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florencemtrash · 3 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Ten

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Mentions of cannon-typical violence. Azriel and Y/n have a late night conversation. Fluff and other stuff.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Gwyn says hi by the way.”

Azriel choked on his coffee, bitter flavor rising in his throat. Nesta sauntered into the kitchen, cool eyes glaring at the back of his head. Your familiar silhouette was nowhere to be found.

Not here. His shadows whispered. With Rhys.

“Calm down you idiot.” Nesta’s voice dripped with unrestrained contempt as she poured herself a cup and sat. His tan skin glistened with sweat after his morning training session, inky tattoos splashing across his bare chest and trailing over his shoulders, down his back, and up to his neck. In the cloudy afternoon light it was difficult to tell where his shadows ended and where his tattoos began.

“Y/n’s not here. You’ll have to walk around half-naked some other time.”

Azriel winced. “That isn’t what—”

Nesta brushed him off with a wave of her hand, eyes narrowing over her mug. Azriel felt like a bug pinned down under a microscope. A crushed butterfly about to hang.

“How is Gwyn doing?” he asked gingerly, casually.

“She’s fine. Believe it or not, the world did not end when you broke up with her.”

Again he flinched. “I’m sorry, Nes,” he whispered rather pathetically.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to. But you already know that.”

There seemed to be no shortage of people he needed to apologize to: Elain, Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, even Lucien — especially Lucien. His cheeks burned to think of the absolute mess of things he’d made. Feyre had been the quickest to forgive him for the debacle with Elain and Gwyn. But as Cassian had mentioned at dinner, there was a reason everyone was staying away from the River House, and the reason was him.

Two years ago he’d challenged Lucien Vanserra to a blood duel for Elain’s hand. It had felt so right at the time, so obvious: three sisters for three brothers. But it was only when their deaths had loomed over her head with shocking reality that Elain realized what a horrible mistake she’d made. The mistake they’d made together.

“Call it off,” she’d commanded him, blocking Lucien’s bloody, heaving body. The son of Autumn’s sword had been kicked away, scraping across the rock with an eerie scream and disappearing over the cliff edge. But Elain had stayed, soft brown eyes begging, “Do this and I will never forgive you. What we did… it wasn’t right. It was a mistake.”

A mistake, she’d called it. Years of silent longing and bare bone brushes of their hands in dark hallways. All a mistake. Those words had haunted him. They’d chased him into Gwyn’s kind arms where he once again mistook the friendship he felt towards her as love and broke her heart in the process. Add that to his lackluster response to Mor’s coming out and… well he had a lot of work ahead of him.

He hoped he would be forgiven in time, but that didn’t mean he’d twiddle his thumbs until that day came. He scoured Prythian’s publishers for new releases of adventure, mystery, and romance books — the raunchier the better — and they showed up every month at Cagniv Library like clockwork. The priestesses still thought it was part of a trade bargain with the Day Court. He’d sent Elain and Lucien plenty of letters and gifts, but either they weren’t being opened or they weren’t bothering to respond. He wouldn’t blame them either way. As for Mor and Emerie, they were gone with the wind, too busy infiltrating lands and enjoying an extended honeymoon on the continent to bother with him.

That cold stillness in Nesta’s eyes transformed into pity. It was hard not to be reminded of her own failures when she looked at him. Seeing him angry. Watching him crawl into the darkest corners of himself and burn every bridge he crossed had been a shock to Nesta’s system. A plunge into freezing waters that brought pain and clarity.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just give them time, Az. They’ll come around. If they did it for me, they’ll do it for you.” “I think our situations are rather different.”

“I don’t.”

“You didn’t try to kill anyone.”

She grimaced. “I came close.”

He stayed silent for a long while. He washed his cup. He dried it. He put it in the cupboard.

“Can you—can you please not tell Y/n?” he begged. His voice was small and quiet. He’d been a fool in the past and made terrible decisions in the name of love. Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. They’d all lived more in his mind than in his heart — people he could never fully grasp, and therefore never lose. They’d been safe. Easy.

It didn’t feel that way with you. You felt solid and warm, even if he’d only touched you once. You felt more real to him than anyone else. You felt like someone he could actually have. Which meant he could lose you before you’d even become his to lose.

“You can’t keep her in the dark forever. Not about your history, not about the bond. If you’re going to learn anything from your brothers, learn that.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I just want to get it right this time.” He had to get it right this time. “I want her to fall in love with me because she wants me, not out of some sense of obligation. I want…” I want to be worthy of her.

Nesta shook her head, a laugh escaping despite her best attempts to stifle it. Azriel looked at her like she’d gone mad.

She giggled again. “It’s funny. For a male as handsome and desirable as you, you have the worst fucking luck with women. The Mother must have a twisted sense of humor.”

Maybe she did. But Azriel was still enough of a romantic to hope that he had learned from his mistakes, and that his bad luck would end with you.

You shoved the notebook off Rhysand’s desk, loose papers flying out like uncoordinated doves.

“I told you notetaking was a futile effort.” The High Lord didn’t even look at you, too busy searching for invisible dirt beneath his manicured fingernails.

You groaned and dropped your head against the book he’d handed you two hours before.

Rhysand had to smile at your frustration. It was a wholly different experience teaching you magic compared to teaching Feyre. With Feyre, her greatest barrier had been her lack of knowledge (and her hatred of him at the time). She’d been thrust into the world of fae without preparation, but it had left her malleable and adaptable. It was like teaching a newborn how to walk — a mind that could absorb more because it knew so little.

But you knew too much. You could spout off magical theory at the drop of a hat. You were a pedagogical master with a thousand mnemonics to your name. You were the first to wake in all of Velaris, making your way to the Library before bodies could fill the streets, and you only returned when the crowds had either turned in for the night or gone out to drink until daybreak. You swallowed every history book on the Night Court, Clairvoyants, daemati, and death gods until you felt untethered from the earth — until your mind began to float outside your body, buzzing with thoughts that never went away.

But none of that mattered. Your power was an immovable object that couldn’t be controlled by logic or studying.

You shoved against that power now.

“Good,” Rhysand nodded, leaning against the window, “You’re getting better at it.”

He lingered in your mind, hovering over the depths of your emotions and memories like a bird ready to break water. It had taken some time before you felt comfortable with the intrusion. Your first lesson together, Rhysand’s presence in your mind had made it impossible to focus. Panic had seized your mind and your body until you could do nothing more than brace your hands and feet against the chair’s leather upholstery. You could have sworn you saw a head of silver hair to your left. The gentle pitter patter of rain had sounded like dripping blood.

It wasn’t like that anymore. Henna had left you with a useful skill — you could wind your consciousness around Rhysand and keep him there, suspended in that indescribable space where your thoughts lay so he could do no more damage than you permitted him.

Through your mind he felt the narrowing of your power. You imagined it like a blanket wrapped around your body, suffocating but familiar. It was this power that laced your skin and made contact with others so hard. You imagined the fabric shortening, creeping up your arms and legs, curling around your torso and squeezing like a snake. Inch by inch you tightened it around you, burying it within your chest instead of carrying it openly like a wound.

You held a music book between your hands — Nyx’s to be exact. The little Lordling showcased a certain aptitude for the piano his father could only dream of, and being as young and protected as he was, the worst kind of emotion imbued within its pages was agitation. You could hear one of the ballads written within it as clearly as if Nyx was sitting beside you plucking out the melody.

Tighter. Tighter. Tighter. You swallowed your power. Pulled what was outside inwards. Slowly but surely the music faded away until the book was as all books should be — silent.

Sweat beaded your brow. This was the most difficult part — not tuning out the music, but keeping the volume at zero.

Rhysand checked his watch. Waited. Checked it again.

You lasted thirty minutes before your power burst out along your skin once more like a thousand prickling needles. You shuddered, half-disappointed, half-grateful that you could hear the melody again.

Rhysand clapped his hands, slow and proud. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room was dangerously close to five bells. Rhysand nodded.

“Perfect timing. We’re done for today.”

“I can go for longer,” you pleaded.

“I know you can.” Rhysand pushed off the wall, polished leather boots gleaming. He was wearing his Illyrian leathers this time, the scent of wind still clinging to his skin after a visit to the northern war camps.

Old Illyria lasted thousands of years. The clans used to flow up and down the Steppes, following the tundrabeast that lay claim to those mountainous regions and were said to speak for their god Ramiel — Starbreaker, Night Herder — after whom the mountain is named. They don’t move with the cold winds anymore, even if they’ve kept their names: Ironcrest, Bloodborn, Windhaven, Seawhip, Hawkseed, Timberbane, and a dozen others. And they don’t make sacrifices, although the Blood Rite might be a close—

Rhysand rapped his knuckles on the desk to grab your attention and splayed his fingers wide. “I also know that the moment I dismiss you, you’ll scamper off to the Library to work until you can’t see straight.”

You shifted in your seat. “I like it there.”

“That’s besides the point. If you keep going at this pace you’ll burn out. Then you won’t be able to help anyone. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You hadn’t thought he’d noticed. “I know what it feels like to burn out and it’s not going to happen anytime soon. I promise.”

Rhysand suppressed the urgent need to roll his eyes as you gathered your things and walked out the door. “And here I thought I worked too much,” he muttered beneath his breath.

You carried Henna’s journal tucked within your new Librarian robes — black with ivory detailing and wide sleeves that narrowed at the wrists. You kept a hand on it during late nights at the Library. You ate with it propped open, black splotches swimming across the page like worms. You slept with it beneath your pillow.

But alas, it would seem the book was going to make you work to wring meaning out of every odd symbol.

You were muttering to yourself as you walked back and forth in front of the fireplace. You’d effectively commandeered one of the reading rooms on the seventh floor, leaving the library only when required for Rhysand’s lessons. Helion’s most recent letter lay open on the table with Cherp’s resting just beneath it. A map hung crooked on the wall, four athenaeums circled in bleeding red ink alongside a list of books that had gone missing — the ones that people knew about at least.

The Alcove, Ares House, Folkmen’s Bard, and most recently, Argot’s.

Three Librarians dead. Their throats slit. Blood dribbling down their burgundy robes as they’d sat hunched over their desks. The week before it had been two from Ares House caught swaying from the third floor balcony.

No one has any idea how it happened. The wards were never set off. Nothing in the Library was disrupted. I tell you this only because you deserve to know what’s happened to your people. Continue your training. Continue your research. Do whatever you need to do. But leave the court business to me, dear. I’ll write to you again when I can.

~ Helion

“It doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled, drumming your fingers against your hip where the book remained silent. “None of this makes sense.”

You’d used every ounce of Rhysand’s training on the book. You’d imagined your power sliding over it like water, fire, needles shooting through cowhide, a hammerstrike, every metaphor imaginable. You’d glared at it with an intensity that would have disintegrated a lesser object.

When that failed, you had moved onto solving the murders and thefts at your father’s court. You couldn’t content yourself with sitting in one of the cushy, high-backed chairs in Rhysand’s office sipping imported tea in porcelain cups while athenaeums were on lockdown.

The pattern was shockingly simple — Koschei was going after books that could be traced back to him. Books that might give his enemies the upper hand: folktales alluding to him and his siblings, translated texts from old Bauldish that might have proved useful in deciphering Henna’s book, secondary accounts of the age before High Lords ruled.

If you were Koschei you’d go after Godswoods next — the collection of athenaeums dedicated to religion. Then on to The Gallows — the athenaeum on death and dying. The two were intricately tied to one another, but people tended to write books on dying before coming up with explanations for what comes after. You’d spent a great deal of time there following your mother’s death, and you could picture it now — solemn black bookshelves looping around a circular room that tapered up into a point like a blade pointed to the sky.

You finished writing your letter to Helion, along with the list of books you wanted pulled from the archives. Cagniv Library may have been a glowing beacon in the Night Court, and a place of sanctuary for the priestesses, but it was nothing like you were used to.

You held the paper out in front of you, Helion’s glimmering pen tucked behind your sharp ears, and blew. The black letters lifted off the page and faded away like a breath in cold air. The message was already writing itself back into existence in Helion’s office.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

You scribbled out another note, this one for yourself with another pen. You ripped it to pieces and fed it to the fire.

What was Koschei looking for now? Was he still looking for the book that now rested against your hip, or had he turned to some other prize? And why kill the Librarians and set all of Day Court on high alert?

Henna had been careful. She’d stayed hidden until she was forced to tear down the Alcove to get the book. Whoever was causing the killings now was either a showman or a fool. They left bodies hanging from rafters. They carved smiles into throats. They let the Librarians know what they were stealing whether they meant to or not. They left patterns scattered among wreckage for someone like you to figure out.

It all felt… juvenile for lack of a better word. Someone young. Someone who wanted to prove themselves in a loud way. Someone whose ego hadn’t been tested yet and wasn’t listening to Koschei’s commands in their entirety.

Azriel.

You couldn’t help but think of him.

Azriel was nothing like that.

He wasn’t loud. He didn’t vy for attention. He didn’t seek the light in a room. His confidence was quiet and true. His kindness took the shape of the shadows that lingered by your ankles. It took the shape of the robes you wore now. He was the only one who’d seen them at The Alcove. He was the only one who could have requested the court seamstress to make a copy and leave it hanging in your closet.

No. Azriel was nothing like that.

Azriel’s eyes lit up like embers when you slid through the front door, weary but bright-eyed and cradling your journals against your chest. The shadows he’d left behind with you slithered across the floor like mist.

She’s been in the Library all day. Working. The shadows whispered in his ear. She thought about you.

Azriel smiled. He’d thought about you as well. “I was wondering where you’d gone.”

You gasped, closing the door louder than you intended. You’d developed a talent for sneaking in and out of the River House unnoticed to the point where Cassian considered hiding bells in your pockets. Nyx had tried to do it as a joke, but you’d caught him giggling too loudly in your bedroom.

You brightened immediately, a broad smile appearing on your face. Azriel felt his heart leap, then quiet as he caught the scent of parchment paper.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow?” You whispered, tip-toeing through the dimly lit hallway to where Azriel was in the sitting room. You sank into the couch with a groan. The hardwood desks at the Library had not been kind to you.

He shrugged and brushed back his wind-thickened hair, shifting to face you better. A crumb-coated plate lay on the table and he still wore his leathers. He must have just arrived home.

“I flew as quick as I could. I wanted to be home.” With you.

He’d gotten so used to the feeling of you sleeping across the hallway that he’d flown the last three days without sleep. It was worth it to see you again. From the looks of it, you’d not fared well in his absence either. Your eyes had that glassy, half-there sheen: a perfect mixture of exhaustion and mind-crackling clarity.

“And how were the Mortal Lands?” You tucked your knees beneath you and leaned against your hand, fighting the sleep that seemed to grapple for you now that Azriel was home. His wings were spread wide and you resisted the urge to close the last few inches between you and the talon that glimmered in the faelight like obsidian glass.

You’d never been that far south. You’d never had reason to. But Azriel flew far and wide. The Continent was now Mor’s domain, but the secret goings of Prythian and the Mortal Lands belonged to him and him alone. The Spymaster of the Night Court. The Shadowsinger.

Azriel shook his head. “Quiet. Koschei hasn’t touched them yet as far as I can tell, and the Mortal Queens don’t care. They seem to think that they can handle Koschei because he’s agreed to bargains with them in the past.”

You made a noise of disapproval. “Like they handled Hybern? The only reason they’re still standing is because fae fought their war.”

The scattering of human armies that had arrived on that battlefield had belonged to no crown. They’d either fought for the bloodlust or the money. You could respect them for that.

Azriel tipped his head to the side, following the curling of his shadows around his shoulders. “But they are still standing. They don’t know what we sacrificed to keep them safe. That’s the problem with humans. They forget too quickly and get complacent”

“It would seem we have the opposite problem. We can’t help but remember everything,” you said, with no small amount of bitterness.

He wanted to keep you talking. He wanted your thoughts. Wanted to fall asleep to the sound of your voice after three weeks of silence. You weren’t aware of it, but the bond had felt thin the further he’d traveled away from you. Like a tightrope stretched to its snapping point. Now that he was back, and you were here, his heart didn’t feel like such a strenuous burden.

He smiled. “I think that’s just you. I know plenty of fae who are forgetful and empty-minded.” He leaned back, stretching his wings out to the side, and winced. They were whipped raw and tender from the flight.

Without thinking you got up and moved to the fireplace, feeding wood to the flames until it crackled happily. There was a reason Cassian and Azriel loved to bath their wings in sunlight every chance they got. The heat helped the soreness and eased the wind’s rough edge.

It also drove color into your cheeks and set your hair alight in a soft golden haze. You were a marvel. An angel with a halo to match and Azriel drank in the sight.

“Like who?”

“Cassian.”

You smirked and chucked the last of the wood into the flame’s gaping mouth.

Cass was far from empty-minded, but after decades of being feared as the Lord of Bloodshed he was grateful that people loved him enough to be just a little mean. He gave and received friendly blows like kisses on the cheek and smiled all the wider for it. To threaten his life was the same as saying I love you. It must be why the Mother had made Nesta his mate. She said I love you to him all hours of the day.

Azriel asked you what you were thinking, and when you told him he felt some of that pain slide off his shoulders like rain. He threw his head back and laughed until his chest started to hurt again and you thought about how rare that sound must be, and how much you loved it.

“How are the others? Rhysand told me Feyre’s sister is down there along with your friends.”

Azriel sobered up quickly and cleared his throat. “Yes. Elain, Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa.”

His voice caught on two names: Elain and Lucien, and it didn't escape your notice. He sounded... nervous.

“And? Are they alright?”

He rolled his shoulders and looked out the window to the inky black sky. Vassa would be sleeping now in her human form, and if she was lucky, she’d wake up in the morning still within the manor’s grey stone walls. Safe. Home.

He shook his head gravely. “They’re nothing short of terrified. Koschei has Vassa under a spell that would normally keep her tied to his lake. He let her go during the war against Hybern and he’s been allowing her to stay, but… everyone’s just holding their breath and trying to prepare for the day he’ll take her back.”

You shivered and wrapped one of the spare blankets around your shoulders. You couldn’t imagine a life where every waking moment held the risk of being torn away from everything you held dear. The anticipation would have broken you more than the act itself.

“I’ve heard of her. The firebird.” You murmured softly. You imagined a creature with glowing eyes, blue-red feathers streaking behind like ribbons set on fire. Azriel narrowed his eyes in confusion, and you explained, “Ares House records all wartime information. I read the reports. We’re very thorough.”

Azriel smiled. “I would expect nothing less.”

Silence passed in comfort, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Vassa.

“Do you think they’d be able to stop it if Koschei did make her go back?”

“I don’t know, Y/n.” And it was driving him mad to have Koschei hanging around like a forgotten word at the end of his tongue.

“I hate this,” you spat out, “The not knowing. I hate it.”

Azriel stared at you, hazel eyes silently begging you to continue. Shadows curled around your body, gently tugging you closer to him until your knees were a whisper away from touching.

You both sighed softly into the quiet air. Even the River House seemed to be at rest for the night. The usual background hum of cooking and cleaning were absent. It was just you and the Shadowsinger.

“How are things going? With the book?”

You slipped your hand through the slit in your robes and pulled it out. The gold chain rustled, glowing faintly from your touch.

“It’s going.” You shoved the book back out of sight. You couldn’t even stand to look at it after the hours you’d spent agonizing over its pages. “Rhysand’s been teaching me to contain my power better. I can actually touch some things now.”

But not him. Still not him. And it was killing you.

Azriel gave another one of his small smiles. The ones that never failed to make the world a smaller, more manageable place. “That’s good.”

“I just… this may sound silly but, I’m not used to things being this hard. With my powers a lot of things just sort of came naturally for me. But now people are dying and I’m just sitting here on this very expensive couch and I can’t do the thing I was brought here to do and I… I don’t like feeling this useless.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Azriel murmured. He closed the space between you even more, shadows hovering over your face in silent permission. When you didn’t pull away they brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over your face with a cool, silky touch.

Azriel was all calm darkness and you imagined that if you reached out to touch his chest your hand might just slip through him like he wasn’t there at all. He seemed too good to be real.

But he was real, and he was sitting close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fan your cheeks.

“You’re not useless. Never believe that. Not even for a second. And even if you were useless, it wouldn’t matter. You’re worth more than the things you can do, remember?”

“I remember.” Your voice was quiet and thick.

You rested your cheek in the crook of your arm as you gazed at him wearily.

Azriel kept his hands out in the open, one hand reaching across the couch cushions before stopping mere inches away from yours. His shadows closed the remaining distance, slipping in between your fingers to mimic Azriel’s touch.

“Did you uncover any more secrets of mine while I was gone?” Azriel asked as your eyelids began to droop.

“I confess I forgot to look. But maybe now that you’re here, I’ll start again,” you mumbled into the encroaching dark.

“I look forward to it,” were the last words that filtered through your ears before you fell asleep to the untranslatable whispers of shadows.

Nyx bounded down the stairs, leaping the last six steps before landing soundlessly on the floor with a soft bend of his knees — just like Azriel had taught him. Feyre gave a proud nod before ruffling his ebony hair and Rhysand beamed.

Let me. Feyre adjusted the wrappings around Rhys’s chest that kept Velaria’s plump body swaddled and comfortable. Her pink lips opened in a yawn that had both mates sighing.

“Uncle Az!” Nyx raced forward towards the sitting room and then froze, mouth opened in a surprised oh.

Azriel slept like the dead on the floor, chest rising and falling with the beat of his gentle breath. You lay stretched out on the couch, one arm propped beneath your head and the other dangling over your waist and off the cushions. Your fingers swayed an inch above Azriel’s chest, shadows swimming over his torso and creeping up your arms so that even in sleep you were connected to one another.

Feyre gasped softly at the picture. The sunlight blanketing the both of you in peach fuzz. The faint uptick of Azriel’s lips and the smoothness of his brow. The way you looked like you were bleeding into him. The black of his shadows and your robes.

Rhysand rubbed Nyx’s shoulder and kissed Feyre’s cheek.

Let them sleep, Nyx. We’ll get breakfast at Huth’s today.

Nyx let his parents lead him towards the door without protest. He’d never seen Uncle Az sleep so soundly in his life.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Yeah... this slow burn is burning... but I just love it so much and I love writing all the sweet little moments they have and their conversations with one another and I hope you're enjoying it as well.

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #everyone deserves a person who'll help them relax enough to fall asleep #late night conversations and barely there touches and longing and asdfbaefnaks #AZRIEL FREAKING MADE HER NEW ROBES SO SHE WOULD FEEL MORE COMFORTABLE #He's trying to grow and do right by his exes so he will feel more worthy of Y/n and I just ugh #i'm giving him Mr. Darcy energy I don't give a shit

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weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral · 6 days

Text

idea:

vampire pete and ybcpatrick au

pete is kidnapped by the Vixens cult, he's The Music Guy of the Chicago hardcore scene and he's got a little too close to figuring out their operation

patrick is an experiment of the Vixens, a kid born from locally famous musicians that they kidnapped and brainwashed into a yellow-eyed, hook handed, violent monster

the Vixens are working to see if the same brainwashing would effect Pete since he is nonhuman, but it doesnt work

the brainwashing in patrick is failing, the Vixens notice this and vocally plan to kill the two of them, which Pete overhears.

Pete shares this plan to Patrick and the two have to work together to break out before they kill them

#I LOVE WHEN CHARACTERS ARE EXPERIMENTED ON!!!! YEAH BOY GO THROUGH THE HORRORS FOR WHAT IS THOUGHT TO BE THE GREATER GOOD!!!!!!!#i think they get to be a little fucked up and weird. as a treat.#also for fob9 we need music videos where joe and andy get to be weird freaks #like yeah we got donnie and sandman but they deserve to be creechurs too #me posts #ybcpatrick the guy ever #vamppete #fall out boy #fob #patrick stump #pete wentz

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dcxdpdabbles · 10 months

Note

Hello ❤️

Can you please write something about Jason x Danny? Maybe something about Jason having a crush on this new guy (maybe Danny works in a library or helping people as a nurse) and just falling cause Danny is sincerely nice and isn't afraid of his Lazarus's rage

Jason first notices the new face volunteering at the soup kitchen when the guy hand-makes flour tortillas for the beans. Just like his mom used to make, alongside Mrs. Huerea before she got into drugs.

It's been years since he last had some, not because Alfred refuses to make it but because the butler never has the time.

It's usually a treat for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, or his birthday. Sometimes if Jason is lucky, there is another important holiday for the many members of Wayne Manor, and there is time for Alfred to get them done. He can have them more.

But mostly, Alfred had them store-bought.

That's why he wanders to the other man's line, mouth already watering as the volunteer piles smashed beans with cheese and tortillas onto plates. A name tag has a simple "Danny" on top of a white NASA shirt coupled with slightly baggy pants is the whole outfit of the stranger - odd in Gotham's winter time.

He offers Jason a smile, then, with a wink, places two more fresh tortillas on his plate.

Before he can say anything, Danny pushes the plate toward him. "I can tell you're a man who appreciates fine food. Take them. I can always make more. "

He jerks a thumb to the back, where a press awaits use. It looks just like Mrs. Huerea's iron-clad tool that, for a second, he's six again, early happy the women preparing for Christmas.

When his mother was sober, the Huereas had always opened their home to them. The elderly couple had always felt like grandparents to him.

"Thanks," He says around a forming grin. It matches Danny's.

Jason accepts the food with an excited thrill; for once, the memories of his mother are not so bitter and ruined. He moves out of the way for the next person, making a mental note to tell his men to ensure Danny gets home safely after his shift. It would be in his employee's way.

He does this often, assigning some Red Hood boys to make sure no one bothers any of the volunteers. Jason knows he can't get rid of all crime, not like Bruce believes, but he can at least protect those trying to make this place less of a shit hole.

He sits, savoring the flavor with great appreciation. He's got time to relax a little.

One of his Lieutenant is in the back, speaking to the director of the Soup Kitchen. This is one of Jason's protected areas, but to make sure people know it's not to be taken lightly, the Red Hood gang does require protection money.

He doesn't ask a lot but Jason knows that any place that doesn't have protection money is a bigger target. Of course he also here pretending to be hungry just to make sure the place is actually doing what they promised to do and feed people.

When Jason first took over, this particular place had been known to only give out half of the money they donated in food. The rest was going into the old director's pocket. When he caught wind of the senior director often refusing kids just to save money to steal, Jason quickly fed him to the fish.

His Lieutenant, Rogers, would not be able to recognize him. Jason was eating without a mask. What better disguise than his own dead face? Much less the other people in the soup kitchen.

Although he was meant to observe his surroundings for any funny business, Jason glued his eyes on Danny the entire time. It seemed the man had an easy smile for everyone and a calming personality that seemed to put even the most hostile at ease.

Snow. Jason thinks while watching Danny make more tortillas while chatting with a street kid until the young girl feels she could make one. He lets her round the table easily, showing her how to press down on the metal lever with the same soft ease. He's like pure white snow.

He would not last long in Crime Alley. Nothing pure ever does.

Jason fishes his food, unable to look away from what he knows would be a broken man in only a few weeks.

He leaves just as Rogers returns to the front clutching a brown bag. It looks like he didn't need to worry about the upkeeping of this place. He needs to check on the other kitchens in his territory before the day is out.

After three other Kitchens, Jason is satisfied that he's secured two. He must send Rogers to the last one because a few girls seemed uncomfortable with the leering crew. He'll have the creeps removed by this Friday.

He's swinging around as Red Hood on his normal patrol when he catches sight of Danny again. It's close to two in the morning, so he's surprised to see the other man cheerfully strolling about without any signs of exhaust.

He's also not wearing warm clothing despite the snow slowly falling around them. The only difference between what he was wearing earlier is the large black backpack. Jason half wonders if Danny only has nothing else to wear until the man pauses at an alley entry.

He crouches down, unzipping his bag, before pulling out a plastic-wrapped package. Jason watches him cautiously walk into the alley, following on the roofs out of curiosity.

His eyes widen when he spots a young boy hiding behind a trash bin, squishing himself against the wall as Danny carefully approaches him.

Jason hadn't seen the kid when he had passed by earlier, likely due to the boy knowing how to hide himself in the shadows. How had Danny seen him?

"Go away!" The boy yells when Danny gets too close for comfort. Jason's hackles rise, pulling out his gun in case he needs to intervene. He remembers the days when the sound of approaching footsteps to his hiding places in the streets meant.

Danny stops just on the other side of the trash bin. He places the package on top of it and backs away quickly. "I don't mean to bother you. But I thought you could use these. Stay warm, and if you need to escape the snowstorm, go to the address in the right pocket."

The boy doesn't answer, and Danny doesn't seem to wait for one. He leaves with quick strides. Jason watches him from the roof, noticing he returns to a slow stroll once he's back on the main street.

Below, the street kid carefully pulls the plastic bag towards him once he knows Danny is gone. He unwraps the bag only to gasp in delight at the jacket, gloves, hat, scarf, and socks inside. He quickly slips them on, burying himself in the small amounts of warmth they offer him.

Jason watches the boy for a few minutes before jumping down. The kid scrambles away until he realizes it's Rood Hood. Everyone knows that he won't harm street kids.

"Hey," He says, noting that the boy's new clothes seem to be made from expensive material, all in black and neon green. "Do you have somewhere warm to sleep tonight? Snowstorm is coming."

"I can handle it." The boy scoffs despite the shivers that wrack his body.

"I know you can. But it's not safe out here" He kneels at the boy's eye level. He seems about twelve, likely new to the streets since he has yet to find proper shelter. Dirty blond hair and dark, weary brown eyes stare back at him as Jason offers. "Let me get you somewhere safe."

"I won't go back to the stupid system."

"Nah, that shit's broken. I got a safe house for you to crash in."

The boy thinks it over. "Just us?"

Jason isn't a mind reader to know what the kid fears. "No. It's full of other people."

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually, he convinces Max to follow him. They travel across Crime Alley to one of the empty warehouses he had turned into an illegal shelter. Inside are various Red Hood gangsters passing out blankets and setting up cots for people from the streets to sleep.

The heaters are on, but a few still refuse to remove their warm clothing- likely in fear of theft or that it proves an extra layer of comfort- as they settle down.

Max thanks him as the boy rushes to a corner that seems to be taken over by children. He doesn't approach the others to speak to, but he looks more comfortable picking a cot close to them. Jason's eyes widen slightly when he realizes that all seven children are wearing some form of the Black and Neon Green outfits Danny had given Max.

Rogers strolls up next to him, nodding his chin at the children. "Some street kids have been saying a man is offering them free supplies. He doesn't ask for anything in return and leaves them alone with they tell him to. His calling card is the little neon green ghost he places on each item. Want me to take a few of our boys and check him out?"

Jason grunts. "No need. I already know who it is. He seems like a non-threat."

Rogers appears flabbergasted for only a few seconds before pulling himself together. "If you say so, boss."

Jason turns to stare at the man, and Rogers raises his hands. "All I'm saying is that it's a little odd how good the guy is at spotting street kids."

"How good is he?"

"It's like he can see in the dark. He might be a meta."

Jason thinks back to Danny walking around in his light clothes like it's the middle of summer instead of winter and finds some weight in the meta-theory. "I'll pay him a visit soon."

Rogers lets the matter drop, even if he is confused by Jason's involvement. Usually, he has some of the newest members of the youngest ones who reckon a personable target- or new recruits.

But something about Danny called out to Jason. He couldn't say it, but the man's snow-like personality eased the Pit Rage in him. Strangely it felt like Danny was the calm winter promising rest to the wounded parts of Jason's soul.

He didn't want to see Danny's pure heart ruined by this city.

Jason wonders if he could keep it safe and if Danny will even give him the chance to try.

He hopes so. Danny has such a lovely smile.

#dcxdpdabbles #Dead on main #Red Hood's snow #Jason falls for the man trying to make Crime Alley less terrible.#Danny is just vibing being a help to anyone that he comes across #Jason was raised along side a sweet Mexican family cause I say so #Jason falls for a man with a pure heart.#Rogers is freaking out #His boss??? with a crush???#Hope you like!

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killa-trav · 6 months

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so this is the restaurant noah schnapp was at, it's an isnotraeli restaurant that serves arab food yeh no wonder noah was so comfortable sharing his shitty stickers in public n they were more than happy to repost said stickers on their stories

n whilst they are more than happy to make money of food they've stolen, palestinian restaurants are getting burned and receiving d*ath threats

and this restaurant is racist and they don't even try to hide it, you can see the reviews on google from months ago calling them out for their racist treatment of bipoc

#oh i can't wait for noah schnapp to fall off the face of the earth #fucking freak #free palestine #noah schnapp

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 9 months

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Imagine if Sally somehow gets her hands on a pair of 3ft platform heels so she can kiss her girlfriend without poppy breaking her neck. Wally ‘borrows’ them to feel Bonita 💃🏻💅

finally, easily accessible kisses... she's too powerful...

and ofc Wally's... experience

#i spent... Too Long on this #anyway a+ anon funny as fuck!#in my mind barnaby misses by an Inch and wally faceplants & just lays there like a dropped pretzel #and meanwhile poppy does not get a minute of rest #every five minutes sally would be sauntering over in her glorified stilts for Affection #scribble salad #wh popstar #rambles from the bog #actually it probably freaks poppy out...#what if sally falls like wally did.... huh.... what then!!!#what if she twists her boneless ligamentless ankle!!#what if she falls on a conveniently placed box of tacks!!!

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spaceoddball1969 · 2 years

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Falling for the Freak - Eddie Munson Fix-it Fic Chapter 05

Hello hello! I had to take a day off from updating because I was seeing Big Time Rush in concert! (They were amazing btw and I was seated next to an Eddie Muson fan <3) Anyway, here we go! Chapter 5!

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Get ready for some fluff! It’s coming your way! As the reader realizes she never exchanged numbers with Eddie, she wonders when/if she’ll ever see him again. When she finally does see him again, things start to get a bit interesting.

Chapter 5

Life got kind of quiet after the fall Harvest Festival. I kept up a steady pace of going to class and working as many hours that I could at Family Video. Dustin was busy with school and Hellfire Club. He really seemed to have found his place at Hawkins High.

Every once in a while I would spend my free time with Robin or Steve. Sometimes I even hung out with Nancy Wheeler. I hadn’t seen Eddie since the morning after the Festival. I heard about him a lot from Dustin. Dustin seemed to worship the guy, much to Steve’s dismay. If Dustin ever brought Eddie up in front of Steve, his expression would turn sour and he would try to change the subject. Sometimes I thought about asking Dustin for Eddie’s phone number, but then I felt kind of pathetic about needing to ask my fourteen year old cousin for a guy’s number. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to say to Eddie. I just felt this interest in getting to know him better.

As it was creeping closer to Halloween, I had pretty much given up hope that I would ever see Eddie Munson again. I was busy working and studying for my midterms. I had a horribly long paper due for my English class. The course was focused on the deeper meaning of monsters in literature and media. We had spent the first half of the class studying wearwolves and vampires and their representation throughout classic novels and films. For our midterm paper we could write about anything related to these two monsters. I prefered vampires, but I had not a clue of what I wanted to write about.

---

It was the day before Halloween when I found myself standing in the horror section of Family Video staring at our copy of Nosferatu. I was the first one in for the afternoon shift and I figured that gave me dibs to pick the afternoon movie. If was going to write about vampires, I figured a good place to start was one of the earliest appearances of one on screen.

I had just put the tape into the VCR when Steve and Robin entered the store. Robin was excitedly talking about someone named Vickie. They both waved as I fiddled with the tv.

“What’s the movie for this afternoon?” Robin asked, tugging on her green work vest.

“Nosferatu,” I said. “It’s a horror movie from the 20′s.”

“What’s the deal with the sound?” Steve asked. “Did you forget to turn the volume up?”

“No,” I said, joining him behind the counter. “It’s silent,”

“You put a silent movie on?” He asked, rolling his eyes. “Come on, we should be watching something that’s actually scary, it’s the day before Halloween,”

“This is scary,” I said. “And I want to see it for one of my classes,”

“The only thing that’s scary about this is how bad it is,” Steve sighed. “I’m picking the next movie.”

About thirty minutes went by and then the door opened. I looked away from the movie for a moment and saw Eddie Munson standing at the front counter. I felt a little smile creep onto my face and I waved. He gave me a nod and then leaned forward on the counter.

“Hey there,” he said.

“I was just beginning to think I was never going to see you again,” I said, approaching him.

“You think about me often?” he asked, a smirk forming on his lips.

“No,” I said. “I just hear about you a lot from Dustin and it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen you since the Festival,”

“You mean when you crashed in my van?” Eddie chuckled. “How’d that work out for you by the way? I see your aunt didn’t murder you,”

“I somehow got away with it,” I said. “No murder was needed,”

“Good,” Eddie said, “because me and the boys have got a gig coming up and I was thinking you could show me some of your sick stage moves,”

“Wait,” I said, setting my hands down on the counter. “You, Eddie Munson, are coming to me to ask for help on how to perform?”

“Pathetic, I know,” Eddie sighed, dropping his head. “But I can’t think of anyone better to go to,”

“It’s a good thing flattery works for me,” I said.

“So how about tonight? Seven? Your place?” Eddie asked, standing up straight.

“So you’re inviting yourself over to my house?” I asked. “Why can’t I just come to your place?”

“My place is a bit cramped at the moment,” Eddie said. “Come on, I’ll bring pizza,”

I thought about it for a moment. “Well, if you’re going to flatter me and bring pizza then I guess I can let you come over,”

“Good,” Eddie said, smiling brightly. “I’ll see you then,”

“Good,” I replied.

He started to walk out with a confident air about him.

"Wouldn't you be needing my address?" I called.

Eddie stopped in his tracks. He turned slowly around and came back to the counter.

"Would you be so kind as to give me your address, sweetheart?" Eddie asked, a mildly irritated look on his face.

"Oh I guess," I said, giggling to myself. "And I told you not to call me that,"

---

The rest of my shift felt like it went on for ten years. I was out at six, but the three hours between when Eddie left and when I clocked out seemed to drag by at a snail’s pace. When I finally left, I sped home on my bike as fast as the two wheels could carry me. As I pulled into the driveway, I stepped off my bike and let it fall to the ground. I made my way inside and into my bedroom.

I saw my reflection in the mirror I had leaning against one of the walls and cringed. My hair was a frizzy mess, I was sweaty, and worst of all, I was still wearing my Family Video vest. I yanked it off quickly and began digging through my dresser to find something different to put on. I found a pair of jeans and an old David Bowie shirt to throw on. My hair was hopeless. As I tried to brush it, the frizz just got worse. I sighed in defeat as I heard a knock at the door.

Aunt Claudia opened it and I heard a surprised “Oh” come from her, quickly followed by a “How may I help you?”

“Hi Mrs. Henderson,” I heard Eddie’s deep voice say. “My name is Eddie Munson-”

Before he could go on any further, I heard Aunt Claudia cut him off. “Oh you’re Dusty’s friend!” she said excitedly. “He talks about you all the time. Oh, but he’s not here, sweetie, he’s staying over at Mike’s tonight,”

“I’m actually here to see Y/N,” Eddie said.

“Oh,” Aunt Claudia said. “I’ll go get her then,”

I glared at my now ponytailed hair in the mirror, wondering why I cared so much about what I looked like in front of Eddie Munson. Before my aunt could reach my door, I opened it, stomping out to go meet Eddie. I nearly ran into Aunt Claudia.

“Honey there’s a boy here to see you,” she said, “it’s Dusty’s friend from that Dungeons and Dragons club he’s in,”

“I know,” I said, giving her a soft smile, “I was expecting him. He wants me to teach him how to lead his band,”

“I heard that!” Eddie called from the front door.

“I wanted you to!” I called back.

Barefoot, I padded my way down the hall until I reached the front door. I saw Eddie standing there on the front porch, clad in his dark jeans and leather jacket. Underneath his coat I could see his Hellfire shirt peaking out. In his hands he held a large pizza box. I snatched it from him and turned to Aunt Claudia.

“Would you like any pizza before we go outside?” I asked.

“That’s ok kids,” my aunt replied. “I’ve got some pasta cooking on the stove,”

“Ok,” I said, “We’re going to be outside,”

“Okie dokie,” she said with a smile.

I stepped outside with Eddie and led him to the overhang in the driveway where Aunt Claudia parked her car. Even with the car parked there, we still had more than enough room to practice. I set the pizza down on the hood of my aunt’s car and pulled out a slice. Taking a bite, I leaned against the car and looked at Eddie.

“So what exactly do you want me to help you with?” I asked.

“Well,” Eddie said taking out a slice of pizza for himself, “I’ve always got my guitar on me on stage, so I’ve always had an excuse to not really know how to move around on stage, but we’re starting to think about some tunes where we don’t really need more than one guitar,”

“And now you need to move without your instrument?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, sheepishly. “It’s just so awkward. I don’t know how you did it so well,”

I felt heat rush to my cheeks at his compliment. “I don’t try to think about it too much. I usually just try to feel the music. And don’t over-do it. Less is more in my opinion,”

“Less is more,” Eddie said as he chewed on his pizza. “Could we practice with some music? Do you have a boombox?”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured we’d end up doing,” I said. “I grabbed it and brought it out here before you came over. I figured we could listen to some stuff and see what happens,”

“Sounds good,” Eddie said and then paused, seemingly deep in thought. “I really liked what you did during the Blondie tune. It looked really smooth,”

“Let’s start there then,” I said.

I walked over to the boombox that sat on the ground in the corner. I had a stack of mix tapes next to it and began to shuffle through them until I found the one that had “Heart of Glass” on it. We listened to the songs on the tape before our desired tune came on as we finished our pizza. As the song came on, I began my lesson.

“So, when you hear this, what’s your first instinct?” I asked. “How do you want to move to it?”

“That’s the thing,” Eddie said, “I don’t know when I don’t have my guitar,”

“What would you do if you had your guitar?” I asked, feeling the rhythm of the music start to infect my body.

“I don’t know,” Eddie said. “Probably start head banging,”

I chuckled. “Ok, so do that,”

He shyly started to move his head to the beat. I took a step closer to him. “What if you used more than just your head? Like, get your shoulders and hips into it too,”

“My hips?” he asked, looking up at me.

“Yeah,” I said, a smile growing on my mouth. “Come on this is like the sexiest groove you might ever hear in your life, you have to use your hips,”

I watched and stifled a laugh as Eddie desperately tried to add his hips into his movements. He looked terribly awkward and uncoordinated. I also felt that he was moving too fast.

“Try just moving on the big beats,” I said. “You’re on every beat right now. Just go like every other. One and three,”

“One and three,” he nodded but didn’t move.

“Munson,” I sighed, “are you actually going to make me do this all for you?”

“I don’t know how to do this!” Eddie groaned. “This is why I play guitar!”

“Relax,” I laughed, holding my hands up in surrender. “Just watch me,” I said and restarted the song.

I began by getting the rhythm into my body. Then I started to sway my hips back and forth. As the song picked up, I started to move my arms all around me. I felt free dancing to the song. I had never felt so unaware of myself in front Eddie before. It felt incredible. Then I remembered that he was watching me and that I needed to teach him something.

“You see how my hips are loose?” I asked. “Move yours like that.”

Eddie continued to struggle. I lost my patience and stepped up to him until we were face to face. Without my stilettos on, I suddenly realized the height Eddie had on me. My head barely came up to his collarbone. I seized his hands and placed them on my hips.

“Do you feel how the movement is really coming from my waist?” I asked. “And it’s more like a figure eight motion than a sway from side to side,”

Eddie stared down at my hands over his and nodded slowly. I eventually moved my hands to his hips so I could guide his movements. We moved like that until the instrumental break came in the song. I stepped out of his arms and began to dance around to the music.

“And whenever you have a break like this just have fun with your movements,” I said, “Let the music tell you what to do,”

“Hmm,” Eddie mumbled, watching how I moved intently.

I was starting to feel flushed knowing that he was staring at my body so closely. “Is this making sense to you?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah,” Eddie said. “This is helping a lot,”

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Most definitely,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

We kept working on how to move through different kinds of songs. I let the tape play as I tried to share my wisdom with him. Every once in a while we would take a pizza break and catch our breath. It was starting to get dark when the final song of the tape came on. It was “I Want to Know What Love Is” by Foreigner.

“This song!” Eddie cackled, tossing his head back. “You have this song on a mix tape!”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?” I asked.

“It’s ridiculous!” he said.

“By ridiculous you mean fantastic,” I said, elbowing him.

“No,” Eddie said, “I mean ridiculous.”

“You’re just scared of it because it’s a slow song and you don’t know how to perform it,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Show me then,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“Show me how to do it,” Eddie said, “Go on, isn’t that why we’re here? Teach me your ways,”

“Fine,” I said, “but if you have an existential crisis because you’re going to start enjoying a Foreigner song that’s not my fault,”

I started the song over and decided to go full ham with my performance. I stood in front of Eddie as he leaned against my aunt’s car. I held myself as if I was performing and I began lip syncing to the song. I held my hand out as if I was holding a microphone. Eddie chuckled as I dramatically performed the song. He pulled his lighter out of his pocket and held it up, waving it back and forth above his head. As I hit the chorus I couldn’t help myself, I had to sing it for real. Eddie burst out laughing at my over the top performance. When I got to the next verse, he put his lighter away and crossed his arms over his chest. Eddie wore a toothy smile as I approached him. I started to serenade him with the second verse. He tried his best to ignore me as I moved more into his personal space. As I built up to the second chorus, I really started to get into it and pumped the air with my fists. Just as I was taking in a breath to belt out the second chorus, Eddie jumped up and grabbed my wrists. Before I knew it he was screaming the lyrics at the top of his lungs.

“I knew it!” I yelled, jumping up and down. “I knew you had to like this song!”

“Just shut up!” Eddie said, shaking his head and laughing.

Eddie released my wrists and slipped his hands onto my waist. I wound my arms around his neck as we both shouted the rest the chorus together. Eddie had a dopey grin plastered on his face and I was certain that I was wearing one to match. We swayed back and forth together until the song came to a close. Then we just stood there in each other’s arms.

I could feel my heart begin to race. My cheeks started to burn as I looked up into Eddie’s face. His eyes were the darkest brown I have ever seen - almost black. In the dim night light it was hard to differentiate between his pupils and his irisises. Eddie stared down at me and licked his lips before biting down slightly on his lower lip. My eyes were drawn to his mouth. His lips were a light pink and looked incredibly soft. I was suddenly desperately aware of the feeling of his hands on my waist. With my arms around his shoulders, my t-shirt had started to ride up slightly. The tip of one of Eddie’s thumbs was just barely brushing a strip of bare skin above the waistline of my jeans. It burned so strongly I thought it might leave a mark. His shoulders felt firm underneath my hands. I could feel the muscles underneath his jacket and it took everything in me not to squeeze down on them. The ends of Eddie’s fuzzy brown curls tickled my hands. I wondered what it would feel like to take a handful of those curls into my fist and pull. I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat as Eddie started to move closer to me. Just as his head started to turn down slightly towards my face, I heard the front door open.

“Y/N!” Aunt Claudia called. “It’s nine! You know the rules!”

Eddie and I jumped away from one another. “We were just finishing up,” I replied. I turned to Eddie and added, “No guests over past nine,”

He nodded in understanding. Eddie gave my aunt a wave and called “Thanks for have me, Mrs. Henderson!”

“Any time, sweetie!” she replied and then closed the door.

There was an awkward silence between Eddie and I after that. I couldn’t really bring myself to look up at him again. I stared at his shoes as he kicked nervously at the cement.

“So uh,” Eddie started. “I should go,”

“Yeah,” I said, finally looking up at him. “Um, thanks for the pizza,”

“You’re welcome,” Eddie said, “Thanks for teaching me some of your moves,”

“Any time,” I said.

“Aw you’re not gonna call me sweetie like your aunt?” Eddie teased.

“Only in your dreams,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“For now,” Eddie smirked.

“Get out of here, you dumbass,” I said, giving him a playful shove.

“I’ll see you,” Eddie said. “Hopefully a little sooner than last time, now that I know where you live,”

“Ok,” I said, nodding. “I look forward to it,”

“Later,” he said, and then strutted over to his van.

I watched as Eddie unlocked the car and got in. Soon enough loud metal music was blaring out the windows. He rolled down the passenger window and gave me a wave before he sped off down the street. I watched from my place in the driveway until Eddie disappeared around the corner.

I heaved a sigh. “I am so fucked,” I muttered.

Previous Chapter: Chapter 04 Next Chapter: Chapter 06

Falling for the Freak Taglist:

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#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #female reader #falling for the freak #chapter 05 #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #joseph quinn #fanfiction #fix it fic #eddie munson fix it fic

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