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harrysarchive · 1 year

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A request where Harry styles is a college football star student who has a crush on his single sexy proffesor, reader. One day, reader asked him to see after class

after class: h.s.

pairing: fratboy!harry x professor!reader

summary:

"i can tell you like the thought of this rendezvous with me." i smirk and she gasp.

"that is very inappropriate mr. styles."

fratboy harry has a hot professor and she calls him in after class.

warning:

SMUT 18+ PLEASE

p.s.a i didn't write the exact request but this is what i felt comfortable writing! thank you for the request! <3

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘'𝐒

𝐏𝐎𝐕

i let out an exaggerated sigh as i make my way to english literature, introduction to romantic poetry was the lesson of the week. at least the professor is bangin' hot. thick thighs, amazing curves and what looks like a d-cup set nicely on her chest.

professor y/l/n.

she was a recent graduate of the University of Georgia, the current school i was attending. a full ride football scholarship, i was the best wide receiver in the nation, uni's form all states where trying to pull me. i made the decision to attend UGA on logistics, the best football team in all the states, currently undefeated.

"you ready to see our professor?" niall snaps me out of my thoughts wiggling his eyebrows.

"bloody hell, yes. i don't think i could thank my advisor more for forcing me to do this class." i snicker and he chuckles shaking his head.

"tell me 'bout it." he comments licking his lips and i scrunch my face in disgust.

"watch yourself horan." i mumble as i see a group of girls waving at me and sending winks my way, i send them a wave before averting my eyes.

niall throws a punch at my arm before starting a light jog and i huff out a laugh before following him. sooner than later we find ourselves in professor y/l/n's lecture hall.

"romantic poetry is the poetry of the Romantic era, an artistic, literary, musical and intellectual movement that originated in Europe towards the end of the 18th century." professor y/l/n's states as she walks around her desk, a gray pencil skirt hugs her curvy hips, her freshly shaven legs on display, and a black turtleneck that sticks to her skin like glue. "i've decided to take a different route then the normal, 'Sonnet 18 by the beloved William Shakespeare', and instead we will start this unit with something from my background, 'El Beso' by Angelina Weld Grimké. which translates to 'the kiss', Grimké wrote the poem about a love song, full of passion, yearning, and confused emotions."

i lick my lips and pull my bottom lip between my teeth, she sits back on the desk and her hips plush out even more.

i never would've thought i could listen so much in a class.

"as like your other projects in my class you will either make a short story, making it easier for the common eye to read or, you will make a photo reflection. with that being said i would also like a short summary over 'El Beso.' she smiles at the class, "any questions?" no one raises their hand except, well me. "yes mr. styles?" she cocks an eyebrow.

"what is the grade point based on?"

"like all your other projects it depends on efficiency, the structure and etcetera." she replied folding her hand in-front of her chest, "also if i could see you after class mr. styles, we need to talk."

my heart drops to the pit of my stomach and i gulp down the knot in my throat, "of course professor y/l/n."

i'm fucked.

"thank you so much for working hard today! i cant wait to see all of the things you guys have come up with. there will be a short quiz over El Beso next class so study hard!" professor y/l/n shooes everyone out, class ticked by at the slowest rate known to man kind.

i stand awkwardly at the foot of her desk and wait till she turns around beaming a smile at me.

"ah mr. styles! exactly who i wanted to see. please follow me to my office." she starts walking towards the direction of the locked office and opens it with her key.

"now no need to be scared, just wanted to talk to you about your grades." she smiles pointing me to sit in the chair in front of her desk.

she slides into her rollie chair as well and pulls out a manila folder with my name on the top right corner.

"okay it's just that you seem to be doing exceptional in my class, you are one of the top students that i have."

"but..?" i wait for the wooing factor that's bound to happen.

"but you are barely passing your other classes." she pulls out what looks like a report card you would get in grade school.

"a seventy is passing." i state bluntly as i look over the grades.

"that is true mr. styles, very true but how are you making seventy precent in all other class and passing mine with a ninety percentage average?"

it's because you make me focus.

"how do i make you focus?" she answer the question i thought was just in my head.

"i don't know okay? i mean look at you! you're the hottest professor i have! it hard not to pay attention when you are the professor!"

her eyes widen at my outburst and her ears flush, she straightens herself out and i notice that she squeezes her thighs together.

"i'm sorry? that i distract you?" she stutters putting her glasses on the top of her head.

"i can tell you like the thought of this rendezvous with me." i smirk and she gasp.

"that is very inappropriate mr. styles."

i get up and make my way towards her side of the desk pulling her chair out, i let my hands travel up her sides and to her shoulders, massaging them slowly as she lets out a whine.

"tell me this doesn't turn you on. the thought of you and me. me bending you over this goddamn desk and me fucking you senseless." i whisper in her ear and a shiver runs down her spine.

"we can't." she says bluntly causing a chuckle to leave my mouth.

"i didnt ask if we could did i, love?" she holds back an answer and i bring my lips to her neck pressing kisses on her sensitive skin, "i asked if this turns you on."

she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and murmurs, "fuck it." before spinning around and crashing her lips with mine. i eagerly kiss back slipping my tongue between her mouth, she lets a moan slips out. i slip between her legs and my arms grab underneath her thighs picking her up with ease.

"wait," she whines pulling apart and pushing my chest.

"what baby?" i practically cry out wanting nothing more than to kiss her puffy lips again.

"the door, i didn't lock it."

i let out a chuckle before dropping her to her feet and briefly pecking her lips, quickly locking the door. y/n leans over the desk, the plump of her ass sticking out.

"so you do want this?" i muse as my hand runs along down arch of her back.

"shut up and fuck me." she grunts through gritted teeth causing my cock to swell in my pants.

i slip a hand through the front of her skirt splitting her sleek folds before my thumb makes contact with her sensitive puffy clit rubbing tight circles, her whimpers and moans start to fill the air, "you're soaked baby." i mumble in her ear and she shivers.

"please." she pleas, grabbing ahold on her skirt hiking it up and they bunch on her plump hips.

"wanna taste ya cunt first." i groan sitting in her chair as i pull down her red lace thong, "ya tryna to kill me."

pressing a kiss to the arch of her back i make my way down to her puffy cunt, jesus fuck, i spread her glistening folds pressing a kiss to her clit, she lets out a breathy moan before pushing her hips back licking a broad stripe through her folds, muffling my own groan of pleasure.

"oh harry." she shuddered pulling her hand to her mouth, trying to suppress the small moans and whimpers that were trying to escape her.

"no," i growl against her and slap her plushy ass, "let them out, i wanna her you."

her jaw fell open as a beautiful pornographic moan erupted through the room, knuckles white as they fisted the bottom of the desk, nails digging in the wood leaving small angry marks, her hips pushing back into my face.

my hands were around her thighs, pulling her closer to me, holding her still as she huffed out a breath through her swollen lips. i begged her with my actions, digging fingers into her beautiful melanin flesh and willed her to cum on my face.

"har, 'm gonna cum!" she moaned bucking her hips.

"do it." i spat shortly.

she lets out a high pitched moan as her orgasm hits her, i let her ride it out coaxing her swollen clit. my hands quickly unbutton my pants and i yank them down along with my boxers.

"got my cock leaking honey." i muse lightly fisting my bulge.

"fuck me please." she whines arching her back further.

"yeah you want my cock bad?" i tease swiping my swollen tip through her velvet folds.

not wanting to tease us both any longer i positioned my cock at her entrance, pushing inside her in one fluid motion. she moaned loudly, my hands moving to her lower back, fingers digging into her skin i groaned at the feeling of being inside her. i fucked into her at a torturously steady pace. she grounded her hips down to meet my movements, desperate for more, silently begging me to meet that soft spot inside of her. my hand moves to her neck, wrapping around her throat and she whines.

" 's good." she slurred as her legs start to buckle.

i pull her up with the hand that's around her neck, moving it to her face before turning her head to give her a bruising kiss. once we pulled away i push her down again my hips snapping faster craving a release. i looked at her like she was artwork, displayed just for me in a pornographic arch. my pace was fast, smooth and shallow thrusts, keeping my hips angled so my cock could hit that spongy place that makes her eyes roll back.

"faster h! please!" she cried pushing her hips back, i rocked my hips faster against her before looking down where we connected, i gather saliva in my mouth before spitting between us.

"that's it baby, that's it, take it like a good girl." i gasp out gripping her hips with an iron grip not letting her run from my thrust. i felt her spazzing around me and a choked moan left my lips, my hand moves around to her front and my thumb connects with her swollen pearl.

"cum for me baby." i grunt and she lets out a whine clawing the front of her desk.

she clenched around me and i let out a gasp as we both finally released. my thrusts we're starting to slow down, giving her a sharp pump keeping my cock there as her orgasm hit her. she screams my name as her eyes closed and legs shook. i stood above her as i waited for her pulse to calm down. i let out a breathy chuckle before pulling out and grabbing a tissue for the box of her desk. i quickly clean her before placing a kiss on her plump ass and pull her thong up.

"what do you want for dinner love?" i ask as she pushes her skirt back into place.

she turns around with a smile on her lips before pushing me to sit in her chair and sitting in my lap, "dunno, we haven't gone grocery shopping this week, we have nothing in the fridge."

i play with the diamond ring that rested on her left hand before bringing it to my lips and placing a kiss on it.

"i can go if you want sum pet."

"yeah been craving your chicken parm." she groans out rubbing her stomach, i let out a chuckle before kissing her lips.

"okay want anything else?"

"those crisps i like, the spicy ones." she hums running a hand through my hair, "best fiancé out there."

"yeah? 'm the best?" i tease her and she nods.

a/n: PLOT TWIST😭🤣🤣 i knew i wanted them to have a real relationship but i didn't know if i wanted it to be a "they use to date" relationship or a "they're engaged" relationship😋

also a lil introduction about me i'm 19! my full name is emily but please call me em! i am mexican (MEXICORRY RISE🇲🇽) my pronouns are she/her/hers. i've been a fan of harry since xfactor days so i'm not new to this fandom🫶🏽 that's all you get rn ;)

-all the love,

xo🐝

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manicpixiedreamcurl · 2 years

Text

The More You Give ❧ (Part III)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ only, do not interact if you are underage. Grinding, oral (f receiving), finger action, spitting, Eddie gets a little touch, cum eating (yup), increasingly dom!Eddie and sub!reader. Eddie has been beat up a whole bunch in the past, bullying, Eddie’s special way of dealing with bullies involves aggressive flirting, consequently some homophobia, general worries and a bit of insecurity for both of them, touch of sub drop. Not a warning but Eddie is on track to be a famous musician in this fic and nobody will stop me.

Word count | ~9,650

A/N | If anything could define reader, it’s that she has constant romantic epiphanies, including while Eddie is between her legs. Only the second date, you say? Not important to reader. She’s hopped up on poetry and Eddie’s smile.

Taglist | Previous Chapter

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You could get used to Eddie at your door. Even as you are now, in a comfy sweater and shorts, he is looking you up and down like you’re dressed to the nines. Butterflies fill your stomach when he flashes his dimples and your fingers twitch with the want to touch his pink cheeks.

“All ready, Princess?”

“Almost.” You need to pack everything you’d prepared, grab your shoes, but you feel stuck fast to your front step, staring at him and chewing the inside of your lip. You wish he’d just kissed you right away. It feels like you’ve been waiting for it every second since you felt his lips last.

Maybe you could ask. Eddie wouldn’t mind. He’d probably like it. But how do you request that sort of thing?

Eddie lets you stare at him uninterrupted for a few seconds, then leans in till his eyes are right by yours. “Anything I can do to help out?” At your shaking head, he nods contemplatively, then glances to the side with his eyes and back, lips pursing in a smile. One eye closes like he has you all figured out. “You want something else from me first?”

You nod, sighing happily when he leans in more. You feel the smile in his kiss. It is a gentle reminder that Eddie likes you just as much as you like him, even in the moments you can’t say everything you want to. You give in to the want of your hands to touch his face, feeling his warmth against your palms. Eddie hums as he pulls away, tongue emerging to lick at his top lip that was just held by yours.

You press your face to his chest, getting a proper hit of what wearing his hoodie this morning had only given you hints of. “I-” A deep, slow breath of him, your mind settling into the fact that it’s Eddie with you. Your voice is muffled by his t-shirt. “I missed you.”

It’s been less than a day, he could say. Or, more devastating, but equally possibly, okay, getting a little clingy.

But it’s Eddie, and no matter what niggling voices suggest, he never would.

“Yeah?” His brown eyes are warm. “Fucking hell, I missed you, too. Waiting all morning to see you was torture.”

You close your eyes and let yourself indulge in being held by Eddie a little longer. Then he waits for you outside while you pack up everything you prepared this morning, a couple sandwiches, pieces of fruit, a pack of cookies. You grab the tape Eddie made you from your walkman, too, tucking it back in its case. You wave to your parents, sitting in the back garden, and rush back through the house before your Mom can get your Dad up from his deck chair.

Eddie’s hand finds yours easily as he takes off up your street. “How’s my girl today?” He asks. “You have a good morning?”

“Listened to my tape.”

“No shit, already? You listened to the whole thing?”

You hum. In fact, you listened to the whole thing three times over. You’d drifted awake with the early Summer sun, anticipation too sweet to fall back to sleep. You’d listened to it in your bed, while you made lunch, and while you were getting ready.

“What, uh, what did you think?” Confident, relaxed Eddie is sitting with unusual tension in his loose limbs. His eyes are steadfastly fixed on the road, his fingers tapping the steering wheel.

“I liked Flight of Icarus.”

Eddie grins, looking pleased with himself. “I thought you might be into that one. Your kinda thing, right?” You swing your feet, thinking about Eddie making choices with your interests in mind. The thought of him deciding, pleased with himself, to include a song about a Greek myth for you to listen to, to help you find your feet in his interest. It makes you want to lay kisses all over his pretty pink cheeks. “Any other favourites I should know about?”

You fish the tape from your bag to get another look at the track list. “Oh. Last Rose of Summer.”

It didn’t sound like metal at all, until you realised it was more the band that played it than this song in particular that tied it to the genre. A lilting, gentle voice, lyrics that made you cover your face with the sleeves of Eddie’s hoodie. “There’s actually-” You tap your feet a little, reminding yourself that Eddie wants to know these things, wants to know about you. “I think it’s a reference to a Thomas Moore poem.”

“Are you kidding? And you like him?” Eddie grins when you nod. “Knew Judas Priest would come through for me.”

“Mm. Some of their stuff was…”

“Oh, they can be intense, for sure. That’s what I like about ‘em, but yeah, I didn’t expect you to like all of it. And I bet you listened on a walkman, too.”

“While I made cookies.”

Eddie opens his mouth like he’s about to complete a thought, then closes it and rests his head back on the seat. “Okay. I mean, Jesus.” He shakes his head, laughing. “I guess I wanna say first that you’re the sweetest thing to ever walk the earth.”

You tuck your knees together, shrugging even as a shy, pleased smile makes its way to your lips.

“But my point was gonna be, the music on that tape was not made to be listened to through headphones. It’s made for stereos, blasting it loud enough to piss off the neighbours, not to be right into the delicate ears of Princesses.” Eddie squeezes your hand. “But I wasn’t expecting that of you, either. And you know, the best, the fucking best, is always to see them live. Judas Priest were the first band I ever saw. At the end,” Eddie brings his hand from yours to his neck, wrapping his thumb in the chain there to display the black plectrum. “Glenn Tipton, the guitarist? He threw this into the crowd. I’d never had a shred of luck but it landed right at my feet and it felt like- like, fate, you know? I dove for it and once I had it in my hand.” He wraps a shaking fist around it tight, knuckles going pale. “I wasn’t letting go for anyone. Some of the guys in the crowd even got me on the ground, kicking me and shit, trying to get me to drop it. Just gave up when they realised I wasn’t ever gonna give it to ‘em.”

“That’s awful.”

“Pretty metal of me though, right?” Eddie turns with a grin, eyes crinkled at the sides and you see he’s so genuinely proud. “I think it could be worth quite a lot, actually. It was their first tour when they really blew up in America in seventy-eight.”

You blink. “How…old were you?”

“Uh, thirteen I think? Had to sneak in. And got caught, obviously. Gave a roadie three ounces not to rat me out; was paying Rick back for months. Didn’t matter, it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. And it was so, entirely, endlessly worth it. This thing has gotta be lucky. I mean, just look at me now.” Eddie brings your hand up to kiss your knuckles three times, twice fast and the final long. “What more could a metalhead want?”

Eddie knows the lake well, apparently. Not because he spends a lot of time doing the activities Lovers’ Lake is associated with, he assures, after playing for a minute that he’s trying to stop you going into a jealous rage. “You gotta believe me,” he says, pulling your entire body to him dramatically, wrapping an arm around your waist and tipping you back. “They didn’t mean anything, all those thousands of girls. If I’d known you were round the corner for me, I’d have been beating them away with a stick. You gotta see that!” Only when you give him a played up, cute little scowl, does his game fall apart. He scrunches his nose, shrugs sheepishly and tells you that his supplier lives on the East side of the lake and there’s a pretty little spot where he smoked weed for the first time with three other boys set to become drug dealers.

"It's a very special place for me," Eddie explains wistfully when you’ve begun the walk. He guides you over a fallen tree, the hand not holding yours out in front of you, ready for catching. "Picture the guy you see now, a foot and a half shorter, hair buzzed, lacking all the sweet tatties, acting tough and trying to pretend he hadn’t just coughed up a lung smoking for the first time. It happened right here."

It’s not as hard as he might think. You remember when he first moved to Hawkins, suddenly seeing him in the halls, your eleven year old brain marking him down as ‘cute older boy.’ Sometimes you’d see him holding doors open for women, or carrying his guitar around, little things that made him a little cuter.

Once, you spied him rushing into the boys’ bathroom with one hand grasping his stomach, the other over his nose, blood trailing down his chin, dripping red on his shirt.

You listen to Eddie ramble happily about this place, and wonder with a wave of surprising frustration why he isn’t angry all the time. You know so many angry boys, and Eddie has a right to it more than any of them. How can somebody have been hurt so often, treated so poorly, and still end up holding your hand like this? Smiling like that? Talking gently, understanding, kissing sweetly. It doesn’t make sense.

"Only other person that comes out here is Rick, but he's not likely to be up this early."

"Oh, I don't want to get you in trouble."

Eddie looks at you over his shoulder, dimples deep in his cheeks. "I really don't think that’s something we need to worry about, sweet girl."

You emerge at a perfect little patch of grass by the edge of the water, arched by full trees. There's some evidence of previous trips here, but the roaches that scatter the ground are covered over easily by Eddie spreading out the blanket you brought. He holds your hand and guides you down to it, waiting until you’re settled and looking up at him to drop ungracefully at your side.

You drink quickly warming beer, eat sandwiches and listen to Eddie talk about his band, formed soon after that Judas Priest concert, though not to be very good for some years after.

"I mean, it felt so huge, playing a real gig the first time, even if it was just for a couple of drunks who hated every minute.” You chew through bread, meat and lettuce while Eddie speaks, his own sandwich held half way to his mouth like he’s about to take a bite but never quite managing through his impassioned speech. “And after a while, it was like, oh shit I think we’re actually kinda good? I really think, when we’ve all graduated, if I really work at it...” He shrugs a little shyly, takes a bite of the sandwich and makes a quick face of approval as he swallows. “I don’t know. Sometimes I’m just so sure we could do it, go places. I know everyone thinks that, but it’s still true.”

You think he has to go places. You can’t imagine the injustice of Eddie staying in Hawkins forever. That, too, would make no sense.

“I wish you could come see us,” he admits, taking larger bites of his lunch and chewing loudly. “I’d play you Flight of Icarus and Last Rose of Summer, if you did. The guys might not be that into the second one, but if they knew it was for you, they’d be cool with it. Jeff really likes you, did you know that?”

Jeff has been in your grade since you were five, and you remember him when he was the quietest boy in that grade. You’d half bonded through that, understanding eye contact when called on to speak by teachers, the shared frustration of being those kids paired up with the most monstrous boys in the hope of being a good influence.

But when you’d had May, and then Heather, to do some of the talking for you, Jeff didn’t really have anyone. Maybe that was until Eddie and the others. While you’d stayed firmly in your shell, Jeff seemed to have emerged from his. He’s been your lab partner in every Chemistry class since the first year you got to choose, and he’s always the one to answer questions on behalf of your little team.

“I like him.”

“We could all hang out, you know, if you came to a show.”

You nod earnestly. “I do want to, Eddie.”

“This girl’s parents can’t miss one date night?” He asks, eyes flicking between his food and you, hoping you’ll say yes.

“Grace’s Mom does night classes,” you explain. The end of her course seems so far away, and you don’t want to assume that Eddie thinks you’ll still be dating months from now, but you hate the dejected look on his chewing face enough to take the risk. “But they’ll probably let out around the holidays?”

Eddie swallows the last bite of his sandwich and taps his knees excitedly. “You know, that sounded something like a promise.”

“It was.”

Eddie looks so pleased and excited at the prospect that your heart flutters, seeing the certainty he has that he’ll still want to see you, months from now. You let yourself think about the prospect of having Eddie like this for longer, into the New Year. Maybe, the one after that and the one after that. The thought is so nice you could cry.

You split a couple satsumas, handing Eddie pieces for him to pop into his mouth between sentences. When they’re done, Eddie side eyes the cookies in tupperware, waiting for you to offer one.

“Eddie,” you finally say, holding back a laugh. “Would you like a cookie?”

He blinks, tilts his head forward and puts those wide brown eyes to use. “Since I drove us, and found what has to be the most romantic date spot, I think, maybe, I deserve two cookies?”

Through your giggles, the thought strikes, pleasant and scary in equal measure. It’s going to be so easy, falling in love with him.

“You look real pretty today, did I tell you that?” Eddie says with his mouth full of crumbs. He looks so boyish and earnest with it that you press your chin to your shoulder. “And your eyes, you know. I mean, they’re great as they are, but the colours and stuff always look so cool.”

You wiggle your hips happily, tap your stretched out feet. He means the colourful eyeshadow you like, sometimes glittery or blended colours. Today it’s just a pale pink, but it’s one of your favourites. “I like eyeshadow and stuff. It’s way more fun than other makeup.”

“Yeah? That’s cool. If I wore makeup I’d do it like yours. Avoid the boring shit.”

With Eddie’s eyes, you think he might suit it better than most girls do. You wonder if he’d ever try it. You look through your lashes at Eddie’s doe eyes, his pink cheeks and pouty lips. You wouldn’t say it to other boys, but the way Eddie styles himself, you think maybe he might like the suggestion.

“You’d suit eyeliner.”

Eddie’s face splits into a conspiratorial grin as he leans in, hair falling prettily over his shoulders. “I tried it before. For a gig.” His nose scrunches, and he tilts his head. “Poked myself in the eye like nine times. Didn’t look so good through the tears.”

You flinch at the second story of Eddie in pain today, even if this one sounds far less traumatising. Circling a finger on your leg, you look up at him and down again a couple times. “I could- I could show you how, if you wanted.”

“I’d rather you sat on my lap and did it for me.” He crouches his back until he’s looking up at your shy face, eyes sparkling. “Would you like that?”

You shrug, looking away from him before finding his eyes again and nodding.

“Yeah? Maybe when we’re on tour someday that can be your job. Just sit on my lap once a day and get me show ready.” He swallows the last bite of his cookie and leans back with a sigh, resting his head on his hand. “Travel the world, come to all my shows. And you could just read poetry all day, if you wanted.”

You lie down next to him, resting your head on his outstretched arm. Since he’s dreaming, you try, too. “I wanna write about poetry. Translate it.”

“That’s cool. Is that your plan for college?”

You sigh, the daydream fading. You play with the sleeve of your sweater. “Wouldn’t make any money.”

Eddie directs an incredulous look at you. “You know how much famous guitarists make, sweetheart? You don’t worry your sweet little head about shit like money. Just wait, I’ll look after you.”

You turn on your side to look at him properly, find him staring at the tree tops and blinking, lips pressed together and nose scrunched. “Am I being too intense?”

“No.”

“I’ve been told I can be too much too soon.”

Your heart aches to hear that. “Wasn’t too much.”

He looks at you then, searching for a lie. Instead he finds the beginning of something he doesn’t want to name. There’s still time for this to go wrong, like it generally does for him. Eddie’s chest rises and falls in a deep sigh. “I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

You can’t imagine he could. Not him, who has worked out how to talk to you, and how to listen, so easily and with such speed it astounds you. You tuck yourself closer to him until you can count the tiny, barely there freckles on his cheeks.

“Wasn’t too much,” you repeat.

“Okay,” he says with a sigh. Eddie’s eyes trail from your eyes to your lips. “Come here, then.”

You shiver, moving yourself into his space until he directs you up, settling you over his lap, your face close to his. Eddie’s hands come to your cheeks, thumb sliding across your skin. Your eyes flutter at the feeling of being held by him.

Eddie wraps a hand around the back of your neck and draws you to him, giving you a kiss that deepens almost immediately, his tongue licking quick at your bottom lip until you let him taste you and taste him back. A little beer, mainly the chocolate and sweet crumbs of your baking.

This could be heaven. The late afternoon heat cooled by the breeze over the lake. The sound of lapping water and birds singing, being touched, held, kissed by Eddie. His hands find your hips, encouraging you to drop your weight on him, the memory of last night coming hot and fast. You clench inside at the thought of it, wanting that again, wanting it right now.

Eddie groans into your mouth when you take the initiative to roll your hips. His lips drift from your mouth to your jaw, nipping just a little. “Sweetheart,” he presses wet kisses down your neck. “S-say you want me to look after you. Please?”

Your hips roll, wet between your thighs. “I want, oh,” Eddie’s teeth graze the place where your neck meets your collar, his tongue following soon after. “Eddie.”

Eddie grunts, sitting up and bringing you with him until you’re upright, his hand clasping the back of your neck. It’s like he’s learned, noticed it yesterday, how docile that makes you feel. Your eyes move slowly between his left and his right, so wide, so brown, crinkled at the sides with his beautiful smile.

“Go on,” he whispers, pressing a short kiss to your lips before he dives back to your neck, letting your head tilt back with the support of his hand at the base. You hear the distant sound of a boat engine, whirring over the water. You watch the gentle sway of leaves above, swaying with them as your body gives in to Eddie’s direction.

“Will you look after me, Eddie? Please?”

His breath is shaky against your neck. You can feel his nod from the way his hair brushes your chin. “Yes, sweetheart. As long as you’ll let me.”

Your heart cries out, forever and ever and ever and ever.

An engine sputters as a whistle, piercing and strong, rings out across the water. “You know why they call it Lovers Lake, right!?”

Obnoxious laughter follows as you tense up in Eddie’s arms, jerking from his mouth in shock and scrambling off his lap before you can form a thought about how it might make him feel.

“Holy shit- Is that the Freak? Didn’t know you had it in you, Munson!”

You glance up, hoping they’re far away and not approaching. It’s three men, fishing rods in hand despite their young age, already turning into their fathers. You recognise them, vaguely, from your earlier years at Hawkins High, and realise they must have been in Eddie’s grade.

They barely look at you, and it dawns easily that, more than anything, this is an opportunity for them to get at Eddie. He leans back on his arms, tosses his hair over his shoulders and grins coquettishly.

“Well, I’d have shown you if I’d known you were interested, big boy!”

The laughter stops abruptly, replaced by disgusted expressions.

“That’s- God, you really are a freak.”

“Is that you, Scott? Oh have I missed you. Always know the right kinda dirty talk that gets me going.” Eddie winks, rubbing a hand up his thigh towards his crotch.

You’re staring with wide eyes, amazed at him, how easily he’s made them uncomfortable without even throwing an insult.

“You’re a degenerate, Munson.”

“Oh fuck yeah, keep going.”

“Jesus- let’s just go. Don’t wanna catch whatever he’s spreading.”

At this, a steely blue gaze finally finds you. You expect to be mocked, but instead the ringleader, the first one to insult Eddie so terribly, just looks worried. “A nice girl like you. You wanna be more careful about who you hang around with.”

You open your mouth, wanting to say something, but not able to find any words before their engines starts up again, too loud to speak over. You watch them sail across the lake in silence, playing with your fingers as shame crawls up the back of your neck.

“Eddie, are you alright?” While you rub your pointer fingers, Eddie stands quickly, closing open boxes and packing them away into the bag. After a few seconds of silence, your heart starts to ache. “That was- Please say you’re alright.”

“I don’t give a shit about what some future loafer wearing, nine-to-five stock broker cunts think of me, if that’s what you’re asking.” He spies your watering eyes and sighs, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you home.”

“I don’t wanna go home.”

“Okay. We can do something else, then.” He gives you a strained smile, not quite looking at you while you stand up after him. The second you’re off the blanket, he’s sweeping it off the ground, rolling it up against his body. “Whatever you want.”

"Please stop.” But everything is gathered, ready to leave already. “It- it’s not because it's you."

"I told you before,” he says, eyes cold despite his words. “It's okay if it is."

"No!" Frustrated tears rise quickly, making your knees shake. "It's not that! It’s not! It's just- I can't-" You make a frustrated noise, all the shame involved in every memory of your past relationship building in your chest even as you're trying to expel it. You cover your eyes with your hands, wishing, wishing, wishing you could just talk. You feel devastated to have ruined this, knowing you should have stayed close to him, defended him. Now he thinks you’re a coward. Worse, that you’re ashamed of him, and it hurts. You feel your hands shake while you whisper. “Please, believe me.”

It takes a second, but you feel Eddie's hands, gentle, on your wrists. "Look at me," he says, helping you drop them and bending at the knees until he's staring into your wet eyes. "There's my girl." Relief floods through you at Eddie’s gentle smile. "You don't have to explain anything to me, okay?”

Oh. He doesn’t believe you. “No. No. It’s not-” You curl your fingers into fists. “You have to understand.”

Eddie watches your desperate face, the pleading way you’re looking at him. “Okay. Okay, if you say it's something else, then it’s something else. Alright?” He wraps you up in his arms, your face hidden in his neck. “Let's go back to mine, yeah?"

In the van, Eddie drives a little slower than usual. He grabs the tape you left in the van, putting it on full blast so there's no pressure for you to speak. While you wallow, his fingers tap against the steering wheel, and it takes you a couple minutes to realise he isn't drumming along, but moving his fingers to follow the progression of the guitar chords.

And then he smiles at you, still a little sad, but earnest, and you know you have to try and get the explanation out, no matter what you end up saying, no matter how your nervous mouth says it.

You take a long, shaky breath and turn the volume down low. Eddie turns to look at you in your periphery but you keep your eyes on the peeling texture on his glove compartment.

“The first time Andy kissed me, I-” You twist your fingers in your sleeves. “I moaned, or something, I guess. I was kind of drunk, and tired, and I…liked it. I didn’t think it was-” Your eyes squeeze shut, toes curling at the memory. “I forgot about it, but then at school, the girls all started making these noises at me, moaning when sat down at lunch. ‘Cause they knew. He’d told his friends, and they’d told their girlfriends, and they all knew about this dumb thing I did. And he- it was like, I should have expected it. Like, of course he told them, he tells them everything. But it just meant-” You rub a sleeve over your eyes, no doubt losing some of the pretty pink shadow Eddie had liked so much. “It was like being watched. Nothing was private, nothing was special. How was I supposed to ever let him touch me, when he’d just go and tell them everything? I couldn’t. But then everyone knew when he was angry with me. And why he dumped me.”

It’s easy to let Eddie touch you. As easy as falling asleep after a long day.

“Sweetheart-”

“It isn’t like that with you, Eddie. But it has to just be you.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, hand finding your sleeve until your fingers emerge and he can link them up. “Of course, baby. Jesus Christ, that son a bitch- and then he wrote that shit on your locker!?”

Who knows if it was him, or one of his friends? They’re all the same, in it together.

“No wonder you were so shaken up the first time. And then I just assumed you were- shit.” Eddie shakes his head, lips pressing together. “I’m sorry, sweet thing. I think, maybe, I’m tryna deal with some of my own stuff too, you know? I want it to work so bad- I want you so fucking bad. You were sitting there, worried out your mind, and I was caught up in convincing myself you’d realised that this doesn’t make any sense.” He drags a hand through his hair, leaving it frizzy and wild at the front. “So we’re not gonna do stuff like that anymore, right? We gotta keep each other in the know when we’re scared, okay? Even if we think it’s tiny. And always listen, even if the listening is hard. Right?”

You nod emphatically, pressing your fingers against Eddie’s knuckles. “Yes, that’s- Yes.”

Eddie lets the agreement sit for a while, until you’re surrounded by the trees leading up to his home. You’re relaxing into the knowledge that Eddie understands, and that it was worth the shame of laying out that part of your life. While you’re ready to sigh in silent relief, Eddie huffs a little laugh.

You tilt your head at him, and Eddie glances at you to the side, realising he’s been caught..

“I’ve just gotta say,” he starts, the dimple that appears on his cheek signalling Eddie’s satisfaction. “It kinda makes me all tingly that you let me touch you kinda easy. Some basketball player acted like a piece of shit? Ruined his chance with you? Doesn’t matter cause you’ve got me, handing out sweet orgasms for your pretty cunt left and right-”

“Eddie!”

He overacts an elated shiver as he pulls into the trailer park. “Oh, yeah, that’s the stuff. I’m addicted to that sound.”

There’s a man on the porch of Eddie’s trailer, face surrounded by dispersing smoke. Eddie spots him and squeezes your hand. “That’s Wayne. He’s kinda quiet, might seem a little grumpy, but he’s even sweeter than you are deep down.”

Eddie grabs the bag of leftovers from your lap, jumping out of the van with well practised ease. When you climb out on the far side, Eddie waits for you with his hand outstretched at the front of his van, wiggling fingers inviting you to hold on to him. Grasping his big palm tight, you let Eddie walk you up to his Uncle, who nods a greeting at you before looking at Eddie.

“Good day?”

“Oh yeah, we went to the lake. This sweet girl made us a little picnic. What about you?”

Wayne hums, shrugs. “There’s fresh coffee if you want it,” he says, tilting the mug in his hand. “I’ll be heading out soon, Eddie.”

“Sure. We thought we’d hang out here for a while before I take her home.”

Wayne hums again, nods a goodbye while Eddie pulls you away.

“Um, it was nice to meet you,” you try.

“And yourself.”

He watches, blowing out more smoke, while Eddie holds the door open for you to run inside, your face warm.

Eddie reaches up for two of the many mugs hanging on the wall, shaking one at you in question until you nod, then he starts pouring coffee while you stand in the middle of his kitchen with one foot tucked over the other. “Milk? Sugar?”

You mumble your preference, then, with a sudden hit of regret. “I forgot to introduce myself.”

Eddie shakes his head, taking a slug of black coffee. “Wayne knows who you are, sweetheart.” You blink owlishly when he hands you the mug, and Eddie shrugs, his soft cheeks growing pink. “I mean, he was here this morning so, I, you know, told him about yesterday. Not everything, obviously, left out the…stuff that’s just for us.” His dimples appear when he hands you a moss green mug. “And I mentioned you before, a few months ago. Had to give him an explanation for why I was suddenly so into Austrian poetry, didn’t I? The man had his hand on my forehead checking for fever.”

Eddie makes your heart flutter. You didn’t know being with somebody could feel like this. That everything they did could make you want them more and more. But even the way Eddie leans back on the counter, displaying his long torso and legs, looking so domestic with his pink face and mug, makes you want to kiss him all over his pretty face.

While you and Eddie drink, your eyes drift to and from each other. Soft, knowing smiles appear and fade every time you make eye contact over your mugs. Neither of you say it, but the knowledge is firm, almost physical in the room. You’re waiting, with gentle impatience, for the sound of Wayne’s car pulling away.

When stones crunch under tyres outside, Eddie sits up from the counter and grabs the half empty mug from your hand to rest it where his hips had been. “C’mon, sweet thing.”

Your head feels light, following Eddie through to his room, watching him sit on the edge of his bed and open his arms for you. Tension you didn’t know you were holding drops from your shoulders. You whine softly, climbing up onto his lap with your knees on the mattress, your feet hanging off the sides. Your mouth finds Eddie’s with ease with his hand appearing on your cheek to direct you.

The taste of coffee is bitter. The taste of Eddie is sweeter than anything.

“You know what I was thinking about, before those pricks interrupted?” Eddie’s voice vibrates across your skin as he kisses down your neck, landing exactly where he was when you froze up. Your little negative sound has his lips curling, a soft hum sounding from the back of his throat. “Wanted to get these shorts off, lay you back and finally get a taste of your little pussy.” You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling slick and hot everywhere, but mostly at the place where Eddie wants to go. “But since we’re here, I think we can take off a little more, mm? How’s that sound?”

You press your face to his neck, trapping some of his hair there, breathing in so much Eddie that your thoughts fuzz and blend together. “C’mon, sweetheart. This first, yeah?” He tugs on the hem of your sweater, and you lean back to let him tug it over your head, revealing the pretty pastel of your bra, the little butterfly charm hanging between the cups. Wet kisses trail over the curve of your breasts, sometimes giving you a graze of teeth, the hot wet sting of his tongue.

“Gonna need you to stand up, baby. Just for a minute, I promise,”

Your unhappy mewl fades with a long lick of his tongue up your throat, the excited shiver it draws up your spine. Your hands find his shoulders, his soft hair tickling your wrists.

Eddie leans down to grasp your ankle, bringing your foot up to his thigh and resting it there. He pulls at the laces of your sneaker before working it off your foot, hooking his finger into your sock to take that off too. His pink lips curve at the sparkly polish on your nails, and he helps you bring your foot back down to work off the other shoe.

Eddie’s beautiful face is set in concentration while he works at the button of your shorts and pulls them down. His pink tongue peaking out, pressing to his top lip. He stares your mound, cupped by decorated cotton, a little vinyl butterfly sitting just under the band. His eyes trail up your body, landing on your adoring face. “You always match ‘em up, or are all these butterflies for little old me?”

You can’t resist. You bring a hand to his forehead, brushing some of his hair back from the heated skin just to feel it, soft under your fingers. To see Eddie's eyes, wide and excited, flutter at your touch.

Eddie’s sweet attention has you reaching that hand behind you, followed by the other, unhooking your bra at the back and letting it fall easily from your arms to the floor. He watches your face for another few seconds, waiting for your nervous smile before his gaze finds your chest.

Eddie’s groan is cut off when his mouth meets the plush skin, your fingers tangling in his hair, pressing to his scalp when he finds your nipple and brings it between his pretty lips. Your body jumps, torso tilting to offer it up to him, his tongue flicking and lathing at the sensitive peak.

Eddie drags his face across your chest to mess with the other side, making little, satisfied noises which mix pleasantly with the wet sound of his lapping tongue. You moan into the air at the warm of his lips, his encasing mouth leaving the nipple sensitive and pebbled. Eddie hums, licks a stripe up the middle of your tits, and rests his chin on your décolletage to blink at your pleasured face. “Wanna get on the bed f’me?”

Eddie helps you settle yourself, head comfy and supported by what he assures is the best pillow, throwing the other off the bed dismissively like it's not worthy of your head. He climbs over you then, his hair falling around your face until you reach up to tuck it round one side of his neck. Eddie kisses your wrist with his eyes closed. Then you stare at each other, letting the anticipation build while you map facial features and what a person’s eyes look like when you're in the process of falling.

You're first to break, the slick place between your legs that is hot only for Eddie forcing you tug on the sleeve of his shirt. He doesn't hesitate, pulling it up from his back and off.

You wish you'd asked for this yesterday.

Eddie is all pale and pink skin, a dusting of dark hair across his chest and down his lean but soft stomach. The tattoos you'd seen on his arms continue to his torso. A demon and a spider collected just under his neck, Corroded Coffin under his last right rib, a laughing skull just above his hip.

"You like 'em?" Eddie asks proudly when your finger follows one leg of the spider.

You hum a yes. "Did they hurt?"

"Oh yeah, real bad, but it's okay cause I mean, I'm pretty tough." You giggle at his expression which begs you to be impressed. "Oh that's funny, huh? What you trying to say, girly? You don't think I'm tough?"

Your mirth fades, giving way to gentle fondness. Your heart pounds the way you think it might for others when they’re about to admit to a crime. Things like this are still so difficult, even after you told Eddie that you only want him to know you like this, even after Eddie told you he dreams of a future with you in it. That’s the reason you have to say it anyway. Eddie deserves everything you can give him. "I think you're…lovely."

Sitting back on his legs, Eddie pulls a chunk of dark hair across his face. "Me?” You nod and he drops his hair, pressing his chin to his shoulder coquettishly and fluttering his eyelashes until you giggle. He leans over you, then, drawing kisses across your neck and chest. “Well, I think you're lovely, too." A quick suck of a pebbled nipple just to hear you gasp. He looks up at you, blinking slow as the kisses trail further down. "The loveliest there is." Below your breasts, above your belly button, your hips by the elastic of your underwear.

Your mound, hidden by cotton, his kisses hot enough to sting through fabric. Eddie takes a deep breath through his nose, eyelids fluttering. Slowly, he brings his hands to your thighs, pressing until your body is open and waiting for him.

"You're shaking."

You are. In your thighs and your hands where they are clasped together at your collar. "I'm okay."

Eddie fixes you with a serious look. "You say the word and we stop, okay? I mean it."

"Don't want to stop."

He breathes through his nose, smiles gently. His finger trails along where elastic meets your thigh. He rests his cheek on the cotton. "I can’t take it anymore,” he says, soft tone a contrast to his words. “These are simply just too sexy.” Your lilac butterfly panties, cotton and comfy. You fight another giggle. “So I'm gonna take ‘em off now, ‘kay?"

"Mm."

Eddie continues the catlike rub of his cheek, thumb playing with the elastic waistband of your panties like he’s plucking a guitar string. “Then I’m gonna taste your pretty pussy.” The eye contact he gives you is intense, contributing to the shivers of anticipation running along your spine as much as his words. His fingers hook into your waistband while he sits up, dragging it down off your hips, keeping his eyes on yours as they travel past your thighs. “And while I’m playing with your sweet little cunt.” He pulls your panties off your feet and glances at them briefly before they disappear behind his back. Eddie reaches for your hands, grasps your wrists and directs them down until they are tangled at the top of his hair. “You’re gonna help me out, yeah? Tell me what you like with these hands.”

Eddie’s gaze drops to your cunt as he lowers his face to it, his hands caressing the inside of your thighs. He grins, eyes slight, and presses his cheek to your mound again, feeling the soft curls of hair against his face. He nuzzles his nose in, kisses your mound. “Does that sound good, angel face?”

Your pussy throbs and your heart aches. You want him, want him, want him. In this way and in every way. Want him in bed, to touch and to be touched, to fall asleep tucked together, or curled up at his side. Want him in this room and yours, listening to him, forcing yourself to be listened to, or sitting in quiet activity, the same or different as long as you can hear him breathing. Want him in his van, at his gigs, sitting together at school. Want him in the library with you, at parties he isn’t invited to, sitting drinking smoothies with your friends.

But you can’t say that. Not you, and definitely not right now.

Instead, you brush his hair back from his forehead with one gentle hand, tangle your fingers tight to his scalp, and guide him to where he’s needed.

Eddie snickers, lips exploring the sensitivity of your cunt. He finds the centre of you and presses a kiss there, his tongue sneaking out to lap at the slick hole. Eddie groans at the back of his throat, fingers digging into the softness of your thighs as he presses his face deeper with a wiggle. His tongue presses at your soft entrance until the tip of it ventures inside, making you squirm and curl your fingers into the hair at the back of his head. Your cunt squeezes around his exploring tongue, and Eddie pulls back, leaving a trail of spit and slick between his chin and your cunt to look you in the eye and speak with confidence. “Aww, she missed me.”

Your hips twitch and you tug at his hair so he’ll get back to it. His eyes shine while he draws his tongue, wide, hot and wet, up the entire length of your cunt, pleased at your show of desperation. When his tongue spreads warm spit over your twitching clit, your body is his. You fall back into the pillow at your head, legs relaxing open for him. “Eddie.”

“I know,” he murmurs, kissing your clit to feel the sweet little twitch between his lips. “I remember. She’s a sensitive little thing, hm? Think she needs some tender loving care?”

Your fingers stroke gently through the hair at his scalp. “Please,” you whisper, tears bubbling in your eyes, your cunt throbbing, your body crying out for him. “Please, please, please, plea-”

Your legs kick out when he latches onto your clit, giving it a torturously long suck that pulls at the sensitive nerves until tears are falling. His lapping tongue follows, the wet noises of his mouth on your cunt filling your head.

The pad of his middle finger circles your entrance and you clasp as his hair, nodding your acquiescence to the ceiling. He must see, because he presses inside, the slick you’re pouring easing the way for him. Your eyes roll back as the sick, sweet combination of Eddie’s tongue playing with your clit and the slight aching stretch of his finger inside you, pressing to the spot at the back of your cunt that makes your toes curl in the air.

Nothing feels like this. Eddie’s mouth on your clit feels gorgeous, his lips wrapping perfectly around it between flicks of his tongue, a new type of pleasurable kiss that comes with gentle suction and Eddie’s happy little groans. Your cunt flexes around Eddie’s finger like it’s trying to impress him, show him how good you’ll feel around his cock.

With a movement of his wrist, Eddie brings the torture to the most sensitive spot at the back of your cunt. Your legs seize. Eddie turns his face and licks horizontal stripes across your clit, letting it flick side to side on his tongue until the pleasure is tight and burning. Your fingers tense in his hair.

Another moan of his name carries through the air, long and high, while waves of ecstasy crash and peak, your whole body shaking and thankful for him. Your mind is a desperate loop of keep me, touch me, love me, please, please, please.

The waves settle, your fingers loosen and fall from him entirely, resting at your sides. Eddie sighs, and pulls his mouth from you, watching your body twitch through an aftershock, thighs involuntarily closing the second he’s sat up.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Eddie speaks through his teeth, forcing his hand back between your legs, squeezed between the softness of your thighs.

“Wh-Eddie!”

“Don’t ever hide from me.”

While his right hand rubs callused pads against your clit, his left finds your knee, presses it out and back until your cunt spreads, sticky and swollen for him. You gasp and shake, the build so much easier now that he’s playing with a button already made sensitive. Eddie watches your face, your eyes hazy, your mouth open and wanting him.

You’ll get him, but first Eddie directs his mouth to your cunt, removing his hand for just a second. Spit lands, with seemingly practised precision, on your desperate bud. You feel the glide of it downwards, pooling at your soft cunt. When Eddie’s hand returns, it’s with two fingers circling that hole, his thumb coming to give your clit some abuse. Eddie finds your gaze, and tilts his chin downwards.

His expression gives the game away, wide eyes and raised eyebrows an explicit question of permission to stretch you a little more.

You press your feet to the mattress, pushing yourself in the direction of his hand, and Eddie’s eyes pool to darkness, a barely there movement of his lips turning the comforting smile to a mocking one. Two thick fingers press inside your tight cunt, the stretch of it just the right side of painful after he’s made you so deliciously wet with his mouth. The ache of it, the prickling feeling in the back of your neck that, in some way, Eddie is preparing you for him, getting your body ready to be split by his cock, makes your hips desperate. You mewl for him to move his fingers a couple seconds before you’re truly ready. Eddie’s expression; intense, obsessive fascination, makes the sting feel just like pleasure does.

Eddie blinks slow, gaze travelling along your body. Your curled toes and tense legs, sodden cunt and tits bouncing with the movement of your hips. He finds your face, your wet eyes. “Man. You’re really mine, aren’t you?”

You feel it happening deep in your cunt before it reaches your clit, simmering there before it travels up your spine and makes you howl. Your clenching cunt soaks his hand, the sound of his fingers fucking you through your high entirely filthy but Eddie couldn’t love it more.

When you start to whine at the overstimulation of your nervy body, Eddie slows his hand, pulls his fingers from you with a loud sucking noise that makes you cover your face while he grins. More wet noises have you looking through your fingers to watch Eddie licking at his fingers like they’re covered in icing, eyes closed in bliss.

It makes your cunt clench, but there’s also a rising cold feeling to go with your shivering sweaty body and the ache between your legs. A thin layer of wetness appears in your eyes without your permission. You’ve felt this before, but now you know in your bones that solving this feeling is as easy as whispering, “Eddie.”

His eyes snap to you, reading your breath and the pleading look in your shining eyes. He’s moving in a second, retrieving your soft sweater from his floor and helping you sit up so he can pull it over your head. Eddie lays at your side and you watch him unbuckle his jeans and push them off ungracefully with wiggling hips and kicking legs, his tongue making an appearance to show his concentration. He directs you gently so he can untuck his duvet from under you and pull it over your bodies. Your legs tangle, bare feet meeting his wiggling toes trapped in socks. He pulls you in with a strong arm, presses his nose to yours and rubs them together until you’re giggling softly.

“Did I- It felt good, right?”

You nod, then push forward to rub his nose with yours again, earning yourself a return giggle.

“I’m obsessed with you,”.

You wiggle, unsure. “Didn’t do anything.”

“Uh, yeah you did, sweetheart. Did everything a good girl should. Trusted me to make you feel good.”

“Didn’t make you feel good.”

At this, Eddie’s smile turns salacious. “You think your thighs squeezing my head didn’t feel good?”

You huddle closer to hide against his chest. “Didn’t make you…you didn’t get to…”

“Mmm, sweet girl,” he kisses your sweaty temple. Eddie wraps your hand in his and guides it under the sheets, across the softness of his stomach to the top of his boxers. You look at him when he helps your fingers wiggle past the elastic and card through thick hair, whimpering at your first touch of his cock. He’s returning to softness, but you feel the girth of him under your searching fingers. Eddie’s eyes flutter, teeth grit at your touch on his sensitive cock. He holds your wrist at the band of his underwear until you find the tip of him and gasp softly at the pool of thick cum. You breathe each other’s breath as he pulls your hand free, clasping your wrist and bringing your hand between your faces. Eddie’s cum is thick, still warm and webbing between your fingers.

You watch Eddie’s tongue peak out and lathe over the pad of your first finger, pulling the end of it into his mouth and sucking himself away. He does this again, and again, until you are clean of his cum.

Eddie hums. “Not half as good as you, but I think you’ll like it.”

You press your face to his chest again, listening to his laugh above your head. Eddie wraps his arms around you and gives you a tight, boyish squeeze of a hug. “You need anything? Want anything? Water? A cookie?”

You shake your head, eyes drooping, wanting nothing more than to snooze with the feel and smell of him surrounding you. Eddie coos softly, strokes your hair and helps you settle, comfy and cosy, against his body and the mattress. You hear him fiddle with his watch behind your head, then feel him wiggle and relax next to you.

You sleep for less than an hour, his watch ringing out a rude awakening soon after you drift off, but the time in Eddie’s arms is worth a thousand easy lie-ins.

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

“What’s going on with you today?” You blink away the memory of Eddie’s face over yours when he woke you up in his van after driving you home yesterday, the gentle shake of his head at your apology, the way he’d kissed you at the door.

Heather stands with her hands on her hips, the matching airy blouse and cream skirt making her look exactly as femininely refined as she wants to be, like Rosalynn Carter when she was the First Lady.

She’s planning an outfit for her acceptance speech, hopefully happening on Friday in front of the entire senior year. Her chances are good. The competition is twofold. Margot Hill, a nice, but forgetful, girl who forgot to show up to last week’s assembly when she was supposed to lay out her manifesto. Then there’s Fred Benson, who is smart and capable, but has managed to piss off the entire basketball team (and therefore their girlfriends) by writing a mockingly celebratory story for the school paper on a particularly humiliating game last year. Knowing the level of forgiveness displayed by that influential group, you suspect he may not even beat Margot.

“I’m sorry. You look perfect. Very refined.”

“But still, like, cool, right?”

You consider her, then nod. “With a belt, I think? And I can do your makeup Friday morning.”

Heather gives you a winning smile and disappears back into the mall changing room, closing the curtain behind her. After a second, her head pops back out. “What were you thinking about, before?”

You chew your lip and Heather, having known you for years now, recognises the signs of a secret waiting to be spilled. She looks intrigued, eyebrows raising in question.

“Eddie asked me out.”

Her mouth drops open. “No way. Did you say yes?” You nod, and she makes a surprised noise, disappearing behind the curtain again. “When did this happen?”

“Monday.”

There’s the sound of a zipper, followed by shifting fabric, then a pause. You can almost hear her working it out. “Wait,” there’s her face again, eyes wide. “Did you already go on a date?”

You nod again. “Twice.”

“No. Way!” A final vanishing behind the curtain, the sound of clinking hangers and then the metallic whir of the curtain moving over the rail. She holds the blouse and skirt combo in one hand, the rejected alternatives in the other. “So, wow. You really do like him, then?”

You take a deep breath, refusing to nod at this question. “I- I like him so much it hurts.”

“Have you told May?” The question is like a splash of cold water. You shake your head. “She’s going to lose her mind, you know that, right?”

You had been considering that this afternoon. The way Eddie is, really is, all boyish smiles and consideration, it was easy to forget what people think of him, what May thinks of him. But Eddie is important to you now in a million ways.

The thought of losing his hugs, his kisses, his eyes gazing into yours, makes your heart sore. The thought of losing his touch between your legs makes your entire body ache. The thought of hurting him, pulling away after you’d given and taken so much of each other already. It makes you want to curl up into a ball and sob.

“I think I can explain it in a way...that will make her understand.”

There’s a pause, then Heather snorts. “You’re going to explain it.” That hurts, just a little, but her disbelief is not entirely misplaced. “You’re going to explain it to May. The least understanding person, maybe in the world?”

“Don’t say that.” This has been happening increasingly.

“She doesn’t even understand why I’m dating Patrick! Oh no, if a boy doesn’t play basketball, or isn’t at the very least popular, May’s got no time for him.”

You curl your fingers in your skirt, never knowing what to do when either of them acts like this. More and more, you weren’t spending time with them together unless you were getting ready for a party. Your weekly shopping and smoothie trips had been reduced to you and Heather, with May saving her money for bimonthly trips to Indianapolis with the cheer squad. Your regular sleepovers have been reduced to you and May, with Heather keeping her nights free so she can visit Patrick at a moment's notice.

May judges Heather’s boyfriend, her time spent with model UN and running for class president, the conservative way she dresses. Heather judges May’s taste in boys, her self-applied heavy makeup, the fact that her grades have slipped every year since she joined cheer.

You are caught in the middle of them. Staying silent is a betrayal, but telling would be too. So you end up quietly pleading for it all to go back to the way it was when you were twelve and Heather joined what had been a dedicated twosome for years. It was all the joy of collective discovery then. New, exciting things like makeup and dancing and boys.

“You know that’s why she’s being crazy about you getting back with Andy, right? She went to him and told him you were meeting Eddie in the forest that day. Has that occurred to you?”

You feel stupid that it hadn’t. “When I tell her about Eddie-”

“She’ll get worse. And you know it.” She sighs, tilting her head at your worried expression, nervous fingers grasping fabric. “Ugh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- Listen. Let me just buy these, then I wanna get a mango-strawberry smoothie and hear every detail.”

You grin at her, worry giving way to the warm, innocent love reserved for your friends, exclusive to her, and to May.

Next Chapter

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #tmyg

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yarrystyleeza · 8 months

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𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓪'𝓼 𝓽𝔀𝓸 𝓱𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓭

𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓹𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻

𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

The moment I've been waiting for has finally come! As I indicated in the headline, I've reached 200 followers here on Tumblr, thank you all so much, this truly means a lot to me, also thank you for the feedback I always got on my works and even my random shitposts! <3

and to celebrate this very important and remarkable life event— I had planned a sleepover celebration which consists of games, questions, asks, and of course, requests! <3

The sleepover will be a week long, from September 15th till the 21st of the same month where you can submit asks and requests!

As for games, I have a list of them!

Kiss/Marry/Kill: you give me three characters and I will sort each one in one of these categories! (make it hard for me)

This or That: you give me two things/characters and I get to choose one that suits me better! (for example: night owl or early bird?)

make an assumption: you literally make an assumption about me and I either prove it or deny it!

never have I ever: you ask me about things I did or didn't do!

exchanged ships: you basically give me a character that you find as my significant other, and I will give you a character in exchange and why I think it's the perfect character for you!

Q&A: you can ask me about anything, whether it's my favorite food or even what fabrics do I prefer to wear, ask whatever you want!

Girly talks: just talk to me about any girly topic you want and we'll establish a good conversation! Let's talk about books or authors, favorite poetry pieces, maybe movies we loved in our childhood, or even your favorite outfits back when you were a 10 year old! Literally anything!

Rate my music taste: give me a song/artist and I will rate it from 1 (absolute flop) to 10 (total banger)! — (this is absolutely done just for fun).

I wanna write you a song: start with a phrase and we will make a totally original song together in the reblogs!

Note on prohibited things that I won't be doing or answering:

No nsfw/dirty asks, writing requests or questions, it's uncomfortable for me, and it's an all-ages-friendly celebration. No further elaboration, please respect this. <3

AND FINALLY, THE REQUESTS!

As for writing requests, I will be taking fluff/angst/violence (blood and gore—due to the nature of the characters I write for) x female!reader requests only. And of course you can request the prompt you desire. <3

As for the characters, here's a list of the fictional men that I would be writing for:

Matt Murdock/Daredevil

Tristan Thorn

Michael Kinsella

Daryl Dixon

(might consider writing for other Charlie Cox/Norman Reedus characters. example: Ian Hamilton, Henry the vampire, Scud, Murphy MacManus, etc.)

You can ask for prompt included in this list or ones you come up with yourself:

Intimate moments

Gestures that make me feel love

Romantic rainy day prompts

gentle things that makes me fall harder in love

fluffy comforting/sick dialogue prompts

lighthearted first kiss scenarios

Sparring prompts

Forced proximity prompts

Date prompts masterpost

Note that I will be tagging the fic requests with #yuna's 2h sleepover celebration so that they're all sorted there, but they will be sorted in my main masterlist as regular requests! <3

tagging my moots to spread the word sorry for being a little too annoying hehe (and I tried to tag as much as possible but my memory is messing around with me I'm sorry if I forgot anyone) @v4leoftears @remonemo @fizanotfeeza @netflixmatt @bellaxgiornata @farfromstrange @itwasthereaminuteago @loveroftoomanyfandoms @little-miss-dilf-lover @tongueofcat @mattmurdockscox @courtforshort15 @chvoswxtch @mattmurdocksscars @kal-0n @murc0ck @babygrlmurdock @galaxies-and-moons-and-cox @acharliecoxedfan @mindidjarin @she-likesorchids @munsonownsmyass @saintmurd0ck @murdocklorian @abbyhaslongshorts @theradioactivespidergwen @softasawhisper @peterman-spideyparker @mattmurdocksstarlight @netflixmatt-main

That's basically everything I have for my first sleepover celebration, feel free to submit your requests and games anytime! Thank you for coming to my sleepover tonight! <3

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blueparadis · 1 year

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❝ TIMELESS TWILIGHT ❞ + ARMIN ARLERT

CWs —» afab!reader with s!her pronouns,semi-linear plotline, suggestive themes, royal au + supernatural au ( reader is a supernatural being ), strangers (to childhood friends) to lovers, slowburn, light angst, mention of corruption, violence and murder, temporary unrequited feelings, implicit smut descriptions,sappy romance and happy ending.

+. PLAYLIST—» moonlight ╾╼ somebody that I used to know ╾╼ rewrite the starts ╾╼ until i found you ╾╼ miel

PRECIS —» Armin was a chaser of eternity while she was a slave of it. One yearned for it, the other despised it until a thread of tragedy tied them together, forever.

+. NOTES —» this is for @dearbraus via @suyacho ’s gift exchange collab. hope you like this piece. I was confused between noé and armin but settled with the latter because this idea was originally thought for him.

I got this idea around april but finally, i could write this thanks to eden for that <3; also, this fic was partly inspired by the song moonlight by dhruv. I'm very much sleep deprived, so lemme sleep while y'all have a happy read. Merry Christmas (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ

Special thanks to @orchid3a, @sailewhoremoon & @chosovixen for ß’reading this. also, you can read this in AO(III) ; browse more of my works through navigation links.

Museums, sculptures, libraries, books, songs, stories, poetries, paintings— all these had one thing in common: that is, they were eternal. They carried so many memories with them and yet were so defunct. And then, there are humans that live and die like flies. Ever since Armin was bestowed with the ability to walk he would only use it to go to the library or to sneak out through the back door of his room into the garden, or anywhere that does not remind him of the burden he has to carry till his last breath, the burden of protecting each and every person around him— the burden of this whole kingdom that his father ruled.

He never asked for this life, the luxury, the fame, and the power that came with it. His father had told him that everything that the light touched belonged to him, but only one thought crossed his mind: for how long? Armin did not have to ask anyone to find the answer to that question. He saw it, he lived it. The fragility of his life.

At that moment, when he was on the brink of destroying thousands of lives in one blow, hesitation overpowered his senses; the man kneeling in front of him, waiting for death to embrace him to save him from such shame, gutted him in the stomach. So annoying, Armin thought and slashed the head of the ruler of the kingdom.

He was nineteen when he owned a new kingdom, a hefty crown adorned with the most lustrous jewels in the city, and the queen that was promised along with it. To his father’s disappointment, he denounced it, the kingdom, and the kingless queen. Oh no, that does not mean he did not enjoy the greater pleasures of life. He did, through and through, he is the crown prince, and anyone who denied his demands would be rendered lifeless, a mere memory just like stories, books, and sculptures.

He was desired by many, even males. Some people knelt to him to please him, while others were doomed to become an unpleasant distant memory. There was no in-between, no mercy came from the heart of the crown prince. He was not cruel, just a rageful young boy who desired things that seemed impossible to achieve, at least in this life. He envies lifeless things that do not have a lifespan. How utterly foolish!

Sometimes he would laugh at himself, thinking he had been born cursed, a little sick in the head, but his diary told otherwise. He kept it in the library, the journal with sapphire covers and his family emblem. It rested among those massive books that carried the history of great generations and his ancestors so that none, even Mikasa and Eren would not be aware of him, his truth, his true self. Half of him was amused by how all his writing mocked the rich legends that his father boasts at every royal dinner, while the other half, wept like a wounded creature for not being able to make his dreams come true. He is the crown prince, the prince yet all that power fell short of his dreams to achieve; to hold someone in his arms timelessly and to fall in love limitlessly.

Armin could think of only one name, y/n l/n. The girl who left him without finishing her stories. The girl who met him only during Twilight, smelt like forever, and looked like one of those decaying sculptures of Rome.

The Library, that place has always been a wonder to her, y/n. Books stacked beside one after the other embedded with lores and legends from all over the world. Most are sugar-coated, few are the resultant of figmentation and truth but none told the bitter truth. The poets lied, love is not a prince saving princess, love is a princess waiting for the prince for eternity; love is not sharing kisses under the starry night, love is being burnt by mere words. Love is not divine, rather it is the most wretched curse.

Ever since she discovered the existence of the library, she had been fond of how lies are woven so slyly that even the witness failed to separate the truth from fallacies. She had been the witness to how all the kings confiscated the castle, slaughtered the innocents, and had all the women as baits for bodily pleasure, but those rusted pages of the book told how the ferocious warriors, ‘envoys of justice’, ‘harbingers of peace’, or so they liked to call themselves; those warriors killed so many cruel kings and saved the people of the kingdom from their madness. Same lies, different names, different times.

Eternity was nothing like she imagined it would be. It was never a promise of happiness, but rather a promise of loneliness. Heck, even promises faded with time, yet this followed her like a shadow. Even love failed to fill the hollow space she had in her heart. She stopped believing in good but did no evil. Indeed, she had the power to rewrite history, but that could endanger her life, even if she was at the edge of death. But hope can be a dangerous thing for a girl who has lived through an aeon, and it shone miraculously on a full moon night.

There was a particular book that caught her eye. The spine was slim, with a plain sapphire spread and a logo embedded on one of its ends. She perfectly remembers that a few days ago the book was not there and a certain someone is a fool enough to keep it among the books that have all scarlet bindings. But she should not let that bother her so much. Besides, she is here to read; read about how her lover turned against her, exchanged her to get a few coppers and silvers a century ago yet died at her hands. It was tragic, of course: to watch your beloved betray your love and trust, but ecstasy gushed into her veins when she killed him by burying her fangs into his neck, absorbing the life out of him.

At first, eternity was a boon, and now it is a bane. At first, killing was out of rage and now killing was the only way of survival. She took a few steps back from the family shelf of Tyburs, and stood in front of the Arlerts family shelf. For a minute, she let her fingers run through the books and halted at the sapphire one, which had the royal emblem of the kingdom. She took out the book, thinking it would not hurt to spare an hour or two, after all, she had all eternity.

It was a journal. The handwriting was neat and artsy. The front cover read, “my daily dose of dread.” What a child! She thought, but alas, she could not open the journal. She presumed that it was sealed with magic. And, just like the cascade, the emotions that she locked away when she buried her lover in a grave gushed in her body, through every vein, through each vein. She felt alive again.

The next day, y/n spent the whole day outside observing the humans in the town, gathering some intel. After two weeks, when night befell, she made her way where she wanted to be all this time, the library, the very palace where she loved to sneak in and read those great lies and laugh at the dead. She waited till she heard footsteps, to her surprise it was a boy of fifteen, the son of Duke Arlert. It has been almost a century since she had any human interaction. And now, a boy of fifteen with all the life ahead and innocence intact became alien to her. It thrilled her.

“Who are you?”, the boy asked with aimless, oceanic eyes that had the tragedy of the great Gatsby. She jolted, blinked and took a few steps forward, bowed down in front of the boy and whispered, “I’m the new cataloger, your highness.” And that day, a new friendship was born. Only the moon and the stars were the witness of it.

Unbelievable it seemed to her, for how Armin warmed up to her so quickly. Y/n used to wait for him during nighttime at one corner of the library till he would come to her. Gradually he learnt to use the loopholes in the rules of royal court just so he could hear stories from her, stories that were not written on any of the books, stories that talked about the origin of fairies and monsters. Some days Armin refused to go to his chambers just to hear such stories from her, some days he fell asleep in her lap while she was reading out stories to him. The very stories that he despised so much became engaging to him. He started to take interest in royal duties too.

Sometimes, Armin waited alone in that library but he never asked questions like, ‘Why do your eyes change color? How come I do not see you when I come during the day?’ He was kind to y/n, kinder than most people she had met, killed, or had to betray, but at the same time, those questions weighed heavy on her heart and died at the tip of her tongue whenever she came to visit Armin. As Armin grew up, her visits became less frequent. With all the agony and anger in him, Armin never bothered to ask why. Moreover, he didn't want to cease those pixelated visits from her, however fleeting they became, they belonged to him and only him.

On his twentieth birthday, y/n went to the main court to join the celebration, mostly at his request. Amongst so many souls you felt lifeless as if you were a sculpture. And then, you saw the boy of fifteen who has reached his peak of youth.

Armin still has those eyes of tragedy, that would tell you nothing except stories that never ended, stories that were abandoned by their auth,or or where the author had died before finishing it. But today, those blue eyes were not blue anymore. They were gleaming in hope and yearning as he watched you walking towards him surfing through the crowd.

Armin was sitting on the throne, with his cape flowing down past his ankles with the crown that sealed many fates of varied rulers. There was a line of visitors to meet him, you were one of them, just for today. Your turn came in “Happy birthday, your highness. Congratulations on your coronation. I wish you the very best of life.”, you uttered as you handed him the gift. He smiled. With a bow, you left his sight. That was it; nothing special happened. There were no secret smiles and stolen stares. It ended so soon, happened so fast that all you felt was remorse. But you did not let that linger on your mind since you knew that, late at night, when everyone would be asleep, Armin would come to visit you. He was not a creature of the night. You were. But it turned on you that very day when you waited for him till dawn.

A girl who had eternity started counting the days.

Four weeks and three days have passed yet Armin neither came for a visit to the library nor wrote about his days in his journal. You remembered how he told you that you should not read his journal, it’s personal, he said yet would sometimes read from that very journal, just some musings. A few days later, you could hear his name in waves and in whispers, that he conquered several kingdoms, that he won many wars, and perhaps would conquer the whole world. The entire kingdom rejoiced at his success, however, you could not. You missed him. You mourned a living person since he never wrote about such dreams in his journal. Maybe that person was long-lost, somewhere in the pages of the books that anyone no longer bothered to read.

After almost five years, Armin returned home. He had abandoned all sorts of hope to see her again. The only girl who could feel what he was thinking, the only girl who could see behind his eyes, and live in between his bedsheets. He had desired her day and night, at each passing moment, in every way a man could ever desire a woman. He remembers the feeling, the feeling that has always haunted him since childhood, people called it love while Armin could call it burning, burning with desire, yet remained lifelessly indifferent about it. True love, as they said, but Armin thought it was punishment.

He was on horseback with his sword tucked in his belt which was made of gold and silver. His mantle shrouded the armor, which had witnessed many battles and mishaps, and was embedded with rare gems and pearls carving his family emblem on the mantle spread. His blue eyes wandered everywhere, he looked every bit of regal he was.

His own home city felt foreign to him except her, except you, who stood young and beautiful amongst several bouquets of flowers receiving smiles and coins in exchange for said flowers in broad daylight. Even after five years, you look just the same; just like how he saw you that day on a full moon night for the first time. So many things to tell you, so many things to write in his journal yet all he could do was to watch you from a distance.

Armin dismounted from the horse, and a gust of wind swayed his hood off, revealing his blonde hair that kissed his shoulder blades. There he was, standing on the opposite side of the lane, with his right arm resting on his sword, his azure eyes locked on you while everything around you seemed to evaporate. When you shifted your gaze from the customers onto him, his lips took an upward curve and your heartbeats ceased to exist.

The lane between the two of you was filled with people that lead their life without being aware of the tragedies evoked by two distant souls. The dusk was approaching; the crimson sun rays fell short on them, for it witnessed two polar souls burn with desire for each other. It seemed like an endless twilight where only they could exist and none other. Armin took a step forward to cross the lane while all the flowers in the shop closed their petals as if they were to witness the greatest kiss of timeless love, but alas! Tragedy befell them.

It happened within a blink. When y/n opened her eyes, she watched Armin fall to his knees with a wound near his heart. The crowd became unruly; while everyone was fleeing from the scene your feet moved on their own to save him, to stop his bleeding, to do anything, anything at all that would save his life, but before you could barely cross half of the street, your senses betrayed you. It was such a mighty fall, for both of them.

“Oh! You’re awake?”, a bold voice, ruptured your eardrums that could still hear the screams of the locals. A finger traced your face as you opened your eyes, and you saw the face that you have mourned for so long, so silently, that you failed to realize the budding love at the bottom of your heart.

“Yo-you are okay?”, you gasped, blurted out in a hurry to check his wound. It was not there anymore. What actually happened back then?

“How can I not be?”Armin stated, taking a seat near you at the edge of the bed, “What was the last thing you remember, y/n?”, his fingers found their way irrevocably in between yours.

“... that you were bleeding. Everyone was running…to save …”, Armin placed his index on your lips saying, “I was wounded before I came to see you. I wanted to see you for the last time…”, he leaned against your forehead, continuing, “... but you, you y/n saved me.”

It must have been the power of love. A voice mocked the back of your head, but then Armin showed you a pendant; the very pendant that you gifted him on his coronation day. It was embedded with magic. It carried the untimely dead souls, people who departed before their time came.

“This. This has been saving me every time.”, Armin smiled looking at your astonished face.

“You knew about me? All this time?”, you asked, a little offended by the childish tantrum he pulled.

“Of course, love.”, he reported meekly before kissing your lips that he had been dying to taste. You moaned as he advanced his way, his hands palming your face. His touch was so tender and soft that it felt as if he was afraid to touch you, what if you break again?

You looked at him as your lips whispered, “Even before you touched me, I belonged to you, Armin. All you had to do was to look at me. I was right there, with you, the whole damn time.”

—

@tokyometronetwork

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indigo--montoya · 9 months

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tagatha

(Inspired by this post)

"Are you sure you don't want us to try to kill him?" Hester asks. "It would be so much fun."

"And respectful," Anadil says. "Very respectful."

"Do you honestly think he'd be able to beat you?"

Hester shrugs. "If he can't defend himself he can't protect you."

"He deserves to die," Anadil adds, fiddling with her bracelet.

Agatha raises an eyebrow, calling a dancing flame to her hand. "You know I can protect myself. And I don't want him to die."

"He still deserves to. You deserve better."

"Enough!" Agatha leans back in her chair, motioning toward the door. "Reaper and I have work to do."

For a moment, no one moves.

"Is it more poetry?" Dot whispers loudly. "Can I stay? I can help."

Agatha's glower intensifies. Her fingers twitch, making the flame leap higher.

"Whatever," Hester mutters, finally getting to her feet. "Come on, let's go find Sophie." In the doorway, she scowls at Agatha over her shoulder. "When you need him dead, you know where to find us."

Agatha waits till Hester and Anadil are solidly out the door, then grabs Dot's arm before she can leave. "You can come back if you bring flowers and whatever. Nice, sunny ones."

Dot brightens, nodding, and slips out the door.

#agatha of woods beyond #hester of ravenswood #anadil of bloodbrook #dot of nottingham #school for good and evil #sge #fanfiction #indigo writes #tagatha

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animehideout · 4 months

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Quick question, may I request? If not, just ignore this<3

💙Random recommended song💙

I already mentioned this in my latest post but anyway, I did an optional homework and got the best grade and in the beginning I felt lowly about my work but after getting the grade I felt so much better about it and myself too.

The problem is that lately I started to get into writing again but can't find the time suddenly. Aaaaand I wanted to kind of celebrate this (I mean that the teacher seemed to like my poem) even tho it isn't a big deal but feels like it and oh God I feel like a lil child :')

Sooo may I request a Magumi x reader fluff, where the reader and Megumi are just chilling together when the reader get a notification saying she got a good grade and they get so emotional that they try to hold back tears, but Megumi senses the sudden change and ask if they are alright? The reader trying the brush it off that "Oh it's nothing special or worth mentioning, just got the best grade on the optional homework we got. Can't believe the teacher liked my poem..." 'Poem-?' Megumi thinks as he heard the last words. He maybe didn't even have a clue that the reader was into poetry and/or that they wrote any, so by hearing this he wanted to read it, but overthinking a bit, he decided on not asking them, even though maybe he should have. But it's late, he waited till they fell asleep and then quietly got up from bed to go and look for their exercise book and read it. After he read it, he puts the book on the reader's desk or somewhere else, not minding to put it back to it's actual place because he plans on telling them his opinion, how much they likes it as well and je would be interested in seeing more of their work. Maybeeee the reader confesses that they've been into poetry for a time now and shows Megumi all of the poems they've written while telling Meg' why they like some of their poems and why they have a few problems with some, then there's Megumi reading them with intrest. Maybe Megumi having a soft spot for poetry IDK BUT NOW I JUST REALIZED THAT BY WRITING THIS REQUEST I COULD HAVE EASILY JUST WRITE THE FANFIC ALREADY TT My bad :')

Anyway, catching up with your lates Gojo posts soon!

-Megan🩵

Huggie :3🎀

Megumi Fushiguro X Poet /Artistic Reader

Synopsis: Megumi discovers his partner's talent in writing poems.

a/n: Thank you @megan016 for this request, also CONGRATS for getting the best grade, you did great sweetheart and I'm proud of you 💗. Also I can't wait to read more of your poems and the translated ver. Keep it up. I hope you like this little oneshot tho♡.

Check @megan016 poem here ( I liked it and I had to share it, you are so talented 💌 )

As the soft glow of the TV illuminated the room, you sat in your boyfriend's arms, Megumi. Engrossed in the movie that was displayed in front of you. The atmosphere was light, filled with soft hums as Megumi played with your hair. The rainy weather outside, added to the coziness.

Suddenly, you phone chimed with a notification. Curious, you picked it up, unlocking it to reveal a message from your school,

{ Dear Y/N, Congratulations, your poem received the best grade. We appreciate your hard work. }.

Your eyes scanned the words, a wave of joy and surprise washed over you even though it was an optional homework the fact that your poem that came from your creativity, that each line you wrote carried within it a deeper feeling and meaning got a proper appreciation from your teacher was able to bring you to happy tears.

Your heart swelled with happiness while clutching your phone tightly, Megumi sensed how your body tensed between his arms.

"Love, is everything okay?" he asked.

Realizing that you haven't told him yet about your passion for poetry, you tried to hide your excitement and brush it off,

"Oh, y-yes I'm fine! it's nothing, just my poem got the best grade in class! Can't believe my teacher actually liked it hehe.." you chuckled awkwardly, trying to act normal as if you weren't holding back your tears from how delighted and proud you were.

"Poem?!" Thought Megumi to himself "I didn't know she's into poetry"

"But yeah– it's nothing special, not a big deal tho, it was just an optional homework" you added bringing him back to reality

"Oh.. I see you did great love congrats" said Megumi kissing the top of your head.

He senses how you were avoiding talking about your poem, so he respected it and just congratulated you he was completely oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions you were suppressing he thought you really wasn't that excited. Deep down, Megumi couldn't brush away the curiosity that grew inside of him, he was interested in reading books, poems and articles so having a partner that happened to write poems excited him to the core.

As the night proceeded, you dozed off beside him. Closing your eyelids, swimming in Dreamland. Sleeping nice and sound, feeling protected with the warm presence of Megumi. He watched you as you slept next to him, smiling to himself as your whole hand cutely held his index finger. Your hand size difference has always brought a smile on his face.

Suddenly, his eyes widened when he remembered about the poem, his eyes scanned the room and finally fell on your exercise book that was innocently put on your desk. Too intrigued by the unexpected revelation of your poetic talent, he couldn't resist the urge to delve into your world of words.

Trying to not disturb your beauty slumber he tiptoed to your desk, gently opening the book , carefully flipping the pages until he found your poem of 14 stanzas.

He was too excited to read it, to read between the lines and analyze the deeper meaning it held. Line after line, he found himself utterly captivated by the beauty of your expressions, the smart choice of words, adjectives and the Poetic elegance that adorned your stanzas. It left him completely speechless, realizing that the love of his life is indeed talented and creative.

"And she said it's not a big deal??" he muttered to himself as his eyes shifted back on your sleeping figure.

He wanted to flip the pages to read more of your writings, to check your other copy books but he resisted that urge, respecting your privacy and deciding to wait till morning to ask you properly about your passion for poetry.

He laid down next to you, eager for tomorrow to discuss with you what now happened to be a mutual passion; while you were interested in writing poems, Megumi was interested in reading, them showing that both of you complete each other.

His arms pulled you closer to his body holding you,

"I'm proud of you my love" he said before dozing off.

As the morning light filtered through the curtains, your eyelids fluttered into consciousness. Megumi was already awake, laying on his back, one arm behind his head as his eyes were fixated on the ceiling. As he felt you shifting beside him his gaze turned to you, greeting you with a warm smile.

"Hey sleepyhead, want to tell me about those poems of yours? I had no idea you're poetic genius!!" he exclaimed softly,

You were still half awake, taken by surprise you quickly got into a sitting position,

"You read them??" you asked.

"Not all of them!! only that one in your exercise book! Now I know why it got the best grade" he said enthusiastically.

It was rare for you to see Megumi full of energy early in the morning, so you couldn't help but smile from how much he was interested in your poems. Encouraged by his genuine reaction you started to open up, confessing that you've been into poetry for a while now.

"So? want to show me the rest?" he asked.

Without saying anything, you jumped out of bed. The cold floor touching your bare feet sent shivers down your spine. You quickly grabbed your notebooks and ran back to bed, getting under the warm blanket next to Megumi again, you got closer to him.

"Here they are" you said with a smile.

Anticipating his reactions every time he read one of your poems, the way he read the lines you wrote with passion and care warmed your heart, as if what you write was meant for him to read. The curious expressions drawn on his face whenever he tried to guess the real meaning of your words made you giggle.

After reading most of your poems he engulfed you into a big hug,

"Those poems are amazing Y/n!! I can't wait for more from you. So tell me what inspires you the most? what is your motivation?" he asked too immersed to know more.

A blush painted your cheeks and with a shy smile you answered "Y-you! You do inspire some verses"

"Guess I'm a muse now" he teased playfully trying to hide the fact that he got shy as well.

"Exactly" you giggled.

"What are the difficulties you face while writing though?"

"Most of the time me trying to channel my feelings into words, sometimes certain feelings that I want to write about can't be described by simple words so that's quite a challenge and it takes a lot of effort or sometimes I struggle with motivation even though I do have a lot of accumulated ideas that are waiting to be written" you explained.

You spent the morning cuddled up in your soft bed, sharing ideas and soft random kisses every now and then, exchanging soft touches. Sitting between Megumi's legs as he held your notebooks and continued to loudly read the rest of your poems.

"I love this one Y/n !! Wait is it about us??"

Megumi was too happy to be in that specific moment with you; the moment that definitely inspired you to write another poem that will carry those feelings between both of you forever.

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krishna-sangini · 5 months

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Storytime Guyssss!!!

So, many of you may be aware of the 12th-century Sanskrit poet Jaydev. He is the creator of Gita Govinda, a poetry book describing the lovely relationship between Krishna, Radha, and the gopis.

So, he wanted to write about this one instance where our Radha Rani got mad at Krishna because she found a hair strand of another gopi on Krishna's shoulder. However, Jaydev had a sort of writer's block and was unable to find the right words to describe the scene appropriately. So he decided to take a break and clear his mind.

He went to his wife who was in the kitchen and asked her to prepare his lunch while he bathed and brainstormed regarding the poem. The noble lady did so and sat waiting for her husband, thinking it was gonna take nearly an hour or so for him to get ready for lunch. However, Jaydev was back in just 10 mins. Seeing him come back so soon, his wife was surprised and enquired about the matter. Jaydev happily replied that he had gotten the words that he was looking for to finish his poem.

His wife asked if she should serve him lunch. Jaydev replied in affirmative and went on to complete his poem. After doing so, he came back and had his lunch. After he had finished, Jaydev told his wife that he was going to take another bath. The lady was confused, but she didn't question her husband and served her food on his plate and ate it. Basically, she used to have her husband's jhutha out of love and reverence.

Now, after about 10-15 minutes, Jaydev returned to the kitchen and asked his wife for some food as he was hungry. The lady was astonished. She asked her husband how he got hungry when he had had his lunch just 15 minutes ago. Jaydev was baffled and replied that he had finished bathing.

That was when the couple realised that it was Kanha himself who had come in Jaydev's disguise to help his bhakt complete his poem. And his wife had had the jhutha of none other than the Manmohan! Jaydev was both elated and lowkey jealous of his wife for her divine luck. And since that day till the day he died, Jaydev always had his wife's jhutha.

HOW FREAKING SWEET IS THAT?!

My roomie @mindless-tirades and I were listening to this story yesterday and we both had tears of joy and a million other emotions in our eyes CUZ IMAGINE KANHA HELPING YOU WITH A POEM AND HAVING THE FOOD THAT YOU COOKED AND THEN YOU HAVING KANHA'S JHUTHA!

Istg MY MAN'S JUST THE FREAKING BEST I'M SO FREAKING AT A LOSS OF WORDSSSSSSS!

#krishnablr #gopiblr #Baanhi_ki_vaani #ISTG I'M GONNA CRY HAPPY TEARS THINKING ABOUT THIS NOW #THE WAY MY MAN ALWAYS LOOKS OUT FOR HIS BHAKTS #ISTG I CAN'T ANYMORE #KESHAV I SO FREAKING LOVE YOU #YOU UNDERSTAND BUDDY???????#haaaaye my man 🥹❤️❤️

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cinnamonspicewritingroom · 10 months

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More Than Diamonds

Pairing: Prince Friedrich x Princess! Reader Description:

A hardcore Bridgerton fan, Davika bit the dust in 2021 during a wild protest against Thailand's king on the way home. But instead of the pearly gates, she woke up in the 19th century, suddenly the offspring of Siam's 2nd king and some British lady of mystery descent. Armed with her modern know-how, her main goal is to stack up that cash and upgrade Siam for some chill vibes to avoid being sold off in some arranged marriage mess. But who knew she'd find herself smack in the middle of her beloved Bridgerton drama series? Talk about a plot twist! How's she gonna handle this? Amelia better watch out not to change the story—or is it too late?

Meanwhile, the Brits are buzzing about their new royal guest just in time for the 1813 debutante ball. Princess Amelia of Siam has rolled in as the fresh Ambassador of Siam. With Daphne and Prince Friedrich's courtship hitting the skids, nobody expected him to stick around London, but Friedrich's not one to skedaddle with his tail between his legs. Homeboy's on a mission to snag a wifey and he's not backing down. Friedrich's never been one to back down, but when it comes to Amelia, he's all cold feet. Folks say Amelia's a brainiac, but love? That's a whole different ball game. Those butterflies in her stomach? Yeah, she ain’t got a clue what to do with 'em.

Tags: Slow burn, Coming of age, Time-Travel, Back to the past, Friends to Lovers, Royalties, Oblivious!FLxObvious!ML, Jealous! Friedrich, Slightly Possessive! Friedrich, Black cat gf, Golden retriever bf Timeline: S1&S2

Chapter 2. Princes and a Princess

Calm down, Davika—No, Apsara. Davika is dead; now she is Somdet Chao Fa Apsara Chaiya Kanika, and she fought for her title. Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. You learned this in your overpriced yoga class before you bit the dust and got transported into the middle of the fucking Bridgerton series.

Focus on the present—right now she is having tea with Golda Rosheuvel—Queen Charlotte, the lineup of princes who are yet to marry, and the current Prince Regent, Prince George IV.

“Lady Amelia, I heard that you are a driving force in the Siamese court,” Prince George IV looked at the Siamese Ambassador. He did not know what he expected, but not a petite-looking teenager; she is not even a woman yet. To believe that she has been advising the Crown Prince and King in the Siamese court was truthfully hard.

“Surely you jest, your highness. I am not much of a driving force as you implied. My achievements are minuscule compared to the King and Crown Prince. I merely stated my opinions on several topics. They are generous enough to listen to my chatter,” Amelia politely responded.

“Starting very young, at the age of 13 years old, I heard you had helped the Crown Prince, Prince Rama III, to establish education for girls by creating a law in which every citizen, man or woman alike, had the fundamental rights to education.” Several of the princes chatted with one another; one of them stated how women's education is useless and how their position is to stay at home with the children. Girl—wait till you hear about the 21st century; women can vote and work.

“And pray tell, why did you think education for women is useless, Prince Frederick?” This put the spotlight on Prince Frederick, who was talking to Prince Augustus. The Queen eyed him sharply; Frederick knew he had to thread this carefully, especially since he was in the presence of the Ambassador of Siam; they could potentially pull all rights for trading and business in their land. They cannot afford that right now, not while they are still at war with Napoleon.

“I think women are gentle creatures who need to be loved. Rather than dealing with harsh politics and boring numbers, they should be surrounded by beautiful things. Music, poetry, paintings. Do you not agree, Lady Amelia?” He looked so proud of his words; Amelia wanted to gag at his face, but instead she chuckled and slightly shook her head.

“May I ask you a question?” Still glowing in pride, he only answered with a gesture, which probably meant ‘go ahead.’ “When you were still a child, which parent did you see more? Your father or your mother?” Several of the princes glanced at their mother, including Prince Frederick. The Queen gestured to him to answer Amelia’s question.

“As my father was busy with work, naturally I saw my mother more than him.” Amelia nodded. “And which parent oversees your education? The one who consulted with the governor, asked you about your progress?” Prince Frederick paused before answering, “My mother, of course. Is it not natural that children will spend more time with their mother? After all, fathers are usually busy and away often.” Amelia smiled subtly.

“Absolutely, mothers are the ones who spend more time with their children compared to their father—” “And as they are at home, why would women burden themselves with education? They should focus on raising the children and make sure they are raised properly.” Amelia stared at the prince for several seconds before she picked up her tea to take a sip.

“Queen Charlotte,” Amelia changed her tactics and turned towards the Queen, who was staring at her with interest. “I heard you were originally from Germany?” The Queen blinked and frowned a bit; she was a bit disappointed that the Siamese Ambassador backed down from the debate against her son. Maybe she is not as brilliant as rumoured.

“Why, yes, I came from the Duchy of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, located in Northern Germany. You should come visit; it is a very beautiful place.” Smiling, The Queen had a look of longing and pride for her country. Amelia nodded. “I will inform the King; maybe he will consider visiting Northern Germany for his annual honeymoon destination.” The Queen nodded with a smile and proceeded to pick up her tea. She was quite pleased with that answer.

“Your Majesty, I am quite curious about the subject of education for European noblewomen. If education is limited to males, what subjects are allowed for noblewomen to learn?” So Lady Amelia did not back down; the Queen smiled behind her cup.

“Noblewomen are taught how to read and write; they learn about cultures, music, art, and literature. However, as the Queen of England, I need to understand the history of the country and calculations.” How will the Ambassador answer her son after she gives her ammunition?

“If you don’t mind me asking, how does your education experience help you manoeuvre your children’s education? Such as, have you ever consulted subjects you deemed more necessary for the princesses and princes with their governor and governess?” Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia eyed Prince Frederick. He was still looking as smug as ever with his lukewarm answer.

“Lady Amelia, my children are the future of the country. My job is to make sure they receive the best education possible, so of course I would need to consult with the governor. God knows how many times I consulted them, and even more often for me to help them learn and understand what they were learning about.” The whole time Amelia was looking at Prince Frederick. “And you raised them beautifully, Your Majesty. They could not be like this without you.” Amelia sweetly smiled at the Queen before fully turning around to face Prince Frederick.

“You see, Prince Frederick. We have established that mothers spend more time with their children, more than their father. Mothers are the ones who oversee their children’s education, but more than that, they are also their first educators.” She needed that. The pettiness to emphasise that word.

“If the mother has no solid education, then it is easy for the children’s education to go astray. It was fortunate that you were born royal with a mother who had received proper education in her early years. Your mother was able not only to consult with the governor and governess but also helped with your learning process. Unfortunately, not everyone is lucky enough.” Amelia knows she has won the argument with these facts; she just… wanted him to burn a bit more.

“Prince George.” The said Prince perked up. “From what I remembered during the introduction, you are the Prince Regent, correct?” “Yes, you are right.” He confirmed as Amelia gave him a strained smile.

“I must confess, I am never one to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I don’t know how you run your country, but I know the Siam I envision it to be.” Amelia sighed, her thumb tracing the edge of the saucer.

“We want to establish peace in the country, and we want equality for everyone. That is impossible without having the citizens educated. Women included because women count.” Her light brown eyes met Prince George’s dark ones. He can see it now; this is Lady Amelia, who rose in the Siamese court in a mere three years before starting her role as an Ambassador.

“Because women are a part of our people. The law is not only to give them a chance to do what they want but also to protect the women from getting blamed for their children’s education.” Amelia may sound cocky about this matter. She was aware that this could potentially insult the Queen and the Princes, but since they laid the stage themselves, might as well show them why Siam is not a country to be messed with, why they are a progressive country.

“We need to educate the children and citizens; therefore, they have the ability to process and filter liable information in order to create a strong and united Siam. That is my opinion about why it is necessary to establish the law of education.” As she concluded her discussion, Amelia could see the sour faces of the princes.

Queen Charlotte should be angry at the Ambassador for embarrassing her sons, but Lady Amelia was correct. It was an impressive debate; instead of debating Frederick on what-ifs, Lady Amelia used her, his mother, as an example.

“Now that it’s done, come with me, Lady Amelia. I would love to show you my peacock collection.” Queen Charlotte stood up, followed by Amelia as they exited the room. The princes who were left in the room stared at the two retreating figures before the footman closed the doors.

“What a petty woman. She strung mother along in order to win the argument,” Prince Frederick huffed in distaste as he stared at the closed doors.

“Please, Frederick, you are just angry you lost,” Edward chuckled as he picked up a scone. “I think she is interesting,” he continued while spreading jam before taking a bite of the scone.

“She’s far too young for you, Edward. If you try anything, it will cause a strain in our relationship with Siam,” George said as he picked up two sugar cubes, dropping them into his tea.

***

For almost an hour, Queen Charlotte showed Amelia her colourful peacock collection, which is truly fascinating, as Amelia even got the chance to hand-feed one of the birds under the keeper’s watch, despite Queen Charlotte’s hesitation. Queen Charlotte and Amelia discussed many things: their differences in art and cultures, sports played in each country, fashion, even education. The Queen was so fascinated by Amelia’s decree to make it mandatory for girls to also get education that she questioned the education system in Siam. Amelia really likes talking to Queen Charlotte; she is curious and genuinely interested in her opinions and beliefs, which became her drive to make Siam a better country for the people. Yes, the Queen might be a strict person, but she is someone who is.

“Before I leave, can I ask you something, Your Majesty?” Amelia asked as they ventured into the garden. The Queen glanced at the young lady next to her. “Why of course, ask away, my dear.” Amelia braced herself to spit out the question. “Could you please tell me where the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh live currently?” Out of all the questions the Ambassador could have asked, Charlotte never thought it would be that one. “The— Why?” Compared to debating with one of the princes, the Ambassador looked way more scared asking that question.

“I have a letter I need to deliver. It was a personal request from the King.” Queen Charlotte raised a brow. Her brother-in-law and his wife, Abigail of Gloucester nee. Bridgerton, received a letter from the Siamese Royal family? Amelia caught her expression and quickly explained.

“His Majesty, the King… I heard that he was one of the students of the Siam’s Ambassador to London at the time…” Amelia explained slowly. “Perhaps His Majesty has made some sort of relationship with the Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh during his time here…” The Queen nodded, acknowledging the possibility.

“Alright, I will make sure the letter will reach the Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh. Do you have the letter with you?” Amelia's eyes met the Queen in surprise and nodded her head. “I have it with Lynn, my secretary.” Amelia turned towards Lynn and signalled her to come to her.

“Your Majesty, Milady—” Lynn greeted before continuing with her question. “Anything I could possibly help you with?” Amelia nodded. “Do you bring the letter from His Majesty the King to the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh?” Lynn nodded and reached for the handbag she was carrying and took out a leather pouch embossed with the emblem of the Rattanakosin Kingdom.

Amelia grabbed it, and passed it to Queen Charlotte, but was received by her secretary- Brimsley. “Brimsley, quickly send it to Prince William.” Brimsley silently bowed, and exited the room.

“Your Majesty, I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart for your generosity to help me.” Amelia sincerely bowed to the Queen for the help she provided. The Queen merely smiles her way, being sincerely appreciated for her generosity is quite rare these days. The last person who often appreciates her, willing to spend lots of time with her, and someone she genuinely enjoys spending her time with, was her nephew, Princess Felicia of Gloucester, only child and daughter to Prince William Henry and Lady Abigail Bridgerton. Sadly she ran away 23 years ago. The Queen sighed, and focused on the present once more.

“It is alright, dear. However, if you really want to thank me, maybe you can come visit me for tea sometimes.” Amelia gave her a huge smile and nodded. Queen Charlotte was always one of her favourite characters in the Bridgerton series, and despite being a devoted wife and mother, she has quite a tragic background due to the pressure of being a wife, a Queen and a mother.

“Your Majesty, I must thank you for the tour and the delightful afternoon tea. It was refreshingly different from what we have in Siam.” Amelia paused, wondering if she’s allowed to say this. “Queen Charlotte, I must say that I admire you. Not only as a Queen, but also as a mother who is able to raise not only one, but 15 children. I hope your children share the same sentiments.” Amelia gave her a sincere smile and curtsy before walking out.

Words: 2293 words

Edited: 02/04/2024

More Than Diamond's Master List

IMPORTANT NOTES A/N: Hello, how are you guys? I hope you are well. Regarding this story that is following Julia Quinn's hit series, Bridgerton, I would start by saying I read the book first before I watch the Netflix series, thus I apologize if there are some differences with the Netflix version, but I will try to make it as similar as possible. I would also ask the readers to be kind when criticizing this story as this is my first time to actually publishing my work in the open. For the story, as you can see there is a time-travel tag. Our reader was sent back to the past with all the knowledge from the future. If you are also confused with Davika's education, I actually based her using Spencer Reid, a character from Criminal Minds. I also made Friedrich to be a year younger than Benedict when in actuality, he was born in 1794, 2 years younger than Daphne. If you are not interested or felt like those 2 themes ruined a historical romance story, then please do not leave any bad comments as you can just stop reading this story. Thank You Very Much! Much Love, Cinnamon Meilleure's Writing Room

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will80sbyers · 2 years

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Let's talk about Mike's playlist... in a bisexual way!

// this will be all my own speculation. nothing is set. nothing is confirmed. //

First of all, I don't think that the playlists have always a literal meaning for the show because the songs are born from a different context, they are not made for the show like the score (that I think is there just to represent emotions) so the fact that one song talks about love, to me, doesn't mean for sure that that type of love is the "true love" romantic one... in fact I think all of the songs are meant to represent love in a childlike way because the characters were kids...they are there to represent Mike's first crush on El that to him probably seems like real love because it's the first "clear" infatuation he ever recognized as such... small children have big big feelings

I think they chose the songs to represent the relationships, represent the feelings of the characters and maybe foreshadow their whole arc from start to the end of the show!

Songs about Mike & Eleven:

Always something there to remind me by Naked Eyes

“ Well, how can I forget you girl? When there is always something there to remind me. As shadows fall I pass the small cafe where we would dance at night... and I can't help recalling how it felt to kiss and hold you tight ”

» I believe this song is about Mike's grief for Eleven after he thought she was dead in season two

She blinded me with science by Thomas Dolby

“ But it's poetry in motion

When she turned her eyes to me

As deep as any ocean

As sweet as any harmony

Oh, she blinded me with science ”

» clearly first crush stuff!

I Ran (So Far Away) by A Flock of Seagulls

“ I never thought I'd meet a girl like you

With auburn hair and tawny eyes

The kind of eyes that hypnotise me through

» Mike has his first crush on El + theme song about running away... Mike will leave Hawkins one day

When Love Breaks Down by Prefab Sprout

“ My love and I, we work well together but often we're apart

Absence makes the heart lose weight

Till love breaks down, love breaks down

When love breaks down

The things you do

To stop the truth from hurting you

When love breaks down

The lies we tell

They only serve to fool ourselves

When love breaks down

The things you do

To stop the truth from hurting you”

» foreshadowing for s4. Mike's feelings for Eleven are not strong enough to stay alive after she leaves for Lenora, they fight and he is not in love with her!

( they were making Bob already talk with Joyce about leaving Hawkins and going to live together in another place in the future, I believe they had planned the general direction of the show since s2 when the playlists are created and knew that they will leave Hawkins with Eleven )

Don't you want me by The human league

“ I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar

That much is true

But even then I knew I'd find a much better place

Either with or without you

The five years we have had have been such good at times

I still love you

But now I think it's time I live my life on my own

I guess it's just what I must do”

» this is Eleven's POV... break up song!

You Really Got Me by Silicon Teens

“ Girl, you really got me goin'

You got me so I don't know what I'm doin' now”

» teen relationship

A Victory of Love by Alphaville

“ Waiting for a change in the weather

I'm waiting for a shift in the air,

Could we get it together, ever

Hoping for your return

Hoping for your sweet, sweet return”

» s2 finale, Mike is waiting for El to come back to him

Blue Monday by New Order

“And I thought I was mistaken

And I thought I heard you speak

Tell me how do I feel

Tell me now how should I feel

Now I stand here waiting”

» s2 Mike waiting for El, thinking he saw her and heard her

Too shy by Kajagoogoo

“ You're too shy, shy

Hush hush, eye-to-eye”

» s1 about their first kiss

Be afraid by Franz Ferdinand

“ Don't be afraid if you hear voices”

» s2 Mike thinks he's hearing El in the radio

Songs foreshadowing Mike being queer, Mike leaving Hawkins and the love triangle:

Smalltown boy by Bronski Beat

(no need to put the text because many people have already talked about this song)

I Ran (So Far Away) by A Flock of Seagulls

“ And I ran, I ran so far away

I just ran, I ran all night and day

I couldn't get away ”

Running in the Night by FM-84 & Ollie Wride

In the face of Evil by Magic sword

“ The band consists of The Keeper (mask illuminated in red; keyboard, audio-visual), The Seer (mask illuminated in blue; guitar), and The Weaver (mask illuminated in yellow; drums).”

» this song doesn't have words but I think it foreshadows the love triangle because of the fact that it's a trio color coded like Mike, Will and El

Cars by Gary Numan

“ I know I've started to think

About leaving tonight”

Gunship by Vale of Shadows

“ Open the gates

This old dragon's heart is bleeding

Your throat, my voice

Pull back the ears

Won't you come inside, there's a fire burning

Your teeth, my tongue

Just don't let go and we will be okay

It's the sun of our souls

Into Vale of Shadows

I'm ripped apart but my heart's still beating

Won't wake us up tonight

Run dark to stay alive”

» foreshadowing of season 5? byler in the Upside down?

Run away by International Music System

“ You can run away to search the truth”

Songs about Mike:

A real hero by Electric Youth

“ Back against the wall and odds

With the strength of a will and a cause

Your pursuits are called outstanding

You're emotionally complex

Against the grain of dystopic claims

Not the thoughts your actions entertain

And you have proved to be

A real human being

And a real hero”

» this song is about Mike and his determination to save Will in the first season, he's the driving force that leads to Will being saved

Destination unknown by Missing persons

“ Life is so strange when you don't know

How can you tell where you're going to

You can't be sure of any situation

Something could change and then you won't know

You ask yourself

Where do we go from here

It seems so all too near

Just as far beyond as I can see

I still don't know what this all means to me

So you tell yourself

I have nowhere to go

I don't know what to do

And I don't even know the time of day

I guess it doesn't matter any way

Life is so strange

Destination unknown”

» Mike is confused, he doesn't know what future he will have but he knows life can change at any moment, he is still discovering himself and is open to new possibilities

It's my Life by Talk Talk

“ Funny how I find myself in love with you

If I could buy my reasoning I'd pay to lose

One half won't do

Funny how I find myself in love with you

If I could buy my reasoning I'd pay to lose

One half won't do

I've asked myself, how much do you

Commit yourself?

It's my life

Don't you forget

It's my life

It never ends (it never ends)

Funny how I blind myself, I never knew

If I was sometimes played upon, afraid to lose

I'd tell myself, what good do you do

Convince myself ”

» this is about Mike's love for Will, how he was blind to it but also how he doesn't care about what other people have to say about his life. He will decide.

Mad world by Tears for Fears

“ Went to school and I was very nervous

No one knew me

Hello, teacher, tell me what's my lesson?”

» Mike suffering in his childhood plus his first meeting with Will

No Other Way by Classix Nouveaux

“ Where are the days

The days that time erased

Innocence we’ve had

has been replaced

We were so free of hate

they’ve taken that away

All I see is responsibility forced on me

Never again”

» Mike is traumatized, his life has changed after season 1

(Everyday is) Halloween by Ministry

“ Well any time, any place, anywhere that I go

All the people seem to stop and stare

They say 'why are you dressed like it's Halloween?

You look so absurd, you look so obscene'

O, why can't I live a life for me?

Why should I take the abuse that's served?

Why can't they see they're just like me

It's the same, it's the same in the whole wide world”

» Mike was bullied all his life but he values diversity

Make no mistake by Psyche

“ Got to drop the pressure. Get on the right train. Forget the payback system. That ain't no way to gain. Feeling out of sorts. Don't want to let it end. I feel like I'm overloading. You got me down on my knees. I want to pull the trigger... But I can't find the release ”

» Mike is feeling the pressure of having to make the decisions

War by Frankie goes to Hollywood

» Mike is a pacifist lol

Songs about Will & Mike:

Still haunting me by Magic dance

“ There was this look in your eyes

Like fire burning to take flight

A distant call from the sky

Beckoning you to flee the night

But I cannot fathom why

You would ever leave my side

Forever wondering how it died

And I can't shake it

With your face

Still haunting me”

» this song is about Mike and Will and I think it was foreshadowing their fight in s3, the playlist was created with Netflix before season 2 for its release but I think they started planning the whole arc for byler from season 2

Love is a stranger by Eurythmics

“ Love is a danger

Of a different kind

To take you away

And leave you far behind

And love love love

Is a dangerous drug

You have to receive it

And you still can't

Get enough of the stuff

It's savage and it's cruel

And it shines like destruction

Comes in like the flood

And it seems like religion

It's noble and it's brutal

It distorts and deranges

And it wrenches you up

And you're left like a zombie

And I want you”

» I think this is about byler because their relationship is much more deep and tumultuous than Mike and El's relationship, the feelings Mike has for Will are deeper

Running in the Night by FM-84 & Ollie Wride

“ I used to be the one

I used to be your getaway dreamer

I couldn't get enough

Thinking that we would last forever

Don't know what you're thinking of

Slipping further out of reach

To the edge of town we could go

Away from all the world to see

You were wild trying to set yourself free

I didn't see the signs right in front of me

Oh, I'm running in the night so soon

I've got nothing left to lose

I'm leaving it all behind, running in the night with you

I won't let you get away again

I used to be the one

I used to be your place to land

Under the shadows

Into the palm of my hand

You're always changing the situation

Just when we found paradise

You're always shutting down the conversation

I can never read your mind”

» Mike has feelings for Will, he wants to go away with him and can't understand what Will thinks about them, he was Will's "place to land" in s2 until they started to fight in s3

Something about you ( 7 version ) by Level 42

“ If ever our love was concealed

No one can say that we didn't feel

A million things

And a perfect dream of life

Gone, fragile but free

We remain tender together

If not so in love

It's not so wrong

We're only human after all

These changing years

They add to your confusion

Oh and you need to hear the time

That told the truth

That there is something about you

Baby so right

Don't want to be without you

Baby tonight

Because there's something about you

Baby so right

I couldn't live without you

Baby tonight”

» season 4 byler: Mike was confused but now he knows that he has feelings for Will!

Are "Friends" electric? by Tubeway Army

“ So now I'm alone

Now I can think for myself

About little deals

And issues

And things that I just don't understand

A white lie that night

Or a sly touch at times

I don't think it meant anything to you

So I open the door

It's the 'friend' that I'd left in the hallway

'Please sit down'

A candlelit shadow on a wall near the bed

You know I hate to ask

But are 'friends' electric?

Only mine's broke down

And now I've no-one to love

So I found out your reasons

For the phone calls and smiles

And it hurts

And I'm lonely

And I should never have tried

And I missed you tonight

It must be time to leave

You see it meant everything to me ”

» s3 and s4 - Mike likes Will but he thinks Will is straight and he has no possibility with his best friend... he was confused.. are friends supposed to make you feel like this?

If you leave by Orchestral manouvers in the dark

“ If you leave, don't leave now

Please don't take my heart away

Promise me, just one more night

Then we'll go our separate ways

We've always had time on our side

Now it's fading fast

Every second, every moment

We've gotta make it last

I touch you once, I touch you twice

I won't let go at any price

I need you now like I need you then

You always said we'd still be friends someday”

» s3/4 byler - Mike misses Will when he has to leave for Lenora

You spin me round (Like a record) by Dead or Alive

“ I got to be your friend now, baby

And I would like to move in just a little bit closer

All I know is that to me

You look like you're lots of fun

Open up your lovin' arms

Watch out, here I come

You spin me right 'round, baby

Right 'round like a record, baby

I want your love”

» byler byler byler, Mike made a choice to be Will's friend and now he wants to get closer than that

Space Age Love Song by A Flock of Seagulls

“ I saw your eyes

And you made me smile

For a little while

I was falling in love

I saw your eyes

And you touched my mind

Although it took a while

I was falling in love”

» Mike took a while to understand his feelings for Will, he's in love with him by s4

What is love? by Howard Jones

“ And maybe love is letting people be just what they want to be

The door always must be left unlocked

To love when circumstance may lead someone away from you

And not to spend the time just doubting”

» True love lets you be yourself, Will makes Mike feel like he can be himself... he doesn't have to "act cool" like he did for Eleven

THAT'S ALL, FOLKS!

Thank you for reading 💕

#byler #will byers #mike wheeler #Mike's playlists analysis #bisexual Mike Wheeler

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ritual-unions · 1 year

Text

Sleepy Mornings

Pairing: Ubbe x OFC

Rating: explicit, mature

Word count: ~7k, multi-chaptered

Summary: Winnifred lives the sheltered life of a Christian woman in King Alfred’s court. Not truly understanding the meaning of sexual pleasure her new husband, Ubbe Ragnarsson, is more than willing to show her the path.

This is my submission for @vikingsbigbang winter event, thank ya'll for putting this on again. I can't wait till next year to do it again. Also thank you times a million to my artist, @underragingwaves & @mrgabel who created this lovely art to accompany my fic.

Banner by @mrgabel

Enjoy.

Or if you prefer on Ao3 and to see the rest of the art 😊

Chapter 1: Of All the Stars that Burn

It is the early mornings that Winnifred loves the most.

The way the particles of light filter through the curtains. The quiet of the room. The small shuffling sounds of servants in the anteroom. The birds singing their morning songs from the tree tops outside their window.

Ubbe is not a morning person. Winnifred finds this out on their first full day of marriage. She had stretched out, long and wide, a happy “good morning” falling off her tongue. He had glared at her, eyes squinting in the sunlight, clearly annoyed, though no words left his mouth.

She is forced first to learn his silence before his mother tongue. There in the pauses, and the way he quirks his mouth, in the slight raise of brow, she begins to understand him.

Now, she sits. Not because she worries about bothering Ubbe but because she enjoys the stillness, the moments before the chaos of the world starts hurtling towards her. First, there would be breakfast with her mother, then sewing shirts for the poor with the queen. Later Winnifred would attend court, feigning interest in the on-goings of ambassadors and the accounts of stewards. Finally, dinner; when she would be subjected to poetry readings and music so dull she wanted to scream.

None of that matters. Not yet. For the mornings are hers alone. The only piece of the day she controls.

Her fingers slip out from under the down comforter, sliding across the cotton sheets to the strip of light that reflects between the curtains. It does not warm her chilled skin, only illuminates her cuticles and the creases of her knuckles. She turns her hand in fascination.

Ubbe stirs next to her and she halts all her movements, not quite ready for her peace to end. He sighs as his head settles next to hers, his arm slipping around her core as he pulls her in close. Like a child pulling in a favorite stuffed animal.

Winnifred stiffens. This is not like him, to find comfort from her. Up until today Ubbe has only touched her on the corner of her elbow once while on a walk through the villa or during the few stiff and awkward moments at night when they found themselves forced vainly to create an heir. This is better, she enjoys the fact that she does not have to try to be anything, neither a courtesan to King Alfred or the wife to a famed Norseman.

She can just be herself.

Allowing each of the tight cords of her muscles to soften with a slow exhale out her nose, Winnifred tries to relax into Ubbe’s touch and venture back into the little space she has carved out for herself.

Her hand is cold outside of the covers as she tries to tap the tiny dust particles that dance in the sunlight. They refuse to be obtained, no matter how slowly she moves.

There is a muffled scuttle outside their door and then the quiet giggling of a servant. Winnifred smiles despite herself. The footman and one of the maids has been flirting for months now, much to her delight.

Ubbe stirs, gives her another full body hug and as he buries his nose into her hair he inhales deeply.

He murmurs something in a rumbling baritone that she does not understand. About the ocean, possibly. He is speaking in Norse, a language she still does not comprehend though everyone around her swears it is similar to Saxon.

“Of home,” he tries again when she hums out a questioning note of misunderstanding. “Your hair.” His voice drifts as he sways between sleep and wakefulness.

“Ah.” She smiles to herself. “That is Jessa’s work. Sea salt. She sprays it in my hair after I wash.” Her fingers curl around the springy ends. “To keep the curls,” she finishes though she does not think Ubbe is listening by the way his breathing evens out next to her ear.

“I have been enjoying Jessa,” Winnie quietly announces to no one in particular. The servant was brought over from Norway, given to her by Ubbe as a bridal gift. “She speaks to me in Norse in the mornings,” she continues on, her voice softening as her finger traces the wrinkles in the bed sheets. “None of it will stick'' - she said to herself, certain Ubbe is fast asleep - “still I enjoy the sound. It is different, soft, not like the strange garbling that occurs between you and -”

Ubbe’s hand drifts to her thigh, a soothing touch that quiets her ramblings. The rough pads of his fingertips trace the length of her leg, similar to that which she does to the bed sheets. His hand finds the roundness of her ass cheek. He grabs her fleshy bottom with vigor, mumbling a slew of foreign words hot into her ear.

“You see,” she practically whines in frustration. “I do not understand.”

He ignores her complaint, his hand continuing to travel the length of her body. His fingers briefly tickle her sides until he finds the heavy weight of her breast. He holds the roundness in the palm of his hand as if weighing a sack of gold. His thumb brushes over her nipple, bringing it to attention. Her back arches mechanically at his whispering touch as if she suddenly has no control over her body. She is just wet sand that molds to his touch. His hips roll into her backside. His desire for her is evident as his erect cocks presses against her cotton shift.

The door opens slowly causing her breath to catch in her throat. The hinges creak loudly in protest. It can not be that late in the morning, she thinks as her heart pounds in her chest. Heavy feet cross the threshold, headed for the fireplace. Someone stirs the coals.

It is Eda by her footsteps. Jessa walks as though she floats on air. Eda stomps around as if trying to wake the dead. Winnie does not dare move as Eda approaches the bedside.

Hidden under the bed covers the weight of her breast rest heavy in Ubbe’s hand. His thumb idly brushes across the rounded nipple. It is an apathetic maneuver, as if he is trying to lull himself back to sleep with the repetitive nature. It takes everything in her not to wiggle away from his touch.

“My lady,” Eda whispers. Winnifred starts at the sound of Eda’s voice. It should not have frightened her so much but she is so caught up in Ubbe’s sensuous touch that she had become dull to her maid’s whereabouts. “It is time to wake.”

Moon-eyed, Winnie blinks up at Eda as her hushed tone passes above her head. “Your mother requests an early breakfast.”

Ubbe’s breathing is evened out next to her ear. He has fallen back asleep but his ministrations have not faltered. Eda’s bright brown eyes make no indication she is aware that Ubbe is softly torturing Winnifred under the bed sheets. Instead Eda shakes Winnifred’s foot lightly, a playful smile on her lips at the implied lazy nature of her mistress.

Winnifred freezes, not able to move for fear Eda will suspect, the moment Winnifred steps out of bed, that there is a sinful heat building between her legs.

She tries to swallow the heady matter stuck in the back of her throat.

Her chest heaves as she watches Eda lay out her linen bodice, silk shift and stockings, trying to muster the courage to leave the confines of the bed sheets. Hoping that her sinful desires are not blanched clear as day on her face.

Ubbe has fallen into a deeper sleep, his hand wrapping around her rib cage, not stirring as Eda muses quietly about what Winnifred should wear for the day; there is the velvet gown of deep green but the cloudless sky told tales of a hot blistering summer day. Velvet will have her sweating in her bodice by noon. Winnifred would need something breathable. There is the satin one with the embroidered neckline that Winnie loves.

Ubbe exhales lowly through his nose, his hand traveling over her hip and then tugging at her inner thigh. It is sticky and wet there. Winnie frowns and Eda quickly set aside the satin dress, digging deeper in the bureau for another option.

Never before has Winnifred experienced such a sensation and worries that she has started her courses earlier than anticipated. Shuffling the sheet around she tries to bring her hand between her legs to inspect closer. Ubbe has stretched her leg back, to rest on his own thigh. He is hot to the touch, the coarse hairs of his thigh are rough against her skin. She clenches her teeth to keep from moaning as his hand palms her folds, coating his fingers in her sticky juices.

To halt his hands from any further movements she clenches her fingers tightly around his wrist. Her back is to him but she can imagine the mocking smile tickling one corner of his mouth. That same smile he points at her when she speaks of the tithes she is collecting for the church from some of the wealthier courtiers, to help the poor. He would shake his head when she refused his suggestion to take the money straight to the poor. “The church has their best interests in mind. They knew the appropriate protocol for distributing the funds”, she would tell him and he would hide that smile in the corner of his mouth as he silently mocks her. He does not trust the church.

Ever so gently he pushes the heel of his palm upward, applying a slight pressure to her sensitive nub. The sensation causes Winnie’s hips to buck and a gasp of surprise to escape past her lips. Eda drops the dress she is holding as she stumbles to Winnie’s side.

“The green satin!” Winnifred exclaims, half startled by the sound that has just come out of her mouth. It is so feral, so unlike her. She scrambles out of Ubbe’s hold, pushing away his groping hands. Fumbling, she tries to untangle herself from the bed sheets but the fabric keeps twisting tighter between her legs until she is certain she will be trapped in its depths for eternity.

Shakily she holds out her hands in front of her, in an attempt to keep her maid at bay. Her eyes drift to Ubbe. Sleepy-eyed, one corner of his lip curls in a smile so vexing she wants to growl in frustration.

Winnie sighs heavily to steady herself. “I’ll wear the green satin dress today.”

“Yes, my lady,” Eda agrees with a bow of her head.

To Winnifred’s annoyance she keeps catching Ubbe’s gaze hot on her skin as he watches her change out of her rumpled chemise. His eyes shift across her body in lazy fascination before slowly closing with sleep where nothing, not even her pointed glare, can affect him.

***

Moodboard by @underragingwaves

For the the entire fic and most importantly the absolutely amazing art on my Ao3

#vikingsbigbangwinter22 #vikings fanfiction #vikings fic #ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe's wolfpack #ubbe fanfiction #vikings ubbe #ubbe x ofc #ubbe smut

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brbabcseu · 9 months

Note

What are some fun facts about AJ and his friends? They look like a fun group!

Leighanne w ur permission I am kissing u in glee

I got fun facts ABOUND

They're a very fun group! Jesse's never had complaints abt them, he thinks they're all good kids. They all got their own troubles and have their moments, especially around high school, but they're kids yk? Jesse is happy to have them under his roof if they ever need an escape or a vent or what-have-you. He WOULD love it if they could keep it the hell down after 10 pm though.

Damien is the newest initiate to the group. He's a sophomore when AJ and the other three enter their freshman year. Damien got to know Maya first through extracurriculars-- he runs track and Maya figures skates! They'd hang out after their respective practices and listen to podcasts while waiting for their parents to pick them up. AJ has a huuuuge crush on Damien and everyone teases him abt it... idk I love Damien so much he's such a goober!! V much one of those kids who "acts cool" bc he's always so chill and can easily run in more popular crowds but he's not a douche, he's actually v affable, if not a little too apolitical when it comes to disagreements + drama amongst the teens. Guess he's afraid it'll make his persona less neutral, and the idea of not being able to be friends with every different clique makes him feel insecure :(

Axel is overly boisterous, moderately annoying, and incredibly funny. Will Say and Do things just to see what happens. Rule of thumb: if it provokes their group to throw proverbial tomatoes at him, he's commiting to whatever that bit is. Likes to keep the energy up and the conversation flowing, otherwise he gets too anxious (he deals with a lot of tough things internally) and his friends remind him to relax once and a while, he doesn't always have to be so On around them. Close with all of them but has a special bond with Maya; AJ coming in close second.

Maya is sunshine incarnate. She always has a way to find things beautiful. If her life isnt going to inherently be like an indie film then she's going to MAKE it like one!! And she makes it look effortless to boot. Lover of all thing doodle-y, poetry, and podcast-y. Doesn't always matter the subject; admittedly though, she has a hard time focusing on something full through. If the name or thumbnail interests her she goes "sure hell yeah" and follows it lol. Her and Ax's respective neurodivergencies fit together very well. Her and Sam love to brag about their "boy-free" outings in front of the three guys and will usually team up when everyone else is being annoying. Maya considers AJ her sweet angel baby boy and would carry him around in her pocket if she could. She lovingly gave him the nickname "AppleJack" 🥹

Sam's been around the longest. A very level head in the group, a grounding force. She knew AJ since they were in diapers so they're essentially siblings. This is evident in how they treat each other; they'll whack one another over the head w a pillow and call each other a dumbass with EASE but also be ride or die till the end. The two can share one look and burst out laughing, super silly and goofy!! Sam's mom, Eliza, is a recovering alcoholic and has been slowly but surely putting her life together while Jesse's friend and local foster mom Delilah has taken care of Sam on and off throughout the years. Eliza is good people; her and Jesse are kindred spirits. So, meeting her and seeing her as a fellow struggling parent with a history of addiction, he vouched for her a lot and tried helping her out with housing and finding work while she was at her lowest. There were a lot of playdates, so Jesse's seen Sam grow up. He was there for all her school events, helped with all the birthdays, just as he did with AJ. A lot of that connection goes unsaid-- so it hit Jesse like a freight train when one day a 12 year old Sam approaches him and very casually hands him a father's day card. "You're not my dad but you are A dad, and a good one. I never met my own real dad so thanks for being there instead," the card read. She has to watch her smirk and keep from rolling her eyes and says, "Ah, you don't gotta cry about it!" when Jesse gets that 🥺🥹 look on his face. Despite being as prickly as her mom, she accepts his bear hug and tells him she loves him. The card is still on his dresser.

Doodles!!! Respectively: Sam receiving aforementioned bear hug, Maya and Damien hanging out, and Sam and AJ at their most affectionate

#bookofmajora #mutuals #ask #tysm!!!!!!#alaska crew #i know like i KNOW im very annoying abt my ocs and wanting to talk abt them so ty for when u guys do indulge me fr #mfa

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lolaze · 1 year

Text

The femme fatale: independent women or still slaves

Disclaimer!!! This is just my opinion and if I said something wrong on not true, feel free to correct me just please not be hateful, and English is also not my first language, and this is a way for me to work on it as well, so sorry if it's bad; in this essay I will talk about murder, gender norms, stereotypes, tw:man, beauty standard, objectification of women, etc…after saying this, I hope that someone will maybe actually enjoy my essay, bye <3

‘ A femme fatale, often called a meneater or a vamp, is a stock character of a mysterious, beautiful, and seductive woman whose charms ensare her lovers, often leading them into compromising, deadly traps’. This is at least what first came up when I started my reaserch on the topic.

So what we can understand thanks to this, is that a femme fatale is simply a woman who uses her charms to gain whatever she wants from men. I would say pretty cool, but to state this we need to see its origins and understand the purpose, benefits and downs of it.

For starter, it’s an old archetype that we can find in many cultures around the word. In China, for example, there’s Daji(妲己).She was the favourite consort of King Shou of Shang(商王)and is considered a classic example of how a singular beautiful woman can be the downfall of a dinasty or kingdom if I dare. In the story she was killed by an old fox spirit who possessed her body. King Zhou was so infatuated with her, that he started to neglect his duties and take part in the spirit grousome antics. ‘Daji’, was in fact best known for her interest and enjoyment for torture. The couple would often be found laughing and entertaining themselves, while watching victims dance and scream in agony, since they were beigin burn to death. This method, Paolao (炮烙),was in fact Daji invention.

Or in western cultures, like in the Bible. Delilah for example, who nags Samson into telling her where he gets his powers, to then wait till he fell asleep naively on her lap, so she could shave his head eventually causing his death. Even Eve, who just shares the apple with Adam, without any hidden agenda under it, since she still doesn’t understand her sexuality and the ‘power that lies within it’, and thus cannot use it willing for her benefits, still get called, either way a seductress, whose intent was leading Adam out of the Eden.

Ironically one of the first ‘meneater’ was actually Lilith, Adam’s first wife who was kicked out of the Garden of Eden because she wouldn’t cooperate and obey him.

Or Sirens, whose calls, led sailors to their imminent death;

As well the medieval idea that women with extraordinary sexuality were easier to be taken over by the evil and become witches and, in Germany poetry, still in the medieval timeframe, with Frau Minne, a woman that lured and trapped men in birds cages.

This females figures(the femme fatale), became more popular during the 19th century due to the numerous books and poetry pieces, obviously written my males, that talked about women that killed men with their dangerous sexuality.

For example the novel ‘Nana’, written by the French author Emile Zola. He tells the story of this girl(18 at the start of her career and narration), that goes from a simple ‘streetwalker’ to a well known and requested high-class prostitute, and how she destroys every man that tries to persuade her. She was an actress in a company, that was actually really bad at both singing, dancing and even acting, but she managed to lour people in just thanks to her ‘dangerous sexuality’… (I would recommend this book because it shows really well this phenomenon, the only disclaimer is that it can get a little heavy to read, it’s not a fast read. But hey, beauty is pain)

Still regarding the Victorian era, we should also talk about the rise of females murderers and the fear surrounding the new lifestyle women were adopting. To explain this, we have for example, at mid-century, the phenomenon of females becoming more and more active in public spaces and needing less help from men. In fact the dangerous women of this period were the ones that worked hard for and by themselves, threatening the patriarchal structures that men treasured/ and treasure, plus the gender norms. Obviously I don’t even need to explain how this is such nonsense , since if men were to live in autonomy we wouldn’t bat an eye, but if women only try, we get called cunning and spoiled bitches.

To go more in depths with this concept, we need to know how aristocratic men also created two types of women: ‘the angel’ and the ‘fallen Angel’. The first one was the type of woman who followed all the etiquette rules and represented her real role in the family (the slave). The best example of this perfect Victorian woman is in the poem ‘The Preserved Angel in the House’ by Coventry Patmore; this angel preserved the traditional moral values and put her entire soul into making the house a place where both her husband and son would like to spend their time instead of entertaining themselves in other places.

While the ‘fallen woman’, was who didn’t follow the Victorian rules to be a perfect woman( better said a virgin sex toy or a housekeeper); it refers to a loss of innocence, in fact women social status was always connected to her sexual status.

Basically if you didn’t act like the stereotypical docile woman, you were viewed directly as a ‘whore’.

Extract from Patmore book:

Man must be pleased; but him to please Is woman's pleasure; down the gulf Of his condoled necessities She casts her best, she flings herself. How often flings for nought, and yokes Her heart to an icicle or whim, Whose each impatient word provokes Another, not from her, but him; While she, too gentle even to force His penitence by kind replies, Waits by, expecting his remorse, With pardon in her pitying eyes; And if he once, by shame oppress'd, A comfortable word confers, She leans and weeps against his breast, And seems to think the sin was hers; Or any eye to see her charms, At any time, she's still his wife, Dearly devoted to his arms; She loves with love that cannot tire; And when, ah woe, she loves alone, Through passionate duty love springs higher, As grass grows taller round a stone.

Also, since men weren’t doing enough just by existing , still in the 19th century, thought that it was only fair that poor/low class females( from children to grown women), were the easy resources for men’s pleasure and exploitation; while the high class ones, were still only for their personal pleasure and needs, but this time just for their respective husbands. I’m mentioning this because I really wanna make clear the concept of how women, especially women of colour, were always being viewed just as object and trophies to be shown, and never as human being, and how not taking sides in the whole feminism discourse it’s straight up stupid and harmful (unless you are in a dangerous environment, then it would be ippocrate for me to say that )

Since I think I made clear how ‘femme fatale’, also means murderer, we should look into the history committed by women and how their beauty worked in that cases too. For example, the first recorded case where the woman won thanks to her charms, is in 336 before Christ in Greece. Here, we see how Phryne, a women who had many lovers, was put on trial for impiety( sacrilege, lack of respect for something sacred), and the penalty was death.When the cards started to look bad for Phryne, her attorney, who also was one of her lovers, pulled off her robe showing her bare body to the judges who pitied her and let her go. After this, she became the muse of so many artist and symbol of feminine attractiveness and the barest of defences in criminal history.

Or how women, especially in 800s, didn’t have choices, if not kill their husbands, because poverty was raising and they needed to feed their children, or also because they were victims of domestic violence and, taking in mind the society they lived in, thought this was the only way to come out alive of their awful situation. I don’t blame them, but obviously the public response to this was that women were starting to just go crazy and needed to be restricted(since they were definitely free before)

For the present time we then have for example, the book or film adaptation ‘Gone Girl’, that talks and shows what women can and will do in order to get what they want, or like in Amy Dunne case( the protagonist of ‘Gone Girl), to seek revenge from her husband that treated her like wrongly, by faking her own death and blaming it on him. We can see thanks to this characters how the ‘femme fatale’ refuses to submit and tries, even if with morally dubious ways, to seek justice and fairness.

Or with a little bit of humour, Jessica Rabbit, an over sexualised cartoon character in ‘Who framed Roger Rabbit’, who literally says ‘I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way’, during the film.

We can also talk about the new TikTok trend where girl/young women dress up, live life in autonomy and organisation, don’t take shit from anybody and fulfil their dreams.

And while I think it’s awesome that we are showing that realising ourselves without the need of a partner it’s possible, there lies some problem with it. I wanna in fact point out how dangerous it is that young girls think that, only over sexualising themselves, being skinny, white and the beauty standard will get them to that point.

Honestly, overall, what we should get from all of this, it’s how we had to make a name for a woman that it’s just a woman. What I mean by that is, when a man is intelligent, beautiful, charming, independent, hard working, and uses certain situations for his own benefits, it’s just a man who has his own life together. But when a woman does the same things, it becomes a whole issue because we are used to be portrayed as stupid, submissive, that do not work for themselves and need a man to survive.

Personally, I still love the femme fatale because it shows how women can and will use their own intelligence, looks and the male gaze for their own benefits, it feels so empowering and a splash of fresh air, but what really makes my blood boil is how it’s viewed as a bad thing, like man cannot stop themselves and thus be ‘safe’. Everyone has a brain of their own and when women use it, it’s a horrible, selfish and unacceptable thing, but when men think only with their lust, we baby them and call them victims as they’re not objectifying us and the cause we are doing all of this in the first place. What the femme fatale does, is taking control in a word that’s against her, and using everything that is built to hurt her, to hurt who wants to harm her.

It also has its downs because it mostly only works when the femme fatale is the beauty standard, that, not funnily enough, were obviously created by man…I think that we can see how we live in a word made to make men life easy, and how we really have a long way to go, but speaking up and not following all the rules that society impose towards us can and, in the long run, will make a really big difference.

These are my main favourite sources so you can guys can check them up as well:

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go-to-the-mirror · 1 year

Text

Seasons in the Archives thing for @cypresskey

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Ghost Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, POV Martin Blackwood, Some Humor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Villain Character Death, Past Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, (lightly implied), No beta we kayak like Tim, this was so fun to write, Happy Valentines Day!!, Well - Freeform, happy 3 days after valentine's day!!, Title from Poetry

Summary:

After his mother moves into a care home, Martin starts looking after Elias Bouchard's semi-abandoned house until he can find a place to live. Unbeknownst to him there is something else that also resides there.

Martin reaches for the ghost’s hand. It’s cold as ice, and clammy. “Martin,” he says. “My name’s Martin.” “Jon.”

Content Warnings & Notes:

Content Warnings: - homelessness - knife violence - murder - implied suicide

oh also fair warning! i'm like a teenager! i don't live in the UK! i don't know what i'm talking about!

༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ

The situation Martin found himself in, outside of Elias Bouchard’s townhouse is easy enough to understand. It’s nearing winter, he’s more terrified of other people than the cold, and he’s T minus 5 days till he’s homeless, with no solution in sight.

The advert had been rotting on a traffic light near his usual bus stop for years, and he’s desperate for a place to live, even if it’s seriously shady and disrepair, it’s a roof over his head, and he can’t afford to keep renting the flat he lived in with his mum now that she’s moving to a care home.

It's a stupid decision, even in the moment he knows that, but if there’s any chance that Elias was still looking for someone to live in and take care of his old family manor on the outskirts of London – coincidentally quite close to where he worked – then Martin was going to grab onto that chance like a starving dog with a bit of meat and never let go.

He calls the number and is answered by a voice with a Manx accent, asking him why he’s calling.

“I’m wondering if Mr. Bouchard still wanted someone to live in his house.” Martin responds, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. The rain is chilling him to his bones, but his voice is steady, his voice is always steady.

“Oh! I’ll call Elias and ask him to come to the phone. Do you mind holding for a moment?”

Martin responds the affirmative, and stands on the side of the road, shivering from the cold, listening to their footsteps fade away.

Please, he thinks – prays. Please, let this be a lifeline.

He’s wearing the best clothes he had washed, including an umbrella this time. He doesn’t want to look like he’s been standing alone outside in the rain. He’s hesitating, he’ll admit it, it’s just… this is his chance, his lifeline, his one shot, and if he blows it he’ll have to find somewhere to live in barely any time.

He rings the doorbell, a bright sound that echoes through the house. It’s dry, but his fingers are wet, and that is what they make all they touch.

“Ah, Martin, was it?” the man Martin now knows as Peter Lukas says.

“Yes,”

“Elias is waiting for you. He’s in his study just down the hall.”

Martin nods. “Thank you, Peter.”

“It’s really my pleasure, Martin. That old house is driving him up the walls. I’d be glad to have it become somebody else’s problem.”

Martin nods and smiles, then heads towards Elias’ office. It’s awkward, but Peter hardly seems better than him in that regard.

He knocks twice against the door, then lets himself in at Elias’ word.

“Martin,” Elias smiles. “Come, take a seat.”

Martin obliges.

“Hello, Mr. Bouchard. Thank you-“ He lets out a puff of air. “-For even considering me for this.”

“Elias is fine, please. Now, shall we begin?”

Martin swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, then nods.

It’s raining again, when Martin gets to the house. The clouds are so thick and dark that Martin can’t tell what the time is, or even if it’s day or night.

He has a few suitcases packed with all the objects that held sentimental value that he deigned to keep. Family pictures, with just the two of them. His first scrapbook, filled with drawings on serviettes, tickets, receipts, photographs, memories. Novelty mugs that he used to love collecting. The only soft toy he’d kept – a ratty old bear that he’d had since he was 3.

Keepsakes. The rest is sold or put in storage. He’ll pay for a mover once he finds somewhere to actually live. Not a temporary thing like this.

See, he doesn’t want to live in the house forever. It’s old, hundreds of years old, and it’s falling apart already. This is just the place he needs to stay for the time being, while he gets his bearings. If he doesn’t need to spend money on rent, he can afford to put some in savings, and spend the rest on food and the bills for his mum’s care home. And with less time being spent caring for his mum, he can get another job. Hell, he might even be able to take night courses, finish high school, so that lying on his CV becomes a little less of a necessity.

He's not going to stay. And if it is dangerous, if the walls start crumbling around him, then he’ll leave. He’ll find another place to stay, he’ll call Tim and Sasha, or even Melanie and he’ll couch surf until he can find a cheap place to live. Never mind that he hasn’t talked to them in months. Never mind that his finger can’t hover over their contacts without him wanting to throw up.

He grits his teeth and pushes open the door.

It’s dark inside. And empty. There’s some furniture, covered in dusty white sheets, and the moth eaten remains of a carpet. There’s a fireplace filled only with ash, but he’s seen some wood outside, so once it dries out, he’ll be able to use it.

For what seems like the first time in a month, he breathes out.

The house is cold when Martin wakes up, not the icy lashing of harsh rain, but the coldness of a morning. Of fog seeping inside you. Mist that you only realise was there when you come inside and realise you’re soaked.

A coldness that feels more heavy than icy.

Martin takes out his battery powered kettle from his bag, and pours the bottle of water into it. It’s the kind of morning for sugary rooibos tea, and one look at his phone confirms that he has enough time. Martin shrugs on his favourite hoodie – a baggy, even for him, blue-grey one – and starts rifling through his bag for the mugs. He finds the one he bought for his mum first. It has a picture of two bears on the front of it, just like his favourite childhood picture book. Before mum got sick, he’d badger her to read it for him all the time. And then when she started getting bad, and his life became a blur of hospital waiting rooms and the broken glass of picture frames on the wall.

He puts the mug back in the bag and pulls out a different one.

Moving is difficult, when he and his mum moved to London it was especially so, she wasn’t happy at all about the move, and he was so stressed, that even though he felt like he could collapse when his head hit the pillow, he couldn’t go to sleep for all the worrying. So, it isn’t too odd that he’s dwelling on things from years ago. His emotions are frazzled, and he could do with a little more sleep.

The kettle goes off with a click, startling Martin out of his thought spiral. He carefully pours the boiling water into his mug and adds a few teaspoons of sugar. He doesn’t have milk, but Martin doesn’t mind too much. Rooibos isn’t that strong of a tea, and Martin could do with the extra warmth.

The heat of the tea does nothing to heat up Martin’s hands, as he waits a few minutes for it to cool, but he doesn’t pay it much mind, instead distracting himself with the news. It’s going to be a cold winter, and someone is dead.

The news isn’t a good distraction. He takes a sip of his tea to find it cold, not even lukewarm, not icy, just cold, as if he’s left it for too long, and it’s just cooled down on its own, and for all he knows, it might have. He tends to get too distracted by his distractions, and zone out. The tea still tastes good, so he drinks the rest of the mug, and places it in the Tupperware housing the dirty dishes. It’s a Sunday, so he has time to look around the rest of the house, check things out, make sure nothing falls apart on him and he doesn’t get chucked out of the only place he can live for breaking the two-hundred-year-old balustrades or something.

The house is cold. In temperature, but also just in how it feels. Nothing is bright – not that Martin would be expecting brightness from a house over 200 years old. It’s soft, and quiet, and subdued. The furniture is broken, and moth eaten, and no effort seems to have ever been made to clean it up.

Abandoned. Like a shadow of what it once was. Upstairs is more of the same, though there are a few unbroken items lying on the ground that Martin takes special care to avoid. Not for the first time, he wonders why Elias let him move in. He’s not a… historian, or someone who’s actually capable of looking after this ancient building that clearly has items of historical value in it. Though, Elias isn’t paying, so Martin supposes he just went with the first person who wouldn’t be too put off by that.

Someone desperate. Someone desperately alone.

He shivers. There’s a broken window in one of the bedrooms, a bare one, with only a penknife that looks like it’s covered in dried blood on the floor.

Martin pulls his jumper sleeve over his arm, and reaches down to pick it up, but as his fingers brush the handle, he’s struck with a sudden and intense panic. He tries to pull away, but something in him insists that he need to grab it. Something’s there, something just outside the door, and if he doesn’t have the knife, he’s going to go back there – wherever “back there” is.

Martin forces himself to take a deep breath in. There’s no-one there. He would have heard them enter, and walk up the creaky staircase, he would have seen them, for Christ’s sake, the door is open. But that doesn’t stop his mind from screaming at him the opposite. He sits down on the floor, and slowly unclenches his hand from the knife.

As soon as it drops back onto the floor all the fear is gone. The room gets colder, and Martin gets to his feet.

He’s not going to touch anything. That seems the wisest course of action.

He closes the door of the room behind him as he leaves.

Martin decides not to continue exploring the house. If they didn’t want the creepy old stuff upstairs to break, they should have gotten someone who actually knew what they were doing to live there. It’s not his responsibility to actively try to preserve stuff in this creepy mansion. It’s survived for over two hundred years without his help, it can last a couple weeks with him breathing the same bloody air as it.

He needs to leave. As soon as he finds a cheap flat, he’s going to leave.

T minus who fucking knows days until something in this creepy house kills him.

Monday morning comes, and Martin is exhausted. Living in a creepy manor with knives that give him panic attacks, is terrible for one’s sleeping. Especially if they already have sleeping problems, and can’t rely on warm , black tea to keep them awake.

He’s almost surprised at how easily he believes it. That something in this house is causing his tea to grow cold, and that knife to give him a feeling of such utter dread . But he’s heard weirder stuff, back when he and Melanie were still friends, and she’d ramble for hours about the weirdest stuff she’d found on ghost hunts. Turns out, being friends with a ghost hunter is a pretty good way to either start believing in the supernatural or become a sceptic.

He's come up with a plan to last at least a month in this house. He’ll stay downstairs, and only go upstairs or into the basement if it’s an emergency. With enough luck it’ll all be completely normal happenstance, or at the very least not affect him too much.

The second full day of living at the house is normal, or as normal as it can be with that gnawing worry in the back of his mind, about what’s going to happen to him while he’s living in that house. He’s always been anxious at work, pretty much always been anxious in general, so it really isn’t that big of a change.

Still, when he gets home, he collapses into bed immediately, though he doesn’t fall asleep for quite some time.

The third day is worse. His anxiety is back with a vengeance, but in that way where it constantly feels like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. He’s dizzy, and shaky and on his break he goes to the backroom and lies down on the ground, and stares at the ceiling for the whole 20 minutes.

There’s a simple solution, he knows this. He had friends, he could text them, ask them for a place to stay. Then at least his anxiety would be over if his friends’ hated him or not, rather than if he was going to get murdered by a ghost.

But… it’s not actually hurting him. Not having a place to stay would hurt him. His friends’ letting him stay for a while but then kicking him out would hurt him. Being homeless in the winter could kill him.

He hadn’t really thought it was a possibility when he was younger. They were struggling, sure, but they could make ends meet. They’d always be able to make ends meet. But that illusion had shattered a long time ago.

The fourth day is agony. He’s sweaty, his brain is fuzzy, he’s making a conscious effort to keep his eyes open.

He’s been sleeping normally; he doesn’t understand why he feels this bad. Sure, his normal isn’t good, but it sure as hell isn’t this.

When he gets home, mentally adding “book a doctor’s appointment” to the list of things he can do when he has time, there’s someone inside.

Their back is turned to him.

The sensible thing would be to turn and run. The sensible thing would have been to turn and run days ago, when he touched the bloody penknife.

It’s snowing.

It’s so cold outside.

“Hello,” Martin calls. The figure turns around, movement almost blurry, like bad greenscreen. Martin almost takes a step back.

“You.” They’re glaring at him. Martin nods, swallows.

“Me.”

They tilt their head, wincing involuntarily. They have a fresh looking wound on their neck, in contrast to the few faded scars visible on their face.

“Why are you still here?” their voice is low, dangerous. Every instinct in Martin tells him to leave, or at least back away.

“I-“ Martin clenches his fists. “I needed a place to stay.”

“There are plenty of other places to stay.”

“Why are you here?” Martin shoots back, tilting his chin up. “I live here.”

“I died here.”

That makes Martin startle. He takes a step back. They- it- the ghost smiles.

“Now, are you going to leave,” the ghost leans in, drops into a stage whisper. “Or do I have to make you?”

For some ungodly reason, Martin bristles at his words instead of doing the sensible thing of running for the hills. “Why?”

The ghost looks taken aback for a second, opening and closing his mouth, looking for words. “Why? I- Because I could kill you, because I told you to, and if you don’t-“

“Would you, though?”

He’s going to get himself killed. This is how he’s going to die, having an argument with a bloody ghost because he can’t phone his friends and ask for a place to stay.

“Yes!”

“You know what would also kill me,” Martin crosses his arms, somehow putting on an air of confidence he does not feel in the slightest. “The cold. The cold would kill me.”

“Have you been enjoying the last couple days?”

“What?”

“I said, have you been enjoying the last couple of days. Headaches, sweating, dizzy spells, exhaustion. It hasn’t been pleasant, has it?” The ghost smiles. Martin knows that smile. It’s like a shark’s. Like Elias’.

Martin swallows, his throat is dry. “How did you-“

“How do you think?” The ghost steps closer towards him.

His fear isn’t gone, but it’s funnelled towards this ever-growing pit of anger inside of him. “I don’t fucking care what you can do to me,” he says, he’s lying through his teeth, and the ghost can tell, with how it lets out a short laugh. “Get off your high horse and let me stay in your enormous bloody mansion, you arsehole.”

“Or what.”

Martin’s eyes flick to the wound in their neck. He keeps a Swiss army knife in his coat pocket, one of the only things he still has left from his dad – and one of the only things he kept in the move. It’s practical, and it’s small. Something easily overlooked by his mum when she was throwing all his things out.

“Or I carve another hole in your neck.” Martin pulls out the knife.

The ghost looks at the knife, then at him, and then promptly vanishes.

The fifth day is better. It’s warmer inside the house. His tea is warm. He feels… lighter, the exhaustion is gone, so’s the fuzziness and dizziness. Then the regular anxiety is lessened as well. All he needs to do is keep threatening a literal ghost with a knife.

If he thinks about it too hard it feels ridiculous. It is ridiculous. He can’t seriously believe that this’ll work.

It’s only for the winter. It’s only until he can afford a flat.

It’s only until the ghost gets over their fear and kills him like it threatened.

It’s a full week since he’s gotten to the house when the ghost comes back. It’s late at night, but he can’t sleep – as usual – so he’s reading The Colour of Magic by the light of his phone and eating Weetabix. The ghost appears suddenly just in the corner of his eye. Martin drops his phone and fumbles for his knife.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” The ghost says.

“Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that,” Martin snaps.

“I want to make a deal.”

Martin moves his bowl to the floor and stands up, still pointing the knife at the ghost.

“What do you want?”

“I want you not to stab me. And I want you to leave.”

Martin can hear the wind howling outside.

“But… I understand that isn’t an option for you. So, we’ll make a deal.”

“What are your terms?”

“You don’t stab me, and you stay on this floor. In return, I won’t kill you.”

Martin thinks on it for a moment, then nods. “Fine, shake on it.”

“Put the knife down.”

Martin obliges, and reaches for the ghost’s hand. It’s cold as ice, and clammy.

“Martin,” he says. “My name’s Martin.”

“Jon.”

Martin’s making tea when their first actual interaction happens. It’s rooibos, and Martin makes it like he usually does. With copious amounts of sugar, and however much milk feels right in the moment.

Martin appears right as he’s pouring the water in the mug. “What are you making?” Jon asks.

Martin startles, and splashes boiling water through Jon and onto the floor. He’s a translucent blue this time, instead of solid but blurry.

“Jesus Christ!” Martin pulls out the knife, and Jon floats backwards.

“What are you making?” Jon repeats, surlier this time.

“Tea!”

“What kind of tea?”

“Rooibos.”

“Rooibos?” Jon repeats, confused.

“Yeah, it’s a type of tea.”

“I presumed.” Jon raises his shoulders, then asks, sounding like he’s forcing out every word “Can you… tell me more about it?”

“Alright?” Martin puts the kettle down, but still holds the knife out as he talks. “It’s from South Africa, from the fynbos area, in the… Western Cape I believe.”

Jon nods at him to keep going.

“Uh, well, it’s not even technically tea, just hot leaf water, which I guess you could say about all teas, but regardless. It’s got no caffeine, so I like to drink it before I go to bed. It’s also low in tannin. And I get migraines.”

“What are migraines?”

“They’re, uh, they’re really bad headaches. Sometimes they make you sensitive to light and stuff. When I was a teenager I’d just sit in the shower with the lights turned off when I got them. Now I take meds. Medication. Drugs to help with that.”

“And… caffeine?”

“How do you-“ Martin cuts himself off. “It’s a stimulant. It makes you more awake. Found in coffee and most teas.”

“Thank you for the clarification,” Jon says.

“Wait, Jon.”

“What?” Jon turns around. Even though they’re translucent, their gaze is still piercing. “Do you want some?”

He’s offering tea, to a ghost, to a ghost who has tried to kill him, who’s only not killing him because he’s threatening them with a knife.

Jon glances at the knife, then back at Martin. “Put the knife down.”

“You’ll kill me.”

“Then step away after it’s done.”

Martin pours the boiling water into another mug. He’s not stupid enough to tell the ghost who could and would kill him that he’s not going to hurt them, even if he is stupid enough to immediately jump into making tea for said ghost.

“Sure,” he says. “Would you like sugar with that?”

Jon shrugs, so Martin adds sugar and milk, then steps away, for Jon to grab it. As their fingers curl around the mug, they become solid, and land softly on the ground.

“Thank you,” Jon says, stiffly. “It’s… interesting to speak with you.”

“Thought you wanted me gone?” Martin takes a sip of his tea.

“I do,” Jon snaps. Then, softer “But you’re here, now, and I can’t exactly get rid of you yet-“ Outside, the wind still howls, and the snow still falls. But it’s warm inside. “-So, I might as well use the resources I have to learn how things have changed since I’ve been gone.”

“How did you die?”

Jon sips at their tea.

“You don’t have to answer,” Martin adds on.

“Thank you for the tea, Martin.” Jon says, and then they turn and walk away.

Martin’s not an extremely curious person, but when he’s living in a house with a literal ghost, who can blame him for doing a little digging on the history of the place.

On the next weekend, Martin goes to the library, and looks through the old newspapers, looking for any mention of Jon or the house. There’s a record of it being bought by someone called Jonah Magnus, who Martin’s never heard of before, but appears in the newspapers fairly frequently. He was suspected of grave robbery but there was no substantial evidence for it, which while interesting , really has nothing to do with what Martin’s looking for. He finds records of a Jonathan Sims, reportedly a close friend of Jonah’s who went missing around 1816, and that piques Martin’s interest. There’s only one picture, and it’s hard to make out if it’s Jon, but Martin jumps on it. Before long, he’s amassed any references to Jonathan Sims that he can find. There’s a few duds in there – he doesn’t think the ghost was born in Kentucky – but he thinks he’s pieced together a relatively thorough history of what might be Jon Sims.

They were born in 1787 in what is now Bournemouth, and moved to London after their parents died in frustratingly ambiguous ways at a frustratingly vague time. The only news reports he can find from his childhood was from 1795, when someone – who’s name was obscured by a printing error on the only newspaper he can find – went missing, and Jon was the last person who’d seen him.

Around the early 1810s, their grandmother died, and Jon appeared more and more in local newspapers due to his involvement with Jonah Magnus. Then, around 1816, they went missing. But as far as Martin can tell from the news reports, no one even noticed for what might have been years.

That’s where it ends. Black text on white paper, stating that Jon’s disappearance was barely even noticed, that they probably died alone in that house.

Martin puts it all back and leaves, ignoring the steadily growing pit in his stomach.

Fuck their deal, if Jon’s death wasn’t noticed by anyone in his time, Martin’s going to have to be the one to keep his memory alive.

“What are you doing up here?” the ghost asks, startling Martin so badly that he drops his torch. In hindsight it was stupid to think that coming up at night would do anything to avoid being found.

“Uh...” Martin reaches for the knife in his pocket, only to find that it’s not there. Fuck.

“I asked you a question.” Jon’s voice is quiet, but all of Martin’s instincts are screaming danger.

“Just, um... looking around,” Martin responded. Jon raised his eyebrows, and smiled coldly.

“What are you actually here for?”

Martin takes a deep breath in. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I want to know how you died.”

Jon’s voice is ice. “Isn’t that an interesting question?”

“They don’t know how you died.”

“Who’s “they”?”

“The- the library? The general populace, anyone!”

Jon is silent for a moment. “Just go.”

“I’m trying to help-“

“ Just go!”

Martin flinches backwards. “Ok,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

“ Don’t come up here again.”

Martin nods, and hurries down the stairs. When he turns around Jon is gone.

Jon’s tea is left undrunk. Martin drinks it himself. It’s gone cold.

The next few weeks are spent apart. Martin never sees Jon in the brief glimpses of upstairs he gets. It’s familiar to be alone. Martin’s good at convincing himself that he doesn’t mind.

He calls his mum every week, and she answers cordially enough. There’s always been a distance there, a coldness that never fully dissipated. With her gone it’s freezing, but not cold enough to become numb. It just hurts.

He... spends a lot of time at the library, fulfilling his lifelong goal of finally reading the Lord of the Rings. It’s fine, he’s always preferred to be alone when he has free time. He’s always preferred to-

The problem is he has nothing to distract himself with. His motivation to read comes and goes, but is more gone than not. He doesn’t have to take care of his mum, and he doesn’t want to make her irritated by calling too much, so he’s just sitting in the library, staring at these words and being unable to convert them into meaning, because all he can do is think about how badly he fucked up everything, and how only he would be this torn up about upsetting a ghost.

It’s during one of these times where he gets the message. From Elias Bouchard, saying that he’ll be visiting to check up on how Martin’s handling things next week Friday.

Martin hastily puts the books back in their proper shelf and runs back home. Does Elias know that his house is haunted? Should Martin tell him his house is haunted? If Elias finds out his house is haunted, will Martin get kicked out?

He responds with “OK 👍” and tries not to panic too much. He can ask Jon to stay out of the way for an afternoon and not kill the person whose house he’s living in. Jon’ll understand, probably.”

“Jon!” he yells, as soon as he enters the house and slams the door behind him.

“Yes?” comes the answer, from behind him. Martin spins around, whipping out the knife. Jon flinches, and step’s back, so he’s against the wall.”

“Do you know who owns this house?”

“Not in the current year.” Jon spits out every word.

“Alright, so, the owner of this house, Elias Bouchard?” Martin pauses for Jon to respond, but they do not. “Well, Elias’ coming to the house on Friday.”

“Alright.”

“And...”

“And can you stay out of the way?”

“I don’t know, can you stay on this floor?”

Martin glared at them.

“Fine, I’ll stay out of your way.”

“ Thank you.”

Jon doesn’t dissipate, but instead stands there, fidgeting with their fingers.

“Jon?”

Jon’s head jerks up. “Uh... yes?”

“Do you... need something?”

“No?” Jon starts to walk past him and upstairs.

“Wait,” Martin says. “Do you... want some tea?”

Jon looks back at him. “Sure, that’d be... that’d be great.”

The next few days are the friendliest they’ve ever been. Martin steers clear of any discussion of Jon’s past, but slowly but surely, they actually start to be... friendly. Jon hates poetry, they’ll jump at any opportunity to mock it relentlessly. Martin loves poetry, and will take every opportunity to read his favourites aloud, much to Jon’s mock irritation, but Jon still sits, enraptured at the sound of Martin’s voice.

Martin likes Jon’s voice, or more so just likes the way Jon speaks. They tilt their head to the side when they make a joke or sarcastic comment, they open their mouth as if to say something when they’re speaking.

And when they’re talking to Martin, the smile in their voice is audible.

No, Martin is not falling in love with a ghost, that would be absurd.

But... if his plans were to fall through and he had to spend more time in the house... it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Martin arrives home earlier than he usually does on Friday, choosing to take the bus instead of walking like he usually does. Jon left a note on the counter, saying that he’d stay out of the way the whole time, just like he promised. He signed off with a heart, and Martin neatly folds it up, and tucks it into his shirt pocket, just above his heart.

There’s two swift knocks on the door, and Martin unlocks it to see Elias standing there, dressed all prim and proper, in contrast to Martin’s jumper and jeans.

“Uh, please, come in,” Martin steps aside to allow Elias entry, but as soon as Elias steps past the threshold, the temperature in the house seems to drop.

“It’s chilly in here,” Elias remarks.

“Yeah, it’s... not got any heating.” Martin rocks back and forth on his feet. “But I have a lot of blankets. And... jumpers.”

“Lovely,” Elias says. “Well, the downstairs doesn’t seem to be in any disrepair, let’s see upstairs, shall we?”

The steps to go upstairs creak, Martin clenches his fists and takes a deep breath in.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” he whispers, under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, it was nothing.”

Nothing happens when they head upstairs. They look through the rooms without anything out of the ordinary happening, and if Elias notices that Martin’s heart is beating out of his chest, he doesn’t say a thing.

Until, of course, they reach the final room. Empty of all but a penknife, or at least it was empty. Now Jon stands there, clutching the knife in his right hand.

“You know... this was my father’s, before it was mine,” Jon says.

“Jon, what are you-”

“It’s the only thing I had left of him.”

Elias scoffs. “Really, Jon, you’re still-”

“And somehow it was one of the only things that you didn’t rip away from me, and I wonder sometimes if you knew it would be my anchor.”

“Jon, can you explain-”

“This knife has killed me, has kept me tethered to this mortal plane, and now I will use it to kill you ,” Jon turns around. “Jonah Magnus.” His voice is tight with fury.

Elias just laughs. “Come now, Jon, we both know you don’t have it you to follow through. Let’s stop with this melodrama already-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish, because Jon’s already stabbed him through the throat with his knife.

Elias falls to the floor. Jon’s breathing hard, still clutching the blood covered knife. Martin doesn’t – can’t – move.

“I’m, uh...” Jon barely whispers. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Martin.”

“Do we need to hide a body?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I mean, we’ve just... killed him? We’re going to need to hide the body, clean the floor, I bet he told Peter Lukas-”

“Lukas?”

“Yeah, his husband.”

“Husband?”

“We can dwell on the individual words when I’m not going to get done for murder, did you have a place in mind, do you want to just bury it outside, do you want to do it The Tell-Tale Heart style?”

“Are you-” Jon’s expression morphs into that of fondness. “Martin, are you... suggesting places to hide the body?”

“Yes, yes I am, keep up, Jon.”

Jon laughs, a combination of bewildered and delighted.

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I love me a man that can commit a murder? I’m, I’m, I’m really not, but we should probably focus on the practicalities of how we’re – I’m – not going to get arrested for murder? That would be -” Martin barked out a laugh. “Bad!”

Jon leans his head against Martin’s shoulder. “I love you, Martin,” he manages amidst the silent laughter.

“Do you want to, like, kiss?”

“I- alright??”

Jon’s breath is warm, Martin can’t remember any part of Jon being warm before.

“Kissing over a corpse is a completely normal thing to do with a ghost you met a few weeks ago,” Jon deadpans.

“Oh, Christ, the corpse!”

“What were you saying about The Tell-Tale Heart?”

“So,” Jon says. Disposing of Elias’ – Jonah Magnus’? Martin still isn’t completely sure’s – body was a fairly simple process, all things considered, even though they had to go by literary references and gut feeling, because Martin did not think it was a good idea to Google it. But once the hysteria at finding himself in the situation where he needed to hide a body with his ghost crush – ghost partner? – had worn off, the actual situation he was in fully started to set in.

“So.”

“He deserved it?” Jon suggests.

“What’d he even do? Who even is he?”

“He wanted to live forever. Hurt a lot of people trying to achieve that. Now he’s dead.”

“I know he’s dead.”

Martin sits down on the floor, and Jon follows suit.

“Did he kill you?” Jon’s hand is warm in his. “You don’t have to answer.”

“I died because of him,” Jon responds. “But... he wasn’t the one who killed me.”

The penknife lies in front of them, but they couldn’t wipe the blood clean.

Martin squeezes Jon’s hand. “I’m sorry you had to... kill him.”

“It was... quite cathartic, actually.”

“Maybe that’s not a good thing?”

“You’re the one who immediately jumped to body hiding and kissing.”

“It’s got the right ambiance.”

Jon laughs shortly, and leaned into Martin.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to do it alone,” they say, voice more sombre.

“I’m glad I don’t have to be alone, not with... you.”

Jon stands up and stretches, picking up the penknife, then holds out their arm for Martin to use to get up.

“Come on, let’s make some tea. It’s been a busy day.”

“You can say that again.”

They make two steaming cups of Rooibos tea, and sit outside the window, huddled up in blankets, but never cold. Not anymore.

#the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #tma #tma fanfiction #landscaping-your-words #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood

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