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darkshelbyfiction · 7 months

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forced to serve (p.1)

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Smut, Forced Prostitution, Dub-Con, Butt Stuff, Ass to Mouth

Written for and with my sexy wife @queenshelby, luv you bae

Summary: Your husband forces you into prostitution and your client is Thomas Shelby 👌

After you were told to prepare for your first client that evening, you found yourself nervous about what would come. This wasn't how you wanted things to turn out - not by a long shot! It was your very own husband who forced you into prostitution and desperate times called for desperate measures, right? You somehow had to feed your young child.

Dressed in your most provocative attire, your heart raced when you heard someone approaching your door – it was him. Tommy Shelby. A man whose reputation preceded him. From stories whispered around town, he always demanded something different and intense from those he interacted with. He enjoyed intercourse that was rough and forceful and demanded complete submission from those who served him.

He paid well and he was informed by the madam of the house that you would be obedient and allow him to penetrate you in whatever way he wished, for at least two hours.

It was all part of the deal you had made before entering this world where men like Tommy Shelby roamed free, dictating others' lives, desires, destinies.

The moment he entered the room, he immediately began taking off his shirt, exposing himself without shame or embarrassment. His muscular body gleaming under dim lights only intensified the raw power emanating from him. There was no mistaking whose presence filled the room now.

"Get on your hands and knees and crawl over here, my pet!" Tommy commanded without bothering to formally introduce himself.

"You want me to crawl towards you, on the floor?" you asked hesitantly, unsure whether you really understood his request correctly.

"Yes, Love," he barked back at you impatiently. "And don't ask questions. Just do it."

Your heart thumped rapidly against your ribcage, adrenaline coursing through your veins, heightening your senses. As you scrambled across the floor, getting closer to his towering frame, a strange mix of fear engulfed you.

"Good pet", he growled softly, taking notice of your compliance. Then, gripping your wrist tightly, he pulled you up onto your feet and led you towards the bed, commanding you once again to get on your knees, facing away from him.

Without waiting for your response, he spanked your bottom harshly, sending a shockwave of pain throughout your entire body. As tears welled up in your eyes, you felt a sudden surge of anger rise within you.

"Your safe word is red. Use it when you can't take it anymore and I will stop," Tommy spoke, his voice hoarse with lust. "I am not going to be gentle. In fact, I am going to hurt you, but this is what I am fucking paying you for, eh?"

As he roughly grabbed your hips, lifting you off the ground and positioning you into a standing doggystyle, you couldn't help but feel utterly overwhelmed by his brute strength. With one hand firmly grasping your waist, he used the other to pull your skirt higher, baring your bare behind for him to see.

Your stomach twisted with nerves as he swiftly removed his trousers, releasing his enormous erection from its confines. It stood tall and proud, almost taunting you.

Tommy reached forward and, without warning, he pushed your head down onto the mattress. "Open your legs wide and stick out your ass, sweetheart," he ordered.

Reluctantly, you did as instructed, feeling humiliated and afraid of what might happen next. Toying with your tender flesh, he slapped your ass repeatedly until it stung fiercely. He then took hold of your waist once more, pulling you further into the position he desired. Your face flushed crimson with anger and shame, yet your resolve remained unbroken. If anything, these brutish acts fueled your determination to endure. Tommy leaned in close, speaking directly into your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps along your neck.

"Don't worry, love," he whispered huskily, "This won't last forever." He punctuated his words with a sharp slap to your ass cheek, eliciting a whimper from you despite your best efforts to suppress it.

"Now tell me how badly you need my cock inside your cunt, little bird," he said in a low, threatening tone.

"Please, sir..." you murmured, trying hard to maintain composure. "Just please make sure it doesn't hurt too much…"

At this point, his expression changed, morphing into pure malevolence. He knew just how far he could push you without crossing the line marked 'red'.

"That's my good pet, eh" he snarled approvingly, rubbing his cock against your still dry entrance.

Realising that you were not ready yet, he removed his cock temporally and spat some saliva onto his fingers and pressed them against your moistening hole, massaging and stretching it slowly while occasionally glancing at you with a look of hunger. You clenched your teeth together, fighting back the urge to cry out from the burning sensation spreading through your insides.

Finally, he stopped and held his manhood upright, his gaze fixated upon yours. "Are you ready, love?" he questioned with anticipation evident in his voice. You nodded mutely, unable to find the courage to speak aloud.

Unable to bear the intensity of the pressure building inside you, you finally gave consent, letting out a soft whimper that seemed to excite him even more. Grabbing you tighter by the waist, he thrust violently into you, causing you to gasp involuntarily.

Despite the initial discomfort, the familiarity of the rhythm gradually allowed you to become accustomed to his size. However, you struggled to regulate your breathing, hyperventilating as you tried to keep pace with the increasing speed of his movements.

Clutching the sheets tightly, you winced every time he drove deeper into you, the pain shooting through your loins growing stronger with each thrust.

Tommy loved watching his partner squirm beneath him, submitting to his every desire.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" he taunted, pounding into you relentlessly.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as the intensity continued to increase, leaving trails of salty residues on your skin. Each stroke felt like an invasion, deepening the connection he sought.

You bit your lip, determined not to let your cries escape. Instead, you focused on counting the number of strokes, trying to block out the searing pain with numbers. Your throat became parched as sweat trickled down your forehead, making it difficult to swallow.

"You are married aren't you?" Tommy suddenly interrupted your internal struggle, his heavy breath echoing in the silence of the room.

"What makes you think that?" you managed to choke out, trying to hide your feelings behind innocuous indifference.

"The ring on your finger gave it away," he replied smugly, continuing his thrusts, groaning loudly.

"Y-yes, sir. I am married" you mumbled weakly, your whole body trembling slightly from the assault.

He paused briefly, admiring your vulnerability before continuing mercilessly.

"Tell me Love, does your husband fuck you like this?" he crooned, driving his hips harder into you.

You cried out involuntarily, overcome by the intensity of his movement. Your legs quivered with fatigue, your arms shook as they supported your weight precariously on all fours.

"Answer me, love," he growled, pushing deeper inside you, his member pulsing against your wall, filling you completely. Your throat burned with the effort of holding back your cries.

"No," you whispered hoarsely, causing Tommy to smile maliciously as, unexpectedly, he started to probe your anal opening with his finger while continuing to thrust into your sore pussy,

"Does your husband ever touch you here?" He breathed heavily into your ear, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin.

You closed your eyes, struggling with the urge to both answer him honestly and to deny him altogether.

"Answer me, love," he repeated forcefully, pushing his index finger into your anus with such precision and ease that it surprised you greatly. You cried out in astonishment at the sudden intrusion.

"No," you answered eventually while crying out loudly.

His laughter resonated around the room, causing goosebumps to prickle your skin. "So, has anyone fucked your ass yet? Tell me, sweet thing."

You cringed internally, mortified that he would ask something so personal, but knowing it was part of the game, you mustered enough courage to respond truthfully.

"N-no," you stammered quietly, the word nearly escaping your lips before you could catch yourself.

"Well, we'll rectify that today, shall we?" He purred menacingly, slipping two fingers into your wet, gaping anus, stretching and teasing you slowly.

Your muscles contracted involuntarily in response to his fingers penetrating your rectum, making you writhe underneath him. Your mouth opened slightly in surprise, emitting silent gasps.

"Good pet," he whispered, withdrawing his fingers slowly and methodically from your anus.

"I think your ass is ready for my cock now," mockingly, reaching for the bedside table and retrieving some Vaseline.

Fearful and hesitant, you lowered your head submissively. He ignored your reluctance and quickly covered his cock in the creamy substance.

Without waiting for your permission, he positioned himself over you again, guiding his engorged tool toward your aching anus. His grip on your hips was ironclad, refusing to allow you to escape or resist his assault. You writhed helplessly underneath him, struggling to accept the impending invasion. Despite your protests, your body refused to comply, betraying your resistance as he slowly inserted his length into your rear passage.

"Remember your safe word love," he whispered softly into your ear. You bit your tongue, willing yourself to remain strong.

As his full girth filled you up, he began moving within you, his powerful hips bucking against your own, his hands pressing harshly against your shoulders, pinning you in place.

The world around you blurred, and the only sound you heard was your labored breathing combined with his savage grunts of pleasure. Your tears flowed freely down your cheeks, unnoticed by either party involved in this perverse act.

"It hurts, doesn't it? Having my thick cock in your smallest hole? I can feel how much it aches you when I slide in and out," Tommy gloated cruelly, his breath ragged and heavy against your shoulder. His cock throbbed steadily inside you, reminding you of his sheer power over you. It felt like he had no regard for your limits, your needs – he simply possessed you, taking whatever he wished, whenever he chose.

"Tell me, do you like feeling my massive rod buried deep inside your bowels?" He asked playfully, his voice carrying a sinister undertone that made your stomach turn.

Swallowing nervously, you managed to gather enough strength to utter a faint yes. It wasn't a complete fabrication though, as you did enjoy feeling full. This admission served as further encouragement for him, prompting him to continue his brutal attack.

With each new entry, his pace increased incrementally until you found yourself lost in a haze of desperation, pain, and arousal. Your walls seemed to close in on themselves, creating a claustrophobic environment where you could neither scream nor beg for release.

In this moment, Tommy realized that he was approaching his peak - the culmination of his dominance and control over you. Increasing his tempo exponentially, he used his considerable strength to propel himself deeply within you once more, ignoring your frantic attempts to pull away.

His hardened pelvis rubbed against your tender entrance, forcing you to succumb to the waves of pleasure coursing through your body despite your best efforts to maintain distance.

Every thrust reverberated throughout your entire frame, sending shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your system, making it impossible to hold back your orgasm. As you approached climax, Tommy increased his vigor, grasping your hips firmly, rocking your body against his rhythmic pace.

With every thrust, your moans grew louder, feeding off one another. Tommy couldn't help but be proud of his mastery, reveling in your submission. You were a delicious treat he didn't want to end too soon. Your breath quickened, and your nipples hardened under his gaze. As your excitement reached its peak, the walls around you disappeared, replaced by the intense heat of passion. The sensation of his hand cupping your breast brought forth a surge of electric energy, heightening your already spiraling awareness.

The rhythm of his thrusts intensified, mirroring the rapid beat of your heart. With each motion, you could sense the pressure building within, threatening to erupt and consume you entirely.

Your nails scratched furiously at the sheets, seeking some kind of anchor amidst the storm of emotion and physical stimulation consuming you. The taste of salt lingering on your lips only added fuel to the fire, and you found yourself begging for him to take you even further.

"Please, please don't stop!" you pleaded. Tommy laughed triumphantly, a devilish glint dancing in his eyes.

"Do you truly wish for me to push beyond your limit, my little pet?" He taunted, grazing his teeth along your neck, sending shivers racing across your flesh. Unable to suppress your desire any longer, you nodded fervently, meeting his challenge eagerly.

"Then open your mouth wide, my dear," he instructed, loosening his grip just enough to grant you a brief reprieve as he pulled his cock from your ass and pushed you onto the floor.

"You are going to swallow my cum without spilling a drop," he commanded sternly, towering over you.

Feeling violated and humiliated, you dropped obediently to your knees and took his rigid erection into your hungry mouth. Tears streamed down your face as you performed this degrading task, your pride battered and bruised beneath his feet.

Despite the overwhelming shame and embarrassment, you tried your utmost to satisfy him, hoping to regain even the slightest fragment of dignity that remained intact.

His manhood twitched visibly in response to your efforts, provoking him to grab your hair roughly, pulling your head closer to his groin.

"Keep it up, open your throat," he threatened gruffly, reaffirming his absolute control over you. Panicked, you obeyed without question, not wanting to anger him further. Every caress of his fingers through your strands sent shudders of fear down your spine, yet you continued to service him dutifully.

His member grew heavier in your mouth, swelling impossibly larger still as you worked harder to accommodate its size. You fought the urge to gag, concentrating solely on staying true to your promise to him. The struggle became evident in your reddened eyes and quivering jawline. Desperate to avoid his wrath, you tightened your grip on his length, sucking harder, and increasing the intensity of your movements.

Tommy let out a low growl of satisfaction, pleased with your performance.

"Here it comes, love. Feast upon my essence, my precious pet," he said, allowing his seminal fluid to pour forcefully into your awaiting mouth. The salty liquid flooded your palate, filling your mouth completely. The bitter flavor caused your lips to pucker. Still, you valiantly kept your mouth closed, determined not to defile his command.

Still holding your hair tightly, he allowed you to come up from your knees, bringing you into a standing position.

"Open and show me your tongue, I want to make sure you swallowed it all." Obeying, you extended your tongue to meet his inspection.

"Very good, my pet. Now get back on to your knees and clean off my cock properly," Tommy ordered coldly, releasing his grip on your hair. Observing his reaction, you hurriedly knelt before him, carefully opening your mouth to receive his cock once more. His phallus emerged from your mouth, wet and sticky, leaving behind traces of his seed.

"Lick it clean, come on!" he demanded brusquely, eyeing you critically. You complied immediately, not wanting to upset him anymore today. Swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip, you meticulously cleansed it, paying special attention to any lingering residues.

"That will do," he conceded finally, stepping away from you. Exhausted, you sank down onto the floor, feeling a wave of relief wash over you as the events gradually subsided.

Looking up, you noticed Tommy surveying you with a mixture of admiration and contempt.

Clearly satisfied with your obedience, he smirked, wiping the remaining evidence of his domination from your lips with a smile.

"You did well tonight, pet," he admitted grudgingly, turning to leave. "And I cannot believe that your husband would share someone as divine as you are, sweetheart. I certainly would not share you with other men if you belonged to me, which makes me wonder what sort of man he is..." Tommy leered at you suggestively, his tone oozing confidence and superiority. You flinched involuntarily, unsure whether to feel insulted or intrigued by his brazen assessment. Feeling emboldened by his apparent interest, you sought to learn more about the enigmatic Mr. Shelby. "My husband... He is quite peculiar, sir," you hesitated, casting your eyes downward thoughtfully, without telling him that he was forcing you to do this for money.

#cillian murphy #cilliean murphy smut #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #tommy selby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby x you #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby fanfic

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metalhoops · 1 year

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Dating Steve came with a lot of unexpected twists. The first and most glaringly obvious was that Eddie never expected the two to date in the first place. He’d relegated the idea of ‘dating Steve Harrington’ squarely in the realm of fantasy, along with evil wizards and hell dimensions. So what did Eddie know? It’d been a strange year.

Steve was a morning person, much to Eddie’s dismay. The downside of sleeping beside a morning person, and being hypervigilant about their every move, was that it forced you to become a morning person. Eddie blamed the aforementioned evil wizard and hell dimension

Before Steve, Eddie would be lucky to roll out of bed before noon. Yet now he begrudgingly found himself up with the sun. At first, he’d tried to roll back into bed when Steve left for his morning jog, but he was finding it harder and harder to get back to sleep. He’d worry about Steve, sue the guy. The town was cracked in two and they were all waiting with bated breath for Vecna to return. So he’d sit on the front stoop of the trailer with a mug of coffee in his hand and his blanket around his shoulders, waiting to see Steve’s familiar figure materialise at the end of the trailer park’s gravel drive.

Another unexpected twist about dating Steve was how much the guy genuinely cared about the stuff Eddie was into. He’d started sitting in on Hellfire and Eddie’s band rehearsals. Eddie would sit up late at night creating new NPCs for their campaign and Steve would watch curiously or surprise Eddie by sliding over and skimming over his notes.

“Make the shopkeeper guy a goblin,” Steve remarked and Eddie would snort.

“You only say that because you like it when I do the goblin voice.”

“Yeah, because it’s funny and none of the kids are going to want to flirt with a goblin.” Steve was still horrified and emotionally scarred from the time he’d watched Mike Wheeler try to seduce the elven barkeeper during the last session.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t flirt with a goblin, Harrington?” Eddie teased putting on the silly and grating tone, Steve had affectionately named Eddie’s ‘goblin voice’. He leaned over into Steve’s space, placing an overdramatised and sloppy kiss on Steve’s cheek.

He snorted and shoved Eddie’s shoulder gently.

“Don’t push your luck, Munson. I love you, but not that much.”

And of course, Steve had been the first one to say ‘I love you,’ because Eddie had always been a coward. Of course, Steve said it at least once a day, and of course, Eddie still hadn’t gotten the courage to say it back, because he kept waiting for the day when he woke up and realised that his whole relationship with Steve had been an elaborate dream.

Eddie didn’t know exactly what made him decide to start joining Steve on his morning jogs. Ask anyone and they would tell you Eddie Munson was not a jogger. Steve talked about his morning runs like they were a meditative experience, all cool breeze, still streets and dopamine.

Eddie went for a jog and felt like his lungs were twin stars on the brink of collapse. To him, running was akin to the slow heat-death of the universe, but he did it because he was sick of sitting on the damn stoop waiting for Steve to come home because he loved him and he sure as shit didn’t know how to say it.

The next surprise came early one morning in late October, when he and Steve climbed out of bed without needing an alarm and Eddie found the cool breeze on his cheeks and the familiar beat of Steve’s steps in time with his comforting. That morning, he realised he didn’t hate running, not when it was with Steve. The revelation shook something free in Eddie’s skull, something he’d been grappling with for months.

When the two arrived home, skin sticky with cold sweat, Eddie made them coffee. They sat together in front of the trailer watching the sun turn the same blood red as the Upside Down sky. Eddie thought he’d be okay with starting every morning like that, so long as Steve was there.

“You know, Stevie,” Eddie breathed, unable to look at Steve when he said what he needed to say. He was brave, but not that brave.

“I think I love you too,” Eddie whispered.

“You think?” Steve chuckled at his side. He turned to face Steve and saw the man hiding a wide grin behind his mug. Eddie rolled his eyes and nudged his shoulder against Steve’s.

“Alright, fine. You win. I know. I love you.”

Eddie had to fight to get the words out, but the second he did, he felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders because he knew it was true. It’d been the first time he said it to anyone. He’d never gotten that far with another relationship. He and Steve were in uncharted waters.

Steve set down his cup, practically tackling Eddie to the dirt with the force of his hug, all hope for not making a big deal out of the confession blown out the window. Of course, Steve was a hopeless romantic.

The only thing that stopped the two from making out on their front lawn was the fact that Hawkins was the antithesis of progressive. Well, that and a sleep-deprived Max who stomped out of her trailer to throw a balled-up pair of socks squarely at Steve’s head as she grumbled about the hour of the morning.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #drabble #ficlet #steddie drabble #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #steveddie #bi steve harrington #gay eddie munson #I've seen so many fics or drabbles #where Steve gets into Eddie's hobbies #I want to see Eddie getting into Steve's hobbies as well #Metalhoops writes

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swordcreature · 5 months

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HCs for how the tiefling boys ask you to marry them?

anon this may be the first thing i have written this year that wasn't inherently smutty. so thank you for that because my default is horny heheh

but seriously thank you for the request these are so much fun

Dammon, Rolan, & Zevlor - Marriage Proposal

light implications of sexual acts (not sure if it warrants a tag but just to be safe) MDNI/18+

How the tiefling boys ask you to marry them.

Dammon:

First off, Dammon totally makes your rings. He’s not a jeweler, so he doesn’t have the necessary tools to set stones or anything fancy like that. But he does make two beautiful golden bands with an inscription on the inner wall. Something sweet and sentimental written in infernal like “my heart forevermore” or “our love will last until the end of days”

He isn’t the type to take this step unless he is 100% sure that it’s something you both want. He’ll straight up ask you if it’s something you want at some point, so when he finally does ask, you’re not blindsided. Just surprised because you didn’t know when it would happen.

You expected it to happen during a date – every time you went on a picnic or had dinner at one of your favorite taverns you giddily waited for him to drop on a knee and ask you. But it kept on not happening.

In truth, I could see Dammon initially planning something like that. An old-fashioned romantic date where he ends the night with flowers and ring in hand, proposing under the moonlight.

But, despite himself and his planning, Dammon is just so anxious to ask you; he cannot wait to start the next step of your life together.

It happens at home, actually.

You’re both in bed, having just made love, laying on your sides to face each other. His arm is under your head as a pillow and your bodies are curled towards one another. It’s just such a tender moment as you two talk about nothing in particular, making each other laugh, sharing quick kisses.

It’s both an unimportant moment, and the most important moment ever. Because he’s just so happy and in love with you, he feels completely at peace, so entirely safe and secure in the life you have built together thus far. It takes his breath away how much he wants this, forever.

So of course he can’t be blamed for scrapping his whole elaborate proposal plan and asking you right then and there.

He forgets to even pull out the rings. He just asks you, simply, calmly, as though he was asking what you wanted for breakfast. “Marry me.” It’s a statement more than a question.

When you say yes (because I accept no HCs where you don’t decide to marry these absolutely wonderful men), he kisses you and holds you there until you can’t breath anymore.

Before he completely forgets he ends up pulling the rings he made from his bedside table, showing you his work and slipping one of your finger. He worries it with his finger, twisting it back and forth against your finger with a satisfied smile on his face.

He seems completely taken back by the look of his ring on your finger. He’s never looked so utterly content.

Then he pulls you back to continue kissing every inch of you. Prepare to be thoroughly worshipped over and over again.

You’re definitely not leaving that bed for the rest of the day as you celebrate your engagement.

Rolan:

It takes Rolan a long while before he is ready to make the jump to marriage. I think deep down you as his partner fear that maybe it’ll never happen. When you’ve brought it up in the past, it clearly made him apprehensive, so you resigned yourself to the idea that it may never happen.

And you’re okay with that. You don’t need marriage to know you want to be with him forever.

One day Rolan invites you out on the town with him, laying out a new set of clothes that he thinks you would look nice in. He asks you to meet him at a nicer tavern, or maybe even someplace in the upper city.

At first you think he’s just planned a really nice, elegant date night for fun. But he’s acting strange. Nervous. His tail swishes back and forth, low to the ground and his eyes land everywhere but your face.

It doesn’t let up after dinner either. He takes your hand and takes you for a stroll through Bloomridge Park by moonlight. You walk slowly almost like he doesn’t want to go back to the tower yet.

If you try to ask him what’s wrong, he gets a little short with you, his nerves getting the better of him. He’ll apologize right away of course but he’s just so caught up in whatever it is that he’s been thinking about that he immediately goes quiet.

You’re almost back at the park’s entrance when Rolan just stops.

His back is straight, and he looks like he’s just seen a ghost. Can a tiefling’s face go white with fear? Because his definitely does.

You try to comfort him, putting a hand on his shoulder or lightly cupping his face. And it’s like all his discomfort melts away in an instant – you ground him so much and that’s why he’s about to do what he’s about to do.

He pulls you close to him, holding both your hands, earnestly staring at you like you’re about to run from him.

He has a whole speech planned, and he begins, tripping over words that he clearly tried to rehearse beforehand.

After a moment he just decides to adlib, ditching whatever script he was fumbling with.

And he finally asks the question. It’s a hurried jumble of words – “willyoumarryme?” Color you surprised, at the very least.

He doesn’t even wait for you to answer before he’s rushing over more words about how of course you don’t need to say yes, he would understand if you wanted to keep things how they are, maybe he should have kneeled while asking, would you have preferred being asked in private – but you stop him with a forceful kiss. Just shut that boy up before he flushes even redder.

When you pull away, you whisper a tiny, confident yes and it’s like Rolan is seeing the sun for the first time ever. He lets out the biggest sigh of relief you’ve ever heard. Then he’s picking you up and swinging you around, kissing your face.

He sets you back on the ground and tries to steel himself, pretending that his public display of vulnerability didn’t just happen. But you can see his mask slip as he grabs your hand again and drags you back to the tower like an eager teenager.

He tries not to draw attention to the fact that he totally forgot to bring the ring with him.

Zevlor:

Oh my sweet Zevlor. It takes him a while to get to the point of marriage too, just because he wants to go through the motions of a proper relationship with you. He wants to give you the courtesy of having him in every way partners should before thinking about making their union official.

So, by the time he’s planning on popping the question, you two are basically living like a married couple already.

One big plus side to this though is that Zevlor is more confident than ever – about your relationship and himself. Towards the beginning of your relationship, he would have never been able to convince himself that he was worthy enough for something so divine.

Now, though, he knows this is where you both are headed, where you are meant to be. So his nerves are more from excitement than trepidation.

He plans a lovely dinner for you at home. Zevlor is an amazing cook and takes careful consideration in choosing a meal for this very special occasion. He’ll buy fresh ingredients from the market to make your favorite dish, and he even gets a somewhat expensive wine to pair with everything.

When you get home the house is darkened, with only the small dining area filled with the low lights of candles. He lets you settle in, getting changed from your street clothes to something more appropriate for the evening, and is there waiting to pull out your chair when you’re ready.

The topic of marriage has come up before, so there is a small, sneaking suspicion growing inside you of what this night may have in store.

You have dinner talking, relaxing, enjoying the calm you feel in each other’s company.

He would need at least a couple glasses of wine to work through his giddiness, so your food is long gone by the time he walks around the table and drops to his knees before you. He holds your hand against his heart so you can feel it's fast rhythm as he speaks.

Unlike Rolan, Zevlor’s words aren’t rehearsed. He just speaks from the heart – what comes out is naturally elegant.

I see him as the kind of guy to wax poetic about your love, making sure you know, without a doubt, that you are his entire world.

At the end of his speech, he pulls out a small box with a silver ring in it, a red jewel in the center of the band. He wanted something simple and elegant to match how he sees you and your love.

He’ll ask you formally, puffing out his chest a bit, breaking out your full name to propose.

When you say yes, he slips the ring on, kissing your knuckles. You share a tender kiss, and you notice he has the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

He’ll pull you to your feet and most likely spend some time swaying to the tune of music only you two can hear.

Then he offers dessert. If you agree, he pulls you upstairs to indulge in the only sweet thing he wants in that moment.

#bg3 #bg3 smut #bg3 dammon #bg3 zevlor #bg3 rolan #dammon #zevlor #rolan #my writing #anon #dammon x reader #rolan x reader #zevlor x reader #requests/suggestions

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Don't Fear the Reaper

Gender Neutral Reader x Rook Hunt Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Running a little pâtisserie is quaint, and homey, and should not in any way get you involved with anything shady. Let alone the strange bounty hunter who prowls through your little town like the Grim Reaper himself. And yet here you are, teaching this literal murderer how to use a napkin.

A/N: Based on this wonderful brain rot from a very lovely anon! Also apologies in advance to anyone who actually knows French, because I do not lol. So Rook's babbling is all Google baby

[PART 1] [PART 2]

There was a murderer at your window, and you weren’t really sure what to do about it.

Well, maybe not actually a murderer. Bounty Hunters tended not to wind up in prison after dragging back the desecrated remains of their latest quarry. But still. You recognized the black plume tucked slickly into his wide-brimmed, purple, hat, and the pale, bright, bob of his hair was nearly luminescent in the dark. He was certainly the least covert assassin you’d ever seen, and you had seen him. It was hard not to. Traipsing through town to deposit every wayward criminal, every long-lost villain, at the doorstep of who’d ever called for him.

‘Rook Hunt’ you thought his name was, or at least, that’s what the old woman in the market would call him before crossing herself and spitting in the dirt. It was all a bit on the nose in your humble opinion, especially with that strange, twisting, ebony, bow of his strung across his back. ‘Hunter’ indeed. But it’s not like you’ve ever done anything to warrant winding up in one of those dripping burlap sacks of his, so you’d let the dude have his drama. It was probably good advertisement. And it’s not like the guy had ever bothered you before.

You thought that reassurance on repeat as you watched said not-quite-a-murderer stare through the front window of your little bakery, as if your rising dough had been kneaded with the secrets of the known universe. But he didn’t do anything—just kept watching with rapt attention as you brushed egg wash over your pie crusts and swapped trays in and out of the ancient, brick, oven.

In all honesty, he was far from the strangest thing that’d been plastered to your window in the early AM, and it wasn’t like he was licking the glass or anything. So you let it slide.

One of the custard tarts you pulled from the oven had cracked across the top. Nothing out of the ordinary—there was always at least one dud in a batch. Normally you saved the rejects for Ace or Deuce to gobble up (depending on whoever managed to pop by first), but this one you set aside onto a little tea plate. You topped it with a dollop of freshly whipped cream and a spoonful of the blackberries you’d left sitting in sugar overnight. Then you plucked up a spare napkin and made your way out from behind the counter.

When you opened the door to your little bakery, the tingling overhead bell warmed your unwanted guest’s expression in a way that it most certainly should not have—lighting the whole of him with this sort of wide-eyed, innocent, joy that belonged nowhere on the face of someone you’d watched cart literal corpses into town.

“Mon pâtissier!” he chirped. “What a fine morning it is, no?”

The sun hadn’t even started to rise yet. You could still hear the drone of crickets and toads in the distance, basking in the humid darkness of the night.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “We’re not open for,” you glanced at the moon, still full in the sky, “at least four more hours. If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“Oh—non, non, non,” Rook waved you off. “I just wanted to watch!”

“…Watch?” you repeated.

“It’s quite the fascinating process!” he absolutely beamed. “Taking such basic, individual, components and turning them into something so spectacularly sweet and heartwarming! Quelle inventivité! I’ve heard nothing but excellent things about your marvelous menu!”

‘From who?’ you wanted to ask, because you’d never heard of anyone being able to hold a conversation with this man for more than a stuttered sentence at a time, let alone for long enough to go about giving dessert recommendations. But there was a streak of red blood across his cheek that still looked fresh enough to not even have gone tacky yet, and now that you looked closer, his dark gloves were perhaps a shade too dark to not have been, well…

You sighed and reminded yourself once again that is was absolutely not your business, before handing him the napkin.

He stared at it with that same sort of rapt fascination that had you wondering if this man had ever actually interacted with proper civilization in his entire life.

“Wipe your hands,” you demanded with a huff, and he dutifully scrubbed at his stained fingers. Once he was clean enough that he was at least no longer dripping unmentionables all along your windowsill, you held out the little saucer for him to take.

“Pour moi?” he muttered, looking a bit starstruck.

“If you’re going to say all those nice things about my food, you may as well get to try what you’re complimenting,” you shrugged, and that same eager enthusiasm lit his face all over again. “And it will be a nice treat to take home with you,” you emphasized, with all the intonation of a cheery ‘please get the fuck out before you scare away all my customers for the day.’

But instead of turning and meandering off back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of, he just kept staring at the little treat like he had no idea what to do with it.

“It’s a tart,” you said blandly, fighting the furrow in your brow.

Rook repeated ‘a tart’ under his breath like it was some kind of ancient, forbidden, enchantment, and not like it was literally scrawled into the little menu sign at your door at least a dozen times over.

The Bounty Hunter peered at the little custard treat like you’d handed him a treasure beyond measure. After a moment of carefully poking at the browned crust like it wasn’t literally meant to break apart beneath one’s fingers, he looked back over at you with eyes that were far, far, too green. He lifted the tart up like he meant to give it back to you.

“I ought to offer you la première bouchée,” he smiled.

You blinked, taken aback, and pushed the plate back into his hands. “That’s not how free samples work.”

Rook tossed his head back with a bout of boisterous laughter that should have been loud enough to wake everyone on the block. You glanced around nervously, hoping no one was about to come running out to make noise complaints.

“Ahh~ But how else will I know the best manner in which to savor such a treat?”

“You eat it,” you gaped. And then, slowly, because you weren’t even sure you were dealing with a functional human being anymore. “With your teeth.”

The Bounty Hunter, with his blood smeared cheeks and even bloodier clothes, put all those shiny, pearly whites of his on display in a merry grin. He swept forward in a grand bow that had the feather in his hat bobbing about in a way that reminded you far too much of a wagging tail.

“Of course!” he chirped. “In my home you said, yes?”

Please, you wanted to groan. Go there. Leave.

“Ideally,” you said instead, and Rook ducked his head until that purple hat of his had cast the whole of his face into shadow. He reached up to tap two fingers against the wide brim and tip it forward.

“Merci, merci!” he trilled. “Then I will endeavor to consume this marvelous spécialité humaine in the proper fashion. A very good morning to you then, cher pâtissier!”

He straightened with a merry little hum and began making his way back down the cobblestone road. In the soft light of the setting moon, his footsteps left odd prints in their wake—inky, black, dripping things that had faded entirely by the time you were able to focus enough to get a proper look at them, leaving you wondering if they’d really just been nothing but a trick of the night.

Well, that was fucking weird,you frowned, shaking the fuzz from your head. You slipped back inside and the door jingled pleasantly as it slammed behind you. But then again, when wasn’t customer service a trip? These people were all ridiculous.

Bright and early the next morning, you were waiting for Deuce to arrive with his delivery of a fresh crate of eggs. It was ungodly early, as it always was. But at least there was no hunter at your window this time around—

There was a bang and a screech, and then an unfortunate sort of cracking-squishing-yucky noise that sounded an awful lot like a couple dozen eggs meeting their doom. You frowned and tucked your rag into the ribbons of your apron and ducked out from the backroom with a sigh. Deuce was at the door. Or, well, Deuce was on the ground in front of your door. With the shattered, yolk, remnants of your shipment scattered all around him.

“I’m not paying for that,” you huffed irritably, and your friend looked up with a squawk.

He looked like he was trying to say something, but his face just kept flashing back and forth between deathly pale and a miserable sort of mottled red.

“I—! You—! And he—!”

“Use your words, Spade,” you sighed.

“I do believe he’s trying his best, cher pâtissier!”

You froze, and turned in near-slow-motion to see a beaming Bounty Hunter crouched at one of the little painted benches lined up neatly along your storefront. Not on one, like a normal person. But beside one. On the ground. There was no blood on him today. None that was very obviously dripping down his face at the very least. He didn’t seem like he’d come bearing any ill will, but your Chicken Dealer was still splayed out on the ground—nearly convulsing—so that wasn’t a great sign either.

“What’s going on out here?” you demanded, hands at your hips.

“I do believe Monsieur Spade had himself a bit of a fright,” Rook beamed, and then turned towards your very gaunt looking friend with a soft tut-tut noise that for all its amiability didn’t sound particularly sympathetic. “You really ought to work on your balance, hmm? Alas, all these petits oeufs have gone to waste.”

“What?!” Deuce immediately bristled, on the defensive. “If you hadn’t scared me, then none of these chicks would have had to die so tragically in the first place!”

“For the last time,” you sighed, grinding the heels of your palms into your eyes. “Unfertilized farm eggs are not baby chicks.”

“But Ace said—”

“Enough! With what Ace said!” you snapped, exhaustion and a sore lack of tea, or coffee, or anything wearing away at your already fragile sanity. “Ace would sell you snake oil and cry to your face about you underpaying for it!”

“Oh?” Rook chirped, unfolding himself from his crouch to stand at his full height. He wasn’t particularly gangly or long limbed—not even especially tall, all things considered. But there was something about him that made him loom. From the sharp cut of his purple robes to the harsh, starched, white of his tight collar. He was neat, composed. And yet… very much not civilized. “Is this not a person who wishes you well, cher pâtissier?”

You frowned, something odd tugging at a sixth sense of yours. Just… a little something on the periphery of your nerves, singing that the words you chose now would mean a lot more than they ought to.

You hummed, low in your throat, and considered.

“Ace is himself,” you said finally, “but he’s a friend nonetheless.”

“Magnifique!” Rook beamed and clapped his hands together with a near lovelorn sigh, all at once perfectly pleasant and soft. “It is such a very good thing to have friends!”

“…Is that what you are?” Deuce asked, enough of that enraged spunk fading away to leave him properly cautious once more. His blue eyes flickered pointedly from the bounty hunter, to you, and back. “A friend?”

You sighed and turned to retreat back into your little shop without a word. Deuce scrambled to his feet to follow you in hesitantly, still dripping with the remnants of too many eggs. You shot him a look, and he immediately darted over to the mop and bucket you kept propped up in the corner. Rook stood in the doorway, nearly just a blur of bruised shadow against the backdrop of the pre-dawn darkness, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye. After a long moment of terse silence, he stepped beyond the threshold with a little hum. He wiped his feet pointedly on your little welcome mat, and then turned to stand at the counter. He fished around in the pockets of his cloak for a moment before withdrawing a strange little flower. He placed it on the countertop with a bright smile that crinkled the corners of his green eyes.

You stepped forward to observe it curiously, and your brows shot up in surprise.

It wasn’t a flower at all. What had looked like the folded arch of soft petals was actually a dainty pair of wings. It was a tiny butterfly—caught in a perpetual sort of stillness. It was bright, and colorful, and so carefully preserved that even when you trailed a flour-coated finger along the thin membranes of its wings, it stayed clean and crisp.

“What’s this for?” you asked.

“Payment, of course!” Rook smiled. “For the lovely treat you gifted me the other day.”

You sighed, not at all in the mood to discuss the lack of viable conversion rates between copper coins and bugs.

So instead you settled on huffing, “Free samples are free. It’s in the name.”

Rook just kept on smiling, unbothered. Deuce knocked into some set of drawers or other—or maybe the coatrack. Who knew—and you shot him an irritable little scowl. The guy was like a bull in a china shop on the best of days, let alone when he was trying to multitask, and be sneaky about it all the while. The bounty hunter’s grin twitched a bit at the corners, like the idea of your blue-haired friend trying to stealthily keep a watch on him was just the funniest thing.

You glanced back down at the little, frozen, butterfly. It really was very pretty, even if it was a little odd.

When you ducked back behind the counter, you unearthed a blueberry muffin from one of many stacks of trays there. It was little lopsided, and maybe there were a few too many bits of fruit in it. Surely no one would have wanted it anyways.

You plopped it on the countertop, and both Rook’s eyebrows shot all the way up his forehead. When he made no move to take it, you pushed the confection closer. The wrapper slid along the counter in a heavy, sticky, way. You’d have to remember to wipe it down again after. The Hunter reached out carefully to pluck the treat up between his fingers. He squished it delicately, in a similarly cautious way as to how you’d stroked the little butterfly.

“Is this also for eating at home?” he asked, observing the offering with a wide, wonderous, expression.

“Yes,” you said, just in time for Deuce to nearly annihilate your trash bin. “Please enjoy it.” Please get out. You’re distracting my maid.

Rook Hunt dipped into another of those ridiculous, bobbing, bows and pinched the brim of his hat between his fingers.

“Your generosity continues to warm my heart, mon cher,” he crooned, eyes practically sparkling from behind the sharp cut of his heavily lined lashes. “I will endeavor to return your kindness tenfold! A hundred!”

You waved off his sentimentality with a flick of your wrist and a not so delicate ‘shoo shoo.’

The hunter left your little bakery with a spring in his step and an outpouring of flowery promises that had your head spinning. He melted seamlessly into the shadows of the early morning, and between one blink and the next, he’d vanished entirely.

You would have thoroughly enjoyed the well-earned silence that followed, if not for the veritable storm cloud brewing over your friend’s head.

“Do I get one…?” Deuce asked finally, staring outright at the remaining muffins and sounding small and hopeful. And like that clearly wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all.

“Maybe if I had the eggs to make more,” you lamented, brushing your hands against your apron.

Deuce made a wounded noise which you had exactly zero sympathy for. You got to work wiping down the counters and sorting through the bits and bobs you’d need to start your day.

“…You know he’s not right, don’t you? That bounty hunter?” Deuce finally said, setting the mop aside. “You must have heard at least some of the rumors floating around town. I don’t think anyone even knows if the guy’s human.”

You shrugged.

“Anyone who has to wake up when I wake up each morning has long given up on humanity anyways,” you droned, only sort of half kidding.

Deuce frowned, clearly unhappy with your non-answer.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” he asked, stern in his fretting. There was still a big ol’ chunk of eggshell tangled up in his bangs.

“When I am ever not?” you smiled, and carefully pocketed the little, blue, butterfly.

When you popped by the market stalls after closing shop for the day, the street was abuzz with all the usual gossipy nonsense that you’d long since learned to let settle at the back of your brain like white noise. You were busy debating if you had enough arms to manage balancing yet another bag of strawberries (they were at their height of freshness these past weeks it seemed, and you were like a little fruit goblin hoarding them while you could), when a particularly shrill bit of chatter worked its way past the pleasant curtain you’d let fall across your thoughts.

“There was another one,” the butcher’s wife whispered in a way that was most certainly not a whisper.

“I heard,” chittered the man who really should have been trying to sell you more strawberries if he’d any kind of business sense whatsoever. He turned on you with a look that meant you were clearly about to be dragged into a conversation you were entirely unprepared for. “It was one of yours, apparently!”

“One of my what?” you blinked back into focus.

“One of your regulars,” he said, like a secret.

“That strange Bounty Hunter came through again,” his coconspirator hissed, with a hand lifted as if she meant to cover her mouth. “He dropped off the body the other day—delivered the heart straight to the Felmier’s porch!”

“Who was it?” you asked, just like you knew they wanted you to.

“Sir Hamlen,” the butcher’s wife said. “You know, that awful toad who could eat you out of house and home.”

That sounded like all of your costumers, and more than half of your closest friends, but you gave yourself a moment to sort through your scattered thoughts and try and connect whatever dots they’d been throwing at you.

“Sir Hamlen…?” you said after a moment, slowly putting a face to the name. “With the terrible goatee?”

They both nodded enthusiastically.

“Rotten pig,” the butcher’s wife piped back in. “Served him right, if you ask me. Everyone was expecting the Crown would put him to death anyways.”

You shrugged again. You hardly knew the man, but he’d always paid you well enough that you didn’t really have any ill will towards him. You went back to fussing over balancing bags of berries, but then… Well, there was something a bit funny, actually. He’d been a loud sort of person, with no filter to speak of. One afternoon, he’d stumbled into your little shop absolutely pissed on cheap drink and all but burping bubbles.

‘You know,’ he’d lulled, dropping a full coin pouch on your countertop. Which you’d taken in its entirely with zero hesitation. ‘I’d die happy if my last meal was these fucking tarts of yours.’

‘Is that so,’ you’d drawled, in the bland way you answered literally every customer who spouted off whatever nonsense was kicking around in their heads.

‘Aye,’ he’d sighed, practically stooped over. ‘Gonna have to pry ‘em outta my cold, dead, hands.’

“Huh,” you muttered, thoughts wandering back to a pair of bloody gloves and the little treat you’d pressed into them. Huh.

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Rook Hunt x Reader #Rook x Reader #Rook Hunt x Yuu #Reaper!Rook #Monster Mayhem #Fantasy AU #Rook Hunt #Deuce Spade #My Writing #Monster Mayhem Rook Part 1

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rebelfell · 6 months

Text

The Third Date

Eddie Munson x Anorgasmic!Reader

When you move back to Hawkins after graduating college, you find yourself reconnecting with an old friend in a new way. Your first two dates with Eddie Munson are everything you’d ever dreamed, but the next one has you unraveling.

Part One. Part Two.

cw: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, fem!reader, deceased parent, mentions of poor sexual experiences, some drinking, sexual anxiety, making out, fingering, panic attack, eddie being sweet and reassuring, fluffy ending.

I was kinda in my feelings and needed Eddie to tell me all the right things. Sue me. 18+, MDNI 7k

You used to like this mirror.

It was vintage. Full length with an ornate gold frame, swirling embellishments on the top and sides. Not to mention it was a fucking steal at $10 from an estate sale. You’d liked it enough to make it one of the scant number of things you hauled all the way back to Hawkins when you moved out of your shoebox apartment in the city.

Right now, though? You kind of hated it.

Usually, standing before it made you feel stately and elegant, even if all you had on was ratty denim shorts and a threadbare t-shirt riddled with holes and bleach stains. Yet here you were in one of your favorite outfits, hair meticulously styled, face glowing and dewy after spending an hour on it, and all you felt was ridiculous.

Not the mirror’s fault, technically. But it was the messenger. It told you at every twist of your hips, at every outfit change, at every pluck and tug of your clothes, that you were never going to look right—that you were never going to feel right. And it mocked your every failed attempt to do so.

You inhale, breath shallow and shaky as you try yet again to calm down. It’s just a date, you remind yourself. It’s just a date and he’s just a guy. There’s nothing to be worried about.

Except it wasn’t just a date. It was the auspicious Third Date.

And it certainly wasn’t just a guy…it was Eddie.

This was something you’d been waiting for forever. For longer than forever. For longer than you could count. Eddie Munson was your oldest and dearest friend. Growing up, you were like each other’s second heads—facing the worst of what small minds in a small town in Indiana cooked up. You stood, middle fingers brandished like swords, dreaming of a wider world.

It felt strange to think this would only be your third date when you’d basically been dating since you were thirteen. You went to movies together, wasted weekday afternoons at the record store, lounged on the gravelly bank of Lover’s Lake reading well-worn paperbacks—Two Towers for him, Dorothy Parker for you. He begged you to sit in on Hellfire when he started the club your junior year and only had three members, himself included. He’d sneak you into the dive bar where his band played Tuesday nights, and you would immediately stick out among the five drunks who assembled every week. But as long as all you ordered was ginger ale and swore up and down you weren’t a cop, the bartender let you sit there all night to watch him.

Nights never ended the way “real” dates did. No hands being held as he walked you from his van to your doorstep; no kisses under flickering porch lights scored by a cricket symphony.

He never touched you too much, always quick to withdraw his hands when they lingered on your hip or back or arm. That would change, though, if he smoked or drank a bit and his cuddly side came out. Secretly, you longed for these times. You reveled in having his chin rest on your shoulder or his arms wind around your waist to hold you close. It never felt gross or crossed the line into groping like with other, lesser, guys looking for something to fondle. With Eddie, it felt more like he was showing you how he wished he could be all the time.

At least that’s what you let yourself imagine.

He always apologized the following day, just short of castrating himself over it. It made you want to slap him. Slap him and then kiss him and slap him again. How could he not get it? How could he not see how goddamn in love with him you were? How could he not feel the same way? You waved him off, assuring him he hadn’t done anything wrong. All the while thinking, you fucking idiot, and not even knowing if you were referring to him or yourself.

Then came graduation. Or rather, your graduation and his sullen admission he wasn't eligible, which lead to the longest, most difficult conversation of your lives so far. It wasn’t even a conversation so much as it was you swinging wildly between reactions—scolding him for not telling you sooner; grasping at the straws of extra credit assignments your teachers would never assign; volunteering to stand guard while he broke into the administration office.

Eventually, though, you had to face the reality of losing him and it left a prominent break in your heart. Your acceptance letter to a school in Indianapolis that used to make you feel weightless, like you could finally fly out of here, now felt more like chains dragging you away.

You had half a mind to take him with you. You must have rehearsed the speech you wanted to make something like fifty times. Screw Hawkins, you’d say. Screw their closed minds and their disdain for anything even a little different. He could get his GED—you’d help him, happily. He could find work in the city and take community college classes or go to trade school. The two of you could live together and watch slasher movies every Friday night, falling asleep on his chest when you got tired just as you’d done all throughout high-school.

Of course those thoughts inevitably spiraled into what would happen once he started dating. A bigger city meant a bigger pool of people, all with the potential to realize the kind, sweet, caring boy who was bursting with passion for his fantasy games and music and his other rich interests was actually a massive catch and not a social pariah. In no time, it would be someone else falling asleep on his chest and you watching them be carried to his bed.

You couldn’t bear the thought of that. Maybe even moreso, you couldn't bear the thought of asking him to come with you and him saying “no.”

So, you went alone. You packed up your car with the barest necessities, you kissed your dad goodbye and said you’d see him at Christmas. But it was Eddie who saw you off, taking you into his arms and holding you there with your head tucked under his chin. You buried your face in his chest, tears leaking onto the patches you’d helped him sew on his denim vest. He told you how proud he was and how much he was gonna miss you. He said to write. To send pictures.

All you could do was sniffle.

At college, you tried expanding your horizons. You joined a couple clubs to make new friends and started going to parties. You met people like Carl. And even though he was handsome and seemed nice enough, you turned him down when he asked you to dinner. It wasn’t until much later, when your roommate scolded you for doing so, that you even felt some doubt about it. What was even the point when you knew he wasn’t what you wanted?

Except what you wanted might never be yours.

That first trip home to Hawkins was wildly unnerving. You knew it hadn’t actually been that long since you left. But why did it feel so strange that everything felt exactly the same? Had you really changed so much already that your home no longer felt like home?

Even seeing Eddie again felt like rupturing old wounds you thought had successfully scabbed over. You withdrew from him without even realizing you were doing it. He knew something was wrong, but didn’t dare voice it. His greatest fear loomed: you were done with Hawkins.

Done with him.

It took a while to strike the balance between the old and the new. You’d run away so fast and tried to overwrite everything in your life, returning to Hawkins felt like entering a fantasy world. And Eddie became like an apparition, a specter of everything you missed most.

You started writing to him more, sharing stories about your classes, gossip in the dorms, drunk adventures in the city. And he wrote back, telling you all about the new members of Hellfire who also happened to play instruments and were eager to replace the members of Corroded Coffin who had graduated and moved away. Eventually, the letters became more like a diary.

You could confess things you’d never imagined telling anyone—stuff about your mom and how you’d spent every day wondering if she’d be proud of you; how you worried about your dad and wondered if he would ever get over her; how you feared you might never find love like theirs and even if you did, how it might be taken away from you like it was from them.

And he confessed back to you. Amidst his ideas for new D&D campaigns and song lyrics, he gave you deeper insight on things you knew already—his father’s sordid criminal history and his mother’s inability to cope, which led to her dropping Eddie on his uncle’s doorstep at the ripe old age of eleven. Reading about Hawkins through his eyes made it feel more real and less like a dream you’d woken up from. It kept that connection open, a bridge between your worlds, so you could experience college and all the new things it had to offer, but still felt connected.

Then the end of your sophomore year brought more bad news.

Again, he wasn’t eligible. Again, he wasn’t graduating.

You’d not been able to let go of that fantasy of him joining you at school. Every time you walked across the quad, leaves crunching beneath your boots, sunlight dying as it dipped behind the old brick buildings and cast everything in a hazy golden autumn glow, you imagined a pair of clean, white sneakers next to yours and a ringed hand squeezing your fingers.

He promised you this was his year. Swore it, in fact. ‘86, baby! he’d scrawled big and messy under his signature at the end of one of his letters. And maybe it would. He said he was doing better—army crawling his way towards a D in Mrs. O'Donnell's class, already planning how he would snatch his diploma and flip the bird at the principal as he walked the stage.

He was certain enough it made you start to believe it too.

You never dared to broach the subject of what he wanted to do after graduation. He hadn’t mentioned applying to any colleges or looking for work. The rest of the band was graduating with him. Maybe they’d all move here to get more exposure. Maybe they wanted to record a demo they could pass out to record companies. Or maybe Eddie wanted to go solo.

The lack of information made you antsy. Was he being decidedly cagey about his plans? Was he hiding something? Or was he just afraid of disappointing you again?

It was nearing the end of the school year when you finally broke. You had to see him.

For once, your spring breaks were going to overlap. You blew off your classes on Friday to make the drive and managed to get to Hawkins High just as the final bell was ringing. His van still sat in the parking lot and you pulled in alongside it to wait, practically jumping out of your skin with excitement. Thirty whole minutes crawled by before you finally spotted him.

He emerged from the woods at the back of the practice sport fields, chattering with ease to maybe the last person on earth you would have expected to see.

Chrissy Cunningham was just as pretty as she’d always been. She was a couple years behind you and Eddie in school, but everyone knew of her from the moment she made the varsity cheer squad as a freshman—a staggering feat no one else had ever managed. She still had the same bouncy ponytail, the same enormous eyes and cherubic cheeks you imagined must ache at the end of each day from her constant smiling. And she was somehow smiling even wider than normal at whatever Eddie was saying as he grinned back at her.

It made your stomach churn thinking what they could have been doing to have her smiling like that. You knew he’d started dealing for Reefer Rick to earn extra money, but in what universe would the queen of Hawkins High be struck with the urge to buy a bag of skunky weed?

Unless it wasn’t weed she was after at all.

Panic doused your body. You jammed your key back in the ignition and sped out of the lot, praying he didn’t see you. You drove straight back to school, tears streaming down your face for the entire journey, making you hate yourself more with every salty trail that stained your cheeks. Because what else did you expect? For him to pine for you like you did for him? For him to be like you and not date anyone, ever? To keep everyone who even attempted to get close at a distance? Reserving a space in your heart for someone who might not even want to fill it?

You loved him more now than you ever had. Even without seeing him every day, even without having him constantly at your side. If anything, it had gotten worse. Your feelings piled up within you just as his letters did in your room. They all lived in a box under your shitty dorm bed to be pulled out over and over and over so you could parse every line for hidden meaning. Crying at his words, so heartfelt and honest you didn’t even notice the grammatical and spelling errors.

By the time you got back to campus, you felt raw and spent. Your face was streaked with tears and you were breathless from crying. For days, you walked around campus like a ghost until you bumped into Carl, the only other soul not off on some debaucherous Spring Break trip. And when he asked you for seemingly the hundredth time if he could buy you dinner…you said yes.

It came in the mail a few months later. Your address scribbled messily on an invitation to the Hawkins High Class of 1986 graduation. Eddie had included a photocopy of his final grades and written “proof it’s not a clerical error” with a little smiley face in the corner.

You called him that night to tell him how proud of him you were. And you were proud of him. So unbelievably proud. But when he asked if you were coming, you lied. You said your boyfriend’s parents would be in town and that he wanted you to meet them. You told him how sorry you were, all the while thinking Chrissy could congratulate him enough for the both of you.

And in spite of yourself…you let yourself pretend you heard a little dejection in his voice when you used the word “boyfriend”—fictitious as it was.

The truth was, you’d only been officially dating Carl for a couple weeks. And he was perfectly nice. He’d kissed you and it felt fine. It didn’t quite live up to what you believed it should feel like, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe what you imagined wasn’t realistic. Maybe what you thought it should be wasn’t feasible.

Maybe you just had to let that go.

And dating Carl was simple and uncomplicated. It served a purpose. It made you feel at least like you weren’t languishing in a wasteland of your unrequited feelings. It made you feel like you were trying. Sure, the sex wasn’t great. But you hardly expected it to be good for you.

You’d hooked up with the odd guy here and there over the years. It was a pattern that began with some guy you met downtown whose assignment was to keep you occupied while his friend put the moves on your roommate. You were a little drunk and a lot lonely, so you’d gone along with it. It was quick. A little uncomfortable. It certainly didn’t make you eager to repeat the experience. But at least you could say you’d done it.

Part of you thought maybe it would get better, but it never did.

Even guys you thought were decent at first were quick to gloss over the preamble and lead up, jumping straight to stuffing themselves inside you with no regard to your winces of discomfort. It didn’t take long before you started to assume you had to be the problem. Even by yourself, it took you ages to reach any sort of precipice. And even when you did, even when you felt your heart rate rising and your body heaving in response, the pay-off was…underwhelming.

With Carl, you thought it could be different. Maybe you needed a deeper connection; maybe you needed a few times to get comfortable with someone to properly ascend that peak. But the more you did it with him, the less attainable that seemed. Maybe you were just broken.

You also tried not to dwell on the fact that the only times you ever got close were when you pictured a different face hovering over yours; when you imagined your fingers twisted up in dark, shaggy curls; when you visualized pale skin littered with tattoos and sinewy arms caging you in; when you lit that one candle you only bought because it reminded you of Eddie’s cologne.

The decision to move back home turned out to be less a decision and more a necessity.

A whole year out of school and you’d had truly terrible luck finding a job—at least a decent one that actually wanted to pay you. Carl, ever the charmer, wondered why you even wanted to work when you’d just wind up quitting when you got married. Really, you appreciated it. It was exactly the kind of comment you needed to jolt you out of a relationship that had been on autopilot.

You were a mess. Lost. Aimless. Barely treading water. Wishing you could call the one person you knew would cheer you up, but unsure if it would only result in more heartache. In the blink of an eye, it had been over five years since you left home and it was starting to feel like your only accomplishments were breaking up with your boyfriend and buying a mirror.

Then came the call from your dad.

He’d taken a nasty fall at his hardware store. He was fine, for the most part. But he was now significantly weaker and would have to have surgery as well as physical therapy after. And he certainly couldn’t run his store anymore. It had never run particularly smoothly to begin with and his books left something to be desired—another thing you’d be helping with once you moved back. He never outright asked you to do so, but he also didn’t have to.

The only good news was the bad news: a massive fire that disintegrated Starcourt Mall had led to an influx of renovations to the downtown area. In the wake of the mall’s destruction came a resurgence in small businesses that breathed life back into the desolation the mall caused.

It was in this newly resurrected downtown where Eddie was making his mark. He had opened a hobby shop where he still hosted his weekly D&D games with a lot of the kids who had originally been in his club. His store became like a beacon for all the kids (and even some of the adults) in Hawkins who felt there was no place for them. Eddie gave them somewhere to belong and celebrated all the things that made them targets of ridicule to everyone else.

It was also your first stop on your first day back.

The whole shop was so Eddie. As you walked inside and took in the decor, it seemed entirely possible he had just moved everything from his bedroom at Wayne’s right in here. He’d even rigged the entrance with a speaker that played the guitar riff of “Enter Sandman” when someone came through the door.

You wished you could bottle the moment he came out front, your arrival signaled by the song.

“Holy shit…”

The box of miniatures and figurines he’d just finished pricing in the back fell to the floor with a thump and a rattle of plastic parts. He barely registered it, though. With round, unblinking eyes he stared, too stunned to move a muscle until a smile cracked his face wide open.

In just three long strides he crossed the store and swept you into his arms, lifting you up and whirling you around. “You’re here!” he gushed, arms crushing you around the middle in the most exquisite pain. “You’re really here!”

“I told you I was moving back!”

You laughed heartily in his ear as he placed you back on the ground, telling yourself it must have been the unexpected lift making you breathless and not how the sunlight coming through the windows hit his eyes and made them shine like molten honey. He kept you close, letting his hands rest on your arms and squeezing them like he had to be sure you weren’t a mirage.

“I thought it was one of those ‘too good to be true’ things,” he said sheepishly, a pink blush creeping across his cheeks. “Had to see it to believe it.”

“Well, believe it,” you sighed.

You were already prepared for the loss of his touch, for when he would shamefully retract his hands, but he never did. He held you comfortably, his thumb lightly brushing over your skin. He let you go reluctantly, not regretfully, letting his fingertips trail softly down your arm.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, his voice coated in warmth. “I missed you so much.”

You nodded, your throat pinched as you tried not to cry. “I…I missed you too.”

Eddie’s smile grew even bigger, his eyes seeming to dance with excitement. “Well, we have to celebrate,” he said. “I close up shop at six. Meet me back here and we’ll go to the Hideout?”

You stalled, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you considered. Almost on instinct, you’d nearly agreed right away. Old habits and what not. But did you want to fall immediately back into your old patterns? Hawkins had changed so little since you left, it felt too easy to slip back into the trap. Could you really go right back to hopelessly pining for him as you’d done so long?

“Come on,” Eddie urged, flashing those doe eyes he knew you couldn’t resist. “It’s one drink.”

“Okay, okay!” you laughed. “One drink.”

One drink turned out to be three. Starting with your first legal drink together at his old haunt while a different band of hopeful kids fumbled their way through clumsy Metallica covers.

“Please tell me we were never that young,” Eddie sighed, taking a swig of his beer.

“You’ve never been young,” you teased. “You came out of the womb a crotchety old man.”

A little later, you absconded to the corner booth and tucked yourselves away from the rowdiness of the growing crowd. You were flushed from the alcohol buzzing in your bloodstream and from how close Eddie was sitting. It felt just like old times, except it was nothing like old times.

Because this time, he was flirting with you. And not being subtle.

You thought maybe you were imagining it at first, but it only became more obvious the longer the night wore on. There was a whole new confidence and intention in the way he talked to you. He’d never been shy, never had any trouble drawing people in, but there was a fire lit behind his eyes tonight you’d never seen before. And you were the sole object of that blaze.

“So…still with Carl?” He finally asked, after bolstering himself to do so for the last three hours.

You took a long sip of your drink, eyes never leaving his over the rim of your glass. The liquor made you bold, the burn at the back of your throat adding smokiness to your voice.

“No-pe,” you said, popping your lips on the final syllable. Eddie smiled wolfishly and leaned in.

“Good,” he purred. “Cos that would have made it real awkward when I asked you out.”

He took you to dinner two days later. Rang the doorbell and smiled at you as he stood on your porch wearing a black button down under a darker black velvet vest. His black jeans were a new- looking pair of the same kind he’d always worn, sans the ragged holes over his knees.

Despite the thin material of your sundress and the balmy weather outside, you were sweating with nerves. The breeze played with your skirt as he walked you to his van and the coolness of it on your clammy skin made you shiver. But when Eddie suddenly darted ahead of you to open your door and turned around with his hand held up to help you inside, it made you melt.

The gesture filled your body with warmth, chasing away any hint of a chill.

After dinner, he suggested you walk a block or so to a bar where Eddie liked to play pool. And as you did, his hand reached for yours and he threaded your fingers together. You stared down at it, stunned. How many times had you wished he would do that? How many times did you imagine the heat of his palm against yours mixing with the coolness of his chunky silver rings on his fingers? It had always seemed so impossible and he’d just done it.

Like it was nothing. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. Easy. Natural.

He held your hand all the way into the bar, only letting go of you to accept a tray of balls from the bartender when Eddie requested a table. With a couple of beers in hand, you followed him to his favorite one that was tucked away in a little alcove, practically private.

You set down the beers and watched as he racked the balls, gaze lingering on his long frame and chuckling at the way he shimmied his hips as he leaned over the table to break. “Eyes on me,” he told you, playful smile revealing his teeth.

It was a redundant request, because it was entirely impossible to look anywhere else.

Eddie had filled out quite a bit since high-school. He was never an athlete by any means, but evidently a regime of guitar playing and dice throwing was enough to maintain decent tone. You stared at him unabashed as he walked around the table, lining up his shot. His vest now flapped open and he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal the familiar smattering of bats under his elbow and the puppetmaster etched inside his forearm. It made you wonder how many more tattoos—new ones you’d not yet seen—were hiding under the rest of his clothes. He smirked at you, smug as he leaned over the table, thoroughly enjoying the way your eyes followed him.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” he drawled before sinking a bank shot.

You rolled your eyes, trying to fein being unimpressed. “Trying to distract me, Munson?” you asked, chalking the tip of your cue in a much more sensual manner than necessary, letting your fingers lazily stroke the stick as Eddie watched transfixed. He huffed a laugh at the display.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Evidently, both of you were equally distracted. Most of your games lagged for a mutual inability to sink more than one shot in a row as the other did their best to pull focus. It was far easier for you, having only to lean forward slightly across the table from him to reveal a healthy dose of your cleavage. That, coupled with a coy smile and batting eyelashes, spelled disaster for Eddie. Everytime you did it, he’d scratch his shot and chuckle dryly at his own hubris.

He took a different approach, choosing instead to stand as close to you as he could as you lined up your shots. His musk and cologne filled your nose, a tantalizing woodsy smell that made your head spin as you struggled to keep your eyes on the ball. He rested his hip against the table, handcuff belt buckle glinting as it reflected the light from the lamp hanging overhead.

You could practically hear the childish taunt of not touching you, not touching you.

“Just take your shot, baby,” he cooed, low and husky. The sound made your heart hammer.

A couple hours of teasing and toying later, both of you were ready to explode. Your glasses sat empty on the nearby table, neither of you terribly interested in a refill. And as Eddie sunk the eight ball again, his eyes flashed to the tray for the balls rather than going to re-rack them.

“I guess I should get you home?” he asked.

A little sullen at the idea, you nodded and returned your cues to a rack on the wall while Eddie brought the balls back to the bartender and settled the tab. Only when you were walking back to the table to get your purse and passed a pair of men who reeked of tobacco did something occur to you: Eddie hadn’t taken a smoke break once.

“Did you quit?” you asked, staring at him with wide eyes. He smiled as he drew nearer to you, relishing the way your chest heaved as you reacted to his closeness.

“Took a couple years, but yeah,” he said. “Sometimes I still need a little help, though.”

He tugged his shirttail out from the waistband of his jeans, causing his belt and the chain on his wallet to jingle slightly as he lifted his shirt to flash a strip of his stomach. You’re so distracted by the action and the cut of his v-muscle it takes a few seconds to register the beige nicotine patch stuck on his hip. You stared at him and then back at it, fingers itching to reach out and touch.

He leaned in, his face the closest it had been to yours all night, his voice hushed so only you could hear. “For when I’m really nervous,” he said.

Streetlights and stars blurred as you stepped out of the bar and he whirled you into the alley. The rough brick scraped your back and snagged on your dress as you were flattened against it and you gazed up at Eddie, string lights overhead shining brightly in your eyes.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly. “Are you ready for this to start?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight his eyes trained on your face. Your hands settled lightly on his waist and you gave an impatient tug as you nodded. It was all the invitation he needed.

His mouth met yours like the sun met the horizon. The softest kiss you’d ever had deepened gradually until you were grasping at him, fisting his shirt in your fingers. Your lips felt molded together, pliant to the other’s movements, but still insistent as they chased one another.

Control shifted subtly between you, taking turns drawing the other in and pulling back. More teasing, more toying. Yet you never denied each other long, unable to stay apart.

God, this was it. This was what it was always supposed to feel like.

It could have been hours you stood out there kissing and laughing, but you’d never have known. The only thing that alerted you to the passing of time was when the lights inside the bar shut off and the employees filed out for their final smoke break before heading home.

Giggling like terrible criminals begging to be caught, you and Eddie hugged the shadows and made your way back to his van. You rode home with your panties soaked, subtly shifting in your seat, trying not to think about the arousal pooled between your thighs. And at home, back in your room, you were so tempted to dip your fingers into the slickness as you thought about Eddie’s breath on your lips; how the ends of his curls tickled your sternum when he leaned into you; the way his scent lingered on your skin after being pressed between his body and that wall.

But you didn’t dare risk the disappointment that would follow when your pleasure receded like waves being drawn into a riptide; when you backed down from the edge of that cliff, feeling even emptier after not reaching that peak. Again. No, you couldn’t spoil this night with all that.

You saw him more throughout the week. He started popping into your father’s store almost as soon as it opened, offering you coffee and a kiss. And he spent the first hour of the morning with you at the front counter, propped up on his elbow with his chin resting on the heel of his hand.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you asked, swatting him with a folded up newspaper after you finished doing the jumble together.

He just shrugged with all the casual ease of somebody whose own shop didn’t open until 11. Or noon if he was hungover. “What could be better than hanging out with my favorite girl?”

Favorite girl. The words lived in your brain all day. It made you positively giddy every time you thought about it, even causing you to accidentally enter a customer’s 15% discount as 51% and not even bother correcting it. The loss on a value pack of paint brushes and trays seemed a paltry fee for the smile that spread across old Mrs. Gershwin’s face when she saw her total.

Eddie started calling every night at 9:30, practically on the dot, and it didn’t take long for you to get in the habit of settling into your bed around that time so you could pick up the receiver in your room before the ringing disturbed your dad dozing in his recliner downstairs.

“So when do I get to take you out again?” he asked, clearly not oblivious to how it made you melt on the other end of the line.

You blushed your way through making arrangements for an early movie Saturday followed by dinner. Then, before beginning the long process of saying your goodnights, you paused to ask him the thing you’d been wondering since that night at the Hideout.

“Eddie…are we really doing this?” you asked, torn between giddiness and trepidation.

“I certainly am,” he hummed into the receiver.

He talked the whole way through the movie and still had more to say at dinner afterward.

It didn’t bother you, though. You loved listening to him talk. Your ears had gone so long without his rambling, it was more like music than words. His feet toyed with yours under the table and after you ordered dessert, he excused himself to use the bathroom only to slide into your side of the booth when he came back. You giggled over tiramisu and cheesecake, your sides pressed together from shoulder to ankle. Later, the tastes of your desserts would mix in your mouths as he kissed you deeply in his car dropping you off.

Everything about it felt so alive. So ripe with the promise of what this could turn into, what it had already become. In two dates with Eddie, you felt more connection than you had in two years of dating Carl. Not that it was fair comparing them. Nothing and no one could ever compare to this.

It was a Wednesday when he made a new proposition. You had already crawled into bed and swathed yourself in blankets to wait for his call. And after the few customary minutes of talking about your respective days, he brought up his idea for Friday night.

“Would you want to come over here for dinner?” he asked.

“You…you mean like your place?”

“I was thinking mine, but if your heart is set on a neighbor’s, I’m sure breaking in wouldn’t be too difficult.” He’s smirking so hard you swear you can hear it over the phone.

“I guess yours will do,” you chuckled. “Does this mean I’ll get to see The Hair in person?”

Eddie was living with Steve Harrington, which had taken a commanding lead for being the most confusing thing you’d learned since returning home. Apparently they’d been brought together by a shared friendship with Dustin Henderson, one of the kids from Hellfire Eddie had taken under his batwing during his third and final senior year. Dustin had spent months insisting both boys would get along if they only gave the other a chance until his badgering paid off.

Now, the pair shared a tiny apartment downtown, walking distance from Eddie’s shop and only a short drive to Family Video where Steve was now the manager. And Dustin evidently couldn’t go five minutes without congratulating himself for bringing the two of them together. Eddie liked to joke that they were now co-parenting the little shithead (affectionate).

“Actually, Steve is out of town this weekend,” Eddie said, struggling to contain his excitement and keep his cool. “So, we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Breathe, breathe, breathe. “Oh, yeah?” you said, voice spiking just an octave too high.

“Yep. And, um…you could stay over if you wanted? If that sounds good to you?”

Stay over. You knew what that meant. There was something gut wrenchingly endearing about the way he asked—the innocent peal of his voice. But there was no doubt in your mind what he was getting at. This wasn’t going to be like crashing on his couch after a movie night or pouring yourself into his bed after a Corroded Coffin show that lasted to the wee hours.

This would be something new. Something completely different.

“That sounds great,” you said, finally.

And it did sound great. It just also sounded a little terrifying.

Admittedly, you hadn’t been on many dates in your life. But television and film had successfully indoctrinated you with knowledge of that classic Third Date milestone. And it made sense. He wasn’t some stranger. You’d known each other for so long, it stood to reason things would continue to accelerate between you. And was that such a bad thing?

This was Eddie, after all. He was your best friend. He was your other half. You weren’t sure if you even believed in soul mates, so to speak, but if they did exist you couldn’t imagine anyone besides him in that role. He had stoked life into the coals within you that you were certain had burnt into a lump of ash. You never felt with anyone the way you felt with him.

So if you were gonna do this, you were gonna do it right.

You went shopping, fighting off anxious nausea as you perused the racks of lingerie in the far corner of a little boutique. Averting your eyes from the more salacious options, you settled on a matching set of midnight blue embroidered with silver thread to look like stars. It was made of thin mesh that gave the illusion of coverage, but revealed plenty through the sheer netting.

It also looked a little like something a wizard might wear. And for obvious reasons, you had a feeling Eddie might like that.

Securing your purchase you thought might make you feel more prepared, but it only caused your thoughts to unravel further. This was the first time Eddie would be seeing your underwear and it wasn’t even your own. At least it didn’t yet feel like your own the way your drawer full of less suggestive garments did. What if he thought you looked ridiculous? What if he laughed or got turned off because your thighs were too big or the pudge of your stomach grossed him out? Worse yet, what if you failed to live up to the implications? What if he saw it and assumed you knew what you were doing, only to be woefully disappointed by your skills? Or lack thereof?

It was impossible to reconcile the two wolves fighting for dominance in your mind. On the one hand, it was wildly exciting: the thought of finally getting to be with him and touch him and have him touch you back. At the same time, though, you were overwhelmed at the prospect. What if it changed things between you? You’d always thought you wanted more than friendship with him, but what if in that pursuit you lost the person you treasured more than anything in the world?

And then of course there were the normal fears.

After so much unfulfilling sex, you couldn’t help but be fearful your body would betray you as it always had. It was hard not to pin all your hopes on this and you didn’t want to add any more pressure to this night than you already felt. But even if you backed off that peak and failed to reach the summit, surely the ascent would feel just as nice as long as it was with him.

Right?

This was what you tried to tell yourself as you turned one last time in front of your mirror.

Literally everything about this night was making you uncomfortable and it hadn’t even begun yet. The lingerie that felt fine when you bought it was tight and itchy on your skin, and it felt glaringly obvious you were wearing it under your clothes—like a diaper or a straightjacket.

You’d shaved, even though it made you feel like a creepy bald Barbie, and even though you found the concept kind of disturbing. Whose brilliant idea was it anyway that to be sexy you had to look like a child between your legs? And you always wound up completely bare because you could never get it even and kept having to take more from each side until nothing was left.

Still, you did it. Because that was what everyone did, right? That’s what he would expect?

Shaking your head, trying to fling away all your thoughts, you busy yourself packing your small overnight bag. It was the same one you must have brought over to Eddie’s a hundred times over, but for the first time you found yourself doubting it. Would he think you were high maintenance for wanting your own toothbrush and a change of clothes? For bringing something comfortable to sleep in? Would he think you were a weirdo for not just sleeping naked? God, what if he saw it and figured you’d been sleeping with so many guys, you just kept it packed all the time?

Panic creeps up the back of your neck. It burns hot on your cheeks and makes your heart pound in your temples until you’re so dizzy you have to lean against the door with your head bent.

Breathe, you think. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

Frustratingly slowly, the thrumming in your chest subsides. You managed to bring yourself down off the ledge and find your center—Eddie.

Eddie would make everything alright.

He always did.

Part Two

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #tw: anorgasmia

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starzshopoflove · 3 months

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Double Trouble (Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x Reader)

request fill for @bringinsexybackk69 <3 hope you enjoy this little drabble!! Notes: fem reader! sfw, chaotic couple, fluff, civilian reader

Soap: getting a girl

Okay, not unbelievable; he's quite the pretty boy. He’ll usually squawk about some bird for a few weeks, then shut up once he’s done with her. Sometimes he’ll bring them around base for a round at the pub or to a government charity event the squad was forced to attend.

Recently, he has been less rowdy and more active. And by active, I mean rushing home as soon as he’s done with work on base. He��s been saying some nonsense about his family being in town.

He’s been more diligent with his paperwork, gathering up the lot and running himself down to the archivist to drop them off before getting home. Not even stopping with the force to grab a pint at the pub or have dinner.

Of course, he does eventually crack and tell Ghost. The poor boy can't keep his mouth shut for anything. Giggling as he unlocks his phone to scroll through and show ghost pictures of you together, his personal favorite being a screenshot of you holding a burnt pan of something thats supposed to resemble food thats been charred to nothingness with the biggest smile on your face, of course paired with a little text.

‘My man is eatin' good tonight. Bon appetit, baby.😍’

Ghost gave him a weak thumbs up. You were gorgeous; don't get him wrong, but for a civilian to be as strange or erratic as Soap meant some screws were definitely lost, perhaps multiple. Soap finally let himself yap a bit more about you to the squad, explaining that he actually wanted to take you seriously and didn't want to jinx it by bragging about you before he could really be sure.

Soap started bringing you around the base after a few weeks, ready for you to meet his friends—well, more like brothers—and Price as his proxy dad. You concerned Ghost more than annoyed him, and you clicked with Gaz almost as easily as you did Soap. Price didn't get to meet you on the same night Gaz and Ghost did since he was held up in a meeting.

Your first encounter with him wasn't exactly charming.

Price was honestly just trying to get on with his day; he was already pissed off dealing with rookies misbehaving. All he wanted to do was drop off these papers and nurse a nice, good scotch before bed.

He stood in front of Soap’s office door, knocking on it, waiting for some reply. Hearing nothing, he tried again. Still nothing.

'Whatever, he's probably pissing or something, I’ll just drop these and leave’

Sighing heavily, he leans his head against the door, bringing a tired hand to the door knob and briefly shutting his eyes, imagining the drink that will soon be his. Hey, he's actually kind of happy right now. Maybe he’ll wait for Soap and take the boys out for a round; maybe that'll make his day.

A small smile cracks on his face fondly as he twists the doorknob, cracking it open. That same smile drops just as quickly.

Oh, what the fuck?

He’s greeted by the sight of Johnny's desk on fire—no explanation, just the table on fire. No, not the papers on the table on fire, but the actual table on fire. Also, he’s screaming, and so is the lady with him. Wait, who the fuck is she?

“PAT IT OUT, WOULD YOU?"

Johnny's shouting—actually screaming—how did he not hear this behind the door when he was coming in? Price just stands there, eyebrows wrinkled as he squints his eyes, barely able to process what he's seeing at 11 p.m. with his brain feeling like mush.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I'M DOING?"

Oh great, now she's screaming. His eyes wander over to you in your screaming match, trying to figure out the fire extinguisher. Johnny's trying to fan out the flame while you're struggling to pull the pin.

"CLEARLY NOT PUTTIN TH’ FUCKIN FIRE OOT"

“YOU CAN SEE ME TRYING JOHNNY."

"PRICE IS GONNAE FUCKIN MURDER ME."

“YOU MEAN THAT, GUY? HI, Mr. Price."

Johnny whips his head to the open door, where Price stands still verily confused as the lady works a miracle, extinguishing the fire while also covering Johnny in the same foam. Panting, you drop the extinguisher on the floor, slapping your hands on your knees. You turn to look at Price, shooting him the same grin Johnny has had before.

“Lovely to meet you, boss!!” You seem to chirp out happily.

"Pleasures are all mine” is all Price can manage at this point.

It seems like thing one has finally found thing two.

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five-rivers · 4 months

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Daedalus

@regular-dog Hello! I am your holiday truce gifter this year! I hope you enjoy this labyrinth-themed fic. Happy New Year!

Only three years in, and it was already impossible to tell how big Amity Park was. Normal methods of surveying didn’t work. Physical maps were either always right or always wrong, and sometimes both at once. Driving across the city at a constant speed didn’t help, either. The outgoing trip and the return trip never seemed to match, and there simply weren’t enough one-way streets in Amity Park for that to be the answer to the problem.

Asking the residents didn’t help, either. They couldn’t even agree on how big the city they lived in was. Some of them acted like Amity Park was the second coming of Chicago, others expressed confusion when Amity Park was referred to as anything but a small town.

(The census data was almost worse.)

But no matter what version of Amity a particular resident believed they lived in, there were always similarities. There was always Casper High, and its Ravens, and every student went there, and learned from Mr. Lancer, and heard the rumors about Sydney Poindexter. There was always the Nasty Burger, and Valerie Gray working one of the many distasteful jobs that the place had to offer. There was always Amity Park Park, confusingly named and full of even more confusing paths, whether it was a city park or a county park, or something else altogether.

There was always Fentonworks, rising tall and strange from a small, ordinary neighborhood.

There was a heaviness there, around that particular building. A weight that drew in other things, that twisted. It was the heart of a labyrinth of streets, of old roads and new, of forest paths and disused hiking trails. It was the heart of Amity Park.

And it should be said that, at the heart of any labyrinth, there was a monster.

And it should be said that, at the threshold of every labyrinth, there was a princess.

And it should be said that the one thing that every labyrinth waits for is a hero.

Samantha Manson wound golden string around her fingers, thinking. It glowed faintly in the dark of her room, like the thinnest, purest beam of sunlight cast through morning mist and a thick canopy of leaves overhead.

However, her eyes didn’t linger on it. Instead, she looked out the window over her– garden– conservatory– greenhouse– private park– the place where she went to grow plants, and be among them, that may or may not have changed in nature and size while she was looking. Which may or may not have had many natures and sizes.

She closed her eyes. Insight was useful, as vital as the blood in her veins and the lightning in her nerves, but it had its drawbacks.

When she opened them again, a hedge maze stood dark and tempting beneath the light of a moon that should not be full and should not be there and had never been that big, in any case. The lights of Amity- rising high with skyscrapers or low to the ground and scattered among farmhouses– laid beyond it.

In her hands, the string hummed, as if it had been held taught and plucked. A single, clear note filled the air.

“Do you think it will work?” she asked.

There shouldn’t have been anyone in her room, and there wasn’t. But her nearest neighbors could be five miles from the walls of her home or five feet, and she rarely spoke to them. The distance between friends was greater, but also infinitely less.

Tucker looked up from his computer, which sat at his desk, in his own room, in his own house, the light from the moon shining in from the window behind him. His glasses reflected the pale, bluish light of his computer screen. The wheels of his desk chair rolled across the carpet of his room - so different from hers - with a squeak.

“You’re not getting cold feet now,” he said. It wasn’t so much a question as an exclamation.

Sam sniffed. “Of course not. But I’m not the one taking the biggest risk, am I?”

There was a third room. This one dark and starry. The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to every available surface were normal. The patterns they were in were not. Nor were the eyes that stared out from beneath star-spangled bedsheets. Nor was the moon, gleaming from windows stationed on either side of the bed.

“I’m not sure if it actually matters if it works,” said the owner of those eyes, blinking slowly. “I mean, if it works the way it’s supposed to work. We’ll just go back to plan A if it doesn’t.”

“No offense, Danny, but plan A sucked,” said Tucker.

“How am I not supposed to take offense to that?” whined Danny. “Plan A is fine. It’s a normal plan. I know my city.” The last was said with a casual but deep possessiveness.

“Plan A wasn’t even really a plan,” said Sam. “Your plan was to just fly in and find them, never mind all the other things that are happening.”

“That’s not so different from this plan,” protested Danny. “It’s basically the same. It’s just the how that’s different.”

“Pretty big how, though,” said Tucker. “And I thought you liked this plan.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Danny. “I’m just saying, I’m just saying that even if it doesn’t work, we won’t be any worse off than we were at the beginning, before, you know. The research.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of his window.

Somehow, Sam knew that he was, in fact, pointing at the stack of thick books sitting on her desk. Only, instead of pointing at them across the there-not-there division between their rooms, he was pointing in their true direction, across the streets and forests of Amity Park.

The covers of the books shouldn’t have been legible in the darkness. Sam could read them anyway. Greek mythology. Sympathetic magic. Recurrence. Narrative causality. Daedalus, Icarus, Theseus, Ariadne, Asterion.

Four days ago, New Athens High School had sent a bus bearing the fourteen members of their track team and their coach to a meet in Elmerton. On the way back, the driver had made a wrong turn, knifing straight through the heart of Amity. The bus, the driver, and the coach had come out the other side. No one knew what had happened to the track team.

Danny had spent three of those days looking for them. Amity Park had spent those same three days winding itself more tightly than the ball of string sitting on Sam’s desk. Whether it was downtown, or the forest, or the suburbs, the part of Amity New Athens’ bus had passed through was a maze.

A labyrinth.

They’d thrown themselves into research, then, begging for information from their allies. Or, rather, from Danny’s allies. Most of them, with the exception of Dora, were there for him more than for the rest of them. Pandora was the one who had finally noticed the connections, the links with old stories, the resonance.

There was a labyrinth. There were sacrifices. Other roles–

“Or, if you don’t want to leave it, you could send Tucker in,” said Danny, shrugging slightly. “If it doesn’t work with just me. You know.”

Sam’s fingers slipped.

Sam was the obvious choice for the role of princess. Danny was the obvious choice for the role of hero.

He should have been, anyway.

“Hence why I’m asking if you think it’ll work,” said Sam, sharply.

“I hope it’ll work.”

Sam huffed. “Not what I’m asking.”

“It won’t hurt to try.”

“It might,” said Sam. “The monster dies at the end of the story. The princess is abandoned. Even Theseus doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“And we aren’t those characters. It isn’t as if Tucker is going to cut my head off.” Again, Danny waved in Tucker’s true direction, rather than across the emptiness of his room. “We’re the ones making the decisions. We’re just using the stories for– For narrative clout. Or however you described it.”

“Danny…”

“It’ll be fine. I mean,” he looked up at her with those too-bright eyes, the rest of his face black with shadows, “if you’re having second thoughts, it’s fine. We can try something else.”

“I’m not having second thoughts.” Sam began to unwind the string from around her fingers, wrapping it around the rest of the ball. The maze outside her window had become a winding garden path, and the neighbors were once again nearby.

Tucker cleared his throat. “First thing in the morning, then? We ride at dawn and all that?”

“Before dawn would probably be better, honestly,” said Sam.

Danny sighed. “I’ll set my alarm clock.”

It might have been neater to enter the maze in Sam’s backyard, or to start from the spiraling center that was Fentonworks, but that wasn’t where the bus had disappeared. The bus had disappeared going through downtown Amity Park.

Well. Insofar as the bus had disappeared in any particular location. And insofar as Amity Park had a downtown.

The lack of permanence of place made discussing things like this somewhat difficult.

Still. At the moment, there was a downtown. A historical shopping district, as a matter of fact. As he walked down the sidewalk in the crisp, gray, predawn light, Danny could feel beneath his feet a hum. The shopping district here was the mainstreet of small town Amity, even as skyscrapers loomed overhead, and the layers felt real enough for Danny to reach out and rub them between his fingers.

(They weren’t really, but they felt like it.)

He stopped in front of an alley that smelled of cinnamon and sea salt. Here, the layers parted, and you could slip between them, into the interstices and forbidden places of Amity Park.

“Is this the place?” asked Tucker.

“Yeah,” said Danny. “I think so.” He motioned them to the mouth of the alley, where they’d be covered by shadows and next to unnoticeable by those who were firmly in any one version of Amity Park. “Sam?”

She teased out the end of the golden string and cast it towards Danny. As it flew through the air, it twisted and knotted itself before falling over Danny’s head. The loops shrunk around his neck, creating a narrow golden collar.

Danny raised his hand to touch it and made a face. “It’s tight,” he said.

“Sorry,” said Sam, glaring at the ball of string as if it had betrayed her. “I don’t–”

“It’s fine,” said Danny, waving it off. “Just unexpected.”

“Right,” said Tucker, stepping forward. “Your sword, Theseus.” He handed Danny a Fenton invention that had a passing resemblance to a lightsaber.

Danny rolled his eyes and took the small cylinder. “Thanks. But don’t call me that.”

“Hey, that’s the story we’re trying to tell.”

“We’ll give it a tug if we run out of string,” said Sam.

“Mm,” said Danny. “Well. Might have to give it more than one. Don’t let me drag you in.”

Sam snorted. “What, like you drag us into everything else?”

“Seriously. Just let me go if I start pulling too hard.”

“No way,” said Tucker. “We’ll just tie you onto some building or something.”

“I have been known to bring down buildings.”

“Well, don’t,” said Sam.

“Wow. No sympathy here, I see.”

“Nope,” said Sam and Tucker together.

“Now go save the tourists,” said Sam, pushing him forward.

“They’re not really tourists,” said Danny. But even so, he stepped across the line and into the gap.

Into the labyrinth.

The in-between spaces of Amity Park did not immediately look like they were the in-between spaces of Amity. Danny sometimes liked to imagine that they were what Amity Park used to look like, before it became a dozen different, mutually exclusive places. That had to be impossible, though. There was too much, too many different things, afterimages and fantasies and illusions.

People walked on the streets, and cars drove, but they were transparent, projections from the layers of Amity immediately bordering this space. Sometimes, they walked through each other, not noticing at all.

Danny still flinched when it looked like cars were about to run into one another, and let out a breath of relief when they instead seemed to phase through each other.

So he walked.

He walked, and as he walked, the road began to change. He began to change. Facades paled. Grecian columns reached up the sides of skyscrapers and ranch homes. Brick turned to marble. Danny’s t-shirt and jeans slowly, gently, became a chiton and chlamys, trimmed in red. The Fenton Saber became a sword of green-tinted bronze, strapped to a belt around his waist. His shoes became sandals, laced up to his knees.

It wasn’t the first time Danny had worn clothing like this. He did visit Pandora. But he’d never worn it in Amity Park. It was a little embarrassing. The ancient Greeks’ idea of underwear was… lacking, in Danny’s opinion. But it wasn’t as if anyone here could see him.

The act of walking here also felt strange, and Danny couldn’t understand why this was needed. Not really. Not the act, not the ritual. By virtue of his nature, he could duck in and out of anywhere in Amity whenever he wanted. Mostly. At least, he could find places to duck in and out whenever he wanted.

He should have been able to find the missing students without any problem.

But he hadn’t.

And he still wasn’t finding them. There was no pull. No indication of what direction he should go, what direction he could find them in.

Danny sighed, and the sky above boiled with stars.

He looked up, not having expected that, then shrugged and continued to walk. Things here were strange.

There were words on the walls, now, carved into the marble alongside window displays for cell phones and stationary. Ἀστερίων, Ἀριάδνη, Θησεύς. He traced Ἀριάδνη with his fingers. It sparked gold, the same color as the string around Danny’s neck.

And then the string flexed. Pulled. Spooled forward, winding into a ball in front of Danny. A short thread was thrown off of the rapidly spinning ball and settled on Danny’s head before solidifying into something heavy and cold.

(Elsewhere, the end of the string tears itself out of Sam’s hand, disappearing into the rift between.)

“Oh,” said Danny. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, and mentally apologized to his friends for worrying them. “Theseus was from Athens. Ariadne wasn’t just rich, she had authority over Crete. We had the roles wrong.”

(Not that Danny really wanted authority over Amity Park. That… just wasn’t his thing. He didn’t want to be in charge. He just wanted to protect.)

But this meant… He needed to find one of the New Athens kids and get them to be Theseus.

He didn’t want to do that. He was here to rescue them, not to force them to rescue themselves. And… iIf he could find one of them, couldn’t he find the others? Finding them was the problem he’d started with. If he could find them, he could bring them out.

He stumbled as the section of string wrapped around his throat tightened. That actually hurt!

Then it loosened and Danny took a deep breath.

Narrative weight, right. They were already trying this story. Changing it or aborting it halfway would have consequences. Ones that Danny didn’t want to deal with.

He swallowed. He couldn’t help but remember that in the story of Theseus and the Minotaur, many people, many Athenians, had died before Theseus had finally defeated the Minotaur. When it was Danny in the role of Theseus, that hadn’t been a concern. He was certain he could fight any monster, any ghost in the role of the Minotaur.

But some random kid from New Athens? One who had probably never seen a ghost, and who had been stuck here for days?

That… that he wasn’t at all confident about.

Sam had been right to be wary of the risks. It was different, when someone else was facing them.

He rolled the ball between his hands, feeling it over. Power thrummed between his fingers, brighter and sharper than before. A thin stripe of gold ran down the sidewalk, twisting over on itself and turning away from the main street.

Danny sighed, and started to follow.

Danica was starting to panic.

One moment, she’d been on the bus, falling asleep after a difficult meet despite how risky it was to fall asleep anywhere near Georgie and his so-called ‘artistic impulses.’ The next thing she knew, she was waking up on a sidewalk in some kind of nightmare city. A nightmare city full of things that looked almost like people but were transparent and walked right through her as if she weren’t there.

She didn’t know how long she’d been here, trying to figure out how she’d gotten here, where the bus was, where everything else was, but it felt like hours, at least. She was starting to get hungry.

She was starting to wonder if she’d gone crazy. Or if this was what it was like to be dead. And that was before the buildings started to melt into weird, semi-Greek-Revival messes.

It was weird here, and she hated it. She wanted to go home. She wanted her mom. She wanted to quit the track team and never have to deal with anything like this ever again.

“Hello?” called a soft voice.

She whipped around. Up until now, this place had been eerily quiet.

Standing just a few feet from her was a boy, one who could have stepped out of a history textbook. He was wearing something like a cape, and a Greek-style tunic, white trimmed in red. Tangled in his hair was a thin, golden circlet. But the strangest thing about him was the ball of glowing golden string in his hand. One end of it was wrapped around his neck.

“You–!” said Danica, suddenly more furious than frightened. “Did you bring me here? Why?”

The boy shook his head. “I didn’t bring you here. Actually, I’m hoping to help you get out. You and the rest of your teammates.”

“They– They’re here, too? And the coach–?”

“No, just your teammates,” said the boy. He made a face. “You guys kind of… Ran into a story.”

“A what?” demanded Danica, incredulous. She’d also, incidentally, started to back away from the boy.

“A story. Have you heard of Theseus and the Minotaur?”

“What if I don't want to do this?” asked the girl, after Danny had finished explaining. “What if I can’t do this?”

Danny stared at her, a bit baffled. The thing about being a ghost, even half a ghost, the thing about thinking like a ghost… Sometimes it was hard to wrap his head around other perspectives. Especially when his friends, the only people he really talked to, were just as eager to jump in and help as he was.

He hadn't wanted to make anyone risk themselves. He wanted to bring them to safety without that. He also hadn't expected that anyone would just… not want to help.

“Well, I suppose… I suppose you could follow me until I found one of your classmates who could?” he said. “Although… I’m not sure if we can do that with this story. It might be that I have to find someone alone and then they find everyone… In which case you’d just have to wait for them. Speaking of which, how long has this been for you? On the outside, it’s been a few days, but you look a little too good for that.”

“I– What? Days? I haven’t been here for days.”

“Not from your perspective, maybe. Time is weird. Even without all this…” He waved his hand, trying to indicate ghost weirdness in general. “... stuff, even with just the things we can look at scientifically, it’s still relative. Right now, you’re basically in a dimensional pocket. Pocket dimension? Whatever. The point is, is time running at different rates really that strange, comparatively? At least, it made it so that you didn’t starve before me and my friends were able to figure this out.” He raised the ball of golden string, ignoring how the movement pulled on his neck. “Right?”

The girl gave him a ‘why are you using science-fiction terms in what is clearly a fantasy scenario’ look. At least, that’s how Danny chose to interpret it.

He sighed. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Danica,” she said, then looked angry at herself and shrugged. “Or Dani, I guess.”

“Huh, small world,” said Danny. “That’s my sister’s name, too.” Not to mention his. Maybe Theseus’s story wasn’t the only one being echoed, with a coincidence like that.

The girl continued to stare at him, this time with a ‘why the heck are you bringing that up while I’m having a crisis’ look. Probably. Danny tended to make a similar expression from time to time. Usually when the ghosts he fought started having lovers’ quarrels in the middle of a fight.

“So,” he said, awkwardly. “You can come with me, of course, just to… test out what will happen?”

“Oh!” said Danica, suddenly. “Just– Just give me that!” She held out her hands for the ball of string.

Danny beamed, and passed it to her. It glowed even brighter.

“Now what?” she asked, staring at it nervously.

“Now, you need this,” Danny said, taking off the sword and holding it out to her, hilt first. “And then you search for your friends, and when you find them…” He pinched a length of the string between the finger and thumb of her free hand. “You follow this back out.”

Danica was much more reluctant to take the sword than the string. But that was fine. One of the two was for holding things together, the other was for taking things apart. Danny knew which was easier, and which he was more comfortable with.

“That's it. Remember, it's just the members of your track team, okay? The coach and the bus driver got out.”

“Okay,” said Danica. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. I can do this.”

Danny nodded encouragingly. “Yes,” he said, “definitely.”

Danny stepped out of the in-between, back into the alley he'd left Sam and Tucker in. Except, it wasn't an alley anymore, but a thin dirt path between hedges.

He was immediately tackled.

“We thought we'd lost you!” said Sam. Then she pulled back and examined him closely before looking pointedly behind him. “Where're the track kids?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “Well. In the story, Theseus is from Athens, remember?”

Sam groaned. “They're having to do it themselves?”

“Yeah. A girl named Danica. Dani. Believe it or not.”

“Wow,” said Tucker. “Really?”

“Really.”

Danny turned to look behind him, tracing the string where it twisted away from reality and into not-space.

Tucker sighed. “This is going to take a while, isn't it?”

It took Danica surprisingly little time to find her teammates. For all the time she’d spent wandering on her own, after she’d accepted the sword and the string, she’d located everyone in what felt like an hour. Some of them were even in groups!

The problem was, she found too many of them.

“Mm,” said Danny, still worried. “Probably. I hope she doesn’t have to fight anything.”

There had been fourteen of them. She knew there had been fourteen of them, because the coach and the driver had both done headcounts, because of the number of people they were allowed to field in each event at this particular meet, and because she remembered that someone had been sick. But there were, including her, fifteen kids now huddled in something that aesthetically hovered in-between the Parthenon and a shopping mall.

She couldn’t remember who had been sick. No one could. But everyone wanted to convince her that it wasn’t them.

Probably because she was the one with the sword.

“I think that if there was anything, it would have gone after Danny when he was searching earlier, right?” asked Sam.

“Maybe,” said Danny. “Unless it was scared of me. I am pretty powerful.”

“And if Danny’s Ariadne in this, he was Ariadne at the beginning,” pointed out Tucker. “The story was already going. Ariadne never fought the Minotaur.”

“Astarion,” said Danny.

“Huh?”

“That’s the Minotaur’s actual name,” said Sam. She frowned slightly. “He was Ariadne’s half-brother, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, slowly. “He was, wasn’t he?”

“Listen,” said Danica, trying to mask the shake in her voice, “I’m sorry, but– But based on everything, you aren’t who you say you are.”

There was nothing she could do about how badly the sword was shaking.

“I am!” said the girl, who couldn’t be there, because Eliza had taken the one place in the 100 meter, and Jaylynn did the javelin, and Lachandra had done the high jump, and no one remembered her competing at all. “I really am, I promise!”

It was convincing, her act. But it had to be an act, it really did.

“Dani,” said Lachandra, “is it really that important? I mean, if we take her with us? We just want to get out.”

“But she could eat us,” said Kevin, who was a bit of a mythology buff on top of being a track nerd. “She could– If this is the Minotaur story– She’ll try to kill us and then–”

“I won’t!” shouted the girl. Her eyes– For a moment, they changed color. Red. Her teeth were sharp, too.

Danica gritted her teeth and swung the sword down.

Danny caught her wrist, panting. He’d followed the string back.

“Wait,” he said, breathless. “Wait.”

“Where–” said Danica, jerking back. “Why–?”

Danny turned towards the ‘Minotaur.’ “Hi,” he said, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible. “You’re one of Vlad’s aren’t you?”

Their face shimmered for a moment, and then– It was like looking into a mirror. This wasn’t Dani - his Dani, Danielle - but a boy with red eyes. He wore a chiton like Danny’s, but he looked starved, pale, terrified.

He nodded.

“There is,” said Danny, cautiously, “another story about escaping from the labyrinth. How would you like to be Daedalus?”

“What was that?” hissed Danica, as they walked away from… whatever that was. “Why are you here, now, leading us out, when you couldn’t before?”

“Story is different now,” said Danny, tightly. “And I was leading you out before. Just with the string.”

“What if you get lost?” asked Kevin.

Danny grinned at him. “I won’t. He isn’t trying to keep you in anymore.”

“Who isn’t?” asked Danica.

“Daedalus. Him. He just wanted out, I think. Sorry for– I’m sorry about all of this,” said Danny. “I didn’t want to get other people involved in Amity Park stuff, and I especially didn’t want to get you involved in family stuff, but…” He shrugged, then caught sight of an out. It looked, from this side, like a slightly darker than expected gap between stately white pillars. “Here we go! And I think this one is next to the police station, too, so just, you know. Check yourselves in.”

“Just like that?” asked Danica.

“Just like that,” said Danny. “I will need those back, though.” He nodded at the string and sword.

“Right,” said Danica. She shoved both at him. “I can’t believe– I would have kill that– Whatever– Whoever–” She stopped, looking very much like she wanted to cry.

“I’m sorry,” said Danny again, softly. “But it is over now.”

The New Athens kids walked into the gap and vanished.

The string dissolved into golden, glittering light and then settled in his hands as a pair of equally golden wings. Danny laughed.

“Okay,” he said. He turned, bouncing a little. “I get the picture. I think we can avoid the Icarus problem, being ghosts and all.”

#danny phantom #holiday truce #holiday truce 2023

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s-coquette · 4 months

Text

principles (1/?)

simon riley x reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: your new college roommate simon riley is a hardcore stoner who thinks he can get his way with you easily, to his suprise you don’t bend to his will.

Moving out to college is harder than expected, finding a place to stay was even harder. With some negotiation your mom managed to find a place nearby, the rent was pretty low considering it was so close to the school and it made you suspicious. Of course there was a twist, you were told that you’d have a roommate. But when you waltzed up to the fourth floor with gruesomely long steps without an elevator, carrying all of your belongings with yourself, that was the last thing on your mind.

Double checking the apartment number ‘17’, and sure enough this was it. It was under the surname “Riley”.

You gently knocked on the dark slightly chipping wood to hear a loud manly grunt and something glass or ceramic tipping over and breaking, before loud footsteps followed it.

Suddenly, you regretted your choices, maybe it was best to suck it up and pay for a dorm, who knows what kind of serial killer or rapist was waiting in this apartment. The feeling of dread curled in your lower stomach and you thought about turning around and making a run for it, that was quickly cut off when the door swung open.

Your eyes stood still at the sight, a larger than life man, his forehead was behind the doorway from his pure height. It made you wonder if he smacked his head a lot on them when he was living his day to day life. He wasn’t scrawny by any chance, a wall of muscle essentially, rippling under the tight black shirt he was wearing, trying to mind the various mysterious stains it held. He had a simple dark gray hoodie that looked like it was lined with a warmer material inside, the hood over his head.

Your eyes struggled not to move downward and look at the pair of gray sweatpants that hugged his waist perfectly, they looked pretty ratty and old but god did they fit him. His jawline was strong, it looked like it had been carved out of stone, a light stubble adorning it. His nose was large and somewhat crooked with a small scar on it, probably from being broken. Beneath his hood you noticed he had short cropped blonde hair. His most striking feature were his brown eyes that looked like they were dripped right out of a honey pot, adorned with blonde wispy eyelashes.

“You my roommate?”

Was the first thing he uttered to you, making you snap out from your gaping, a small

“yeah…”

In response.

“Right then…”

You jumped when he grabbed your suitcase effortlessly, like you didn’t just almost lose your arms trying to haul it up yourself.

The inside of the apartment was relatively big, you tentatively step inside, noticing the various stains on the carpet. It was spacious but it wasn’t clean, he kept things tidy but it looked like it never gets cleaned well.

“So, uh, this is gonna be your room, mine is right next to it.”

As you fully walk in, it hits you. A weird ass fucking smell. You furrow your eyebrows and continue to see your bedroom, it was an alright little room, it even had a small white closet that had a layer of dust on it same with the creaky old bed with a metal frame. It wasn’t very big but it had a nice window with a view of the town.

You set your things on the bed, plopping your laptop along side them.

“Uhm. It’s nice to meet you?”

You turn to look at your new roommate, his stare frankly creeped you out a bit. He looked just as weirded out, you reach your hand over and he does the same, the weight of his giant palm engulfing your entire hand almost making your knees buckle.

You exchange names and he darts out, likely to escape the awkward situation. Well at least he wasn’t trying to kill you? You look on the bright side of things and close the door to your new bedroom and hear the faint clicks of a lighter followed by a small groan. Oh so he smokes! That was the strange smell. You never grew up around people who smoked much, and if they did they’d do it outside. Of course the smell would be unfamiliar.

You quickly make sure to text your mom about Simon, just in case anything were to happen. You unpack your bags, wiping down the closet a little inside before setting your clothes in. Letting out a little sigh before moving to the bed, putting on your own sheets since it was bare and draping a blanket over it.

Opening your large suitcase and letting one side fall to the ground with a thud, you sift through it and find some pyjamas, just some basic fuzzy shorts with a giant T-shirt, it was the first thing that popped up. Letting out a breath of relief after travelling for 3 hours in a pair of jeans in this weather.

You hear coughing from the other room and shake your head, he keeps smoking even if it’s bad from him! That cough will only get worse with time.

You slowly pad into the hallway, it was his room next to yours with the bathroom right across. Not looking for that right now, you knocked on his door, not wanting to barge in.

A loud “Yeah?” could be heard, he sounded oddly happy..

“Can I come in for a sec?”

You yelled, making sure he could hear you through the loud metal music playing in his room.

The music goes to a sudden stop, and you hear him getting up and walking to the door, swinging it open and staring down at you, suddenly intimidated by his presence. You stare up at him, his arm leaning on the doorway while he looks down as to not hit his head. His eyes are weirdly red… Was he crying? He only cocks his eyebrow, questioning you without a word.

“I- Uhm, I wanted to make something to eat- Would it be okay if I used the kitchen?”

His eyebrows fall and he almost staggers while leaning away.

“Yeah, sure, go at it. You live here too now.”

His voice sounded weirdly raspy, but that didn’t deter the shiver that ran down your spine from the way he talked, deep voice with that cocky accent.

You only nod in response, muttering out a small thankyou, and turning around on your heels, scurrying off to the kitchen.

Simon shut the door loudly, letting out a sigh and falling back into his messy bed. He usually kept things pretty tidy but now he let himself go. Underwear and shirts, socks, everything strewn across the bed. His desk with his computer was probably the cleanest thing in the room. It was all illuminated by bright green LED lights, the blinds tightly shut to stop any sunlight from seeping through. He just wiggled his way to the headboard of the bed that was set low on the ground, looking at the ashtray on his bedside and the half smoked joint that was still letting out a little smoke flutter into the space of his room.

Pushing the hood that was making him sweat off his head roughly, he yoinked it between his pointer and thumb, taking a deep puff. His friends would probably consider him the luckiest guy around, a cute little chick moving in with him, all shy and polite. Sure it made his cock hard imagining her bent over his table, taking it with no complaints but begs for more.

But she was probably like every other whore that went to that college, he’s seen his fair share of them. All dumb bimbos begging for attention from a big guy to fuck them senseless, and who was he to deny them?

You stalked the kitchen, looking for food that wasn’t instant noodles and letting out a sigh, an opened pack of cheese, some water and monster in the fridge, a probably mouldy loaf of cut bread on the counter, and the cupboards filled with instant noodles and some spices. And not to forget some protein shakes that you were not well versed in to even touch. How does he keep his muscles if all he eats is instant noodles! That can’t be good for you…

Scratching your head while trying to orientate yourself in the new kitchen. You weren’t used to this, it was your first time being away from home. You think it probably hasn’t sunk in yet, that you’re on your own finally. Dreaming of this day was finally over, but it still came with so many new fears. First off your roommate was scary as fuck, you are a girl essentially living alone with a big ass creepy guy, you’d have to navigate the town all by yourself, you didn’t have a car so public transport was your only option.

Lost in your thoughts you quickly turn down the boiling water to stop it from overflowing, dumping two packs of noodles in, not sure how to cook them since you’ve only eaten them a couple times.

You dump them in one bowl and realise that you probably overestimated how hungry you are.

Standing on your tip toes, you reach up to find another bowl.

But quickly yank it away when a much larger one reaches for it instead, grabbing the plain white ceramic bowl and setting it down on the counter next to you.

“Need to invest in a ladder if you’re gonna be livin’ with me.”

He said, eyes twinkling with something mischievous.

You stutter, kind of flustered about the interruption.

“Well, you’re gonna have to stop smoking cigarettes if you’re gonna be living with me!”

You shoot back, a playful jab at him back. He only smirks and leans against the countertop.

“I’m not smokin’ cigarettes, hun.”

His irises eyes were mostly overpowered by the blacks in his eyes, leaving a tiny ring around it, a sly grin tugging at his thin lips.

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher what he just said. You never grew up with any knowledge about drugs, you went to school PSA’s and all that about safety but it never occurred to you. You brush it off, he was probably thinking about cigars or something.

“I made too much, do you want some?”

You offer, not wanting to sound too overbearing. He eyed your bowl, spicy noodles with some cheese slapped on top, melting away quickly. He only shrugged, as you were about to tell him off he interrupted you again.

“Sure, why not.”

You scowl and huff, yanking the bowl and pouring the rest of the noodles in before adding the spice packets in and laying on the rest of the cheese on top.

He grabs the bowl and fishes out a fork from the drawer.

“Should keep you round’. All my ex’s were too dumb to cook anything. One of them even burnt the noodles.”

He snorts, mixing it around with his fork.

“I’m not the one who should make up for your horrible choice in women.”

You shoot back, a snarky tone to your voice.

“Yeah? I think you’re already doing it. Maybe you’re better at bj’s than all of them too.”

He abruptly leaves and you stand there, stunned. Thinking of what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.

The next morning is a little different. You wouldn’t let one comment like that deter you from your new life and getting to know your new roomie.

Though trying to sleep at night is going to be difficult. The constant sound of yelling and curses thrown at his friends through the mic on his headset were active until about three in the morning when he finally decided it was time for bed, or his friends had gone to bed.

You’d bare with it though. Yesterday you poked at him with some more questions while he was splayed out in the living room watching some game on the TV, black socked feet crossed on the coffee table as if he was still the only person living here. You scoffed and chided him only to get a snort in return. You asked him where he went to school, he replied “The same one as you,” with a look in his eyes like it was really that obvious.

You started your day fresh. Taking a shower in the pretty clean bathroom, setting your shower gel and scrub next to his, hanging up your loofah where he just had a normal sponge. Out of curiosity you reached of his body wash, opening up the plastic cap and taking a whiff. It was a generic axe shower gel but god was it nice. That strong masculine scent made you smile, would he smell like that if you got close enough?

You put it back and splash your face with the flowing water, reaching for your cleanser and washing your face.

It was time to get acquainted with your surroundings, what better way to do that than going to the store and buying some food to stock up the empty fridge you now shared.

Throwing on an old T-shirt and some shorts, you slip on your banged up converse and head out. Luckily the store isn’t too far away.

Picking out some basics, you quickly stock up a full cart. Slightly dreading your way back home you decide you’ll power through it. You even got yourself some new bedsheets and a cute bedside lamp that glowed bright pink when turned on.

You only realise you might have overestimated your strength when you pick up the bags. Letting out a big sigh, you suck it up and clamber your way back home. Climbing to the fourth floor and taking pauses almost every five steps.

You push the door open and don’t bother kicking your shoes off before lunging to the kitchen and shoving the bags on the island. A loud breath of relief escaping you, your arms tingling almost as if they fell asleep, fingers stinging from the plastic bags.

“Strong little lady, huh? Aren’t you supposed to be going to classes or somethin?”

You jump when you hear Simon’s voice, raspy like he’d just woken up. You turn around about to quip something back but your jaw gapes at the sight.

Simon standing at the doorway to the kitchen, the same black shirt as yesterday only in a pair of loose boxers. His thighs are as toned as every part of him is, his feet clad in some mismatched black socks. His hair looked a mess, even if it was cropped short, it was splayed flat on one side, probably the one he sleeps on. It was one in the afternoon, and he’d just woken up.

He quirks an eyebrow at you again, as if he’s taunting you for staring. You turn around and starts unloading your groceries.

“Not strong, just didn’t have anyone to call and it would’ve been embarrassing to leave all of this in the bottom of the stairs. And classes start in a week, didn’t you say you also go to this college?”

You mumble, staring at him through the corner of your eye.

“Sounds like you’re asking for my number. For your information, I haven’t been to any classes in a fucking while.”

You could hear the grin in his voice, as he strolled through the doorway, ducking down as to not hit his head. He reached down to scratch at his stomach, lifting up his shirt as If to tease you.

You ignored him. That’s until you felt his hand grip your ass cheek. A yelp escaping before you could help it, turning around to slap him before he stops you abruptly. Simon raises his hand with your phone in hand.

“Unlock it, I’m giving you my number, you should be flattered.”

You stutter, realising he was only grabbing your phone. He was actually just trying to cop a feel but he wouldn’t admit that.

You grumble something and open a new contact shoving the phone in his hand, turning around again to put some drinks in the fridge. That should be last of it.

Turning around to grab your phone back you see him scrolling through it, an amused grin playing on his face.

“Simon- Give that back-“

You cry out, reaching for it only for him to put it above his head.

“Who’s Jordan?”

You jump up, trying to ignore him, but he presses.

“I see your favourites folder has some nice pictures.”

“He’s my friend from high school, okay? Can I get my phone back now, please?”

You yell out, jumping up and down, clearly frustrated with him.

“Since you asked nicely.”

He hands it to you, a sly grin in his face. You push past him and land a punch to his shoulder which was more like a light graze to him.

“You stink! Take a shower.”

You growl out, stomping to your room. You hear his snort again, making you slam the door to your room shut.

Simon has never really witnessed a chick that didn’t want his cock, they act interested once they see the biggest guy at the party. Hell, even his cruel teasing get them off. Maybe you’re just playing hard to get, trying to make him work for it, or maybe you’re just a virgin that doesn’t know any better.

He looks down and brings up his shirt, sniffing it. Damn, maybe he should take a shower.

hihiii i wrote this on a whim after having a lovely conversation with @soap-ify in the replies on one of my posts lmao

#s writes 🎀#cod mw2 #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

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runninriot · 5 months

Text

written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Day 10

prompt: first kiss | rated: T | cw: underage drinking | tags: Robin, Steve & Eddie are friends, confessions, coming out

“What d’you mean you never had your first kiss?”

Oops. Did he say that out loud? Shit. Eddie knew he should’ve gone easy on the rum. But they’ve been running around town all afternoon to buy Christmas presents for the kids and when they finally made their way back to Steve’s, the idea of having some rum-spiked hot cocoa to warm them up from the inside sounded great. And it was - up until now.

Now, he’s being reminded of the fact that alcohol loosens his tongue, makes him say things he usually would keep to himself.

“Uh, yeah? It’s no big deal.” Eddie tries to play it down, tries to ignore the heat spreading uncomfortably in his cheeks.

“No. Hold up. Eddie, are you really telling me you’ve never kissed anyone? Not once?” Steve’s eyes are huge and Eddie searches for mockery in them, finds only honest confusion.

“Well, Steve. Not everyone starts their slutty era as young as you did,” Robin defends him. Maybe because she can sense how embarrassed Eddie feels. Maybe because she knows something about him that Steve doesn’t.

“Yeah yeah, I know. Keep making fun of me but- I can’t believe it, Eddie. You’re 19 and no one has ever been worthy enough for you to kiss them?”

The way he phrases it makes Eddie’s insides twist into a knot, makes his heart flutter at the notion of Steve actually thinking anyone had ever wanted to kiss him.

Because the truth is that no one has.

“What can I say? Maybe I’m just waiting for the right one.” Eddie laughs, makes it sound like a silly joke to hide the fact that in another universe, the right one would be sitting right next to him. Not in this life, though. He’ll never know what Steve’s lips taste like.

“I’d rather not had my first kiss at all than the one I got. Middle school, Jackson Hughes. Planted one right on me, wet and sloppy. Ugh, guess that’s when I knew I don’t like boys.”

Steve shoots her an alarmed look.

“It’s okay, Steve. He knows,” Robin answers his silent question, obviously referring to Eddie knowing about her being a lesbian.

“Oh. G-good. That’s good.”

“Takes one to know one.” Eddie chokes on a laugh.

FUCK!

Did he really just out himself in front of Steve?

As if his earlier confession hadn’t been enough to throw him off, the look on Steve’s face now is even worse. Not like- he doesn’t look disgusted or anything. More like, surprised. His facial expressions going from confused to… soft? So soft in fact, that Eddie suddenly has a hard time breathing.

“Oookay. That was awkward. Moving on. Who wants another?” Eddie quickly jumps up from the sofa, waving his empty cup at the others, not even waiting for their response before he makes his way to the kitchen.

He needs to do something, needs to get away. Splash some cold water into his face to cool down, sober up. Maybe getting another drink isn’t a good idea, after all.

Eddie braces his hands on the edge of the counter, drops his head down and sighs.

Shitshitshit!

Yeah, nope. He should not get another drink. Not if he doesn’t cut out his own tongue first. He already said too much, already confessed too many things for one evening. What comes next? Telling Steve that he’s hopelessly in love with him?

Over my dead body.

No one needs to know that. Especially not Steve. So, yeah. Definitely no more rum for him. He should probably go home and hide under his blanket until the end of days or at least-

“Eddie?”

He turns around quickly, trying his best to steady himself.

“Are you okay?”

Steve’s eyes are warm and his voice is gentle and Eddie just wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Yeah. Just needed a minute. That was not exactly how I planned on telling you.” Eddie laughs but it sounds strange even to his own ears.

God, you’re pathetic.

The other boy steps closer and Eddie feels like he’s frozen in place. His heart beats like crazy when Steve stops only inches away from him, so close now that Eddie can feel warmth radiating off Steve’s body.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you, too. A-about me.”

Eddie thinks he can feel, hear, and smell the wires in his brain short-circuiting. His mouth drops open, eyes blown wide in disbelief.

What?

“I’m… bi. Apparently.” He shrugs his shoulders and smiles shyly at him.

“Th- that’s. Cool.” Eddie stutters, doesn’t really know what to say when his mind offers nothing he can share.

Steve likes boys? Maybe I have a chance. Maybe he likes me too? Shut up, Munson! He’s so pretty. I want to kiss him so badly...

“And I-“ Steve bites down on his bottom lip as if he’s trying to prevent himself from talking.

“I wanted to tell you for a while that I-“

Eddie knows he’s being delusional but he can’t take it anymore. He needs to know.

“I like you, Steve. A lot. I-“

Steve's whole face lights up and Eddie's head is spinning.

“Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t know how exactly it happens or who starts it but somehow he finds himself glued to Steve’s lips not even a second later - his hands in Steve’s hair, Steve’s hands wrapped around his middle, their bodies pressed against one another so close that he thinks he can feel Steve’s heartbeat in his own chest.

Eddie must’ve died and gone to heaven because he is kissing Steve and Steve is kissing him back and it’s nothing like anything he’s ever felt or tasted before. A tender brush of lips, a hesitant tongue asking silently for permission, Steve’s hot breath on his face, the sweet little noises they both make… it’s like a dream come true.

And yeah. If waiting 19 years got him this - he'd do it all over again.

#steddieholidaydrabbles #day 10 #eddie munson #steve harrington #first kiss

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goddessofmischief · 6 months

Text

RUNNING SCARED, I WAS THERE (YOUNG SHANKS X MIHAWK X READER)

A/N: This is part of this series, which requests are open for! These fics are all one-shots, so they can be read separately. Also, I highly recommend listening to the song linked in the title while you read.

It was the twilight eve of the execution of Gol D. Roger, and sadness ruled your heart, body and soul.

The crew had disbanded, scattering themselves to the seas with little more than fond good-byes. Roger had turned himself in three days earlier. There had been a trial - a rushed, convoluted sham of a trial that you hated every second of, but it didn't matter anymore. At least there would be an end to his suffering.

And at least Buggy and Shanks were with you. Small blessings. You knew that Garp had no real interest in persecuting a bunch of kids like yourselves, but hanging out on a pirate ship in the harbor seemed to be an unwise action all the same. So you'd booked three rooms at a nearby inn, close to the town square, and been disheartened to see that the inn was almost filled with out-of-towners thrilled to witness such a historical event.

Buggy got settled in his room, while Shanks sat down on the bed in yours.

"It's strange," he said. "All of this."

You nodded, unable to look at him.

"Hey, we're going to be fine. You know that, right?"

"I know," you said, and then there was a sudden banging at the door.

You and Shanks exchanged glances, and his hand rested on the sword at his side. The door thundered again.

Gripping your pistol, you approached the door, opening it the smallest crack, and trying not to show surprise at the face that greeted you.

"...Mihawk?"

"I heard that Roger would be executed," said Mihawk, out of breath. "I returned to witness. I had to see you."

"I don't care."

"Please let me come in. I know what I did was terrible. It was terrible. But you have to know that it's not because of lack of love for you, I do love-"

You swung the door all the way open, letting Mihawk in. As you did, you pressed your finger to his lips.

"I don't want to hear it," you said, shaking your head. "Roger dies tomorrow. I'm not interested in exploring what happened between us. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Please-"

Shanks appeared behind you, arm looped around your waist.

"Out, Hawk-Eye," Shanks cautioned, "Or I'll duel you for real this time."

Mihawk stared at you, lip trembling a bit. You had never seen him show so much emotion before.

"Please," he stated again. You were silent. Shanks stared him down.

After a moment, he nodded, did a small bow in your direction, and walked out.

Shanks groaned, turning back to his room.

After a moment of consideration, you stared at the hallway where Mihawk had left, and ran after him.

"Mihawk, wait," you called out, and he turned around immediately, a smile ghosting over his face. "Look, I... what you did hurt me. It did hurt me. But it doesn't matter now. All of this... has made me realize what's important."

"...I'm so glad," he said, trying to speak around the lump in his throat. "Truly."

You smiled, pulling something out of your pocket. He realized with a pang that it was your wedding ring, the one he'd designed for you. You handed it back to him, leaving it in the palm of his hand.

"We were much too young to be married anyway. You were right."

Mihawk nodded, closing his fingers around the ring.

"Would you accept my proposal, again, if we were older?"

"If you asked again... when we are older... I may consider it."

He nearly blushed.

"May we part as friends?" Mihawk offered, hopefully. "I know I do not deserve that much, but-"

"Yes," you agreed softly, reaching your hand out to him. "Friends."

Friends.

You made your way back down the hallway, hesitating in front of two doors: yours, or Shanks. You twisted the doorknob on his, wondering if he had left it unlocked for you.

He had.

"Hey," he called out sleepily, sounding completely unsurprised. "You alright?"

You nodded, twisting your hands.

"I don't want to be alone. Do you?"

"No," he said, and the night faded to black.

...

When Shanks got up that morning, he thought of the last time he'd spoken to Roger. Just the two of them.

"It's yours," Roger said. "Our ship. You're the oldest. You're the one who has to look after them. Keep them from killing each other. Keep Buggy from killing you."

Shanks was at a loss for words, and could only bow his head in gratitude.

"One more thing," said Roger. "Another gift and a confession. I never married the woman I loved. I never will."

Shanks could see the toll this was taking on the older man, could see the grief drawn across his face. Roger took something out of a drawer and held it out to Shanks.

"This is Rouge's ring. Now it's yours."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to, Shanks. All I'm saying is that if there is a girl, one day... and you don't want to let her slip through your fingers... you have this."

Roger held the ring out again, which was strung from a loose chain. Shanks bent his head, and Roger draped the ring over his shoulders. Shanks tucked it under his clothes, where it could lie unseen, and wait.

Shanks knew then that he had so much to say to Roger, too much, and there would not be enough time, not even if he had a thousand years. He wanted to tell him everything, and have Roger tell him what to do in return. But he couldn't.

"Thank you," Shanks managed, and then he felt he had said enough.

...

It was a warm day with clouds when the crowd huddled in to view the execution.

You clung to Shanks' arm, your hand shielding your eyes, while Buggy stood several paces behind you. Mihawk was somewhere in the crowd, too, watching, wearing a new coat - new, at least, to you - embroidered with amaryllis flowers. You had thought to go and stand beside him, but you realized this felt much more right. Shanks had never abandoned you. You were sure, in that moment, he never would.

"It's about to happen," Shanks murmured.

"Oh," you whispered, just 'oh.' You had seen people die, but never someone you loved.

You buried your face in Shanks' shoulder, unable to face these jeering, spectating people around you, gleefully witnessing the pain and destruction and ruination of your lives.

But wait, a pause. And it was then that Roger uttered those words, that speech, the thing that incited the Great Pirate Era. The thing that broke the world, and made you proud.

And then, as the previously laughing crowd stampeded away around you, desperately taking to the water like fish, the act was done.

Roger was gone. A sin had been committed by the world today that could not be forgiven. The sky had, fittingly, turned dark and rainy.

"Let's go home," Shanks said, quietly, and it was then you realized that your face was still buried in his shoulder. He didn't attempt to dislodge you.

"I don't know where home is."

"Course you do. It's in the harbor now."

The Oro Jackson, Roger's ship, the ship you had lived on for the past decade. Why didn't it feel like home, like it had before? Because everyone was gone?

Not everyone. Not Shanks, and not Buggy.

Mihawk, you realized, was still planted where he had stood before, unable to dislodge his gaze from you.

"Hey, Hawk-Eyes," Shanks called out, beginning to steer you towards the ship. "You heading out?"

"Yes," he said, clearing his throat. "Yes, I should be going."

Mihawk nodded to you as Shanks wrapped his coat around your shoulders.

"We'll see each other again," you whispered, tears pricking your eyes. "I believe that."

He gave you a rare smile, and then he was gone.

taglist:

@sawendel @twinklesnake @literaturewithliz @sordidmusings @foggyturtleknightangel @toertchen @96jnie @lunanight1021

#mihawk x reader #it was rare i was there #shanks #buggy #shanks x reader #buggy x reader #mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #shanks x you #buggy the clown

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ultrainstinctslasher · 2 years

Text

RZ!Michael Myers x GN!Nurse!Obsession Part 3 (OLD)

Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence, Violence

Notes: This one was kind of short, sorry.

______________________________________________________________

You and Michael had stood there for well over a couple minutes, simply staring at each other's eyes. Neither of you were making any move to get closer nor farther from the strange interaction.

You were lost in thought, staring off to the distance, refusing to look at Michael. Your emotions were pounding on your head, and if you weren't so shocked right now, you would be crying from the pain

While you were practically frozen in time, Michael began becoming frustrated

Do they not like me? Was all they did fake? Was it out of fear? Are they afraid right now?

Although Michael may be infatuated with you, he was still dangerous, and struggled to deal with his emotions. So he turned to the only thing he knew would calm himself down. Violence.

You were forcefully broken out of your gaze when Michael began to tightly squeeze your throat. You hadn't even seen the man move his hands from of how out of it you were.

Your hands had begun to move on their own, clawing at the tight grip bringing you closer to death

You didn't understand what had happened to make him react so violently. Never in the time you had taken care of him had he ever raised his hand at you.

Finally looking at his face, you realize what was wrong. He may not speak much, and his eyes may be cold and dark, but you've known him enough to understand him

His eyes held pain in them, and the slight pinch of the eyebrows behind the mask only solidified the fact

You gave up trying to remove his grip from your throat, realizing you didn't have much time before you passed out, and opted to try something else

Slowly, cautiously, fully well aware how unstable Michael was right now, you reached your hand out to his mask

You gently applied pressure, enough so that he could feel it below the mask, and looked directly at his eyes

"It's o-okay, Michael... I love y-you... too..." you gasped out, on the verge of passing out

Just as quickly as it had begun, Michael released you and you fell onto the ground gasping for air

And just as quietly he came in, he went out

And you understood. You understood how hard it was for him to process his emotions. You know how hard it was for him to stop hurting people. You know how hard it was for him to care. And yet, he was doing all of it for you.

The least you could do was understand

______________________________________________________________

Michael hadn't come back for a couple days, and you had begun to worry. Was he going to come back?

You knew he wasn't gone, as the disappearances around town were at an all-time high, but that didn't cease your concern

Unbeknownst to you though, Michael has never truly left you alone.

Any moment he wasn't hunting someone, he was watching you

He was too guilty to confront you after what he'd done, obviously not aware of that of what he was feeling

All he knew is that every time he waited for you to come back home on your couch, he would quickly leave the house once he heard your keys, not wanting to see you

He truly didn't understand. He wanted to be close to you, but he couldn't bring himself to. Every time he got close, he would get this twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he would leave

And that just frustrated him, leading to his seemingly never-ending sprees

It wasn't until Michael was completely battered that you had seen him again

He had taken a couple good hits from the husband of the woman he was strangling without him realizing he was there. Although he was hurt, it hadn't taken long for him to dispose of the man

But that didn't deter the fact that he was heavily bleeding, and needed help

(He totally didn't just use his injuries as an excuse to see you. Like, have you seen this man? Nothing harms him, so a couple hits would do nothing to him.)

You had nearly screamed at the sight of Michael on your couch, half because you didn't realize it was him, and the other half because of all the blood.

"M-Michael?"

Grunt

And you were back to being his nurse.

______________________________________________________________

#rob zombie michael myers #michael myers headcanons #michael myers x reader #rz michael myers #michael myers #halloween 1978 #halloween 2007 #slasher headcanons #the shape #slashers #slasher x reader #rz michael myers x reader #michael myers x y/n #rz michael myers x y/n #michael myers x you #michael myers x reader headcanons

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misseviehyde · 7 months

Text

FINDING THE MEAN

Laura had never found the social aspects of school easy, but she at least always had the protection of her favourite teacher Ms Bloom.

Ms Bloom taught Math and she was everything Laura aspired to be. Clever, kind and friendly - the inspirational teacher had taken Laura under her wing and helped her survive against the bullies and mean girls that seemed to thrive in the school.

She had taken to giving Laura additional Math lessons in advanced concepts and the two of them would spend many hours after school solving equations, discussing problems and hanging out together.

Laura had realised that Ms Bloom was mentoring her and she felt her confidence and her ambitions begin to grow and swell. One day she would get out of this small town and go on to be successful - she would owe much of that success to her mentor.

One night after school Laura and Ms Bloom were pouring over a very strange equation that no one had ever solved.

Hyde's Divergent Mean was a curiosity that went back nearly a hundred years. No one had ever been able to balance the equation which appeared to be an attempt to work out the average amount of evil and toxicity in any given population.

"How about we apply it to the school?" asked Laura excitedly and the two of them began to work on balancing the numbers.

Ms Bloom sighed, "See - there's a missing component and no one has ever been able to work it out. The value of X remains unknown."

Laura frowned as she examined the equation. It was central to everything, it was almost as if the entire formula was more than math - like it was some sort of arcane formula. Perhaps it wasn't designed to work out the amount of evil in a population, but instead to harness and drain that toxicity and do something with it.

"Miss - have you ever thought X is meant to represent a person, not a number?"

Ms Bloom's eyes widened in amazement, "Why yes - that's incredible. I wonder what would happen if I put my name down as X and complete the formula."

"Wait!" gasped Laura, but she was too slow to stop her enthusiastic teacher who had written down 'Ms Isabella Bloom' next to X.

The formula suddenly blazed with pink light and Laura gasped and stepped back. Ms Bloom gasped and tried to stand back too, but she was yanked forward by an invisible force then lifted screaming into the air.

The teacher now levitated in the air surrounded by a sinister pink light. Laura gasped and tried to rush forward to help, but she was repelled by an invisible force.

On the board, the formula began to change. The name in the middle began to alter. "Ms Isablla Bloom" began to warp and alter to become "Bella Bloom."

The teachers eyes burned with pink fire and she gasped in amazement.

"Ohhhh fuck yes! I can see it all now, I can see how all the popular girls are connected - how they and their victims fit into this school. It's all so fucking OBVIOUS!"

She giggled, a strange sound coming from her usually sensible mouth. Her kind lips twisted into an uncharacteristically malicious smile as she stretched her floating body luxuriously and wiggled her fingers.

"Mmmmmh, I see how to get everything I always wanted. I can be reborn thanks to the equation, I can take the toxic femininity from those fucking losers and make myself queen bitch. No more being some sad-sac teacher, instead I can be a fucking princess!"

"Noooooo," gasped Laura. "Ms Bloom, you have to stop this, the formula is corrupting you. The equation is making you mean."

"Hahah shut up you pathetic loser, you have no idea how GOOD this feels. Ms Bloom is dead - I am BELLA BLOOM."

Throwing back her head, Ms Bloom moaned in ecstasy and splayed her fingers out. Long sharp gel nails shot from each finger as her bones cracked and her body shrunk in on itself.

Her skin became younger looking and her warm brown hair began to turn bright bitchy blonde. Ms Bloom's kind eyes turned a cold blue and her face became more beautiful, but mean and spoiled.

Her clothing shrunk to fit her now tiny frame, a tight red crop top and daisy dukes leaving little to the imagination as she floated down and landed on the ground with a clop of expensive high heels.

"Like, this is sooooo much better," giggled Bella as she arranged her hair and admired her nails. "Being a fucking thirty six year old teacher was sooooo boring. What a loser. I'd rather be an eighteen year old bitch any day."

Laura was shaking her head in horror as Bella strutted over to the whiteboard and laughed at the formula. It had taken the two of them hours to complete the formula and Laura wasn't sure she could even do it on her own.

A hand shot out and grabbed her hair and she screamed as Bella cruelly pulled her over and smashed her up against the board. Laughing, the new bully used Laura's hair to wipe the board - destroying the delicate formula and making sure that no one could ever copy the work and reverse the transformation, or ascend themselves.

"Like, that's better. Now I can't change back. You're the only one who remembers the old me anyway, the equation has altered reality and everyone else's memories of me. As far as the school is concerned, there never was an Isabella Bloom - only the Head Cheerleader and richest brat in town, Bella Bloom existed."

Releasing Laura's hair, Bella threw her to the floor and looked down with contempt.

"Fucking pathetic. You're so fucking pathetic and weak. You better stay out of my way loser, you don't form part of my equations at the moment - but that could change."

Laura sobbed as she watched her once favourite teacher striding off to start her new life as a bully and a mean girl. Bella would soon have all the big cock, money and riches she could ever want.

As for Laura, without her mentor and her inspiration - she would lapse into despair and any chance for a bright future she had would decay to nothing.

Ms Bloom had found the mean and there was no going back for either of them.

THE END

#evie #evie hyde #bitchification #f2f transformation #f2f corruption #equation

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gimmethatagustd · 7 months

Note

And here’s the second.

I tried to find the artist, but wasn’t successful. Sorry.

You don't belong in Hell, but you followed Satan there because, well, he's hot.

↳ pairing: satan!namjoon x human!reader (from not today satan)

↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | strangers to lovers | supernatural | crack

↳ wc/date: 1.5k | October 2023

↳ warnings: sexual language and that's it ig??

↳ notes: i'm so unserious lmfaooo. also i was so close to keeping this under 1k and then i gave up cuz i wanted to be stupid. anyway, this is spin-off of "not today, satan"

↳ masterlist / taglist

↳ what was jai listening to? paint the town red - doja cat

PART 1 | PART 2 | Part 3

You shouldn’t be surprised that Satan is hot. He’s the Devil, the king of temptation and all that is evil. Being hot is probably the most crucial part of the job, aside from the eternal damnation and torturing of souls or whatever.

That stuff doesn’t seem as fun, at least not to you, especially since you’ll be one of those tortured souls.

“So, Satan, is that what I’m supposed to call you?” You stare up at the man – demon? Devil! – as he leads you down the winding hallways of what you’ve named the Demon DMV. “Or is there something else you’d like me to call you? Daddy, perhaps?”

As was the case with Hoseok when he brought you into his office for questioning, the walls and ceiling waver and expand to accommodate the ebb and flow of power radiating from Satan. He’s larger than life, with thick thighs and bulging biceps tightening the sleek fabric of his black suit. He’s sharply dressed, and the demon henchmen who flank the two of you on all sides are equally as put-together.

“Silence, pet,” Satan snaps and yanks on your bicep to drag you around a sharp corner. “You will speak when you are spoken to and only then.”

There’s that term again: pet. Hearing it makes your stomach flutter.

“Okay, but that doesn’t answer my question?”

The muscles in Satan’s jaw ripple when he grinds his molars in frustration. You should probably be scared, but he’s so hot! Even with the third eyelid! You wonder if his teeth are as pointy as Hoseok’s. Probably even sharper. Maybe demon fangs are like dicks; the bigger, the better.

“My true name is Namjoon.” It’s a cute name, definitely moanable.

Tilting your head back to smile brightly at Namjoon, you flash your pearly white teeth and bat your eyelashes. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Joonie. I think we’ll get along very well.”

Namjoon nearly trips you when he comes to a halt in front of another black door marked “EMPLOYEES ONLY” in thick gold lettering. This really is the fucking DMV.

“Do not shorten my name,” Namjoon scolds. His slitted eyes glow in the dim hallway lighting, and his dimples hollow his cheeks as he sucks on his teeth.

“Yes sir,” you say with a curt nod. He can’t stop you from calling him Joonie in your head, though. “So, where are we going?”

Positioned around Namjoon, his henchmen ready their stances as though Namjoon’s irritation is physically palpable. There are four of them, all demons, you assume. Their horns resemble Hoseok’s: black and twisted at the ends with strange markings, though each demon’s horns have unique shapes. One of the demons catches you staring at him and gives you a lopsided, boxy grin. The black of his irises bleed into the whites of his eyes. It’s unsettling, but you can’t seem to look away.

The demon henchmen are all hot, too. Is Hell full of hot people? Or is it only the “employees”? You suppose the other dead people you saw in the DMV waiting room weren’t particularly attractive, especially the drowned lady. She was too rude to be hot.

Namjoon smiles at you, his pointy teeth sharp enough to slice through flesh. His fingers dig into your bicep hard enough to be painful, but all you feel is the heat of desire warming your bones.

“We’re going to Hell.”

Hell is kind of stupid.

If Purgatory is the DMV, Hell is the boring suburban neighborhood in which it’s located. You assumed at least Namjoon’s house would be interesting, but he may as well be the CEO of an accounting firm for how plainly expensive Satan’s Palace is. It’s not even gothic – not a single pointy tower in sight. The building is nearly all glass and sits nestled in a gated community, far away from the hustle and bustle of what the boxy-grinned demon refers to as “the Pits” – the slums of this world, where the tortured souls are sent to rot for eternity.

Apparently, even Hell is not immune to the strange minimalism aesthetic that 21st-century late-stage capitalism has created and the class divide that comes with it. How terribly unfortunate.

You follow behind Namjoon as he leads you through the expansive foyer of his home. You never considered where the Devil lives. The only image you ever had in your mind was Satan on a throne of fire and brimstone. Maybe Namjoon has that somewhere in his house.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Namjoon narrows his slitted eyes at you. When his tongue swipes across his bottom lip, you notice that it’s forked just like Hoseok’s. That’s really hot.

“You already have.”

With a roll of your eyes, you cross your arms against your chest. You’re silent for a moment and choose to focus on your surroundings and not on the insufferable demon king. Strange shadows hover in the room's corners and ripple as you pass through to what you think is a living room. The shadows follow you, though they seem to waver when Namjoon looks in their direction. Shaped like human shadows, they walk just as you walk, but they aren’t your own.

To the left sits a grand piano, blood red like the furniture decorating the room. Namjoon plops onto the couch and picks up a small tablet laptop from the coffee table. It feels oddly domestic, and part of you is disappointed that he hasn’t impaled you with a pitchfork yet.

“Well, I’ll ask another,” you announce defiantly from where you stand beside the couch. You aren’t sure if you’re supposed to sit down with Namjoon. What is even going on here?

Namjoon types away on the tablet, pulling up what you recognize is the database of souls that Hoseok used back at Purgatory to figure out how you ended up here in the first place. You certainly haven’t forgotten that you aren’t supposed to be here. You’re not dead!

“If you’re the reason why humans are tempted to sin, why do you punish us when we do?” If Namjoon’s devil powers are why you derive pleasure from reading One Direction serial killer AUs on AO3, then it’s hardly fair that you must go to Hell for it when it’s his fault.

Namjoon pauses his research to lift those hauntingly beautiful glowing eyes to peer up at you. “Because it’s fun.”

“You’re an asshole.”

With an appreciative hum, Namjoon pats the spot next to him on the couch. “Sit, pet. I have something to show you.”

A terrifying energy thrums from Namjoon’s body when you sit beside him. It feels oppressive, like something is sitting on your chest and digging its claws into your sternum. The sensation makes breathing difficult, but you don’t make a sound as Namjoon holds out the laptop. There is a video of you on the screen, sound asleep in your bed at home. Your apartment is dark, with just a hint of pale blue light seeping through the curtains to indicate that dawn is slowly approaching.

“What the fuck is this?” It’s giving stalker, to be honest.

The sound of Namjoon’s snort shouldn’t be hot, but it is. “You are asleep, you idiot.”

You’re asleep.

“So… you mean to tell me this is all fake?”

Namjoon grins with blades for teeth. His tan skin glows with a reddish undertone that compliments the blood-red accents in the room. Something about how the shadows alter his appearance makes you look more deeply at him. Admittedly, most of your time in Namjoon’s presence has been spent staring at his boobs, but now, you’re realizing…

“Oh my god, you’re my fucking neighbor!”

Namjoon’s forked tongue slips from between his lips to curl at the corner of his mouth. Hot air rushes through his nostrils in a loud snort.

“Kinky of you to dream of me as the Devil, isn’t it?” Tossing the laptop to the side, Namjoon leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. His biceps strain against the material of his suit jacket.

Your next-door neighbor, Kim Namjoon, is a total daddy. Quite literally! He has an adorable five-year-old daughter and a little kitten he got for Christmas last year. No mom in the picture, which is sad for the girl but just fine with you because you’ve been fantasizing about the day that you–

“You haven’t even introduced yourself to me in real life yet,” Namjoon rudely points out. He can hear your thoughts because none of this is real.

“Fuck you!” you curse with a stomp of your foot. “I can’t believe we didn’t even fuck or anything. All you’ve done in this dream is annoy me.”

Namjoon shrugs. “It’s your dream. You can do whatever you want.”

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

#bts x reader #namjoon x reader #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #mts #jai asks #halloween 2023 #kingarthurscat

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beyondtheglowingstars · 2 months

Text

Happy Valentine's everyone!

Here, Valentine's gift from me to you.

Bargain of A Lifetime

Pairing: Hyrule x GN reader Word count: 2.4k WARNING(S): Heavy amounts of reader teasing Hyrule General info: You were having a wonderful day with Hyrule, enjoying each other's company and making memories together. But then you came across an irresistible offer that changed the outcome of everything as a consequence.

You laughed and joked with Hyrule as you walked through the bustling town. Smiles on your faces, the satisfaction from a pleasant day evident on the both of you; you had spent your time playing a few games, buying items of interest and a few treats for yourselves. Additionally, you had also learned just how much Hyrule loves sweets, as if that hadn’t already been established much earlier with the way he practically devoured anything the Champion made that contained some sugar in it.

You were currently giving Hyrule more context to the story you were telling, and he was attentive, carefully listening and asking questions when the opportunity allowed for it. Which made it a total surprise for you when you noticed his eyes shift their focus from your face to something behind you and leave them trained on that point as you kept walking. No longer talking, you were intrigued by whatever was it that had caught his attention.

“What is it, Link?” You asked with genuine interest.

His eyes snapped back to you, the brunet spent a few seconds in silence, then he fiddled with his fingers and his cheeks became dusted with pink after you blinked.

“Oh, not much. But I was wondering if you…” Hyrule rubbed his hands anxiously, looking for words that seemed out of reach and only letting out stutters and a few pauses.

“Uh, if you don’t mind- y’know, help me with s-something. But you see-”

One of your eyebrows arched in confusion as he kept talking, and you weren’t even gonna bother in trying to figure out what he was trying to tell you when he had barely said anything coherent enough to give you a single ounce of context or as much as a hint as to what he may be referring to. It was impossible to get a single idea of what he may be trying to say with this little to work with.

“What?” You cut him off and asked him as confusion ran all over you, and it looked like Hyrule could feel it.

He opened his mouth several times only to shut it again when he couldn’t find what he wanted to say. His blush spread a little further, he swallowed thickly and cleared his throat.

“Um, the bakery behind you is…” and that would be it for all the context you were gonna get from him as he would continue to make unsure sounds.

Your body twisted in the direction of the mentioned bakery, and surely enough, there it was. Remembering how much Hyrule liked treats and the like, now it made sense that he would want to enter the building, though you still found it strange how nervous he had gotten from just the simple request of going with you to said bakery.

“Do you want to go there? I can get you something, if you’d like.” You offered with a smile, taking one of his hands and lightly pulling it.

Hyrule gripped you anxiously, body stiff as a statue.

“Just… forget about it. It’s fine.” And his gaze shifted to his boots as if they had suddenly become the most interesting thing.

“Are you sure you really don’t want anything?” You asked, puzzled.

It was not like Hyrule at all to refuse an opportunity like this, and it made it all the more strange when you consider how he had gladly gone with you to almost every corner of the town without a single worry and now he was very fidgety and uncertain about doing something that was common for everyone.

“Well, even if you don’t want anything, would you go with me?” You looked at the brunet expectantly, waiting for his reply.

He didn’t meet your eyes and his face felt like it was burning from the inside from how much blood was rushing to it, which prompted him to hide behind his bangs as best as he could. His single response was to nod weakly, and you took him by the hand with a grin.

Before you stood a small building made of stone, the name of the business in big letters on a sign. But there was another sign to the side of the entrance that caught your attention, almost right in front of you. Reading it, it was revealed to you that there was a special deal for couples; two pieces of fruit cake for the price of one. You took a moment to process the information, an idea in your head. If your theory was correct, then it certainly explained why the brunet acted the way he had.

Unbeknownst to you, Hyrule had been ferociously fighting the urge to run away and find a place to hide for the rest of the day since he saw you read the sign with the special deal. Sweat ran down his face, he wanted nothing more than disappear. Oh but when you met his eyes after reading the cursed sign, he almost prayed to the godessess to perish right on the spot as he averted his gaze yet again. It all started making sense to you.

“Link, I have an idea.” You informed him with perhaps more enthusiasm than he wanted you to.

“...Really?” His voice audible just enough for you catch what he said.

“Let’s pretend to be together so we can get the cake.”

His body tensed and his arms came up as if to hug himself. Eyes were still strictly trained on the ground.

“I-I don’t know…”

You swore you could almost see the nervousness in the air coming off of him. One of your hands rubbed his shoulder in encouragement.

“Come on, it’s not like you have to kiss me or anything. Just hold my hand or have an arm around me.” Part of you was convinced that it would never work and you should have never suggested that in the first place.

But then Hyrule stopped fidgeting and really considered the possibility, with an ‘oh…’ of realization as if he hadn’t thought of the many options you two had to really look like a couple until you suggested them. But you wouldn’t know that as he was quiet enough that you didn’t hear him. The hero took a deep breath, his head slowly rising with a shy smile on his lips.

“I think I can do that.”

He was relieved, he could handle holding your hand or having an arm around you. Probably. Although the thought of getting to kiss you to pretend you two were together didn’t sound like a bad idea to him, but it was unfortunately too intimidating for him.

Wasting no time, you place yourself right beside him, as close as you can. His arm running behind you as you take his hand and place it on your hip, yours settles to rest on his waist. And to fully sell the act, you lean into him, and the grin and blush on your face only aided you in the image you wanted to present. Link felt like he was gonna melt at any second and slip through your fingers, into the cracks from the stone floor. His face looked almost unhealthily red.

There was no need for words as you two began walking forward in agreement, past the entrance to the bakery. Your nostrils picking up on the many sweet scents inside the building, the fruit cake became more appetizing, and a look at Hyrule revealed that he had to be going through the same thought process as you. Behind the counter, an elderly woman greeted you both with a smile.

“Oh, don’t you two just make an adorable couple? Welcome! What can I get for you?" The lady’s smile warm and bright.

Hylia only knew what was going through Hyrule’s mind when he heard the lady imply that you two were in a relationship, if he hadn’t been struggling keep some mental peace prior to this, then he definitely was now. It was all up to you.

“We would like the fruit cake offer, please.” You glanced at Hyrule to find that he was trying to hide his face behind his bangs and his blush had not let up.

You enjoyed that image a bit too much.

“Why, certainly!” The lady reached behind her to get your baked goods.

“See? It wasn’t that hard.” You whispered to Hyrule, which prompted him to finally meet your eyes with a soft smile on his face after everything.

“It really wasn’t.”

“Don’t forget it was all thanks to me.” You teased and jokingly elbowed Hyrule, causing him to avert his gaze.

Back at the counter, the lady was holding your two pieces of cake which you eagerly took then placed in the basket you were carrying.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

An idea sparked in your head. You lean closer to the counter.

“My boyfriend is a big fan of sugar, do you have anything you think he would like?”

Behind you, Hyrule’s face bloomed with more red than should be possible. The lady merely chuckled, getting on with your plan.

“My, aren’t you a lucky young man?” Words directed at Hyrule, and he tried to convince himself that he hadn’t heard anything of what had gone on the last couple seconds.

The old woman turned around, going over to where she had an assortment of cookies of several types.

“Oh, to be young and in love again.”

Link wanted nothing more than to be struck down in that moment; didn’t matter what did it he just wanted to forget about everything that had happened since you two entered the bakery. The only way this could get worse is if someone else in the group found out about it, but he suppressed the thought before it could manifest and become a reality.

“It’s a special recipe, the last cookie of its kind that we have left. They are quire popular.” The woman presented a big, round cookie, light in color.

You gingerly packed the treat and put it next to the fruitcake from earlier, the lady subtly winked at you and you winked back as a form of saying thanks for helping you torment Hyrule a little more.

“How much is it?” Your hand about to reach for your pocket, waiting for the lady tell you how much everything costed.

“25 rupees, dear.”

You give her the amount required and lock your arm around Hyrule’s, he nearly jumped at the unexpected contact. Your face looked at his with a smile, ready to go on your way.

“Thank you, young ones! Don’t forget to take care of each other.” The lady waved at you as you walked towards the exit.

You waved back.

“We will!” You replied as you leaned into Link.

Once you were out the building and out of sight from the old woman, you let go of Hyrule and gave him some distance, albeit not too much. The hero scratched the back of his neck, his blush was starting to settle down little by little.

“I think that went well.” You said, as if his face hadn’t been painted with every shade of pink and red back at the bakery.

“Are you gonna be sad that you won’t get to be my boyfriend anymore? You won’t get cookies for some time now.” There was a smirk on your lips as you teased him again.

Not expecting a reply from him, your eyes went to the basket you held, to the most recently acquired goods, much too excited to eat what you had bought. Meanwhile, Hyrule was trying to control the whirlwind of emotions inside him; a part of him that screamed to make his move immediately, and another one that screamed how bad of an idea it was. Cheeks turned pink again, mind set on carrying out this little idea of his.

You were so distracted that you didn’t really notice what was happening until you found yourself encased in Link’s arms. He held you from your waist, eyes sparkly and his face close to yours. Now it was your time to blush and want to hide your face, matching Hyrule’s color back at the bakery.

It happened in the blink of an eye; his soft expression held hesitance, a thousand thoughts a second running through his head, but then his face came closer, and there was a peck on your right cheek.

“What if I remained your boyfriend after today?”

His voice was close to being a whisper and you wouldn’t have heard what he said had you not been so close to each other. Meanwhile, his words had the effect of very sticky honey that firmly held you in place as it delivered a dose of sweet and tender feelings on you.

“I would like that.” You looked at him with a smile, maintaining the eye contact.

His expression softened, and he smiled back at you, his hands never separated from your waist. No words were needed for your next exchange, both of you moved as if you had done this before with each other multiple times.

One of your hands found the back of his head, fingers tangling in his chocolate hair, the other one rested on his shoulder. As for Hyrule, he pulled you in even closer.

Everything else disappeared and was forgotten about, the kiss you shared held every feeling neither of you could put into words. It was long kiss by regular standards, but not suffocating. It was the right amount of soft and meaningful that a part of you ached for more the moment you separated.

“We need to get going. We’ve been gone for a while, but we can do more when we’re alone again.” His hand outstretched for you to take.

The prospect of repeating the kiss from before making you giddy and filled you with excitement. You nod in approval and your fingers tangle with Link’s when you take his hand, but before you could begin walking back to reunite with the group, you stepped closer into his personal space to place a kiss on his cheek.

The gesture made his ears perk up, and a faint blush spread over his face. He looked at you with what was perhaps the widest and happiest grin you’ve ever seen on him and giggle, since you two not only had shared wonderful memories today, gotten some treats to make the moment more memorable, he also had his feelings reciprocated by wonderful you. It all felt as if neither of you had known sadness, both of you filled with a pleasant warmth and joy that would be almost impossible to get rid of.

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #lu hyrule #linked universe hyrule #lu hyrule x reader #linked universe hyrule x reader #hyrule x reader #cosmic writing

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formosusiniquis · 8 months

Text

diana prince and stevie h.: variations on a theme

Inspired by this post by @secondconcussion cause I saw it earlier this week and couldn't stop turning it around in my mind

also on ao3 for easier reading

It's not Eddie's fault he got lost.

That's the first thing he wants to get out of the way. He'll take his lumps if he has to, Uncle Wayne can be a surly fucker when he's woken up before his alarm, "Not all those who wander are lost, Ed, isn't that what you said. Just wander your way back home." But Eddie's heart is gonna wait to be warmed that Wayne loves him enough to quote Lord of the Rings until after he's back in the part of Hawkins he recognizes.

"It's the ‘not all’ that I need you to wrap your head around old man, cause I, your dearest nephew, am very lost."

"Your my only nephew, and gettin' less dear by the second," Wayne lied like a liar.

He wasn't above begging, not when he'd already walked fuck knows how far to fuck knows where. "Please, Wayne!"

He hears a grumbled sigh and knows he's won, "Where are ya?"

"Um, woods?" He can hear the thunk of the phone being slammed against something hard, but at least Wayne doesn't hang up.

Hawkins is a small town, by Eddie's standards, but it expands in strange ways. Every summer he spent with Wayne it seemed to unfurl in different directions, a flower blooming a little different each year. It was not the gridded out cityscape he'd grown up in.

So when Eddie came down from Indy every summer to escape parents who managed to toe the line of awful just well enough that CPS kept their noses out of the Munson’s business, he would wander but never far. Just far enough to find the park and the playground that Wayne hadn't thought to mention. Far enough to find a corner store where he can pocket the extra candy bar he couldn't afford with the spare change he had -- and he wasn't going to put back the magazine he was buying, Wayne had nothing good to read and he couldn't make a library card yet. Far enough to find an abandoned picnic bench to smoke up at so his borrowed bedroom didn't smell like weed. Far enough to make some friends.

Only now that he's twenty, and some change. Now that he's graduated high school, third time lucky. Now that he’s decided to leave the trouble he could feel stirring in the city for someplace that always felt more like home. Now that he is an official Hawkins resident, he's wandered a little too far.

And it's not his fault, but he's not gonna tell Wayne that.

Cause the thing is, Eddie has always thought better when his feet were moving. After an hour of pacing around his trailer, still full with half unpacked boxes of things he hadn't realized he'd collected -- boxes that make him feel like a caged animal, that he'll be living out of for the next two months at least -- he has to leave. His first mistake, trusting that his feet will lead him around the parts of Hawkins he knows.

His mind twists plot hooks and campaign NPCs around his head, determined to get ready for when his friends come around later that afternoon with the pack of freshmen, now sophomores, that they'd adopted. He won't apologize for wanting to impress a new group of kids and wanting to convince Jeff he wouldn’t be sorry about passing off his DM mantle to a guy they used to only see two months out of the year. As he's thinking about a sect of female warriors -- a mix of barbarians and rangers, buff and leveled way above where the party will be -- and whether it'll just come across as horny the way the DILF-y elven mages he'd tried to include last year did, he sees her. Notices her, more like; a nymph, a dryad, a goddess sprung fully formed from his imaginings.

She crosses his path at a light jog. The shortest green athletic shorts he's ever seen clinging to the shape of an ass he could bounce a quarter off of. He can see the way her broad and muscled shoulders shift beneath the white sports bra she's wearing. It's the cool down portion of her workout, he guesses, from the way he can mostly maintain the small distance between them and the way sweat runs in rivulets down her back and trim waist. He wants to lick it off of her. She looks like she was built to fire a bow or break him in half, a Kinsey Five, it's the women who could kill him that always capture his attention.

He trails behind her, mind still turning over his session prep for the day and maybe thinking a little bit about whether she had a boyfriend. Hindsight will grant him that it's weird, the way he trailed behind her like a stray dog like this. But then, as he's sitting in the cab of Wayne's truck, he'll remember the way her thick, muscled thighs moved, how she bounced on the balls of her toes. He'll remember the way her ponytail swished over her shoulder as she glanced back at him, his first look at the lady's fair face, the way she'd smirked at him before bounding off of the roadside into the woods.

So totally not his fault he got lost. It probably happens all the time. The payphone on the opposite side of the road for sorry suckers like him who fall into her snare. Shit, maybe he should have stayed put, he hadn’t been thinking about why she might have a snare.

Wayne found him eventually, even if he spent the drive back to Forest Hills muttering about how Eddie had even found his way over to that side of town. How next time he aimed to get lost he should bring a map or a compass or a dog, and find his own way back. So he doesn’t ask his uncle about the mystery girl that could snap him over her knee like a dry twig, cause in the mood he’s in right now Wayne might go find her and embarrass the hell out of him.

Later, when Jeff and Gareth and Joey have piled onto the broken in couch that Wayne had given him. When the first teen that he doesn’t know knocks a little too quietly on his door, but grins wide enough to split his face that they’ve got a new campaign and a place to play over the summer. When they’re waiting for the last one to arrive, Eddie thinks about asking about her. She had to have overlapped with them in high school for at least a year or two.

Eddie knows already though that he won’t. Plus there’s a chance they’ll tell him anyway. He’s been on the receiving end of enough ‘Is that supposed to be Ronnie James Dio’s’ and ‘Wait are you describing Sigourney Weaver’s’ to hope that once he starts describing the Amazonian warrior who will hopefully be haunting his dreams he’ll get a ‘Doesn’t that sound just like…’

And yeah, maybe he’s starting to get a little impatient. But with the way he’s got the campaign laid out it will be at least two hours in before he gets a chance to describe her. At least, and he has to know who she is tonight.

“Dude,” Gareth starts, probably sick of the way Eddie’s bouncing his leg, “where’s Dustin?”

Will, the quietest so far of the new recruits looks almost too concerned, “He knows where it is right? Has anyone-”

Sinclair, he thinks the group arrived in mass and he’s not sure he’s partnered faces with the rush of names correctly just yet, pulls a walkie talkie with bells and whistles he didn’t even know you could attach from a backpack on the floor. “Dustin, come in, what’s your ETA?”

The tension in their corner of the room ratchets up enough to have Eddie’s palms start to sweat. Will brings his thumbnail up to his mouth, worrying it enough that it’s sure to start bleeding soon. “I’m sure it’s-” Sinclair starts to say, interrupted by a clattering outside then a bang to his door that yanks on the frayed edges of Eddie’s nerves.

He feels a little like a squirrel trying to cross a highway, the way the babies about to join the party are watching him with the knowing terror you watch something about to die.

Except the thing at his door is not Jason or Freddy, it’s a half-pint with a white hat pulled low over his head. The missing Dustin, who has no problem bullying his way through Eddie’s now open door.

“Ew, dude, why are you sweaty?”

"Because, Michael, I had to bike all the way across town." Eddie, and it looks like half the group, is about to ask some variation on why when Dustin holds up a hand shutting them all up masterfully "Because," he stresses each letter like they're what's wronged him, "five minutes before we were supposed to leave mom catches Stevie gossiping with Robin and she totally flips out about how she didn't take Stevie in just to watch her get herself killed. And then when I asked who was taking me here, Ma said she 'didn't buy me that bike just to have it sit in the garage!'"

The kid is incensed so it doesn't feel like the time to ask what the fuck is going on. Not when everyone else snorts and snickers at Dustin's expense. "Damn Stevie really fucked up if Dustybun got sent out on his own," Gareth jeers.

"Your mom does know what Stevie keeps in her trunk right? And she ruptured Preston's balls when he grabbed her ass last year," Lucas points out.

Hawkins, Eddie is learning, might just be full of girls to fall in love with.

"Stop saying that like it's hot, that's my sister you're talking about. I'll tell Max."

"Max still thinks Stevie's hot, dude."

"Are we gonna have to walk home just because Stevie's done something stupid again?" Mike complains.

"You didn't care about Stevie doing something dumb when she climbed that tree in heels to get you down after you got drunk at winter formal. Or when she took her bat to those… things." Lucas shares a sly grin with Will, who looks torn between feeling awkward at the inclusion and the teenage bloodlust for giving your friends a hard time. "You can just admit you feel weird about having the same taste as your-"

"Oh my god!" Dustin shouts cutting Lucas off and sending the room, Eddie included into a burst of snorting laughter. "Dustin Henderson," Eddie gets himself under control enough to accept the offered hand, "excited to have a DM who isn't a total asshole."

"Eddie, sorry about your hot sister. Not sorry for being a new kind of asshole Dungeon Master. Let’s see them character sheets, kiddies, this ain’t your mommy’s book club, we aren’t just here to gossip.”

Things go off pretty well, for a seven person table where he barely knows half the players. Lucas has an impressive tactical mind, Mike is a passionate role player, Will has a character built so well it’s basically an art form, and Dustin is a wild card who can’t decide whether he wants to win or to walk into the obvious trap just to see what will happen. It’s not hard to adjust, even if the way Jeff keeps looking at him when he describes new NPC's is throwing him off his game a little bit. He can duck behind his DM screen and recollect himself, but seriously what the fuck.

“She stands taller than the tallest of you, bronzed skin and hair, imperious, she looks at you, Sir Jeffrey, and offers you a deal, ‘Best our strongest warrior and you can take him back with you. Fail and his impunity will be punished by death.’” He lets the threat hang heavy in the air, all eyes on him and desperately hanging on to every word. Minus Jeff who was giving him that look again. “And that’s where we’ll end things this week, boys.” Cause he really, really hadn’t expected any of them to just straight up steal the enchanted bow of the Amazons that they needed to fell the dragon; and he really, really hadn’t planned for the botched stealth rolls.

Everyone grumbles as they pack up their things, it’s music to his ears. A four hour session -- if he didn’t count the hour they riffed about character builds and backstory once Eddie had his hands on their sheets -- and they’re still itching for more. It’s almost enough to have him just call a dinner break, so he can hole up in his room and churn something out. But someone is beating out shave and a haircut on his front door before he can change his mind.

“It’s probably Wayne getting revenge,” Eddie says, “woke him up early this afternoon.” He taps back his two bits, swinging open the door, expecting to see Wayne’s smug looking face grinning back at him. He’ll take his ‘Don’t feel too good getting interrupted in the middle a something, does it?’ with grace.

Only instead of an old man with two days of scruff, the door opens on his modern day Aphrodite. A worn, grey athletic shirt bragging about being a 1985 Hawkins Swim Team Region Champ has covered the white sports bra, cropped it shows off a distracting sliver of toned stomach above a short green tennis skirt, and her perky ponytail is down in loose waves around a mole kissed face.

And he’s gaping like a fucking idiot at her.

“Dust, wanna introduce me to your new friend?” she asks, voice bourbon smooth as molten eyes rake down his body from the doorway.

“Eddie, this is my sister.”

Like her brother before her, Stevie has no problem shouldering her way through the door. Where Dustin had slipped through on a size difference technicality like a halfling, she places a warm hand against his shoulder and gently pushes until his feet and brain get it together enough to move with her. Even then they’re still screaming, god he’s positive she could have just picked him up. He really wants her to pick him up, maybe push him against the wall a little.

“Hi Eddie,” she says. Still in the doorway they’re hedged in by boxes marked ‘Kitchen Shit’ and ‘Unpack this first asshole’ breathing the same air almost, all because Eddie in his genius had dropped the last load of stuff from the back of the van right by the door. “Are we going to be seeing more of you around?”

“Obviously,” Dustin cuts in, “we only just finished the start of a totally epic campaign.”

“Obviously,” Stevie repeats, with a mocking tilt to her gorgeous smile. One he recognizes from this morning.

Jeff is still watching him, a set of eyes boring hard into the side of his face. “Eddie just moved to Hawkins, just spent summers here before.”

Something about that softens her. Her expression, her posture, easing into something a little less coiled to pounce but no less flirtatious. “To Hawkins?”

Shit, and she’s looking at him like he’s an idiot; but like a cute idiot that she’ll maybe want to put down on his knees. “Well the best band I ever played with is still in high school here, and a success story always sounds better coming out of a small town.”

“You’re in a band, huh?”

Dustin wrestles himself in the middle again, and it says a lot about his tenacity that he’s managed to rock Stevie back against the cardboard. “Whatever this is, I don’t like it and it needs to stop.”

“Load your bike up in the trunk then, shithead, and you won’t have to see it,” she fires back. He does push past her out the door, trying to let it slam shut behind him when she catches it in lightning fast reflex, “Scratch the paint cause you’re being a dick and your ass is grass!”

The rest of the sophomores are slow to pack up their remaining things, valuing gossip more than trying to comfort their friend on losing another soldier in the war of ‘thinks his big sister is the babest babe to ever hit Hawkins.’

“You should come to practice some time, band practice, for the um band."

Somebody behind him snorts, hears a whispered, "For the um band," that's probably meant to be a mimicry of him.

"Eddie's lead guitar," Jeff says, from a place of true friendship or pity. It's hard to tell.

Her eyes light up with a mischief, hair swinging as she cocks her head, and he can hear the requisite, ‘wow you must be so good with your hands,’ as clearly as if she had said it. Instead she says, “Gremlins, go get in the car. Tell Dustin, Ma’s pissed he didn't take his helmet and he should know first hand the dangers of head trauma.” It’s an inside joke, an unfunny one, from the way she grins as they grumble and groan and tell her to fuck off. Trooping out the door between him and Stevie they each let her pat them on the back or ruffle their hair, a little attendance check on the way to the car.

The trailer door shuts behind them with a slam, maybe not an attitude issue then and something to add to his to do list, but Stevie hasn’t left with them. “If you’re interested in what Hawkins has to offer, I could show you around.” She says casually. Conversationally. A comment for the room at large before she leans into Eddie’s space, warm breath against the side of his face making him shiver as she whispers, “I take the same run through town every day, and I always wanted a puppy to follow me home.”

Eddie is lost. In visions of the girl who just twirled out of his place on her heel after completely rocking his world. Has lost. His mind, his heart, and hopefully his status as single. But there are worse things he can think of than being lost in Hawkins.

#steddie #transfem steve harrington #stevie harrington #steve henderson #hopefully this is kinda what you were looking for?#i was inspired #stevie and robin were of course gossiping about the cute guy that was following her #and claudia correctly lost her mind #ambiguous presence of the upside down #which has warped stevie's sense of danger #my fic

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