#my brain hates me and refuses to let me do anything i actually want to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

plasticferal · 8 months

Note

hey queen! can you pls do an angst story with chris. where they get into an argument and chris said things he never meant. then he apologizes to her afterwards. ( basically angst to fluff)

damsel in distress | chris sturniolo.

i added my own twist to this ask. it's my favourite prompt so thank you! 18+ protective!ex-boyfriend chris x fem!reader. fighting, touches on themes of unwanted attention, mentions of alcohol, explicit language. reader discretion is advised. p.s inspired by the unreleased olivia rodrigo song 'prison for life'.

the house is filled with familiar faces and strangers. a small gathering turned into a full blown house party from the moment the word got out. where the sturniolo triplets are, a flock follows. you sigh, pushing and shoving your way through the unwanted crowd.

all you want is to make it into the kitchen, miraculously being the only place no one wants to linger. the last person you need to see right now is your ex lover. chris is standing ahead of you, leaning on the kitchen counter, alone in the room. you shut the doors behind you, needing to escape. even if it means with him.

“if you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked." he speaks smug, before taking a sip from his red solo cup.

“i'm not in the mood,” you dismiss. you open the fridge, eyes scanning the shelves but nothing calling your name.

you know you're not actually looking for anything, you just don't want to look at him. the entire night has you shaking with anger. from the mess in your home, the lack of care everyone is taking, the noise complaint you know you'll be getting later, and worst of all, that one guy who won't leave you alone.

you've never seen him before tonight, you don't even know his name, but all he's done is make you uncomfortable. try to dance with you, try to give you drinks. he brushes your waist every time he walks past.

all of your friends have been encouraging you to go for it, to get over chris. and honestly, you consider it for a moment. just to finally move on, but you can't bring yourself to. at least not with some random creep.

the break up is still raw. he tells everyone it was 'mutual' but it was a part on your request. he'd never throw you under the bus like that. he knows why you made your decision, he's never questioned it.

chris feels like it's unrequited love. although, you haven't lost any love for him, no matter how much you try to push him away. he has every right to despise you, but he doesn't.

every time you close a chapter with him, you find yourself in a sequel. it's like you're re-reading different stories, but the ending stays the same. your heart wants him, your brain wants to hate him.

"what's wrong?" he asks, sensing you're genuine in your frustration.

"nothing." you refuse to let him know what's happing in your world, let alone your mind. you don't need to let in him anymore, even though you want to let it out. he's the one person who could just sit and listen to you for hours on end.

"alright, just askin" his words trail off into a hush. he switches the tone, not wanting the conversation to stop.

“your friends are nice” he speaks in a sickeningly sweet tone, because if anyone knows how to kick you while you're down, it's him.

"you would think that" you scoff, implying that you've seen them throw themselves at him all night. him pouring them drinks, smiling and frothing over the attention he's receiving.

"the fuck is that supposed to mean?" his temperamental side seeps out, and you grow only more irritated.

"chris, can you get out please?" you huff, hands crossing over your chest. an unintentional way to seperate yourself from him, a metaphorical wall being put up.

"such a party pooper. you really gotta let loose, relax a bit." his words come out a lot more nasty that you hope he meant them, and it makes your face hot.

you give him the benefit of the doubt and think he's speaking with resilience, at the fact you keep shutting him down.

"i wonder why we ever broke up." you reply sarcastically, a fake smile on your face. he rolls his eyes, finishing off his drink and letting out an audible "ah," like a child finishing a juice box.

"i haven't seen you all night, y/n" his voice softens, and it becomes clear he's speaking for the sake of talking to you. he always wants to talk to you.

looking at the counter quickly to place his cup down, he looks back at you, tilting his head to the side slightly. he's not being horrible to you, he never has been. he's still in your life whether you like it or not, despite your hostility.

"sorry. i'm just tired." you lie. he knows it.

"your poker face isn't very good. i learnt that the hard way," he bounces his eyebrows, biting the tip of his tongue, eyes a bit wider as he stares at the ground and you can tell he's having a flashback.

you chuckle at the reference. the one time he caught you faking an orgasm didn't end very well, and he's been able to catch you out ever since. he's never been afraid to pull you up on your own fibs.

"sorry, again." you hug your body tighter, avoiding his eyes. he pushes himself off the counter with a stretch like hum and walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"stop apologizing, you sound like matt," he rolls his eyes lightheartedly, and you let out a small laugh. that's always his intention, to make you smile.

"c'mon princess, let's get you a drink. seems like you need it." he nods toward to the door, rubbing your shoulder enthusiastically.

you let him try to fix your mood, because god knows you do actually need to stop stressing. you can't control what happens, just how you react. that's what chris always used to say when you were together.

feeling safe in his embrace, he security guard style moves you through the party. he hollers "excuse me!" and "coming through!" and everyone just listens, parting like the red sea. he's not the biggest guy in the room, but he sure is the most assertive. especially with you under his arm.

when you finally get to the drinks table, he makes you a vodka lemonade, saving the rest of the can for himself to finish off. it's not the most thrilling drink, but enough to keep you settled. ease the tension a bit. plus, it tastes good. no harm, no foul. as chris is mixing the liquids into cups, you feel an unwanted hand snake up around your hip.

"there you are. are you hiding from me?" your stomach drops at the voice of the mystery man towering over you, and you look ahead to watch chris's eyes snap up instantly.

chris lowers the cups, holding his eyes on the man behind you. you watch as he kinks his neck and his jaw tenses, taking a step closer. you shake your head at chris, holding a hand up subtly to tell him not to come any closer.

turning around, you stare up at the man. his breath reeks of liquor, and his shirt is drenched is sweat. it makes you sour your face and tense your entire body.

"i don't know what you want from me, but it's not gonna happen. i think you should leave." you speak sternly, trying not to let your voice shake with pure nerves. not even liquid confidence could help you right now.

"the party's just getting started," the man smiles, stumbling toward you in what you think is an attempt at a hug, but you begin pushing his body away from yours with a shove.

"dude, she doesn't want you. walk away." you hear chris's direct voice over your shoulder.

the last thing you want is negative attention on chris in a room full of people who would spread the news like wildfire. you never want that for him.

"it's okay, i got this." you dismiss chris in the nicest possible way, but you're being serious.

"come on, we'll have fun," the man hiccups through his words, mumbling them and tripping over toward you again.

"get the fuck away from her." chris's breath hits the back of your neck as he moves even closer to you.

"christopher, i'm serious. stop." you speak through grit teeth, so people can't read your lips, as he lingers next to you.

you try to be as inconspicuous as you can in your rejection to his advances, but he won't give up. the man appears more annoyed, and he grabs your wrist with a tight grip.

"let go of me." you grab the mans hand, trying to pry his grip without making it obvious.

you’re shaking at the thought of attention drawing. not for you, but for chris. eyes are already on you, being his ex. it's not what he ever wanted for you either. if he could make it all disappear, he would. it becomes more difficult when chris notices, and this time, has no intention of backing down.

"i'm not gonna repeat myself, back the fuck up." chris walks around your body, face to face with the guy who has a hold on you now.

"please, chris." you beg, voice quivering.

you know his temper can change in the blink of an eye. him and matt both have that in common.

"she doesn't need your help, pretty boy." the man splatters his words, a malicious smile on his face as he leans toward chris, almost nose to nose.

chris smiles criminally, flashing his teeth.

"you're right," chris puts his hands up in defence, a downward smile on his face as he chuckles darkly, taking a big step backward.

there's a feeling of relief, and intense fear as he actually does start to back away. but you know chris. unfortunately, it's unavoidable.

you try to catch his eyes, and speak through a begging stare without using words. he looks at you with sadness, and you mime the words, 'please don't'.

the moment the man tugs your wrist as if to leave with him, making you wince with the grip he holds. you regret your counteraction instantly, because chris reacts viscerally.

he flares his nostrils and squeezes his nails into his palm, balling up his hands by his hip. his knuckles are turning white.

before you can get pulled away, chris lunges forward with a tight fist, throwing a strong, perfectly aligned punch to the mans cheekbone. it throws the man to the ground in the blink of an eye, relieving the pressure on your skin. you stumble backwards, out of the line of fire.

chris steps heavily forward, shoving a foot into his ribcage before straddling his legs, completely overpowering him. the man projects forward to swing and hit chris's mouth. chris doesn't even flinch, like it was painless. you watch chris raise his arm up again to pummel down onto the now defenceless stranger.

the surrounding crowd gasps and yells, clearing the space that chris has created with his actions. iphone cameras flash, making you feel sick. the whispering and gossip you can already hear pounding in your head is overwhelming.

you feel so futile. chris is too in his own world to even realise the repercussions. you're not saying the guy didn't deserve it, you have no care in the world for him. you care about the aftermath.

in a fantasy world, a daydream, a fairytale even, this is attractive. a knight in shining armour, fighting for his lady. a world where there are no consequences, or social media, or fear. a reality chris has suddenly forgotten about.

he looks natural doing it, too. the veins in his arms so prominent, his tight mouth and huffed breaths as he gives it everything he's got.

you're frozen in shock, watching chris pelt another punch into the man, and you want to pull him off, you know you need to, but all your body can do is watch. watch the two men roughhousing and exchanging blows, chris taking every hit with pride.

you're numb to the feeling, screaming in your head.

appearing out of thin air, nick and matt are in your line of vision, hiding the chaos ahead of you. his brothers move into action before anyone else needs to.

they've obviously been summoned, but there's a part of you that believes they could just sense it. like they telepathically knew chris was getting himself into trouble by the lack of surprise they express.

nick grabs chris by the collar of his shirt, pulling him off. matt grabs his wrists, to stop him from using his fists. the fight comes undone, finally, but chris is disoriented. he spits onto the man as he's being escorted into the kitchen by his brothers.

your eyes burn with tears that refuse to fall, and matt sweeps your hand up, guiding you with them in a hurried manner. matt is trying to snap you back to reality, but it's just white noise.

chris hits his palm aggressively with frustration against the door frame of the kitchen as you all walk through, and you take a deep breath to compose yourself. your eyes are still welling as you choke back a sniffle, and you're not sure if it's shock, hurt, or anger anymore.

you're in a trance as you walk over to the freezer. your body is in autopilot, moving without you even knowing. you grab a frozen bag of vegetables out of the tray.

"so fucking stupid," you say nastily under your breath, slamming the door shut.

walking over to chris who's sat up on the ledge of the sink. you throw the packet at his chest, and he grabs it, questioning you for a second before matt walks over and shows him to place it on his bruised and red raw knuckles.

the room is filled with tension.

matt is biting his nails, you're leaning against the closed door, and nick finds himself squatting on the floor.

"what the actual fuck was that?" nick is too stunned to even yell, he just speaks aloud.

"i asked you not to, chris. i could have handled it myself." you shake your head, vision blurry as you stare vacantly ahead. you want to lash out at him, but for some reason you can't.

"yeah, it really looked like you had it under control." he crushes the frozen packet harshly against his hand.

"we'll leave you two alone." matt cuts through awkwardly, shooting nick a warning glare.

matt knows it's not his place to go off at chris right now. he'll do that later.

"but-" nick begins, and matt snaps toward the door. you hear nick sigh, knowing he would love nothing more than to stay and listen to you tear into chris. alas, they both leave promptly, matt flashing you a sympathetic smile on the way out.

you can hear from the other side of the door, both nick and matt are hustling trying to kick everyone out. it’s a weight lifted off your shoulders. the literal mess being left behind is the least of your worries now.

you're alone with chris in the kitchen again, the second time not being anymore pleasant than the first. you blame yourself fully for dropping your guard, even if for a second.

“i begged you not to, chris.” you repeat with a stern tone, laced with betrayal and genuine hurt.

he’s silent for a moment, staring at you from across the room with no emotion on his face. you know he feels terrible, he doesn’t have to show it. or tell you.

“did you think i was just gonna stand and watch?” he rebuttals.

“i would have preferred that, honestly.” you don’t understand how he can’t grasp the intensity of the situation.

"did you want him? go back out there then." he's bitter, pointing at the door. you roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief.

"chris," you start. he keeps talking.

“because i’m sure he’s still laying on the floor. go ahead. he might have a hard time talking now, though.” chris shrugs, speaking in a provoking manner.

“you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t press charges." you apprise.

“he should feel lucky i didn’t do worse.” he takes another step toward you, presumptuous in the way he carries himself.

"you've done a lot of stupid shit, chris. but that," you raise your hand as you speak, laughing in shock.

"that was unbelievable." you pinch the bridge of your nose, taking yet another deep breath.

"you know what's unbelievable is how you haven't even thanked me once" he ignores your words and bites back with irritation, face growing more twisted with upset.

"thank you?" you repeat, jaw dropping. you step toward him this time. you feel dejected trying to get him to understand.

"thank you for what? for causing a scene? for putting yourself in danger?" you step forward again, feeling like you could drive your heels into the ground beneath you.

"you're acting insane" he brings his hands to his head, tugging at his own hair with despair. his words sting, despite the back and forth arguing.

"you're the one that lashed out on that guy with no consideration for anyone else around you. that's insane" you speak with physical gestures unconsciously.

you're trying to reason with him, but with the state he's in, it's like trying to put a brain in a statue. you examine him, trying to search for his eyes but his body won't keep still, twisting and moving around.

"fuck, okay, i get it! i get it, y/n. you're not happy with me. you never fucking are apparently," his words trail off and he waves you away, turning his back to you. he sounds desperate for it to end.

you want to scream at him at the top of your lungs, and quite frankly, you could. your face burns and steam is about to shoot out of your ears.

"you don't need to protect me anymore, chris."

"i saved your ass out there." he speaks with his hand, four fingers direct to your chest. his words are like salt being rubbed into an open wound.

"saved me? that's a fucking stretch. your brothers saved your ass, because you don't think before you fucking act!"

"this is about YOU, y/n! what i did for you!" he slaps the back of right hand into the palm of his left.

"i'm not some damsel in distress that you need to sweep up and put in a tower, chris"

"yeah well at least in a tower you can't attract trouble." he speaks as if it's your fault, and of all the things he's just spit out, that's by far the worst. the most menacing and cut to the bone tone he's used.

"that was low, even for you." you huff, emotions at an all time high.

your breathing feels tight, but instead of reacting, you force yourself to seperate your emotions from the reality of the situation. you're both feeling very intensely, and expressing it the same way.

in hindsight, you could have redirected some of your emotions, but you also wish chris would take back some things he's said. there's no excuses.

chris re-collects himself and turns toward you again. he shrugs his shoulders, like he has nothing left to say. no fight left.

the closer chris is standing the more prominent his face is, and more specifically, his busted open lip.

you gasp in a mix of being upset, and shock. it feels like a piece of your heart is breaking off, seeing his delicate, pale skin so sore.

"your lip, chris." you exhale, stepping toward him.

he flinches when your hand raises to touch his face, and you know now that you've acknowledged it, it's hurting him. neither of you paid any attention to it amongst the turmoil.

"come here." you sigh, pulling his arm, bringing him over to where the paper towels are, in the corner of the sink.

tearing a white square into your hands, you rinse it under cold water lightly before squeezing the saturation out, leaving a damp cloth in your hand.

turning into chris's body, he looks down at you. he's still at last, and looks like he has no thoughts behind his now seemingly innocent eyes.

you cup his cheek gently, to turn his face downward. you bring the towel up to his lip, wiping his stained chin and mouth. he lets you, and doesn't even wince. he visibly gives into your touch. he's content.

"i need you to promise me you'll never do something like that again." you pull back, folding over a clean side and then wiping his lip softly, trying not to cause him pain.

"i can't promise that." he speaks in a whisper, as if he doesn't want you to hear his word.

with his lip no longer being red, you toss the damp and crumbling paper into sink, making it a problem for another time.

"why?" you look into his eyes, wiping your hands on your shirt.

his blue eyes are big but blameless, pupils dilated. holding his stare as your arm lowers.

"because if anyone lays a hand on you again, i'm going to prison for life." the piece of your heart that broke off earlier reattaches at his words alone.

chris's much shorter hair is spikey around his ears, and wet at the ends, turning dark brown from his sweat. you caress his messy curls, tucking it over the curves of his ears and taming the wispy strands. you hold his head in your hands, tiling him up and your mouths are inches apart.

"how hard did he hit your head?" you ask against his lips. he chuckles, genuinely.

he's an idiot, undeniably. but the gut wrenching, lawless love he has for you makes him that way. his low, smooth laughter, makes your heart skip a beat.

"i mean it, y/n."

"but i know, i know it was stupid." he admits.

"yeah, it was." you agree, shaking his head around slightly.

he grabs your hands with his own, engulfing them and holding them in his palms. he squeezes your hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

"i'm sorry." he speaks on your skin.

"like really fucking sorry." he strains his head back with remorse, making his adam's apple more prominent, and he swallows hard. like he's swallowing his guilt.

"i said some nasty things. i wish i could take them back, y/n. i really do."

"i know, chris."

"no, you don't. i'll apologise to you everyday for the rest of my life if i have to. i've been horrible tonight."

"chris, enough," you hush him, the calmness in your tone making him understand you hear him. loud and clear. you need some time to forgive, but you absorb his words.

"i don't know how you didn't smack me in the mouth." he jokes, and you giggle through your breath.

"there's still time," you joke back. and he knows it by your tone.

"i could never bring myself to do that. as much as you deserve it." your banter eases the pressure, and you feel chris squeeze your hands in his again.

you rub your thumbs over his knuckles, looking at the little purple marks forming. he notices your face drop with stress, and he slips his hands away, moving to your hips instead.

"hey, i'm fine. i don't care what happens to me, i just need you to be okay."

"i am okay," you reply. he drops his face with a look that expresses he doesn’t believe you. you give a light eyeroll, and small smile.

"i mean it, i swear.” you raise your pinkie finger to him, to keep your promise. knowing it’s the only way he’ll actually believe you.

chris smiles, weak with his bruised lip, and wraps up your pinkie with his own, wriggling your hands around.

"i'm always gonna want to protect you." he pulls you toward his body. he's so warm, and radiates a magnetic energy that makes you want to collapse into his arms.

you know you don't need him to, but deep down, you would like his protection. his unconditional love. selflessness.

"i'll be sure to send you love letters in jail" you grin up at him, and laughs from the chest.

his voice is like a scratched record, fatigue taking over his body. you swallow hard, all of your senses coming back. he feels so real standing in front of you all of a sudden, like it's not just a dream you're about to wake up from.

"stay the night." you speak mindlessly.

chris brushes your hair from your face, cupping the back of your neck lightly to pull your forehead to his lips, kissing just above your eyebrows gently. he rests his chin on the crown of your head, pulling you tight to his chest in an embrace.

"i'll stay forever if you ask me to."

this is the feeling he fights for. requited love.

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo blurb #sturniolo triplets #damsel in distress

1K notes · View notes

notjustjavierpena · 1 year

Text

Hate

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Mean!Joel is back! Beware of dubcon.

Summary: This is PWP. Nothing else. Joel manhandles you in your home. You hate him.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), dub-con, tears, ignoring you in bed, breeding kink, unprotected sex, PIV sex, forced creampie, dirty talk, fingering, oral m receiving, deepthroating, degradation, finger sucking

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48179338

Hate

You had promised yourself never to give in to Joel, but he has his hand in your pants with a force that has sent you dangerously close to the edge of coming in mere seconds. You had fought him, said no for less than a second, but then there were two of Joel’s thick fingers inside of your cunt, beckoning your orgasm closer by rubbing the tips of them against your g-spot whilst grinding the heel of his hand against your clit. Who could continue saying no to that?

And to think that this is happening in your own home of all places; somewhere that you’d shouted that he’d never set foot in after the way that he’d continuously humiliated you in front of your shared patrol group. Back then, he had suggested meeting up at your place after training to help you improve your skills (or lack thereof), but you had been inches away from spitting in his face at the suggestion that he had anything to teach you.

You realize now what he had meant, and additionally why he had wanted to nitpick at your fumbling with your rifle and the way you sometimes lose balance for the briefest moment when you tried getting on your horse: Joel wanted you to hate him. He wanted to rile you up, because he wanted to have his way with you and this was the only way to get your attention.

If only he knew that he already had it so desperately. If only he knew how much you hated yourself each time you fucked yourself open on your fingers at the thought of his rough demeanor, strong arms, rough hands and salt-and-pepper hair and beard.

“Joel,” you say shakily, gripping at his arm as you feel yourself dance around the edge. You moan loudly, leaning your head back against the wall that he has shoved you against, “You’re making me—“

His hand is gone as fast as it had been there, brutally dragging you away from your orgasm that had been so perfectly within reach. You furrow your brow as your clit throbs, whining through a moan as you are suddenly empty, but you are clever enough to not start complaining with thoughts put into actual words. He doesn’t seem like he’d like that with the way he’s looking at you; Joel’s eyes are practically black with harsh desire, his normal brown tint that you have often found his only kind feature, completely gone.

Oh, the irony of him being the enemy who, as the only person, also has the remedy to all the racing thoughts that flood your brain.

There’s a moment where he just has you panting into the room, but then he reaches up to grip your jaw with the same hand, smearing your wetness along your cheek as he holds you in place. You want to look away, turn your head to the side to not let him have the satisfaction of seeing how terrified and horny you are.

“Christ,” his southern twang is thicker than normally when he has you like this, “I can see how much you want it. Stop pretending you ever wanted to refuse.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is what I should do,” he finishes your sentence, tightening his grip on your jaw and pushing the softness of your cheeks inwards. You try to avoid biting down on the soft flesh despite how hard it is with Joel’s strong hand holding you like this. He continues, “Fuck you stupid, so ya wouldn’t have such a smart lil’ mouth around me and the others guys. I don’t think you know how many of them want to shove a cock down your throat to shut you up for just five fucking minutes. Bet you gobble down dick like a pro with how much you love using your mouth to make my day hell.”

He turns his wrist to shove his slick fingers into your mouth before you can retort as if to test out his theory before giving you the real deal. You suck them filthily into your mouth, tasting yourself on them whilst holding his gaze. As if to say something snarky, you narrow your eyes at him and scrape your front teeth slightly along his digits as he pushes down on your tongue. He retreats his hand with a growl, dragging a string of saliva from your mouth that drips down to your chin. He wipes his fingers clean on your shirt.

“Jeeesus, you’re annoying,” he bites, but somehow still shows you enough trust to put his cock in your mouth as he starts pushing down on your shoulders. You let him, if not only to have a chance to rid him of his shit attitude, slowly sinking to your knees until he has you trapped between the wall and himself.

“Look at you with your hair up already,” he notes, praising almost absentmindedly, “It’s like you knew.”

You palm him over his denim pants and earn a groan, noticing his generous size even before seeing him on full display. He is outlined so well, hard underneath the fabric that must be straining painfully and withholding any type of friction. You absentmindedly lick your lips before going to work.

Getting his dick out isn’t a challenge because it is jutting out underneath his boxers as soon as you undo the jeans. You feel a tug in your cunt as you realize his girth and length, the outline having cheated your eyes to think that he was smaller. Your gaze follows each ridge of his veins, which you have an urge to trail with your tongue to really get to know him.

At this point, you barely know if he will fit into your mouth or pussy, but you do know that you don’t mind being stuffed to the brim. It’s just been a while.

You pull down at his boxers to let them rest just above his knees alongside his jeans. Then you wrap your hand around the base of his length, looking up at him through your lashes and flattening your tongue. You tap the thick head against your tongue a few times before giving him a kitten lick to test out his sensitivity.

Joel’s large hand comes to rest on top of your head whilst he inhales deeply through his nose. He doesn’t say anything besides breathing a little louder, so you find it safe to wrap your lips around him experimentally, moaning as you finally taste his skin.

Engulfing him in the heat of your mouth seems to make him shiver a little more, even more so when you start sliding down your soft lips to feel every inch until he is nudging at the back of your throat. You try relaxing your throat but he is huge, at this point barely halfway in. You gag and try sucking in a hitched breath through your nose.

“That’s it, honey, gag on it,” you hear from above you, thick fingers that you miss inside of you carding over the hair on top of your head and towards the back of your head. You whine as the fingers close around your ponytail in a fist, tightening to give the opportunity to use you like a marionette.

Pulling back a little whilst hollowing your cheeks, you try going back to the head and swirl your tongue, not wanting to feel the squeeze of your throat around him again if it meant nausea. It works for a moment; you curl your tongue around the underside as you bob your head.

But when you stop right before hitting the back over and over, Joel doesn’t seem too pleased with it. You look up at him, eyes wide as you are acting oblivious.

“What are you doing?” He asks impatiently then presses against your shoulder with his free hand, pushing you into the wall to make it impossible for you to escape. You whine up at him with panicked eyes as he pushes his hips forward, sliding right back down your throat again. He chuckles darkly, “Try fighting it, sweetheart, no one’s gonna hear you cry with my dick in your mouth.”

There’s a brief thought of biting down but then Joel continues, “You want this though, don’t you? No one makes such a desperate display of hate in front of others without it being about something else. You just wanted cock. Go on, and then I might make your cunt weep and spasm after.”

You gargle pathetically in return. Yes, yes, you want that so much, clit throbbing painfully between your legs as you were neglected by him right before your orgasm.

“That’s what I thought,” there’s a tug at your ponytail and suddenly, your nose is buried in Joel’s happy trail, “Now relax your pretty throat, whilst I fuck your smart mouth. Remember to swallow too.”

You curse yourself as you try to force spit down just as he says it, swallowing thickly around his cock to which he responds by letting out a whew and wrapping your hair around his fist to gain more control. It makes tears sting at the corners of your eyes, threatening to drip down and slide over your cheeks and, worst case scenario, into your mouth.

He thrusts once then twice, setting up a rhythm, and you can taste the salt of his precome. It’s brutal. You relax your throat as best you can like he has ordered, but deep-throating has never been a well-developed skill of yours, and when it happens you appreciate that you can control it. This isn’t the case with Joel; right now, he isn’t even letting you breathe as he shoves his cock down your throat by bucking his hips and yanking hard on your hair to meet in the middle.

You want to fall onto the floor after that, completely exhausted from the rough handling of your mouth, but instead of trying to fight it, you reach with one hand to steady yourself by holding his thigh whilst the other reaches down to rub your clit. You sob with relief, spilling actual tears now as you feel the first stirring of an orgasm while he fucks your face.

“You better not come unless it’s me making you,” he pants and you slow down your fingers before, albeit reluctantly, removing them from yourself altogether. Following orders feels like a reflex this time. Oh, you want him. Fuck him.

“Such a good girl, you could become my favorite” he wipes the tears from your eyes almost affectionately, but doesn’t remove his cock from your mouth just yet. Only when you are close to collapsing, your entire body pleading for you to take in a proper breath through your mouth, he relents.

You cough as soon as your aching jaw and throat is relieved of the pressure, heaving in several breaths that burn in your lungs and make your nose run. Joel’s cock is still in front of your face, slick with your spit, but he makes no movement to force you to suck him again.

“Christ, look at you being a fucking mess,” he lets go of your hair, kneels down to look you in the face and pat your cheek, “But you know that it was something that had to be done, don’t ya? Fuckin’ hate an attitude.”

“Yes,” you croak. It hurts to speak.

“Good girl. Now get up.”

“What?” You look a little shocked.

“It ain’t a suggestion, sweetheart. Get up. Gotta fuck you until you’re dumber, remember? Don’t tell me it’s already happened?”

You scowl. He smirks.

With much effort, you slowly get back onto your feet but not without feeling utter shame as you feel Joel’s impatient eyes roll as he watches. Your body aches for a break, but anything’s worth his promise of putting his cock inside of you.

When you’re finally standing on two legs, Joel tuts whilst he pulls at your already undone jeans. He shoves them down your legs, not afraid to crouch down into such a pose of submission in front of you as he does it, because you know he is in charge. He orders you to step out of your jeans one foot after the other.

Your underwear follows, wetness having seeped through them and causing the fabric to shine, and then his head is level with your bare cunt. He stares at your sticky inner thighs, mutters something under his breath and reaches between your legs to scoop up some of your slick from your folds. You whine.

“Shut up and take your top off. Lemme see those tits too,” he orders as he indulges himself, sucking his fingers clean after getting up from the floor again. You obey silently, feeling another gush from your cunt as you watch him eat your slick like candy.

“Can I have it now?” You ask quietly.

“So polite.”

“Please,” you add.

“Fuck, maybe you’re already my favorite girl,” he moans, bending down just a little to lift you off the ground, strong hands on the back of your thighs, and wraps your legs around his body. He pushes your back into the wall, laughs a little as the back of your head knocks against it. You look at him with a dazed smile.

When he enters you, you gasp in unison. He takes up every little bit of space inside your cunt, nudging at your cervix and stretching you to the point where it burns sweetly between your legs. You dig your heels into the small of his back, angling yourself slightly to keep him from missing that little sensitive spot inside of you, resting comfortably against it until he feels ready to abuse it.

“You’re so big,” you reply and clench around him, fluttering from need mixed with the lack of movement, “Please, Joel.”

“I barely fit,” he groans.

“Joel,” you say again, a little more impatiently, and it earns you a painful thrust. Your mouth hangs open in a silent shout, your toes curling and your eyes falling shut.

Joel starts to fuck you roughly, slamming his hips up into you over and over again. His face is contorted by concentration, beads of sweat forming around his temples as he pistons his cock in and out of your weeping pussy.

You tremble in his arms, feel the pain of the wall behind you being pressed into the bones of your hips and your back, but the sensation of the fat head of his cock rubbing against your g-spot has you forgetting about any discomfort. It cancels out everything so beautifully.

You’ve forgotten how to moan, maybe even your name too. The only noises leaving you are whimpers or whines that make you closer to a wounded animal than a fully-fledged human. You take whatever he can give you, throw your head back and feel him latch onto your neck.

“Fuck me, oh— shit, Joel,” you cry, voice still sore and tired from the way he has used your mouth. The sound has an effect; Joel’s movements aren’t as controlled and consistent as just a moment before.

“Knew you wanted it,” he pants against your skin, looks down between you to stare at your breasts whilst impaling you repeatedly, “Knew it from— Christ… that’s good — Knew it from the moment you called me that name. What was it?”

“A fucking asshole,” you interrupt before he can answer his own question. Joel laughs quietly, falters just briefly. You can feel him twitching inside of your cunt; he must be close.

“Pull out,” you say breathlessly at a particularly sharp thrust to your g-spot which makes you shudder. The words are completely ignored by him. You repeat them a little louder, but it seems that he is willfully ignoring you, and it makes you panic slightly.

Joel groans as you start thrashing in his arms, clenching involuntarily around his length as you try to get away from him.

“Pull out. Joel,” you order but there’s hardly anything dominant about you.

“Fuck no,” he chuckles through a moan, gritting his teeth as he continues his torturous thrusts. By now, it just hurts because your orgasm fades so quickly and the sensation in your body becomes replaced by fear.

Oh.

This position had been chosen wisely by him. You are trapped between him and the wall just like before, and this time, he holds you in place so roughly that it hurts to try and fight him. You want to stretch your legs to feel the safety of the ground in your home beneath your feet, but Joel seems determined to ruin your safest space.

“No, please, please pull out, Joel,” you whimper to no avail, clawing at his back. His hands are rough on your thighs, nails digging brutishly into the soft flesh of your plump legs. He has you exactly where he wants you.

“Keep your mouth shut and take it,” he growls. Then his hips stutter, and he pushes his pelvis harshly into yours as he empties himself inside of your body.

It feels dirty. You feel dirty.

Warmth spreads inside of your cunt, your walls welcoming every single drop of his come like some kind of biological instinct in a world so cruel. You wanted this, you know this, but you don’t want the possible consequences of it.

There is no doubt what this is about for him. He is claiming you as his; marking you with evidence of who you belong to and fuck, even better if you end up with the ultimate mark of possession in a primal world as this; round and swollen with his kid.

Joel pulls out and carefully puts you down onto the floor after a moment. He grunts as he tucks away his spent dick, steps back and lets you slide down the wall when your legs give out.

The lights above you seem brighter. You feel sticky and warm, but still unsatisfied from not having reached your own high as the situation seconds earlier brutally ripped you from coming apart. You have seed dripping out of you onto the floor, and Joel doesn’t spare you a glance.

Instead, you just suddenly hear your front door.

You’re alone, and you hate him. You hate him so much that you can’t stop thinking about him, furiously rubbing your clit until you gasp quietly into the empty room and pushing the remainder of his come out as your cunt contracts into pleasure.

He needs to come back. Just once. Just to feel this again, but by the doing of his fingers or his hands, maybe even his cock.

You know that he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us #joel miller x you #my writing #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #mean!joel

1K notes · View notes

grassyhorizon45 · 1 month

Note

Could you do a fic where y/n has did, but it doubting themselves and convincing themselves they don't have it? Or just more fics with did. I love reading them but I can't find very many

ok.. so this rotted my brain a little and ended up becoming maybe quite long :D srry in advanced for all the DID terms and such :3 pt 2 will come soon I promise.

Help.

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 (soon) Marauders x Y/n but she realises something a little different about herself and the insecurity starts to build.

Warnings: A small bit of yelling, mostly fluff...and a few big words :D

Words: 718

It was subtle at first…

“H-Huh? What do you mean potion class was yesterday?”

“How did I end up here again?”

Then the voices, occasional laughs no one else could hear—

“Siri, I'm h-hearing things again…”

Remus heard from across the room. “Again bunny?” “That's not good, maybe we should talk to a professor about it?” Sirius suggested.

Y/n refused…… refused to alert the professors of her anomaly, refused to admit it was hindering her ability to function—

Refused to admit it bothered her a lot.

“I told you about the party three times already… What do you mean ‘I never mentioned anything about a party’??!” James put a hand on Sirius's shoulder at the sight of Y/n tensing up. “Calm down Pads, there's no need to yell.

Sirius took a deep breath, “I just… d-don't understand, love.”

……I don't understand either.

* * *

“I think I found an answer,” Remus said when they were hanging out in the boys’ room one day.

“An answer?” asked James. “To Y/n’s sudden… forgetfulness.”

“And the voices?” Y/n couldn't stop herself from blurting. Remus smiled to himself proudly, “And the voices, bunny.”

“You found the cause, Moons?” Sirius walked over to the boy whose nose was deep into his book, ruffling Remus’ light brown hair.

“It's called Dissociative Identity Disorder…”

“Disso- Wh-What?” Y/n couldn't catch the word.

“A character in this book has it… He's very detached sometimes and he tends to forget events he and his friends witnessed; so kind of like you, bunny.”

“D-Detached? D-Do I-?” James nodded at Y/n’s question. “Sometimes, baby.”

“He talks to himself occasionally too,” Remus added about the character’s description. “The protagonist thinks it's schizophrenia, but the narrator says it's cause of the voices in his head–”

“Imma stop you there, Moony,” Sirius butt-in as he saw the slight panic growing in Y/n's eyes. “For one, how do we know if this ‘identity disorder’ thing isn’t something the author made up, and two, if our bunny actually has it. Additionally if so, what do we do about it?”

Sirius made a valid point, yet all Y/n's mind could cling on to was how accurate Remy’s fictional character resembled the things she was experiencing.

“Baby, you okay?” James put a steady hand around her waist.

Y/n blinked a few times, bringing herself back to the present.

“Y-Yeah, I'm good,” she assured her three worried looking boyfriends. “C-Can you write the d-disorder down for me Remy? I think I'll hit the library.”

“Why don't we pay the library a visit together? I'm down to crack this case,” said Sirius, eager to get started.

“Sirius Orion Black wanting to visit the library?” James gasped sarcastically. “Never heard of it,” beamed Remus.

Y/n giggled, “Okay, okay. You guys can come too.”

* * *

Digging deeper into this so-called ‘Dissociative Identity Disorder’, there were subdiagnoses like OSDD: Other Specified Dissociative Disorder or just amnesia itself could be a possibility.

Y/n's boyfriends all had their heads wrapped around learning things like multiple personalities, dissociative amnesia, headspace theory, and even causes of DID.

“I d-don't even have ‘alters’......"

"Guys, it's not so important, we can just let it slide you know…” Y/n mumbled, hating the silence of endless research.

“Plus Jamie, you have a match against Hufflepuff tomorrow… Shouldn't you practice?”

“You're right,” James remembered. “I do have a match…”

Remus shrugged, “Go ahead Prongs, we don't mind.”

James said a quick thanks before hurrying off. Y/n turned to look at Sirius. The black haired was sprawled on the library table, snoring softly.

Was never a bookworm that man, unlike Remus.

“Rem, I think we should leave it,” Y/n said to him as he asked yet another ‘are you experiencing this’ question.

“We just wanna help you figure this out bunny…”

“I know… But it's not really a big deal and it's probably just me being forgetful and a touch of sleep deprivation anyways. Look, even Siri’s fast asleep… At least take a break, love?”

“Alright.”

It wasn't that Y/n didn't trust her significant others, nor was it really because she was tired. All she wanted was to shut off all possibilities that she could actually be mentally unstable, to make sure she wasn't being a walking ‘waste of time’.

Yet...

She couldn't shake the bugging thought that this whole thing was somehow a facade......

A trick her mind had orchestrated for attention...

...what?

#it's gonna be one heck of a ride guys #requests are still welcomed! :D #fanfic #marauders #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #poly!marauders x reader #remus x reader #james x reader #sirius x reader #the marauders #marauders era #dissociative identity disorder #did system #did osdd #harry potter

109 notes · View notes

amphitriteswife · 6 months

Text

📝✂️Ror/ Snv characters as Students📝✂️

Qin shin huang:

🪭 never listens to the teacher. Like ever. He just does a lot of shit and the teacher is fed up with him so they let it slide

🪭 He’s the type of student to never study or show up and still pass with ease. No one knows how, not even the teachers.

🪭’ Qin you have had like 43 periods of missed lesson and it’s not even the second semester. How the hell did u even pass my test’ ‘Sir, i am literally God’s chosen emperor’

🪭 If you’re partnered up with him, prepare to take the lead cause bro either doesn’t know shit or he aint even present to begin with

🪭Even though he doesn’t do much for projects, he still buts whatever you need for it as a way to repay you. Including if he gets food or drinks, he’s paying for them too.

🪭Has very random subjects. Mainly cause they have China in them, including Chinese.

🪭 ‘Alright, what subjects do you wish to choose to take exams from?’ ‘China’

🪭 Violates dress codes. You need to dress in uniform? He’ll wear the most lavish suit you have ever laid your eyes upon. The school has a gala and you need to dress fancy? He’ll pull up w the most casual and basic outfit ever.

🪭 If he’s actually present, which is a rare sight, he’s usually loud. Mainly cause he has lots of friends and basically knows everyone since you can get along with him greatly.

🪭 complains about a lot of subjects. Math? He hates it. Biology? It gives him big brain moment and he doesn’t get it. Literature? Not Chinese? He don’t want anything to do with it.

🪭 ‘Ma’am i’m innocent, why does thou must bestows such suffering upon me?’ ‘Qin i just asked you if you could read page 34 out loud’

🪭 popular with girls. U know how bro rizzed up Alvitr? Yeah he does that with other girls too. He’s one of the popular dudes so it’s not like it’s hard either💀

🪭He’s a kpop stan. You can’t prove me otherwise. He listens to BTS, Straykidz, Ateez, KAI, EXO, Tri.be, Itzy and a lot more.

🪭 has lots of friends to the point he almost knows the whole school. Even the new comers.

🪭He a player actually. You know how bro had like idk 39291819101 concubines? Yeah that doesn’t change here either. ‘Hannah? She was In February. Mao mao? She’s so last week’

🪭Throws house parties. The extravagant ones too. Big house, a pool, big garden, many floors. You name it. Funny thing is: it aint even the main house.

🪭won the vote for: ‘Who will most likely become a stripper at the end of the school year?’ In the year books. Most think it’s not even cause he needs money but because he’ll do it for fun

🪭 passed out during the School Gala cause he heard someone say that Sushi is Japanese.

🪭doesn’t eat cafeterias food. ‘I, Qin Shi Huang, refuse to eat this….stuff…I have my own glorious food. You’ll never catch him eat anything that isn’t Asian food.

🪭Bothers ppl during lectures. As in he turns and just stares. He’ll either smile or just keep staring to annoy you.

🪭 always goes to school functions, yet ends up being the one yall wait for to go back. He just disappears when yall arrive and spawns back 34 min late.

🪭Has started a campaign for trips to China

🪭 Had a lot of baby momma’s. He a cool dad and rich enough for it. Lowkey knows how to be a dad too

Poseidon:

🔱 he’s in the school’s swimming team and even won awards for it.

🔱 straight A+ student. He a boring one okay. He dont party, doesn’t even hang out after school. Straight home and learning.

🔱 You’ll only catch him drinking water during breaks and eating nutritious. He actually enjoys salad’s. Especially when it’s middle eastern ones. Does he know what’s in it? He thinks. But he dont care. If it healthy and it bussing it works for him.

🔱 ‘My body is a temple’ ahh student. It wouldn’t be surprising if his ass did Yoga or some meditation.

🔱 only goes to school trips if it’s on the beach or it’s for a grade. He the type of person that actually does the assignment instead of having fun.

🔱 he doesn’t have many friends and usually sticks to his brothers or has his earphones in. He’s the one that’s usually silent during that time too

🔱 He’s the honor graduate. Didn’t give a speech tho. He just grabbed the diploma and dipped. He did grab some food that was prepared

🔱 actually has a gf??🤨 like legit, and she’s the captain of the swimming team. He lowkey simps but he’s Poseidon so you probably will never notice.

🔱 was at a house party once. ONCE. Bro got wasted. He didn’t know punch contained alcohol, bro thought it was lemonade. Ate too much with alcohol in his system. I think yall can guess that it didn’t end well for em😭

🔱 He wears casual clothes, sometimes blazers. He doesn’t like yoga pants cause they look ‘lanky’ not even during Yoga

🔱 He takes notes during classes. Like every class. Every moment. He either writes them or types it on his laptop. Only shared with ppl likes. It’s always organized too.

🔱 if you’re partnered up with him, it can go two ways. He’s either doing only his part and leaves you to fend for yourself. Or he helps (rare sight) with the difficult parts.

🔱 he prefers communicating in the chat document. That way he can be home and still communicate if he needs to, he doesn’t like calling cause his brothers are loud asf, and he wouldn’t talk until necessary.

🔱 supports the school library. Mostly because it’s quiet and he likes quiet, but also because he wants to read a lot and it’s an excuse to not go home. He usually studies there too.

🔱 goes to waterparks during school breaks and posts pics on insta. Insta only too. No snap, no facebook, no bereal, no nothing. Even if he does have it, he doesn’t want others to know.

🔱 surprisingly has discord. But it’s only to play games. He curses ppl out in voice chat.

🔱 would either never have kids or ends up being a teenage dad. Dw tho, his gf can support him if he ends up being a stay at home husband.

🔱 models for extra money. Mostly tight clothes cause they gotta use that body for good advertisement.

🔱 he also hits the gym regularly, so he posts pics about him at the gym too.

🔱 has an onlyfans?????

Loki:

🎭 probably sees the school therapist. Every month too. They give him candy.

🎭 Actually likes literature, art, music and surprisingly p.e🤨 he likes p.e cause he can get his mind off things and look good

🎭 probably has or is in an emo phase. He has his ear pierced and wears black cargo pants. Might even have some tattoo’s.

🎭 He either annoys ppl or is very quiet. Although ppl are mostly scared when he’s quiet cause he unpredictable.

🎭 He probably goes out for walks with his earphones in after school. Like y’know when it’s raining a lil and you can smell the grass n all while you listen to music? Yeah that’s his nostalgic experience.

🎭 He writes poems in his free times or spents a lot of time in the atelier.

🎭 Had a very messy break up with sigyn and it was the hot topic in the school. It was in the school’s newspaper and everything. Even the teachers knew

🎭 he listens to a lot of music. Mostly during making art or writing. He mostly listens to: Mitsuki, Chase Atlantic, Beach Weather, The Weekend, Tylor the Creator and The Neighborhood.

🎭He either hates or loves school trips. Even if he hates the school trip he still goes, mainly because Sigyn goes. But he won’t talk to her though. Cause he too scared.

🎭 He takes aesthetically pleasing pictures of different things. He has a nature page, a dark royal one and a school one. All of em are on insta though.

🎭 he does sometimes go to parties, but he either spends a lot of time with his friends and gets wasted or goes home early.

🎭He’s friends with Hercules and Ares. Who are mostly concerned for his well being.

🎭 he also might have gotten into heavy metal and vkei. His ass might may have since it cause Sigyn likes it.

🎭 if you pared with him you, he either does stuff ir leaves it and does it on the last moment before tge deadline. His ass likes working alone. Secretly prays to be put w Sigyn

🎭 Legit had a mental breakdown in class once. I think bro is used to having em.

🎭 Got voted to be one of those pissy teachers later on in life in the year book.

That’s all for now💀 might make a part two w more characters.

⭐️tag list⭐️ @miss-seanymph-pani @tinyy-tea-cup @heldril @nicasdreamer @monstertreden @riseofamoonycake @imperfectbloodmoon @salmonpoki @snowmantita @rukia-writes @swallowtail-lotus @brokensenseofhumor @bromeliae

#shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok #snv poseidon #ror poseidon #snv #poseidon #ror #ror qin shi huang #snv qin shi huang #ror poseidon x reader #snv poseidon x reader #ror characters as student #snv characters as students #ror loki x reader #ror loki #snv loki #poseidon🌊🔱

225 notes · View notes

m1ssunderstanding · 7 months

Text

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 3.3

John having to get high out of his mind because he knows he's invited Paul to come play with him is so so sad. These are the same guys who used to sit facing each other on a bed playing guitars for hours, and now this is them?

Is John calling Paul “Jack Lemon” a reference to “some like it hot”? Because if so, I have questions. Anyway, when your estranged best friend shows up to hang out with you and a bunch of people, talking about being in love again and getting jizzed on is extremely normal and acceptable behavior.

This jam session is so fucking painful though. Paul's doing his best to just push through and get them to actually play something and John's just too far gone.

My theory: there's two reasons he did this. 1. He's avoidant and the last thing he's going to do is let on how bad he needs John in his life and how scared he is that if John gets back with Yoko that that'll be difficult. And 2. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't. If he'd kept it from John that Yoko wanted him back and later John cried to him about how much he missed Yoko or something? Paul can't have that.

John singing a snatch of Yesterday before a take of “Whatever gets you through the Night”??? Did either of them ever write a song where they weren't thinking about the other? Did they ever have a minute of peace without the other rattling the bars of the cage in his brain?

“Hold me Darling, come on, listen to me. I won't do you no harm.” Duh it's about Paul. Oh my gosh.

And with Bless You I'm always so torn. There are so many obvious references to Paul which the doc points out beautifully, but situationally it could also be about Yoko. Maybe it's about both of them in the same way that don't let me down is about both of them.

Anyway the cosmic visuals are gorgeous.

Why'd you have to phrase it like that though? Twice?

Hall of Fame moment. It's a high point for him career-wise and he chose to pull Paul into his spotlight. Not only to sing Paul's song, not only to name-drop him, but to publicly call him an official romantic title. Not “boyfriend” or “ex-wife” which both could've been much more mocking if that's what he was trying to do. But “fiance”. It's official and respected, but it's still got the lustful, unsettled, connotation that something like “husband” lacks.

Johann Weener, everyone. What a loser.

Everyone who still refers to Lennon Remembers like it's the fucking Bible listen to this. It doesn't go on for the next five years, let alone fifty.

John refusing to walk to blocks to sign the papers when George and Paul flew over the ocean. And only on the basis of astrology. He really didn't want the divorce. My heart aches for him. But he made his bed as they say.

I'm putting on my tinfoil hat again here, but I do just have to point out that one of John's first songs, “Hello, Little Girl,” has a line that goes, “you never seem to see me standing there”. And the earliest draft of WISHST, which was started soon after, answers that line. “I saw you standing there.” (Yes, it said you originally, not her). So maybe. Just maybe. That song wasn't just a Paul song, but a song that John knew Paul had put a message in for him. Okay, I apologize for the insanity. On another note, I do wonder if he ever found out what Paul thought of that.

Interviewer: ≈ at this point, do you like writing by yourself, or do you want to write with Paul again?≈ John: ≈well it's a bit of both. It's the same for Paul. We were talking about it a week ago. Okay, cool. So they definitely talked openly and honestly about potentially writing together again.

John, about their partnership, “There was always the feeling that someone was there if you needed it.” Paired with the gayest picture ever taken and then Paul singing “if I can do anything at all, let me help.” Thanks. I hate it.

John was so excited for New Orleans! What happened? I mean I have my theory based on May's book and the sudden shift in behavior. But it's pretty dark.

You know how crazy Paul is about John in interviews now? How he can't seem to keep John's name out of his mouth? John was worse in the seventies. He's promoting his Rock’n’Roll album, talking unprompted and romantically about how he met Paul, when the interviewer reminds him what relationship he's supposed to be romanticizing right now. So John remembers too and dedicates the album to Yoko who he's just got back together with.

Biconic quote.

Interviewer asks, after John's brought him up, if John's pleased with how well Paul's doing. John expresses his relief that Ringo has "found himself a niche" and then

I really do think that last bit sums up a big chunk of how John feels about Paul, and why he feels alright playing dirty against Paul or slagging Paul off. Why it would have been the furthest thing from his mind that Paul actually struggled or was insecure. Why Paul had to remind him, “I'm only a person like you, love.”

What an insane thing to think, let alone say. What if Julian had heard that? I'm pretty sure Julian and Paul weren't in contact, really at all, until the eighties, right? So John's doing better than he is at this point (I mean he's his dad, he should be). John is insecure about every possible thing and compares himself to Paul in every possible way.

Baby. He needed some serious help. The thing that sucks about being ahead of your time is that you also have to live in a world that's behind your needs.

And then. “There's always a friendly tv channel to turn to that's going to make you feel less alone.” I wonder if Paul “Call Me Back Again, John I know you're not that tired from the baby just let me in the fucking door” McCartney heard this? It's possible with how obsessive they were, but it's also impossible with how busy he kept himself.

Okay, here's the first story we've been missing about Paul experiencing negative emotions. And, of course, as always in this doc, it's paired perfectly with “Don't Let it Bring you Down” which is the musical mission statement of Paul's clenched-jawed smile philosophy.

"I tend to get a bit absolute in my statements." Yes, John. Yes you do. Another quote that Big Lennon fans should keep in mind.

John on the three weeks he took to decide if he wanted to continue the band after the first Hamburg trip: The others were mad because we could've been making money. Yeah, John, Paul suddenly had to work in a factory after he'd thrown away an educated, white-collar career (the first in his family) to be in your band. I'd be pissed too if you just didn't even bother to call. Anyway I just hate how casual John is about it. Someone who never had to worry about money is just never going to get that.

John doesn't even remember a ballpark number of how much they were making. Paul remembers exactly bragging to his professors that he was making fifteen a week in Hamburg. Sorry to go on and on about this right before Paris, but to me it's an important difference between them.

Anyway, the fact that Paris was more than just a vacation for them. The fact that – according to Stuart and John at least – they might not have come back. It's dizzying. They really thought about just running off together. I wonder what made them decide to come back and continue the band.

No offense if you do, but I don't personally believe in this stuff. What would the motivation have been for the tarot reader to tell him that? Either way, fuck him.

Gosh the live version of “Call Me Back Again”. You feel it, physically, how bad he wants this phonecall. And the desperation from such a successful man is fantastic. Literally, John, how did it feel to be the only man in the world that could get Paul McCartney to beg? “Pretty baby” “what can I do?” “Boohoohoo babe.” “I tried the operator, but I just can't get through.”

Reporter at the Wings over America tour: No John Lennon, no George Harrison, and no Ringo Starr, just Paul McCartney. And for everyone here tonight, that seemed to be plenty! Obviously he's loving this praise after all the negative press. Anyone would, and Paul needs it more than most people actually. But I bet part of him is like “stop. Don't say it like that, they already hate me enough as it is.”

How many times has John admitted that he finds Paul attractive? “It was no surprise, you know, when the kids – girls saw him, they go ‘ooh! Ooh!’ right away, you know?”

“I know it's true. It's all because of you.” Playing over this? Are you kidding me? Anyway I've never seen the picture version of this, so I thought I'd screenshot it.

But actually, in a way, the original written lyrics to Now and Then are less depressing than what he sang on the demo. “I know it's true, I'm still in love with you, and if I make it through, it's all because of you,” is obviously sad because they're both married to other people. But at least in that version, John's saying his own personal resilience to life's struggles comes from his relationship with Paul, which is nice. Whereas when John, who is sliding into a self-hating deep depression I'm comparing himself to Paul's phenomenal success, sings “it's all because of you” in a general sense, it almost feels like a callback to the ‘I'm shit and I couldn't do anything but be a Beatle (and ride Paul's boat)’ quote. Which is heartbreaking. I wish he could've recognized his own genius.

But yeah either way it's enough to make your heart heavy. If anyone needs a good cry, just go to the last five minutes of this. That should've been the now and then music video, but Paul's too scared of feelings. Which. You know. Considering how much it affects me, I can't even imagine how much it affects him. So he gets a pass.

“Why must we be alone? It's real love. It's real.”

#mclennon #paul mccartney #john lennon #the beatles #ringo starr #george harrison #understanding lennon mccartney #ulm

174 notes · View notes

nerogeto · 2 months

Text

Getting punished by Nozel Silva (smut)

MDNI 🔞

Hello Hello!!! This is my first time writing for anything but I’m almost done watching Black Clover and let’s just say I got some ideas. Who best to start with then the Captain of the Silver Eagles himself. Reader who is Vice Captain of the Black Bulls hears Nozel talking mad shit to Noelle. She decided to give him a piece of her mind but things don’t go as planned. Enjoy ^3^

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

I’m not sure I how I got here and by here I mean under Nozel Silva, Captain of the Silver Eagles. I myself being a Vice Captain of the Black Bulls which is known for being the worst Magic Knight squad in the Clover Kingdom wasn’t expecting to be getting my guts rearranged by this man.

He was always so rude when it came to those he thought were underneath him just because he’s a royal. Even treats his little sister who’s my subordinate like utter trash but yet he was always so nice to me and I’m a commoner.

However we found ourselves working closely together on several missions that the Wizard King had given us. I guess that’s where he was able to see me shine and proved to him that I’m just as powerful if not more than some snob nosed royal or noble. As we worked more together he noticed he started taking a liking to me. He says liking but in reality he had a huge crush on me.

I noticed he’d always get jealous if he sees another man try and talk to me. He’d cock an attitude and try not to speak to me but I was always able to get him to crack that tough wall he has managed to build up.

He hated me for it but he would never treat me the way he would if I was someone else like Noelle for example she’s his own flesh and blood.

During one of the big events the capital was holding that made all captains and squads come together. Vanessa asked if I would walk with her to the bathroom and I couldn’t refuse. Knowing her, she’s drunk and would probably forget where to go back to. Once we reached the bathroom I stood outside the door and waited.

“You seriously think you have any right to speak to me, a disgrace like you? Don’t even think you can just walk up to me and casually talk to me like you know me.”

That voice. I know it from anywhere. “Nozel please, I just wanted to say thank you for putting me in with the Black Bulls. I’ve learned so much and I’m getting stronger too.”

“I highly doubt that. You are and forever will be a failure and a mistake. Our mother would still be here if it wasn’t for you. You killed her. Took her away from us. So in my eyes no matter how strong or capable you become you will always be a mist-“

“HEY! Stop talking to her like that you piece of shit!” I screamed and ran over to them. “Excuse me? How dare you speak to me like that commoner.” “I don’t give two shits, you aren’t going to be talking like that to my subordinate.”

“I can have you executed for the way you’re talking to me.” I rolled my eyes at him which sparked a fire in his eyes. “I’m not gonna sit here and listen to you call her that. In fact if you actually gave a shit you would know that Noelle has made so much progress that your royal brain of yours can’t comprehend. She is a major asset to not only the Black Bulls but to this Kingdom.”

Before I could continue the bathroom door opened and Vanessa walks out trying to find me. “Uh y/n? Where did you go?”

“Over here Ness.” I yelled out. As soon as she walked up to me she could feel the tension in the air. “Uh is everything okay?” She asked. I looked at her with a smile.

“Noelle.” Her pink eyes widened a bit. “Uh yes ma’am?”

“Do you mind taking Vanessa and heading back to the squad. I’m not don’t here quite yet.” Noelle looked down and shook her head. “Yes ma’am.” As I watched them walk out of the door leading back to the event, I turned my head and looked at Nozel.

“You shouldn’t treat her like that.” Nozel walked closer to me. “And what do you know? Your trash just like her.” Sound of a my hand slapping his face can be heard through the entire room. “Fuck you.” I started walking away from him before I did something I regretted that could get me killed.

I didn’t get very far before having my wrist grabbed and pulled me to an empty room in the building and locked it behind me. “You have a lot of nerve doing that y/n.” His hand wrapped around my throat and started to squeeze. “I’ll punish you for that, but I’m gonna have some fun first.” He pulled my blouse down pulling my tits out and started squeezing them.

“Nozel? What are you doing?” I couldn’t push him away not that I wanted to anyways. “Well I’m gonna do exactly what you said to do. But not without punishing you for that slap.” He says as he turns me around lifting up my skirt in the process. “Count and if you don’t I’ll start over.”

SMACK

“One.” My eyes already rolling back.

SMACK

“T-two”

SMACK SMACK

“Three. Fo-ur.”

This went on until he reached 10, my ass was on fire but I loved every second of it. “Now that should teach you not to speak to me in such a way again.”

“I thought this was because I slapped you. Unless you liked it.” I smirked feeling cocky until I felt him slam 2 fingers inside of me. “Oh fuck.” It hurt but it felt so good, I couldn’t believe with was happening right now. “Just shut up and let me fuck you.” He says as he turns me back around picks me and sets me on the table that was in the middle of the room.

“This is what you wanted, right baby?” He asked as he slipped his fingers back in shoving his face in my pussy. He was eating me out like he was a starved man. At this point I was a moaning mess. The way he was sucking on my clit while his fingers curled right into the spot that had me seeing stars.

I was in a state of euphoria my body feeling so hot. “Fuck you taste so good.”

“N-Nozel so so good.” I moaned out he started to chuckle but it made me slightly lose my mind even more. “More please.”

“Yeah baby? You want my cock?” I shook my head yes not being able to form a response. “Better cum on my fingers first and then I’ll let you have my cock.” He got to work right away slipping a third finger inside of me as he suck on my clit like a lollipop. He wasn’t holding back, oh no he wanted me to cum all over him. “Darling you taste so good, just like how I imagined now just let go for me and I’ll give you what you really want.” His dick.

“Gonna c-um! Nozel!!!” At this point I didn’t even try to be quiet, no one has ever made me cum the way he just did. I want more.

“Good girl.” He praised. “You did so well for me, you think you got one more in you?” I shook my head yes and he finally unzipped his pants pulling himself out of its confinements. My eyes went wide. “Uh Nozel… are you sure that’s gonna fit?” His size was very intimidating but looking at it made my pussy even more wet.

“If it gets to be too much let me know. I don’t wanna hurt you.” His words were genuine. He came closer and tapped the tip of his cock on my clit. “Your so wet, all for me?”

“Yes Nozel, all for you.” He chuckled before slipping his tip past my entrance. I’ve had sex before but non as big as him. My body running hot as he pushed himself in even more. “Ah. So big.” I said putting my head down covering my eyes.

“Now don’t hide from me I wanna see your face when I’m balls deep in your tight pussy.” Oh this man is going to be the death of me. He waited a few minutes letting me adjust. “God you feel so good, so warm and wet. I hope you know after this you will be mine. No one else will ever be able to see you like this. Touch you like this. After this you’re gonna know your place. Now be a good girl and fucking take it.” “AH NOZEL!!”

I screamed at the top of my lungs. His brutal pace was delicious, addicting and I was wanted more. His hands were on my hips pretty sure leaving bruises with his fingertips. Hearing him whimper was the icing on the cake though. A man this strong whimpering just from me.

The butterflies in my stomach were going crazy, he lifted my leg and hooked it over his shoulder letting him reach into deeper depths. “Oh fuck. Nozelll your so deep. Feel you in my stomach. So full.”

The way I was talking was starting to get to him, who knew he had a little praise kink.

His pace started to become more erratic, it wasn’t helping that my walls kept clenching around him. He knows he isn’t gonna last much longer. So he reached his hand down to where we were connected and started rubbing my clit fast. My body started to convulse, I’m not gonna last much longer. He was so deep that i was getting a belly bulge every time he thrusted into me the sight on top of the feeling was bringing me to tears.

“Awe what’s wrong darling, am I hurting you?” He asked me but still sounding breathless. “Feels. So. Good. Gonna cum. Please… Don’t stop.” His lips caught mine in a heated yet passionate kiss. He put his everything into it. This was his way of confessing his feelings for me. He wasn’t good with his words but his actions made up for it.

“Go ahead and cum baby, I’m not far behind. Where do you want it?” He asked me, I opened my eyes and looked into his. “Inside.”

Something snapped because after I said that his pace was even more harder. His finger didn’t cease rubbing my clit either. “Ohhh fuckkk Nozelll! CUMMINGG!!” My vision went white. My was speaking gibberish at this point. His hand snatched my chin to make me look at him, “Watch me as I cum inside of this pussy and claim it as my own. Now tell me, whose pussy is this? Yell it, scream it. I don’t care, I want everyone to know who is making you feel this good.

“Yours Nozel! My pussy is yours!” I screamed not even caring anymore. “That’s right, my pussy, you belong to me. Now take my cum.” Warm and hot cum floods my insides and there’s so much. “That’s it take it all. Good girl, good fucking girl.”

He pulled out and watched his cum start to slowly trickle out of my cunt. He took his finger gathering his cum and pushing it back inside. “Ah Nozel, I’m sensitive.” He lightly laughed. “Just don’t want my cum to go to waste.”

#nozel silva smut #julius novachrono x reader #nozel silva x reader #black clover #black clover fanfiction #black clover nozel #anime fanfic #anime smut #first time writing

90 notes · View notes

themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 2 months

Text

In Love and War IIII

Author's Note: I hit a massive writer's slump, thank you for all your patience! Have some Smut, as a treat!

Content Warnings: SMUT with Some Plot I Swear--Masturbation, I guess there's kinda a hint of hate-fucking here but only if you squint, Exhibitionism, Thigh Riding (it's always the hands and thighs of this man I swear it's all I think about); Canon Typical Violence, Character Death (Unnamed), Mentions of Starvation/Abuse.

Summary: Reader grapples with her feelings towards Rhysand and what she has to do to save her people.

Previous Chapter/ Masterlist

---------

Rhysand is the enemy. His hands have spilled the blood of thousands of innocents. He’s most likely torturing people as we speak. He. Is. The. Enemy.

So why do I lie awake, hours after he’s gone, still thinking about how his hands had felt on my skin? Why do I lay here, tracing the path his lips had taken down my throat and collarbones, around my chest and sides, imagining what might have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted?

He is the enemy. I plan to seduce and destroy him. I will make him pay for all the pain he has caused me and my people.

But who is supposed to tell my body that everything that happened tonight isn’t real? That it’s all part of the plan to get him to let his guard down, I’m not actively interested in sleeping with him. I’m not!

It’s just that I haven’t slept with anybody in a long time--that has to be it right? What other explanation do I have for the lingering ache between my legs? For the wandering thoughts of what those hands might have felt like between my thighs?

Every time I close my eyes I replay that moment: The feel of his warm body atop mine, callused hands roaming my skin, lips sucking marks into my throat. Gods I let Rhysand give me hickeys!

I’m going to die of shame.

If the need boiling in the pit of my stomach doesn’t take me out first.

I absolutely refuse to do anything about it! I won’t. Selling my soul to get information is one thing, to try and get off while imagining my enemy is a whole other evil. I can’t! It’s all kinds of fucked up.

I think there might actually be something wrong with me, because the more I try and tell myself it’s wrong, the more wetness I feel between my legs, the tighter the coil in my belly grows. My body actively wants something my brain refuses to let me acknowledge, and so I lay there in a bed that smells so much like him, trying to keep my hands off my still bare skin. I should, at the very least, get up and find where Rhysand had thrown my sweater. He’ll get the wrong idea if he comes back to find me still topless in bed. The middle of the night’s a hard time to get information out of anyone, there’s no reason to try and pick up where we left off tonight. I should just go to sleep.

I pull the pillow over my head and try to imagine all the gruesome, brutal ways he’s probably torturing his captives so I’m no longer laying here thinking about his body. It should work like an ice bath, right? But my mind will not linger on thoughts of blood, only how hot he’d looked scrubbing it off those swirls of ink around his bare chest earlier.

He’s going to be the death of me!

It’s like I can’t escape him. The scent of him is all over the bed, no matter where I lay or how many blankets I shift around. His touch lingers on my skin, the more I try to fight it, the more I find my hands trying to replicate the feeling. I roll my nipple between my fingers, imagining the feel of his calluses against my sensitive peaks. My other hand slides down my stomach, slipping easily beneath the worn waistband of my pants.

This is wrong!

I pull my hand away with a groan. I cannot be doing this.

He is the enemy.

I am doing the seducing. Not him. Me! And I have to have more willpower than this. I can’t be so Cauldron damned horny that a couple kisses gets me this worked up! Seriously, how does one male have this much sway over me already?

I can fight this. I am stronger than this…

I make it all of five minutes before my hand is once again sliding beneath my waistband, tracing its way down to the pool of wetness gathering between my thighs.

He is the enemy.

Yet he would have found no resistance if he stayed. I would have easily surrendered under his touch, let it ignite a wildfire beneath my skin until I’d willingly spread my legs and let him take whatever he needed from my body. I hate the very thought of it, but I know, as my hips buck feverishly against my own hand, that I would have done it.

“Rhys,” the whimper slips past my lips before I can bite it down, pleasure licking white hot down my spine. I’m too far gone to even be mortified at this point, chasing that high while my imagination runs wild with all the things that might have been tonight.

It’s unfair that the sheets smell so strongly of him, only fueling my imagination, all the way to the edge of such jarring bliss. Only then does my body finally relax, my thoughts satiated for now. I can be mortified in the morning. Surely, I’ll hate myself in the light of day, but tonight, tonight I’m exhausted and I finally feel comfortable enough to sleep.

----

My dreams are full of my people hurling rocks at me, chasing me out of the Grasslands, calling me a traitor and a whore, Tam telling me never to come back; I try to visit my parents grave, but can never find it, as even in death they cannot bear to be near me. The guilt I feel upon waking is worse than I imagined it could be. How could I be doing this? How could I want it?

The guilt makes my skin itch. Every bit of me feels like it needs to be scrubbed down to the bone. I climb out of the bed and go to the basin of water to attempt to get clean. There’s a small mirror hanging from a string against the wall, the worn glass giving a spotty view of the bruises across my throat. I’d let Rhysand give me, not just one, but four hickeys, trailing down past my collarbone. There might have been more were it not for my appearance. I trail the damp towel down my torso, fingers ticking against my ribs like piano keys. I’m so godsdamned thin. It’s not unusual, most of my people are, save for Tamlin and his riders--riders always get first dibs on supplies, the rest of us get the scraps, especially when we haven’t been claimed--but I’d never thought about how bad it might look to someone outside of camp. With the scars I bear from my father’s temper, this looks intentional.

I glance up at the circles under my eyes, my reflection in the mirror hollow as a chill runs through me. Supplies have been thin lately, but… Dear old Dad had intentionally withheld supplies from the un-marked in camp as an incentive to get them to bend the knee, Tam knew that, was trained to do it, and he’d been so miserable lately, it wasn’t intentional, right?

I give myself a shake. Tam’s cold even on his good days, but he’d never intentionally do that to me, no matter how unruly I’ve been in the last couple weeks before this mess. Lucien would always sneak me snacks for him on days he was too busy to come see me; I’m just being paranoid. Being here is messing with my brain.

I toss the dirty towel in a bin and untie my hair. There’s no brushes around so I use my fingers to comb through the knots and tie it loosely behind my head. It’s only when I’m done and half way into my discarded sweater that the tent flap blows open and Mor storms her way in.

“Oh good, you’re awake!” She says by way of greeting.

How is she so perky all the time?

There’s a large bag in her hands that she hurls at me with surprising strength. “Time to get dressed! We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

“What’s the occasion?” I should feel excited with the prospect of getting out there and getting new information, but what are the chances we’re going right to Rhysand? How am I supposed to look at him after last night? No I think it’s for the better if I just sit right here in this tent and continue to torture myself with my thoughts.

“Dress first, talk second,” she returns, hands reaching to help untie the bag since I’m moving too slow for her liking. Bits of dark cloth poke out, the bottom of the bag heavy and lumpy in a way that makes me think I’m holding a pair of shoes.

Mor pulls out a top, the material as dark as her own, though hers has sleeves, this has none, just a band across my torso. The inside is lined with fur at least. I don’t even have time to question it before she starts pulling the other stuff out and rushing me to get dressed. There’s a moment where I think she might actually start undressing me if I don’t start moving, so I dip behind the bed for some privacy, clothes bundled under my arm.

The skirt 's more loose fabric cinched around my hips than an actual skirt, nearly all my legs on display. I stare at the vast expanse of my skin and then up at Mor. “Please tell me there’s pants to go with these?” I don’t want to sound ungrateful since my clothes are barely holding on as is, but I also really don’t want to be walking around camp mostly naked either.

“You’ve got nice legs,” she says, eyes roving over me approvingly. “You’ll look hot.”

“I feel naked,” I retort.

“You’ll adjust. Now hurry up!”

The top is warm but it leaves my arms bare, and even the fur lined ankle boots don’t keep me as warm as I would be if I had a pair of pants. “I really don’t want to sound ungrateful-”

“No time for second thoughts, you’re committed to it now.” Mor interrupts, ushering me over to the mirror again to adjust my hair.

Her delicate fingers brush over my throat as she works and she grins at me in the reflection of the mirror. “Have some fun last night, did we?”

A blush makes its way across my cheeks. “Well, um…”

She laughs as she braids, blue eyes twinkling as she continues to watch my reflection. “I see now why he picked this top. Gotta show everyone your his.” Mor rolls her eyes. “Males! Always so territorial. Though, if I were you, I’d give him a few back in return.”

“Why do I have competition?” I blurt out. That’s a stupid question to ask. Look at him! Of course I’d have competition. But, despite myself, a flicker of jealousy worms its way into my chest.

“Oh there’s quite a few people in camp who’d literally kill to be you,” she returns as she pins my hair to the top of my haid. Using her fingers, she pulls a few loose strands free to frame my face. “He’s been eligible for a long time now.”

“How come?” I ask as she grabs my shoulders and turns me around so she can apply some dark makeup under my eyes.

The amusement in her eyes fades a bit as she says, “His wife…” She clears her throat and turns away to find where she left a tube of lip color. “Feyre. She was killed a couple years ago by Amarantha.”

My breath catches in my throat, chest heavy with the thought. “Oh.”

“He’s been a ghost since she died,” Mor gives herself a little shake as she turns back with the color and dabs a bit of maroon on my lips. “I’ve watched all these females throw themselves at him and it’s like he can’t see them. Usually the males in my family move on quick, you know? Gotta keep the bed warm somehow, right?”

I nod, having seen it well enough back home.

“But Rhys…” she sighs. “I thought Rhys died that day too, but now you’re here and I can see a little life in his eyes again. I didn’t think that was possible.”

Gods the guilt is coming back! I should be glad that this monster got a fraction of the pain he caused others inflicted on him, but instead, my heart only aches for him, as if I can feel that pain in my own chest. The female he loved was dead and the monster that killed her was once again knocking on his doorstep. No wonder he’d asked for a distraction last night! And I’d planned to take advantage of that vulnerability.

My stomach turns.

Mor grips my hands tightly. “I’m glad you’re here. I think he needs you, ya know?”

Please, Mother, kill me! Strike me with lightning or let the ground open up and swallow me. I am a horrible, terrible person.

“You’re too kind, Mor, really I don’t think-” but she doesn’t let me finish as she gives herself a little shake to collect herself and starts ushering me towards the door.

“Now we gotta hurry! We’re gonna be late!”

The early morning light rushes to meet us, such a stark contrast to the darkness of the tent. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, her hand on my wrist leading me along, oblivious to how blind I am. Once I can finally see, I try to take stock of my surroundings and get my bearings. The set-up is a semi-circle of tents, all open and bustling with activity. Fae of all shape and sizes hurry from their tents, the males wearing fighting leathers, the females wearing variations of my own get-up. No one even glances our way, save for the lone male stalking towards us. He’s massive, a head taller than everyone he passes, a giant sword strapped between his tightly tucked wings. I recognize the sword as one I’d seen on one of Rhysand’s riders, though I hadn’t gotten a chance to glimpse his face then. He’s handsome, his dark hair tied back out of his face with a long string. A bit of stubble dusts his jaw, barely hiding a scar that cuts his way across his cheek.

“Y/N, this is Cassian,” Mor introduces, no trace of her earlier seriousness to be found. She is once again all smiles. “He’s Rhys’s general.”

General. He certainly looks the part. He could crush my head with his biceps alone if he wanted!

I don’t know how to move in these stupid skirts, let alone curtsey or bow in any sort of way as I would have back home so all I can manage is to dip my head in greeting. “Hello.” I hope it's enough to not offend this hulking mass of a male.

Despite his size, an easy-going grin cuts across his face. “Glad to officially meet you, Y/N!” His voice booms, even under the din of the rushing crowd. “We should get moving, he’s waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” I ask Mor, wrapping my arms around myself as a breeze hits me head on.

“You didn’t tell her?” Cassian returns.

“He told me not to,” Mor retorts as she loops her arm through mine to help lead me forward.

This is not instilling anything but anxiety in me, but this is my chance to look around so I have to take it. Not that the cold helps. It’s an effort to try and count the tents as my teeth start chattering.

We follow the crowd down the hill, past a set of sentries that guard the path at the bottom as we head into the main encampment. Some of the people around whisper to each other in a mixture of languages, but there is too much moving and noise for me to get a good grasp on what’s being said. Mor doesn’t say anything either, just keeps one arm looped in mine and the other in Cassian’s to keep us from getting separated.

Once inside the main encampment, past another set of sentires, the path splits and becomes rows of tents, laid out like city streets. I’ve never seen a camp look so methodically laid out, each space like a well groomed and planned street. There are even amounts of tents on each side, firepits and places to sit breaking up the road between them. It’s all very homey and… permanent. A spike of envy rises in my chest as I take it in. This is not a camp that ups and moves frequently. It is settled and intentional in its spacing. It might not be the cities the Night Court once boasted in the days before Hybern, but it is still far more a city than the Grasslands had ever seen. I try to count them as we pass, but lose my train of thought after fifty, when the road starts to thin and people push in around us from every direction. I will have to get back another time and recount.

The path continues forward, for some time, growing smaller and smaller until we come to a standstill. Mor huffs something about being late as we’re forced to wait under the rising sun as whatever is ahead of us gets closer, one step at a time. Eventually, a large amphitheater comes into view, set deep into the ground like a giant, stone step flanked pit. It must have taken months to dig this deep, let alone shape the stones into such smooth edges. How long has this encampment been here?

It takes what feels like an hour to reach the flat edge at the top where holes have been drilled into it so that banners can be held aloft, each massive pole waving a different flag. There are multiple Night Court black flags, the shimmering triple stars over matching mountains, but there are others too: Twin Wyverns chasing each other’s tales, their golden maws open and ready to snatch and eat the other; A set of bat-like wings open and extended across a crimson flag, an eight point star at its center. Under each banner, crowded atop the steps are fae of all shapes and sizes, all separated into sections, their clothes matching the color of the banner they sit or stand under. I’ve never seen anything like it. I want to take a second to take it in but I can’t focus on any of it. Not when, at the heart of the pit, standing over two bound figures, is the male that claims to be my mate.

My breath hitches in my chest when I see him.

He is the enemy.

This is the male that stormed into our camp all those years ago, this is the male that slaughtered my people in cold blood. Any warmth I had ever seen in those, nearly glowing, violet eyes is gone, only cold indifference remains. Atop his raven hair sits an obsidian crown, the pointed centerpiece glittering with three gems in the center, a nod to the stars marked on the arm of every person crammed into the amphitheater. He wears fighting leathers, but not the ones he’d worn into battle, these are all black, polished to a shine in the early morning light. And his wings! By the Cauldron, I’ve never paid so much attention to anything as I watch the massive membrane flare out behind him, decorated in swirling patterns of violet and blue ink, the patterns a twin to the tattoos that circle over his exposed biceps. He looks every bit a Lord. No, every bit a Dark Prince. Wisps of darkness slither off his shoulders, twining over his fingertips, dancing around his hips and thighs. I feel the power of him in my veins as Cassian leads us down the steps.

No one pays us any mind as we pass, their attention and anger, judging by the shouts they throw, are all honed at the males kneeling at Rhysand’s feet. They’ve been stripped down to their underthings, bare chests slashed with even, precise lines of a blade, the blood long since dried. Both have short, dark hair and eyes so black it looks like all pupil. There are more slashes beneath their eyes, the marks fresher than the others, a few droplets of blood dripping down their cheeks like tears.

Cassian leads us to the bottom row, where I recognize the shadowy figure of Azriel, saving us a spot. The other male stands with his arms crossed over his chest, the dagger he’d been spinning in his hands last night now safely strapped to his thigh. I shiver as he puts a hand on my back to motion me into a seat between him and Cassian, with Mor squeezing her way in between him and I so we remain together. The shouting of the crowd grows louder with each passing second, the volume and anger making my hair stand on end. I find myself reaching out for Mor’s hands, huddled beside her for both warmth and protection.

Up until this point, Rhysand has been pacing, hands clasped behind his back, wings flaring behind him. Only once I’m seated does his gaze flick to me, eyes roving over my new attire and I hate the flutter in my stomach the look brings me. I should want him to be looking at me like that, but after what Mor had said, after what I’d done once he’d left… I look away quickly, torn more than ever on what I’m supposed to do here.

I feel, more than see, the little smirk he gets as his eyes linger on the marks he’d left on my throat, but am spared from any more thoughts about last night when he finally looks away to address the crowd. It’s first in Illyrian, then in Basic. The change in languages makes his voice deeper, huskier; I’m more drawn to it than I’d like to be. Many things about the male are attractive, I’m not so blinded by disdain for him that I don’t notice them, his voice among the top qualities. There are quite a few females around me who lean forward in their seats, enraptured with his every word. It’s almost distracting enough that I forget there are two bound men at his feet.

Almost. My eyes flick to them. Their wounds are precise, methodical, not so deep it’ll kill them, but not so shallow it doesn’t hurt. They keep their heads to their chest as Rhysand speaks, dark eyes darting around for an escape. They say Amarantha’s men are worse monsters than the Illyrians, but they certainly don’t look terrifying now. They’re scrawny, like someone had plucked them off the street, no scars upon their skin to reveal any past battle wounds. I can’t decide if that means they’ve never seen a battle until now or if Amarantha’s fighting men have such an advantage that they’ve never been injured in one.

“Amarantha thinks that she can do whatever she wants,” Rhysand’s voice booms across the amphitheater, the worn stones trembling beneath us. Darkness mists off his body, violet eyes glowing like starlight in his tan face. “But Hybern and his General have no power here!”

The crowd roars in agreement, some of the fighting men on their feet now, stamping the butts of their spears against the ground.

“These are our lands!”

My ears ring under the din of the crowd. Mor grips my hand a little tighter to keep me steady. At least she’d been right about one thing: The amount of bodies packed into here makes the cold a little bearable, but I press as close to her as I can all the same.

“We have bled and died for it!” Rhysand continues. “And we proved last night that we are not to be underestimated! We proved that if Amarantha thinks she can come here and take what is rightfully ours, that there will be blood to pay!”

A shiver runs up my spine as he speaks. Not just at what he says, but the truth of it. There is no mourning here. The injured in the crowd are few--only a handful of males sport bandages, no blood seeping through the white linen as if even the wounds that had landed were superficial and healing, not the open, bleeding mess I’m so used to seeing--and he’d said last night that his men had no casualties. Not only were their numbers greater than I had anticipated, but their powers are far beyond what we feared they were. Rhysand himself is a living testament to that. There isn’t anyone among us who doesn’t feel the reverberations of his power in our veins. His darkness doesn’t just flow from him, it ebbs into us, brushes against every person present like it’s introducing itself to us one by one. I don’t need to see him in battle to know that he can easily blow Amarantha’s men away by himself. He won’t even need an army.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Am I prepared to go up against a one man army?

“And we will make sure that is a lesson that bitch never forgets!” Rhysand roars as stars glitter around his outstretched hand, twinning between his fingers. His wings flair out behind him, the apex talons at the tip growing sharper, the violet of his eyes deepening, I swear I see fangs forming in his mouth. He’s not just powerful, he’s something wholly other.

The crowd jumps to its feet demanding the heads of the two males bound before them, and their Lord obliges, using a glittering trail of starlight to separate their heads from their shoulders, blood splatter across the stones.

Rhysand lifts their heads up by the hair, admiring his work with nothing but pure satisfaction as he calls Azriel over to him. “Why don’t you deliver these to their doorstep?”

The shadowy figure of Azriel doesn’t even break stride as he grabs the heads from his lord and vanishes into shadow with them.

Interesting, so they know where Amarantha’s camp is? Tam had never been able to track her. Or maybe he’d never tried.

Rhysand flicks the blood off his hands as he looks to the crowd and says, “We can expect a swift response, so let us be ready.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the thought. He can’t really be trying to take on Amarantha, can he?

“Bring all your un-marked forward, let us ensure the protection of those within our borders before we prepare to strengthen outside it.”

Shit!

I’d forgotten about that part. Why else would this outfit they’d dressed me up in not have sleeves unless they needed to mark me? It should have been obvious from the beginning but I’ve been so in my head I haven’t even stopped to think about the reasons behind all this.

Mor grabs my arm gently, but I feel the strength hidden behind it regardless. She thinks I might try and run. Truth be told, I want to. How am I supposed to go home with Rhysand’s mark? Even if I manage to get all their numbers and weaknesses, that mark is permanent. It might literally be the signature on my death warrant, no matter what information I take home.

But it also puts me right in the middle of all important matters here. Rhysand said he wanted me to ride out with him. The things I could see if I do that! I’d know how many fighting men he has, would learn battle strategies and weak points, all things no one back home has ever been able to touch.

Thankfully, Mor helps me stand, my shoes feel like they're full of sand. Even if I’m ready to face Rhysand, am I ready to face Tamlin when this is all said and done?

Around me, males and females all step forward. A few struggle against it, having to be pulled down into the center of the amphitheater, others go alone, heads high. They’ll have to go through the blood littering the floor to get there, which is clever on Rhysand’s part. Swearing fealty here, after blood has been spilled makes this oath all the more magically binding. We’re all entered into a blood oath without spilling any of our own to do it.

I let Mor lead me forward, despite every instinct to run. I will be closer than anyone to Rhysand. I can give my people the chance they deserve at having a good life. Maybe, when this is all said and done, this walled in haven could be a place we could call home, safe from war and hunger. I can ensure our future, all I have to do is damn myself to do it.

And put this male through more misery. The image of him last night, the dark circles around his eyes flashes across my mind and I have to give myself a little shake to rid myself of it. I can’t let one tragedy sway me, how many tragedies has he himself caused?

My chest aches, I rub absently at it like that might relieve the tension. He is the enemy. I have to keep telling myself that, over and over, until it’s ingrained into my very thought process. One loss cannot compare to what he has put us through. I have to think about all the lives I will save instead of the one he has lost.

It takes so much time for me to convince myself that I am capable of doing this that I genuinely miss everyone’s else’s pledge to Rhysand. By the time I am settled and ready to raise my head again, it’s just me and him, and a river of spilled blood between us. A fitting meeting ground I suppose.

Mor gives my arm one last squeeze before she slips into Cassian’s arms and I swear the whole world centers in to just me and the massive Illyrian before me. He looks even more a dark prince up close.

“Hello, mate,” he purrs.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Don’t throw up here, don’t throw up in front of all these people.

Rhysand leans in close enough for me to smell the citrus and jasmine scent of him, the heady fragrance invading all my senses like it's trying to carve itself into veins. I’ve never been more aware of his size compared to mine. “Kneel,” his voice is a lover's caress, made for the gentle darkness of the bedroom. “Take my mark, so that you’ll have our full protection, and then you and I can have some fun.”

Those violet eyes flick to my bruised throat, his fangs biting into his lower lip as he admires his work and heat rushes through me. I want to play, just as readily as I had last night, maybe more.

I tear my gaze away first. There’s no going back from this.

My heartbeat is a clanging gong in my ears, breath a heavy rasp that tears from my throat as I lower myself onto my knees. The rough stones bite into my exposed flesh; the blood now cold against my skin.

Rhysand reaches out to touch my cheek, thumb stroking over my skin as he nods encouragingly. His touch makes me think of last night, and what I had done in the aftermath of having those hands on me. I’d managed to not think about it until now, but now that the thought is here, I can’t stop it anymore than I could last night. Heat licks its way up my spine.

He is the enemy. I am not supposed to feel like this while on my knees, I am supposed to hate him. I really need to pull it together.

“I-” Am I even capable of separating myself from what I want and need to do here? I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want his hands on my body. It’s not supposed to be like this!

“I swear fealty to you, My Lord.” Am I supposed to say something flowery? Make some grand gesture? I never really paid that much attention during these things, I’d spent most of my time trying to figure out how to get out of them, not into one.

The words are barely out of my mouth before I feel a tingling sensation shoot its way up my arm, from fingertips to shoulder. It’s not painful, feels like my arm fell asleep and lost feeling, even though I still have all my motor functions. When I glance down at the source of the discomfort, a band of ink colored darkness spreads across my skin. It moves in swirling patterns across my bicep, twisting and twining until the familiar pattern of triple stars makes itself clear among the ink. We brand people with an iron in the Grasslands, this magic tattoo is a new sight for me.

Rhysand takes my hand and helps me to my feet before I can even think about reaching out a hand to feel the new piece of me. I don’t even have time to feel guilty about it either, not when he’s crashing his lips against mine, the hunger he feels palpable as his hand slides into my hair.

The crowd whoops and hollers, reminding me that they’re even there. I’d truly forgotten about them up until now.

His other hand still strokes my face as he pulls away just enough to say, “I swear, no harm will come to you under our watch.”

Lofty promises I’m sure, but with the crowd pressing in, now that the spectacle is over, there is not much time to dwell on it either. The next couple of minutes pass in a blur as we all shift from the amphitheater to a mess tent full of benches and long tables full of food and drink.

Rhysand hasn’t let go of my hand, not even at Mor’s insistence that she should get to show me around. The mark might as well be a rope tied around our wrists, dragging me along beside him as he greets various soldiers and sentries.

The heat of the room soon makes me forget I was ever cold in the first place, a sheen of sweat clinging to my skin the longer we linger.

In the back center of the tent is the seat of honor, it alone has a single table, everyone else crowds into each other, clambering for seats with no real order. The fighting men mingle with the elders and children and maids alike; the armored sentries dumping their helmets on the tables, the horse hair plumes drifting over the worn wood, holding spots next to the seats of scantily dressed dancers.

As everyone finds their seats, serving girls start bringing in the food and drink, until all the tables are full of dozens of dishes I can’t name. My stomach rumbles as Rhysand leads me along, an arm looped around my waist like he thinks I might slip away at any moment. He hasn’t stopped touching me since his mark wrote its way across my right arm; a good thing for my plan, I suppose, but I my mind won’t stop narrowing in on the way his fingers dance over my hip bone or the strength of his arms around me. To some degree, I feel small next to him, but not in a way I can convince myself I hate. Not in the way I had felt small back home.

It’s not long before Rhysand claims this would-be throne and before I can ask where I should disappear to, the warlord is gripping me by the hips and pulling me into his lap! My brain short circuits, all rational thought flying out the window.

He slots one powerful thigh between my, very exposed, legs the scrape of his leathers against my bare skin enough to make my whole body shiver. He’s all sleek muscle, body chiseled from riding and fighting and it is not as if I hadn’t noticed--especially after last night--but I’d never been so aware of him before.

His breath is warm over the shell of my ear as he leans in to whisper, “Now we can play, Darling.”

Here?! Cauldron he’s really going to be the death of me! And rationally I know the more people see us together, the easier it will be for me to maneuver and get information, but it is very hard to think rationally when I can feel so many eyes watching my every move.

Rhysand brushes his nose over the juncture of my neck and shoulder, the soft waves of his dark hair a contrast to the harsh flash of teeth he brushes against my skin a moment later. My heart thunders in my chest, heat rushing to my cheeks. I’ve lost sight of Mor and Cassian, though I doubt they’d be stupid enough to interrupt, let alone save me.

Rhysand sucks a new mark into my neck as he trails a hand up my exposed thigh and the notion that I need to be saved leaves me. This is what I had hoped would happen last night--what I had tried so hard to pretend I didn’t want. The crowd starts to blur in my vision, the only people here are the two of us as he gets closer and closer to the apex of my thighs.

He is the enemy. Yet, my head falls back on his shoulder as both his lips and his hands trail higher. Every move is warm and calculating and my body is so eager to surrender. I tell myself this is part of the plan, part of the game, but my body doesn’t care about any of that. It just wants more of him.

His hand stills at the pathetic excuse of a covering the skirt offers, thumb stroking against the inside of my thigh. My breath hitches in my throat.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says softly in my ear. “I’ll make it up to you.”

I think I might actually be so pathetic that I’d beg for it, body squirming under his grip in search of more friction. I’ve never been more acutely aware of the ache between my legs. More so when I find myself grinding my hips down, unabashedly, against his thigh in front of all these people, the scrape of his leathers a heady friction that makes me bite down on my lower lip.

He chuckles in my ear at my neediness, the sound so rich and deep it only further ignites the heat in my lower belly. If he is supposed to be the enemy, why is his whole body made for such pleasurable sin? There isn’t an inch of him that couldn’t be used to turn me on.

“It’s… it’s ok,” what even are words? “This was important.”

He hums as if thinking, fingers still stroking idle patterns into the tender flesh of my thigh. He’s so close to where I want him.

“Thank you for being understanding,” he says softly. He sounds about as fragile as he had looked last night and that pang in my chest is back. “I can’t… I can’t risk it, not again, not with you. My mark will guarantee your protection, even if I am not physically here. You’re safe, and you’ll stay that way.”

I slowly raise my hand back, until I can thread my fingers through his hair and he leans his whole head into my touch. “No one’s ever really looked out for me before,” I whisper. Not a lie and not part of this game, but something that slips right out of me before I can trap it behind my teeth.

“Never again,” he vows.

Perhaps if there wasn’t so much blood between us, I could believe him.

I can’t take the words back, and I hate that we constantly end up more vulnerable than I thought we could be, I need to get this back on track. The less vulnerable I can keep things between us, the better. All I need to do is keep his focus on what we’d been doing. The more he’s thinking about my body, the less he’s looking at what I’m doing--and the less guilty I will feel.

I grind my hips back against him, trying to regain control of the situation, the obvious proof of his own arousal pressing into my ass.

He hisses, even as he nips at the underside of my jaw. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“You did say you’d make it up to me,” I tease in return, scraping my nails playfully along his scalp.

“I did,” he muses. “Though I was thinking about doing it after we eat.”

“Liar,” I retort.

His hand finally, blissfully, snakes higher, dipping beneath my skirts. “See, I was planning on making it up to you with my tongue-”

All thought eddies from my mind as his fingers stroke over my core, heat licking its way up my spine. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from making a sound.

“But if my hand is what you’d prefer, I’ll happily give it to you.” He slides a finger into the budding wetness between my legs, testing to see how much I can take. “That’s what you were thinking about last night, right?”

I freeze and he chuckles in my ear as he says, “It was rather distracting, having your side of the bond open, right as Azriel was going to work on our captives.”

He’d heard me?!

Shit shit shit! How much did he know?

“H-how did you…?” My hips buck instinctively as he curls a finger inside me, hitting a spot I didn’t know was so sensitive.

“Think of the bond like a bridge,” he explains it so clinically, as if he isn’t currently adding a second finger inside me. “With a door on each end. Last night, you opened your door and let me walk right in.”

“How…” I roll my hips to match his pace, desperate for the friction, even as my eyes squeeze themselves shut from the embarrassment of this conversation. “How much did you hear?”

“Heard and saw,” he corrects, teeth scraping along the underside of my jaw.

I wish the floor would open up and swallow me!

“Just the last bit, I think,” he continues, picking up his pace as my body clenches around his fingers. “When you called out for me. Want to tell me what you were imagining I was doing?”

Thank the Mother he hadn’t walked in when I was thinking about how much I hated him! I’d be dead otherwise, mark or not, and this wasn’t the position I wanted to be in if that was going to happen.

“This,” I whimper, turning my head to brush my lips along his throat. As long as he thinks it was nothing other than my general horniness, I’m safe, embarrassment aside.

His fingers plunge deeper, wetness dripping down my thighs; I have to be leaving a mess on his pants at this point. “Hmmm, not very creative,” he tuts. “You could have had any part of me you wanted, and all you could think about was my hands?”

Considering the way my thighs start to shake, breath catching in my throat as he hits a spot inside me that has stars swimming across my vision, I’m pretty sure his hands are far beyond the limits of my imagination. No dream had ever felt this good. I intend to defend myself, or at the very least tease him in return, but the only thing that makes it past my lips is his name, soft and pleading as a prayer as my hips chase the motion of his fingers. My whole body is on fire. No part of my imagination would have ever been able to create this.

From somewhere inside the tent, music has started playing and some of those dancers I’d spotted on the way in start the entertainment portion of the afternoon, which I’m sure is a fantastic display, given the approving sounds of the crowd, but I can’t even pay attention to it. I’m barely aware that it’s there as I press my forehead into Rhysand’s shoulder and whimper, body tight as a bowstring.

“Just like that,” he whispers in my ear, chin dropping to rest on my shoulder so he can watch the way my hips rock against his hand. “Doing so well for me, Darling.”

“Please,” I beg. Gods I’m begging Rhysand. Did that even matter at this point? I’d already gotten on my knees for him, already taken his mark, what was a little begging in retrospect?

He places a tender kiss beneath my ear. “Beg a little more.”

Color heats my cheeks. “Please?” I tilt my face up enough to brush my lips over his warm skin again, my hips doing most of the work now as he slows his pace. I could honestly cry from the sudden lack of stimulation.

“Little more.”

What could he possibly want me to say here?

Something flares in my chest as my brain spins, the same tugging feeling I’ve felt the last couple of days when I think about him. Is that the bridge he spoke of? Is that really him on the other side and not some bullshit? I mean, he did know what I’d done last night… So maybe this is real, maybe we really are…

It clicks and I drag my own teeth over his throat, leaving a little mark. This is how I keep up this ruse, right? “Please, mate.”

Shadows swirl up my thighs, caressing all the sensitive spots his hands are too occupied to touch. That little tether in my chest warms as he once again picks up the pace. His own hips rock forward, erection hot and heavy against my ass as he leaves another bite mark where my shoulder meets my neck. I’d said exactly what he’d wanted to hear.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice so low and husky it pushes me right over the edge.

Stars swirl across my vision, body going limp in his grasp as I finally hurtle over the edge. I’ve never cum so hard in my life! It’s only by biting down on my lower lip that I don’t let out a scream.

He holds me gently as I come down, shadows now stroking in soothing patterns over my skin as I catch my breath.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

He kisses my cheek as he removes his hand from between my legs. One of his shadows brings a cup of ale over for me to drink. “Let’s get you some food, hm?”

It is still hard for me to wrap my head around that this male is the one that so easily slaughtered my people--the male that just took two heads off in the amphitheater. There is such a contrast to him it makes my head spin. It is even stranger to me that he is still very obviously aroused and not doing anything about it. He’s very content to let me just sit here in his lap after giving me the best orgasm of my life with nothing in return?

“What about you?”

Rhysand places another kiss beneath my ear. “We have all day, Darling.”

That thing in my chest warms at the thought. At least there are some perks to seducing the enemy, right?

------

Tag List:

@judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235, @landofpetrichor, @hjgdhghoe @buttermilktea11, @yourforeveryoungblog, @sassyn, @zoeisdreaming6, @minnieoo, @girl-math-aint-mathing

You all are angels for waiting this long for an update! <3 I'll try not to have as much down time in between posts.

If you also want to be added to the taglist, let me know! :)

#rhysand x reader #rhysand smut #rhysand x reader smut #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #ACOTAR AU #acotar smut #rhysand fic #morally gray!rhys #warlord!rhys #my writing #my fanfic

145 notes · View notes

ellecdc · 3 months

Note

Okay literally stop I didn't know i needed this until you said it

chef!sirius deserves atleast headcanon level recognition omg

*makes grabby hands at his homemade pasta*

-🩷

hahahaha I LOVE chef!sirius I think about him almost constantly and poor @maladaptiveescapism has to deal with me constantly bombarding her with my thoughts of him (but it is also her own fault so.....there's that)

also, she was the original requester of our chef!sirius one shot (that I'm dying to turn into SOMETHING if my shit-for-brain's brain would cooperate with me) so it only made sense I go to her for help with our.....

Chef Sirius Headcanons:

as discussed in his one-shot:

he's absolutely dubbed a hardass at work [and maybe irl by his friends/family]

he started in the food-industry as a kid when Euphemia and Fleamont took him in - he knew they would provide anything he could possibly want/need, but he didn't want to rely on them or feel like a burden

he worked his way up in the industry, from washing dishes to bussing tables to hosting to serving to a line cook, before another chef took him under their wing and taught him everything they knew; he had saved enough to go to culinary school and made a name for himself

moving on:

he swears a lot [we all sort of head canon sirius TO swear a lot anyway, so chef!sirius swears more]

still covered in tattoos

smokes a lot but also hates the way it smells (especially when he's working around food - also doesn't want the lingering taste in his mouth to impede his taste testing abilities) so he carries mints around a lot [and then maybe starts carrying your favourite gum, in case you want some and because it reminds him of you]

he's constantly calling everyone an imbecile etc in the kitchen but is all soft pet-names with you, which freaks everyone else the fuck out

as seen in the one-shot, reader often teases him by calling him "chef", but when you dare call him Sirius, everyone tenses and waits with bated breath for him to explode (which obviously never comes) because he is very much a "yes, chef!" kinda bloke

love language = acts of service, the only way he knows how to show he cares is through his actions. that usually comes in the form of feeding you, but with mixologist reader, he's often popping over at the bar asking "how's my best girl doing?" and setting diff plates of food and snacks during your shift to make sure you're eating and staying hydrated

driving you home is also big on his list; refuses to let you walk home after close even if your place is in the exact opposite direction of his, he will drive you home. He'll even find reasons to stay at work late (or volunteer to close) just so he can drive you home

because he's so short on time in general running his own kitchen, D suggested him having some really long-running mindless TV show he has running in the background almost always. D suggested Golden Girls which mixologist!reader would absolutely find hilarious [big scary chef!sirius watching his golden ladies every evening], I think Full House would be one too because he likes seeing a loving family in action, and maybe the Simpsons because it's also long, colourful, funny, and mindless entertainment

I think he struggles to believe that he actually deserves the things he's worked so hard for? D mentioned him waving you off re: driving you home because he explains it away like paying it forward/good karma. but he also feels like he owes someone something, like he needs to give back the way that Effie and Monty gave to him

we also decided he'd have another hands-on/crafty hobby he likes to do when he's not working, and I have always loved a Sirius who does pottery - I mean, how perfect is chef!sirius eating/drinking from his own home-made one-of-a-kind pottery dishes etc??? the second you compliment him on them, he's making you your own set (or asking if you want to bring that exact mug home with you)

task and goal-oriented - almost to the point of a dog with a bone; you have to physically stop him or remind him to take a break or have a drink/eat because he becomes so engrossed in what he is doing....especially if it's something for you. (you complain one day about needing to reconfigure your living room and he is over at your flat just rehanging pictures, moving furniture, whatever and he will not stop until it's done)

as always, he's a huge flirt (menacingly so) but, with the nature of mixologist!reader's job, so is she so she absolutely gives it right back to him

for as big of a hardass as chef!sirius is, he's also so family-oriented and the BIGGEST team-player: his staff is his family and he's loyal to a fault -> for as much shit he gives them, he is always looking out for them and making sure they're well staffed and taken care of, and he values each and every member of his staff equally knowing very well that each member is required for it to run smoothly (he's played every role a kitchen has to offer, he takes none of them for granted)

how this works in a relationship:

acts of service: running you a bath / coming home with some plate made for you regardless if you've already eaten or not / somehow a professional handyman? he is fixing everything in your apartment - leaky faucet, replacing shower heads, changing light bulbs, hanging pictures/fixtures ETC / making you your own pottery/art for your apartment (you keep complaining about dropping/losing your rings? he's going to show up with a trinket tray that he made for you)

sometimes jokes that you're the only person he can stand to be around (since you're the only one he can't really bring himself to scold/yell at) but it's really only because he's a soft boy for you

thinks you're the best thing he's ever tasted...... ;) ;) ;) & if he's a chef by day, you bet he's a professional eater by night.........................................

I think fights could get intense because Sirius is just an intense person but I honestly don't see them ever lasting very long because he's so sensitive and so down bad that seeing you hurt or upset is pretty much the worst thing imaginable to him and he's quickly trying to find ways to correct it

takes a while for him to admit (or perhaps even realize) how down bad he is for you, but once he does....good luck shaking him

BEST HOMEMADE SOUP FOR WHEN YOU'RE SICK -> he's very teasing about it and constantly laughing at how pathetic you are but also sooooo dutiful in his care for you

128 notes · View notes

takemeorleaveme · 4 months

Text

I need to remind myself to just block instead of engaging in an argument with those people holy fk!!! BT SHIPPERS are so delusional they think buddie shippers are more of a problem because we are a bigger ship I hate to break it to you but just because you’re a smaller ship doesn’t mean you being toxic af is ok please grow the fuck up. The way you only see one side of it is so crazy to me and let me REMIND people there are some awful people who take things to far shipping buddie I get that I see it on Twitter but to bring it over to tumblr when we are just trying to vibe it out and have a good time and try and pick arguments with buddie shippers over here because some how we are being held accountable for Twitter users is actually fucking insane to me. Hate to break it to you but Twitter is a toxic fucking trash can of people of all fandoms it’s why I don’t use Twitter. Oliver left because of it I’m not disagreeing but he still obviously loves buddie and the buddie fandom if his interviews and Instagram are things to go off of while you guys are saying we’re delusional he’s in an interview saying he sees what we see.. so like wtf do you want from us really!? I am just gonna continue to enjoy buddie and if I see anything remotely BT or Ot3 related which that is just a whole other thing I refuse to speak on. I’m gonna block cause I stg y’all are just repeating yourselves and I’m losing brain cells. Also I would like to point out I don’t tag T*my if i did it was the anti T*mmy K*nard or it’s always strictly buddie if I have to stop tagging Oliver stark and Evan Buckley until that ship comes to an end I will but I tag appropriately and I can’t help it if they are creeping on our tags looking for a fight.

#buddie #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #eddie diaz #ryan guzman #anti tommy kinard #thanks for coming to my ted talk

70 notes · View notes

poppy-metal · 3 months

Note

Oof and Patrick finally confronts you one day. Demanding answers.

"Cmon, princess, we fucking live together. The least you can do is bitch me out to my face instead of with your eyes."

"You've always annoyed me, Patrick. You know that." Are you gaslighting him? Maybe. But you barely understand what you're feeling, what are you supposed to say?

"you want to know what I think?" And he doesn't wait for an answer. "I think you're angry at me because it's safe. Youre scared Tash will turn on you again if you ever express your anger at her. And Art has those puppy dog eyes that make him impossible to be mad at anyways."

"Oh yeah, and that night in the bar has nothing to do with it."

"There it is. You're pissed I was picked first." You want to slap him because it sounds so petty when he says it. "But do you really understand why? Because I do."

"Oh, you do?" You snap. "Please, enlighten me."

"Because I'm like a fucking lost dog and they know it. They could've said anything, done anything, and I still would've been there. And as much as you might think youre in the same boat, Tash has never seen you that way." A pregnant pause. "Tash never believed you would actually come back to her. Art always knew I'd come back."

toxic polycule has my heart im gonna bleat like a lamb

hating patrick because his leaving hurt the worst - you could reason why tashi and art did. it was in arts nature to run and repress and tashi had blocked everything out after her injury. it didn't make it okay but it made sense in your head. but patrick - you'd shared your pain with him. you'd shared your body. you thought you might be something someday maybe. later down the line because you were both so reckless and self destructive.

"its whatever, patrick. i get it - we were a distraction for eachother. and now that we're dating them there's really no need for us to interact. i don't give a shit who picked who first -"

"bullshit. it's always fucking stung that they chose eachother over you. and it fucking hurt when you thought they chose me over you too."

you dont want to talk about it. last choice. its what you were, no matter how you spun it. in this love square of four you were at the bottom. they'd be fine without you. you'd agreed to start dating art and tashi tentatively - but you still held yourself at a distance from all of them. you refused to move in. refused to let any of them call you their girlfriend. you had your heart to protect. a relationship of four? it wouldn't last. and you'd be the first on the chopping block.

"sure, patrick." you say. "okay."

its tiring to argue.

he searches your face. his eyes are annoyingly intense, and it feels like he's peeling back your head to look into your brain. unspooling your thoughts.

"i missed you." patrick has the ability to soften his voice in such a way that it makes your heart jerk in your chest. your bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood. "i thought about you. i think about you. it fucking sucks you won't talk to me."

you close your eyes. you remember a night years ago when his lips had pressed against the back of your neck. holding you after sex - and it was the first time you'd slept together without talking about art or tashi at all. and it felt good. you thought you might be enough for someone, finally. that maybe he saw you and wanted you for you, and not because of the pain you shared.

stupid. he just wants you now because you're close and its convenient. it's more convenient if you're all sleeping together and there's no tension and you're all happy and its all sunshine and rainbows and no one is thinking about when this all will end.

well, you had to be that person. because you refused to be blindsided.

"it was just sex, patrick. we were scratching and itch. you dont need me to scratch it anymore, and i dont need you either. we can be civil, but its not deeper than that between us."

you can see the flash of anger in his eyes at being dismissed. you dont think to process it as pain. you doubt you have the power to hurt patrick zweig at all.

#ask #toxic polycule i love u saur bad

49 notes · View notes

shankss-magnificent-ass · 1 year

Note

I would love to have a King x reader (female reader if you are ok with that) where the reader is a mythical zoan type very similar to Kaido’s mythical zoan but because it was a fruit made by Dr Vegaounk, the reader ends up with a dark green dragon instead. King’s just infatuated with the reader and the reader knows it but won’t say anything. The reader is fairly new to the Beast Pirates and Kaido puts King in charge of making the reader feel welcome. Thanks in advance if you are able to do this!!

Imagine having a dragon smile fruit

This led me down an interesting line of thought. How would King act around his crush. He's a deeply traumatized individual, but he hides it well. King has like zero emotional intelligence, he never learned how to really deal with them. Also, I'm making the reader around the same size as King for reasons.

This ended up being kinda long.

Kaido: I'm told you have a devil fruit.

You: it's a smile fruit, sir, Dr. Vegapunk made it for me.

Kaido: Vegapunk *casts a glance at king, but can't see his emotions due to that damn mask* when did he make it for you?

You: a few years back upon my request, he owed me a favor.

Kaido: may I see?

You: we'll need to go outside, I would hate to destroy your lovely house.

Kaido: Ookay?

Outside

You: *transforms into a large emerald green dragon with pitch black fur, talons, and horns.*

Kaido: Worororo, we're gonna be unstoppable!

King: ( 💖0💖 ) !!

You: So I can get settled in?

Kaido: yes, Queen! Get their rooms ready, put them in the east wind of my castle.

You: absolutely not, I refuse to work with Queen, he's annoying.

Queen: EHH! Annoying! Who are you calling an idiot, you moron. You wanna go! *Starts to climb up on one of the coils of your body*

You: *flicks him off* And loud.

Queen: *skips like a rock over the ocean towards mainland Wano and disappears with a twinkle*

Kaido: Would you prefer Jack?

You: Jack is too unpredictable, plus I'm not a fan of the baby bangs he's sporting, they make me wanna bully him. King seems tolerable though, he's quiet which is preferable if I have to deal with a man.

King: 😱💢

Kaido: Very well, wouldn't want you to lose your temper and kill one of them. I need all three of them... well actually with you here, I might not.

You: I don't want a position of responsibility, those usually come with a lot of paperwork. I want money, food, a place to crash, and to fight, and when I’m not doing any of those to lounge in comfort.

Kaido: and you shall have anything you desire. King take them to the Black Tortoise wing.

King: I think they'd appreciate the views and quiet of the Blue Halls in the Vermilion Bird wing. You yourself once told me your dragon enjoys the open sky.

Kaido: how thoughtful King, to share your Vermilion Bird wing with our new recruit.

King: such a valuable member of the crew deserves the best we have to offer, especially one with a power so similar to your own.

Kaido: then can I trust them to you?

King: Of course.

The next day

King: how are you liking the Blue hall? Is it to your liking?

You: It's almost perfect, it just needs some personal touches.

King: I'll set up an appointment for our artisans to come over to receive instructions on what you want.

You: don't you have an assistant for that?

King: no? Are you volunteering?

You: hmm, only when I'm bored.

King: very well, in the meantime care to join me for a training session in the gym? *Hoping to show off his strength and physique for you*

You: Sure, let me change into something more breathable.

At the gym

King: would you spot me?

You: sure?

King: *lifting way more weight than he usually does while trying to keep his face as neutral as possible.*

You: *not sure how you'd be of any help to him if he actually needed help*

Queen: *leans over to Jack to shit talk* is it me, or is that feather-brained idiot trying to impress the newbie?

Jack: Yeah, he's even puffing up his wings and fire to make himself appear bigger.

Maria: right? And you you see the way he looks at them.

Queen: he's clearly displacing his affections for Kaido on them, probably they're more attainable to him than Kaido.

Kaido: *leans in* he's just not my type what can I say? Although, he does have those big titties like I like.

You: I'm gonna go get a water bottle, you want one?

King: sure *waits for you to leave before turning to his crew members* what the fuck are you jack asses whispering about over there?

Queen: You like (y/n) right?

King: what? No, they just got here, I don't even know them.

Kaido: she doth protest too much, methinks.

King: ugh, you all are seeing things.

Maria: yeah, we see you making bedroom eyes at (y/n).

Queen: Don't act like you're not, look at yourself, you're all puffed up like you're a horny teenager all over again.

King: *flattens his feathers* shut up dickhead.

You: *comes back in the room* I got us a few waters!

King: *puffs up again and realizes they're right.

Yamato: *peaking out from one of the floorboards* that explain why he wanted them in the Vermilion Bird wing with him.

King: *Puts his foot on the board and pushes it down*

That evening after dinner

Kaido: did we really upset you earlier? You seem like you're still... huffy like you were in the gym.

King: I'm disgusted with myself for being attracted to a human.

Kaido: *nods his head empathetically* I know the feeling bud. From what information that I have gathered about them, they seem like a decent human. They were once instrumental in the escape of a slave rebellion in the Ballywood Kingdom and Vodka Kingdom. Both of which were predominately composed of non-humans.

King: really?

Jack: yeah, they came to us through a recommendation of one of contacts in the Ryugu Kingdom.

You: wha'cha talking about?

King: *puffs up and feels his embarrassment and panic well up in his chest* Nothing!

You: *squints at him in suspicion* Really? Because I don't believe you.

King: Are you calling me a liar?

You: I ain't callin' you a truther, big man. Now spill the beans, what were y'all whispering about?

King: *his heart flutters happily when you call him 'big man' * Kaido told us you helped in some slave rebellions.

You: Oh yeah, I have quite a few tales from that time of my life.

King: If we're going to work together we should know more about you. So if you wouldn't mind, could you tell us those stories?

Kaido: *subtly gives him an encouraging slap on the back and a wink*

Queen: *whispers* fuckin' simp!

King: *makes Queen's cigar erupt in fire*

List of Up-and-coming works

Support me on Kofi and Patreon

323 notes · View notes

jadoue1999 · 1 month

Text

The monsters in the shadows part 2

Part 1 Part 2

Note: Here is part two of my Fae Steve and Vampire Eddie story, I hope you enjoyed the story!

***

They walk in silence and Kas refuses to talk. Because he’s not safe or saved, he’s being led to his execution.

He doesn’t know how he knows but he is certain that Harrington is not going to let him walk free, he’s got to have some ulterior motives to make this deal. Speaking of his new captor, he’s walking without a care, determined, yes, but he’s not stressed or scared. Kas thought that the vines or the creatures would at least try to attack him, but it seems that even they can’t do anything to stop the fae. That’s when he realizes that it’s all on him. If he can take out Harrington, maybe Creel will forgive him. Maybe not, but he has to try.

He takes a few steps quicker than the rest and tries not to bring attention to himself. Then he brings a clawed hand to Harrington’s neck and watches in anticipation. He wants to see the blood flow. He wants to see Harrington writhe on the ground in pain, he wants to see him scared, he wants to see him lose.

Except his hand never makes contact.

It’s like there’s an invisible wall between the two of them. He tries again quicker this time, stronger, but he really can’t do anything. Eventually, Harrington notices his efforts and he turns to him.

“Are you done?”

That takes him off guard because if he knew he was trying to hurt him why didn’t he try to stop him? “What?”

The brunette rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to be able to hurt me.”

“Why?”

“Because you gave me your name,” explains the teen.” That means I have power over you, that means you can’t actually hurt me.”

Kas feels his heart dropping in his chest, and disbelief fills his core, and Harrington simply stares at him. “But our fight— you cheated.”

Steve smirks at him. “I never said it was a fair fight. “

Everything starts coming together, and his brain is horrified at the picture it presents. “So, from the moment I told you my name—”

“You were mine,” completes the teen.

A strange mix of emotions feels his body, he feels betrayed, he feels horrified, but most of all, he feels disgusted. “You— you won that fight before it even started.”

“I didn’t know if I was gonna be able to defeat Vecna,” confesses the brunette. “But I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave without you.”

Kas frowns. “Me?”

The teen shrugs. “Yeah, the kids all miss you, I miss you. We all thought you were dead.”

“I am not Eddie,” he snarls in frustration.

The other guy stares at him for a moment, and Kas feels minuscule under his gaze. “Maybe not,” eventually agrees Steve. “But I’m not going to let you rot in this place forever.”

Kas glares at him. “So what? I’ll rot in your house instead? Stuck being your prisoner forever?”

Harrington stares back with eyes cold and unwavering. “If that’s what it takes.”

Then the fae turns back and starts walking again. Kas can only stare daggers at his back as he follows reluctantly. He is too consumed by anger to even think about running away, and he doesn’t think it would work even if he tried. He hates this, he hates being cornered, and he hates that he can feel the threads that bind him to Harrington. They’re replacing those previously created by Creel that Kas hadn’t realized even existed before the switch. As they continue walking, it takes him far too long to realize that they’re not heading towards any of the main gates.

“Where are we going?”

Harrington doesn’t even grace him with a look. “Home.”

Kas rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you said that before, but there’s no gates in that direction. I would know.”

“Not one Creel created,” ominously answers the brunette.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve sighs in annoyance and for the first time since this mess started, he sounds like his old self again. “It means that this place is much older than Creel, so there are cracks in other places. My house is one of them.”

“Why?”

He sees him clench his hand in annoyance. “Because cracks tend to form wherever Others live, it’s how we visit home.”

There’s so many things going through his head, so many questions, and most of all— confusion. And that’s saying something considering he died and was brought back to life by a mutated former child experiment. “‘Others’? What?”

“That’s what we call ourselves. We’re not human, or animals, so we’re Others,” the teen explains too casually for the subject matter. “And this here, the ‘Upside Down’ as the kids call it, is where we live.”

“And yet I’ve never seen any of you.”

Kas doesn’t miss how Harrington tenses at that. It’s obviously a touchy subject. “Yeah, because Creel took over and corrupted the whole place. The vines, the creatures— that’s not what this place usually looks like. Everyone fled instead of fighting, it’s easier to simply wait until he’s gone.”

“Why not just kill him?” He didn’t exactly want his old master to die, but murder wasn’t all that hard right? After all, Steve had threatened him just before leaving.

“I can’t,” he bitterly answered. “Because this place is technically his for now, and no Other can intrude without first being allowed in. Doing that means war.”

“But you’ve been trying to kill him for years and you’ve been here what, three times? You had no problem.”

Harrington laughs, and while he can feel it’s genuine, it still feels wrong. “Trust me, I tried to stay on the bench when the kids dragged me into the tunnels, but I was assigned as their protector, so I got a pass. Then, I knew we had to find the gate in the lake and that we’d need to investigate, that’s why I let that vine drag me through it. It gave me permission to explore. And for when we actually attacked him well… Robin and I made a deal, wherever she goes, I protect her, so as long as I follow her, I don’t intrude.”

It’s scary, how airtight his strategies are, how many loopholes he had jumped through to be able to protect. However, something wasn’t adding up. “But you came here today, isn’t that intruding?”

Harrington smirks. “Sure, but war is already upon us— well, was. He could have killed me if he wanted to, that’s why I made the deal.”

“To save yourself?” He asks although he doesn’t remember the teen including himself in that deal.

“To make him scared,” he replies, eyes glinting unnaturally in the red lightning strikes around them. “There’s power in being feared. But Creel also knew that breaking the deal in any way would give me the permission to attack him.”

Kas hates how thought out everything is. Harrington is supposed to be stupid, that was his reputation in high school; a pretty face with not much brain. Was that all a facade? Speaking of facade…

“Why do you look different?”

Steve quickly glances at him. “Because you’re not human anymore, the illusion isn’t as effective on non-human creatures.”

“Can you even bleed?” It’s a stupid question, because Eddie has seen him bleed before, but he has to make sure. He wants to know if he would have had any chance at winning that duel if he hadn’t given his name.

“Too often,” snorts the teen. He extends a clawed hand and pierces his skin. It’s a small cut, barely bigger than half an inch. “See?”

And yes, Harrington does indeed bleed, but Kas watches the small drop of blood, transfixed by its strangeness. “It’s silver.”

“Yup.”

“But I’ve seen you bleed red,” he points out. “Was that an illusion too?”

The teen lowers his arm and smiles at him. “See? Now you’re getting it!”

They continue walking and Kas slowly starts to recognize the place. Eddie had gone to Loch Nora a few times during Harrington’s party years; drunk kids always paid more than sober ones. The imposing Harrington house slowly appears on the horizon in a sort of twisted reversal of their earlier roles. The brunette brings him to the edge of the woods, where he can feel the ghost of the crack in the empty pool. Steve doesn’t bring them there though; he stops next to the only tree on his property. It’s just as he expects from anything in this place; dead and twisted, but the trunk slightly straightens up when Harrington gets close. Small silver and gold leaves sprout, just big enough for him to notice the sudden growth, and then the teen extends his hands toward him.

“Grab my hand, it won’t let you through if you don’t.”

It might be a trick, but Kas doubts it, so he takes the offered hand. Going through this gate is nothing like going through Creel’s. Creel’s gates are violent, they press on the mind seemingly determined to break it, but this one makes him feel like he’s falling on the softest cloud. It observes everything he is and promises in the most tempting voice that he can be so much more. He’s tempted to give in. But hands suddenly grab him and pull him out of that place, and Kas is left to stare at Harrington in confusion.

“It’s meant to be soothing,” Steve explains. “It’s easier to keep someone if they don’t fight back.”

The teen only lets him grasp the horrific truth for a few seconds before telling him to follow him. It’s only then that he notices that they’re in Hawkins, the real one. There are lights coming from the big house in front of them and Kas can hear the voices of Eddie’s old party. Dread suddenly fills him when he realizes that he’s really going to see the gang again, and they will get to see him for what exactly he’s become. Would Creel be able to take him back if he took care of the party himself?

“Stay here, wait until I tell you to come.”

That’s an order, and Kas knows he can’t disobey, he can quite literally feel it in his body. He watches Harrington enter his house and hears the kids questioning why they’re there. Henderson in particular sounds very annoyed; Robin had mentioned that the teen didn’t get out of the house. Steve is trying to prepare them, but they don’t seem to be very willing to hear him out, it seems like Eddie’s loss really did weigh on the group. Buckley is pitching in every once in a while, but it doesn’t do much. The kids are mad, and as much as Steve is trying to make them understand that he is trying to fix things, they keep reminding him of how much he failed them. It’s funny, really, for as in control as Harrington was back there, he’s got no powers with the brats.

“I swear to you guys, I just want to help!” pleads the fae.

Someone snorts, it’s Dustin. “What? Like you helped Eddie?”

There’s a pregnant pause, and even Kas is surprised that the kid went this far. Harrington sighs, defeat apparent in his voice, and then he hears him stepping closer. His head pops out of the backdoor, and Kas meets his eyes, he knows he’s heard everything, and Steve looks as human as ever.

“You can come in,” he says without the pride he had just moments ago.

Kas doesn’t even think about disobeying him, and honestly, he kinda feels bad for the guy. There’s still the lust to kill, but he’s ready to wait for the right moment and play his cards right. Or maybe he should try to attack them before Harrington can order him to stay put? He steps inside and instantly feels his fury melt into a dull hatred as he’s met with many pairs of eyes opened wide in disbelief. There’s the kids of course, but there’s also Nancy, and Jonathan and he doesn’t know how to act. A part of him he had buried along with Eddie is excited and relieved to see everyone and Kas despises it.

“Eddie?” Says the quiet voice of Dustin.

The boy looks vulnerable. His eyes are tired and sad and desperate and Kas grins. If he can lure him into a false sense of security, if he can make Harrington think that he’s going for a hug, maybe he can start the bloodshed. Maybe he can spill the blood that allows Creel to attack Hawkins and burn it once and for all… So as the kid gets up from his seat and ignores Harrington’s warning to be careful, he stays still and smiles. He smiles like Eddie used to. Kas wraps his arms around the curly haired boy and lets him take comfort in the embrace for a moment. The kid sobs into his shoulder and his neck is so close. Steve is on his opposite side, strategically blocked from view so he opens his mouth, fangs ready to tear Henderson’s throat out—

“Don’t move,” hisses Harrington, suddenly on the opposite side; he hadn’t even heard him move. He holds his arm in a vice grip and Kas can do nothing but obey. “You cannot attack anyone in this room, no one gets hurt directly or indirectly. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” he grits through his teeth.

Henderson is extracted from their embrace and his eyes are wide in horror. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that he could have hurt him, and Kas had been betting on exactly that. He clenches his jaw as the group stares at him in horror and disbelief. He wants nothing more than to paint the walls red, but he can’t even move his feet.

“Steve, what did you do?” Asks Nancy, her previous shock now replaced with anger.

Kas is surprised to see Harrington look unsure, but he supposes that he’s always been that way with his ex, according to Eddie’s memories. “I got Eddie back— well Kas. But Eddie’s in there somewhere.”

“He is no—” he starts, but Harrington shushes him, and his next words die on his lips. Anger burns in his veins, and he swears that he’s going to make him pay. He may not be able to hurt the guy, but he was going to make sure to be as much of a nuisance as possible.

“El, do you think you could fix whatever Creel did to him?”

It’s only at that moment that Kas realizes that the girl— Eleven— the enemy is standing in this very room. He should have focused on her first. She looks determined and her eyes are locked onto his. She seems to reach into his soul in a similar way that Harrington had before she nods. “I think I can.”

The brunette seems satisfied. “Can you do it now?”

There’s a look shared between the two and he can’t help but think that the girl can probably sense that Steve isn’t entirely human. “Yes.”

“Guys!” Yells Jonathan, momentarily breaking the tension. “Can someone please explain what’s happening?”

It’s at that moment that Kas knows he has to speak up. Steve shushed him earlier with the intention of him staying quiet until told otherwise, but he hadn’t mentioned it had he? It was time for him to exploit this loophole.

“Steve Harrington is a fae,” he says with a grin. He stares at each person in the room before continuing. “He’s been lying to you this whole time.”

He can feel Harrington’s eyes on him, and it seems for a moment that he’s going to rip him apart but Mike speaks up before he can.

“What?” It’s a simple reaction, and there’s honestly not many other reactions that fit at the moment.

“Come on, you don’t know what a fae is?” Admonishes Dustin. “It was one of our enemies during Will’s campaign!”

Mike scoffs. “Yeah, obviously I know what a fae is.” The kid points at the teen who seems pissed that his secret got out. “But why the hell is he saying that Steve’s one of them?”

“Steve?” Questions Nancy and the guy’s resolve melt in seconds.

He sighs deeply and passes his hand through his hair. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but it was the only way I could get him out.”

This time, it’s Jonathan who speaks up. The guy seems distrustful at the very least. “So you are..?”

Harrington nods. “A fae.”

“Since the beginning?” Lucas sounds as impressed as he sounds betrayed.

“Born that way.”

Kas delights in the way that the brunette shuffles uncomfortably. So much for being done keeping up appearances.

“You can control Eddie,” remarks Will, and Kas clenches his jaw at the old name. “How?”

Here comes the difficult part, let’s see how Harrington handles it. “He gave me his name.”

There’s a sudden tension in the air and all the brats straighten up. It’s great to know that everyone knew what giving their name to a fae meant but him.

“So, he’s yours?” Asks Lucas with a noticeable fear in his voice. He gulps loudly when his question is confirmed by Steve’s nod.

“But…” starts Dustin, brow furrowed in worry and confusion. “We all gave you our names!”

“No, you didn’t,” quickly denies Steve as the panic in the room grows. “I knew them before I met you and I never asked for them. You’re all safe, don’t worry.”

“Not with Vecna hanging over our heads,” snarks Mike.

Harrington seems to hesitate to answer, but he shares a look with Robin and it’s enough to motivate him. “He’s not going to be a problem anymore. I made a deal with him.”

“A deal?” Nancy sounds unimpressed and he has to wonder if she knows what it means to make a deal with a fae.

Steve nods. “I fought against Creel’s champion, if I won, he’d stop trying to take over the world. And I won that fight.”

“Who was his champion?”

Kas glares at Will, who asked the question and the boy recoils in fear, but the party seems to understand the implications. They understand that he’s Creel’s champion and that the mark on his face is Steve’s doing.

“And he won’t break the deal?” Questions the older Byers. Apparently, he didn’t get the whole shtick when it came to making a deal with a creature like that either.

Steve chuckles lightly. “He’s not that stupid.”

The group falls quiet once more, but Kas decides that his captor shouldn’t get off that easily. “Ask him to show you what he really looks like.”

“Shut up,” finally snaps the teen, and Kas complies with a smile. The damage is already done and he’s going to watch the fallout with great satisfaction.

Everyone looks confused, everyone but Robin. He’s not surprised that she knows. It’s Nancy who speaks first, ever the leader that she is. “What does he mean?”

“It’s nothing,” dismisses the brunette but it’s obvious that it’s not convincing anyone. Harrington is clearly looking for some kind of excuse that would put their worries to rest, but it quickly becomes clear that only the truth will do that. So, Steve sighs. “This isn’t what I normally look like.”

He struggles to find his next words and Kas simply observes his blackened fingers with a barely concealed smile. Harrington might have thought that he had won by having his name, but he was not prepared for what it meant. Because Kas might not be Eddie anymore, but he still knows how to be insufferable.

“Can we see?” Mike asks and for the first time since this started, he doesn’t sound like he wants to insult Steve.

The teenager presses his lips together, hesitant but he nods, nonetheless. Unlike the instant change when they made the deal or when Steve finally revealed himself, this one is gradual. The teeth lengthen first, and then his eyes get bigger, and his pupils are nothing but slits. His eyes shimmer unnaturally in the artificial light of his home. The ears are next, their pointy corners peak out of his hair. Harrington gains a few inches in height and his limbs lengthen just as his fingers grow thinner and his nails sharpen.

Then he stands there and waits.

He’s nervous, Kas realizes. Even in his true form, Steve doesn’t look as proud as he did when he had faced Creel. There’s a twitch in his fingers that shows just how scared he is of being rejected and Kas delights in his suffering. It’s like seeing King Steve fall all over again. The party tries to hide their reactions as best as they can, but it’s obvious that Nancy is reaching for a weapon that isn’t there.

“Steve,” says Robin after a few seconds of stunned silence.

He looks at her and the girl gives him a shrug. Kas has no idea what it’s supposed to mean but Harrington seems to understand. He takes off his shirt, and Kas narrows his eyes when he realizes that the bite marks on his stomach are gone too. But he has a feeling that the brunette isn’t taking off his shirt just to show off. Sure enough, Steve rolls his shoulders and Kas watches with wide eyes as wings sprout from his back. This reveal seems to go over the group better than his real face, which Harrington seems to notice as well. In a blink, his face is back to the more human looking one while the wings stay out in the open. Kas remembers some of the drawings Eddie had seen that depicted faes, of how peculiar their wings were usually drawn. The wings in front of him are not like those of a butterfly or a dragonfly, but more like a mix of the two. While Steve’s real face looks uncanny, his wings are beautiful. They’re iridescent and the light reflects on them as if they’re made up of multiple panels of stained glass.

The kids stay quiet for a moment before Dustin speaks up. “Are they… real?”

Harrington rolls his eyes in annoyance but there’s an unmistakable hint of relief on his face. “Henderson, you literally just saw them sprout from my back, and you still think they’re fake?”

“I know, but it’s crazy!” The others seem to agree, but no one dares to speak up yet. Kas knows it’s only a matter of time before they do though.

“Watch the wings,” Steve warns as Dustin’s hand gets dangerously close. “They’re not done healing yet.”

“Healing?” frowns the kid.

“Yeah, I got dragged on my back in the Upside Down, they got torn.”

His explanation only seems to confuse them more. “But all your other injuries are gone! And how did they even get torn if they were hidden all the time?”

“I tried to fly away when I got to the other side, but the vines didn’t let up. I didn’t have time to hide them again.”

“They were treated,” remarks Lucas with a frown. His hand brushes the wings until he touches where it’s sprouting from his back. “You couldn’t have reached all the way there. You had help.”

Kas narrows his eyes at the deduction. He hadn’t noticed at first but now that it’s pointed out, he does see tiny rips and half healed cuts.

“From who?” wonders Mike. “Your parents?”

Harrington chuckles bitterly. “No, my parents wouldn’t do that.”

“I did,” says Robin.

He’s not surprised that she knows, but the others sure are. They keep looking at one and then the other and no one knows what to say to whom. Kas on the other hand, only just realizes that he owes his defeat to Buckley. Harrington hadn’t tried to get him out before because he hadn’t known that he existed; until he had cornered and threatened Robin. If Harrington is the weapon forged through the honor of the fight, Robin is the poisoned blade that strikes between the ribs when you think you’ve won. Easier to conceal, but just as deadly.

When she meets his gaze, her eyes glint unnaturally in the light. She’s not quite fae but she’s definitely not human.

What is she?

His frustration is momentarily broken by Jonathan’s exasperated sigh. “Do you guys keep any secrets from each other?”

The pair share a look before shrugging. “No,” replies the girl. “You’d be surprised at how much we know about each other.”

There’s a shared understanding between them and Kas somehow knows that they’re not just talking about Harrington here. There’s a few more questions that he doesn’t care enough to listen to until Steve has suddenly put away his wings and stares straight at him.

“You guys keep your questions,” he says, interrupting whatever Lucas was in the middle of saying. “We just have to take care of him first.”

The fact that he knows Harrington isn’t about to kill him doesn’t reassure him in the slightest, because technically, they are going to kill him. They don’t want Kas, they want Eddie. Eleven swiftly walks next to Steve and the brunette orders him to get up and follow him, and he complies through gritted teeth. The teen brings him to a bedroom that’s covered with a godawful amount of plaid and while there isn’t much to indicate whose bedroom it is, Kas would be ready to bet his name all over again that it’s Steve’s bedroom.

Harrington pulls out a chair and gestures to it. “Sit down, don’t move, let Eleven do her thing.”

Three simple orders.

Three orders that mark his execution.

Kas wants to snarl, he wants to lash out to defend himself, and rip apart the entire party that has been destroying Creel’s plans for years, but he can’t move. So, he’s stuck glaring at the two people who represent judge, jury, and executioner.

The girl turns to Steve, her eyes fierce. “Are you sure Henry will not attack?”

The brunette’s eyes soften the way it always does for one of his kids. “Yeah, I’m sure. he’s basically signing his own death penalty if he breaks the deal.”

Eleven doesn’t say anything and Kas is sure her sad eyes would have moved Eddie, but he doesn’t care. It does grab Harrington’s attention though.

“Why? You wanted a war?”

Her eyes go wide in shock. “No. But I am afraid that he might find a way to attack.”

He wraps an arm around her shoulder and gives her a side hug. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t. I’m giving you my word, that’s unbreakable. Can you feel it?”

Eleven closes her eyes and so does Kas, he doesn’t feel it as strong as the bonds tying him to the fae, but he does feel it. The bond of an unbreakable promise. He opens his eyes just as the girl does too.

“I do,” she says with a bright smile. She finally leans into the embrace and Steve smiles brightly. “Thank you.”

“You deserve everything nice, El.”

The moment lasts for a few more seconds before it breaks. Suddenly, both of their focus is on him again and he feels so very small. He feels angry, yes, but he feels impossibly vulnerable too. Harrington stands behind Eleven as she approaches him, a silent guard to make sure nothing goes wrong. His face is half shrouded in the shadows and he can see the way his eyes glow like two burning stars. He’d be scared if he wasn’t already terrified.

Eleven puts her hands on either side of his head and everything goes black.

***

When he wakes up, he’s lying on a bed. The light is barely filtering through the curtains so it’s either very early in the morning or late in the afternoon. He feels… weak, human. Everything is fuzzier, details are less defined, and most importantly, he doesn’t feel the hive mind anymore. There’s a dresser to his left and he quickly gets out of the bed to examine his reflection in the mirror.

He looks human.

His eyes aren’t scarlet red, and his skin isn’t as pale as it used to be. He’s still pale, sure, but he doesn’t look like a corpse. His fingers aren’t black, and his teeth are dull without a single trace of his fangs. He doesn’t know how to feel about being Eddie again, does he even want that? He’s back in a town that hates him and wants nothing more than to see him dead all over again. Can he face that again?

“Welcome back,” says a voice from the shadows.

Eddie whips his head around to see Harrington standing in the corner of his room. Has he been there the whole time? He looks… normal. Normal enough that he could fool himself into thinking that he dreamed up the fact that Steve was a fae. But even without being able to see through the illusion, he knows something is off about him. It’s in the way he stands, the way he’s looking at him as though he can read his mind, hell maybe he can since he’s technically his.

“You look normal.”

The brunette chuckles and extracts himself from the shadows. “That’s what happens when you’re human.”

Eddie presses his lips tightly and lets the silence stretch between them. It takes a few seconds to realize that the entire house is silent. “Is everyone gone?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “You were unconscious for a few hours. I told them to go get some rest and I’d update them on your situation whenever I could.”

The words sound nice, caring even, but he can read between the lines. “You were guarding me. In case whatever Eleven did didn’t work.”

Harrington looks sheepish for a moment. “Doesn’t matter, you’re back.”

He nods, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. He remembers the rage he felt toward the group, how he was ready to kill them without remorse. He had nearly attacked Henderson for god’s sake! How was the kid ever going to trust him again? And now that Harrington had his name, could he even leave the house? Would the fae ever let him leave town? What about Wayne? He’s sure the gang told him that he was dead. How could he possibly explain his sudden resurrection without revealing the Upside Down to his uncle?

“Are you okay?” Suddenly asks Steve. He looks worried.

Eddie goes to sit on the bed and the other teen joins him, his eyes never leaving him. He shuts his eyes and sighs deeply. “What happens now?”

The brunette seems taken aback by his question but tries nonetheless to answer. “Well, we could say we found you stuck somewhere and barely surviving. Hopper, who is alive by the way, already cleared your name. Sure, most people don’t believe it but most people are gone anyway. We can contact your uncle and—”

“I mean us,” he interrupts. He’d be delighted in the way Harrington suddenly blushes if he wasn’t so damn scared. “You have my name. What happens now?”

“I don’t have your name.”

He frowns, almost offended at how he dismisses his concerns. “Don’t bullshit me, man. The whole reason I’m here is because I gave you my name.”

Steve grabs his hands to stop them from trembling. “Kas gave me his name. You didn’t.”

“What?”

Eddie’s eyes are wide, and he stares at the brunette in confusion as he answers. “You were very adamant about being two different people. And it’s true. You were a different person, and that person gave me his name, but Eddie Munson didn’t.”

He blinks at him, momentarily speechless. It takes a few seconds for him to manage to form words again. “Did you know that all along?”

“Yes,” smiles Harrington. “But I didn’t know if it was actually going to work, but when Robin told me you didn’t use Eddie anymore, I knew what I had to try.”

His chest feels warm at the thought that someone would do that for him. “You opened a whole can of worms, that’s for sure, but I’m still glad you did it. Especially before I managed to kill anyone in the group.”

Steve laughs, but he can see that there’s something on his mind. He’s worried, uncertain even. “So, you’re not too freaked out? The others are…” He trails off for a moment, his eyes dulling in sadness. “Well, it’ll take a moment for them to get used to it. Especially Nancy and Jonathan, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Eddie can only sympathize with him, being the freak was never fun, especially when the resentment came from friends. “I wasn’t scared when you ripped a bat apart with your bare hands, you think finding out you’re not human is going to push me away? No way. You’re going to get sick of all of my questions before I get tired of you.”

Harrington blushes, and he’s reminded of the way the teen had reacted in a similar fashion during their talk in the Upside Down. Back when he had realized that his jealousy might have more layers than just plain old rivalry. That talk had felt liberating, but also terrifying. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a crush on a guy, but why had his heart chosen Harrington out of everyone? He’d nearly told Steve before he had left to kill Vecna, but he had chickened out because that’s all he knew what to do. Well, until he’d sacrificed himself.

The brunette eventually breaks the silence, and it seems like he’d been thinking along the same lines as him. “Now, for as arrogant as Kas was, he did mention that you also had feelings, even if we were both too cowardly to confess.” Steve grins with the charming smile he’d seen him use on girls for years. It’s a travesty that it’s working on him too. “Maybe we can talk about that?”

The teen is looking at him with hopeful eyes and Eddie has a few seconds to decide if he lets himself actually give in or deny his feelings. If he dismisses Kas’ claim as taunting, he’d have to go back to playful flirting and trying to push him toward his ex because he’s scared of what would happen if he actually made a move on Harrington. But he has the perfect opportunity right now. And hell, with everything that’s happened, he’ll be damned if he wastes it again.

Despite the voice in his head telling him that it’s never going to work out between the two of them, he smiles at Steve. “I’d like that.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #fae steve harrington #joe keery #robin buckley #steddie fic #steve and robin #vampire eddie munson #kas eddie munson #eleven hopper #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers

46 notes · View notes