats to save her, even with the knowledge that he won't gain anything from it. You can see it in the way that he lets her in on secrets he's guarded so fiercely from his capital friends. Living in a world where he has almost no control.

He also has close zero regard for the people in the arena with whom he has no connection. He convinces a classmate to help kill her tribute to save his, and he tells Tigress he felt powerful killing a little boy (a feeling she connected back to his dad). Things that grow smaller in comparison to his love for Lucy Grey, the affection he shows for Sejanus, the way he cares for his family, and the relationship he has with Tigress.

It's in the second part of the movie that things start to go awry. he gets his father's handkerchief and his mother's compact back. along with those pieces of himself. His hair is buzzed, and he's shipped away from his family, who were the original motivation for everything, most importantly the motivation behind befriending Lucy Grey. He has nothing. Seajanus ends up joining him and they go together to District 12, where he has even less control than he did before.

Coriolanus stands by while an innocent man hangs. He holds Sejanus back from stopping it to keep him safe. He gets in a fight with Lucy Grey's cheating ex. His best friend gets him out. He gives Lucy Grey the last piece of his parents he has with him. He gives the girl he loves all of his trust. He betrays Sejanus to the capital. He tries to protect his best friend. He kills a woman, putting them all in danger. He killed her to keep them safe. It's his fault Sejanus hangs for treason. His best friend cries for him right before he dies. He runs away with Lucy Grey to keep himself safe. He runs away with his lover so they can be together. He lies about Sejanus's death, so Lucy Grey leaves him. He lies about his best friend's death, to keep his love with him.

He abandons his friend and is abandoned by his lover because of it. He breaks trust, and so his trust is broken.

He gets all the pieces of himself back with his mother's shawl Lucy Grey leaves for him to find.

He had so many opportunities to be good, and you could see that he was fighting against the worst part of himself. And yet, you can also see him fighting less and less as time goes on, eventually, once he gets all of the pieces back he stops fighting. He goes back to the capitol, prepared to do whatever it takes to gain control. He's not a victim of circumstances or his childhood, Tigress proves that. But he is a victim of the choices he had to make.

Coriolanus Snow is such a complex character, who is shaped by his own choices, and the people in his life, who he can never really escape, the echoes of which will follow him throughout his whole life.

#I have so many thoughts banging around in my head right now #coriolanus snow #The ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird #sejanus plinth #tbosas #president snow #sejanus deserved better #the hunger games #tigress

794 notes · View notes

wordstome · 6 months

Text

the execution of lady jane grey

I got drunk and Tiktok showed me history_alice's video about this painting by Paul Delaroche. And since God has cursed me for my hubris and my work is never finished, have some medieval executioner König x fem mc. Also, Lady Jane Grey was executed by Mary Tudor (Bloody Mary), not by Henry the VIIIth (the one with the six wives), but I blended the stories just because I can.

1.3k words

König doesn't ask questions.

It's never been his job to ask questions. The king points, and he does the dirty work. Most of the time, he takes pleasure in it: thieves, rapists, murderers, they all answer to his justice. And sure, a true loyal citizen might argue that he's simply enacting the king's justice, but it's König who swings the axe, is it not? In the end, König decides their fate.

In theory, anyway. In practice, this is simply his job. He keeps his head down and does what he's told. He stays quiet about the king's secret executions, the ones that happen in the dungeons instead of out in the open courtyard where the smallfolk gather to watch. It's hypocritical, honestly. They all look at König like he's a monster, some spectre of death among men, but when there's a public execution to be held, are they not the ones clamoring and pushing to be at the front?

There are some times when the king's executions are more...dubious. An advisor who voiced dissent one too many times. A thief stealing barley from the royal stables to feed his family, made an example of. A young man, just a boy really, accused of murdering four grown men—convenient, considering all four men's wives had been found in the king's bed at some point or another.

Those are the executions König prefers not to think about. The ones that haunt him in his dreams anyway. Those are the ones that make him yearn for his days in the army: when the people he killed were as faceless as his hood was to them, when he didn't know them and didn't have to think about the loved ones they left behind. König's never claimed to be a good person, the opposite in fact. But sometimes when he brings the blade down, he imagines a different, more royal neck on the block instead.

He feels this way now, as he watches her make her way to the block.

She's ethereal in her petticoat, the soft silken material reflecting what little light there is in the cold stone room and bathing her in a warm glow. Gentle and obedient into her own grave.

The king's wife. Sent to the block for treason, of all things. But everyone knows the truth: he's only killing this poor woman because he plots to put his latest mistress on the throne. Just a few weeks ago, this sweet young thing was the king's main obsession. She stood no chance at all, the daughter of a local lord currying favor with royalty. And now, she's being put to death through no fault of her own. The injustice grinds König's teeth, and takes his mind to a dark, dangerous place.

If she was his, he would never so much as let another woman cross his mind again. He's seen her about the palace grounds, with her beautiful bright eyes and lively smile, skirts trailing behind her like the tail feathers of an exotic bird. Just watching her had made him feel young again, no longer the brutish old soldier everyone averted their eyes from.

He's only spoken to her once, but he'll never forget it. He had been in her way, but she was the one who apologized. Most people would have seen the hood and backed away in fear, but not her. He watched, frozen and unable to say a single word, as she curtseyed and looked at him with, of all things, a shy curiosity. For one still, breathtaking moment, he held her gaze in his, and he felt like they were the last two people remaining on earth.

Then her lady in waiting had touched her on the elbow, and the spell was broken as they continued on their way. But König had never forgotten.

That same lady in waiting is here now, eyes puffy as she holds the queen's elaborate dress and jewelry in her lap. She had chosen to take it off, so as not to stain the expensive fabrics with her blood. How can she be so considerate of others, when the whole world has failed her so?

She turns to him, trembling like a little bird, and meets his gaze. The words come out before he can help himself.

"I beg your forgiveness," he blurts out, and almost immediately mentally scolds himself. What right does he have, of all people, to ask for her grace?

"Of course, sir," she says, her voice clear and sweet. Surely, he can't feel any more wretched than he does right now...and then she speaks again.

"I only pray you dispatch me quickly..." She turns a fearful eye to the wooden block, sitting almost innocently on top of the straw laid down to soak up her lifeblood. "Will...will you take it before I lay me down?"

"No, madam," he whispers.

She nods, and with a sudden streak of iron will, ties the blindfold about her head. König knows this is a kindness: she'll never see him coming. And yet his heart aches to see her cover up those beautiful eyes.

A loud sob comes out of the lady in waiting, watching her young mistress fumble around blindly. König's heart shatters when she lets out a little cry of confusion as the lieutenant of the prison rushes to hold her steady. "What shall I do? Where is it?"

König feels a sudden streak of anger, at the gentle way the lieutenant lowers her to the ground. The man clearly knows this is wrong, and yet will not lift a finger to help her.

Guilt strikes him yet again as he remembers that neither is he.

Or is he?

He stares down at her, this vulnerable little lamb sent to the slaughter, her pretty neck exposed for his blade, and he knows what he has to do.

The lady in waiting cries out in anguish as the blade lowers to the queen's head, causing her to gasp as the cold metal brushes against her skin. But instead of cutting her head off, König slices through her blindfold with a deft precision.

"What is the meaning of this?" The lieutenant demands as the queen scrambles from her kneeling position. König offers his arm, and she takes it, her hands warm against his sleeve as she stands up. The confusion is writ plain on her face, but her eyes shine with an innocent hope that only steels König's resolve.

"You," König says, pointing his axe at the lieutenant, who shuffles backwards nervously. "You will tell the king that she has been executed. If he asks for a body, find one: I don't care which one. And if you tell anyone what happened here today, I swear to you that I will water the earth with your blood, and the blood of every family member in your line." His eyes narrow at the lieutenant. "Do I make myself clear?" The man nods, stuck still with terror.

The queen's lady in waiting rushes forward, pressing jewels into her hands. "My lady, you will need these," she says urgently. "For wherever life takes you next." She gives König a determined look. "Take care of her, sir."

The queen's eyes go wide and round as she looks up at König. "I don't understand."

He kneels to her height, taking her hands in his. "I am taking you away from this place," he tells her, his voice low and urgent. "But you need to trust me."

She closes her eyes, and takes one deep, trembling breath before opening them again. "I trust you."

"Good." She yelps as he picks her up in his arms, hands instantly darting about his shoulders. "I am sorry, my lady, but we don't have much time."

She giggles, giggles, in his arms. "I don't mind," she says, with a mischievous little look that invites trouble. God, he is utterly fucked, isn't he?

"I can give you time, but not much," the lieutenant says. "Go!"

König doesn't need to be told twice.

To be honest with you, I have no idea what this is. I wrote this in, like. An hour. I think a demon possessed me. I don't think I'm going to write more of this au, but who knows!

@danibee33 @kneelingshadowsalome @crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @mantishymns @lexuria

#könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #könig x reader #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #könig x you #konig x you

768 notes · View notes

ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 2 years

Text

Apple Of His Eye - Aemond Targaryen

i know how much i'm gonna hate him later, so i'm getting this out of the way before that happens and start wanting to kill him. also, why isn't anyone making more smut for this handsome douchebag???

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), mentions of sexual assault, hurt/comfort, pining, oral (f!receiving), fluff

4.1K Words🤙🏻

~~~~~~~~~~

You knew how important this job was. You knew this was the only way to support your family.

At first, having the prince constantly compliment you and eye you up and down gave you great confidence in yourself. No man had ever had such an intense interest in you, so to have a prince have an interest felt amazing. But you quickly started to regret ever feeling special being treated this way.

You failed to realize how forceful and barbaric the young prince could be. You had heard the rumors of course, but he seemed so nice to you. But from behind closed doors, the prince subjected you to such painful actions. You so desperately wanted to tell someone, but you knew such slanderous accusations, true or not, would be asking to be beheaded for treason. So you stayed silent, discreetly taking the teas prescribed and trying your best to avoid the prince at all costs. Although, you couldn’t hide or refuse when he started to order you to his chambers.

Despite being well paid for your work, you started to feel like it wasn’t even worth it. How much longer could you take prince Aegon’s torture while maintaining your sanity? You wondered how much trouble you’d be in if Aegon ever started to get bored of you, or if you started to refuse him. Surely, a man like him, he’d paint himself in the best light and make you out to be the villain. You didn’t have any good options.

There came a point when you realized your dalliances with the prince were not as big of a secret as you previously thought. You knew his wife knew, she had walked in on you and him one night. It was so humiliating, but you still felt worse for her. She was so innocent, she didn’t deserve a husband like Aegon. And you knew the younger prince, Aemond, knew.

You were serving the family’s dinner one night. You felt sick to your stomach as Aegon smirked darkly at you as you set a plate down in front of him, but you just tried to avoid eye contact. As you went to pull away after setting down a plate in front of Aemond, he gently grabbed your forearm to keep you in place. You looked at him in shock for a brief moment before looking around the table to see if anyone was looking at the two of you, but everyone was preoccupied with their dinner.

You winced quietly as Aemond lifted up your sleeve, revealing a large bruise almost in the shape of a hand. You heard him let out a hum of disapproval, and for a moment you feared he would berate you, but all he did was let go of your arm and waved you off.

Later that night as you were getting ready for bed, a soft knock on your door shocked you out of your nightly habits. You smiled as you opened the door to greet one of your fellow servant girls. “From the young Prince, miss.” She said, handed you a bowl of cold water with a rag hanging off the side, passing you a note along with it.

You set the bowl on your bedside and read the note.

For your bruise - Aemond.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, setting down the note on your pillow as you situated the cold compress on your forearm, feeling the swelling of your bruise already go down slightly. You didn’t really know prince Aemond, he was a mystery to most, especially you. He was prone to violence, quiet but blunt, and not the nicest, his eyepatch making him even more intimidating. So why was he being nice to you? Perhaps he knew what his brother was and he took pity on you. Either way, you were grateful and made a mental note to thank him the next time you saw him.

The next morning at breakfast, you served prince Aemond with a note placed under his plate that simply said, thank you. You could see the side of his mouth tick up in a small small that no one would notice if they weren’t paying attention, but you were.

The joy you felt that morning quickly disappeared once prince Aegon called you to his chambers that night. You felt disgusting, only useful when the future king needed to get off. You hated everything. You felt the tears fall down your cheeks copiously as you limped back to your quarters slowly, trying to hold them in but failing miserably. Your vision was so blurry that you didn’t even notice a figure walking up to you until they called out your name. You blinked out your tears and silently gasped. “Prince Aemond.” You bowed, your face heating up in embarrassment.

Aemond placed his hand underneath your chin, gently lifting your face up to look at him. “Did my brother do this to you?” He asked lowly, his face expressionless and unmoving as he awaited your answer. But you had no idea if you could speak the truth, would the young prince kill you on the spot if you slandered the older prince’s name? Seeing your hesitation, Aemond got his answer. He pulled his hand away, only to stand by your side with a hand on your shoulder. “Come.”

You had no strength to refuse, following Aemond to his chambers with trembling hands.

Aemond sat you down in one of his chairs as soon as you entered his room, watching as he retrieved a bowl not too dissimilar from the one he sent to your room last night. Taking a seat right in front of you, he squeezed out excess water from a rag and went to bring it up to where you had a small cut on your face but you quickly flinched away. Aemond frowned, leaning back slightly before taking one of your shaking hands in his. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I’m not my brother.” Even though you didn’t really know him as a person, nothing told you that he was lying. The look in his eye said he was telling the truth.

You didn’t flinch this time as Aemond cleaned your wounds, keeping a steady and gentle hand and never hurt you, just like he promised. His hands soothed over every cut, scrape, and bruise, making sure to check in with you every once in a while to make sure you were okay. He was…sweet, much to your surprise. Despite his hands being rough and calloused from years of training and dragon riding, you liked the way they felt on your skin. They were precise in their care, sometimes lightly running over you in a way that would cause goosebumps to rise all over your body.

You watched him with a curiosity that never ceased even when he stopped to look back at you. Your eyes trained on his hand that reached up to slowly wipe a fallen tear off your cheek, his thumb lingering there until he seemed to catch himself and quickly pulled away. “I…I don’t understand.” You whispered, adding, “my prince.”

“You don’t need to. Allow me to walk you back to your chambers.”

“Oh, you don’t have-”

“I insist.” He took your hand to help you out of the chair, gesturing towards his door and leading you down the long halls of the castle down to the servants’ quarters.

You looked back at the prince nervously, biting your lip before finally speaking. “Thank you, my prince.” You bowed, smiling weakly before entering your bedroom, releasing a shaky exhale as soon as you closed the door.

You didn’t know what the next couple days would be like, but you certainly weren’t expecting prince Aegon to be avoiding you. Typically, he would always seek you out in a crowd or subtly slap your ass when serving the family dinners or breakfasts. But now, if he even saw you he’d go out of his way to avoid you, like he was scared of you. The prince, possibly future king, was afraid of you? That couldn’t be right, you refused to believe so. But then you realized he wasn’t, he was afraid of someone else. His own brother.

It was a “blink and you’ll miss it” moment. You didn’t notice it at first, but you finally did one morning. You caught Aemond glaring at Aegon as you served him, as if he was mentally plunging daggers into the older sibling’s chest. Usually, Aegon would call you to his chambers every night, but he suddenly stopped after that night Aemond tended to your injuries. It didn’t take long to piece two and two together, but why? You were just a servant girl, nobody but someone to serve the Targaryens.

Aemond didn’t understand it either. He wasn’t one to be infatuated with someone, especially not someone as low as a servant. But you had caught his eye as soon as you started working for them. It had been a couple years after losing his eye, and everyone was frightful at the sight of him. People would look away in disgust or look down on him in pity. All the girls would be squeamish, so he started wearing the eyepatch. But not once did you ever look at him in pity or disgust, you were always nice to him. Even when you had seen him without his eyepatch one day, you smiled at him. A genuine smile. He never forgot the feeling in his stomach once he saw your smile, especially since it was directed at him. He knew he’d never be able to pursue an actual relationship with someone like you when he was in a family like his. So he settled for watching you from afar.

Then you caught the eye of his brother.

Aegon being Aegon, he always bragged about his conquests to Aemond, trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible, but it was different once he started bragging about the things he’d do to you every night. Sometimes Aemond thought about slitting his throat, he’d get rid of his competition for the throne and you at once. But of course he couldn’t do that without getting himself killed as well. All this time, he thought whatever happened between you and Aegon was always consensual, but you coming from his chambers in tears that night immediately proved him wrong. He couldn’t just let his brother disrespect you any longer, not on his watch. So he threatened to push Aegon out of the very window that he used to jerk off on, making sure he never even thought about touching you ever again. Thus, the matter was settled.

You wanted to thank Aemond, but didn’t know how or if anything would be enough to express your gratitude. Though, the younger prince did have a few ideas. Soon you started to notice the prince’s presence wherever you went. Sometimes, you’d run into each other in the halls of the castle and he’d always use the excuse that he just wanted to go for a walk, then he’d try to strike up a conversation if you weren’t busy. Other times you’d be working in the Godswood and Aemond would sit nearby reading a book, pretending that he wasn’t staring at you every five seconds.

As the weeks went one, he started to invite you to watch him train or help him with his injuries if he ever managed to get one. It became normal for him to be around all the time, even standing around in the kitchens sometimes whenever you were helping prepare the meals, unknowingly distracting you constantly. But it was nice, and you weren’t surprised when you realized you had started to fall for him. You enjoyed his company, but your feelings also came with a bitter aftertaste. You knew he could never be with a servant, no matter how much authority he had as a prince. It saddened you.

But that never was going to stop Aemond from taking what he wanted.

It was the middle of the night when someone informed you that the prince wanted to see you in his chambers. Even if you didn’t want you, you would have no choice but to obey. But you wanted to, so badly, no matter how much it reminded you of all the times prince Aegon would call you to his room.

The door opened as soon as you knocked, prince Aemond’s face softly smiling down at you and ushering you in. “You wanted to see me, my prince?” You asked.

“Yes.” He let out an exhale, one might say it was nervous, but you couldn’t tell.

“Are you going to tell me why?” You giggled, but stopped once Aemond took a few steps closer to you with an intense look in his eyes, looking you up and down.

“I must admit, ever since you came to serve us all those years ago, I’ve had my eye on you. And I believe you know that, I’ve not been subtle I’m afraid.”

“It would be hard not to notice a prince staring at you every day, especially one as handsome as you.”

Aemond chuckled, closing the gap between you even more, rubbing a hand down your sleeve covered arm. “I was jealous of my brother, that he had you. But it angered me even more that he was hurting you. I couldn’t let him continue.”

You frowned, avoiding his eye trained on you. “I knew what you did for me. I apologize, I did not know how to thank you. But I am and will always be so grateful.”

He shook his head. “You have no need to apologize, my dear. I had only wished I knew sooner, but you’re okay now, with me. That’s all that matters.”

“With you?”

“I’ve always wanted you, even though it would be discouraged. I don’t care. Even just for one night, I want you. If you’d have me. I would not force you. Like I told you all those nights ago, I’m not like my brother.”

“And I believed you then, I still believe you now.” You whispered, placing a hand on his chest hesitantly; he seemed so much like a heavenly being, you were almost afraid you’d turn to gold if you touched him, but alas, you were still okay.

“Is that a yes?” Aemond placed his hand on top of yours with a small smile, you could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his eye staring down at you intensely.

“Yes.” You breathed, your eyes almost drooping shut, lifting yourself up on your tiptoes as Aemond leaned down to connect your lips with his.

You moaned at the intensity of the kiss, so much time with pent up longing for each other pouring itself out in this kiss. Aemond cradled your cheek in his hand, while the other held onto your hip, pulling you to him as close as possible. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, snaking your fingers through his long white hair, hitting the back of his eyepatch. Noticing your roadblock, he reached back and undid his eyepatch, letting it fall to the floor.

You smiled up at him as you took in all his facial features, the scar running along the left side of his face making him even more handsome than you thought possible. You ran your hands down his torso, tugging at the ends of his shirt and helping him remove it. You admired his skin, your fingers tracing every part of it as he reached behind you to undo the laces on the back of your dress. He leaned down to kiss every new part of exposed skin as he slowly pulled your dress off your body. Your nipples hardened as Aemond gently ran his thumb over each one, licking his lips before leaning down to take one in his mouth.

You sighed out as Aemond suckled and gently nipped at the sensitive flesh, giving each one equal attention as you pulled at the roots of his hair. He leaned back up to continue kissing you passionately, slowly back you up until you hit the end of his bed. He kissed you until he made you sit down, instructing you to lie on your back as he stood in between your legs.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows to look down at Aemond curiously, only to find him getting on his knees and sloppily kissing up your inner thighs. “I bet my life my idiot brother never did this to you.” Before you could understand his meaning, you gasped as Aemond licked up your folds. He did that a few more times before he placed your thighs on his shoulders, pulling you to the very end of the bed so he could have a better angle, feeling his heavy breaths on your core could have driven you wild.

“Aemond-!” You whimpered as you felt his tongue explore you, his saliva mixing with your arousal and fixating on your clit, eliciting a moan from you. “Oh gods…” You had never felt such pleasure like this, it was otherworldly and you couldn’t believe it was your prince Aemond making you feel this way. You let out a squeak as he slowly pushed a finger into your cunt, then added another to make sure you were ready to accommodate him. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he sucked on your clit, your thighs clenched around his head and your hands gripping onto the sheets for dear life as you were at the mercy of your handsome prince. “Feels so good.” You stuttered, biting your lip to try and keep loud moans in.

“And you taste so good, like honeysuckle.” Aemond moaned, looking up at you with an intense gaze, keeping eye contact as he pleasured you. “Do you think you’re ready for me, my dear?” He asked with panting breaths, standing up and undoing his trousers, slowly rubbing himself as you opened your legs further for him.

“Please…” You whined, your cunt dripping and aching for him to be inside you. It was the most primal thing you’ve ever felt, this need to be filled. His touch was intoxicating, like the finest wine.

You scooched yourself back until you hit the headboard, Aemond crawling on top of you with a hunger in his eye. “If it ever gets to be too much, tell me and we can stop.” He assured, giving you a quick peck on the lips before reaching down to bring his cock to your core. You keened as he ran his tip up and down your folds, gathering your slick and swirling it around your clit for a few seconds before he finally lined himself up with your entrance. He looked you in the eyes to make sure you were okay before slowly sinking himself into you.

You held onto Aemond’s shoulders tightly, moaning breathily as his cock stretched you out, so big you were almost afraid he would break you in half. He let out a soft growl as he felt your warm walls clench around him tightly, slowly bottoming out and hitting the ends of you. You whimpered from the sting of the stretch, but it felt so right at the same time. “Fuck, my dear, you feel absoultely heavenly.” Aemond groaned, leaning down to connect his lips with yours as he gently grinded against you, waiting for you to relax enough for him to move.

Even the smallest movements had you panting and whining, you were so sensitive already. Aemond’s hands traveled all over you, mapping out your body and making note of every area that had you gasping in pleasure. You arched up against him as he licked up your neck, your eyes fluttering closed when he started to nip and suck on your soft skin. “Are you ready for me to move, darling?” He whispered in your ear, and you nodded vigorously.

You cried out as he pulled out and thrusted back into you harshly, the sudden movement lighting a spark in your core and reverberated throughout your entire body. Aemond held onto your sides as he set a gentle pace, not too slow or fast. Each thrust, the tip of his cock hit that special spot inside you that brought tears to your eyes, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders where you were holding onto him. He grunted loudly as he felt the sting of his skin breaking, that pain only adding to the pleasure he already felt. “Feels so amazing, my prince.” You moaned, the world around you falling away until Aemond was the only thing you felt.

“Yeah? Has anyone else made you feel this good before, hm?”

“No, no one else. Only you.” You answered as best you could, the pleasure overriding your senses and making it hard to do anything else much less talk, your words coming out mumbled and incoherent.

Aemond moaned loudly as he thrusted into you faster, sitting up on his knees and holding onto your hips with a bruising grip, watching your breasts bounce with every harsh rut into your soaked pussy. He smirked as he watched you lose yourself in the pleasure unabashedly, unable to silence your moans, the room being filled with the sounds of your intimate union.

You felt so close to your release, Aemond hitting all the right places over and over again; and he could sense it too, your walls clenching around him rhythmically and your moans getting louder and drawn out. “Are you close, my dear? Are you going to come for your prince?” Aemond spoke huskily, reaching down to rub your throbbing clit with his thumb.

You let out a high pitched whine, nodding and repeatedly saying yes like a chant.

“Say my name.” He ordered, so close to his release as well.

“Aemond!” You moaned, tears pouring out of your eyes as you felt the quick build up of your orgasm, on the cusp, so close to the edge ready to tip over. “Oh gods, Aemond-!” You let out a strangled cry as a white hot burning intensity washed over you, traveling through your body and making your muscles clench. Your vision went black as you reached the peak of your climax, Aemond continuing to thrust into you as you rode out your earth shattering orgasm and he was right behind you.

Aemond let out a guttural moan as he finally came, releasing his warm seed into you, thrusting into you even after your walls drained him. He stilled and you were finally able to catch your breath, your vision returning to normal and looking back up at Aemond. It was a beautiful sight, his hair was a mess, a thin sheen of sweat coating his body making him shine, and his blissed out expression with a small smile on his face.

Aemond pulled out and laid beside you, reaching over and moving a piece of your hair out of your face tenderly. “You’re so beautiful. This is one of the only moments where I wished I had both of my eyes so I could take you in properly.” He spoke softly, his words causing your face to heat up with a blush.

“You’re perfect just the way you are, my prince.”

“We are alone, you don’t have to address me like that.”

You smirked. “Of course…my prince.” Aemond let out a short laugh, shushing you as he pulled you closer to him, letting your head rest of his chest. “I think I should go…”

“No, no…” Aemond quickly whispered. “Stay.” He tightened his grip on you.

“But what if I get caught in here?”

“Shh, don’t worry. I’m the prince, remember? I could keep you in here for all eternity and nobody would be able to do anything.”

“That sounds boring.”

Aemond pushed you on your back, hovering over you with a smirk. “Well, I’m sure I could find ways to quell your boredom.” He teased, kissing you passionately until you pushed him away with a giggle, then trying not to frown as your thoughts ran rampant.

“I’m just a servant girl, Aemond.” You sighed, avoiding his eye in shame. “One day you’re going to marry another princess and you’ll forget all about me.”

“I don’t want a princess, I don’t give a shit about that. I only want you, and I’ll kill anyone who tries to get in our way. You believe me, don’t you?”

You smiled softly. “I do.”

Aemond mirrored your smile, opening his arms to you once more. “Good. Now let’s sleep. Tomorrow, I’m going to introduce you to Vhagar.”

~~~~~~~~~~

i'd let this man so unspeakable things to me istg

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen smut

6K notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

okay I have a vision so (younger obv) reader is new to the bau and they all get called in for case but she was out with her friends clubbing and she is wearing one of those playboy bunny costumes because it was like a costume night or something like that (sorry can't thinking of something else😭) anyway she can't change her outfit because her apartments on the other side of town so she just shows up in her costume and when hotch sees her he like freezes because "omg shes so hot but I can't shes to young for me" and the whole case he's really distracted because he can't get that image of her out of his head and everytime they talk he gets really flustered but tries to hide it...

and I haven't actually thought of an ending but I just love flustered hotch 🤭🤭

You're not quite sure Penelope's 'AVENGERS ASSEMBLE !!! COME AS YOU ARE' text had quite meant this.

Storming through a government building in a bunny suit feels like treason. Somehow. You make it to the BAU's floor, and you're thankful no one else is in on a Friday night. It's just the round table room that's full, and every step you take towards it feels like a step towards death itself.

You try not to walk in like a cartoon character, leading with your whole body instead of slipping a heeled foot through the door first, then letting it trace up your thigh. Your shoulders are hunched and your hands are gripping your eared-headband so tightly that you think the plastic will snap.

Aaron's eyes land on you, and he thinks he's going to explode. Really, he's never popped a boner this fast in his life. The shuffle of his chair sliding further towards the desk to hide his lap isn't noticed, though, everyone is staring at you.

"I will change on the jet," You don't let anyone get a word in, stalking towards your seat, "I didn't have time to change."

"Woah," Derek eyes your bodysuit amusedly, and you're pleased to discover that even if he's teasing you, his gaze isn't predatory, "Not that I'm complaining, Y/N, but why do you look like this?"

Aaron's fist clenches around the screen remote so tight that he hears the plastic creaking.

"I was drinking with my friends," You sink into your seat, bare thighs against the leather as your bodysuit blends in, "And it was theme night at our favorite bar. Something about Res-Erection," You recite with burning cheeks, "People get really creative for Easter."

"Nothing like celebrating Jesus by gluing a tail to your ass," Emily snorts, then her face falls slightly, "That is.. glued, right?"

"Yes!" You shriek, burying your face in your hands, "Oh my god, everyone stop talking! I told you I'd change on the jet!"

"Let's get started," Aaron commands, and you send him a sheepish, thankful glance. He's not sure why he did it, whether it was to save you from teasing or save himself from his jealousy, but either way, you're both glad for the subject change.

Unfortunately, Aaron is distracted. For the first and only time in his life, he's unable to worry about the serial killer you're chasing, and more concerned on scrubbing his brain of the image of your bunny costume. He likes it, he loves it, but he shouldn't be thinking about it, so he's trying to run a deep clean on his brain.

The seat beside him hisses with air as you plop down in it, now fully clothed in jeans and a blouse. Everyone is theorizing as they read through M.E reports, and you use the distraction to lean in.

"Thank you, Hotch." You hum beside his ear, and tingles shoot up his spine, "I appreciated you changing the subject back there. Oh- and, uh, I'm sorry for being so unprofessional. It won't happen again."

"It's alright," Aaron's tongue feels numb as he avoids meeting your eye, now much more interested in the police reports in front of him, "Things happen, it's not your fault. And it was, uh, revealing, yes," He blushes, praying you don't notice, "But nothing I'm going to have you arrested for."

"I think I'll lend it to Morgan," You muse, still murmuring so close to his ear that he's having trouble breathing, "He'd look good with the ears."

He plays along, ignoring the lingering thought in the back of his mind that he would wear the ears if you asked him to, "No, I think Reid would be a better fit. He twitches his nose a lot already."

"You're right," You gasp, knocking your elbow into his, "Thanks, Hotch."

"What are you two gossiping about?" Rossi raises an eyebrow, and Aaron keeps his eyes diligently on his paperwork.

"We're planning Reid's next Halloween costume," You inform them, "Spence, you like magic, right?"

"I do," He nods carefully, "Why?"

"Rabbit in a hat," Hotch murmurs, still scanning the pages as he nods thoughtfully, "Good thinking, Y/L/N. And we can saw Morgan in half."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

yourdoorisunlocked · 3 months

Text

What A Dish, What A Doll! - Part 4

𝐀/𝐍: I am SO GLAD that I got this out sooner- istg this was going to be SO MUCH LONGER but after extensive writing and editing, I finally found a flow that I vibe with, and I'm really excited for you all to read this one.

Happy reading :)

. . .

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒,𝟏𝟕𝟖 𝐍𝐨 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝑯𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝑻𝒐 𝒀𝒐𝒖 | 𝑶𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒂 𝑵𝒆𝒘𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏

. . .

The weeks following your rendezvous at the diner passed by in a flurry, leaving you in a delighted tizzy as you and Alastor grew ever closer to one another. You couldn’t even count on both hands how many times he had spontaneously swept you off of your feet and pulled you into whatever shenanigans the cheeky radio star had in store.

It was exhausting, but being with him was exhilarating all the same.

And you could already tell you were in for quite the afternoon as he jaunted out of the recording booth, enthusiasm rolling off of him in waves.

“Well, hello to you too, Al’,” you smiled and took off your headphones as Alastor straightened his bowtie with a haughty smirk, and you rolled your eyes. That man was ever the cocky one whenever you paid him a visit to his recording booth, as you never failed to shower him with compliments and applause at his performance.

And seeing your awestruck face as you leaned towards the glass always made him more inclined to put on a show, just for you.

“You were amazing out there, as always, of course,” Alastor chuckled and waved a hand dramatically in the air as if you’d said something completely preposterous. Praising Alastor was practically treason for you; the man simply could not take a compliment.

“Oh, how you flatter me! I’m just doing my job, darling,” even oblivious little you could see that he was preening with pride, though your captivated stare trained on none other than him was all the praise Alastor would ever need.

“That was great, Al’! One of your best performances, if I do say so, myself!” Your supervisor beamed with his hands on his hips, clearly as excited as Alastor, though for entirely different reasons.

The radio host was still reeling with joy from the fiery sensation of your bewitched gaze adoringly trained on him, tracing his soft, handsome features with yearning eyes.

He stole every glance at you throughout the broadcast that he could subtly manage; how your lips parted softly whenever Alastor spoke so boldly with his hands, how animated he seemed in the recording booth.

He noticed your quiet, melodic laughter that he practically breathed, the smile that he one dreamed of kissing, laying his lips against your warmth like he had captured sunlight itself between his teeth-

“I think you should be here during recordings more often,” the young, spiffing producer muttered as he leaned over to you, leaving you in bashful laughter. Alastor narrowed his eyes slightly at the proximity, and he held no hesitation to step between you two and snake an arm around your shoulder.

“Well, my dear, I believe this week’s recent success calls for a celebration! Hugo, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this short. I’ve planned an afternoon for me and the lady, here,” his usual smile returned, and you could feel Alastor relax as his hand fell down your forearm, grasping it with a firm yet comfortable grip.

Hugo raised a knowing eyebrow, his eyes switching between you two as he shrugged his shoulders. “I see how it is. Givin’ ol’ Hugo the boot, huh?” He opened the door for Alastor, taking a slight bow as the radio host guided you outside one of the studio’s many broadcasting rooms.

“I get it. I’ll stay out of your way, Al’. Just treat her right, ya’ hear?” Hugo nudged Alastor’s arm, and you could feel your friend stiffen as his hand clenched your arm tighter than before, though he laughed the discomfort off with an even wider grin. But a small glimpse of his gums told you all you needed to know.

“Oh, no, no, no! We’re nothing like that!” You shook your head vigorously as you subtly put yourself between him and your supervisor. “He’s just so good to me, you know? Such a good friend to have, especially with that slasher running around,” you shuddered for emphasis.

Hugo raised a teasing eyebrow. “Oh, really? Heh, could’ve fooled me.” Striking teal eyes flickered to said radio host, whose smile had stiffened significantly to the point of looking almost painful. You shot down the very idea that you two could ever be in a relationship, though he did appreciate your interception from the unwanted physical contact.

But did you truly resent the idea of being with him that much?

“He’s just so kind, and he cooks like a real professional, too!” You practically sang Alastor’s praises as Hugo strode beside you two with his arms crossed while you walked through the studio, attempting a hasty getaway out the door and whisked away to be with each other in peace.

“That so?” Hugo was gauging Alastor’s every reaction to your words, clearly not buying the fact that you two weren’t together, or at the very least, not interested in one another.

An unrequited love, perhaps? But this broad’d off her rocker not to fall for a guy like him.

You nodded vigorously at your supervisor as you walked with Alastor toward the exit. “A real sweet talker, too. Y’know, Al’, you could teach Hugo here a thing or two,” when your hand wrapped around his and squeezed, and all the built-up tension was suddenly released from his form.

Alastor’s smile softened into something a bit more genuine as he looked down at you.

“Aren’t you just darling? Almost makes me want to spoil my little surprise for you,” he tapped your nose with a wide grin, reveling in how you blinked in surprise before blushing and turning your head away.

“Oh, you’ll be the one getting a surprise if you don’t stop with your nonsense...” You grumbled before waving to Hugo on your way out of the studio. “Have a good day, Hugo!”

Once you crossed the threshold, the strawberry-blonde waved you off with a knowing smirk and a raised eyebrow as Alastor glanced back at him. He could already see the gears turning in the young producer’s head.

Well, God save him if he got any ideas and started meddling where he wasn’t supposed to, like a certain acquaintance of his...

Once you arrived in the parking lot, you pulled away from Alastor’s side so that you could enter the passenger seat of his car. The winter chill that had settled in the seats left you shivering, and you turned over to Alastor with a shudder and a wobbly smile.

“Tough weather, huh? God, what I’d give for a hot chocolate...”

What kind of man could he call himself if he left his darling trembling like a leaf in the wind, left to the unforgiving elements?

Without any kind of hesitation, Alastor slipped off his jacket and lent it to you, despite your insistent protests. He had considered you before himself too much, and you really weren’t that cold, the car would heat up soon, and-

“Take it, my dear. I can’t have you freezing before you meet my dear friend, after all,” Alastor carefully leaned over, his glasses slipping towards the edge of his pointed nose as he laid the jacket upon you.

His carnivorous, half-lidded gaze devoured an eyeful of you as he pretended to be meticulously positioning the jacket on you, his fingers ghosting each curve of your waist, the give of your belly, tracing along the chub of your hips, your love handles. The lustful thoughts that seeped in with Alastor’s touch nearly broke his resolve to restrain himself, as his yearning gaze lingered around your womb.

Alastor quickly sat back into his seat and buckled his own seatbelt before inserting his car keys into the hole, gripping them with whitening knuckles.

“Thanks for the jacket. I was freezing over here,” you sighed and shivered in your seat.

“Don’t mention it, darling,” the words smoothly fell off of his lips, as if he wasn’t mentally bashing himself for touching you like that, though each advance he held himself back from went unnoticed by you as you relaxed into the leather-clad car seat.

The aroma of bittersweet pine and cinnamon overwhelmed your senses, and Alastor’s scent made you relax considerably as you snuggled into the jacket.

You had been running around, taking orders and checking things off your task list all morning, only looking forward to Alastor’s broadcast the most that day. His soothing voice nearly lulled you to sleep, but you forced yourself awake, out of respect.

The last tender words he spoke to you as you slept the car ride away, snoozing peacefully even as it came to a full stop in front of Alastor’s destination.

You looked so peaceful, so heart-wrenchingly vulnerable tucked into his jacket, away from the prying eyes of the world and within his arms.

How he wished your paths had crossed before everything that had happened, before Alastor’s infamously heinous deeds as the New Orleans Slasher.

And how he wished his mother could’ve met you.

Alastor admired your dozing form for a few more minutes, before starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot and driving away into the bleak gray mist that had fallen over the city.

. . .

“We’re here, darling.” Like a switch, his voice instantly pulled you from your nap, and you groaned and stretched with a yawn.

“Come along now. You don't want me to be late for my meeting, do you?” Alastor’s voice, normally at the highest volume possible, had fallen into a quiet, tender whisper as he gently knocked on the window, rousing you awake.

“Oh, Alastor,” you mumbled sleepily, “Are we here already?” You rubbed your drooping eyes as he chuckled and slowly pulled you out of the vehicle.

“Why, yes, we are darling. And I want you to be fully awake for when you meet my friend, now, so chop-chop!” He carefully situated his jacket onto your shoulders, and you both plundered through the snowy streets towards the sidewalks, where various shops and stores sat snug and warm and sheltering their inhabitants from the biting cold that nipped at your nose and pinched your cheeks with frostbite.

Alastor steadied you upon the ice with careful hands snaked around your waist, though all it did was make you nearly slip from the surprise contact. He was getting particularly touchy, lately. Not that you were complaining.

And who were you to complain of the fine, slender fingers, twisting and resting upon you, sharing their warmth and affection, when you clearly craved Alastor’s touch so? When your yearning gazes became more and more frequent with each passing day.

You shook your head of such impish thoughts as you and Alastor strode closer to the row of quaint stores and shops.

“Ah, yes. This is the place,” you glanced from the nearly identical red brick buildings to the particular one that Alastor had stopped at.

A delicate, thin line of cursive was masterfully inscribed upon a large hanging sign, reading, “𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓮'𝓼 𝓑𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓺𝓾𝓮,” in a muted cerise pink.

Your eyes scanned the fine chiffon-paned windows with wide eyes. Intricate designs lined with frills and lace stood proudly behind the glass, looking to be of Victorian descent, a more dignified, esteemed time of elegance.

The high frilled collars and waist-choking corsets made you inwardly cringe as you and Alastor walked up the steps, and your uncertainty quickly faded when you stepped inside the boutique.

It looked like a classical, cozy little parlor ripped straight out of a storybook, with a large grandfather clock in the corner and a row of bookshelves standing grandly beside a luxurious sofa chair, covered in dust and peeling slightly in some places, hinting at the age of the relic.

The small ding of a bell rang once the door opened, and it was soon accompanied by a pair of quick footsteps heading down the hallway as a woman called out from behind the hardwood archway that seemed inappropriate for a clothing store. At least, that was what you had assumed it to be in the first place.

“I’ll be right there! Don’t you move an inch, now!” The voice carried a welcoming lilt, like an old friend that you had gotten into trouble with more than several times in primary school.

You peeked out from the small waiting area you had stepped into and were blessed with the sight of rows and rows of opulent, elegant dresses flooded the store that you were sure would have your wallet weeping should you dare to try paying for any of them.

“Sorry to keep you waiting like that, I was just busy with another customer. Now, what can I do for you?”

You blinked in surprise, entirely not expecting the sight of the stately lady before you. Her face was kind, perhaps a bit playful, despite her imposing stature and air of sophisticated elegance she carried.

She was the spitting image of each design that she precariously crafted, like a well-knowing yet mischievous auntie that you could sit down and chat over a cup of tea with for hours.

“Uh, well,” you looked to Alastor, but he simply smiled down at you, being of absolutely no help whatsoever. “Well, he said that we were just here to meet a friend, so you should ask him,” narrowing your eyes at the cheeky radio host, who was probably getting a kick out of your discomfort, you pointed up at Alastor.

The owner – presumably Rosie – blinked, her already ghost-like complexion somehow turning even paler as she laid eyes on Alastor, who stood behind you with a smile full of teeth.

“Oh, Alastor! Is that really you?” You reeled back in surprise as Rosie took him by the shoulders and spun around a few times with a wide, somehow shark-like beam.

“Oh, it has been ages since I’ve seen you that I nearly didn’t recognize you! Just where have you been!?” Rosie gushed over him as she placed a hand to her heart, flashing a smile full of teeth to the radio host.

You looked between them with a bewildered expression. You thought Alastor only allowed you to touch him like that, and so abruptly, too...

“Ah, well, I’m glad that my presence was missed, my dear Rosie,” you raised an eyebrow. My dear? “After all, your fittings are some of the best in New Orleans!”

“Aw, ever the flatterer, aren’t you?”

The pair seemed to completely ignore you in the moment, lost in their own reunion until Rosie placed her hands on her hips with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous glint in her pitch-black gaze.

“And it seems like this pretty little flower’s kept you from my parlor for quite some time! Oh, Al', you just keep bringing so many beautiful young women to my doorstep!”

Now that last part really made you take pause. There were other women before you? You slightly deflated at that thought, though you didn’t know what you expected from someone with Alastor’s reputation and overall appeal.

But the burn in your heart and the slight sting in your eyes betrayed your hurt at the fact that you weren’t anything special to the radio host you had become so taken with.

“But this one might just be the most delectable of all!” Before you could question her strange choice of words, Rosie urgently began pushing you towards the back of the store, past racks of gorgeous dresses and in front of the front counter.

She slipped behind the hardwood desk covered in shiny knickknacks, assorted jewelry – many in the shape of small hearts for the romantic season – and even little chocolate candies covered in shiny, bright pink and red wrapping.

Alastor followed closely behind you two with his arms behind his back.

“How about some candy? It is that time of year, after all! All that romance in the air, the taste of young love on every girl’s tongue! A pretty thing like you must’ve caught the eye of someone special.” She grinned widely down at you, and you happily reached for a piece. “Sure, I'll take one.”

“And who might that be for, my dear?” You jumped and glanced up at Alastor, whose eyes watched your face carefully. His tone bit at the air with a malice you hadn’t heard since the incident at the diner. Rosie leaned against the counter, clearly drinking up every bit of tension.

“That’s none of your business, now, is it?” Taking a chocolate heart, you thanked Rosie with a grateful smile, completely ignoring how Alastor’s eye twitched and he clung closer to your side. His smile stretched wider across his face, the tips of his lips twitching slightly as you gave him a brief side-glance.

Such a strange man...

“So, are you going to introduce us?” Rosie waved to you with a hand on her hip.

“Why, how rude of me!” Alastor pulled you even closer to himself with a hand slung around your shoulder. “This here is my lovely little assistant, and she’s been staying with me for the past couple of weeks! I’ll tell you, she’s quite the helper around the studio! One could only dream to find someone as useful!” Alastor’s scent overwhelmed you as he hugged you close, and when you awkwardly tried to pull away from Alastor’s grasp, he gripped you tighter to himself.

Useful? Was that all you were to him?

"Assistant? I don't remember-" A prompt squeeze of your shoulder from Alastor kept you quiet, and you glared up at him.

“Oh, my! Sounds like you’re quite popular!” It was then that you noticed the slight Boston accent that laced Rosie’s words.

“You know what? The ladies that join here for afternoon tea would just adore you! And they’ve just arrived, too! Oh, Alastor, won’t you let the Doll say hi?” Rosie turned to him with a pleading expression, though Alastor knew that the store owner never waited for permission to do just about anything.

Normally, he’d say yes, but you weren’t fresh meat on the chopping block, nor were you a puppet for Alastor’s entertainment, not anymore at least.

And those women would eat you alive.

“I’m afraid not, my dear. She is not much for such fraternization," he emphasized with a hint of irritation. Rosie deflated with a pout but didn’t push upon the matter. Some of Al’s toys were off-limits, she supposed.

Oh, well. He never was very good at sharing.

A twinge of irritation pricked at the back of your mind. Why didn’t Alastor ask you if you wanted to meet her friends? You would’ve jumped at the chance to meet someone new, but now, with the finality Alastor's tone carried, it seemed such a thing was out of the question.

It irked you that he thought he had any say upon your friendships outside of himself, the strange, oddly possessive man that he was.

But what you despised even more was how easily you complied with his wishes.

“Oh, well, all right then. Perhaps some other time,” Rosie’s smile quickly returned to her face as she straightened her shoulders, shaking off the disappointment from seconds ago. “So, what business can I help you two with?” She folded her hands upon the front desk’s surface with half-lidded eyes, taking upon an air of professionalism.

“Oh, just a private matter I’ve long awaited to tend to, nothing to concern the Doll about. Shall we speak in the parlor?” You narrowed your eyes at Alastor, before shrugging nonchalantly and promptly left his side to observe the rest of the store, turning to a corner with shiny bobbles and trinkets that had caught your eye.

Alastor swiveled to you, his dark eyebrows raised in surprise, and Rosie chuckled at his bewilderment.

“Don’t mind me, just minding my own business,” you turned your back on the pair completely, and Alastor had half a mind to drag you back to the front desk with a tighter grip on your middle than ever before.

“Shall we, then?” Amusement danced in the store owner’s pitch-black eyes as Alastor stiffly nodded with a twitching smile.

The room in which the pair held their usual meetings in was quite similar to the waiting room in which you and Alastor had arrived in, though this one was much more decorated and clearly tailored to Rosie’s personal style, as it was furnished with antiques and furniture most likely preserved from the Victorian era of England.

A small sofa chair sat across from a matching striped loveseat, the fabric of both furnishings colored a cerise pink and decorated with small, dainty intricacies carved into the dark wood of the legs. Bookshelves lined nearly every wall save for the entrance and a small window hanging above a writing desk.

Lilting classical music poured from the well-kept gramophone situated beside a bookshelf, just behind the loveseat.

Alastor made himself comfortable on the sofa chair across from the loveseat where Rosie was seated, pouring herself a cup of tea and him a glass of whiskey from a bottle beside the tea set.

“So, what troubling matters have graced me with your visit, Alastor?” She raised the cup to her maroon-tinted lips and took a small sip, taking small note of how his left hand rose to his bowtie to straighten it, and his fingers tapped frantically against the arm of the chair.

“I needed to ask you for some advice,” he fiddled with his collar for a moment more, his smile widening. This was going to be an awkward conversation, and Rosie surely wouldn’t make it any easier for him, but this certainly wasn’t the lowest level he would stoop to in order to get what he wanted.

Besides, Alastor was well aware that Rosie was something of an expert within the aspect of the heart. If she was the one to go to, he’d make the sacrifice of a slight blow to his pride from the teasing.

“It is no secret that your areas of expertise are outside of my specialties,” he continued, and almost immediately, Rosie perked up with a wide grin, though the confusion that followed sprouted many questions. Why in the world would someone like him want advice on something like that?

“Oh, you know I pride myself upon my specialty upon the matters of the heart!” She fluttered her sharp-nailed fingers at him, intrigue piqued and her inner curiosity buzzing. Could it be...?

“I must say, I’m surprised you’ve taken an interest in such matters. Any particular reason for this sudden change of heart?” Rosie leaned against the chair, waiting for him to answer with a soft smirk. Alastor’s eyebrow twitched. She was going to make him say it.

“Well, there happens to be an investment of mine that has caught more than my eye, recently.” His attempts to be vague fell completely flat when Rosie caught his eyes glancing towards the door behind him.

“And does that ‘investment’ just so happen to be standing outside the door?”

“Ah, ever unrelenting with your teasing, I see,” his voice bit with sarcasm, and he put to use the glass of whiskey that Rosie had provided him with, taking a drink and composing himself.

“Oh, come on, Al’. I’ve seen that look before." Rosie sighed dramatically, looking him up and down with knowing eyes. "You’re in love with her. And you have no idea how to go about it.”

A tender gaze focused upon her oldest friend as his hands tightened around the glass of whiskey. Alastor clearly wasn’t used to being prodded like this. And though normally Rosie would respect his boundaries, love called for a more... personal approach.

“I’ll help you, but I want to be sure,” her soft, motherly demeanor all but evaporated as she narrowed her eyes at him, sharp, dark pupils analyzing every movement like a shark circling blood.

But he was never one to squirm under pressure.

“You’re sure that you love her?”

“With everything that I am.”

“You’d cross every line for her?”

“There is no line I haven’t already crossed. I’d plunge the depths of Hell to be by her side.”

“No matter the cost, you’ll never watch her fall for another?”

“I’d sooner sell my own soul and rip out the heart of those who dare to try.”

The flame in his eyes challenged her overprotective glare, and Rosie relaxed with a deep inhale, relenting her gaze and letting her smile return to her pale features.

“Alright, I’ll help you. But don’t you break that poor girl’s heart, or you’ll never hear the end of it from me.” Alastor relaxed back into the sofa chair. Perhaps this ‘love’ business wouldn’t be so difficult, after all.

Rosie promptly set her teacup down upon the coffee table and leaned forward to spill every secret in her book as if it were one of their regular gossiping sessions, laughing and trading pleasantries over tea.

And she'd make sure that you would be swooning at Alastor's feet when she was done with him.

“Now, here’s the gist of what to do...”

She was something of a miracle worker, after all.

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: WELCOME TO THE END! YES, YOU DID IT!!

I'm so sorry to dump this whole fic onto ya'll- When I tell you that I audibly gasped when I saw the word count in my drafts-

Like this thing was 4,800 WORDS. I AM NOT ABOUT TO DO THAT TO YA'LL.

Anyways, it's always fun to write for this fic, but this one was so fun to do!! Istg Rosie would be the best wingman ever. She would solve The Summer I Turned Pretty in two episodes.

Thank you so much for reading! I'll see you next time with our favorite demented, yandere TV Man!!

. . .

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer, @prosciuttosblog @frog-fans-unite

➺ 𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒐 @cafekitsune - 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫!

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #yandere alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #yourdoorisunlocked #fanfic #rosie being the ultimate wingman #like she just wants to see her best friend be in love #she'd also be fucking rolling the entire time because he's horrible at social cues #banner by cafekitsune

269 notes · View notes

blluespirit · 4 months

Text

i wish that there was more time between the day of black sun and sozin's comet bc zuko's official desertion from the fire nation would have the most insane ripple effects (and it would be nice to see the gaang interacting a bit more than we got but hey i'll take what i can get)

zuko's desertion would have been essentially impossible for the fire nation to bury since it was such a big deal that he returned at all. so i imagine the smear campaign against zuko would have been craaazy. i think it would have been interesting for the gaang to try and deal with that when navigating the FN. zuko would be very recognisable i think at this point, and it would have made staying hidden much harder. would they still have chosen ember island? maybe the kids didn't recognise zuko and azula during The Beach , but with the prince of the fire nation committing treason would there be more wanted posters? would there be more talk around the island? would zuko have to remain hidden while the rest go out and get food?

i wonder if zuko deserting and very meaningly committing his loyalty to the avatar influenced other soldiers in the FN to also desert? or would it have had the opposite effect and made people feel more patriotic since zuko was banished, returned under the guise of having killed the avatar, and then left when aang announced his survival to world during the failed invasion?

SPEAKING OF THAT!! the rumours around this would be INSANE. we know what really happened, but the public don't. did zuko and the avatar plan this so that there would be an inside man during the invasion and then zuko used that chaos to escape? what really happened in ba sing se if zuko didn't kill aang, but azula thought that he did? (again: we, the audience know the truth, but the general public don't). if zuko and the avatar where working together... for how long? was iroh involved somehow since he also disappeared the same time that zuko did? did iroh get captured on purpose to be close to zuko to possibly help him if needed? did zuko break iroh out of jail or did one of the guards or was iroh alone? you could spiral on this as just an average person in the avatar world for years like. if youtube existed in atla imagine the video essays breaking down all the conspiracies

its a kids show so obviously Nothing Bad Happened BUT in the Boiling Rock, zuko getting found out as not only an imposter (already, a very bad situation), a traitor (extremely bad), AND the traitorous (ex) prince of the fire nation (devastatingly terrible) would have been... incredibly dangerous for zuko. in zuko and iroh's original wanted poster, the official translation says “Permission is granted to kill them on sight” and this was before zuko has gone right ahead and committed Treason On Purpose. the warden is not going to be nice. when the warden visits zuko in his cell he literally tells him "If these criminals found out who you are, the traitor prince who let his nation down, why they'd tear you to shreds." the boiling rock would be hell trying to survive. it also puts a lot more weight on zuko refusing to leave sokka in their first escape attempt. also ozai obviously knew that he has his son was in prison bc he... broke in to the prison bc azula was there but then zuko manages to escape with sokka (another imposter) and suki and hakoda (POWs) and chit sang (a prisoner) and two of azula's trusted friends end up in prison for treason as well i just. that is literally insane for the average person to hear about. again, THE CONSPIRACIES!!

when zuko eventually does take the throne there's a lot of conjecture around what zuko did while he was banished and moreso, what he did the second time he left, this time voluntarily. i think zuko's loyalty would be questioned a lot; by other world leaders who are understandably wary about the fire nation and its motivations, but also by its own people - some who believe that zuko is a traitor to his country and is trying to sabotage it since he helped end the war.

idk these are all just me rambling but it would been so interesting to explore the implications of zuko leaving the fire nation and how that would have impacted the gaang and how they interacted with others in their travels. there are so many fic where zuko joins the gaang early, but neither myself with the aus that I have written, nor many that ive read have explored this very much or at all.

291 notes · View notes

webslingingslasher · 8 months

Note

cuddly nerdy peter for the win

peter and may had gotten into an argument and it showed all over peter's face. it wasn't a real argument, more like may had told him to do something a million times, and he didn't, so she finally snapped at him.

peter had barked back, but retreated when may gave him disappointed eyes. she left him alone to wallow around the house, until he called you because he couldn't stand the silence.

your hands combed through his hair, he's melted into your touch. peter's weight is resting on you, his head on your chest while you're sprawled across the couch, peter's legs laid between yours.

'i'm the worst nephew ever.'

'no, you're not.'

'no, i really am. what if she kicks me out?' it's muffled in your shirt, you can't stop a small laugh.

'peter, you threw the f bomb at her, it's not like you committed treason. and even if you did, i doubt she'd kick you out.'

peter shakes his head against your chest, 'i should've never said that, it was wrong.' you kiss the top of his head, 'you told her 'to give you a fucking minute,' petey. not for her to go fuck herself into a hole until her untimely death.'

he's not proud of it, you can hear it in the way he pushes the words out. 'you weren't there, you don't know how i said it. i know you think i'm exaggerating, but when i tell you i had her backing up, i mean it.'

even you pause, 'you had may backing up?'

peter tells you hesitantly, his words like a whisper. 'i was loud.'

no wonder he's so mopey, he felt disappointed with himself. he sent the one person who's shown him nothing but kindness and patience, backing up to get away from his shouts.

'i know you don't yell, so what's got you all heated? i know it wasn't may telling you to take out the trash, even if it was a million times.'

peter can pile a lot on his plate, he has his head pulled in a million directions and taking out the trash was the thing that sent him spiraling.

'i just feel like everyone wants or needs something from me. i'm tutoring for my bio teacher, i'm getting my ass kicked nightly, my girlfriend's upset i skipped out on our third rescheduled date, and now my aunt hates me because all she wanted was for me to take out the trash.'

you frown, 'i'm not upset you canceled, why would you think that?'

'i don't know. i feel like everyone's upset with me lately.'

peter's sad today and it's rare for you to not be able to snap him out of it. no matter what you say, he's more interested in pouting and feeling sorry for himself.

you let him have it, everyone's allowed to have bad days.

'i'm not upset with you, but i can pretend to be so i can fit in.'

'okay, but first can you promise you won't let may kill me?'

you roll your eyes, 'she's not going to kill you.' wrapping your arms tight around him, you hold him with a vice grip.

'and if she does, she'll have to go through me first.'

#peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #my writing

581 notes · View notes

lotuspeacock · 1 year

Text

what the fuck even happened episode 8????

like, plotwise i know what happened but like there’s so much new info i’m processing.

rei dresses like that not for the professionalism of the job, but because his father expects him to look high-class even when he’s murdering people

anna’s musical talents literally traumatize children.

rei’s father has a god complex about his bloodline

the “organization” is more or less run by rei’s father. this is why kyutaro said that rei should know best what happens when you betray the organization, because every childish rebellion was treason on the organization.

rei doesn’t get too close to kazuki because the consequence if he does are dire.

side note: when rei says he has something to protect, he’s not just talking about miri. there is no mistaking that kazuki is precious to rei.

when rei is asked “did you find true belonging on the outside” he denies it. this is probably because he wants to protect kazuki and miri but it could also be because rei genuinely believes that he doesn’t truly belong in their little family. i believe this changes by the end when rei sees that kazuki and miri were waiting for him just to see him smile.

this is from a few other posts i saw, but rei’s mission was a warning. a peek into the consequences of forming attachments.

a continuation of point six, we see rei standing in his family home, feeling completely estranged while he’s on the phone with kazuki and miri being told to be back by dinner.

rei never seemed to be affected by his job before. but in the car with ogino he expresses shock at the picture of his mentors murdered wife. and the picture seems to be taken in the goriest way. rei is opening his heart to his family and as a consequence, he has to face the reality that he is not just killing, but taking lives.

“for the concept” WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN???? this man makes me so uncomfortable he is so goddamn psychotic. he definitely kills for fun even though he pretends its some big philosophical thing. essentially he was saying people exist to die. also his fucking blue eyed stare 🧿👄🧿

WAIT WAIT WAIT THEYRE TOTAL FOILS OF EACH OTHER. rei and his mentor that is. they both have that single slut strand.

miri is extremely insightful. she notices when someone close to her is hiding their dissatisfaction with life - what she calls “sadness”. her mom was dissatisfied with her life as a single mother and rei is dissatisfied with living under his father’s boot.

rei didn’t tell ogino his mentor’s last words because they weren’t meant for him (but probably also cuz ogino is a creep sob). rei “didn’t hear” anything because the words were directed to someone already gone.

this is less a plot point but more a personal analysis - i was sorta hoping that kazuki would show up during the fight and save rei, and he does! he saves rei, but not during the fight because that’s not really where rei was struggling. rei needed to be saved from his own belief that he was irredeemable, and kazuki did that perfectly bu showing rei that no matter what, he’ll be there. unconditionally. i mean, the man didn’t even ask about all the blood on his suit. (another i won’t ask i wouldn’t tell moment)

kazuki cut rei’s hair and decorated the apartment. when rei said “but then you suddenly started cleaning”, he’s saying that he didn’t care about kazuki until kazuki taught him how to care. when kazuki barged into rei’s apartment and cleaned the blood stained hands of a child assassin, he also cleared a space for himself in rei’s life. (side note: of course the undercut was kazuki’s idea)

“you think we can change?” god this was such a good quote. and the way kazuki doesn’t put up a front and say “of course” because he’s trying to figure out if he can change too, so he just says “dunno” but its so sincere and hopeful. i love the dichotomy of kazuki not knowing if he can change because he’s spent the past 4 years trying not to and rei not knowing if he can change because he doesn’t know how to. at the root, it’s because they both see themselves as unforgivable.

continuation of points six and eight, rei smiles when he’s home with his family.

oh my god the angst just doesn’t stop.

#meepmoop #buddy daddies #kazuki kurusu #rei suwa #miri unasaka #kazurei #my roommate is behind me pregaming with her friends and im writing an organized list of major plot points of the anime im obsessed with #good news i found food and i have energy to blog now!#my hp is at 100 now fr #this is my longest post ever #no ones gonna read this but i wanted to write it

2K notes · View notes

utytimeline · 3 months

Text

I might make some people mad, but I'm gonna say it, anyway.

So, Ceroba's reason for choosing Chujin over Star was because she wanted someone more mature. At least, that's my understanding. Star was playing cowboy and role-playing with his friends while she wanted to settle down and raise a family.

And... yeah, Star had a lot of growing up to do. And he did almost none of it until Ceroba stopped him from shooting us.

Star's main character flaw is his ego, but it's even worse than just an ego. Half the reason he set up the Wild East was to help everyone else. He wanted to bring in money to help his family when the Swelterstone's effects caused a drought; he wanted monsters to get a taste of what the surface is like so they don't drown in despair; and he wanted to make Ceroba happy after she lost both her husband and her child. All of this on top of feeling like he was a "nobody farmer" that couldn't do anything or help anyone.

So Star's primary character flaw isn't as simple as just having a big ego. His primary character flaw is trying to fix others as a way of fixing himself.

Sometimes this is a good thing, tho. I often think of Star as the "papa" of the Feisty Five. He's the protective one, he's the one teaching them ethics (reminding Mooch that they're not supposed to be bandits, playing dead to teach Clover about the responsibility of potentially hurting someone), he takes care of the town, he's made ALL his own money from this town that he built himself (enough that Mooch wants his inheritance, so it's a sizeable amount), he even gave his posse a designated nap time, gave Ceroba a home (and possibly gave her his bed while he crashes on the couch), sews his own clothes, set up all the rules and regulations... and I could go on, but I think I've made my point. Star is not wholly irresponsible. He's not perfectly responsible- he, and the rest of the posse, have a habit of breaking and losing Blackjack's weapons, they're all loud and rowdy, and they have a tendency to forget to turn off their boulder machines out in the Dunes.

So, yeah, Star does still have some growing up to do. But he's got a good start.

As for... everything that went wrong... That was entirely due to Star's worship of humanity. Star fell in love with westerns and with the justice and overall sense of romance that they portrayed, so much so that he not only tried to make himself into one of his western heroes, but he then extended this worship to the first human to ever set foot in the Dunes- namely, Clover. And because of this, Star completely threw everything that was good about himself out the window. He sees a human an immediately decides "this is my deputy," without even really giving Clover a fair chance to see if they even are deputy material. He forgot the safety glasses, got so worked up he forgot how to pronounce "duel," became extremely temperamental, apparently forgot that Vengeful Virgil was scheduled for the train mission that day, locked up a Royal Guard against her will (arguably committing treason in doing so, I might add), and just generally began running over everyone's words and emotions, including Ceroba's.

So when it came down to the Showdown... Star blamed Clover. Star's not an idiot. He knows good and well it's not Clover's fault. It's Star's fault- or more precisely, it's his worship of humanity that is to blame. But the problem is, he's taken it upon himself to guard the feelings of other monsters, to make them feel hope and joy. And he just screwed up and stole all that from them. So he's conflicted, not willing to admit that he has done the exact opposite of everything he set out to do. And since it's his worship of humans that led him to this point, he decides to blame the human.

Hence, the Showdown.

But he doesn't want to do it. He says himself, "Monsterkind's Hero is a title soaked in blood." He loves humans. And he sees Clover as a friend. He doesn't want to kill them. He's not a killer, and he doesn't want to be one. He doesn't believe in it. Justice is one thing, but... how is it just to kill someone that did nothing wrong?

So. Here's where Ceroba comes in. Telling Star he needs to calm down and go back to who he used to be. And Star points out that she's changed, too. Even Ceroba says, before taking Clover to the Steamworks, that she doesn't know if she has room to tell Star to go back to the Starlo she used to know.

Ceroba, tho, is no different than Star (this is the part that I said might make some people mad). Ceroba worships Chujin just as much as Star worships humans.

Ok, look. Chujin was a great craftsman. He built so much- furniture for Dalv, his and Ceroba's house, the space heater at the Honeydew Resort, many other items in use throughout the Underground, Kanako's toys (even programmed a video game for her), and so much more. So much that even Star respects him for all that he did for everyone.

However, there is also much that indicates that Chujin wasn't the best at his job. His only award is "You Tried at Engineering," and it took 14 tries for him to build a working robot. In Chujin's defense, I will say that it is impressive that he did build a working, sentient robot without the use of a SOUL, which is how Alphys made both Mettaton and Mew Mew; however, if Chujin is really such a genius, why did it take 14 tries to get Axis to work, when it apparently only took 1 try for Guardener?

And then Chujin didn't just stop with robotics, but went on to SOUL research. Two completely different fields. (And before anyone starts commenting on Alphys, I just want to point out, yet again, that both of the robots she built did use SOUL power; so, realistically, Alphys never was a great robotics genius, but rather, everything she did was a part of SOUL research- hence, the reason Asgore hired her as the Royal Scientist). But Chujin decided to press on with his SOUL research, despite there being no indication anywhere that he had ever done any such research before.

Now, I'm not trying to say that Chujin wasn't remarkable or a genius. I'm just pointing out some things that indicate that maybe he wasn't quite the genius that Ceroba wanted to make him out to be. And... Ceroba's reaction to his "You Tried" award. She's proud of him. More pride than what is warranted by such an award.

Ceroba said she met Chujin when he pretty much rescued her after she twisted her ankle, fell into a ditch, and laid there for several hours, unable to move. She also said that she had considered dating Starlo before meeting Chujin. So... hate me for this if you want to, but I feel like she may not have the best judgement when it comes to guys. Now, that's not to say she picked losers or creeps. Both Chujin and Starlo were/are sweethearts that care deeply about everyone around them. But the fact remains that Ceroba left behind the guy that she'd known all her life for a guy she just met, just because he rescued her from a bad situation.

And I'm not even saying she made a bad choice! By all accounts- including Ceroba's, Martlet's, and even Starlo's- Chujin was a good, kind-hearted, hard-working monster, and a wonderful husband and father. But... he wasn't perfect. And I think Ceroba, even though they had to have been married at least 10 years, just always had stars in her eyes where he was concerned. He was her everything. She believed he could do no wrong. She believed it so strongly, she was willing to do... many horrible things.

Ceroba's drive to kill Clover started with her love for Chujin. She wanted to do anything to keep him alive in her own heart. And when their child begged and pleaded for a chance to help, Ceroba agreed, because Kanako woshipped her father, too. Ceroba's misguided belief in her husband guided her to do things she would never have done otherwise.

Thus the reason for her guilt. It's not just guilt over killing her own child. It's also guilt over knowing that it was her own misguided worship of a monster that wasn't as perfect as she thought he was, that this was what led her to kill, and to kill again.

Ceroba worshipped Chujin. Just as Starlo worshipped the ground Clover walked on, Ceroba worshipped the ground Chujin walked on.

So when people point to Ceroba's comment that Starlo didn't grow up... yeah. She's right. Starlo needed to grow up.

But so did Ceroba.

One of the hardest parts of growing up is realizing that the people you worship are just people. They make mistakes, and you, yourself, are mistaken for believing they can do no wrong.

So, anyway. There's as much Staroba (Starfox, I call them) hatred as there is love for the ship. I've seen both sides of the argument: Starlo isn't mature enough; Ceroba is insane. Yeah. You're both right. And that's why they're perfect for each other. They both made the mistake of changing everything they were in an effort to continue worshipping their idols. They both went nuts. They were both driven to kill. This is the inherent danger of idolatry, believing so much in something that isn't real, that you will do anything to make it stay real to you.

#undertale yellow #starlo #ceroba #clover #my analysis #character analysis #starfox uty #chujin ketsukane #kanako ketsukane

278 notes · View notes

minnaci · 10 months

Text

contents: established dan heng x gn!reader. reader is a member of the astral express crew, but is not the hsr mc. hurt/comfort, post-1.2 spoilers

a/n: a little bit of a longer one today! thanks to @itoshisoup, @/petrichorium, n @/kitsunefreak for answering my questions abt dh's reincarnation (ask here)! if u see this i hope u know it took everything in me not to call him daniel heng

you and dan heng have never needed words. why say "i love you" when you could just cut him a plate of fruit? why say "i need you" when you could press little, fluttering kisses to his spine, and watch the shiver of goosebumps spread over his skin?

your language has always been one of quiet actions, quiet loves, which is perhaps why he looks so surprised when you take one look and him and say, quite loudly, "what the fuck?"

because the dan heng standing before you isn't the dan heng you could recognize by touch alone. he's.... taller, somehow. broader. he carries himself with an ease that he hadn't before. and most importantly—

"are those horns?"

"yes," he says, with no further explanation.

"dan heng used to be a cool dragon warrior guy in his past life!" march 7th interjects, seemingly oblivious to your increasing upset. "he was super powerful and super important, too!"

you'd known about the whole... reincarnation thing. he'd explained it to you before, but from your understanding, his past lives weren't important. he'd told you that this life with you was the only one that mattered to him. so why hadn't he told you...?

"that's quite enough, march 7th," himeko takes one glance at your expression and cuts in as march 7th begins rambling about dan heng's... boyfriends? husbands? from his past lives and how handsome and cool and strong they all were, and how their story was so romantic—

dan heng says nothing.

"well," you say abruptly, forcing a smile, "i'm suddenly feeling a bit tired. i'm going to turn in. dan heng, you can sleep outside tonight."

you stand up and swiftly make your way to the passenger car. behind you, you hear march 7th ask, "did i say something wrong?"

you let it all fade into silence as you step into the archive room— you and dan heng's room. at least, it would be silence, if it wasn't for the faint footsteps behind you.

"you're upset with me." dan heng crosses the room to you in a few long strides. gently, carefully, he pulls you into his arms. you let him. despite all of the visual changes, he still smells the same. it's more comforting than you thought it would be. you take a few deep breaths, letting his familiar scent calm you down.

"i'm not angry," you say, voice a bit muffled as you bury your face in his chest.

"you're not," he agrees. "but you are upset."

silence falls upon you. you curl further into dan heng's embrace, and he welcomes you easily, drawing wide circles over your back. he's generous with his touch, his affection. it helps you begin to sort through the mess of feelings in your heart.

"you always told me that your past lives weren't important," you say. the words spill from you, a waterfall of hurt and insecurity. "but then you come back from the luofu looking like some— some celestial war dragon, and then i hear about your banishment for high treason and your two beautiful lovers who recognized you across lifetimes, and how it's so romantic because they're probably your soulmates—"

"i know you don't like when i interrupt," dan heng interrupts. "but i... i want to explain before you get more upset, as there are nuances to this situation that i do not think march 7th handled with enough care. you know how she can be when she's excited."

you nod. you do know. you take another deep breath— in through your nose, out slowly through your mouth. "okay, then. explain. please."

"i do not consider myself the same person as the version of me who lived in the past," dan heng says. "i am dan heng. the person that march 7th spoke of was called dan feng. his deeds and his lovers are not mine. i claim no ownership of nor association with them. thus, they are not important to me. dan feng is not important to me. does that make sense?"

"not really," you say. "you're literally him."

"i am not him," dan heng says. "we may share a soul, but i am not him. i do not remember his life, nor do i want to. i have everything i could ever want here and now, as dan heng."

"really?"

"yes," he says. there's a warm brush of lips against the crown of your head. "the astral express crew makes me happy. you make me happy. we may have our troubles, but there's nobody i would rather face them with than you."

warmth flushes through your body, and you hide your face again. it's rare that dan heng voices his emotions so clearly. his candor strips you raw, scraping at the inside of your chest. he's the one being vulnerable, so why are you the one feeling so seen?

"i mean it," dan heng says, taking your silence as disbelief. "i love you. nothing about my past reincarnation's life will change that."

"you're so ridiculous," you sniffle, willing your tears away. "i love you, too."

silence settles around your shoulders once more, comforting like a feather-filled duvet. dan heng rocks you gently— back and forth, back and forth. new clothes and new horns aside, he still smells the same. he speaks the same way. and when you press your ear to his chest, his heart beats the same, steady beat.

"were your— dan feng's— past lovers really that hot?" you break the silence, and dan heng lets out a rare laugh.

"of course you're curious about that," he says, with no small amount of fondness. "here— i'll let you form your own opinions."

he taps on his communicator a few times, pulling up a picture.

"no way," you do a double take, hands flying to your mouth, and you pull back to look at him, wide-eyed. "dan heng. no way."

"yes way," he says, and you can hear the little smug smirk in his voice. he loves you, you know he does, but you can't blame him for the bit of pride that shines through his tone. if you'd managed to pull not one, but two men that magnificent in your past life, your head would get so big that you'd explode.

"and you don't care about them at all?" you have to ask. dan feng was one lucky guy. it's hard not to feel insecure, just a little—

"why would i? they're strangers to me," dan heng blazes through your train of thought, tilting your chin to look you in the eyes. he sobers. something in his voice reaches into the soft, small animal of your heart, holding it steady as it flutters. "besides, i already have the most beautiful person in the universe in my arms."

extra:

"so does this mean i can sleep in the room again?"

"mrgh," you mumble. if your eyelids were any less heavy, you'd open your eyes to shoot him an incredulous look. your limbs are intwined with his like an octopus, and it's bedtime. surely, he's capable of extrapolating. as it is, you mouth sleepily at his collarbone, and hope he understands it as permission.

"okay. just checking. goodnight, dear."

#writemin!#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x reader #hsr hurt/comfort #honkai star rail hurt/comfort #dan heng hurt/comfort #hsr spoilers #(just in case)#+dan heng

717 notes · View notes

etfrin · 3 months

Text

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter twenty-two | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | canon typical violence, canon typical deaths, murder, coriolanus snow | lmk if I forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coriolanus and Sejanus have a talk, and oh! Coriolanus has blood on his hands again

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 most of this chapter is directly from the book! Hope you like it!

Beta read by @nowitsmissing 🩷

masterlist | navigation

Coriolanus Snow and Sejanus Plinth were given the job of taking care of the jabberjays that were sent from the Capitol. It seemed like yesterday he and Dr. Gaul had a conversation about these words. He swallows the bitter feeling down his throat. The things he would do to get that time back.

He sighs, checking out the jabberjays in the cages. Snow and Sejanus didn't talk yesterday when he had stopped him from going after the girl they captured yesterday. Coriolanus looks at Sejanus, only to see him not by his side

Coriolanus finds him a bit further away, near the prison window in which the girl was kept. Coriolanus' eyes widened, annoyance filling in his veins. How stupid was this of Sejanus! Anyone could see him right now and get his ass in prison as well. How fucking typical of him. Of course, he was going to try to be a saint. The privileged stupid fuck.

“Sejanus,” he hissed, “Get here right now.”

Sejanus turns, a surprised look on his face before he relaxes. “Coryo,” he sighed, clearly thinking that it was fine. It's not and Coriolanus is mere moments away from punching him for his carelessness right now.

Sejanus looks at the girl. “I promise I will come back,” he said. Coriolanus frowns as he hears the words. Sejanus follows him near the jabberjays again.

“Are you insane?” Coriolanus asked, his eyes conveying his anger.

Sejanus winces and replies, “She's innocent.”

“She's a rebel!”

“They just wanted to go to the north! They just wanted to escape!”

Coriolanus looked around, nobody was around. “Lower your voice, Sej,” Coriolanus warns. “I have something good going on here. You have something good going on here. Don't ruin it.”

Sejanus' eyes cast down and Coriolanus knows. He knows something is wrong. Sejanus Plinth is gonna fuck up again. Big time.

“What is it?” Coryo asked, trying to soften his voice.

“You told me I could do something. You told me I could make a difference.”

“Like this!” Coryo hisses, “By being a rebel?”

“There is a group of locals getting out of District 12 for good.”

Coriolanus' breath hitches, but he doesn't say a word. His eyes fell to the remote, the button was pressed, then the jabberjays would record the Plinth boys’ exact words. Sejanus is distracted enough by his rage towards the Capitol that he doesn't notice Coriolanus pressing the button.

“You have to impress Dr. Gaul,” your voice reminds him.

Snow signed Sejanus Plinth's death warrant and he prayed that it was enough of a price to get him back to the Capitol. Back with you. Back with his birthright. He is simply taking what is his. This was a golden opportunity. It's really on Sejanus that he's being irrational.

Sejanus continues to talk.

“They're going up North to start a new life, far away from Panem. They need money for supplies. They told me we could go with them if I got it for them. You could come with us.”

“You're giving money to the locals,” Coriolanus said incredulously. His hatred for Sejanus increased greatly, he no longer cared about what he was doing. It was deserved.

“I can't stay here. I won't. They're not planning to do anything dangerous, okay.”

“It’s all dangerous,” Coriolanus replied.

“The leader, Spruce, wants to get his sister, Lil, out of jail."

“Are you insane?”

“Hoff is gonna execute her just because she knows the man. It's wrong.”

‘That’s not your problem!’ he wanted to yell. He doesn't.

“I am gonna help him get her out,” Sejanus continues.

“It's treason, Sejanus.”

“Nobody is gonna get hurt,” Sejanus defends.

“I am just doing what you told him to do at the arena.”

Coriolanus subtly rolls his eyes. He didn't mean it this way. This was all Sejanus. “I was just trying to save you,” Coriolanus snarls, “the first time you did stupid enough to ruin my life.” Coriolanus questions, “What if they catch you bringing this woman off base?”

“It's worth the risk to do the right thing.”

“For you,” Coriolanus emphasizes, reminding Sejanus of his privilege, “Your father will just buy your way out of it like he always does. While I'll be hung just for knowing you.”

Coriolanus takes a deep breath, “Don't do this.” Despite everything Sejanus was his… friend for a lack of words. He would throw away the remote if Sejanus agreed with him. Instead, Sejanus walks away. A silent protest. He will do it. And that leaves Coriolanus with no choice.

He stops the recording before checking if it recorded every word. It did. He places the jabberjay cage on the supply train, knowing that it is to go to Dr. Gaul.

Coriolanus did what he had to.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Coriolanus was in The Hob, along with you. Your head was on his shoulder, his arm possessively around your waist. You both were in the corner, listening to Lucy Gray sing. Coriolanus wondered briefly if he should tell you what he had done but decided later would be a better time.

Coriolanus sees Sejanus walking inside the back door of The Hob. Coriolanus' eyes narrow. “I'll be back,” he murmurs to you, his lips kissing your temple before he leaves you alone to follow Sejanus.

As he took a step in, he froze, suddenly aware of the barrel of a shotgun positioned inches from the side of his rib cage. He drew in his breath and was beginning to raise his hands slowly when he heard the quick tap of shoes behind him.

“So you guys slip in,” Lucy Gray said behind Coriolanus. Before Coriolanus can say anything, Spruce pulls him in and Lucy Gray follows without understanding the danger.

Sejanus jumps in, “No. It’s alright, Spruce. He’s with me. They’re all with me.”

The rebel looked them over. “Thought we agreed this was between us.”

“He’s like my brother,” said Sejanus. “He’ll cover for me when we run. Buy us more time.”

Coriolanus had promised to do no such thing, but he nodded.

Spruce redirected his barrel to Lucy Gray. “What about this one?”

“I told you about her,” said Billy Taupe. “She’s going north with us. She’s my girl.”

Coriolanus could see Lucy Gray clench her fist, then drop it. He had forgotten that she and Billy had dated. “If you’ll take me,” she said.

Spruce considered it, then shrugged and lowered the gun, releasing Lucy Gray from its hold. “I guess you’ll be company for Lil.”

Coriolanus’s eyes fell to the cache of weapons. Two more shotguns, a standard Peacekeeper rifle like the ones they used in target practice. Some sort of heavy piece that appeared to launch grenades. Several knives.

“That’s quite a haul.”

“Not for five people,” Spruce replied. “It’s the ammo I’m concerned about. Be helpful if you could get us some more of that from the base.”

Sejanus nodded. “Maybe. We don’t have access to the armory. But I can look around.”

“Sure. Stock up.”

Everyone’s head snapped toward the sound. A female voice, coming from the far corner of the shed. Coriolanus had forgotten about the second door since no one ever seemed to use it. In the pitch-blackness outside the lamp’s circle of light, he could not say if it was open or shut, or make out the intruder. How long had she been hiding there in the gloom?

“Who’s there?” said Spruce.

“Guns, ammo,” mocked the voice. “You can’t make more of that, can you? Up north?”

The nastiness helped Coriolanus place it from the night of the brawl in the Hob. “It’s Mayfair Lipp, the mayor’s daughter.”

“Trailing after Billy Taupe like a hound in heat,” said Lucy Gray under her breath.

“Always keep that last bullet somewhere safe. So as you can blow your brains out before they catch you,” said Mayfair.

“Get home,” ordered Billy Taupe. “I’ll explain this later. It’s not how it sounded.”

“No, no. Come in and join us, Mayfair,” invited Spruce. “We’ve got no quarrel with you. You can’t choose your pa.”

“We won’t hurt you,” said Sejanus.

Mayfair gave an ugly laugh. “’ Course you won’t.”

“What’s going on?” Spruce asked Billy Taupe.

“Nothing. She’s just talking,” he said. “She won’t do anything.”

“That’s me. All talk, no action. Right, Lucy Gray? How’d you enjoy the Capitol, by the way?” The door gave a small creak, and Coriolanus had the sense Mayfair was backing away, about to flee. With her would go his entire future. No, more than that, his very life. If she reported what she’d heard, the whole lot of them would be as good as dead.

In a flash, Spruce lifted his shotgun to shoot her, but Billy Taupe knocked the barrel toward the floor. Coriolanus reflexively reached for the Peacekeeper rifle and fired toward Mayfair’s voice. She gave a cry, and there was the sound of her collapsing to the floor.

“Mayfair!” Billy Taupe bolted across the shed to where she lay in the doorway. He staggered back into the light, his hand shiny with blood, spitting at Coriolanus like a rabid animal.

“What’d you do?”

Coriolanus gave her a push, and her feet started moving toward the door. “Go back. Get onstage. That’s your alibi. Go!”

“Oh, no. If I swing, she’s swinging with me!” Billy Taupe charged after her.

Without hesitating, Spruce shot Billy Taupe through the chest. The blast carried him backward, and he crumpled to the floor.

In the stillness that followed, Coriolanus registered the music coming from the Hob for the first time since Lucy Gray had finished her number. Maude Ivory had the entire warehouse caught up in a sing-along.

Keep on the sunny side, always the sunny side.

“You better do like he said,” Spruce told Lucy Gray. “Before they miss you and someone comes looking.”

Lucy Gray couldn’t take her eyes off Billy Taupe’s body. Coriolanus grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Go. I’ll take care of this.” He propelled her to the door.

She opened it, and they both looked out. The coast was clear. “You were never here,” Coriolanus whispered in Lucy Gray’s ear as he let her go. She stumbled across the pavement and into the Hob. He slid the door shut with his foot.

Coriolanus hears a knock on the door. “Coryo?” He hears your voice call out. Against his better judgment, he opens the door. Letting you walk in. “She's my girl, she won't do anything,” Coriolanus lets Spruce know.

“I…” You gape at the bodies before saying, “You don't have to murder everyone you're jealous of, Coryo. You know that me flirting with Billy Taupe was just me getting back at you, right?”

Coriolanus feels his cheek getting hot, a boyish embarrassment taking root in his mind. “I didn't kill him!” He defended, “It was him.” He points at Spruce. “I killed her,” he reveals.

“That bitch? Good riddance.”

Sejanus whispers your name, with tears in his eyes. You immediately soften, and Coriolanus wonders if he should kill Sejanus as well because he got you to react like that. Then Snow remembers Sejanus' impending future and lets it go.

“It's gonna be okay, Sej.”

Spruce stuffed the weapons back into the burlap bag. “They’re dead. I’m planning to keep this to myself. What about you three?”

“The same. Obviously,” said Coriolanus. Sejanus stared at them, still in shock. “Him, too. I’ll make sure.”

“You might think about coming with us. Someone’s going to pay for this,” said Spruce. He retrieved the lamp and vanished out the back door, throwing the shed into darkness.

You watch the rebel go. He’d successfully made it in and out of the shed without touching anything with his skin. Except for the gun he’d killed Mayfair with, of course, no doubt covered in his fingerprints and DNA — but Spruce would take that when he left District 12, never to return. The last thing he needed was a repeat of the handkerchief scenario. He could still hear Dean Highbottom taunting him. . . .

“Do you hear that, Coriolanus? It’s the sound of Snow falling.”

You and Sejanus follow him. Until Sejanus goes back to the hob to be with Lucy Gray and Coriolanus goes back to you in your room. “What was that? Do we need to hide the bodies?” You asked, “I can do something.” Coriolanus shakes his head, as much as he wants the help. He didn't want you involved, not when he was so close to getting out of here with you.

“The rebels will take the gun with them. There will be no evidence left.”

You nod. You pressed your lips against his lips, giving him the softest kiss he had ever received. “Be careful, Coryo,” you whispered.

“I will. I am sorry that this happened,” Coryo said.

“It's fine,” you smirk, “It's not like I cared about them.”

‘Do you care about Sejanus? He wanted to ask. 'Are you going to leave me for his fate?’

He didn't. He smiles back at you, before leaving.

Tomorrow is a new dawn.

Hopefully, Coriolanus' luck will work out this time.

NEXT PART

241 notes · View notes

powderblueblood · 6 months

Text

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh? content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross word count: 7.2k

Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do.

I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat.

I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one.

Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.

Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me.

Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi.

Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her.

The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become.

This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this.

It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time.

What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.

And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto.

Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.

He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out.

But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him.

He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.

“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated.

Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action.

Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.

“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!”

—

“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway.

“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that.

He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him.

So you do it again.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.

“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him.

“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!”

“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”

Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.”

Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance.

You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.

“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.”

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest.

“Stay out of my way, then.”

“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.”

“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”

—

Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had.

See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.

Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft.

In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.

Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound.

He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask–

“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”

On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first.

“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.”

Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”

“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”

Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs.

But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something.

But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips.

He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.

“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”

You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.

“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”

“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”

“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.”

A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”

“Okay—!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day.

Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.

“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“

“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”

“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”

Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win.

He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this.

Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking.

But he’s done it.

Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second.

Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell.

“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”

Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.”

And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“Nicole Summers.”

“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”

“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”

“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”

“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”

You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick.

“How was it?” you press.

Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”

Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”

“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”

Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass.

Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to.

What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”

“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.

“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping.

“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.

“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again.

“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face.

Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights.

“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?”

“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.”

Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you.

“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”

That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh.

“Combination lock, huh?”

“Allegedly.”

“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.”

Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”

Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”

He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t.

You’re drunk.

If you can stay drunk, all bets are off.

If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk.

You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan.

And it would mean nothing.

And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.

But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat.

“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”

So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home.

“Oh, shit!”

Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about. “Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.

Trembling.

“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”

Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus.

He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.

Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–”

But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other.

Fuck. He can’t leave you like this.

You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there.

“Uh– Lacy?”

The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door.

A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you?

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful.

Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–?

“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.”

“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon.

“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”

But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position.

“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands.

What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed.

“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.”

It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face.

“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed.

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.”

–

You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive.

“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.

You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver.

“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness.

Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it.

“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”

She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy.

You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that.

So somebody must have.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile.

Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet.

Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.

Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada.

Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax.

“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.”

Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts.

“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”

“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.”

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare.

“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”

Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”

“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing.

“Wayne–”

“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.”

He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night.

He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.

–

Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover.

It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s.

You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?

Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?

But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life.

The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess.

Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day.

You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.

You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that.

Regret stabs at you.

“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi.

“What?”

“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?”

Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”

“Ugh, thank god.”

“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.”

You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van.

“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you.

“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”

“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”

“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”

Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High.

“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.”

He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.”

You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”

“You’re never late for first period.”

“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?”

“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.”

It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would.

Until now.

And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him.

Until now.

“So?” he says, all expectant.

And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure.

The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded.

But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson?

Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust.

You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot.

As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.

You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk.

“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”

You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”

Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum.

Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand.

Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body.

She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park.

“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”

“Huh?”

“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”

You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.”

Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now.

Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight.

“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little.

Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be.

“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

–

Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine.

But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap.

Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die.

Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.

You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor.

Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night.

“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker.

She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her.

Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape.

“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says.

This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at.

“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table.

There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart.

You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you.

Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.

“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”

author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes: - you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob - eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease - speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later - admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people! - did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~ - jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory - RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig - at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track - thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats

#published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #e. munson by powder

273 notes · View notes