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#fic series: hunting down dreams

i-am-church-the-cat · 3 months

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i am obsessed (and still recovering emotionally from peak). i need them as an older married couple. like, when they have time, does oscar hide somewhere and make logan hunt him down, just for fun? does logan's hyperfixation result in epic sex/cuddles? does logan end up feeding oscar? does oscar's sleepiness help calm logan down? OB-SESS-ED.

Idk about older and married but I do have some married and domestic Loscar headcanon posts

when they have time, does oscar hide somewhere and make logan hunt him down, just for fun?

Interesting. I would say no just because it's not something either of them really plan, it's just Logan's brain randomly taking over. When they're not racing, though, his "hunt" is more like, tracking down that one book Oscar has said he's been wanting.

does logan's hyperfixation result in epic sex/cuddles?

very much so. logan's train of thought is basically just "oscar oscar oscar oscar" so he does essentially whatever oscar wants/needs at the time, like taking care of him after the race in "bird of prey".

does logan end up feeding oscar?

I wanna say no just bc food isn't really what logan is hunting/providing oscar with, it's race wins like in "fresh kill". logan doesn't give oscar EVERY trophy he has but it's very much implied than any win logan gets it's a gift for oscar.

does oscar's sleepiness help calm logan down?

yeah so I tried to kind of imply that at the end of "bird of prey". i see it as a concentration gradient, everything wants to go from high to low (in this case logan's high energy and oscar's low energy). so logan gives oscar some of his energy that has a double benefit of calming him down and waking oscar up a bit more. it also helps a lot with logan's anxiety.

#thanks for the ask i will never stop talking about these fools #fic: bird of prey #fic: fresh kill #fic series: hunting down dreams #loscar #logan sargeant #oscar piastri #formula 1 rpf #f1 rpf #anon ask

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jishyucks · 7 months

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True Love Gave to Me Masterlist

— A Holiday Series of Short Oneshots

Ah~ the holiday season—a season of giving, of joy and laughter, of overflowing love… Why not spread this festive warmth with 12 short stories set during this time of year?

‣ featuring: hyung line of nct dream x reader, 00line of stray kids x reader, & 02z of enhypen x reader

‣ genre: all very fluffy! and holiday-themed (some are cliche but who hates cliches), specifics and warnings will be listed under each fic!

one.

‣ pairing: mark lee x reader ‣ genre: fluff, implied friends-to-lovers, classmates au

Sure, it was disheartening seeing everyone receive a holiday candy gram but you, especially when you’re the one in charge of selling them at lunch. But don't worry, yours is on the way. He’s just… running a bit late.

Received!

two.

‣ pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader ‣ genre: fluff, implied friends-to-lovers, rich-kid!au

You’ve quickly established that no one at this damn charity gala cares about the event’s purpose. They were just there to party. And you wanted nothing else but to leave; alternatively, in which Hyunjin saves you from your misery to see the city’s Christmas lights.

Received!

three.

‣ pairing: park jay x reader ‣ genre: fluff, coworkers-to-something more?, subtly hurt/comfort

Your ability to empathize was a blessing and curse. When you see your boss sitting alone in his office on Christmas Day, you can’t help but invite him to your family party. And when he actually says yes, you’re kind of stuck regretting the offer simply because you’re not sure how this is going to turn out.

Received!

four.

‣ pairing: huang renjun x reader ‣ genre: fluff, academic rivals to (implied) lovers, forced proximity

You don’t hate many things, but you could proudly say that you hate snow and Huang Renjun. And now that the universe has decided that it was a great idea to have you snowed in with the smartass himself, you’ll gladly add the universe to that list.

Received!

five.

‣ pairing: han jisung x reader ‣ genre: fluff, implied f2l/coworkers-to-lovers

In all honesty, you had no idea why you decided to take up the job of gift wrapping at your local mall. There are moms constantly yelling at you, your fingers are covered in papercuts, and the hours are long. Luckily, your coworker, Jisung, is there to make it more bearable.

Received!

six.

‣ pairing: jake sim x reader ‣ genre: fluff, meet-cute, implied strangers to something more

After months of being apart from your family, you finally get to fly back home for the holidays. On the flight there, you’re placed next to a cute stranger who has taken it upon himself to talk to you. What happens when the roads from the airport are closed overnight and you’re stuck with said stranger? You’re just hoping he doesn’t have any plans of kidnapping you.

Received!

seven.

‣ pairing: lee jeno x reader ‣ genre: fluff, implied f2l/coworkers-to-lovers, secret admirer au, office!au

When gifts start appearing on your work desk on December 1st, you have no choice but to hunt down the man who’s been planting them. And with only 7 men on the floor, this shouldn’t be difficult… Right?

Received!

eight.

‣ pairing: felix lee x reader ‣ genre: fluff, implied f2l, hurt/comfort

Spending Christmas sick and in bed wasn’t Felix’s ideal way of spending the holiday. Being the best friend that you are, you decide to take care of him. Who would have thought that Felix was clingy when he had the flu?

Received!

nine.

‣ pairing: park sunghoon x reader ‣ genre: fluff, friends-to-lovers

After weeks of stalling, you finally let Sunghoon take you skating—and with how close you two are, you hope he mistakes the beating of your heart for the beat of the music.

Received!

ten.

‣ pairing: lee donghyuck x reader ‣ genre: fluff, established relationship

They weren’t lying when they said that the holiday season was the busiest time of year. With finals rolling around, gift shopping for your family, and keeping yourself in check, you barely have time to give your boyfriend the attention he wants. Donghyuck, however, has a way to work around this; alternatively, in which Donghyuck just wants one kiss and you think it’ll be funny not to give it to him

Received!

eleven.

‣ pairing: kim seungmin x reader ‣ genre: fluff, frenemies to lovers

After cursing the city and their poor excuse of cleaning the streets, you eventually swallow your pride and call your friends to help you free your car from the snow. And out of all the people that could have come, it really had to be Seungmin…

Received!

twelve.

‣ pairing: na jaemin x reader ‣ genre: fluff, f2l/co'workers'-to-lovers

You have two weaknesses—Gojo and men with kids… and you guess, Jaemin. That would make it three, but he falls under that second category; alternatively, in which you weren’t really planning on developing feelings for Na Jaemin but seeing him work with kids all the time at the local community centre is making it damn hard not to.

Received!

‣ an: another episode of me being ambitious cause I have so many other WIPS, so we'll see if I'll manage to do these on time (if not, Christmas lasts until Jan 6,,, soo) but don't worry I am motivated to actually complete this!—anyways, I love Christmas and the holiday season so much that I had to do this,,, and I didn’t rly do anything for when I reached 1k so why not? I'm aware it's 'true love sent to me' but this fits the theme more,,, PLEASE ENJOY AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!—things might change as I go!

!! if anyone is interested in joining a tag list, please let me know! just indicate if you'd like to be tagged on all of them or certain groups/members!

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turtletaubwrites · 5 months

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One Shots & Requests Masterlist

18+ ONLY. MDNI. SOME FICS CONTAIN DARK CONTENT. Currently writing for One Piece. All of these fics are NSFW and Fem!Reader unless marked otherwise. Content warnings and Ao3 links can be found on each post. This post updates frequently! Check out the main masterlist for completed and ongoing series, as well as WIP updates and announcements! One shots related to the poly fic We've All Got Needs can be read on their own, and are marked with a 💜

Ace

The Only One I Want ~ (1657) ~ You have a delicious dream about a certain swordsman. Your boyfriend, Ace, is not pleased when you wake up. (Brief Zoro x Fem!Reader in a dream.)

My Pretty Little Thief ~ (2004) ~ Ace knows where he left his hat. But when it's not there, he hunts it down, only to discover the culprit. How can he convince the thief to return his precious hat?

Buggy

You’d Do Anything For Me, Wouldn’t Ya, Doll? ~ (2104) ~ You are Captain Buggy’s Vicious Dagger, his blade tossing beauty that recently became his lover. You’d do anything for him, and tonight you prove it.

Crocodile

Wrong Side of the Bars ~ (3990) ~ Your promotion landed you in hell, otherwise known as Level 6 of Impel Down. All you wanted to do was work this shit job so you could move on up, but there's one prisoner that won't leave you alone. It turns out those long nights go by faster with a bit of company.

Cross Guild

Numbers Game ~ Masterlist ~ (Oops. Turned into a series.) ~ You left your stable/boring life as an investment banker to have some adventure. Unfortunately, that sweet Warlord of the Sea didn't follow your financial advice, and now you and your clown are at the mercy of his biggest lender and his new business partner.

Katakuri

Sweet Abduction ~ (4084) ~ Part 2 ~ (2175) ~ Part 3 (End) ~ (3781) ~ Times are tough, and you're afraid you'll have to give up the family business, until you find people who cherish your work. Who knew making doughnuts would gain you the attention of an Emperor of the Sea, and her second son? Will your new life be as sweet as it seemed?

More fics below the cut 🖤

Law

See How You Like It ~ (1927) ~ Law is back from another fiasco with the Straw Hats. You think he's cute when he's grumpy. He thinks you should have some more respect for your captain.

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist ~ (Oops. Turned into a series. Completed) ~ !! YANDERE!Law x Fem!Reader !! DARK CONTENT !! ~ You have struggled with mystery pains and injuries for most of your life, and had resigned yourself to suffer after every doctor told you there was nothing wrong. But when a world renowned doctor/pirate comes to town to offer aid in exchange for supplies, you decide to give hope one more chance. Maybe you'll finally find a doctor you can trust.

Misty Eyes ~ Masterlist ~ (Oops. Turned into a series. Ongoing) ~ (Includes Doflamingo x Fem!Reader in the past & flashbacks) !! DARK CONTENT !! ~ You were the weakest member of the Donquixote Family, so Doflamingo found another way you could serve him. Until your childhood crush found you, freeing you from those chains. What will Law expect in return?

Such a Softie ~ (461 ~ Drabble) (SFW) (GN!Reader) ~ Law is struggling to help you with your pain, until he has an idea. This is the coziest treatment you've ever received.

Luffy

My Favorite Kinds of Nights 💜 ~ (2375) ~ Part 2 ~ (3625) ~ You are enjoying a quiet moment away from the feast while the crew celebrates another victory. Your three partners, Robin, Sanji, and Zoro are occupied for the evening, so you take time to relax. Until you receive an unexpected request from your captain.

Multi and/or Character x Character

Same Time ~ (1123) ~ Zoro x Fem!Reader x Sanji ~ Your boyfriends are always arguing, but sometimes you're the one that wins the fight. Tonight the battle is for who gets to go first.

So What? ~ (SFW) ~ (1096) ~ Zoro x Sanji ~ An enemy catches Zoro eying Sanji in the middle of a fight. Zoro doesn't care, until they make the mistake of threatening the cook.

One Piece x Introverted!Reader (SFW) ~ Headcanons & Drabbles ~ Zoro, Sanji, and Robin

The Sounds You Made 💜 ~ (1422) ~ Sanji x Fem!Reader, Zoro x Fem!Reader ~ Sanji overhears you discussing and enjoying your casual arrangement with Zoro. He doesn't like the way Zoro talks to you, so he listens in to make sure you're okay.

Lucky Boy 💜 ~ (2561) ~ Sanji x Robin ~ Robin and Sanji have been dating you for a while, but tonight is their first date together. How will the cook and the archaeologist get along?

In Control ~ 💜 (2599) ~ Zoro x Robin ~ Robin and Zoro have been dating you for a while, but tonight is their first date together. How will the swordsman and the archaeologist get along?

You Never Shut Up, Do You? 💜 ~ (1323) ~ Zoro x Nami ~ Nami has watched you enjoy your poly relationships with Zoro and Sanji for a while. She's got an itch that needs scratching, and she decides to see if Zoro can help her out.

I Saw You First 💜 ~ (1451) ~ Part 2 ~ (1309) ~ Zoro x Fem!Reader, Sanji x Fem!Reader ~ You have a casual arrangement with Zoro, but he isn't happy that you'll be seeing Sanji tonight. He tries to get his mind off of things, but overhears you enjoying your time with the cook. Can he control his anger?

Touching What's Yours 💜 ~ (815) ~ Part 2 ~ (2344) ~ Part 3 ~ (6048) ~ Zoro x Sanji, Zoro x Fem!Reader x Sanji ~ You have a casual arrangement with Zoro, but he isn't happy that you had your first night with Sanji tonight. Zoro overheard some of your time together, and his rage kept him from sleeping. Instead, Zoro has gone to confront the cook for taking what's his.

Sanji

Sleeping Beauty 💜 ~ (2646) ~ Your boyfriend has yet another kink he'd like to explore with you. You tell Sanji that you trust him to take care of you, even while you're sleeping.

Filthy Little Angel 💜 ~ (1323) ~ Sanji requests to try a new way to worship your body. You know your boyfriend will take good care of you.

Parted Lips (SFW) ~ (1734) ~ Sanji has made another meal just for you, but it's still too painful to eat. You open up to Sanji about your jaw pain, and he offers to help you work through it.

Sanji's Super Birthday Present 💜 ~ (988) ~ Part 2 (End) ~ (1105) ~ You work up the nerve to ask Franky for help with a gift for Sanji. You hope your birthday boy will like his new toy.

Gag Order ~ (3268) ~ You catch your boyfriend flirting with another woman, and you can't stop your worries. Until you decide to use your talents as a hypnotist to make sure you're the only one Sanji flirts with. He told you he only wants to be with you, so what's the harm in helping him keep that promise?

Shanks

A Good Catch ~ (4367) ~ Part 2 ~ (5030) ~ Part 3 ~ (4613) ~ Part 4 (End) ~ (4275) ~ You are an unlucky fisherwoman having a bad day, until a red haired pirate captain offers to help you out. You're pretty sure he only makes it worse.

Zeff

My Lovely Patron ~ (1300) ~ Part 2 ~ (1922) ~ You are a journalist following a story about fishmen attacking a floating restaurant. You try to ply the head chef with wine for some details, but end up getting something else instead.

Zoro

Just a Dream ~ (1288) ~ You have a delicious dream about your captain's brother. Your boyfriend, the first mate, is not pleased when you wake up. (Brief Ace x Fem!Reader in a dream)

Hogging the Blankets 💜 ~ (1210) ~ Zoro hogged the blankets, so you try to wake him. He tells you what you need to do now that you've woken him up.

Fighting Dirty 💜 ~ (2341) ~ You can’t help it when you get distracted by Zoro during training sessions, so he brings the sparring mats to the bedroom to teach you a lesson.

Mama Bear ~ (2606) ~ (Modern AU) ~ You're a gogo dancer, and you bring Zoro to a rave on your night off, wanting to show your boyfriend what that part of your life is like. Zoro can't help but notice how much you like to take care of people, and he has some thoughts on the matter.

Zoro x GN!Swordsman!Reader (with a powerful/unique sword) (SFW) ~ Headcanons & Drabble

A Swordsman's Shame ~ (SFW) (GN!Reader) ~ (1530) ~ You and Zoro have the same dream, and it's built a passion between you. But something has been holding you back, keeping you from opening yourself up to your crewmate, your rival, your fellow swordsman.

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 20 days

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Keep Moving Forwards: Part 4

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 3.0K

Author's Note: This is the second part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

There was an odd pain radiating from your temple, stretching around your forehead to the back of your scalp, pulsating. What happened? you wondered. As you reached up to press your palm into the epicenter of the pain, you felt a distinct sharp pain radiating up your side from your ribs, spreading down through your back. It was enough pain to justify saying your entire torso felt like it was on fire. A sharp hiss escaped from between your teeth as you finally managed to bring your palm to your temple, the ache still pounding. You ran one hand up your side to find it bandaged, a wooden splint strapped to your side to keep you from bending. Something very bad had happened. You tried to recall events leading up to now, but the memories were foggy. Something about rain and darkness? Your body remembered biting cold, but other than that, you struggled to pull anything from your subconscious. Right now, you were just exhausted, both in mind and body.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with an odd sight. A wooden ceiling, vaulted high above you. You squinted, unsure if the pain in your head was distorting your vision. The roof of your cabin was much lower and certainly didn’t have the ornate carvings lining the beams. You managed to turn your head slightly, your neck sending a shooting pain through your spine as you clenched your teeth. Unless you were dreaming, this wasn’t your cabin.

To your right, there was a small wooden side table with four ornately carved drawers. Atop it was a washbasin with a dirty red rag draped over the side, and a single candle burned down almost to its base, the wick and flame high and flickering. Across the room was a large window with brown curtains hanging from the beam above it. On the window sill stood a series of bottles and candles—perfume bottles, perhaps. Below that was a chest carved with various markings, some of which you could make out as stars. Fighting against the pain, you craned your neck to look at the fireplace, where wood cracked and split as smoke curled up the chimney. Resting next to the mantle was a series of weapons: swords, knives, an ax, all left haphazardly as if someone had thrown them down some time ago and left them to collect dust.

Your head sent another pang of pain through it as you squeezed your eyes shut, your head falling back to hit the pillow again, which was soft, warm, and inviting. You let your hands fall back to your sides, instinctively curling into the warmth of the soft fur at the side of the bed. You let your fingers run idly through it as you tried and failed once again to orient yourself. Thinking too hard sent the pain burning through your skull again, and every breath felt as if someone were dragging a knife down the length of your side.

You must have fallen asleep, because when you next opened your eyes, the light in the room had shifted to the oranges and yellows of evening. Struggling once more to turn your head and look around the room, you noticed the washbasin had been removed and the candle replaced with a taller, newer version. Someone had come in while you were asleep. When you reached down your sides, you noticed the wooden splint had been removed and the dressings replaced with smoother, cotton bandages. Not only had someone been in the room with you, but they had also nursed you.

You tried to sit up. Another blast of pain, and a small inadvertent squeak from your mouth, and your head fell back to the mattress. When you turned your head, you recognized the male standing in the doorway, but couldn't quite place him. Your eyes squinted at him, mouth slightly open.

“You’re awake,” he finally spoke, making his way across the room and setting a basin of clean water on the side table before wringing out the rag within it. He reached across to run it across your temple, and you jerked to the side, causing another roar of pain as you squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.

“You can’t move like that,” he warned, pulling his hand back, the water dripping onto the floor. “You haven’t fully healed, and every time you move, that rib recracks.”

A broken rib. So that was the cause of the pain.

You groaned slightly as he placed the rag back in the basin and took a step back. You gave him a long look up and down. Yes, he certainly seemed familiar. His tanned skin, covered in swirling black tattoos running down his arms and up his neck, barely visible above the collar of his black shirt. His face was hardened yet kind, with hazel eyes meeting yours as you continued to try to decode this familiar stranger. His hair, soft black waves, swooped down over his forehead, and the most familiar part of him were the large bat-like wings protruding over his shoulders, the talons on the top glinting in the light of the fire, now blazing at the foot of the bed.

“Do you not recognize me?” he asked after you seemed satisfied with your visual investigation.

You rested your head back down on the pillow, your neck nearly giving out from the strain of holding it up, which felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. You choked back a slight gasp as your neck spasmed. “No,” you finally got out. “Should I?”

The male’s brows furrowed, and a hint of concern flashed across his face as he clasped his hands behind his back. “We met a few nights ago, both at the Starlit Stag Inn. You were in the room adjacent to mine.”

You pulled through the memories, recalling your initial interaction, walking in to find him lounging on the chair. Memories seemed to be coming back, slowly.

“You were in my room,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut.

The male let out a light chuckle as he pulled a wooden stool from the wall, planting his large frame onto it. His forearms rested on his thighs as he leaned forward, clasping his hands. “I would argue you were in my room, given I was there first.”

You opened one eye, the other still clenched shut, to look at him. His face was soft, inviting, handsome for sure, but what struck you most was the seeming care he took in looking at your face, which you were sure was battered and bruised based on how it felt.

“Well,” you replied, “I guess I’m sorry about taking over your space.”

He smiled again, his scarred thumb stroking the top of his other hand as he looked down at it. “I was more than happy to share.”

There was a pause as he looked back up at you, now staring toward the ceiling, ragged breaths escaping from you as you tried to peer through memories, searching for what had happened over the last few days.

“What do you remember?” he finally asked.

You blinked a few times. Rain, cold, pain, male voices echoing, saying such foul things, and before that, purple flowers, your mother. “It’s fuzzy,” you finally said, tears building at the corner of your eyes, though you weren’t sure why.

“Seemed like you knocked your head pretty hard,” the male said, gesturing to your temple. “Though I can’t say what happened to the rest of you, you were pretty battered when I found you”

“Found me?” you asked, a tear slipping down your cheek, though it was on the other side, and the male couldn’t see it as you shoved the sadness deep down.

The male nodded. “You were lying on the river bank, soaking wet and freezing. I assume you’d somehow fallen into the river and hit your head. You don’t remember any of that?”

That would explain the blasts of pain.

“What river?”

The male’s eyes furrowed again, apparently you knew less than he thought. “The Frostvale.”

“Frostvale, as in the Illyrian Frostvale?” you clarified.

The male chuckled again. “I don’t think there are many others named that.”

Frostvale was where your mate had taken you one summer, to spend the weekend swimming in the cold water rushing in from the eastern sea. Your mate. Oh gods.

You suddenly tried to shoot upwards, but the pain pushed you back down.

“Whoa, whoa,” the male warned, rising from his seat and rushing over to you.

You screamed as the pain radiated up your side and seemed to erupt from your mouth.

“You need to be careful. Your ribs are shattered,” he warned, pulling back the blankets slightly to check your bandages. It was then that you realized you didn’t have a top on and that the bandages around your midsection barely covered your breasts. You gasped quickly as the male went to adjust the bandage, but you whipped out an arm to push him back, slamming into his chest, pulling the fur blankets up.

“No!” you screamed at him.

He threw his hands up in defense. “Alright, alright” he conceded. “That was fair. But you need to not move so much. You already punctured your lungs twice just while you were sleeping.”

That explained the wheezing, hollow, raspy sound emanating from your chest.

“Half of this week has just been trying to keep you still,” he said.

“A week?” you suddenly realized, your eyes widening.

The male nodded, lowering his hands and returning to his stool. “Yeah, you’ve been out for about four days.”

You gulped down the anxiety growing in your stomach. You’d lost four days, and who knows how many more from the injury. You suddenly ran through how far you would have made it from your cabin, realizing your original plan to escape had altered based off of this slight mishap.

You learned, after more questions, that you’d been away from the cabin for the last seven days. A full week without being found or going back—the longest time you had made it, although the injury certainly aided in that. But what you found strange was that since you had woken up, and the entire time you had been unconscious, the slimy voice of your mate hadn’t wormed its way into your mind. You shuddered at the thought of being unable to get away from your mate's coercion, insults, rages, and any other commentary he might throw down the bond. You silently thanked the Mother for whatever grace had been gifted to you.

The male looked toward the washbasin and then back to you. You followed his eyes. “I need to clean the gash on your head,” he said.

“I can do it,” you retorted.

The male frowned. “You can’t sit up. If you lift your arm above your head, your lung is going to pop, and I’m not even sure you have enough strength to hold yourself up for more than a second.”

You weighed your options, your eyes darting between the washbasin and his face. He sensed your hesitancy and finally responded, “I promise I won’t do anything. I just want to wash your wound.”

He held his hands up again as if in a peace offering. You gulped, still not fully sure why you felt so against this male touching you. Something in you felt incredibly hesitant about those wings, but you couldn’t quite place why.

The male sucked his lips between his teeth and peered around the room, his eyes landing on the fire mantle. He stood slowly as you watched him. You tried to cover yourself more, but pulling the blanket up caused a small fire to radiate through your back. The male seemed attuned to your nerves and said, “I’m going to get up and grab something from the mantle, and then I’m going to come back here and sit down.”

You nodded approval, and he gave a small nod back before he stood, continuing to face you, hands drawn up before himself while he walked slowly to the mantle. Your breathing paused as you waited. He reached up and grabbed a single hunting knife from the top. You suddenly panicked, trying to sit up, in fear of what you didn’t know. He wasn’t coming at you, wasn’t menacingly brandishing the knife, and yet you felt an inherent need to flee. When he saw your reaction, he quickly placed the knife on the floor, standing again, hands drawn up to his shoulders, palms facing you.

“It’s okay,” he reassured as you grunted at the pain. “I’m sorry, I should have told you what I was getting.” He pointed a finger down at the floor. “I was going to let you hold this while I cleaned the wound. You can hold it to my stomach, and if I go too far or you feel unsafe, you can defend yourself.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused at his remark. He was willingly giving you a weapon and asking you to stab him with it if you felt uncomfortable. “What?” you asked.

He looked at you, pausing, eyes meeting yours. “I just thought you might feel safer if you had some control.”

You tried to wipe the confusion from your face. He wanted you to stab him. No, he wanted you to have a way to stop him from hurting you. Even if he didn’t plan on hurting you, he wanted you to be able to stop it. You didn’t say anything, just continued to look at him.

“Are you okay with that?” he asked. When you didn’t respond, he added, “Look, I don’t know why you aren’t healing faster, but I’m worried that letting that fester is just going to make it harder and harder or deadly.” A pause. “Plus, I’ve been working hard at cleaning it for the last few days, so having you ruin my work doesn’t seem fair.” He gave you a small smile.

You nodded, and he smiled again, saying, “Alright, thank you. Now, I’m going to lean down and get the knife. I’m going to put it next to you on the bed and then step back until you take it, okay?”

You let out a sound of agreement, and he slowly crouched, one hand descending to grab the blade, the other still held in the air. He stood back up and slowly walked to the side of the bed, putting the knife next to your hand and taking a step back, both hands returning to the air. You quickly gripped the knife, and through the pain, held it up, your upper arm still propped up by the bed.

“Doing okay?” he asked. You nodded.

“Okay,” he pointed to the washbasin, “Now I’m going to grab that rag and dampen it. Then I’m going to run it over your forehead to clean it. It might take me a few rounds before it’s clean, and I am going to want to stop to look at the wound, but I promise I won’t let my hands touch you. Is that okay?”

You nodded your agreement. He nodded back. “I’m going to have to lean over you a bit, so you just keep the knife steady. You can rest it against my stomach.” You nodded again. He paused momentarily, “And please don’t accidentally stab me, if you’re going to do it, make it count.”

He slowly walked forward, grabbing the rag and dipping it into the water before wringing it out. He then brought it to your forehead, wiping it gingerly at first, his eyes focused on the wound. You held the knife to his stomach, pressing the tip gently into his shirt, feeling the hardened muscles underneath.

You gulped a few times, your sight locked onto his face and hands as he tended to you. He spoke the entire time, telling you what he was doing, alerting you when he was going to move, and warning you if things would hurt. At some point, you let the knife fall from his stomach, but you couldn’t decide if it was comfort or fatigue. When he was finished, he tossed the rag into the basin, scrubbing his hands clean and then wiping them on his pants.

“I probably should have opened with my name,” he chuckled to himself. “It just seemed like you were more preoccupied than niceties would have allowed. I’m Azriel.”

You looked at him, your fingers tracing the knife handle. “I’m Y/N,” you responded.

“That’s a pretty name,” he replied, turning back to you.

You smiled lightly, not looking towards him, just tracing the carved woodland animals on the handle of the knife.

“Look, I—” he started, then stopped, pondering his response. “I don’t want to intrude, and I know you’ve got some amnesia from hitting your head, but I just—” He paused again. “That first night, in the tavern, I came into your room and woke you up because you were screaming and—” He stopped.

You gulped, your eyes filling with tears, and you sniffled them away. You didn’t know why this kept happening. Why did you keep allowing yourself to the brink of tears in front of this stranger? He watched as your eyes reddened and lined with silver. “We can talk about it later,” he said, then smiled, picking up the basin and propping it on his hip. He looked toward your torso. “Would you feel more comfortable if a female looked at your ribs?” he asked.

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat that built before you could cry and nodded your head. Azriel smiled slightly, aware of the oncoming storm, and said, “I’ll send a female up here tomorrow morning.” He turned, walking toward the door, his large wings narrowly fitting through the entrance. Before reaching behind him to pull the door shut, he paused and asked, “Do you like berries?”

You nodded again, unable to speak for fear you might sob. He threw you another smile before ducking his head and leaving the room. Then he shut the door, leaving you alone as your tears began to fall and you coughed out long sobs that sent your body radiating with pain. You were stuck here, in a room, unable to move, with a male you didn’t know. You gripped the knife in your fist before pushing it under the fur blanket as your exhaustion hit you again, and your weary body succumbed to sleep.

Authors Note: Thank you for everyone who has been keeping up with the story and interaction and a special thanks to those who asked to join the tag list, it means to much to know there are people out here genuinely enjoying my works!

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months

Text

Napoleonville [Chapter 9: Clarence House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, Adventures with Aegon (ft. Sunfyre the Ferret), Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, and no more hints for you, start reading!!!

Word Count: 8.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰🧁

He returns in an afternoon of inescapable golden sunlight, hot and muggy, bumble bees and ladybugs wheeling lazily above tall grass, cumulus clouds like tufts of cotton in a sky the color of Aemond’s eye. You hear him talking to Cadi—she’s out in the front yard making mud pies, earth for sugar and sprinkles of stray pelican feathers—and then the weight of his footsteps on the sinking, sloping porch. He opens the door, never locked, and walks through the living room into the kitchen. From behind, his arms circle around your waist; and you’ve missed him so much—dreaming of waves and storms, chains and blood—that you have nothing for him but softness, gentle smiles and a voice hushed with relief.

“How was Norway?” you ask as you roll out dough on the counter. You’re making a buttermilk pie.

“Fine,” Aemond says, resting his chin on your shoulder. But he sounds tired, low.

You turn around to look at him, raising your fingertips to his unscarred right cheek; he won’t tolerate you touching the left. You leave a dusting of flour across his skin like snow, which you have never seen in person and likely never will. The air conditioner is humming. The little pink Panasonic boombox is playing Africa by Toto. “Did something happen?”

“I just missed you.” Then he brightens. “But I was greeted by some very welcome news when I got back to the house this morning.” He’s wearing his neon teal duffle bag. He drops it to the floor and unzips it; inside you glimpse several Nintendo game cartridges, presumably for Cadi. And you think: I’m always here making things, he’s always bringing them from far away. Aemond takes two small dark blue booklets out of a pocket in the inner lining of the duffle bag and gives them to you. On the front of each is embossed in gold lettering, along with an emblem of a bald eagle: Passport, United States of America.

“…Aemond?!”

“There’s one for you and one for Cadi. I submitted the forms a month ago, but even with expedited processing it took this long. Ridiculous. What does the government do all day besides hunt down social programs to defund?”

“But…but…” You open one of the booklets. A photograph of your own face gazes back at you, serious and serene, taken against the white wall of your bedroom before you knew about Aemond being a Targaryen, or Christabel, or Amir’s exodus to San Franscisco, or the profound futility of everything, it seems. “How…?”

“I took the pictures, obviously. The rest was easy enough to find. You store birth certificates and social security cards the same place where you keep the business records that Amir showed me. Typically people have to go to a passport agency in person, but Criston and I have ways around that. Your signature might have been forged on the applications…but I suspect you won’t be filing any police reports.” Aemond grins, pleased with himself. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s definitely surprising.” You stare down at the passports, amazed. “Aemond…this is a lot. But you already know that.”

“The whole time I was gone, I was wishing you could be there too. And now I can take you anywhere.”

Your heart is pounding, helpless childlike exhilaration. “Where are we going?”

“Clarence House in London.”

London: it’s another world, a distant planet, a constellation whose name you don’t know, the lost city of Atlantis.“Clarence House? Is that a hotel?”

“It’s a royal residence,” Aemond says, amused. “It’s officially the home of the Queen Mother, but the whole family goes to Balmoral in Scotland every summer, and while they’re gone they often rent out one wing to guests, not just anyone, trusted people like distant cousins or longtime, aristocratic friends. And the Targaryens…”

“You’re marrying Christabel, and she’s nobility. So you’re basically nobility now too.”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, a little guiltily, perhaps. “But you’re the person I’m inviting.”

“And Cadi.”

Now he’s genuinely puzzled. “Of course. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

Maybe I can handle this. Maybe I can make this work.

And you climb onto your tiptoes to circle your arms around the back of his neck, embracing him, thanking him, thinking: Christabel will have his ring, his last name, his family’s mansion, his acquiescent kiss at the altar of the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens…but I have what he’s made of, dreams, soul, bones in the abyss of an ocean of blood. Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~

First class, cheerful stewardesses, an array of magazines purchased from a gift shop in New Orleans International Airport: the National Enquirer and Food & Wine for you, The Face and Smithsonian for Aemond, and National Geographic Kids and Zoobooks for Cadi. The Zoobooks animal this month is the eagle, how quintessentially American. You are served antipasto Italiano, shrimp cocktail, Perrier, and champagne (Cadi gets a Shirley Temple) over the Atlantic Ocean. Aemond shows you and Cadi how to chew gum to pop your ears as the pressure builds to pain. When there is turbulence and he leans in close to tell you everything is fine, Aemond smells like Wrigley’s Doublemint, cologne, Marlboro cigarettes like the logo on his red and white jacket. You press your palm to the cool window, and clouds float by through the gaps between your fingers. The world is older than anything you could fathom; the world is brand new.

There is a black limousine waiting outside Terminal 3 of Heathrow Airport. The driver gets out to load the sparse luggage: Aemond’s teal duffle bag, a frayed and battered rolling suitcase that you borrowed from your mother, a Super Mario Bros. backpack that you found for Cadi at Kmart. Aemond doesn’t have much time to spare, only 4 days, practically a long weekend; but it feels like an eternity stretches out in front of you as the limousine zooms through the narrow, winding streets of downtown London, Starship’s We Built This City piping from the radio. You have never had more than a few uninterrupted hours with Aemond before. Now you will have a hundred.

The London air is cool, grey, misty; fresh rainwater bleeds into puddles, dark pools of mirrorlike reflections. With the windows rolled down and clean slate-colored air unfurling in your lungs, Aemond points to the landmarks you pass: Gunnersbury Park, Chiswick House and its gardens, cathedrals, museums, shopping districts, centuries-old cemeteries, stations of the London Underground, the River Thames, Hyde Park, the Ritz Hotel, Buckingham Palace, Saint James’ Palace, and at last Clarence House. It is a boxy white four-story townhouse with columns at the entranceway that remind you of the Targaryens’ estate on the shore of Lake Verret, the beautiful yet temporary home they call The Last Desire.

Aemond says that the entire first floor will be yours for the duration of your stay. There is the Lancaster Room, red and gold, and the Morning Room of creams and weak watery blue. There is the Library, the Dining Room, and the vibrantly pink Horse Corridor named for its ample equine paintings and sculptures; Cadi immediately proclaims this to be the best part of the house. She lingers in the hallway examining the art pieces as you and Aemond proceed to the Garden Room, which looks out upon a sea of lavender and shrubs meticulously shaped into a maze no higher than your waist. It has a golden harp and a grand piano, and a vast bed large enough for at least five people, in your estimation. I wonder if Aemond has ever tried that, you think distractedly. I wonder if there are temptations I can’t satisfy for him.

“You and Cadi can have this room,” Aemond says. He keeps wincing and bringing his hand up to the left side of his face; you doubt he’s even aware of it. “I’ll sleep on one of the couches.” Of course he will; Cadi thinks you’re just friends, and she’s aware he’s getting married to someone else. He knew exactly what it would mean when he bought a passport for her. “Queen Elizabeth and her husband Philip lived here before she ascended to the throne. They loved it so much that at first they refused to move to Buckingham Palace, which is the traditional residence of the reigning monarch. But their insolence was worn down. No one gets to break the rules.”

I shouldn’t be in this place, you keep thinking as you gaze around at the portraits on the wall, the stiff unnatural photographs of royals, the vases, the chandeliers, the fireplaces, the plush intricate rugs, the garden on the other side of the windows. People like me don’t belong here. “Aemond, are you alright?”

“It’s my eye,” he confesses with an uneasy, apologetic smirk. “Sometimes flights…the altitude changes…it aggravates the nerve damage. It’s like needles in my skull. But I’ll be okay.”

“You fly a lot for work, don’t you?” You hurt yourself for Viserys, in body and soul.

“I do,” he agrees. He unzips his duffle bag and produces a bottle of Percocet. “Why do you think I carry these around?”

“Take one,” you say. “Lie down, rest. Cadi and I can entertain ourselves for a few hours.”

He’s relieved, he’s grateful. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You can even borrow the bed.”

“Back between your sheets, huh?” Aemond says, in pain but smiling through it. He draws a semicircle from the part in your hair down to your chin, a weightless sweep of his fingertips like a kind breeze. “You are incurable. You can’t resist me.”

“I have my own scheme in mind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” You grab the front of his Marlboro jacket, appropriate for the overcast London weather. He belongs here, this house, this city, this way of life. He wasn’t made for the primordial heat of the swamplands. You fold into him, close enough to tease, to quicken his heartbeat and momentarily clear the wounded furrows from his brow. “I want my pillows to smell like you. I want to breathe you in all night. It’s how I sleep best.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” Aemond says, a little stunned; but he’s elated too. For a moment, you’ve distracted him from his suffering entirely. “I’ll roll around all over them. I will mar the bedding irrevocably, the Queen Mother will never invite me back.” And he watches as you leave, his gaze transfixed and meditative and—more than anything else—hopeful.

“Hey, honey,” you say when you find Cadi in the Horse Corridor, poking a 100-year-old oil painting that she is definitely not supposed to be touching. “Let’s go explore and grab some dinner. Aemond isn’t feeling great, but we’ll hang out with him later.”

“Is it his face?”

You are startled. She knows so much. “Yeah, actually, it is.”

“He showed me,” Cadi says casually, still peering up at the horse; and you remember the day when he took her out to the front yard after she said she wished you were more like her friends’ mothers. “He even let me touch it. Radical, right? It’s so gross, but super cool too.”

Aemond couldn’t stand for me to see how he was maimed, but he forced himself to endure it for Cadi. “What did he tell you?”

“That I should appreciate having a good mom, because not all parents treat their kids right. He said his dad let his eye get crushed. And he told me he’d bet $1 million that you’d snap someone’s neck if they hurt me like that.”

You reach out to skim your fingers through her dark disheveled hair, smiling faintly, fondly. Cadi doesn’t seem to mind. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Can we get fish and chips?”

“Totally. I have 50 British pounds in my wallet, I assume that’s enough for dinner.”

“Wow! How much is 50 pounds in dollars?”

“I have no idea,” you say. “Let’s go spend them.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the evenings, you, Cadi, and Aemond gather around the television in the Lancaster Room and help yourself to the extensive VHS collection stocked for guests. You let Cadi pick: Raiders Of The Lost Ark, The Terminator, Firestarter, the Karate Kid, Aliens. You make popcorn in the extravagant kitchen in the basement of Clarence House and the three of you devour bowlfuls of it as you giggle on the couch, engulfed with throw pillows and playfully kicking at each other beneath the blankets. One night at Cadi’s request you bake Betty Crocker’s Party Rainbow Chip cupcakes with mix purchased at a Tesco down the street; on another you make hot chocolate to sip from antique tea cups. Each day, Aemond has new destinations picked out to tour. You ride the Underground like true Londoners to the Hampton Court Palace, the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, the Natural History Museum, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Tower Bridge, the National Gallery, the Kew Gardens, Imperial College where Aemond received the petroleum engineering degree he never wanted.

As he shows you the classrooms where he attended lectures and seminars—you aren’t sure what the difference is, though you can sense that there is one—Aemond doesn’t talk about math or oil drilling. Instead, he tells you and Cadi about the people he learned about in the history classes he managed to slip into his exacting schedule like splinters into flesh: Sir Harold Gillies who pioneered plastic surgery in his treatment of World War I veterans, Phillis Wheatley who was enslaved as a child and became a renowned poet and abolitionist, Boudicca who led a rebellion against the Roman invaders and upon her defeat succumbed to some tragic, enigmatic doom. Aemond loves stories like this, you can see the light that sparks into the crystalline blue of his right eye. There is nothing he deems more heroic than people who took circumstances beyond their control and made something worthwhile out of them.

The night before the flight back to New Orleans, you’re staring at the crown molding of the Garden Room as Cadi snores softly from the other end of the massive bed and silvery moonlight covers the world. You can’t stop your thoughts from roiling like the North Sea; you can’t stop thinking about desks and chairs and books and clever blue-blooded girls jotting down in their notebooks not cake orders but mathematical equations or dates of conquest. When you breathe in the smoke and cologne Aemond left on your pillows, it tastes dark and forbidden. You climb out of the bed, roomy Bob Dylan t-shirt, pink cotton shorts, hair loose and wild, bare feet.

He is outside pacing around the sundial in the center of the garden, puffing on a Marlboro cigarette and pondering the full moon. “Can’t sleep?” Aemond asks, exhaling smoke as he glances over at you.

“You must think I’m stupid.”

“What?” He stops pacing. “Why?”

“Imperial College,” you say. “And the sorts of people who go to places like that. You must have known a lot of women who could recite Shakespear and name all the kings of England, all of Jupiter’s moons. Things I never learned. Things that I have no use for. I don’t write books or design machines or study the secrets of the universe. I bake cupcakes.”

“And they’re brilliant,” Aemond says, smiling. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“No?”

“No,” Aemond insists. “I think that if you’d been born where I was, you would have done far more with it.”

“Aemond…” You walk across the wet cobblestones to meet him by the sundial. It’s been raining again. The night air is chilly, foggy, painting you with goosebumps. “You still have time to become who you want to be.”

“No. I don’t.”

It’s coming from somewhere, distant but still audible, a parked car or a nearby building: Kyrie by Mr. Mister. Aemond chuckles, flicks the end of his cigarette into the lavender bushes—surely against the rules—and takes your hands in his.

“I remember this,” he says as he dances with you slowly, clumsily; you don’t know the steps. Still, you don’t want him to stop. “In your kitchen.”

He remembers everything. “Right before we went to Olive Garden for the first time.”

He sighs, pretending to be exasperated. “Of course that’s the part you committed to memory.”

“I’ve held onto a few other details too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like how small the back seat of your Audi Quattro is.”

“A limousine would be far more comfortable. I should invest in one.”

You laugh as he twirls you and you trip over your own feet; he pulls you upright before you can fall to the slick cobblestones. And you think: This is real. No matter what happens between him and anyone else, what we have is safe and extraordinary and real.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cupcake,” Aemond murmurs through your hair, holding you without seeking more. “You and Cadi.”

You want him again, or you’re so close to wanting him that the line is less of a boundary than a quagmire, indistinct edges and quicksand that can drag you down to drown in it. “I never knew that this was possible. Thank you, Aemond.”

“It can be like this all the time.”

Not all the time, you think, knowing that there will always be Jade Dragon, the Targaryens, the stock market, the world, the past and the future, Christabel. But some of it.

Is that enough?

~~~~~~~~~~

Willis agreed to you and Aemond taking Cadi out of the country on one condition: that you return her to him the second you arrive back in Napoleonville. It’s late Tuesday afternoon when the plane’s wheels hit the runway and squeal to a halt. Aemond has left his red Audi in the Park-and-Ride lot. You collect the car and soar west on Route 10 into the red-gold horizon, chasing the setting sun.

“Daddy!” Cadi bellows when she throws open the front door of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office, waving his gift bag excitedly. Inside is a refrigerator magnet, several packages of McVitie’s Digestives in different flavors, and a miniature red-coated Queen’s Guard to keep on his desk, perpetually covered with disorganized papers and crumbs from innumerable desserts. From her poster on the wall, Heather Locklear simpers at you. At the center of the dartboard, poor Tommy Lee is impaled in four different places.

“Comment ca va, cherie?!” Willis opens his arms to hug Cadi when she barrels into him. He guffaws, his eyes are shiny; he has missed her. “Ya had a real good time, I reckon?”

“It was totally tubular. But I’m glad I’m home now. Can I get a horse? His name is Patches and I love him.”

“Huh? What the hell ya need a horse for?” He peeks around Cadi to look at you, a curious blue gaze beneath the thick dark bangs of his mullet. “What’s she talkin’ ‘bout, sugar?”

Beside you, Aemond groans irritably. Then you hear a voice from one of the holding cells, almost always empty: “Hey, cake lady.”

“Aegon?!” you and Aemond say at once, and sure enough, when you check the last holding cell there he is: unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, blue shorts, rainbow flip flops, hair like he’s been in a hurricane, a new eyebrow piercing.

Aemond asks Willis: “What did he do?”

Willis picks up a clipboard from his cluttered desk and begins reading. “Possession with intent to distribute cocaine—”

“I told you, I wasn’t distributing anything! It was for me!”

“Aegon, shut up,” Aemond pleads.

“Possession with intent to distribute marijuana, possession of drug paraphernalia, possession of methamphetamine less than 28 grams, operatin’ a vehicle while intoxicated, possession of MDMA, possession of alcoholic beverages in a motor vehicle, operatin’ a vehicle with a suspended license, resistin’ an officer…” Willis flips the page. “Speedin’, reckless drivin’, disturbin’ the peace while in an intoxicated condition, possession with intent to distribute Xanax, theft—”

“What the hell did you steal?!” Aemond demands.

“Burritos. I forgot my wallet at home.” Now Aegon is indignant. “But I saidI’d get them back! They didn’t need to call anybody about it!”

“Aegon, Taco Bell does not offer payment plans!”

“I can release him to ya, I guess,” Willis tells Aemond in a slow drawl.

“I really appreciate that. I’m so sorry about him, I’m absolutely mortified, I’ll pay whatever fines you want—”

“Wait, no,” Aegon says, panicked. His hands are gripped around the iron bars. “I don’t want to leave.”

Aemond stares at him. “You’re asking to stay in jail…?”

“I can’t go home. Stephanie’s there.”

“Of course she’s there. You knew she was flying in for the wedding.”

“Please let me stay here until she goes back to Monaco.”

“Definitely not. How’s everything else?”

“There’s something wrong with one of the Lake Verret rigs. Viserys mentioned a…a…I don’t remember, a dirt dump or something.”

“A mud pump?!”

“Yeah! That’s it. That’s what he said. It exploded.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses, then remembers that Cadi’s still there. She gives him a sly grin. You messed up, she means. Aemond looks to you, apologetic, disappointed. “I’m going to have to drop you off and then head straight home. There are messes to be mopped up.”

“No,” Aegon moans as Willis unlocks the holding cell and then wrestles him out of it when Aegon resists. “No, I’m a felon! I’m a danger to the public!”

“Don’t,” Aemond snaps, and this time his brother listens.

You say goodbye to Cadi—she barely notices—but as you go to follow Aemond and Aegon out of the Sheriff’s Office, she has a question. “Aemond?”

He stops. “Yeah, Cadi?”

“Can I go to the wedding?”

“Weddin’?!” Willis exclaims. “Already?!”

“Not mine,” you say.

“You really want to go?” Aemond asks Cadi with some reticence. But he seems to be considering it.

“Well, yeah. Mom said she and Amir are going. You’ll be there. Lots of cake will be there. And I’ve never been to a wedding before. I want to see what it’s like.”

Aemond turns to you, then to Willis, searching for permission. “It’s alright with me,” Willis says. “As long as someone there is keepin’ an eye on her.”

“It’s your choice,” you tell Cadi. “If you’re interested, I have no objections. But you have to be nice to Christabel.”

“Christabel?!” Willis says.

“That’s Aemond’s fiancée.” And there is a collective uncomfortable silence: Willis nodding slowly as he squints at you, Cadi chewing on her thumbnail, Aemond looking down at his Adidas sneakers, Aegon staring vacuously at the Heather Locklear poster on the wall.

With Aegon squeezed into the back seat, Aemond drops you off at the home Cadi calls the Fall-Down House. The new house hasn’t closed yet, but probably will in the next week. The adolescent gator is sunbathing in the last of the daylight in one corner of the yard; you can hear the pink Panasonic boombox inside playing Another One Bites The Dust.

“Ho, you’re back!” Amir cries, jubilant. He hugs you energetically, staining you with the flour on his hands; he’s been watching the bakery while you’ve been gone and keeping every cent of the profits in recognition of his labor, as agreed upon. “How was London?”

You give him his souvenir: a purple t-shirt with Princess Diana’s face on it. “Rainy. Wonderful.”

“Did you have any kinky sex in the royal grandma’s bed?”

“No,” you say, laughing. “But it was…I don’t know how to describe it. Calm. Normal. Easy. Like we could live that way forever.”

“So you’ve decided to be his Camilla.”

“Some moments I have. Other times I haven’t. But more and more, I just…” You try to decide what you mean. “The thought of giving him up feels impossible. And Christabel…they’re so distant with each other, so disconnected, so platonic. Their relationship doesn’t feel real. Maybe I can ignore it. Maybe this is the best I can hope for.”

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and raises an eyebrow. “It might feel more real in three days.”

The rehearsal dinner is on Friday; the wedding is only 24 hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You really should consider writing a cookbook, dear,” Alicent says from where she sits across from you. The dining room table is covered with flickering pink candles, bouquets of wildflowers, drinks garnished with cotton candy and Pop Rocks. Balloons bump against the ceilings, their long ribbons streaming down like the tentacles of a jellyfish. The stereo is thumping out Caught Up In You by 38 Special. Everything is pink and red: the colors of love. Yet just like at the engagement party, no one is talking about the couple getting married tomorrow. You could almost forget that there’s going to be a wedding. That makes it easier; and if denial is the terrain you live on now, so be it. That is far less agonizing than the alternative.

“Oh, no,” you demur, taking a sip of a cotton candy cocktail. You exchange a glance with Aemond, sitting several seats down from his mother. He is in a suit—black and white, fitted, faultless—and smiling, proud of you. “A book?! I couldn’t. Not in a million years.” I never even finished high school English.

“But all of my friends from home are captivated by your recipes, darling, and it would be so much easier if I could simply send them a copy of a cookbook rather than trying to describe every dish to them! Please consider it. Do you promise?”

“That I’ll think about it? Not too taxing a commitment. I suppose so.”

“Good,” Alicent chirps, then turns to whisper something to Criston, who drapes an arm briefly across her shoulders and gives her a reassuring little embrace. Amir is chatting with Aemond about San Franscisco. Christabel is talking to Helaena, who has been forced into a voluminous, magenta taffeta dress that she clearly despises; her chameleon Dreamfyre lurches around the table, occasionally stealing tastes of people’s food. Daeron, with Tessarion perched on the back of his chair, is trying to discuss something called seismic testing results with Viserys but getting ignored. Viserys is deep in conversation with Christabel’s father, the marquess, a large loud man whose booming voice drowns out everyone else. The two of them seem delighted, celebratory, very much in their own world. Their schemes have come at last to fruition. Christabel has several younger sisters in attendance—her bridesmaids—but no mother. You gather from pieces of dialogue you’ve overheard that her mother died when she was a child, a terrible and irreparable loss. Otto is so bored he’s flipping through a picture book about Kiribati. Aegon’s wife, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, is a headstrong, charismatic, and rather critical woman with short dark hair. She notifies Aegon each and every time he fails her, which happens frequently: You’re using the wrong fork. You missed a button on your shirt. You haven’t fucked me properly in over two years. You didn’t send flowers to my grandma’s funeral. This is evidently Aegon’s worst nightmare; he has disappeared upstairs in an effort to escape her.

Dinner is finished, and dessert has been brought by the servants. It turned out more like a crepe cake than a Napoleon cake—the layers of puff pastry didn’t want to fluff up as much as they should have—but no one seems to notice. This time, you and Amir knew the dress code expectations. You are both wearing black to fade into the backdrop like shadows, like distant memories. You are invited guests, but you are also locals, inferiors, recipients of charity.

“Where’s Aegon?” Helaena says. “He has to try this cake, it’s delicious! The cherry jam cuts the heaviness of the cream and pastry dough and makes it a perfect dessert for summer! And the color is delightful! It looks just like blood!”

“Where the hell is he?” Viserys demands, looking around, twisting in his chair. “It’s his brother’s rehearsal dinner, for Christ’s sake. One night of this importance and he can’t handle it? I swear to God, if he’s snorting or smoking anything up there I’ll have him committed to an institution—”

“I’ll find him,” you offer as you stand from the table. You have to visit the bathroom anyway, too many glitzy pink cocktails; two birds, one stone. You depart from the table and Aemond’s gaze follows you, a low heat that is building towards incineration, a baiting promise of dark euphoria that you can no longer pretend you don’t want desperately, defenselessly. Christabel gives you a sweet little wave. She is dripping in gold—dress, heels, jewelry—and seems happier tonight, more self-assured. Perhaps with the wedding so close, her trepidation concerning Aemond’s commitment has evaporated. Surely it is too late to call off the ceremony now. Tonight they feast, tomorrow they recite their vows, and then…

But no, you don’t think about the honeymoon. You will not allow yourself to. It can’t exist to you, and that is how you’ll survive this. Christabel will be in one universe, you in another, two timelines that never cross like something out of Star Trek. And the way she and Aemond interact is so impersonal, so untactile, that it is not so difficult to treat anything beyond chaste pecks on cheeks as an impossibility.

At the top of the staircase, Vhagar is lurking. She wags her long twiglike tail when she sees you and licks the knuckles of your left hand. You give her a pat on the head—and then several more when she whines as you try to leave—then at last she lopes off down the hallway.

Aegon is exactly where you’d assumed he’d be. He’s in his bedroom hunched over his computer and hammering furiously at the keyboard. There’s white powder on his fingers and in his thin mustache. On the screen, bizarrely, is what appears to be neon green grass and an ox-drawn wagon like the ones from the pioneer days. Sunfyre the ferret is stretched out across the bed napping, his angular face resting on his paws.

Aegon whirls around to face you. He is wearing a lime green satin suit but has forgotten to put on a shirt under it. “What? What? What do you want? I’m playing Oregon Trail. I have dysentery.”

“You have what…? Never mind, it’s not important. You need to come downstairs and eat some dessert. People are wondering where you are.”

“I’m busy.”

“If you don’t make an appearance on your own, Viserys will come looking for you. Also there are some Cap’n Crunch treats I left on the kitchen counter that you might be interested in.”

“Consider me tempted. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“You better be,” you tell Aegon, then retrace your steps back to the kitchen. Amir and Christabel are both there getting cans of Pepsi from the fridge and making very cumbersome small talk…or perhaps only Amir thinks it is that much of a burden. Christabel is chattering blithely away about different types of wildflowers. He gives you a look like Oh thank God, an excuse to escape and wastes no time heading back to the dining room.

“Did you notice what’s playing now?” he asks you just before he vanishes, then points towards the stereo in the grand foyer. You listen; it’s Money For Nothing by Dire Straits. “You think they know this song is about class warfare?”

“You should tell them,” you joke.

“Yeah, if I want to end up on Unsolved Mysteries.” Then Amir is gone.

“How are you doing?” you ask Christabel to be polite. You open the refrigerator and start hunting for your own can of Pepsi. “Excited? Nervous? You seem a little more relaxed than the last time I saw you. Are the wedding jitters finally dissipating?”

“They are,” she says, and when you glance back at her she is wearing a bashful sort of smile. It’s not an expression you can read. You resume digging through the refrigerator for a can of Pepsi; Amir and Christabel might have taken the last ones.

“That’s good,” you say noncommittally, hoping she’ll leave. But Christabel doesn’t leave. She seems to have something she needs to say. Just as you spy a lone can of Pepsi at the very back of the refrigerator and lean in to grab it, she proceeds to unburden herself.

“Well, you know, I was so concerned about me and Aemond before. I had no conviction that he especially liked me, and we never had anything to talk about, and he was so dreadfully undemonstrative…I was just beside myself, truly. I didn’t know what to do. But I feel much better about everything now. Norway was so good for us.”

Norway?

You close the refrigerator, your ice-cold Pepsi can clutched in your hand. You’re going cold all over. Slowly, you turn towards Christabel, glittering in her gold dress.

Norway???

“He took you on the North Sea trip.” You hear the words, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve said them. They sound flat and dazed.

“It’s a bit of a secret,” Christabel says; and again, her smile has no cruelty or sharp awareness in it, but her cheeks are pink. She’s blushing. What does she have to be embarrassed about? “My father doesn’t know. He wouldn’t approve. But I just felt…I felt ready, you know? I’m sure you understand what I mean. You aren’t so clinical and aloof about everything. I had to know if Aemond and I really had something between us before we got married.”

“You felt…ready?” Ready for what? Ready for WHAT, Christabel?

“I asked Aemond to take me with him. I begged, actually.” She giggles. “I won’t try to be proud about it! And finally he said yes. We stayed at a lovely hotel in Bergen, and during the day he would have to fly by helicopter out to the rigs, but at night…”

You’re staring blankly at her. You can’t believe what you think she’s going to say. Surely it must be something else, anything else—

“It wasn’t my plan to ever be intimate with a man before marriage, but sometimes…things change. Minds change, circumstances change. And I knew I wanted it. And it went so well! Now what do I have to be nervous about? All the uncertainties are resolved. Now we just sign the paperwork and start our lives together.”

He took her to Norway.

He slept with her in Norway.

“I hope it was just as good for him,” Christabel muses, a compulsive sort of oversharing. But she has had a few cocktails and she thinks you’re nonjudgemental and there’s probably not a single other soul she feels she can be truthful with…so why not the girl who got knocked up at prom and had a baby at seventeen? Surely she’s in no position to judge. “It’ll be even better once we can…you know. When we’re officially trying for a baby and there’s no need to worry about any precautions. I want Aemond to enjoy himself as much as possible. I want to be a good wife to him.”

You feel dizzy; you feel violently ill. And now you see everything: Aemond kissing her with his mouth open and ravenous, his hands between her legs, his hips pressed to hers, peeling off her clothes and learning how to make her moan, make her wet, make her come, and you think of how careful he must have been with her, a girl with no past, no ex-husband, no childbirth that nearly killed her, no stretchmarks and no baggage, just a smooth pristine rivulet of flesh that was so pure and uncontaminated it was weightless, and you can hear—though you don’t want to, though it feels like it will kill you—how tender he was, how encouraging, not a dominant who drinks down fantasies like a vampire sustained by blood but just a man, and a man who has at last found a woman he doesn’t need to grab, bite, bruise, handcuff to a bedpost to feel satisfied with.

He took her to Norway and he never told me.

You are saying something, and Christabel is nodding appreciatively, accepting the sage wisdom of a tarnished life. Your words don’t matter. They are folktales and charms, the croaks of bullfrogs, the whispers of the wind through Spanish moss, the Morse code of ripples in the water of the bayou. You are a novelty and your counsel is a souvenir; one day when she is living in California or Argentina or Australia or Alaska or her ancestral castle back in the U.K., Christabel will tell Aemond’s children: Once I met a nice single mom from Napoleonville Louisiana, and she told me to follow my heart and not let anyone shame me for wanting to be close with my soon-to-be husband.

Vhagar trots into the kitchen and begins nudging her massive head against Christabel’s bare knees. “Hi, big girl!” Christabel coos as she pets the blue merle Great Dane, clearly accustomed to this. “Who’s a giant gorgeous girl? You are!”

What did I expect? I knew they were getting married. I knew they were going to sleep together.

Yes, you knew it, but you hadn’t felt it, and now you have.

I can’t do this, you realize. I thought I could but I can’t.

“Christabel?” Alicent is calling like a windchime. “Darling, there are just a few more things we have to discuss before tomorrow, will you come back to the table please?”

“On my way!” Christabel replies obediently, and she gives you a quick, impulsive hug before vanishing.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to have a heart attack. I’m going to drop dead right in the middle of this fucking kitchen.

Leaving your can of Pepsi forgotten on the countertop, you escape to the living room and then out the French doors into the garden. You run past the pool all the way to the pond full of multicolored fish you once hadn’t known were koi. You drop to your knees, then lie down on the cold cobblestones, and when it hits you again—Aemond touching her, Aemond loving her—you rupture into sobs that are breathless and shuddering. You try to stifle the noise with your palms; you clasp them over your mouth and smother your wails. It feels like you’re being ripped apart; it feels like you’re in labor, but there is no end, no consolation of a new life, no point at which your body chooses whether you live or die. It is only a razored wheel that turns in you again and again and again, shredding muscle and splitting bones.

There is a hand on your shoulder; someone is patting it awkwardly. You look up to see Aegon standing there. “Sorry,” he says. “You look…not good.”

“I’m really not good. I’m fucking terrible.” Your face is soaked and stinging with tears, your voice is strangled.

“Do you want some coke?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Do you want a ride home?”

“From you? Yeah, for sure, getting impaled by a stop sign would be a great next move for me.”

“I’m totally fine to drive.”

“Can you just pull Amir aside without anyone else noticing and tell him to say his goodbyes and then meet me in the driveway, please? He drove me here. I need him to take me home.”

“Okay,” Aegon says, and then: “Thanks for the Cap’n Crunch Treats. Thanks for remembering something I like and caring enough to bring more. No one really does that around here.” And he’s gone before you can think of a reply.

To get to the driveway without going though the house, you climb over a 5-foot wrought iron fence swarmed with rosebushes and ivy, no easy feat in a black Kmart dress and matching ballet flats. You acquire a dozen shallow gashes on your hands and forearms, but make it to the Ford Escort just in time for Amir to meet you under the full, cloudless moon, tossing his car keys from one hand to the other.

“What did—?” Then he sees your face. He gasps, knowing how bad it is. He’s never seen you like this. He didn’t know it was possible for you to look like this. He unlocks the Ford Escort and joins you inside, turning the key in the ignition. “What the fuck did Aemond do to you?!”

“I have to go home. It’s over, it’s over, I can’t do this.”

Amir is spinning out of the driveway. “Did he hurt you, did he—?!”

“He fucked Christabel in Norway,” you say, sobbing uncontrollably. “And I know I have no right to be jealous, I know we don’t have a conventional relationship, I thought I could handle this but I can’t. I can’t stop picturing him with her, and hearing it, and I…I…I don’t understand why this hurts so goddamn bad.”

“Babe,” Amir says gently, a palm on your trembling thigh. “You’re in love with him. That’s why.”

“This is killing me,” you whisper. You’re shaking all over. You feel like you’re battling for every breath.

Your best friend—your only friend—is quiet for a long time. “Don’t go tomorrow,” Amir finally says. “You don’t need to see the wedding. You shouldn’t put yourself through that. I’ll go, I can handle the cake alone, especially if Cadi’s with me to help with carrying plates and stuff.”

You don’t say anything. You stare out the nightscape window and mop tears from your face with McDonald’s napkins you find in Amir’s glovebox.

“Did you hear me? I don’t think you should go to the wedding tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you agree hoarsely. “I can’t watch them have my wedding.”

“Willis is dropping Cadi off in the morning, right? I’ll pick her and the cake up from your house and bring her back when it’s over. You can tell her whatever you want…you have another cake order to work on, you’re sick, you’re injured, your mom needs a ride to the doctor, whatever.”

“Okay,” you whimper.

“Hey, look at me.”

You do, sniffling, shivering, in agony.

“You don’t deserve this. You deserve better than this.”

I don’t think I do. I think if I did, it would have happened by now. But you know Amir will not accept this answer. “Okay,” you say again, trying to make yourself believe it.

In the gravel driveway of your sinking house, Amir asks if you want him to say. You tell him no, you want to be alone, you have to think, you have to plan. Really, you just don’t want anyone to see you this shattered. It’s humiliating, it’s like you’re an animal, like something less than human needing to licks its wounds in a dark place. You walk into the Fall-Down House and flip on the kitchen light, artificial yellow luminance. You don’t start the air conditioner. You don’t touch the Panasonic boombox. You stand there mindlessly in the sounds of the bayou: cicada screams, owl hoots, the far-away hissing of gators. The wedding cake is in the refrigerator, banana bread, cream cheese frosting, a kaleidoscope of wildflowers painted by Amir’s expert hand. He’s leaving. Aemond’s leaving. Everyone is leaving.

There are tires crunching on gravel in the driveway, there are footsteps on the sloping porch. He is able to yank the door open because you never lock it. He blows in like a storm that kills.

“What the hell happened?!” Aemond shouts. “Why did you leave?! You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to me—”

“You took her to Norway.”

Aemond’s face goes from furious to lost. “Why would she tell you that?”

Not That’s not true, not Let me explain, not It didn’t mean anything. Your stomach sinks, a basket full of stones. “Because she thinks I’m her friend.”

“It wasn’t…” Aemond sighs. “It was a last-minute thing, and it was her idea. She really, really wanted to go to Norway, and I figured…you know…what’s the difference between the wedding night and a few weeks before it? So yeah, it happened—”

“Oh God,” you whisper, starting to sob again.

“And then I came home to your house, to your doorstep, because I missed you the entire time. The entire time, every hour, every minute, and there are no exceptions, okay, are you listening to me? I took her to Norway because I had to. I took you and Cadi to Clarence House because I wanted to. What I do with her is a reflex, an obligation, I’m on autopilot, I’m thinking of you to get myself hard, I don’t know how else to express to you how completely different these situation are in every single goddamn way.”

“She said it was good,” you say huskily, tears snaking down your cheeks that are raw from trying to dab them dry.

“Of course it was good for her!” Aemond flings back. “I’ve had a lot of casual sex, I know how to make women come, it’s a math equation, it doesn’t mean we’re soulmates!”

“I know I have no claim to you, but I…” You gaze out the kitchen window, dark and still, nothing to see but stars and lighting bugs. “I can’t do this.”

Aemond asks, kindly now: “What do you want?”

I want to not have to beg you to choose me. “I want this to be over.”

“No,” he says, panicking. “No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You’re going to give this up as soon as it gets painful? I’m not worth fighting for, what I can do for you and Cadi isn’t worth a little pain? Because I’m no stranger to it either. You think I’m not hurting, you think nothing ever keeps me awake at night?”

“You could leave your prison any time you want to. But instead you built a brand new one around me.”

“You don’t understand what the kind of responsibility I’m beholden to feels like.”

“Yeah, a town named after Napoleon is the right place for you,” you seethe, enraged. “You’ve felt so fucking small your whole life that now you’re starving for what it tastes like to be in control. But I can’t let you destroy me. I can’t let my daughter grow up watching me settle for less than I need from a man. She’ll learn to live the same way.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Aemond,” you say, and you wait until he looks at you. “Do you really want children?”

When he answers, his voice frayed and his right eye misty. “I love Cadi.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want children of your own with Christabel?”

“I have to,” he says, miserable.

“No,” you plead. “You cannot have a baby with that girl. You can’t, Aemond. You are going to ruin so many lives, not just your own.”

“I have to,” he says again.

“Then get out. Viserys owns you, and Viserys wouldn’t want you here. He would want you back at the mansion impregnating your child bride.”

“She’s a legal adult, she’s 19, and she wants me, she begs for me, I’m not twisting her arm—”

“Then go!” you roar, striking him hard, both palms to his chest. Aemond doesn’t budge. “Get out, go home, go have kids you won’t give a fuck about just like Viserys never cared about you. Go repeat the cycle all over again. I’m done. I can’t be a part of it.”

“I won’t be like him,” Aemond swears.

“You will be. You already are.” You shove him again, but still, Aemond doesn’t move. You know what he’s waiting for, you know the right word to say. But you can’t get it to launch from your lips; it catches in your throat like a blade through the windpipe. “Get out!”

Your fingers hook into the lapels of his black suit jacket and stay there; you can’t let go. You’re both breathing heavily; you can hear it, you can feel the heat in the air. You keep his jacket gripped in your hands, he can move no closer, no farther away. When he leans into you, you breathe in his smoke and cologne; when his hands cradle your face, you feel the benevolent power that once gave you peace.

I want him. I need him. Not forever, no, I understand that’s not possible. But just for right now.

You look up at him and Aemond kisses you, his lips and tongue claiming you like untouched land; he puts down roots, he slits the jugulars of trespassers.

Here. Now.

You drag him down with you. When you drop to the floor, you strike the back of your skull against the scuffed, sloping wood and bite back a yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aemond says, though it isn’t his fault; he reaches for your head and cushions it with his right hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You’re tearing open his white shirt; tiny translucent buttons go flying in every direction. Your palms glide over his chest, up to his throat, to his jaw, to knot in his hair. He reaches beneath your dress to slide off your panties, then buries his fingers between your legs. You moan helplessly, needfully, spreading your thighs wider for him. No man has ever been able to do this to you before: to make you forget everything, to make you feel—if only for a moment—beloved, worthy, chosen. He’s kissing you like he knows this is the last time. You’re touching the left side of his face and he doesn’t even notice, he won’t realize until later that there was a time when he was cured.

Aemond pulls his wallet out of the pocket of his suit pants, flips it open, and roots through it until he finds a condom. He starts to rip it open, moving with desperate speed, dire impatience.

“No, don’t,” you say. “Please don’t. I want all of you.” And I won’t get another chance.

He exhales in deep, ecstatic relief; he wants it too. You’re soaked, you’re ready, you’re aching for him like mending bones. He eases himself into you, gasping, and you are stunned by how good it feels already, how close you are, every rope of nerves and muscle glimmering with an opening heat that builds higher and higher, the reverse of a tornado finally touching down on earth. His hands are linked with yours and pinned to the floor above your head; he’s kissing you, he’s moaning into you, he thrusts deeper and harder when you beg him to do it.

Aemond untangles one hand from yours and reaches low to stroke you. Your fingers find his again and catch him, capture him, bring his hand back to the floor where it can be entwined with yours and his weight can hold it to the scraped wood. “I don’t need it, I’m close. Stay here. Stay with me.”

“I’m here,” he whispers, panting; and the friction of his body against yours overtakes you, and when you come it is blinding, bone-breaking, a whirlpool that traps you for what feels like over a minute, soaring highs punctuated by the illusion of fading over and over again until you think you can’t stand it, and only then does it end, Aemond collapsing on the floor beside you covered in your sweat and your wetness, you feeling the remnants of him bleeding down your bare thighs.

You drag yourself upright—muscles sore in your belly and back and thighs—and roll onto your knees so you can stagger to your feet. You tug on your panties so he doesn’t drip out of you onto the floor. Then you straighten the skirt of your black dress, turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox—it’s a U2 song, Where The Streets Have No Name—and begin washing a muffin tin that was left in the sink.

Aemond stands up and runs a hand through his hair, getting his bearings. He looks down at his pants and fixes his zipper and belt. He tries to close his shirt and then remembers you tore off the buttons. They lie scattered across the floor, useless.

As you scrub the muffin tin, you hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you. His palms begin at the small of your back and then skate around your waist to encircle you.

“Stop,” you tell him; and immediately his hands fall away. Aemond waits for you to say more, but you don’t. You don’t even look at him.

He walks to where the kitchen becomes the living room—you can tell by the creaks in the floor—and again, he waits. After a while he says: “I’ll call you when the new house is ready.”

“No. Have Criston handle it. I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

“You get that I’m in love with you, right?” Aemond forces out, and when at last you turn to him there is the metallic glistening of tears on his right cheek. “I never feel this way about anyone. I don’t know how to handle it, I didn’t even know it was possible. But it’s true.”

“It’s not enough,” you say simply, and resume scrubbing the muffin tin.

He waits in silence, thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes. Then the door opens and shuts—like the jaws of a beast—and he’s gone.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond

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allwaswell16 · 5 months

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A fic rec of angsty omegaverse One Direction fics as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave the writers kudos and comments! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

— Louis/Harry —

💔 Light, Spark and Fire (series) by green_feelings / @greenfeelings

(M, E, 239k, Louis/Harry, Zayn/Liam) Louis and Zayn run a music label, Liam is Britain’s up-and-coming pop star, Harry’s working on taking Louis’ walls down until he builds his own up, and Niall holds them all together without realising he does.

💔 Saving Symphony Hall by @helloamhere

(E, 124k, hurt/comfort) “That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

💔 Strawberries & Cigarettes by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes

(E, 76k, exes) Two stories, eleven years, and the two boys that never stopped loving each other.

💔 These High Walls by LarryAlways28

(E, 68k, musician Louis) Harry was raised exactly as a Styles heir should be: sharp as a tack, witty, charming, and powerful. He was the ideal son - until he presented as an Omega.

💔 Maybe You’ll Like the Way I Am by @lululawrence

(NR, 55k, accidental bonding) When Louis’ alpha neighbor asks him to pretend to be his omega for a week, Louis immediately says no.

💔 Your Gift is Wasted On Me by therogueskimo / @bravetemptation

(NR, 54k, neighbors) Omega Louis has severe touch deprivation and is averse to touch. But he’s fine. Really.

💔 Bear with me by 28sunflowers / @vintageumbroshirt

(E, 46k, omega/omega) But try as they might, the one fact that remains true is that children don’t save broken relationships. Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be.

💔 Wild Hearts Run Free by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 42k, secrets) When fate and Mother Nature conspire to trap the two strangers together, will Harry’s worst fears be proven, or will Louis find a way to break down his walls and lead him into the light?

💔 Canyon Moon by delsicle / @eeveedel

(E, 40k, Lion King au) For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.

💔 Follow Your Arrow by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 36k, canon) They said Louis playing alpha wouldn’t affect anything. It was the best thing for the band, so he doesn’t really regret it except deep in the dead of night, when he bites down on his knuckles to swap the echoing ache of depri for a sting of pain.

💔 Too Young To Know by @2tiedships2

(M, 35k, exes to lovers) the one where Harry doesn’t present as an alpha… until he does.

💔 Compass to my Soul by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 31k, canon) Louis Tomlinson, omega, is 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time hoping his bandmates don’t notice him.

💔 where the lights are beautiful by twoshipsdrifting / @polkadotlou

(E, 31k, accidental bonding) If that had been his life, his goal, Louis would feel pretty good about himself now. As it is…Louis feels like shit.

💔 Sisterwives by @jaerie

(E, 32k, omega/omega) Louis thinks he's getting everything he's ever dreamed of. Harry helps him find what makes him truly happy.

💔 Compete Against the Stars by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose

(M, 30k, uni) An A/B/O au where Louis finds out he's claimed to another Alpha. Angst ensues.

💔 The Risen (series) by @creamcoffeelou

(E, 28k, cult au) In search of the next breaking story, Harry goes off to do something no one else has been able to do: get the scoop on Louis Tomlinson and his devoted group of followers.

💔 tread lightly on my ground by fairytalelights / @lookslikefairytale

(E, 20k, mpreg) the one where Harry is having Louis’ baby, but Louis doesn’t know it’s his

💔 Keep Me Closer by zanni_scaramouche / @zanniscaramouche

(T, 18k, uni) Louis expects Harry to react poorly, maybe even file a formal complaint and that’s gonna suck ass but Louis won’t say shit cause he knows he deserves it, so he prepares an apology before Harry’s even turned around.

💔 No Easy Love (Could Make Me Feel This Way) by @allwaswell16

(E, 17k, exes) an Alpha Louis/Alpha Harry au where they get a second chance to make things right with the love of their life.

💔 With love comes strange currencies by mediaville

(E, 16k, canon) They're Accidentally Mated and Dealing With It Rather Badly.

💔 Him & I by @notasawrap

(NR, 8k, mpreg) Louis thinks Harry has a lover and he's willing to let's Harry go to be happy with someone else even if it hurts the three of them.

💔 A Silver Lining In A Storm (You Were Lightning, I Was Born) by @fallinglikethis

(E, 6k, arranged marriage) Omega Prince Harry had always known that he was going to have an arranged marriage. But after the death of his first fiancé, a man who turned out far worse than Harry thought possible, his subsequent marriage to the man's brother leaves Harry finding it difficult to trust that everything will work out.

💔 lucky once, could be lucky again by @jaerie

(E, 2k, famous/not famous) Louis has been letting the rich and famous knot him for cash since he found himself walking out on the lavish lifestyle of his rockstar future mate.

— Rare Pairs —

💔 Pride by iwanttowriteyouafic

(E, 86k, Zayn/Liam) the one where Zayn and Liam strike a deal to help each other through their dirtiest nights, but Zayn's perception of alphas may be preventing him from something purer

#ficrec #omegaverse #1dficvillage #hltracks #trackinghappily #trackinghome

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moonlightspencie · 1 year

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luna’s masterlist

(i write for criminal minds, supernatural, harry potter, and that’s about it for the time being, but MORE IMPORTANTLY i do take requests)

drabble masterlist here!

Aaron Hotchner

one shots:

Things I Can’t Say: “Aaron Hotchner has a lot of things on his mind. Most of which he can never bring himself to say. Until one slip unravels everything” (4.3k words: FLUFF).

Sleepover: “Hotch wants the reader, but doesn’t know how to tell her. Maybe a night in will be of some assistance” (4.9k words: FLUFF).

Solace: “Finding comfort in one another. Repeatedly.” (4.4k words: FLUFF)

self-assured: “There are many things Aaron Hotchner is sure about in his life. One thing evades this sureness: you” (2.4k words: FLUFF)

tolerate it: based on the song of the same title by taylor swift (2.0k words: ANGST)

Everything Goes Wrong: “A few bouts of bad luck aren’t all that bad” (2.4k words: FLUFF)

Meet-Cute: it’s all in the title (1k words: FLUFF)

series:

the sweetest con: “Aaron Hotchner is dealing with the aftermath of his divorce, and the new feelings that spring up for someone he shouldn’t feel anything for. It’s a mess to say the least, but it’s a mess he’s more than willing to involve himself in.”

Spencer Reid

one shots:

Next to You: “Trying to ignore the feelings you have for your best friend can cause complications. Especially when you find out what they’d risk for you” (3.8k words: FLUFF).

The Fulton Project: “The knowledge of an FBI operation gone wrong has the world as the BAU knows it turning on it’s head. How does something like this end after months of civil unrest?” (4k words: ANGST).

champagne problems/the beginning and end: based on ‘champagne problems’ by taylor swift, PLUS the prequel (2.9k words: ANGST AND FLUFF)

Devils Roll the Dice… / …Angels Roll Their Eyes “A new recruit to the BAU catches Reid’s eye. Unfortunately for the both of them, she has a past with someone very close to him. Are they willing to keep secrets just to keep one another?” (TWO-PART MINISERIES)(8.2k words for both parts: FLUFF)

lost in it: “The aftermath of falling down a rabbit hole!” (1.9k words: ANGST AND FLUFF)

Dean Winchester

one shots:

Wrong Time: “Dean doesn’t know how to act right. Sam doesn’t get the animosity. Reader is just trying to live life. Otherwise known as Mutual Pining: the Fanfic” (6.6k words: FLUFF).

This Ain’t for the Best: “Mutual pining. Classic hunting scenarios. Sharing a bed. Wearing the other’s clothes. Confessions. Friends to lovers. Tswizzle title. Need I say more?” (5.9k words: FLUFF)

bloodmoonlit: “Six years of friendship with more simmering beneath the surface. They thought they had no chance (but that’s romance)” (5.4k words: FLUFF).

‘cause look at your face!: [based off a request linked on the fic](1.6k words: FLUFF)

and i’m not how you hoped: “Forgive my northern attitude, oh I was raised out in the cold” (4.4k words: ANGST AND FLUFF)

series:

a life where we work out: “Struggling with the aftermath of a fall-out feels hopeless, especially when things seemed to just have run their course. Though, he was never one to let things go that easily.”

Ted Lasso

one shots:

Help Me Hold on to You: “Ted and the reader struggle with balancing mental health and everyday life. (Based on The Archer by Taylor Swift)” (8.9k words: ANGST AND FLUFF)

Speak Now: “You’re not usually the type of girl to barge in on a white-veil occasion… but the officiant did say ‘speak now’” (2.5k words: FLUFF).

Remus Lupin

one shots:

you should see the things we do, baby: Remus and Reader decide to take advantage of teasing Sirius, and it leads to a lot more than a dirty dream (5.2k words: SMUT. 18+)

series:

treacherous: This slope is treacherous, but you both realize that nothing safe is worth the drive. In which, Remus Lupin, ever the believer in his own flaws and failures, falls for someone he never expected to. (20.9k running word count: FLUFF AND ANGST)

Sirius Black

one shots:

you should see the things we do, baby: Remus and Reader decide to take advantage of teasing Sirius, and it leads to a lot more than a dirty dream (5.2k words: SMUT. 18+)

James Potter

one shots:

only like you can: ex boyfriend!james and reader just can’t seem to stay away from each other. (7.9k words: ANGST AND FLUFF)

tenderly, tragically: best friends aka idiots to lovers. they’ll never learn until they do (9.4k words: FLUFF AND SMUT)

darling, i fancy you: yet another idiots to lovers. this time a college/muggle!au. they’re falling slowly but she hates him openly (8.2k words: FLUFF)

Draco Malfoy

one shots:

isn’t it?: “Years after the battle at Hogwarts, reader runs into an unlikely old friend. A simple invitation to tea leads to much more.” (10k words: FLUFF)

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sir-kuroo · 7 months

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𝙈𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙈𝙄𝘿𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 • 𝙠𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙤 𝙭 𝙛!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Caught up in the pleasure of your risqué dreams while resisting the temptation of your sexy and mysterious new client, your life was turned upside down as you struggle between what's real and not.

Determined to devour you in dreams and to hunt you in reality, incubus Kuroo Tetsurou craved not only your body and soul but also your heart.

Through night and day, would you be brave enough to take a bite of your sweet nightmare?

18+ :: This series contains themes, scenes and subjects not suitable for minors.

#𝙏𝙍𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

001. DANGER

002. DESIRE

003. DELUSIONS

004. DEVOUR (next week)

TAG LIST: Get tagged on the latest release. Leave a 😈emoji on the reply section or on my ASK.

#𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀

finally, a sweet and spicy series! like p0rn with an actual plot! not the first one on my list but I wrote this first. this was supposed to be a one-shot fic for halloween but there's a lot of scene description that I wanna write and include, and I felt pressured by a super long post. I hope y'all will enjoy this. there'll be smut in every chapter just a heads up! the entire vibe and aesthetic is inspired by @moonartemisia's song suggestion ♡

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 MISTER MIDNIGHT #kuroo smut #kuroo x reader #kuroo fic #Spotify

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lincolndjarin · 11 months

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Best Kept Secret

chapter thirteen : lunar interlude : vercopa (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 3.5k

summary : the mandalorian does some thinking

warnings, etc. : language, angst, references to sex

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

He did it.

He did exactly what he knew he needed to do.

So why does he feel worse than ever?

The look on your face when he had lied so blatantly to you made him want to collapse in on himself. If someone else had made you that upset he would have caved their skull in, why does he deserve any less?

He did it. That’s what matters, even if he had to lie to get you to believe it, he ended things. He doesn’t bother taking off his armor as he collapses onto his mattress.

His eyes find the plastic flower on his nightstand. It’s a good reminder that he’s a bad person for what he’s put you through. He never should have slept with you.

He never should have loved you.

He deserves every form of torture that would be performed on him if they found out what the two of you had been doing.

He deserves damnation for what he has done.

And he gets just that when he sleeps.

Most of his dreams follow the same theme. You, in his cabin, sometimes he finds himself entangled against your naked form, sometimes it’s just laying on his twin bed, enjoying the warmth of each other.

Something is immediately off about the dream he’s in now.

His first thought is that this cabin is different.

It’s bigger. There’s more dressers, the bed is twice the size of his. His confusion is palpable as he tries to find you.

He knows he will if he looks.

You’re always there when he closes his eyes.

So he stands, and he walks around the house. It’s completely new to him yet so familiar and as he turns the corner and you’re there.

His breath hitches.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, with a genuine smile, and your hair hanging down across your face. But what catches his eye the most is the little green baby in your arms. You pinch at his cheeks as he makes those all too familiar babbles that used to fill the Crest.

His heart is in his throat.

He can’t move. It’s like he’s staring down the greatest threat of his life and if he moves an inch it will attack.

Maybe he died in his sleep and this is heaven.

That doesn’t make sense, he’s done nothing to earn his place. Or it’s hell, and his torment is knowing he can’t stay here with you and Grogu, that he’ll have to wake up and live with what he’s put you through, and the kid will still be gone.

He’s content to stand in the doorway and watch this alternate reality for as long as he sleeps. His chest heaving as he takes in the sight of everything he’s ever wanted, just a few steps away.

The two most important people in his life, and in his reality he’s pushed you both away.

He could have kept the kid. He hadn’t been sure about leaving, he truly believes that if he had asked Grogu to stay that they could have been happy. But he was just so scared.

What if he got hurt while out on a hunt? What if he changed his mind and years down the road resented Din for keeping him? Or worst of all, what if plain and simple, he just got sick of Din?

And then he did the same thing to you.

He got scared.

He can’t already be regretting it, it’s been less than a day.

The sound of your voice calling him snaps him out of his trance.

You say his name.

His real name.

Din.

Second to the little noises the kid makes it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. He’s not in control of himself as he stumbles towards you. Falling to his knees in front of your chair, scared to reach out to touch you because deep down he knows this isn’t real.

You should be upset. Upset that he’s lied to you, told you that he doesn’t want you, used you. You should be throwing insults into his face but instead you reach down to put a hand on his cheek and he’s vaguely aware of the fact that in this particular dream he isn’t wearing his helmet.

He’s so at ease from your touch he doesn’t care.

You don’t speak. You just use your thumb to rub gentle circles into the planes of his face. Eventually the house is gone, the kitchen is gone, the table and chairs are gone and it’s just you. Standing above him, caressing his face with one hand, holding the kid to your chest with the other.

He doesn’t dare move a muscle as he tries to burn the sight of the two of you into his memories.

He wakes up with a start, sitting upright in his bed, his hands clawing at the helmet as he gasps for air. He haphazardly tosses it onto the sheets as tries to catch his breath.

Wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his flight suit he stuffs some rations into his satchel and locks his helmet back on.

So he can’t stay in the cabin anymore.

He had never even brought you here but it reeks of your absence. And that dream didn’t help in the slightest.

There are whispers of you in every corner and crevice of his home. He’s not an idiot, he knows no matter where he goes there will always be traces of you. So there’s no sense avoiding it, he makes his way to the castle and stands guard outside your room.

He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night. He stands against the wall opposite your bedroom door. He can’t go back to sleep, he can’t handle that dream again. So he stays up until the sun rises.

He’s a bundle of nerves waiting for you to greet him, but you never do. You stay in your room the entire day, the only change in scenery is when Leo or one of the girls brings you food, he tries to catch a glimpse of you when the door is briefly open but he never does.

His heart hurts.

He doesn’t move. When the hallways are empty he eats his rations just for something to do. Sometimes he’ll turn up the external audio so he can hear you pacing around your room but most of the time it’s silent. He’ll stretch his legs every few hours, pacing the hall. And then he’ll sit and repeat.

He wants to go in.

He wants to tear the door down, kneel before you and beg for forgiveness. But he manages to resist.

He doesn’t sleep when the sun goes down.

When he feels his eyes starting to flutter he’ll chew on a ration.

Sometimes if he feels sleep creeping up on him he thinks of things to say to you in the morning.

He wants to say sorry. More accurately he wants to grovel at your feet and tell you he’s an idiot, that he was lying, that he didn’t mean a word of it and that he’s madly in love with you.

Of course he won’t do that.

He shouldn’t say anything.

It’s better that way. It’s better for the both of you.

Doesn’t mean he can’t fantasize about a world where he begs for forgiveness and you grant it.

Would you want him in that world? All of him, not just moments in secret when one of you craved the other. He wants mornings, noons, and nights. Would you give them to him?

He could take you away from here if you did.

It wouldn’t be easy but when your job is to find people who don’t want to be found you get pretty good at hiding. You could change your names, go get the kid, he could make his dream real.

Would you really want that though?

Of course you wouldn’t. Even if he hadn’t ended things so cruelly, you were a princess and he was just Din.

You wouldn’t want that cabin in the woods, you were too good for that. You deserved castles and gowns, not living in the woods with a Mandalorian.

So he won’t talk to you. He will simply resign himself to loving you from afar. (Or more accurately he will love you from a few steps behind you.) And he will leave you alone because he’s caused enough problems.

Well, if you came out of your room he would. But he can’t properly leave you alone if you won’t let him.

He’s exhausted as he sits against the door, willing himself to stay awake to avoid any more dreams. He turns up his audio for most of the day, listening to you mill about the room.

He wishes you’d give him a reason to come in, the sound of a scuffle, a yelp, for Makers sake, if you stub your toe he could use that as an excuse just to check in on you. But all he hears are the sounds of your muffled footsteps.

And he can’t keep his eyes open forever.

The combination of the flight suit and his armor makes him heat up when he sits still, especially as the sun sets and the light through the windows hits him. He isn’t sure when exactly he falls asleep but he’s back in that big cabin when he does.

He makes the executive decision this time to stay in bed.

He doesn’t want to see you, and he doesn’t want to see the kid. Because neither of you are real, and eventually you’ll be ripped away from him when he wakes up.

Of course his strategy doesn’t work because in this dream you bring Grogu to him. He tries to shield himself from his delusions, even in his dreams he knows it’s pitiful, a trained killer hiding under the blankets from a singular person and a sleeping child.

You still don’t speak. Gods he wishes you would speak, he wishes you would scream at him, shame him for his cowardice but instead you peel back the sheets just enough to put the kid between the two of you and lay with him, Grogu snoring through that tiny nose of his as you lay down with him, giving him that smile that makes his heart melt and his brain turn to mush. You lean forward and your forehead rests on his.

He knows he deserves this anguish but still, it’s ruthless.

Everything he could ever possibly want, under one blanket and it isn’t even fucking real.

He’s startled awake when the surface he’s laying on moves.

He doesn’t have a lot of time to come to his senses before he’s looking up and you’re there. The real you. The dream version could never compare to the real thing. That’s how he knows he isn’t sleeping anymore. You're clearer, confusingly you’re wearing simpler clothing. He can’t really think about that right now though because he’s hit with a wave of embarrassment.

He was the one who had ended things with you yet here he was, sitting outside your door like a dog who got locked out overnight.

You just step over him.

Just like that you’re over him.

Literally and apparently figuratively.

Huh.

He had assumed you had locked yourself in your room because you were trying to process everything, that you were trying to repair the parts of you that had been broken.

He had assumed you felt as terrible as he did.

But you seem fine, like nothing even happened.

He should be elated. That you’re not only fine but seem to be completely over it.

Instead he feels sick. He’s worried he’s going to vomit in his helmet because he can’t stop wondering if maybe you never even cared about him in the first place. It’s wrong, it’s a terrible thing to wonder and he can’t help but think of what an awful person he must be to have such a thought.

He follows behind you, as is his natural instinct but he feels like he needs to sit down again.

Did you ever care about him? He had only ended things with you because he couldn’t handle the idea of you loving him. If you loved him and he still couldn’t be with you he wouldn’t survive it.

Yet you seem perfectly fine.

And he can’t help but think that he ruined everything on a bad judgment call. He hasn’t felt this stupid since he almost got himself stuck in carbonite when he first bought the Crest.

He can’t focus on a thing you’re doing, yet he stays with you the entire time, he knows you grab books and he knows you return to your chambers and he knows that at some point he ended up back on the floor, leaning against your bedroom door again.

Maybe you had never even liked him as a friend.

He had never considered that you might have been exactly what he had claimed to be. Bored and in need of entertainment.

That isn’t possible, you had been so upset when he had ended things.

Of course you could have just been upset because he had been unnecessarily cruel.

He has no right to be bothered by this. This was his choice. His decision.

Maybe he chose wrong.

It’s a little late for thoughts like that.

He can’t just change his mind.

And he’s left to think about everything he possibly could have done differently as he fights sleep.

He doesn’t even know how he’s still standing when the sun rises and he groans as he gets to his feet.

Your ladies in waiting go in, and this time they actually stay in and he’s more awake then he’s been in days because he knows that you’re actually going to come out today. He braces himself to see that fire in you, tells himself that last night was a fluke, that you hadn’t been prepared to see him and now that you are you’ll want to argue and berate him and he can finally sort things out in his head.

But you don’t.

You barely even look at him and you’re already walking to the library like nothing happened.

Like it’s any other day.

He can’t think, he can’t form a coherent thought because you seem perfectly fine. He really hadn’t meant anything to you.

He had hoped that this confirmation would free him. That if it was true he wouldn’t feel an attraction to you anymore and he could finally get off this kriffing planet. But his adoration doesn’t waver for a second. He still feels exactly the same way except now he feels smaller. There is nothing worse than a problem that can’t be solved with a blaster.

He’s got big plans to spend his day trying not to give in to his mental and physical exhaustion while he does everything in his power to not think about how unbothered you look. But those plans are immediately halted when you freeze up right after you get into the library. He’s puzzled for a few seconds until he sees the nook and your voice echoes inside his helmet.

“Why is your favorite color green?”

The kid, the cabin, and you.

He wants to fall apart. He wants to collapse right there on the floor and he’s so tired he briefly considers it until he realizes you’re still not moving. He gives you a second, he knows better than to try and talk to you right now, his helmet has been silenced since the last time he had spoken to you.

He can’t be trusted to not beg for absolution.

Your eyes are glued on the nook and he swears you tremble slightly.

So you did care.

He can’t even take pleasure in that fact because his heart drops when he sees your expression. It’s like looking in a mirror.

What the hell is he supposed to do in this situation?

He’s faced enough deadly challenges throughout his bounty hunting career to know when to just go with your gut, so that’s what he does. He gently guides you away from the nook and sits you somewhere where you won’t have to look at it.

You look as small as he feels, there’s something so intimate about your misery that he can’t look any longer, if he does he’ll give in and all of this will have been for nothing. You’re strong, even though he wasn’t sure for a moment there he knows that you still have your fire so of course you pull yourself together. And when you speak, you address him as you task him with finding Leo and he’s so happy to not only hear your voice but to hear you sound okay that he does it without a second thought.

He desperately waits to hear you say more but you never do. He should have seen that coming. But he’s so weary at this point, he lets himself lean against the shelves and close his eyes, just for a second, the last thing he sees is you sketching something out on the papers Leo brought you.

Of course you’re there when he closes his eyes as well.

There’s no cabin, no kitchen, no bedroom, no kid. It’s just you this time. And he is trapped in a never ending loop of you. Every few minutes he’ll wake up, turning to make sure you’re still there, before drifting back into unconsciousness. You’re there too, waiting for him. It’s a funny sort of hell. To wake up and see you there, to fall asleep and see you there. He can’t escape for a single second.

What else is new?

The dream you isn’t real. He can’t bring himself to interact with her, because even the fantasy of you that he has conjured up doesn’t live up to the real thing. The real you is right there, everytime he slips back into consciousness he turns to see you. He’s never been a devout man but looking at you now he gets it. How people can be religious. The idea that you can adore something so much that you commit your life to it. He shouldn’t be thinking about you like that, at this point it’s unhealthy, but he’s just so tired, and you’re everywhere, and it’s hard to focus on anything but the look of pride on your face as you stare at your drawing.

The dream you is too polished and shiny, she always seems so quiet. This is the real you, pleased with yourself, fighting back a smile because you’ve accomplished something.

The sound of your chair pushing backwards wakes him from his strange middle ground of awake and asleep as he straightens up. He shouldn’t have let that happen, he doesn’t sleep in front of people, there’s too much risk involved but as much as your presence torments him it also soothes him.

You seem like you’re in a rush to get back to your room and curiosity gets the best of him, so he allows himself a glance at your work as you scramble to get your things together.

The table is covered in sketches of weapons and ships, a lot of which he recognizes from his book.

That’s what you had been drawing.

He sees an ink depiction of the Crest and he can’t stop himself as he shoves it into his pocket, careful not to crinkle it.

Why did he do that?

He shouldn’t have done that.

But it’s too late because you’re out the door already which means he needs to be out the door. He trails behind you like always and there is the faintest hesitation from you where he thinks you might just invite him in, he’s imagining things, he has to be. He doesn’t think further on it as you close the door. He can barely stay upright and when he’s sure you’re out of earshot he lets himself slump back down onto the floor.

He reaches into his pocket and holds the drawing out in front of him.

He hadn’t told you about the Crest. This was just a freak coincidence. It’s a nice drawing though, you did it justice.

He puts it into his bag, careful not to fold or crease it.

He stops fighting sleep, he can’t keep this up forever so he lets his eyes close with a sigh.

His vision fading to black as he feels a tap on his shoulder, opening his eyes he’s expecting to see you and the kid but instead of the house he’s still in the hall and instead of you it’s a rather displeased looking Togruta girl.

He recognizes her as one of your ladies in waiting, he’s never learned her name. When she speaks she doesn’t sound even the slightest bit frightened of him like any of the other servants in the castle, she sounds furious.

“What did you do to her?”

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #RE UPLOAD

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bagelrites · 6 months

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^^^ It has come to my attention that whatever I post next (this post) will be my 5,000th post, so I've decided to make it a special one!

Did you know that I started this blog, it was originally named OfDemonsAndDruids, because all I intended to really post about was my fanfic series by the same name? And if you did know that, congrats! And thanks for sticking around, that's so cool :)

And for the rest of you! you will now be indoctrinated by the epic ODAD lore (which plagues my drain to this day, even after writing 176k words about it.)

George is the crown prince of the Mushroom Kingdom, a secluded but prosperous country which boasts powerful druid magic and control over the Lichens, a strange yet formidable species which bonds with humans when their true name is spoken. George, as the prince, is given a Lichen to bond with when he's sixteen, and the Lichen will serve as his guard, protector, and servant for the rest of his life.

Dream is that Lichen, though his real name isn't Dream. Dream is the "code" by which he goes so no one other than George can speak his true name. He has been trained his whole life to serve the royal family and to protect George with his superhuman powers of speed, strength, and stamina. He wears a mask, as do all Lichens, because their most powerful skill is that of control. When a Lichen looks at someone with their bare eyes, they can completely control that person (and yes, he can see through the mask. It's magic.)

Sapnap is, well, just some guy! He lives in a village north of the Mushroom Kingdom, but longs to leave home and go on an adventure. Maybe someday his dreams can be fulfilled...

Bad is a full-blooded demon, or at least he appears to be, when he wears his enchanted cloak which casts a shadow over his face. He's worked for years building a reputation as the best bounty hunter in the Nether, and works with his team of white wolves to hunt down his bounties.

Skeppy is an imp, a species closely related to demons, though they're about half the size and have wings instead of horns and a fuzzy tail. They're also shapeshifters, and don't follow the code of order that demons do. Instead, they're led only by chaos and a drive for trickery. Skeppy and Bad have been friends for a long time, though that friendship mostly consists of Skeppy teasing and trolling Bad, and sometimes his pranks go too far...

I've just barely scratched the surface about these guys (like this literally doesn't even get into the main plot) so if you're curious, give it a read!

Symbiosis is the main fic in the series, and follows George through the events of a war between the Demons and the Mushroom Kingdom. It's 100k words and very plotty, and focuses on DNF and the four muffinteer's freindship.

Maladaptation is the companion fic to Symbiosis, which follows Bad and Skeppy through the same events, but showing a very different perspective. It's 70k and just as plotty, but focuses on Skephalo (as well as Quackity and Skeppy's friendship - I started writing it over a year ago...)

And Devotion is a short follow-up to Symbiosis, which is basically just a nsfw DNF one shot that shows a bit of Dream's POV on his relationship with George.

While it's been almost a year since I've worked on this series, I want to say that I'm not done with it and I do plan on writing more in 2024, because I've been having some serious brainworms about these guys. But regardless, I hope you enjoyed learning about my complicated fantasy AU, or if you've read Symbiosis, that you enjoyed this walk down memory lane.

With that said, happy 5,000 posts to this blog! Here's to 5,000 more 🥳🎉

#muffinteers #dream team #dteam fanart #georgenotfound #dreamwastaken #sapnap #badboyhalo #skeppy #gnf fanart #dream fanart #sapnap fanart #bbh fanart #skeppy fanart #my art #my fic #my fanfic

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daze4all · 7 months

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Links for Witness! Reader x Yandere Neuvillette x Yandere Wriothesley Series

A Witness Protection Program Gone Wrong Series:

For They Were Justice

Warnings: Tied Up at Court and silenced. Kidnapping past and present? Implied Amnesiac! Reader. Yanderes.

Series Synopsis: A key witness & victim of treasure hoarder human trafficking is saved by Wriothesley and sheltered by the chief justice, Neuvillette under a witness protection program.

Witness! Reader is recovering your memory from experimentations to stand trial. However, what happens when you remember you have a home, but they won’t let you go?

Timeline & Links. Whole Series on AO3!

Witness! Reader Stuck between a Draconic Judge and Feral Watch Dog~

For before they went hard, they were soft bois just helping witness reader recover but a bit sus as they got too attached and then try to keep her from leaving.

Yandere Type Concepts: Soft! Master! Yandere! Neuvillette vs Hard! Dog! Yandere Wriothesley Drabble Concepts used for this fic series

Pending

2. Shackled Memories: Pending . Wriothesley saves reader from treasure hoarders & visit her while she is recuperating in Neuville custody. They become attached and some sus manipulation goes on.

3. Where is the Truth in Justice?: Pending. Reader finds out that she is being detained illegally and resolves to escape. Neuvillete finds out she escaped and contacts Wriothesley while crying who comfort him and says they will hunt her down & bring her back

POSTED

4. Freedom is a Pipe Dream: Posted Here. Reader is caught escaping by Neuvillette & Wriothesly in the pipe system of Meropide but a fight breaks out between them & the treasure hoarders to get her.

5. Tied Up In Court: Posted. Reader is captured and dragged to court to be judged by Yandere Neuvillette x Yandere Wriothesley

6. Courting Affection: Posted. A cycle of punishment and care start again & they realize what they want is to be with you not just uphold the law. Neuvillette & Wriotheslyrealize they have feelings beyond being protective of reader as a witness and their attempts to cuddle and court reader in a drabble post.

Pending

7. Tea is the Best Medicine: Pending. How Neuvillette & Wriothesly keep reader compliant after her escape attempt. Drug use.

8. Courting Danger: The punishment side of the cycle. Interrogation in prison as witness reader moved to Meripode for her “protection” after her escape attempt under Wrio in contrast to Neuviellate’s mansion.

#genshin impact #male yandere x reader #yandere imagines #neuvilette x reader #genshin neuvillette #yandere neuvillette #male yandere #yandere #yandere wriothesley #wriothesley x neuvillette #neuvilette x y/n #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesely #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x you #neuvilette x you #neuvillette x reader x wriotheseley

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i-am-church-the-cat · 3 months

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wait so like, what do you think logan would be like ahead of the pack?? ik in peak you talked abt he hates being hunted but i would LOVE to know what that looks/sounds like ESPECIALLY if oscar is one of the “hunters”

So the way I see it, if he's starting at the front, there's nothing for him to hunt, so he can't reach that level of hyperfocus. Even if he starts second or third, if he gets to the front too soon in a race, he's not likely to keep it. He doesn't necessarily try to qualify low, but his races are always better when he starts from the back.

In the situation where he's being hunted, he doesn't have that magical kickstart, so while being aggressive and attacking comes naturally to him, he's had to work hard through the years to learn how to defend well. Something that helps is that he's so fast he quickly creates distance between him and the person behind. Sucks when he's stuck in a DRS train though.

So as to how it looks/sounds, it's just a lot like normal. Maybe a bit anxious, less prone to risky moves, but ultimately what you'd see IRL. The big difference is when he's racing up bc his mindset changes. And Oscar doesn't really effect how he races. Idk how to explain it but I have another fic in mind that might shed more light on that.

#fic series: hunting down dreams #patron deity au #loscar #logan sargeant #formula 1 rpf #asks

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lowkeychenle · 11 months

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SOS [ZCL] (M)

Description: Road trips with Chenle are your favorite thing. Late at night, the two of you stop at a hotel, but it's not everything it seems to be. You barely have time to settle before you get a call to evacuate immediately. Beneath red neon flashing lights, you and Chenle have to try and escape the group of people hunting you down.

Genre: Smut (literally the first 1.5k is smut help) // Thriller/Horror

Content Warnings: Explicit, rough, unprotected sex (don't do the unprotected part), Chenle says pretty girl again (not sorry) and also slut because duality, also this fic includes murder and creepy elements with Psycho!Dream so do with that what you will.

Word Count: 4,127

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader (feat the rest of Dream too!!)

ISTJ 7Dream Series Masterlist

Juliet's Masterlist | Requests

After being in the car all day, you and Chenle are both ready to settle down for the night. Concentrating on the road for so long makes your eyes numb. Chenle’s a few steps behind you as you slump on the bed, starfishing out a bit as you take a deep breath. The mattress is soft beneath you, the cotton comforter already warm enough to make you want to fall asleep.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Chenle says, making his way over to you. He nudges you over so he can climb on too, lying on his side as his eyes scan over your face. “We still need to find something to eat.”

You groan in response, shaking your head.

“Babe, you haven’t eaten in hours. You gotta.” He reaches over to play with the bottom hem of your shirt before his hand dips lower and lower and lower—

“I thought you were tired?” You raise an eyebrow at him, but you don’t stop him.

“Did I say tired?” He fakes pondering for a moment as he pops the button on your jeans. “What I meant to say was I’m tired…of not being inside you.”

You laugh, pushing his shoulder. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“Bold of you to assume I’m ever not thinking about it.” He traces along the fabric of your panties from hip to hip, repeating the motion as he leans closer to you. “We’ll be back on the road tomorrow and we’ll have missed this golden opportunity.”

“Well, you do make a valid point there.” Your voice drips with sarcasm.

“You gonna kiss me or are you gonna keep denying how much you want me?”

The words barely have time to leave his mouth before you silence him with the kiss he’s asking for. He immediately sighs into it, moving a little further over you. His tongue dances with your own as his fingers dip inside your underwear. He doesn’t have much range to move with your pants still on, but he somehow manages to find your lace-clad core.

Rubbing you gently, he rests his forehead on yours. “I’m gonna fuck you good, pretty girl.”

You moan at his words, craving his lips back on yours. He stops, one finger tracing up your entrance to find your clit. His circles are mind-numbingly slow as he teases you into wanting him as badly as he wants you.

“How lucky for you we don’t have our usual toys.” He pouts, moving down a bit to kiss your neck. Leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses, his teeth graze across your skin.

“So lucky,” you answer, rocking your hips up to hurry his hand. Chenle can be absolutely brutal with edging if he uses toys on you. He likes bringing you so, so close to the brink before stopping. The pattern repeats until tears brim your eyes. He loves to see you so stimulated that you cry.

Two fingers press against your clit, a gasp escaping you in response. He chuckles but keeps his infuriatingly slow pace. Your body continues to heat up, especially with the thick layer of clothing you have on, and now that Chenle’s started this, all you want is him buried deep inside you.

“This is what I like,” he says, feeling the wetness soak through your panties. “I like when your body tells me you need my cock.”

“Chenle.” You push your jeans down your legs, but can only get them as far as mid-thigh. Crying out in frustration, you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him in to give you another kiss.

His teeth bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough for the tang of iron to hit your tongue. You whimper into his mouth. Everything around you feels like it’s burning, and all you want to do is take off all of your clothes in an attempt to cool down. Chenle doesn’t change his pace for even a moment. He’s skilled, practiced in making you whine and beg and cry for more. You’re pretty sure you’re radiating heat at the moment, but Chenle doesn’t seem the least bit affected by it.

“You just want me to fill you up so bad, don’t you?” he hums, fingers moving off your clit to play with the soaked fabric. “I bet I’d slide right in, huh?”

“God, would you fuck me already?” you hiss at him, grabbing his wrist to pull his hand away from your core.

He smirks at you, but before you know it, he’s helping take your pants off. You sit up and pull your shirt over your head, tossing it across the room. There’s only one thought on your mind, and it’s how fast you can get Chenle out of his clothes.

Fabric sticks uncomfortably to your core. Thankfully, Chenle helps you strip him down to his boxers, where his length leaves a prominent bulge. You palm him, grinning to yourself when he lets out a shaky breath.

“You’re always so needy for me,” he breathes out. “Such a little cockslut, aren’t you?”

You reach inside to wrap your fingers around him, jerking him slowly.

“All fours, get that ass in the air,” he commands and grabs your wrist to pull you off his length.

You don’t hesitate to do what he says. Making quick work of your panties, you toss them aside before pressing your chest and head against the mattress, back arching as you wait for Chenle.

He stands to slide his boxers off, and then the bed dips as he climbs on behind you. His hands grope your ass, squeezing roughly before delivering a smack that has your body shaking. Your fists clench the comforter.

“God, I love your ass.” He slaps the other cheek, the sound echoing around the room as you bite down on the blanket to stop yourself from being too loud.

You arch further, moaning as he massages where he most likely left red marks. Then he’s no longer touching you, and you push yourself back to tell him how much you need him. It feels embarrassingly good when he smacks his cock against your clit. He slides himself along your entrance, collecting your wetness on his length. Your arousal drips down your thighs.

“I don’t know, pretty girl,” Chenle coos. “Are you sure you’re ready for me?”

You nod the best you can, pushing back again.

“Not gonna go easy on you, baby.” The tip of his finger ghosts along your spine, leaving goosebumps in his wake and shivers weaving through your vertebrae.

You feel like you’re ready to explode, and all you want is to have him buried inside you. Luckily for you, he’s getting impatient too. He makes it to your hair, and right when he slams you full of his cock, he grabs your head and tugs it back. You suddenly forget about the people in the rooms around you because you scream in pleasure, unable to mask it with the blanket anymore.

Without giving you a moment to adjust, he pulls out until his tip is barely in before rutting his hips forward. You hold on for dear life, the arch in your back dancing the thin line between pain and pleasure.

His pace is brutal. The bed creaks loudly beneath you, joined by the sound of his skin smacking against yours and the slickness of your arousal.

He pauses, nudging your legs a bit further apart with his knees. You question it at first, but then he’s thrusting again, his balls slapping against your swollen clit. The pleasure numbs your brain, and all you’re thinking about is how good he feels rubbing on your inner walls like this. He tugs harder on your head, straining your neck without missing a beat. His name slips from your mouth so many times, you lose count. If it weren’t for his grip on your head, he’d probably have you across the mattress by now.

“What a good little slut.” His palm strikes your ass. “Pussy swallowing my cock while you drool.”

You’re shivering at this point, body begging for release. His thrusts slow and he reaches around you to find your clit. His chest heaves, scattered breaths escaping him as his fingers glide easily back and forth on your sensitive bud thanks to being coated in your wetness. You feel it all the way down your thighs to your knees, where you know it’s soaking into the comforter below you.

The knot tightens in your stomach, threatening to unravel at any moment regardless if you want to stay like this forever. As you hit your high, your vision goes black and you shake. Next thing you know, Chenle’s shoving your head into the mattress and chasing his own orgasm. It only takes a few more thrusts for him to finish, filling you up with his cum.

He grips your hips instead, holding you against his hips as he gently rocks back and forth to help you both come down.

You catch a glimpse of him over your shoulder. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes clenched shut, lips parted. This Chenle is one of your favorites—absolutely spent, so overwhelmed with pleasure he can’t even comprehend it yet.

You whine when he pulls out of you. Without his support, your body crumbles. He catches you with an arm around your waist, flipping you over so he can look at you. Both of you are shiny with sweat, his skin gleaming in the dim hotel lighting.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, climbing to hover over you and press a gentle kiss to your lips.

You smile softly, nodding.

“C’mon.” He gestures behind him. “We’ll take a shower and then go get some dinner.”

You nod again, unable to formulate a response just yet. He slides his arms beneath you, lifting you up and walking you over to the bathroom. Setting you on the counter, he turns on the water. While the two of you wait for it to heat up, he finds his spot between your legs and connects his mouth with yours.

“I love you,” he whispers. “You sure that was okay? Don’t want to be too rough with you.”

You shake your head. “Not too rough. It was really good. I love you, too.”

“Good.” He smiles at you, kissing your forehead. “Let’s get in.”

After your shower, you get dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of soft shorts, hoping his idea of dinner isn’t the two of you actually getting out of the car. You just want to eat and then go to sleep. While you run the brush through your hair, he comes up behind you and grabs it from your hands so he can do it for you. You sigh in appreciation, closing your eyes and enjoying him and the heated air around you.

“You look good like this,” he hums and kisses your cheek. “Ready?”

“Yeah, I’m actually hungry now—”

The power goes off. You and Chenle are suddenly draped in darkness, and you instinctively move closer to him in fright.

“What the hell?” he mutters under his breath, flicking the switch on the wall. Nothing happens, and as your eyes adjust to the pitch black, you catch a glimpse of irritation laced on his features.

“We should just go.” You tug on his arm. “They’ll probably have it back on by the time we get back.”

The air is so still that anxiety starts clinging to your spine. You roll your shoulders a bit, but the pressure pressing you into yourself refuses to let up. Chenle intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you both toward the door.

“We paid $200 for this fucking hotel room,” he grumbles. “It better be back on after dinner.”

“Speaking of, what are we eating?”

As soon as Chenle’s hand touches the doorknob, a bright red flash emits from the previously lit bulbs. Both of you freeze, the eerie feeling climbing up your back making the hair on your skin stand straight.

“Chenle—”

“Mayday! This is not a test!”

A robotic-like voice fills the room, and a soft whimper escapes you as Chenle pulls you toward him.

“Evacuate the building immediately!”

A warbly siren joins the voice, and that’s when the panic sets in. The room flashes red again, a steady rhythm between the pitch black and neon. What kind of hotel has warning sirens? Your hands shake as Chenle throws the door open, practically tugging you down the hallway as the countdown starts.

“Ten.”

Your heart throbs in your throat as your bare feet smack against the carpeted hallway. When you try to ask Chenle what the hell is going on, the words refuse to come out. You’re barely able to breathe. The red flashes start to hurt your eyes, and it’s just frequent enough to throw off your vision when they fade back to black.

“Nine.”

Chenle looks back at you as he slams the door to the stairway open. You frantically look around for any sign of anyone else, but it’s almost like you and Chenle are the only two people here.

“Eight.”

You nearly fall down the stairs trying to match Chenle’s pace, but you don’t feel the pain shooting up your legs. Adrenaline courses through you, and as you reach the third floor, you can’t help but wonder what happens if you don’t make it.

What happens when the countdown hits zero?

“Seven.”

“Come on!” Chenle shouts.

The sound is lost on you when the awful siren is still ringing through your ears. Your lungs ache from the lack of oxygen, but nothing matters—nothing except you and Chenle getting the fuck out of this place.

“Six.”

“That one was faster,” you finally say, digging your fingers into his skin to try and ground yourself.

“We have to keep going.” Chenle’s out of breath too. You see his chest heaving and the fear on his face every time the lights flash. Despite that, his words are surprisingly calm. You want to scream, but your tired body won’t allow it. You can’t.

“Fi-Five.”

“Chenle—”

You’re at the bottom floor, and Chenle sends the door flying open. You see the exit, so close that you can practically taste the freedom that comes from getting the hell out of this hotel.

“Three, two, one.”

“No!” Chenle yells, his voice ricocheting off the walls, echoing down the long hallway. Right before your eyes, a metal barrier drops in front of the door. Bile rises in your throat, and you shake as you grip his wrists.

“What do we do?” You almost crumble to your knees, the weight of the world on your shoulders as you contemplate what this means for you.

How the hell do you get out now?

“I don’t know.” He pants, tugging his fingers through his hair.

The flashing stops briefly, allowing you a bit of time to catch your breath as you and Chenle back up down the hallway. He keeps a tight grip on you, like he’s scared to lose you in the dark.

And then the red returns, and when you look back to where you once stood, your heart stops beating. A man stands there, twirling a knife with his fingers. His head tilts slowly, slowly, slowly, until he can’t anymore, and you see the faint shade of pink in his hair. He lifts the blade up to the wall, the sound of it scraping against plaster sending shivers up your spine. The white of his shirt is illuminated by the neon. One thing is written across it in big, scrawled letters: JAEMIN.

“Chenle,” you whisper, smacking his chest. His gaze follows yours, and you see the hard recoil.

“What the fuck?”

You turn the other direction, preparing to run that way, until you see a second man. With a dry throat, you back up toward the door leading to the stairs, holding onto Chenle’s sleeve for dear life. Silver hair reflects red. He stands impossibly straight, head lifted as if he’s looking down at the two of you. Gripping the base of an ax, he allows it to hang loosely at his side. His shirt matches the other man’s, but the word spelled out on his is JENO.

Chenle gulps, tugging you back. “We need to go.”

You don’t say anything, stuck in the middle of the two men like your body has frozen completely.

“(Y/N), now!” He finally snaps you out of your trance, and the two of you hurry into the stairwell.

You’re barely able to keep up with him anymore, every part of you wanting to stop running. There’s no way you can keep doing this for long.

You make it to the second floor, and as you round the corner to go up to the third, you halt. Narrowed eyes stare at you from the platform. Chenle runs into you, opening his mouth to ask you why you stopped until he sees.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Chenle tries to hide his fear—for your sake or for his own, you’re unsure—as the man at the top of the stairs tilts the container he’s holding. Liquid sloshes down the stairs, and it doesn’t take you long to realize what it is.

Gasoline.

You catch a glimpse of the word on his shirt—DONGHYUCK.

You get the sinking feeling to turn around, and that’s when you see another standing on the platform below you. He stands there, staring straight at you with a blank look on his face. His hands are buried deep in his pockets, his word reading: MINHYUNG.

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him pull something out. A familiar sound reaches your ears—

A flame flickers to life from the lighter, illuminating his face. His hair is black, short with an undercut. He raises an eyebrow at you, taunting you to stay in your spot. The liquid reaches your feet, soaking them as it continues to trickle down toward the guy with the lighter.

As soon as you break from your staring contest with him, you and Chenle break through the door to the second floor. Running down the hallway, you take the first right you can. The room before you seems to be a conference room. A long, oval-shaped table takes up the majority of it, but almost like they were waiting for you, two more people stand at the back of the room.

The taller of the two grips a machete, a small smile forming on his face when he sees the two of you. His shoulders are broad, arm flexed with how hard he’s holding his weapon. JISUNG is sprawled on the white fabric covering his chest, and the man next to him says RENJUN.

He has darker silver hair than the other guy from the hallway. At first, he appears weaponless, but the metallic gleam around his fists prove otherwise. The pain and fear finally catches up to you, and your knees wobble as you let out a terrified sob. No matter where you go, they’ll find you.

They’re going to hurt you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. They’re going to hurt Chenle.

The two of you aren’t making it out alive.

“Where do we go?” you ask Chenle.

Instead of responding, he tugs you back out the door. Before you’re able to go anywhere, the four men from before are waiting for you. They slowly close the distance, and Chenle puts you behind him, pressing you into the wall.

You grip onto his shirt, closing your eyes and hoping, praying you wake up from this dream soon.

“Stay behind me,” Chenle says, chest heaving.

The two from inside follow you out, and the group of six slowly get closer and closer until you’re able to clearly make out their faces. As valiant of an effort it is, you know there’s no way Chenle can take all of them on his own. Not without any weapons.

You hear the knife scrape against the wall, like it did before, but this time, much nearer. Shaking your head, you wish you could stop the tears rolling down your cheeks. The first one approaches—Minhyung—and his fist grips Chenle’s shirt.

Without another thought, Chenle shoves him back. Almost like he’s caused a chain reaction, the others move forward. Donghyuck aids Minhyung in ripping your boyfriend away from you, leaving you alone and afraid as he struggles against the other two men.

Out of instinct, you lunge forward to help, but hands wrap around your wrists, tugging you back so hard, you’re pretty sure you hear a loud pop coming from your shoulders. You scream, in both pain and fear, as you crumble down to your knees and watch as Chenle gets dragged away.

He’s shouting at you, begging you to get away, but you know it’s impossible. You must be getting dragged by Jeno and Jaemin, because the further you get, you still see Renjun and Jisung staring at you from the doorway.

You fight against them as much as you can, the sight of Chenle down the hallway urging you on. It doesn’t matter what happens to you—you need to know what they’re going to do to him. By some miracle, you get free of them, immediately bolting away. You think you’ll make it to him, but the second you get confident, Renjun steps in your way, reeling his fist back and launching it forward.

You crumple, the flashing red fading to black one last time before you lose consciousness.

When you wake, your head throbs. You attempt to move, but your wrists are chained together, the links connecting up to the ceiling. Your arms ache, your toes barely brush the ground, and you’re alone.

The events quickly come back to you, and you immediately look around for Chenle. The lights are back to normal, a dull, yellow glow making the wide, cement room around you seem that much bigger.

There’s nothing in here. Nothing except you.

Your heart is beating so fast, you’re sure it’s going to burst from your chest. Chenle’s out there somewhere, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s alive. If he’s somewhere, suspended midair like you are.

Tears brim your eyes, and you weakly shake the chains holding you.

The warbly siren sounds behind you, this time as if it’s coming through a cheap speaker. A familiar voice follows, the same one you heard earlier.

“Mayday! This is not a test! Evacuate the building immediately. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Fi-five. Three, two, one.”

You cringe as the lights turn off again, and at this point, you give up. If they’re going to kill you, you want them to get it over with. There’s no reason to make you suffer.

The red light returns. Rather than flashing, it stays on, and through your blurry vision, you see the six forms standing in a line about fifteen feet in front of you. You clench your fists.

“Where is he?” you ask, voice weak and feeble. “What did you do with Chenle?”

You hear a laugh, but it’s not from any of the men in your eyesight. A warm hand touches your waist, making you flinch and do your best to pull away from whoever it is.

“Oh, don’t be like that now,” the voice coos.

God, that sounds familiar.

The realization dawns on you right before he walks around to face you directly. Chenle. But he’s not your Chenle anymore, he’s dressed exactly like the men behind him, his name scrawled across white fabric. His fingers linger, tracing shapes on your skin through the T-shirt you’re wearing.

“What’s going on?” Your entire body trembles.

“I’m okay, baby. Isn’t that what you wanted to know?” He shows no traces of the man you know, his face blank and eyes emotionless as he regards you. “My friends wanted to play a little game with you. Wasn’t it fun?”

“Chenle…” More tears cascade down your face. Please, please let this be a dream.

“None of that now.” He tsks, reaching up to grip your jaw. “They wanna kill you so bad, you know. I told them no.”

Hope sparks, and for a second, you believe you might actually get out of here alive.

“Jaemin has a particular taste for the thrill of watching someone bleed out. He begged and begged, but I said no. I said nobody was allowed to kill you. Nobody except for me.” His eyes narrow, and his other hand tangles into your hair.

“Please…” is all you can muster.

“Thanks for playing, pretty girl.”

He jerks your head with one quick, clean movement, and the sickening cracking and popping of your neck is the last thing you ever hear.

#nct dream #istj #nct imagines #nct #nct scenarios #nct dream smut #chenle #nct chenle #nct dream chenle #chenle smut #chenle imagine #zhong chenle #chenle x reader

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let-us-cultivate-our-garden · 1 year

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The Owl House Series Finale Thoughts, part 1

So, now that I’ve had time to vent and gather my thoughts I can say that The Owl House series finale, was a letdown.

There were strong elements: the animation, the voice acting, the music, all incredible. I do deeply appreciate the hard work and talent the crew brought in making this show and how many people have felt represented and seen by the show’s inclusivity and themes. I feel that this show will be beloved and remembered for a long time.

However, I feel like the show made critical errors that actually undermined what it set out to do. Before I get into my thoughts, let me explain how I got into this show:

I happened to stumble upon the show because it looked neat and heard that the show creator also worked on Gravity Falls, another show I enjoyed. The first season was fun; bright, clever, and you could tell it wanted to tell a larger story with deep and meaningful themes. Season 2A was also fun and it had begun to depict a darker, more mature world. I didn’t think too much of the show, it was just fun, a typical kids’ cartoon show with good storytelling and memorable characters. Nothing really grabbed me about the show.

Until Hollow Mind.

Long-term fans will remember people being disappointed by the episode because they became attached to Fanon Philip that had appeared during the hiatus and we got something completely different in canon. How did this seemingly sweet young man turn into Emperor Belos? Turns out, he’s just a dick. A huge, murderous dick with a hero complex.

I wasn’t there for Fanon Philip but what drew me to Belos was that in HM, his apparent backstory was in the literal background of the episode and it sparked my imagination. I joined the fandom because, like many, I wanted to know what Belos’ deal was. Many talented and creative people came up with long and compelling theories about the Wittebane brothers, speculation that was further fueled by the grimwalker reveal and Caleb appearing in Belos’ memories in King’s Tide. That speculation grew and people wrote whole fan fics and drew art depicting the trials and troubles of the Wittebanes.

I became invested in the Wittebanes because their story was so tragic: two orphan boys who grew up in a cult, essentially forced to participate in witch hunts in an adapt-or-be-hanged situation, only for the elder to actually see the error of his ways and leave his younger brother behind, making him think he had been bewitched and that it was his duty to save him.

We got more scraps of information in Thanks to Them, the most important being how the brothers only had each other and became witch-hunters to fit in. In For the Future, Caleb’s apparition appears--whether a ghost or hallucination is unknown---above his specter is a bloody knife, Caleb stares accusingly at the wretched, shambling remains of his younger brother. Philip lashes out angrily accusing him that it was his fault and that he “tried to save his soul.” This is a highly interpretive scene, and many thought it implied Belos’ deeply buried guilt and how he always lies to himself to justify his actions. All the while, deep down knowing the truth.

With all that in mind, what did we learn in Watching and Dreaming? What made this young man who ventured out to what he thought was literal hell to rescue his brother? His only family? Only to kill him in a fit of madness and spend literal centuries trying to recreate the brother of his childhood, to erase his original sin, all the while descending into madness and depravity?

Turns out he’s a dick. A huge, murderous dick with a hero complex.

“You assume Belos’ goal comes from a genuine place,” the Titan tells Luz. And seemingly the audience because fans wanted to see this story, this foundation to all of the horror and trauma. To understand how a man becomes evil.

Well, according to the show, he’s just like that. Luz attempts to reconcile Belos’ goal of saving humanity with her own and wonders if their morality is really so different. Silly human, the Titan says. Your goals and motives are genuine, he’s just delusional and evil. So you can take comfort in the fact that your enemies’ goals are just self-serving, but yours are the real deal.

Sorry but this is lazy.

You can’t say people are complicated and then turn around and say actually, no some people are just delusional and power-hungry and we’ll leave it at that. It seems that, in the universe of The Owl House, only good people are complicated; Lilith cursed Eda because she was desperate to get into the Emperor’s Coven but then she spends the rest of the time trying to cure her sister. Amity bullied Willow, but only because her parents forced them to no longer be friends, Hunter was the emperor’s right hand man, but only because he’s an abused teenager. Meanwhile, the villains of the show don’t have their motives given such depth, they just act in selfish and petty ways because they just are.

I wouldn’t be bothered by Philip’s flat characterization if the show did not waste so much time giving us hints and clues that there’s actually more to him. What a twist! The villain you thought had greater complexity is just a Standard Villain, how genius! Such clever writing!

If he’s going to be simply a metaphor and not a real character then don’t tease us with a story that suggests otherwise. Keep your story clean and concise. Don’t dangle a potentially amazing storyline that aligns perfectly with the protagonist’s only to yank it away.

This is a waste of the audience’s time and squashes what could have been a wonderfully twisted and dynamic villain. But the show wasn’t interested. It's much easier and more comforting to just say bad people are just bad and never explore why. You could never become the villain because you’re good; don’t bother worrying that you and the villain have the same goals because his aren’t genuine!

Remember kids, people are complicated. Unless you’re a villain.

#the owl house #toh critical #toh criticism #emperor belos #philip wittebane #luz noceda #long post #the owl house spoilers #watching and dreaming spoilers

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 14 days

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 11

Azriel x Reader Fic

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Word Count: 3.7 K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

You spent your days wandering after Elain like a lost puppy. Everywhere she went, you weren’t far behind. You weren’t sure why you felt so drawn to her, but her presence brought you a sense of peace and comfort. She accepted you the way you were. Not that Feyre or Nesta didn’t, but Elain didn’t ask questions or look at you with pity, as you often found the other two doing. While you didn't talk much, Elain had no trouble putting you to work in the gardens on the roof of the House of Wind. Your knowledge from growing up in the mountains, farming, and cultivating in a harsh environment was invaluable. Elain welcomed your insights on deep-rooting plants and flowers that could withstand the torment of Ramiel mountain storms.

Sleep didn’t come easily, often disrupted by cold sweats when your mate managed his way into your dreams. Many nights you chose instead to bathe, sit on the balcony, or wander the great halls of the house. Feyre seemed content to leave you under the care of her sister, returning to her own home on the river, back to her old life and her baby boy. Nesta, too, filled her time, heading out early in the morning to train with her Valkyries. She offered for you to join her, but you politely declined, not quite prepared to leave the mansion's walls.

As soon as the sun crested the mountaintops, you would be out of your room and in the large kitchen, preparing your own food. You still opted not to join the rest of them for dinners, finding that the food they often ate unsettled your stomach with its complex flavors you hadn’t yet grown accustomed to.

After you had eaten, you would be on the roof of the manor, hands in the dirt, pulling weeds, tending to fresh blooms, and trimming away the rest. Elain would find you hours later, her wide-brimmed sunhat tied below her chin and a smile on her face. Often, Lucien would come to find her in the midafternoon, pulling her away for some task or another, with a coy, cheeky smile playing on his lips. She would disappear for the rest of the afternoon, and when you had finally finished tasks that should have taken less than half the time, you would wipe the sweat from your brow, shower, cook dinner, and try to sleep before the sun went down, hoping to get a few hours in before your mate found his way back in.

You hadn’t seen the elusive Cassian, who appeared to still be in Windhaven. You learned through whispered conversations between Feyre and Nesta that it was another Illyrian training camp. Unlike Azriel, Cassian seemed much more involved with the soldiers, so it brought you no small amount of relief when you overheard that Cassian’s stay would be extended a few more days.

On a particularly challenging night, when you couldn’t will yourself to sleep and the sun had long since set, you finally threw back the sheets and made your way to the kitchen, looking for anything to do.

Pouring through cabinets, pulling out various bowls and plates, and scouring the pantry, you decided to make a childhood favorite: cranberry cookies. You mixed the ingredients at a much slower pace than Elain, measuring them solely by heart and the memories of your mother, her hand over your own as she stirred the bowl, humming softly. The rhythmic motion of stirring the batter, combined with the sweet, tart aroma of cranberries, filled you with a bittersweet nostalgia.

As the cookies baked, you leaned against the counter, watching the firelight dance on the walls. The familiar scent enveloped you, bringing back fleeting memories of simpler, happier times. Your mother’s laughter echoed faintly in your mind, mingling with the crackling of the fire.

You were so lost in your own mind, you didn’t hear the door to the kitchen open, and didn’t even turn to look until you heard the sound of clanging behind you. When you whipped around, Azriel was standing at the end of the island by the door, placing a pile of weaponry on top of it. His face was covered in dirt and grease, with black smudges around his eyes, which only highlighted how light his hazel eyes were. He wore the leather armor you had seen him in before, also covered in dirt and grime, and his hair was a wild mess.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t think anyone was in here.”

You paused for a second, your hand perched tentatively on the edge of the counter as you took him in. You hadn’t seen him since the night he brought you here, and you weren’t sure if he had been busy or just avoiding you. Either way, you didn’t mind. “It’s fine,” you said, turning back to the stove and leaning against the counter.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, still pulling various knives out of hidden pockets around his armor.

You jostled your legs lightly against the cabinet. “No, not really.”

Azriel walked over to the sink, pulling off his gloves and attempting to unbuckle the vambraces on his forearms, which seemingly gave him trouble. He gripped the leather belt in his mouth, attempting to pull them apart. When he still couldn’t, you walked over to him. “Let me help,” you offered.

Azriel extended his arm to you, turning it upwards so you could better see the buckles, which you made quick work of. “Thank you,” he whispered.

As you undid the last belt, the armor fell from his arm into your hands, heavy and worn. He flexed his scarred hands and arms, the veins and muscles beneath protruding as the places where the belts had dug into his skin burned a dark red color. You held the heavy armor in your hands and considered how much the rest of the armor must have weighed. “Would you mind doing the other?” he asked.

You shook your head and took his other vambrace, undoing it and placing it next to the first on the counter. He shook his hands out, laughing lightly to himself. “You’d think after so many years of doing this I’d be able to undo my own armor.”

“I’m sure you would have gotten it,” you reassured him as he turned on the faucet, allowing the water to stream over his filthy hands. He cupped them, then brought the water to his face, scrubbing at the skin, the dirt and grease smearing more into his skin as he did so, water flinging around and landing on the counter. You took a step back to avoid the splash. He peeked out from his hands, “Sorry,” he said.

You turned to a drawer, pulling out a washcloth. “Stop,” you told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He seemed surprised at your touch, turning to look at you, water dripping from his hair and off his face. “You’re making it worse,” you laughed.

Azriel threw you a soft smile as you ran the cloth under the water, rubbing a bit of the bar soap into it until it suds up. He turned, leaning his hips against the lip of the sink, his scarred hands braced on either side of him as you prepared the rag. You wrung out the cloth, grabbed a tea towel hanging from a cabinet, and draped it over your shoulder. Stepping in front of Azriel, who towered over you, you noticed he lowered himself slightly, his face now just above your head.

You reached up, the damp cloth in your hand, and began wiping the dirt from his face, careful and deliberate in your movements. His skin, hardened and tight against his cheek and jawbones, softened under your touch. You avoided looking directly into his eyes as you traced the cloth down his nose, over the curve of his lips, and along his chin, revealing his beautifully tanned skin beneath. When you brushed your fingers over his brows, water dripped from the overhang into his eyes, and you laughed softly. “Sorry about that.”

He only smiled back, “It’s fine.”

You steadied his face with your other hand, gently pushing his hair back from his temple as you washed his forehead. Your mouth parted slightly in concentration, and when you finally managed a glance at Azriel, you noticed he was focused on your lips. You quickly closed them, a flush creeping up your neck. You continued to clean him, even after the dirt was gone, your touch becoming softer, more lingering as you traced the lines of his face. The intimacy of the moment hung between you, both hesitant to break the delicate connection.

The sudden dinging of the stove pulled you out of your trance, and you stumbled backward slightly. Tossing Azriel the tea towel to dry his face, you made your way over to the stove, trying to steady the fluttering in your stomach as you pulled the tray from the warmth of the oven.

Azriel chuckled, “My face is now the cleanest part of my body.” He dried his face with the towel, his hair still sticking out wildly, now damp from the rag.

“You’re welcome,” you noted, trying to sound casual.

He threw the rag and cloth into the sink. “Thank you.”

You pulled a cookie from the tray, taking a bite as the warmth melted on your tongue. Azriel washed his hands again, drying them before coming over to the stove. He kept a fair amount of distance between the two of you, a stark contrast to the closeness you had shared moments ago when you could almost press your body into his.

The room seemed quieter now, the air thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings. You looked at Azriel, who was now examining the cookies with a sort of detached interest. “Want one?” you asked, offering the tray.

He nodded, reaching for a cookie. “Thanks.” He took a bite, the soft crunch filling the silence.

His eyes rolled back, closing shut as he leaned back slightly. “Mmm.” He let out.

“I know, right?” you replied, grabbing another cookie.

Azriel opened his eyes, taking another bite. “These are fantastic.”

“An old family recipe.” You brushed your hands together to get the crumbs off your fingertips.

“Do you bake a lot?” he asked.

You used to. When you lived with your mother, you were always baking something, using ingredients you could find in the woods or trade from other fae living nearby. You had even made these same cookies for your mate to seal the bond. Baking had once been a constant in your life, with some baked good always cooling on the windowsill of your cabin. And then, one day, you just stopped. “I used to,” you said quietly.

“You should start again,” Azriel replied, wiping his hands on his armor.

You took your time pulling the rest of the cookies from the tray, placing them onto a platter. “Maybe.”

Azriel watched you meticulously stack the cookies before placing a towel over the top. “How are you doing?” he finally asked.

You didn’t look up from your task, placing the baked goods in a breadbox. “Fine.”

“You seem to be doing well.”

You went to the sink to wash the pan. “I think I’m doing well, given the circumstances.”

You scrubbed the pan more than necessary, unwilling to turn and look at him.

“I think this is the most you’ve ever spoken to me.”

“Well, all the other times the circumstances were a bit different,” you replied, drying the pan, still not turning to him.

Azriel didn’t respond, waiting to see if you would say anything else.

When you didn’t, he merely said, “I’m sorry for what happened.”

You paused, the pan still in your hands, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. You finally turned to him, meeting his hazel eyes, now clear and free of grime. You felt a slight pang of fire start in your stomach, biting back what you wanted to say. “It happened,” you responded instead.

“If I could have stopped it, I—” You let the pan slip from your hands. Whether you lost your grip or the water caused it to be slick, you were unsure, but it clattered to the floor in a loud cacophony of bangs.

“Don’t,” you said, finally looking at Azriel, who seemed to be already moving to pick up the pan. “Don’t start that,” you warned.

“I just—” He continued.

You glared at him, the small flame in you growing higher. “You could have done something.”

“At the time, I didn’t even know where you were, I just heard you—” he said, making his way over to you. You took a step back.

“You could have done something before then.”

Azriel stopped, seemingly puzzled. “You told me yourself that you knew about her circumstances. You said it: her life was hard.” Your eyes scanned his as he took in and seemed to now understand what you were referencing. “You saw how she was with you when you touched her.” The flame in you grew into an inferno. “You saw how she slunk around the camp and hid from the males. You saw how she was battered, bruised.” You shook your head, trying to shake her face, bloodied and beaten, from your mind. “You knew. And you didn’t do anything.” You gulped back tears rising in your throat.

Azriel reached one hand out to you. “It’s complicated, Y/N.”

“Nothing about this is complicated,” you shot back. “You knew what was happening, and you were complicit.” You shook your head as silver lined your eyes. “Gods—did you know what they were doing to her? To all of them?”

Azriel’s mouth fell open as he stammered out, “I knew they were physically aggressive to them, but—”

“Did you know they were raping her?”

Azriel stopped in his tracks. “No,” he said.

You were unconvinced, just crossing your arms around yourself and shaking your head. “You had no clue?”

“No, if I had known, I would have—”

“What?” You asked, glaring at him. “Stopped them? You didn’t seem to care much when you knew they were beating her.”

“Illyrian culture and society, it’s—it's very old-fashioned,” Azriel continued.

“We don’t live in the old days,” you interrupted.

“Y/N, I’m trying to help them.”

“By letting them stay there?” you asked.

“They don’t want to leave,” Azriel offered.

“Anthea tried to escape. Did you know that?” A tear fell down your cheek.

Azriel paused again. “I didn’t.” He took a second. “But I’ve offered the others to leave, and they refuse.”

You yelled out, “They’re terrified to leave!” The tears began to run more. “What else do they know? Their entire life is brutality, and males taking advantage of them, hurting them. They are breaking every single day. They’ve never known kindness. How do they know to leave if anytime they defy someone, they are brought near death? How do they know there is anything out there other than that?”

Azriel just looked at you, his hands open in front of him, mouth slightly agape as you pushed the tears from your face. “You are promising them a life they can’t imagine exists. And none of you can see that because you don’t know what it is to suffer at the hands of someone else.”

Azriel’s eyes grew dark. “You cannot tell me I don’t know suffering.”

“Not theirs!” you yelled back.

He raised his voice, “I know my own suffering!”

You stepped back slightly, your hand hitting the sink as you recoiled from his yell.

He continued, his voice strained with emotion, “I know what it is to be hurt at the hands of those who should care for you. I know what it is to have your body brutalized. I know what it’s like to try and scrub your body clean of them and not feel any cleaner.” His eyes were black as you gripped the sink. “Do not tell me I do not know what it is to suffer.”

Your voice trembled as you said, “Then you should know what it is to have someone watch as you are hurt and no one steps in to help.”

Azriel’s eyes remained locked onto yours as your breath wavered slightly. “What do you want from me?” he asked.

You paused, unsure of what to say.

“Do you want me to burn it to the ground?” he asked, his face still tense. “Do you want me to rip them from their homes?” He gestured around himself. “Do you know what will happen if I do that? If I suddenly take them all?” He stared at you as you gulped down the fear. “I will have thousands of Illyrian soldiers banging at my doorstep. All of ours. Now, I know you’ve been living your little life of luxury up in the mountains, but those soldiers can kill faster than anything you’ve ever seen. They will tear this country apart bit by bit. Now, do you want that?”

You couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and they flowed freely as you hardened your own stare. “No.”

Azriel’s black eyes stayed fixed on yours. “Then don’t tell me how to govern these people.” He stammered slightly, “This—this is a delicate system and it requires finesse, not brute-fucking force.” He stopped, bringing his hand to his eyes and rubbing them. “I just—I want them out. I want this to be done. But I can’t change the mindset of thousands in one day. And I won’t risk the lives of everyone by being reckless.”

He looked at you, his face softening slightly. “I can’t do that.”

The tears poured from you as your heart beat wildly, your fingers gripping the sink with white knuckles. Your breath escaped you in ragged gasps as your body froze.

“Y/N,” Azriel started softly, “I’m sorry.”

You whimpered as he moved towards you, wincing back when he raised his hand. “No!” you screeched.

Azriel stopped, looking distressed. “Y/N—” he pleaded.

You dropped from the sink to the floor, curling into a ball as you cried. Azriel stood over you, stunned. “Y/N,” he repeated, his voice desperate.

You rocked back and forth, knees pulled to your chest, heaving out heavy sobs, unable to even fight back.

Azriel stooped down, and as he did, you pulled back even more, choking on your sobs. “What—what can I do?” he asked, helpless.

You whimpered again, trying desperately to wrap yourself into your body, to ball up and protect your midsection.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Please,” he pleaded.

The kitchen doors burst open as Nesta came careening down the stairs, her hair wild and her silk nightdress flowing around her. “What did you do?” she screamed at him.

“Nothing!” he replied, raising his hands in defense.

Nesta dropped to her knees beside you, her hands cupping your face as she examined you. She turned back to Azriel, “Back the fuck up, now,” she commanded. Azriel leaned back, landing on his rear as he scooted away.

Nesta turned back to you, her eyes softening. “Breathe, breathe, love,” she cooed.

She took exaggerated slow breaths, which you mimicked. “Just look at me,” she instructed. “Deep breaths, in and out.” Her hands still cupped your face, steady and reassuring. “You’re doing a good job.”

Her calm, collected presence began to soothe you. “It’s alright,” she murmured gently. “You’re safe here.”

She continued to breathe slowly, deeply, guiding you through your panic. “Everything will be okay,” she promised. “I’m here with you.”

Azriel watched from a distance, his expression a mix of guilt and helplessness, as Nesta patiently comforted you, her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

You breathed in and out in sync with her breaths as her thumbs traced the rhythm on your cheeks. “Just breathe. You’re safe,” she repeated soothingly.

From behind, Azriel whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Nesta hissed over her shoulder, “Shut it.” She turned back to you, “Keep breathing. It’s okay.”

When you finally steadied yourself, you instinctively leaned into Nesta’s chest. She wrapped her arms around your shoulders, murmuring, “It’s okay,” as she ran her hand over your head. “Just keep breathing for me.” She rocked you gently. “You’re safe with me.”

Your breaths grew less choked with sobs as your mind quieted. Nesta continued to remind you to breathe in and out, rocking in time with you, her hand brushing your hair back. “Just calm down,” she whispered.

She looked behind her. “Azriel, make yourself useful. Get me a wet rag.”

Azriel scuffled from the floor, leaning over the two of you to run a rag under water. He wrung it out and handed it to Nesta. She cupped your chin, your eyes meeting hers as she tenderly wiped your face, the coolness soothing your racing thoughts. “It’s okay,” she cooed again.

When she finished, she wiped some water that pooled on your chin with her arm and brushed her thumbs over your eyes. “You’re okay,” she reassured.

Azriel started to speak again, but Nesta, over her shoulder, hissed out, “I think you’ve done enough.”

Nesta wrapped her arms around you, lifting you slightly as you rose with her. “Come on.” Her strength was enough to lift you under your knees, cradling you in her thin but muscular frame. “Let’s go lie down.” You curled into her scent, warm and inviting, reminiscent of your mother, as her heartbeat filled your ears. You gripped at the silk of her gown as she walked towards the stairs. Turning over her shoulder, she instructed Azriel, “We can talk about this later.” She scanned the kitchen, “Clean this up.”

She walked out of the room, still cradling you in her arms, as she brought you through various hallways. Finally, she pushed through doors into an already darkened room. She placed you into sheets that had been tossed and turned in, and smelled of her, as she crawled in next to you. Cradling you to her, she brushed your hair from your face, still shushing you as she did. You pressed your head into her chest as she continued to whisper, “You’re safe. You’re safe with me.”

My lovely readers who have asked to be tagged, you are safe with me: @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba

113 notes · View notes

munsons-maiden · 2 years

Text

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐

First of all, thank you so much for all the support on this series so far and your patience; all the lovely comments and reblogs and asks are making my days and I’m so happy about every single one of them🖤 I hope you enjoy this chapter! - Love, Kiki 🖤

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | THEN. You’re the only survivor among the Mind Flayer’s victims, thanks to your friends - but after the Battle of Starcourt, you find yourself adrift in a sea of nightmares. Until an encounter in the woods with Eddie The Freak Munson offers an unexpected life line and turns your world upside down. NOW. Four months have passed since the winter night you walked out of Eddie’s trailer and his life for good. But when the mysterious headaches and nightmares return full-force and something wicked stirs in sleepy Hawkins, starting a witch hunt against Eddie, you realize that there are two things in this world that might be more persistent than you’d thought: Evil…and love. The story is told in two timelines: the past (after the Battle of Starcourt) and the present (during the events of season 4).

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | angst with a happy ending, fluff, smut, it turned into a fix it fic for ST4

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (you need to be 18+ to read this story!), angst with a happy ending, attempted assault, bullying, canon-typical violence

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | ~1 hour

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (only read if you’re 18+ years old! virgin!Eddie x virgin!reader), unprotected sex (please stay safe in real life!), oral sex (f! receiving), mentions of attempted assault, canon-typical gore & violence, blood, mentions of spiders

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 & 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ♡

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐

[Tuesday, March 26th, 1986. NOW.]

When you woke up, it was by the first tentative rays of the morning spring sun tickling your cheeks as they fell through a gap in the curtains, and for a beautiful moment, the world was perfect.

Because you’d spent the night in Eddie’s arms.

Memories flitted to the surface of your mind, mirroring the swarm of butterflies in your belly, painting a smile on your lips as happiness, pure, unfiltered happiness, surged through you like liquid sunlight at the thought of everything that had happened between Eddie and you, the faint pleasant ache between your legs testifying that it hadn’t just been a beautiful dream.

I love you, monster slayer.

Eddie’s words, spoken with the gentlest voice, the most radiant warmth in his umber eyes as he’d gazed down on you, unravelling underneath his loving touches, every caress and kiss mirroring those beautiful five words.

He knew. He knew everything, and he still hadn’t left. Not just that – he’d chosen to stay. To be with you.

And for the first time since Starcourt – and when you were being totally honest, the first time ever since Barb had gone missing – you’d had a deep, peaceful sleep void of nightmares, filled only by the steady tune of Eddie’s heartbeat against your ear, his even breaths fanning over the side of your face just as it did now upon waking.

Yes, in these beautiful, ephemeral moments in the twilight zone between sleep and waking, where there was only Eddie, your head resting on his chest, his arms slung around you as if he was scared he’d lose you if he didn’t hold you close, his soft curls tickling your cheek…there were only happiness and peace.

And then, reality came back crashing in, thunderclouds swallowing the sunlight in your heart, replacing it with terror of the storm to come.

Crimson thunderclouds.

Tonight, it would all end – either with Vecna’s death…

You couldn’t finish the thought.

Gently, you untangled yourself from Eddie’s arms, careful not to wake him, and sat up beside him, the duvet slipping from your shoulders and the cool air of Eddie’s bedroom kissing your bare skin, and you looked at Eddie beside you.

He was lying on his back, his dark curls fanned around his head on the pillow like spilled ink, and your heart squeezed in your chest with love, so much love, for this guy who’d stumbled into your life with his tattoos and his worn-leather-and-ripped-denim looks, his sunshine-smiles and chocolate eyes brimming with humour and wit and warmth, with all the kindness in his heart of gold, with music in his voice, who’d chosen to stay soft in a world made of razor-sharp edges ready to cut him. Stumbled into your life when you’d needed him most and had taken the shards of your heart in his gentle hands to put them back together, piece by tiny piece.

Holding the dark thoughts at bay for a few more blissful, calm minutes, you watched him in his slumber. Eddie’s features, framed by those beautiful dark curls, were serene in his sleep, illuminated by the pale light of dawn creeping over the sky outside, a soft pink blush chasing away the night to herald another beautiful spring day. So utterly opposing what lay ahead once the sun dipped below the western sky by the end of day, the horrors nightfall would bring.

If only you could freeze this moment, pause it like a VHS tape. Catch it like fireflies in a jar and keep it forever.

You allowed yourself to admire the way his long, dark lashes rested on his pale cheeks, the softest smile which played on his plush lips, evoking the memory of those lips brushing against your skin, all those kisses you’d shared last night. With a soft smile of your own, you reached out, fingertips gently grazing the side of his face to brush away a few stray curls, tracing the line of his jaw and watching this soft smile on his lips deepen underneath your feathery caress.

Leaning a little closer, your other hand splayed on the mattress to support your weight, you gently swiped a few curls of his bangs aside to inspect the cut on his brow, the surprisingly clean stitches you’d managed to place with that fish hook, before your eyes wandered over the bruise on his temple and the matching one on his jaw, their color having darkened from a deep purple into an almost-black that stood out against Eddie’s pale skin. You swallowed back the rage flaring in your chest at the memory of Eddie, hunched in Andy Warren’s grip, Jason hovering over him with his fists and his crowbar, and your hatred for Jason rose to a tide to sweep you away before you managed to tamp it down again.

Even then, Eddie had thrown away the oar, his only means of fighting back, for the slim chance that Jason would actually let you go.

Pushing the memory aside, you traced the tip of your index finger over Eddie’s brow, the frown of worry which had settled there over the past few days smoothed out by the serenity of sleep, and down the line of his nose, over his lips, still caught in this little smile before you gently rested your hand on the demon tattoo adorning his chest, relishing the strong, steady beat of Eddie’s heart as it fluttered against your palm with every slow rise and fall of his chest.

Watching him, still deep in his sleep, there was a lump in your throat as you fought against your tears – of joy, of love, and of fear. All-consuming fear of the light fading from those beautiful umber eyes, of the music of his voice forever muted and the heart of gold forever stilling.

“And when I’m done with you, taken back what is mine – I’ll take your songbird. I’ll break him, bone by bone. And when I’m done, I’ll shatter his mind the way you shattered his heart, little thief. And maybe then…I’ll put him out of his misery.”

For a heartbeat, you wondered if there was still some Special K hidden somewhere in this room…and whether it would be enough to knock him out for long enough to put him into a car and drive him far, far away from Hawkins and the pulsing gate in the room over and from the human-turned-monster that ruled over life and death like an ancient wrathful god, out for Eddie’s blood. Away, before Eddie would pay the price for what you’d stolen.

A single dose of Special K. You could do it.

You wondered if Eddie would hate you, if you did.

It was a price you’d be willing to pay if it meant the heart fluttering against your palm wouldn’t cease its beating tonight.

But you knew you could never do that to Eddie, take away his choices. That was what monsters did. People like Jason, and people like Henry Creel.

But there were still twelve hours left. Twelve hours until the sun would set and you would all go back to the place of eternal freezing darkness and death to hunt its self-proclaimed god and set an end to all of this.

Twelve hours to learn how to wield the power you’d stolen.

Twelve hours to convince Eddie to leave. To save himself and run.

You had to make them count.

“I’ve been waiting for, like, five whole minutes to be kissed awake and it hasn’t happened yet,” Eddie mumbled, his eyes blinking open, and his smile turned into a wide beam as, with a swift motion, he grabbed your arms and flipped you on your back so he was hovering on top of you, drawing a surprised little giggle from your lips as your fingers carded through his curls to pull him down for a kiss, as sweet as cotton candy, and fireworks burst in your chest as you felt Eddie smile against your lips, before he pulled away, eyes glittering.

“Good morning, monster slayer.” His voice was raspy with sleep.

“Good morning, Eddie,” you whispered back.

He leaned down, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck and stealing another string of giggles from you as his curls tickled your bare skin – and a surprised little gasp at the sensation of his erection grazing your lower belly. He snickered, “Uh, yeah. Sorry. You made skin contact.”

With a teasing little smirk, you shimmied a little upwards on the mattress, until his tip grazed that sweet spot between your legs just perfectly.

If the sensation of it hadn’t already made need for him blaze in your core, the sweet little moan Eddie was trying hard – and failing – to suppress would have done the job, and you could feel your own arousal starting to coat the inside of your thighs – before Eddie pulled away a little, his smile soft and a little bewildered as he gazed down at you, as if he still had trouble believing this was real.

“First things first. Did you sleep well?”, he whispered.

“Never better,” you murmured. It was the truth.

The morning after, as far as you’d heard from Nancy and other girls whispering about their own experiences, was supposed to be awkward – but it wasn’t. Not at all. On the contrary; it felt as natural as it had felt last night. No awkward silence, no surge of embarrassment. Just that giddy, sparkling happiness in your chest as you gazed up at Eddie, hovering above you, his elbows resting on both sides of your head to support his weight, the two of you still naked with the bedsheets tangled around you. The guitar pick dangling from his neck rested on your collarbone, and you traced the smooth plastic edges with your fingertips.

Eddie’s umber eyes, painted the color of whiskey by the first tentative beams of the rising sun filtering through the window, scanned your face as a soft, timid smile curved his lips, one hand snaking beneath the bedsheets to stroke over your side, making you arch into his touch.

“How…uh. How are you feeling?”

Terrified of what’s to come. You silenced that inner whisper, determined not to let it ruin this perfect moment of happiness you shared with Eddie after so many months of pain and heartbreak, locking yourself in this perfect little bubble for a moment longer.

“Like I fell down from the ceiling yesterday,” you chuckled playfully.

You’d both fallen asleep in a matter of minutes last night, still tangled up with each other and immersed in your afterglow, the sleepless nights prior taking their toll and knocking you out before you could even think about round two.

“That’s not what I meant,” he clarified softly, scanning you closely. “I’m…I didn’t hurt you or something, last night, right? I didn’t do anything wrong, or –“

“Eddie, I’m fine,” you whispered with a smile, heart squeezing in your chest at the worry shining in his eyes, “I’m more than fine. You didn’t hurt me. Promise.” You smile widened into a grin. “Quite the opposite, actually. When this is over, I’m planning to lock you in this very bedroom for the next few months and let you have your way with me.”

“Freaky,” Eddie teased, eyes sparking, before he nuzzled his nose against the side of your neck, teeth gently grazing your skin, “Maybe you’re the perv and I’m the slut.”

You laughed, a soft sound stirring Eddie’s dark curls which tickled your face as shivers raced down your spine at the sensation of his lips grazing your pulse point when he whispered, “I can’t believe this is real. Shit.” He pulled away to give you the most radiant smile. “You know you’ve been the sole star of all of my daydream scenarios ever since I first saw you, right?” There was a soft blush dusting his cheeks as he quickly added, “Jesus Christ I sound like the most deranged perverted debauchee in existence but I swear they were all innocent daydreams.”

You giggled. “Okay, you need to tell me about those.”

“I dunno if that would take away the air of mystery I’ve managed to shroud myself in,” Eddie teased with a grimace, making you giggle even harder.

“You gotta promise not to laugh.”

“Never,” you breathed solemnly, before Eddie pressed another delicate kiss to the corner of your lips, crinkled with your smile.

“I got a feeling you’re absolutely gonna laugh,” Eddie snickered, and you placed your hands on his chest – his very bare chest, you couldn’t get over that for some reason and you were pretty sure you never would, no matter how many times you saw him naked – and pushed him off, gently flipping the two of you so you were straddling him, and his eyes glittered as he said, “It’s hard to focus on anything else right now but the fact that you’re naked and on top of me and it didn’t just accidentally happen.”

You giggled. “How does one accidentally land naked on top of someone else?”

“Dunno,” Eddie grinned, his hands settling on your hips, “But my point is that it’s not accidental.”

Biting your lip, you ground down a little, marvelling at the way Eddie’s soft lips parted and his eyes fluttered close at the sensation, the soft moan tumbling from him, swallowed as you leaned down to kiss him.

“Are you going to tell me now?”, you whispered against his lips, “Because the level of suspension is killing me.”

“Wait, is that your way of pressuring me, monster slayer? ‘Cause if it is, then nope. Gotta try harder.”

You laughed, pulling away from the kiss, your hands raking through his curls, fanned out on the pillow around his head like a dark crown as Eddie gently traced his fingertips up your sides, watching you melt into the touch.

“’Kay, so. Sometime after Jell-O-gate, I think it was somewhere around my second senior year, I started writing you into my D&D campaigns.” He grasped one of your hands, gently placing a kiss on your knuckles as you gaped at him.

“You…wait, what?”

“Yeah,” he let out a nervous little chuckle, “Kinda weird, but there was always some mythical pretty woman my players encountered in times of need to guide them back on the right path of the story…in my mind, that was always you.”

The image of how he’d been sitting on this very bed, his campaign notebook in his lap, scribbling down notes, tongue poking out like always when he focused on something as he wrote you into his treasured campaigns filled you with the warmth of a thousand suns.

“Did your players never notice?”

Eddie laughed. “They did. One day Gareth, that goddamn busybody, asked if she was inspired by someone real.”

“What did you reply?”

“That Gareth The Great shall be called Gareth The Tattletale if he kept asking his Dungeon Master questions outside of the game while in the game.”

At the sudden timidness in Eddie’s gaze, the sweet confession, there were tears pricking your eyes, making Eddie’s umber eyes swim in front of your vision as he murmured, “Hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”, letting go of your hand to gently cup your cheek.

“I missed you,” you whispered. “I missed you so fucking much, Eddie. Every day. So much it hurt.”

“I missed you too, monster slayer.” Eddie’s voice was a croak, strained with his own emotions now, and when you blinked back the tears and his umber eyes came into focus again, they were brimming with his own unshed tears.

“I went to our clearing, the week after,” you said, continuing to card your hands through the curls falling around his face, letting the soft strands glide through your fingers. “The Saturday of the meteor shower.”

“You…you did?”

“Yeah. I didn’t get to see a single shooting star because I was just sobbing my heart out but…”

“I watched the shooting stars, too,” Eddie said softly. “On the roof of my trailer. While also, um. Sobbing my heart out.”

“The way I treated you…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie’s thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his gaze far away all of a sudden. “I’m not gonna lie, it…was messed-up.” He chewed his bottom lip, before he said softly, “Part of me always wanted to believe there was another explanation for why you said all this shit. And I was right – but the other part…still believes it. That I’m just the freak good enough for a little adventure until you move on. ‘Cause that’s what I’ve always been scared of, from the moment you stepped into my trailer to buy drugs.”

“Eddie, please –“

“No, let me – I gotta get this off my chest. It broke me. That night I didn’t just lose the girl I love more than anything in this goddamn world, but…I lost my best friend, too.”

You swallowed against the lump constricting your throat. “I was your best friend?”

“You are,” Eddie whispered gently, “Shit, you still are my best friend in the whole world.”

“I meant none of the horrible things I said, Eddie. They were lies. I knew…I knew they’d hurt you enough to keep you away from me. I thought if I could make you hate me…doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is, I wanted do it that night,” you whispered, and Eddie frowned in confusion before you clarified softly, “Go all the way, I mean, with you. And I would have shouted it from the fucking rooftops the Monday after that Eddie Munson is my boyfriend. I wouldn’t have kept being with you a secret, not for a single second. And I wouldn’t have cared what Jason and the rest of the Hawkins High bullies and gossips would have said. I need you to know that. I would have proudly sported a Hellfire Club shirt and joined your table if you’d invited me, and there wouldn’t have been a single moment of being embarrassed to be with you. I would have proudly walked those halls letting everyone know that I’m Eddie Munson’s girl.”

“I never hated you,” Eddie whispered. “I couldn’t.”

You swallowed, fighting your tears once more. “You’re mine, too, you know. Best friend in the world, I mean,” you said softly as Eddie sat up, your hands locking at the nape of his neck.

There was a beat of silence before Eddie gave you a playful smirk. “Please don’t ever tell that to Wheeler and her guns.”

You giggled. “Nance was the one who told me to hold on to you, so I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

“Wait, she did?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“’Cause your friend Robin gave me a similar pep-talk after she knocked me off my bike in the Upside Down.”

“She did what?”

“Yeah, it was an accident. I, uh, learned pretty quickly that one needs a certain safety radius around her,” Eddie chuckled. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you told me she killed a few Demogorgons simply by accident.”

You laughed. “Okay, yeah, sounds like Robin. Don’t be fooled, though, she’s a genius. She cracked a secret Russian code all by herself.”

Only then did you realize that you’d slept through the night. “Wait, Nance and Steve wanted to take the second shift.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow. “Come on, we both know there was never supposed to be a second shift. If those gates actually needed guarding, we would’ve split up to guard the other two as well.” His grin widened. “Buckley and Wheeler were playing matchmaker. And I owe those ladies my life now.”

“I guess they weren’t as subtle as they thought they were.”

“It’s…kinda overwhelming to be honest,” Eddie mused, gently taking your hand in his and starting to trace the lines in your palm, his eyes downcast to follow the path of his fingertips. “I guess I’m not used to people not…you know. Assuming I’m the Devil himself. Outside of Hellfire, I mean. That’s kinda…new. Them not judging me.”

“You’re part of the monster hunter family now,” you murmured, your heart squeezing in your chest at the emotions swirling in Eddie’s umber eyes, before you added softly, “I mean, Robin and Nance became presidents of the Eddie-Munson-fan club the moment you jumped onto that table in the cafeteria last year to shut Jason up. And Dustin already worships the ground you walk on. He’d follow you into Mordor. And so would I. But you know that already.”

His voice was strained when he teased, “You don’t even know what Mordor is.”

“Actually, I do. I read the damn books. All three of them.”

Eddie blinked, his mouth falling open in surprise. “You…you read the Lord of The Rings? Wha- when?!”

“Last year,” you breathed. “After…you know. After that night. I knew they were your favorites and…I don’t know. Like I said, I missed you.”

There was a beat of silence as Eddie sniffled, resting his forehead against yours, too overwhelmed to speak.

There was one more thing you needed to ask.

“Eddie?”

“Hm?”

“I was wondering…you never talk about your parents.”

He raised his head, surprised by the sudden change in topic as you chewed the inside of your cheek, waiting for him to come up with a reply.

It had always been evident that, whatever the story behind Eddie living with his uncle…it wasn’t a happy one. The scenarios your mind came up with to fill the blanks were each more horrible than the next, making your heart bleed Eddie.

You’d always wondered whether his commitment to protect all the lost little sheep, take them under his wing and give them a safe place within the community, the family, of Hellfire Club, was rooted in more than the fact that Eddie Munson had been one of those lost sheep, too. Whether he’d become the person he himself would have needed. Whether his drive to protect those who couldn’t protect himself…was rooted in the fact that nobody had been there to protect him for a long time.

When he didn’t reply, caught in his own thoughts, you added softly, “It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me now. I was just…I mean, when – if – you want to talk about your family…I’ll listen. I want to be there for you. And whatever it is…no judgement. Okay?”

“Wayne is my family,” Eddie murmured, his hands coming up to cradle your cheeks. “Those people over at the Mayfield’s trailer you rallied…yeah, I know they first did it for you, but they stayed because they believed in my innocence and wanted to help – they’re more of a family than I ever had, apart from my uncle. You’re my family, monster slayer.”

With the softest smile on his lips, Eddie leaned in for a kiss, before he murmured, “I’ll tell you everything you wanna know when this whole nightmare is over, ‘kay? But right now, I don’t wanna waste a single second I could spend kissing you, sweetheart.”

And kiss you, he did.

As if he were suffocating, and your kisses were the oxygen to keep him alive, as if the world and the monsters within – the human ones as well as the ones from other dimensions – didn’t exist, as if Hawkins wasn’t about to fall and its fate in all your hands.

And you relished his kisses, each and every single one of them; the taste of him as his tongue swirled over yours, the way his hands cradled your face to pull you closer, the way his chest pressed against yours, heartbeat to racing heartbeat as you slowly, lazily, ground your hips against his.

You couldn’t even tell who’d initiated the kiss, because Eddie’s lips on yours, the way he gently let his teeth graze your bottom lip, erased every other thought from your mind but the sensation of his kiss, the way his hardened length slid against your already soaked folds as you moved your hips a little, teasing, both your soft moans tangling in the air as his tip grazed that sweet spot at the apex of your thighs to turn your body into a life wire as your tongue ghosted across Eddie’s bottom lip –

“I AM ENTERING THE TRAILER AND I HOPE YOU GOT YOUR PANTS ON!”, Robin’s shout rang out from the front door, and you jumped away from Eddie as he let out a defeated little sigh.

“ARE YOU DRESSED?!”

“NO!”, you hollered back, cheeks burning.

“Pack your boobies back in, girl, we gotta fight Evil!”, Robin shouted from the door. “Come on!”

You groaned.

“I heard that!”, Robin hollered good-naturedly.

“You were supposed to!”

“You got about two minutes until Steve, Nance and the kids arrive here by the way!”

“Shit,” Eddie muttered, jumping out of bed. And while he rummaged through the mess in his closet, you couldn’t help but shamelessly ogle him a little more from your place on the bed. It was basically a front-row seat.

You watched the muscles of his stomach flex when he pulled on a fresh pair of boxer shorts, and it was testimony of your self-control not to jump him and follow his happy trail with your lips as you watched him shimmy into one of his ripped jeans, already grabbing one of the shirts from the chaos on the floor. It was another Hellfire Club shirt. You were starting to suspect half of his wardrobe consisted of Hellfire Club shirts. He pressed the shirt against his face and sniffled, before giving an absent-minded nod and pulling it over his head, and affection surged through you.

“What are you thinking?”, Eddie asked as he went to the bathroom, re-emerging with your clothes from last night, placing them on the bed in front of you.

“Just that if I wake up to the sight of you sniffing random shirts from your bedroom floor to see if they pass the smelling test for the rest of my days, I’ll be the luckiest girl in existence.” Your voice was as genuine as you meant it, and Eddie grinned.

He looked cute, with random stray curls sticking out around his head because he’d fallen asleep while his hair had still been wet.

“T minus sixty seconds!”, Robin shouted from her place at the Munson trailer’s front door, making you start, jumping out of bed to put on your underwear – but you flinched at the stench lingering in the fabric of the jeans and sweatshirt, rubbing the sticky material between your fingertips.

Seeing your flinch, Eddie called out, “Oh! Gimme a sec,” nearly falling over his feet as he darted towards the chest of drawers in the corner, starting to rummage through the bottom one, before he re-emerged with something that didn’t fit the rest of his clothes because it was, for one, neatly folded, and for another – it was a vibrant green.

“Is that –“

“Yeah,” Eddie said, a little shy all of a sudden, as he placed the neatly folded cheerleader skirt on the bed in front of you.

[Thursday, October 31st, 1985. THEN.]

“So, is it…bad?”

The sound of the rain pelting down on the rusty old van’s roof nearly drowned out Eddie’s voice, low and strangely timid, and your head snapped up from the pages of his biology homework in your lap to meet his gaze.

With the bell ringing for lunchbreak, it had been exactly twenty-four hours since that almost-kiss on the clearing yesterday when he’d twirled you to the tunes of I Remember You. And when you’d found the little note in Eddie’s handwriting in your locker this morning, asking if you could meet for lunchbreak at his van – since your usual spot at the clearing in the patch of woods would be too soaked in the downpour to meet up – there had been a desperate, giddy hope filling your chest that whatever Eddie wanted had something to do with said almost-kiss which had kept you awake all night. A welcome interruption to the nightmares usually doing that job.

As soon as the bell had rung for lunchbreak, you’d raced into the rain outside, giddiness in your chest like a hive of bees buzzing through your nerves – to the point where you’d used the small break between second and third period to already switch your clothes for your cheerleader uniform for the extra training Chrissy had scheduled right after lunch so you’d get to spend another extra five minutes of lunchbreak with Eddie.

And maybe, just maybe, because the cheerleader uniform looked prettier than the plain jeans you’d grabbed from your bedroom floor in your hurry this morning.

The reason for this unscheduled lunchbreak meet-up, though, had been Eddie’s rather atypical anxiety about said biology homework he’d have to hand in tomorrow.

He hadn’t commented on the almost-kiss. And by now, you were half-convinced there had never been an almost kiss. That you’d just imagined his sudden proximity, the way his gaze had flickered down to your lips for the briefest, ephemeral moment before that stupid maple leaf had robbed you of whatever would have happened next.

“I’m not done reading it yet.”

“Sorry.” He glanced away with a nervous chuckle, “I’m so fucking anxious. If it’s at least a C…one step closer to graduation –“

“Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good,” you said. “It’s really good, okay?”

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Huh?” You followed his gaze down to your bare legs peeking out from your cheerleader skirt. “Oh. It’s warm in here, no worries.”

It really was, with Eddie sitting right beside you, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. Nearly as close as you’d been yesterday on the clearing.

“So. It’s really…okay?”, Eddie inquired once more, nodding at the biology paper in your lap. It was endearing, his sudden worry about his grades.

Placing your hand over your heart, you solemnly spoke, “Would I ever joke about the importance of algae in maritime ecosystems?”

“Of course not,” Eddie gasped in feigned shock. “How could you?”

You grinned at each other. And when your eyes flitted to the red demon face on the Hellfire Club shirt peeking out from the lapels of his leather jacket, you blurted, “You designed that yourself, did you?”

It took Eddie a heartbeat to catch up with your thought process before he followed your line of sight down to the shirt, a smile curving his lips.

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“I’ve seen enough of your doodles on various pages of schoolwork to recognize the style,” you snickered. “I like all your doodles but you’ve outdone yourself with the Hellfire shirt design.”

Something in the way Eddie smiled at you in reply, timid and proud at the same time, reminded you of the day he’d told you about playing guitar, in this very van, as he’d driven you away from Hawkins High and to the woods surrounding Lover’s Lake for a hike when the bullying had mounted in a flood of condoms spilling from your locker a few weeks ago.

“Well, the offer still stands to join us when…the situation has calmed down.”

You huffed. “Do you think it will?”

Eddie’s expression grew stern again. “I dunno, to be honest. Kinda depends on whether they’ll find a new target for their gossip. But…”

“A fallen cheerleader provides the best gossip,” you finished his sentence, and he grimaced.

“I wouldn’t have put it like that, but…yeah.” There was a beat of silence before he quietly added, “They still smear your locker with insults.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yours, too.”

“Yeah, but I’m used to being the target of gossip. As the designated town Freak. And resident cult leader, of course,” he added with a mirthless snort.

“Imagine Jason’s face if I entered the cafeteria in a Hellfire Club shirt,” you said, and Eddie laughed; the sound ringing through the car’s interior like the happy tinkling sound of a wind chime in a summer breeze, making your heart do a weird little somersault in your chest as you watched him, the flash of his teeth, the way his smile lit up the rain-soaked autumn day. One of Eddie Munson’s smiles would have been enough to provide the whole town of Hawkins with energy for a decade.

“You know what,” you chuckled, “I’d totally do it. The week before graduation, when we’re about to be out of here anyway.”

“What – wear a Hellfire Club shirt for school?”

You grinned, and there it was again, this timid spark of…something flashing in Eddie’s beautiful dark eyes.

And the thought of wearing a Hellfire Club shirt felt…good. Openly wearing something associated with Eddie, something that somehow belonged to him. And the thought of wearing anything of his – the guitar pick necklace always dangling around his neck, or the leather jacket you couldn’t imagine him without at this point…the thought made heat bloom in your chest.

With a conspirational grin, you raised your hand, pinkie outstretched, as you announced, “If you graduate with me this year, Eddie Munson, I solemnly swear to wear a Hellfire Club shirt for the entire final week of our High School days. And for graduation.”

Now there was definitely bewilderment in Eddie’s gaze as he held yours. “You’re serious?”

“Hell yeah. Pinkie swear?”

Eddie’s grin softened as he slowly raised his hand, hooking his pinkie with yours as he held your gaze and you had a hard time trying – and failing – to ignore the sensation the fleeting touch sent through you.

“I’ll hold you to it,” he warned with a playful grin. “You’ll be one of the freaks.”

“I’d like that,” you smiled, and something shifted in Eddie’s expression as he looked at you. With bewilderment. With…marvel?

“You know what would cause even more havoc than a cheerleader wearing a Hellfire Club shirt? Eddie The Freak wearing a cheerleader skirt.”

“I could totally pull that off,” Eddie announced, his expression stern. “My ass would look great.”

“Totally.”

“I bet Jason would appreciate the sight of my hairy legs in that skirt.”

“He’ll leave Chrissy for you,” you nodded.

There was a beat of silence, before the two of you burst into laughter – but when you glanced back down at the pages of his homework, forgotten in your lap, a sudden pain jolted through your head like a clap of thunder, an echo of the migraines which had gotten better but were still persistent. It was just in time that you managed to shove the folder from your lap before the first droplets of blood spilled from your nose, right onto the fabric of your cheerleader skirt, and you let out an annoyed hiss.

“Shit,” Eddie muttered as your hands flew up to press over your nose, warm rivulets of blood running between your fingers while there was a soft rustle of fabric as Eddie shifted beside you.

“Here, let me,” he said softly, waving the bandana he usually carried in his pocket in front of your nose, and you obliged, pulling your already blood-coated hands away from your face and squeezing your eyes shut against the blinding pain in your head while Eddie gently pressed the bandana against your nose with one hand, the other tentatively settling on the back of your head.

“Can you lean your head back, monster slayer? It’ll stop faster that way.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Gareth has chronic nosebleeds as soon as it gets cold outside, and he swears on it. The dude keeps bleeding all over his drum kit as soon as the clock strikes October. Looks not as metal as it sounds.”

You chuckled, before leaning your head back, against Eddie’s palm, supporting you as he kept the bandana pressed against your nose to catch the stream of blood.

“I don’t have a good quota with your bandanas,” you winced, and Eddie let out a soft chuckle that filled the interior of the van.

“It’s okay, I got a few of them. And you saved my biology paper. Thought it would have been pretty funny to just hand it in splattered with blood. Would nicely undermine my reputation as a servant of Satan.”

Despite the flood of blood currently spilling from your nose, you let out a little giggle.

“I’m not suffocating you with the bandana, am I?” Eddie added softly.

“It’s fine.” The blood was streaming down your throat now, leaving a biting metallic tang in your mouth and making nausea churn in your guts – but it was already slowing.

For a few moments, you stayed like this, your blood-coated hands folded in your lap while Eddie kept holding the bandana against your nose, his hand on the back of your head to support you, and all your hopes of another almost-kiss with the chance to turn into a real one was dissipated when you righted your head, Eddie’s hands sinking away from you.

Blood was coating your hands, and the green skirt of your cheerleader uniform looked like a crime scene.

“Happy Halloween,” you said drily, and Eddie chuckled.

“You got a Halloween party to attend later? You could go as the murdered cheerleader. Zero effort. It’s perfect.”

“Nope. Only cheer training in…” you threw a glance at Eddie’s wristwatch. “Fuck. Ten minutes.”

You glanced down at your skirt.

“Do you have something to change in that backpack?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, “My jeans. Though I need to scrub this out because if I don’t, the stain will stay.”

“What about that,” Eddie contemplated, tilting his head, “I’m off for today anyways, so. Uh. I’m gonna wait outside, you can stay here and switch clothes and I’m gonna scrub the blood from your skirt as soon as I’m home, ‘kay? You’ll get it back as good as new next week.”

You stared at him. “You – you mean that?”

“It’s just blood,” he shrugged, “No big deal.”

It felt like one.

“Okay,” you whispered, as Eddie jumped out into the rain, gently shutting the van’s back door behind him to give you privacy.

[Tuesday, March 26th, 1986. NOW.]

“I didn’t know how to give it back to you without making it weird to…you know. Hand you the goddamn skirt in public. And I kinda wanted to hold on to it ‘cause it felt like, I dunno, the means to one last chance to talk to you.” Your fingertips brushed over the fabric as Eddie continued, “I got the blood out and I mended the little tear at the side.”

“You mended my skirt?”

“I’m pretty good at sewing, actually. Comes in handy if you gotta save money but still wanna look metal.”

“You’re a human multitool,” you snickered, and Eddie uttered a brief laugh before you added, “So at least I can stay out of the grimy jeans today.” You threw the soot-stained sweater a sideways glance before Eddie cleared his throat, one hand still behind his back.

“Actually, I got something for you.” Eddie smiled, kneeling on the ground in front of you before he placed something in your lap. A shirt, a red demon face grinning back at you from the white fabric.

“You…wait, is that one of yours?”

“Nope,” Eddie grinned, “It’s yours. I made it for you. Your size and –“ he unfolded it, showing you the sleeves, which weren’t black like rest of the Hellfire shirts, but – “My favorite color!”, you squealed.

“Yeah. Took me eternity to find one with sleeves exactly this color,” Eddie grinned, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside you, “I wanted to give it to you that November night, but…now’s as perfect a time as any.”

“I love it,” you whispered, happiness and love nearly overflowing in your chest, like a warm tide.

This was it. A glimpse of the life you would have if the plan succeeded.

If you defeated Vecna tonight.

Passion-filled nights and lazy mornings in bed, kisses that wouldn’t feel like every single one could be the last one. Shared laughs and companionable silence and everything in between.

Happiness.

“Now you’re the best dressed monster hunter in existence, sweetheart.”

You grinned as you jumped up and pulled the Hellfire Club shirt over your head, doing an exaggerated little twirl as you announced, “Half of Hawkins High would drop dead if they saw me in this combination of clothes.”

Eddie snickered. “Imagine you went into the cafeteria like that.”

“Straight to the Hellfire Club table,” you mused coming to stand in front of him, gently pushing him back onto the mattress as you climbed onto his lap, “Sitting on your lap.”

“Kissing me,” Eddie drawled with the most radiant grin, his hands settling on your rear, the warmth of his palms seeping through the fabric of your cheerleader skirt as he pulled you closer and you murmured, “Kissing you in the most show-stopping, pearl-clutching-inducing way anyone has ever been kissed in public.”

“How, exactly, would that look like? Just, ya know,” Eddie whispered, the tip of his nose brushing yours, as his gaze rested on your lips, “To be sure we mean the same thing.”

You leaned in, your lips not even a hair’s breadth from his –

The door flew open, and Eddie and you jumped apart to come face to face with a very breathless, very distraught Dustin.

“Seriously?! Get your asses in gear, we have a car to steal, a dark wizard to hunt and a town to safe, there’s no time to be hormonal now! Wait – why does she get different sleeves on her Hellfire shirt?”

Dustin crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking decidedly disappointed.

“’Cause she’s the Dungeon Master’s girl,” Eddie grinned, and Dustin’s blue eyes wandered from Eddie to you and back before he announced, “About time you got your shit together.”

With that, he vanished back into the living room, leaving you to cast Eddie a suspicious glance.

“A car to steal?”

“Oh. Yeah. Um, forgot to tell you the rest of the plan we made when you were still knocked out yesterday,” Eddie announced with a smile you’d have described as positively unhinged. “We’re teamed up for step one of the plan.”

***

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“We. We’re doing this,” Eddie corrected, and you could practically feel his smug little smirk beneath Max’s Mike Myers mask on his face as he pried the plastic pane of the window open at the camper’s back.

You chuckled. “You know that mask is useless because you’re wearing a shirt of the exact alleged cult the for triple murder wanted Eddie Munson is the leader of?”

“You’re in on the cult now, sweetheart.”

You looked at the demon face glaring from the Hellfire shirt on your own chest.

“Team Bonnie and Clyde,” Dustin’s whisper sounded from the RT unit in your hand, the device’s soft crackle making you start, “We’re in position. You in already?”

“I don’t know, ask Mike Myers,” you quipped as Eddie gestured for you to climb through the camper’s window.

“We’re in,” Eddie said.

“Hypothetically,” you corrected, eyeing the camper’s window.

“Nearly,” Eddie added. “Stay put, we’re gonna get the sucker right to the meeting point.”

Taking the RT from your hand, Eddie did a theatrical little bow before he sunk down on one knee, hands held out to help you climb in as he drawled, “Ladies first.”

You snickered at the gleam of his eyes beneath the mask, before you stepped onto his waiting hands, hands clamped around the window’s ledge to push yourself up and through the open window, into the camper. You suppressed a little squeal when you fell onto the backseat beneath the windowsill, trying hard to avoid alerting the camper’s owners, an elderly couple currently enjoying their barbecue out front. Not much longer, you figured.

Before you could shuffle away to make room for Eddie on the backseat, he followed suit, landing right on top of you, the impact pressing the air from your lungs before he caught himself on his elbows.

For a split second, you stared at him, hovering above you.

“This needs to go,” you snickered, pulling the mask off Eddie’s head and discarding it on the camper’s floor as his mane of dark curls spilled free, falling around his flushed face, his bangs sticking up from his head as he grinned down at you.

“It’s been half an hour and you’re undressing me again? Already?”

You giggled. “Maybe the job you did last night wasn’t enough to satiate me.”

“Or,” Eddie drawled, “It was so mind-blowingly good that you’ll never get enough of me now.” He paused, worry crossing his expression as he frowned. “Wait, that was a joke, right? It was amazing for you and all? You’d tell me if –“

You silenced him with a greedy kiss, your teeth nipping his bottom lip to draw a little moan from him before you pulled away with a smile. “It was perfect.”

“Jesus Christ, monster slayer, if you keep kissing me like that, I’m gonna hotwire something else than this fucking camper.”

“I’d be much obliged,” you winked. “I was wondering whether that counts as our first date, by the way.”

Eddie snickered. “No way. You deserve something bigger than stealing a camper. For our first date, I’m gonna take you to rob a jeweler’s store.”

You laughed as Eddie rolled off of you, a hand shooting up to comb through the curls of his bangs before he pushed up the sleeves of his leather jacket and cracked his knuckles, tiptoeing towards the camper’s door to lock it.

The smile on his face was nothing short of…devious.

“Edward Munson,” you crooned, cocking an eyebrow as you came to stand beside him, “The fact that this little criminal endeavor makes you as happy as it does leaves me wondering whether there’s a personal reason as to why we’re stealing exactly this camper.”

He snickered, before he plopped down behind the wheel and pulled a pair of pliers from his pocket.

“There is. Pretty long history, but let’s just say they really don’t like me and I really don’t like them.”

With a final wink, he clamped the pliers between his lips and turned around to fumble for something beneath the dashboard, ripping away a knot of cables – and with growing fascination, you watched the focus in his eyes as he used the pliers to cut the cables, his tongue poking out in that cute way it always did when he was focusing on something, his expression stern now as he worked.

He was…skilled, you realized, his movements those of practiced ease when he discarded the pliers on the dashboard before twirling the ends of the cables between his fingertips.

But before you could find the words to inquire about his car-theft-skills, Eddie stilled mid-movement.

When his eyes found yours, all the sparks which had been glittering there only moments prior had dimmed.

“When the other dads were teaching their kids how to catch a fish or a ball or ride a bike, my old man taught me to hotwire cars,” Eddie said quietly. His vouce held a lightheartedness that didn’t reach his eyes. “Now, I swore to myself I wouldn’t wind up like he did. But I’m wanted for triple murder already, and soon, grand theft auto, so…really living up to that Munson name.”

He glanced down at the cables in his grip. “But…I promise I’m not that kind of guy. I’m…I know how it looks. Dealing drugs, stealing cars, but I promise, monster slayer, I’m…not. I’m not like that. I’m not like him.” It sounded desperate all of a sudden. As if he was scared you could see him differently now.

“I know,” you soothed, kneeling on the floor beside the driver’s seat, your hands gently wrapping around Eddie’s trembling ones, still holding the ends of the cables. Your mind was going a mile a minute with the flood of information you’d just gotten, piecing it together like a puzzle as you swallowed against your tears upon seeing the fear in Eddie’s beautiful umber eyes, wide like those of a deer in the headlights.

And you realized that this sudden swing of his mood had been brewing below the surface, gnawing at him probably from the moment he’d put on Max’s Mike Myers mask to disguise himself. Put on that mischievous grin to try and bury those fears now washed to the surface like clams after high tide.

Fear of you thinking he could be like his father, or fear that he actually was…you couldn’t tell.

“Eddie, I know you’re not that kind of guy,” you said softly, linking your fingers with his, the warm, smooth metal of his rings brushing your skin. “I know it just like you know I’m not a monster. That’s…that’s what we do. We trust each other even if we don’t trust ourselves.”

For a heartbeat, Eddie watched you, his eyes scanning yours as if he was searching for a lie.

When he didn’t find one, he whispered, “I love you so fucking much, monster slayer.”

You wanted nothing more but to settle in his lap, kiss him until he forgot all the shit he must’ve gone through before coming to live with Wayne Munson, and even afterwards, as Eddie The Freak – but there was no time.

So instead, you squeezed his hand, giving him the gentlest smile before you said, “You need to tell me the neighbor story as soon as we got this thing on the road.” And with a wink, you added, “And by the way, you’re not special. I stole cars to save Hawkins before you even knew this shithole town needed saving, Munson. You’ve got a long way to go until you reach the – how did you call it? – trespassing-break-and-enter-fraud-and-arson-monster-hunter-thing I got going on.”

Eddie grinned, relief flooding his eyes. “I’ll give my best to keep up. Though…” His smile turned mischievous again, “I gotta say, your list specifically lacks some good ol’ public indecency, monster slayer. I’ll gladly lend a hand or two with that.”

There were still remnants of this darkness in his gaze. You could tell he needed that easy banter to chase it away, the memories and dark thoughts – and you both knew you’d have to talk about what had happened to him. About his parents. But right now, Eddie needed to see you hadn’t changed your mind about him. That nothing had changed.

So you grinned. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m your menace now.”

“We could start calling you Eddie The Sappy instead of Eddie The Banished”, Dustin’s annoyed voice sounded from the RT, making you and Eddie jump apart for the second time as you screeched and Eddie hissed, “Henderson, I swear to god, if you keep interrupting my romantic moments I’m gonna banish you from the D&D table for a whole goddamn fucking year!”

“It’s not my fault none of you know how to handle an RT unit.”

“Yeah, we thought we’d make our radio presence known before you could get going at it,” Steve muttered in the background.

“In a stolen camper?”, Eddie drawled, returning to the task of hotwiring the damn thing, “Some of us have more class than that, Harrington.”

“By the way, who’s going to drive this thing?”, Robin’s voice chimed up. “Because we all remember the threat to humanity Y/N poses as soon as she’s behind a wheel.”

“I can hear you laugh, Max,” you quipped.

“I wasn’t laughing, I was praying for Eddie.”

“Well, good thing is if I’m in the car with her, she can’t run me over with it.”

“You can all walk next time,” you deadpanned, but the reply was cut off when the camper’s engine sprung to life with the roar of an ancient beast – and two faces appeared at the driver’s side window, their expressions morphing from confusion to rage as the four of you stared at each other like cats in an alleyway – before chaos broke lose.

“GO! GOGOGOGO!”, Eddie shouted, throwing himself into the passenger seat while you jumped behind the wheel, your foot finding the gas pedal the moment the two angry ex-camper-owners started slamming their fists against the window, and with screeching tires, the camper shot forwards with so much force you feared it’d catapult you right out of your seat.

“SEATBELT!”, you hollered at Eddie, a group of trashcans flying out of the way with the impact of the camper’s hood, trash flying all around the vehicle like confetti as you pushed the gas pedal – but Eddie didn’t seem fazed at all.

He was having a ball.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie laughed, his fist slamming against the button of the radio to turn it on, and the tunes of Creedence Clearwater’s Up Around The Bend filled the vehicle’s interior with blaring volume as ripped the steering wheel around and Eddie jumped up from his seat to wave at the angry ex-camper-owners, his grin wide as he flipped them the bird.

You really needed him to tell you that story.

***

Eddie didn’t know which one would come first: the grass beneath his feet giving in because he’d worn it out with his continued pacing, or his teeth falling out because he’d been gnashing them so hard for the past hour that he was surprised his jaw hadn’t dislodged by now already.

“Man, will you fucking stop doing that,” Harrington muttered for the umpteenth time in a row now from where he was sitting on a fold-out chair beside the camper’s door, and Eddie threw him a dirty glare.

“No,” he retorted.

Two hours had passed since you’d all returned from the War Zone and Dustin had taken it upon himself to help you train as much of your power as you could in the few hours until nightfall and the probably-suicide mission ahead. The boy had banished Eddie back to the camper parked at the top of the little hill overlooking Hawkins where Harrington and Robin were busy building Molotov Cocktails, because Eddie had been ‘too much of a distraction’.

The town looked tiny from up here. Like the miniature worlds displayed in toy shops.

It almost looked peaceful from the distance. Not like the hate-filled place it actually was.

“I think your dentist won’t be happy about the teeth-gnashing, though” Robin chimed in to dissolve some of the tension.

“I’m poor, I don’t have a dentist,” Eddie quipped, “All I got is a toothbrush and a prayer.”

“You don’t – wow. Your teeth are good. Like, I don’t think I’d have teeth as white if I didn’t have a dentist, my mom always taught me to brush three minutes or else they’d fall out so naturally I doubled the number so I’m at, like, five minutes now and –“

“Robin,” Harrington groaned, and Eddie watched while you buried your face in your hands, shaking your head as Dustin gesticulated wildly.

“I don’t think I can handle this,” Eddie breathed, raking a hand through his curls as he watched you utter something on a suppressed little sob that felt like it reached right into his chest, ripped his heart out, and smashed it on the goddamn floor. “He’s making her cry again.”

“That’s kinda the point, though,” Robin replied with an apologetic little grimace.

“Dude, will you just sit down,” Steve muttered.

“When you’re done chewing off your nails,” Robin commented with a glance at Eddie, “You can go ahead with mine, I lost my manicure set last week.”

“Or you can be of actual help and fill these here with gasoline,” Steve muttered, pushing a cardboard box of empty bottles towards Eddie, the glass tinkling as the box nudged his leg.

“How many of these do we need, anyway?”, Robin interjected, her voice blurring as Eddie tried to understand the snippets of conversation the spring breeze carried up the hill – or rather, the snippets of the heated argument between you and Dustin.

“…told you it’s not working!”

“…gotta try harder, then! El can do it!”

“El was trained since birth! I’ve been prodded and poked by you for an afternoon!” Your voice was trembling.

“That’s good! Use that anger!”

“I swear, Dustin, I’m gonna –“

“Focus!”

“I’M FOCUSING!”

“Yes! That’s it! Shout at me! Let it go!”

“I don’t think it’s going too well,” Robin winced from behind Eddie, who’d resumed his pacing, before she added, “If you keep pacing like that, you’re going to walk a crop circle into the grass, Eddie. And the last thing this town needs is an alien panic on top of the satanic one.”

Steve scoffed. “It’s annoying, man.”

“I think it’s cute,” Robin protested. “Like swans. They have one partner for life, and once they mated, they’ll go absolutely feral for their mate.”

“Don’t say mated,” Steve murmured, “That sounds wrong. Nobody mated.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Eddie turned around, his cheeks burning.

“Look at his face,” Robin quipped with a triumphant sideways glance at Steve, “Of course they mated.”

“What,” Steve muttered at Eddie, “You’re alone with her for five minutes and jump her bones?”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow. “As opposed to Steve ‘Waits Until Marriage’ Harrington?”

Robin snickered, as Eddie added, “You dragged Hawkins’ entire female population between seventeen and thirty to Skull Rock but me enjoying some alone time with my girlfriend before the goddamn apocalypse doesn’t sit right with you? What do you wanna do, fight for her honor?”

“You’d have pretty good chances with that,” Robin grinned at Eddie, “Steve doesn’t tend to win fights.”

“It gets old, Robin, it really gets old,” Steve retorted, rising from his chair to put his hands on his hips like some dad waving off his daughter for prom, before he glared at Eddie. “Are you calling me a whore, Munson?”

“Well, I’m certainly not calling you a nun, Harrington,” Eddie drawled, drawing out the last name with the smuggest smirk he could muster.

Eddie didn’t hear Steve’s reply, though, as his eyes caught on the lonely figure a bit apart from the group, and his heart sank a little in his chest.

Max had always reminded Eddie of you.

So much pain, locked up in her little heart, spilling from her haunted gaze. Shoving away the friends who so desperately wanted to help her deal with whatever shit she’d had to witness that night at Starcourt.

He’d waited for a calm moment to talk to her, and Eddie figured this was it. As calm as it would get in the near foreseeable future.

“Be right back,” he announced over his shoulder, already strolling towards the little redhead.

The trailer parks Eddie had grown up in, Little River as well as Forest Hills, were a world apart from the white picket fence neighborhoods with their perfect green laws, their trimmed rose bushes and homemade lemonade.

The kids living in those pretty houses behind the white picket fences and perfect lawns had arrived at school in shiny cars driven by mothers who spent their mornings cutting apples into neat bites and their weekends baking pies, and even at his first day at elementary school, Eddie had known that those women had never had anything to do with the glittering pixie dust his dad had been selling.

When he’d been in Little River, Louisiana, those white picket fences had always felt like the gateways to paradise. To a world where dads didn’t vanish for days on end or made deals with strange men that looked like pirates, or brought home women whose faces were plastered with paint and who took money out of his dad’s hands when they went away again.

And even after Eddie had been brought to live with Wayne, the uncle who’d done everything in his power to turn his little trailer at the edge of the woods circling Forest Hills like a green coat into a home for his nephew, Eddie had caught himself wondering about life behind these white picket fences from time to time.

Eddie wasn’t stupid.

Growing up, he’d known they were illusions, that the perfect little worlds behind them weren’t as shiny and perfect as they seemed. That no white picket fence in the world could shield you from sadness or violence.

The first time Eddie Munson had met Billy Hargrove in the woods behind the sports field for a drug deal, he hadn’t been surprised by the bruise on the other guy’s jaw. One week in Hawkins had been enough for Billy to prove he wasn’t one to step away from a fight.

He was exactly the kind of person Eddie steered clear of.

Though the second time Billy had ordered Eddie into the clearing for more weed – and this time, even a few of the prescription pills Eddie was selling for Rick from time to time – there had been another set of bruises, not yet fading. A perfect handprint around the guy’s upper arm.

“Watcha staring at, Freak,” Billy had drawled in that bored-yet-threatening low tone that made clear he was always dancing on the edge of snapping; a tone that made Eddie skittish because it reminded him so much of his old man, and Eddie had quickly averted his gaze, taken the guy’s folded fifty-dollar-bill and uttered a long, relieved exhale when he’d vanished back into the woods.

It was the day Eddie had realized that the world behind those white picket fences was probably not as different from that beyond the rusty gates of a trailer park as he’d thought.

It had taken Eddie another year to realize Billy Hargrove had a little sister. He’d been surprised to learn that the Mayfields, a single mother and her daughter, who’d moved into the trailer opposite of the Munsons in the fall of 1985, were the remainder of Billy Hargrove’s family – and that the little redhead had been with her brother, the day of the mall fire. The day he’d died.

His uncle had told him when Eddie had watched them carry the cardboard boxes with their belongings through the rusty door of their new home.

Another thing about Wayne Munson: he was a tattletale.

Eddie hadn’t told Wayne about the reason he was watching the new neighbors so closely the first few weeks after they’d moved in, which had led poor Wayne to believe Eddie was planning to set him up with Susan Hargrove, which, in return, had led to Wayne very awkwardly explaining to an equally confused Eddie that his life was busy enough without a woman making it even busier.

No, the reason Eddie had been watching the Hargrove-Mayfields so closely was that he had seen enough kids sporting patterns of bruises over time – and that he’d always looked away because that was what everyone else had always done.

But he would be damned if the little girl who’d moved in across from him, whose cornflower blue eyes always seemed haunted with whatever it was she’d had to witness in the mall fire that now made her drown out her thoughts with a pair of headphones, and whose friends from Hellfire kept telling Eddie about their friend slipping away from them…Eddie Munson would be damned if the little redhead sported a matching bruise to match those of her late stepbrother and didn’t act.

Eddie was watching her now as he drew closer. Apart from the group of her friends, as always, a lonely figure at the top of the hill, knees tucked against her chest and her hair glinting like his monster slayer’s flames in the quickly fading light beneath the steel-grey skies, her expression as dark as the rainclouds in the distance.

His gaze momentarily flitting to you and Dustin, still caught up in trying to control your powers. Eddie knew how much Max meant to you. If she was half as stubborn as you were, he wouldn’t have any luck talking her out of this stupid self-sacrificial plan, but…he had to try. Or at least, he had to make sure she was doing it for the right reasons.

He knew what guilt could do, how it could eat away at a person like rats in a trash can.

The little redhead didn’t bat an eye when Eddie sat down in the grass next to her, her eyes narrowed and focused at a point in the distance, on the horizon. It was the look of someone who wanted to be far, far away from where they currently were.

And yet, Max was the one who broke the silence before Eddie could grasp the right words to do it.

“I’m sorry I was so convinced you were a killer.”

Eddie snorted. “Shit. Thanks.”

“I went with her because I…the last girl I could have saved if I had looked closer turned into monster-chew because I didn’t look closer.”

Heather Holloway. One of the lifeguards. Dustin and you had told Eddie the whole story, when the party had found him at the boathouse.

Before he could muster a reply, though, Max went on, “I’m happy you’re back together, by the way. You’re a cute couple.”

He blinked in confusion. “Back together?”

Max scoffed. “I live opposite of you. Do you think I didn’t notice anything of whatever you two got going on last fall?”

“Uh. Yeah. Actually.”

Max cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously? First of all, you never had any girls over before, so a girl at your trailer definitely stood out like a flamingo in the middle of Main Street.”

Eddie chuckled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, red.”

“Plus,” she went on, “She’s my friend. And you live right across from me. By the way, it was funny to see you race around in your pajamas every Saturday morning trying to tidy up while picking out outfits.”

“You watched me dress?!”

“Ew, gross. No. I watched you panic. It was entertaining.” She shrugged, her face growing serious again. “I also saw her run out of your trailer one night. Crying. And she never came back. To be honest, I hated you a little because I thought you’d broken her heart. I know how Billy…” She cut herself off, probably contemplating whether it was okay to talk shit about the dead.

But Eddie had heard the things Billy Hargrove had said about the girls he’d hooked up with. They hadn’t been nice things, and they’d made him resent the guy even more.

It was weird, Eddie thought, how you could loathe someone with all your heart yet still feel sorry for them at the same time.

“Doesn’t matter,” Max finished quietly. Eddie’s heart went out to her.

The girl’s cornflower-blue eyes were focused on something in the distance again, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips, and when Eddie followed her line of sight to the Sinclair siblings sitting in a pair of fold-out chairs at the edge of the meadow, building makeshift-spears – Erica Sinclair uttering something undoubtedly very sarcastic that made Lucas snort – Eddie smiled.

“You know, uh, it’s my sixth goddamn year at this High School and yet I’ve never cracked the code why all the basketball players always got flocks of chicks following in their wake simply for throwing balls through laundry baskets, but witnessing one of said basketball players ignore all the female attention they get was a first even for a triple senior like me.” Eddie paused, watching Max’s absentminded expression, her gaze still trained on Lucas, gauging whether he should continue.

Looks like Eddie The Banished is turning into Eddie The Matchmaker.

He decided he’d give it a go. “Though Sinclair? I don’t even think he noticed a single shred of the new female attention directed at him ‘cause he was always busy looking for someone else.”

It wasn’t a lie. If Lucas Sinclair had noticed the giggling freshman girls suddenly seeking his proximity, he hadn’t cared, because he’d been too busy scanning the crowds for the redhead who’d broken his heart.

And if there was one thig Eddie could relate to after last November, it was a broken heart.

Though if Eddie’s girl had found her way back to him, maybe Lucas’s girl needed only a little nudge to do the same. Eddie wasn’t blind. It had taken him about five seconds to recognize the way Max was looking at Lucas. It was the same way with which Harrington still watched Nancy Wheeler.

The way Eddie had never stopped looking at you.

“Did you make it your mission to bring all the broken-up couples of this party back together while we’re hurtling towards a gruesome death, or something?”, Max quipped, throwing him a sideways glance.

Eddie snickered. “It worked for me. Though that boy’s about one smile from you away to crack and ask you out.”

Max smirked deviously. “Anyways, I’m glad you and your monster slayer are back at happy screams again.”

Eddie raised a brow. “Whoa. What do you know about happy screams, kid? Aren’t you, like, twelve?”

“I’m fifteen. And my mum got a lot of Cosmos laying around. And judging by the fact that it took you half a year to get with the one girl anyone ever saw you with, I probably know more about happy screams than you.”

“You’re kinda mean and scary, you know that, right?”, Eddie teased with a soft laugh, and for a moment, Max grinned. Eddie felt like he was getting a glimpse at the old Max Maxfield, the one from before the monsters took her old life and paid her with guilt.

She reminded Eddie so much of you.

It was weird, how the group of heroes that had taken him into their little monster hunter family were as lost as all the other little sheepies out there. As lost as him.

“You know, ah. Before I came to Hawkins, I lived with my dad,” Eddie began slowly. “In a trailer park pretty much like Forest Hills, just with stuffier temperatures. We had that rusty old camper. I’m still not sure if he stole it.” He scoffed. “My old man wasn’t a nice guy. Or a nice dad, for that matter. I always told myself I wasn’t gonna…” Eddie made a vague gesture. “Wind up like he did.”

“In jail?”

“I was gonna say, cold and uncaring, but yeah. There was one person in his life he loved, and that was himself. He wasn’t exactly the type of dad to hold your hand at the doctor’s. Shit, he never took me to a doctor when I was sick. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, was what he liked to say.” Eddie swallowed. He hated talking about his old man. About Little River, the time before Wayne had taken him in. But he had to, right now, because he needed Max to understand. So he went on, “Sometimes I hated him. Sometimes I wanted something bad to…happen to him. So he’d go away.”

At his words, Max’s head snapped up, and when Eddie ripped a few blades of grass out of the ground, twirling them between his fingertips as he tried to tamp down the tide of emotions, the ugly memories his words were digging up, he could feel her blue gaze resting on him.

He thought about you, the guilt and shame in your beautiful eyes as you’d finally told him about last summer; the way there was nothing Eddie wanted more than to take the pain away from your heart and erase the memories.

The look which had shone in your eyes yesterday when you’d told him was the twin to the expression in the little redhead’s cornflower blue ones now.

He’d always been good at reading people.

It was the look Eddie had carried in his own eyes for a long time.

Fierce protectiveness flooded him for this little girl beside him who should be thinking about boys and movie stars and all the normal High School shit fifteen-year-old girls should be dealing with, instead of the monster that had taken the stepbrother who’d made her life living hell.

“Even with seven years I’d realized that the shit he was doing was bad. And definitely against the law. And sometimes I wanted him to get caught. Or just…I dunno. Disappear.” Eddie cleared his throat, brushing the blades of grass away from his hands. “One day the cops were at the door of our camper, with a search warrant and all. Before letting them in, I remember how my dad turned to me and told me to get rid of his…um.” He threw the girl a nervous sideways glance. Could he say cocaine in front of a fifteen-years-old? “His stash,” he finished. “He wanted me to get rid of his stash and I…didn’t. I was terrified by the whole goddamn situation and I just stood there, watching the cops break open the door to our camper and tackle him to the floor and shouting commands and all that stuff while I was just��standing there. I didn’t do what he told me to. Didn’t get rid of the stuff, and the cops found it, of course.”

Eddie still remembered the look his old man had given him when they’d led him away. Out of the camper, of the Little River trailer park and Eddie’s life for good. The picture sometimes flashed in his mind. It still terrified him, the look that had shone in his old man’s cold eyes. He’d never hit Eddie – but Eddie was sure in that moment, had he been able to…he would have hurt his seven-years-old son.

“I still dunno whether I just stood there ‘cause I was just scared or if I wanted them to find what they were looking for. Let them take him away. Took me a long time to figure out the shit that happened wasn’t my fault, and that standing there and doing nothing to help him didn’t make me a bad person.” He cleared his throat. “Guess what I’m trying to say,” Eddie said quietly, his eyes finding Max’s, shimmering with her unshed tears, “Is that you don’t owe anyone anything. It’s not too late to just blow it off. Make another plan. And they’d all understand it. You know that, right?”

“I can’t just run.”

“Yeah, you can. There’s no shame in running.”

She didn’t reply.

Eddie had said and done what he could.

Whatever Max decided, it would have to be her choice alone. Not Lucas’, not yours, not Eddie’s, as much as he wished to talk her out of it.

The females of this monster hunter family, he reckoned, were definitely way more stubborn and fierce and brave than he would ever be. Nancy Wheeler with her collection of guns and her utter lack of caution. Robin Buckley, who, despite her own fear, never hesitated or asked questions before she followed her friends into what could be certain death. Erica Sinclair, who, with her eleven years of age, would be ready to face Vecna himself and make him cower in the dust with a single witty remark. Max Mayfield, who was ready to face her worst nightmares once again so a stranger wouldn’t have to.

And you, his monster slayer, with the heart of a lioness, so fiercely protecting those you loved – and how lucky Eddie was, to count himself among those people.

“I don’t know about you,” Robin’s voice chimed up from behind before she plopped down into the grass between Eddie and Max, Steve following suit behind her, “But I have this weird, horrible, nausea-inducing feeling that this time…things might not play out well for us.”

“Talk about a positive spin,” Steve quipped, his expression as dark as the rainclouds above. As the feeling spreading in Eddie’s chest no matter how hard he tried to snuff it out.

His gaze wandered back to Dustin and you, further down the hill, sitting on opposite crates, and the wind carried the sound of your voices, snippets of your ongoing argument.

“Okay, that’s it,” Eddie muttered, rising to his feet and brushing lose blades of grass from his ripped jeans. Turning towards the others, he added, “I’m gonna need the camper. We’ll be back by nightfall.”

“Night – wait, what are you gonna do?”, Steve blurted.

“Do you see fire, Steve?”

“No?”

“Exactly,” Eddie replied grimly. “The Henderson-method is flunking. So…we’re gonna try the Munson-method. And as much as I love the little shrimp, I won’t sit around and watch him make my girl cry.”

***

A hurricane of leathery wings, talons tearing into skin. Teeth, sharp like rows of sewing needles piercing deep enough to meet bone, tails strangling and restraining as Eddie’s death screams mingled with the hiss and screech and jeering of these horrid creatures.

Vines, tying him to a pillar, eyes wide and drained of their beautiful umber colour, eternally caught in a horrified, blinded stare at a crimson sky with the low full-moon that wasn’t a moon but a broken clock as tears of blood were drying on his pale cheeks, the melody of his heartbeat silenced forever and his soul eternally bound to this place filled with horrors –

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling and hoarse from the struggle to suppress your tears at the memories, “I can’t do this anymore. I need a break. Please.”

It had been two hours since you’d all returned from the War Zone, laden with all the weaponry and firearms to equip a whole battalion. And while the rest of your friends had taken to build Molotov Cocktails and spears and shields, Dustin had tried to help you get a grip of those stolen powers.

Powers which, as he kept reminding you as much as your frayed nerves kept reminding yourself, could very well tip the scales in your favor.

Powers which could save Eddie.

If only you learned to fucking use them.

It was not going well.

“Just try harder!”

“It doesn’t work,” you protested, voice breaking with the stupid tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

Dustin’s theory had been that, if you channelled enough horrible mental images of Eddie in mortal peril, of all the horrible things Vecna had threatened to do to Eddie in your deepest, darkest nightmares, it would trigger the same reaction Jason’s attack on Eddie and Vecna’s trance had set loose.

You’d sobbed. You’d relived your darkest nightmares, over and over again, Eddie’s death cry playing in your mind over and over and over like a broken record. And still…the wick of the candle in your hands was perfectly unburned.

And Dustin’s patience was running out even quicker than your own.

With an outcry of rage and fear and frustration and despair, you threw the candle into the grass at your feet.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Dustin announced.

“If you quote Star Wars on me one more time, Dustin, I’m going to join the Dark Side.” Your voice was frail as you swiped at the stupid tears running down your cheeks.

“You can’t even use you power, what would they want with you?”

Before you could reply, another voice ran out from behind you, making your heart soar with just his presence.

“How’s it going, Master Yoda?”, Eddie asked, giving Dustin a gentle shove on the head, the boy’s cap slipping over his eyes before he reached up to right it again.

“The Padawan is struggling.”

“I could hear that,” Eddie quipped, his eyes finding yours, scanning the tracks of tears drying on your face. “That bad, huh?”

“You really need to ask?”, Dustin quipped, and you threw him a sideways glance. “Thanks, buddy.”

Eddie snickered, giving Dustin a pat on the shoulder as he said softly, “I’m gonna take it from here.”

You waited for Dustin to utter a clap-back, maybe bash you a little in the process – you loved the boy, but he could be a menace as soon as his inner scientist was activated – but Dustin only threw you a pitiful glance before he gave Eddie a nod and trudged away to join the others.

And somehow, that was worse.

When Dustin was out of earshot, Eddie asked, “Remember the day we snuck out of school to take a hike around the woods?”

“You don’t exactly forget the day a flood wave of condoms spills from your locker in the middle of a crowded hallway.” You sniffled. “Why?”

“’Cause I’m whisking you away again.”

“Whisk – where?”

“Come on,” Eddie said, taking your hand in his, already pulling you up the hill and towards the camper. “We got until sunset to turn you into a Firestarter.”

***

The song, as Eddie used to say, remained the same.

Against your concerns, Eddie had steered the camper back into Hawkins, right into the center of the storm, parking the vehicle on the side of the abandoned road beside the tree line of the small patch of woods behind Hawkins High’s sports field, before he’d grabbed the carton of anti-mosquito candles you’d taken from the War Zone, and together you’d made your way to your little clearing.

You’d watched with growing doubt how Eddie had placed the unlit candles on the picnic table, the bench, the ground and tree stumps around, until the clearing was specked with them, forming a wide circle around the two of you.

“For the satanic cult business, ya know,” he’d snickered as he’d assessed his work, making you laugh softly alongside him, easing the panic which had been growing in your chest like your own little thunder storm with every failed attempt to set the stupid candle aflame, before Eddie had waved off your concerns regarding the stolen vehicle parked at the side of the road (“The cops are too busy hunting me, they won’t care about a rusty old camper that got stolen from to angry hicks.”), the concerns regarding the clearing (“Nobody ever comes out here despite us, anyways.”) and the risk the training of fire powers in the middle of the woods, of all places, posed (“Jesus Christ, you got a worst-case scenario for everything stored in that pretty little head of yours, huh? You’re giving me anxiety, sweetheart. Maybe we should’ve brought weed, not candles.”).

Now, one of the unlit candles clutched firmly in your hands again, you breathed, “Should I try?”

“Wait,” Eddie said softly. As per your own request in fear you’d accidentally set him on fire, he was standing a few feet away from you, arms locked in front of the Hellfire club shirt covering his chest, his attentive dark eyes fixed on yours.

“What for?”

“Close your eyes,” he instructed softly. You complied, eyes fluttering close.

“Breathe.”

“I’m breathing.”

Eddie sighed. “Deep breaths. Smell the air. Just…gimme a chance here, ‘kay? Tell me what you smell.”

You inhaled deeply, letting the spring air fill your lungs. “Flowers. Peonies, maybe. Or magnolias. In the gardens at the edge of the woods.”

“What else?”

“Leaves. Wood. I don’t know, it just smells…green. It smells like spring. And I smell the citrus of the candles.”

“What do you hear?”

“You.”

“Focus,” he chided softly.

“Birds. Chirping in the trees.”

There was the soft crunch of dead leaves covering the forest floor like a carpet, the remnants of the prior autumn not yet decayed beneath the frosts of winter, as Eddie slowly crossed the space between the two of you, murmuring, “This is stupid. I’m gonna come closer now.”

Your eyes fluttered open again as Eddie came to stand in front of you.

“What was that about?”, you inquired, and Eddie tilted his head.

“To get you to calm down.”

“I don’t have time to calm down.” You squeezed your eyes shut to keep the stupid tears of frustration at bay. “It’s a fucking waste of time and energy. I should be loading guns or building Molotov Cocktails to be of some use. I did that. I fucking let him in and now I can’t even shut him out –“

“You’ve never been one to cut yourself some slack,” Eddie said softly.

You scoffed. “I’ve tried. The whole fucking day, I’ve tried, and there’s not even a stupid spark.”

At this point, anger and frustration were so overpowering that it took all your self-control not to smash the fucking candle on the ground again, the wick untouched even by a single spark. Just like it had been all day.

There was the softest touch of his warm skin on your cheeks when Eddie gently brushed away a stray tear which had started to fall, before he murmured, “Look at me, monster slayer.”

You complied.

The sun was setting already, casting its final golden rays of light through the foliage ahead to paint streaks of caramel into Eddie’s tousled curls, his umber eyes sparking as they held your gaze.

“Beating yourself to it isn’t gonna make it work,” he said softly.

You sniffled. “Didn’t know you were an expert with superpowers.”

“It’s like with every other thing,” he shrugged. “Practice makes perfect. But when I try to learn difficult new chords and it doesn’t work, stressing myself to try harder never does the trick.”

“Then what does?”, you whispered. You sounded pathetic. You sounded as desperate and helpless as you felt.

“Patience.”

“We don’t have enough time for patience.”

“A good thing then that you already played those chords, sweetheart. Two times. Three, actually.”

“Dustin said –“

“Forget what Dustin said, just for a sec, ‘kay? For one, learning to use those powers is neat but, in the end, we don’t need them. We got truckloads of Molotov cocktails and shit. Stop it with the hero complex, will ya?”

“What if those powers are what tips the scales?”

“They already tipped the scales multiple times,” Eddie insisted, “Which brings me to my second point. Henderson is convinced the mental flamethrower is activated by fear. Panic. Whatever. But I think that’s not the only way. I actually think there’s a better way to trigger it.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Tell me what you feel, monster slayer,” Eddie murmured, his fingertips tracing soothing little circles on your cheek.

“About what?”

With his free hand, he made a vague little gesture at the sea of unlit candles all around you. “About the whole Firestarter business. Your new powers.”

“We don’t have time for therapy and pep-talks, Eddie.” You don’t have time. You didn’t need to say the words. You were pretty sure he was reading them in your eyes right now.

“Then we’ll take the time. ‘Cause I can’t shake the feeling that the worst obstacle in the way here is kinda…yourself.” He scrunched his nose in contemplation as he gently pried the candle from your hands.

There was a pause, a beat of silence filled by the chirping of birds in the trees as Eddie watched you, waiting for you to collect your thoughts.

“I don’t want them. I don’t want those powers,” you finally breathed.

“I know.” It was soft-spoken.

“It doesn’t help to know what it is,” you whispered. “It’s like…like a parasite. Eating away at me and spreading and I’m scared that it’ll…take control again. Because it’s a part of him.”

“Maybe that’s where you should start. Thinking of it less as a parasite more of a...a raccoon. Or a dog, I dunno. A stray that won’t leave your side. What would have happened, hadn’t it…” Eddie chewed his bottom lip, eyes narrowing as he contemplated. “Hadn’t it been activated? At the townhall?”

“The door would have stayed locked,” you said quietly. “I would’ve never made it to the boathouse in time. Jason would have…he would have hurt you.”

Eddie gave you a curt nod. You both knew Jason would have done even worse than that.

“And at the boat house,” Eddie pressed softly, “What would have happened if it hadn’t been activated and set Chance’s ass on fire?”

Your reply was barely a whisper at the horrible memory of Jason, the moonlight falling into the boathouse making the metal of the crowbar in his fist glint like the blade of a sword. The crowbar he’d have used to break Eddie’s fingers, steal the music from him before he’d have stolen the life from Eddie’s eyes as well.

“They…he would have killed you.”

Eddie gave a stern nod. “So, the way I see it…it saved my life twice.”

“That’s –“

“Not a coincidence, sweetheart. I suck at biology, not math. You want to protect me. And that’s what it did. It protected me when you couldn’t.”

“Vecna said it only worked because he allowed it.”

“So we trust the undead psycho-killer now? You’re one of the wittiest, cleverest people I know, monster slayer.” His voice softened. “Those are your weapons as much as fire or guns or knives. Don’t let him succeed in making your fear and intimidation shut them off. ‘Cause,” Eddie gently placed the knuckle of his index finger under your chin, coaxing your head up so you’d meet his gaze, “He needed you to get in. And if he can’t do that shit by himself, he might not be as powerful as he wants us, wants you, believe he is.”

Eddie’s words made sense. Of course they did – and it hit you how far Vecna had already come in dazing your mind with your panic for Eddie, for you to be blind to the facts that were right under your nose.

“You’re right,” you breathed.

Eddie gave you a shit-eating grin. “’Course I am. I’m a fucking Dungeon Master. It’s my job to think like the monsters.” His face turned stern once more. “A knife in itself isn’t a bad thing. It can’t be good or bad, it’s just a weapon. It’s a matter of who wields it and for what cause that determines a weapon’s purpose. In those three times these powers have been activated, it has been to protect. Not once did they flare to life to attack.”

In the twilight of dusk, the sky a canvas filled with all shades of red and blue and pink and orange and the final rays of sunlight which had painted streaks of caramel into Eddie’s curls only moments prior gone now, Eddie’s eyes were dark, and the softness within them made your heart sing as he slowly took your hands in his, placing the candle back in your palms before folding your fingers around it.

“Okay, try again. Reach out. Stray, not parasite. It saved my ass, so try to give it a chance. Can you do that?”, Eddie inquired softly, and you gave him a nod as you watched while Eddie gently folded his own hands over yours, around the candle, and you frowned.

“No,” you said softly, “You should step away. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” He spoke the words without hesitation.

“How do you know?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “I just do. You’re not gonna hurt me, monster slayer. And I got an idea.”

He leaned close, placing the sweetest of kisses on the tip of your nose before he said, “You trust me?”

“With my life.” It came out without a single second of hesitation.

The radiant smile on Eddie’s lips was infectious as he announced, “Then we’ll try it my way now, instead of Henderson’s, ‘kay?”

“Dustin will hate you for diverting from the protocol.”

“Well, the little shrimp isn’t here right now, and so far, his protocol’s been failing miserably. So my way it is.”

“Are you using your boyfriend skills now?”, you teased, and his grin turned playful, dazzling as he mused, “One day I might stop wanting to faint on the spot when you call me your boyfriend, but today’s not that day. But no. Actually, I’m using my skills as long-term Dungeon Master.” His voice turned quiet. “Which memories tore you out of Vecna’s hold?”

You chewed your bottom lip as your mind wandered back. “The…the night we watched the stars on your roof. When you kissed me. Before…” You trailed off, but Eddie’s gaze was soft as he waited for you to go on. “When you came to the balls-and-laundry-baskets-game that night for me. When we danced in the woods and we almost kissed.”

He tilted his head. “Wait, you noticed that?”

“I was thinking about nothing else before you finally actually kissed me.”

“I swear I could have set the whole damn woods on fire because I was so frustrated by that fucking leaf. Took me so goddamn long to muster the courage to make a move and then it was thwarted by a goddamn maple leaf,” Eddie chuckled.

You giggled, before you went on, “The day we went hiking in the woods. When you tripped over that tree root.”

“So the happy memories ripping you from Vecna’s trance were simply a series of my most clumsy moments,” Eddie summed up playfully, “Good to know.” There was a beat of silence, before his expression turned serious again and he added, almost timidly, “So, uh. I’m – I’m in your happiest memories?”

Your own smile widened. “Actually, you’re the reason why they’re my happiest memories. Each and every single one of them.”

For once, Eddie Munson was speechless as he watched you with a mix of awe and bewilderment and love brimming in his eyes alongside a few happy tears as he whispered, “Focus on those, monster slayer. Focus on the happy.”

And when Eddie leaned close to place the softest of butterfly-kisses on your lips, resting his forehead against yours, your eyes fluttered close again.

With Eddie’s curls tickling your face and his palms warm against the back of your hands, wrapped around yours as you kept holding the candle, his scent engulfing you – of leather and sweat and cologne and the faintest trace of cigarettes and chocolate, you focused on all these happy memories. All the smiles, the lingering glances, the touches and kisses and laughs you’d shared with Eddie, gathering these images like pieces of your armor – before you reached out.

Towards that darkness nestled in your chest.

Not a stain, but something stolen.

Something powerful.

Something that now belonged to you. Yours to wield and command.

You could feel it stirring awake upon your beckon, a beast roused from its slumber raising its head, a tingle spreading through your body like the one you’d felt at the townhall, at the boathouse.

But this time, it was different.

This time, there was no danger, nobody threatening to hurt Eddie.

Eddie was right here, his warm, calm breaths prickling on your lips.

This time, you didn’t beg for that sliver of darkness to help you.

You were in control, that thing in your chest leashed and waiting. It was…alive, in its own strange way, you realized.

A stray beast, not a parasite, you reminded yourself, conjuring up the image.

With your mind you reached out, carefully, tentatively, towards that thing.

Are you on my side?, you wanted to ask.

You felt the strange darkness shifting, a shiver running through your entire being, and you felt Eddie’s hands squeezing yours in a gentle gesture of reassurance, as if he were sensing your distress. Telling you that he was right here. By your side.

He wouldn’t be, had it not been for that dark thing you’d stolen. He was right.

You saved him. It swirled, a sensation like ripples across the surface of a lake in the breeze. Will you help me save him again?

It was…waiting. For your command?

In your mind’s eye, you envisioned what you wanted.

Not the inferno of a Hellfire this time, but gentle flames, a soft flicker. Light, to chase away the growing darkness of nightfall, instead of fire to burn and devour.

You reached out for that darkness within, let it tangle around you like wisps of black mist, curious and…playful as it rose within you, ready to be wielded. Ready to heed your commands.

And command it, you did.

With Eddie’s dazzling smile and sparkling eyes, his infectious laughter and crooning voice in your mind, a leash of light holding that darkness within, you tugged.

Your breath hitched at the sensation, an electric tingle in your nerves – and your eyes flew open in time with Eddie’s, gazes locking on the candle in your hands.

On the small, dancing flame clinging to its wick between the two of you, its glow bright in the twilight of dusk.

You opened your mouth, but before you could utter the words of marvel at the tip of your tongue, something at the periphery of your vision caught your attention, a swarm of fireflies – only they weren’t fireflies.

They were flames. Dancing on the wicks of the candles Eddie had placed all around the clearing, a sea of flickering lights casting their golden glow to illuminate the dusk.

Eddie was the first one to break the bewildered silence, awe lacing his voice as he whispered, “Jesus H. Christ.”

Your incredulous smile met Eddie’s proud one, the light of the candle between the two of you dancing in his dark eyes.

“I did it,” you breathed. “I did it!”

“You fucking did it, yeah. Holy shit.” Incredulous laughter bubbled from Eddie as he turned around to face the sea of flickering candles shedding their golden light into the thickening darkness, before Eddie gently took the candle from your hands, blowing out the flame before he discarded it on the carpet of fallen leaves to cradle your cheeks and capture your lips in a kiss, as sweet and addictive as syrup.

The trigger for those powers…it had never been anger or rage or fear, you realized.

It had always been your love for Eddie, your desire to protect him.

Your hands flew up, weaving through his dark curls as you reciprocated the kiss, the fierceness of your touch making Eddie utter the sweetest of sighs as he pressed closer against you.

But the nightfall shrouding the woods like the mourning veil of a widow was the needle to burst this perfect, happy little bubble of Eddie’s kisses.

The twelve hours had almost run out.

There wasn’t much time left to convince Eddie to leave.

“I don’t want to go,” you whispered into the kiss. “I want to stay here in our spot with you forever. Just us. Just this.” Pulling away, just enough to glance at him, you began, “Eddie –“

“Ssshh,” he cut you off softly, before brushing the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, and the gesture was all it took to set your nerves ablaze with need for him all over again.

And whatever Eddie had seen flashing in your eyes at the touch, it was enough to read you like an open book.

“We still got a bit of time left, ya know,” he mused, his eyes briefly flitting to the skies above, the color of a fresh bruise between the leaves in the crowns of the trees surrounding you, and there was a timid, mischievous smile playing on his lips when he looked back at you. “We could make use of it.”

“We could.”

“Though…I dunno whether it’s a good idea. Here, I mean. Since…” He trailed off, desperate to find the right words for what you already knew he wanted to say.

“Eddie, stop,” you said softly, taking his hands to lead him towards the picnic table, “You need to stop thinking you’ll hurt me. You won’t. You’re not Jason, you’re the guy I love. If I ever feel uncomfortable with anything you do, I’ll just tell you. But I don’t think I ever will, okay? And if you’re wasting another second you could be kissing me –“

Your words morphed into a surprised little giggle as Eddie tugged you towards him with a little twirl before his lips crashed on yours for another one of those kisses you’d happily drown in for the rest of eternity.

“Say that again,” Eddie murmured into the kiss, his tongue flicking out to graze your bottom lip, fingertips travelling along your spine, eliciting shivers even through the barrier of your Hellfire shirt’s fabric.

“You’re the guy I love,” you whispered happily, pressing your chest flush against his as he deepened the kiss, your own hands finding purchase at the lapels of his leather jacket to drag him closer, knowing it would never be close enough.

He let you guide him as you walked backwards, pulling him with you. Putting you in control of the situation once again, you realized. The gesture made love wash through you, warm and giddy like a spring day.

You reached the picnic table, your lower back bumping against the wooden edge of the tabletop – but there was no flashback to that September night with Jason, no panic, no nausea, only blazing need for Eddie building in your core with his feverish kisses, the slow dance of his tongue over yours. He tasted of the Yoo-Hoo he’d drank, of himself; and his scent wrapping around you like a warm blanket to shield you from the cold was as intoxicating as the sensation of his lips moving against yours.

His hands dove underneath the hem of your cheerleader skirt, locking around the back of your thighs to guide you to sit on the tabletop, his lips leaving yours to trace lingering, feverish kisses along your jaw that made you arch into him even further when he came to stand between your legs, one of his knees resting on the bench of the picnic table – before he sat down in front of you.

But before you could pull him back up to continue the kiss, you realized he had other plans – and you happily obliged.

A pleasant chill skittered along your spine when Eddie’s fingertips traced your right ankle, letting his hands stroll higher while he bent to place trails of lingering kisses in the wake of his wandering hands. A trembling groan escaped your lips at the sensations cascading through your body when his slow caresses reached the inside of your thigh.

Eddie’s touches left your skin burning and tingling, making you yearn for more, that familiar ravenous sensation blazing to life in your core when the pad of Eddie’s thumb flicked over your clothed heat, the sodden spot on the fabric of your panties, before he gazed up at you, an incredulous smile on his face.

“That all for me?”, he breathed, and you chuckled, before weaving your fingers through the curls of his bangs, careful not to graze the cut on his brow in the process.

“Of course.” Your smile widening, you murmured, “You’ve no idea what you’re doing to me with a single kiss, Eddie Munson.”

“Well, now I do,” he grinned, placing a kiss on the inside of your thigh, your hips bucking against the pad of his thumb stroking over your clothed heat, desperate for more friction already, your sigh morphing into a little whine as he pulled his hand away to hook his thumbs around the waistband of your panties.

His dark eyes glittered as they met yours in a silent question for permission you happily granted, lifting your hips so he could pull off the panties, the fabric eliciting shivers as if brushed along your skin when he slid them down your legs – and instead of discarding them on the forest floor, Eddie tucked them into the pocket of his ripped jeans, a timid little smile playing on his lips.

The gesture made your walls clench in anticipation, but before you could comment on how hot it was, Eddie let his calloused palms wander over the insides of your thighs to spread them further for him made, stealing your words and making you go crazy with the need to feel him inside of you.

“I love the way I can read in your eyes the exact moment your mind wanders into the gutter,” Eddie murmured with a soft snicker, and your grip in his curls tightened a little as you teased, “It’s not wandering. At this rate, it’s plummeting into a deep-dive, and you’re the one who pushed me.”

“Gonna join you there now,” Eddie smiled up at you, blowing a stray curl away from his face. “You’re always fucking beautiful, but the Hellfire shirt on you holds a special spell over me, sweetheart.”

The low drawl of his dark voice, like velvet on your bare skin, sent another pleasant shiver slithering down your spine. Eddie’s fingertips grazed the sides of your legs as he hiked up the fabric of your cheerleader skirt – but when he leaned in to place a kiss to the spot right above your aching clit, you froze in place with realization of what he was about to do.

Immediately sensing your sudden change in demeanor, Eddie pulled away, his hands leaving their spot on your hips.

“What’s wrong?”, he inquired softly, his dark eyes scanning yours, worry shining within.

Heat flared in your cheeks as you bit your lip and glanced away, focusing on the green-white-orange lines at the hem of your skirt, your fingers fiddling with a loose thread before Eddie gently took your hands in his, lacing your fingers.

“It’s stupid, really,” you said.

“It isn’t,” Eddie murmured, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

He tilted his head, resting his chin on your knee while he glanced up at you, patiently waiting for your reply, the light of the candles dancing in his dark gaze.

You didn’t have any experience, prior to Eddie – but according to the girl talks with Nance and the things you’d overheard from the other cheerleaders, most guys didn’t like to go down on girls.

This was all still so new. And the last thing you wanted was for Eddie to be uncomfortable.

“Are you…I mean, are you sure you want to?”, you asked hesitantly, self-conscious all of a sudden, but Eddie’s gaze softened even more as he said, “Shit, yeah. I wanted to try that last night but…I was too chicken to ask. Believe me, getting you off is the hottest thing ever. Like, I’m probably gonna drop dead if you let me try, but it’ll have been worth it.”

You snickered, his words taking away some of your anxiety.

“You know there’s. Uh. There’s no need to be embarrassed or self-conscious or stuff, right? You’re beautiful, monster slayer. Every part of you. If you don’t wanna try it, say the word and I’ll stop. But if you wanna have a go at it, I’d be more than happy to make you feel good in all the ways I can.”

There were a few seconds of silence as you let his words sink in, gazes locked, the ache in your core growing at the sight of his dilated pupils, the way he was looking at you with so much love and admiration, as if for Eddie, you truly were the most beautiful girl in the world.

“Okay,” you breathed, giving him a slow nod, and he cocked an eyebrow.

“Okay?”, he echoed, “Or yes?”

“Yes,” you smiled.

Upon your words, Eddie’s smile widened, a little timid as his hands found their way back underneath your skirt, pushing the fabric up before he let his hands roam up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the caress a beautiful symphony of sensations; of the warm, calloused skin of Eddie’s palms, the smooth, warm metal of his rings, the cool brush of the little chain dangling on the sleeve of his leather jacket, leaving goosebumps and searing sparks in their wake.

You shifted a little on the tabletop to inch closer towards him, the rough wooden surface scraping against the back of your thighs where the fabric of your skirt had ridden up, your heart racing wildly in your chest.

Eddie’s umber eyes never leaving yours, scanning you for any sign of unease, Eddie slowly bent down, placing a soft, lingering kiss on the inside of your left thigh, right above your knee, and a second kiss right above that spot, his lips wandering higher, slow enough to give you the chance to stop him.

But despite the residual self-consciousness, you didn’t want him to stop.

You never wanted him to stop.

Each of those lingering, open-mouthed kisses was gasoline to the fire he was building in your core, leaping higher and higher the closer he drew to that aching spot between your legs where you needed him most, your thighs already coated with your arousal and your hips bucking a little as you shuffled closer to the edge of the tabletop, closer to him – and his smile grew wider as, those beautiful umber eyes never leaving yours, Eddie dragged his tongue over your folds.

The sensation of it was setting your every nerve ablaze, sent sparks travelling through your body to collect in your core as a breathless, “Holy shit,” tumbled from your lips.

“You taste so good,” Eddie moaned, the lilting timbre of his voice raspy with his own arousal, vibrating so beautifully through your body, and the sensation of his hot breath ghosting over your soaked folds made your toes curl with need.

“Do that again,” you pleaded, breathless already with the last of your worries momentarily replaced by white-hot bliss, and Eddie gladly heeded the plea, one of your hands clutching the edge of the tabletop for purchase as the other found its way back into Eddie’s soft curls to pull him closer against you as he dragged his tongue over your pussy, so achingly slow, as if he wanted to relish the way your arousal tasted on his tongue while his hands locked around your thighs to pull you closer against him.

The sight of Eddie, settled between your legs, his eyes dark with desire as he watched you with burning intensity, was nearly enough to send you over the edge already.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispered, his lips brushing over the swollen nub of your clit to create the softest touch, making your eyes fall shut with the sensation as you begged, “Oh god, please stop teasing.”

Eddie’s low chuckle seemed to vibrate right through you – and you couldn’t bite back the noise lodged at the back of your throat any longer as his lips found the nub of your clit, gently sucking.

Your lewd moan filled the silence of the evening air, spurning him on, and his tongue darted out to swirl around your clit, your hips grinding against his face to chase the sensation. With another soft chuckle, he locked his hands around your knees and pulled, inviting you to hook your legs around his shoulders.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you groaned as he lapped at your arousal, dragging his tongue through your folds for a third time before he let it flick over your clit again, making you cry out with the pleasure blazing through you with the force of a wildfire.

You’d never get enough of this.

Of him.

Eddie’s dark curls tickled the insides of your thighs as he moved his head, making your skin prickle as the swirls of his tongue, still so achingly slow, turned the world into a blur of colors at the edges of your perception as your each and every sense, every cell in your body, zoned in on Eddie like the focus of a camera.

You could feel how close you were already, your climax building with every skilled stroke and flick of his tongue, his own soft moans vibrating through your core to lace with yours in the chill air, and your grip in his curls tightened to pull him closer still as your hips rolled languidly against his mouth.

You could feel him smile when Eddie wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently – and the sensation pushed you over the edge, your climax crashing over you as his name left your lips on a cry probably loud enough to be heard throughout the entire woods, but you couldn’t care less right now.

Your head rolled back as your orgasm washed through you, hips grinding against Eddie’s lips to chase that beautiful sensation as he hummed softly, guiding you through your orgasm with soft swirls of his tongue as your pace faltered, and he placed a final kiss on your clit, before he gazed up at you.

His lips glistening with your arousal, his curls a tousled mess beneath your grip as if he’d been caught in a hurricane, and his grin was nothing short of blissed-out to match the dusting of a blush on his pale cheeks and the burning need glittering in his eyes alongside the reflection of the flickering candlelight.

“All good?”, he grinned, watching your chest heave.

“Holy shit, yes,” you laughed breathlessly, your body tingling with the afterglow of your climax, walls clenching around nothing with the sight of him gazing up at you from between your legs, the gentle expression in his beautiful umber eyes never wavering while he entangled himself from your legs to rise to his feet in front of you, lips capturing yours in a feverish kiss that made you go wild all over again at the taste of yourself on his lips.

“Was – was it good for you, too?”, you breathed, but the sudden worry in your chest was chased away by the radiant smile Eddie gave you in response.

“You really need to ask?”, he chuckled, sounding genuinely incredulous, “Fuck, sweetheart, that was the hottest thing ever. When we’re out of there tonight, I’m never gonna do anything else. That’s it. Just making you go off on my tongue for the rest of life.”

The rest of my life.

The words were a needle piercing the happy little soap bubble you’d allowed yourself to be locked in with Eddie for those past few moments, and the realization of what lay ahead tonight, the images Vecna had placed in your mind night after night, in the trance he’d pulled you under…it came pouncing down on you like a swarm of those horrid bats.

And with it came the terror and the tears.

“I’m so fucking scared,” you whispered.

“Sssshh,” Eddie soothed, cupping your cheeks, “I know. Me too. But it’s gonna be okay.”

“How do you know?”, you cried softly.

His dark eyes scanned yours, before a strained little smile tugged at his lips. “’Cause ’86 is gonna be our year, monster slayer. I just know it. It’s all gonna be okay. I can feel it.”

It’s not. It’s not going to work out.

Eddie rested his forehead against yours, his thumb catching more of the tears you’d fought so hard to suppress, falling down your face like rivulets of rain as your insides felt as if you were being torn apart with terror, the overpowering fear to lose him.

That Vecna could take him away from you.

“You can still run,” you whispered. “You can take the camper and leave. It’s not too late.”

“I can’t. I’m gonna help stop him before he hurts you more than he already has. I’m gonna make him pay for the hell he put you through, monster slayer. You gotta let me do this.”

“He wants you, Eddie. Not the others. You.”

“Well, I’m not gonna let him get me.”

“That’s not enough!”, you sobbed, burying your face in the crook of his neck, his curls tickling your tear-stained cheeks as he held you.

“I can,” Eddie murmured. His fingertips were drawing soothing circles on your back. “Look at me. Please.”

You pulled back to heed his plea, your heart squeezing in your chest as you met his gaze.

“I love you, sweetheart. You found me at the boathouse. When I was trapped in the Upside Down. You found your way back to me through Vecna’s curse. That’s what we do, right? We find each other. Again and again. Even if we’re worlds apart from one another. There’s nothing that can keep us apart. I’ll always, always come back to you, monster slayer. I promise.”

His words still floating in the space between the two of you, Eddie reached up to the back of his neck, and you watched as he pulled his necklace over his head, the smooth plastic surface of the guitar pick dangling from the chain shimmering in the dancing light of the candles.

“That was the first guitar pick I ever had, did you know that? With that thing, I learned to play guitar,” Eddie said softly as he looked at the guitar pick nestled in his palm, his expression soft and far away at the memory he was sharing. “It was a shitty old acoustic guitar my uncle got from a yard sale. The guitar pick was part of the package. It’s been my lucky charm ever since and I guess it worked because I’m here, with the girl of my dreams who, for some weird reason, loves me back.”

With a chuckle, Eddie’s eyes met yours, and your own eyes widened as gently placed the necklace over your head, the metal of the chain warm with his own body heat as it came to rest against your skin, and you watched the pattern of dancing shadows the candlelight cast across his handsome face as Eddie’s eyes flitted down while righted the guitar pick around your neck, the light painting the tips of his long dark lashes in hues of gold.

“There,” he whispered, “Keep this safe for me, ‘kay?”

It sounded…sad.

It sounded like a farewell.

Fresh tears were spilling down your face as a frail, broken sob ripped away from you. Right out of your heart, the shards only just mended.

If Vecna took Eddie and broke it again, there would never be a way to put the pieces back together. “Why are you saying goodbye?” It was a broken sob, the words barely piercing the silence of the young spring night.

“I’m not,” Eddie soothed quickly, “I – shit, I’m not saying goodbye. Promise. Just for safekeeping. You’ll give it back as soon as we’re out of that shithole tomorrow. Okay?”

You gave him a frail little nod, the words choked by your tears as a though sparked in your mind. With trembling hands, you reached up, to the silk ribbon holding your hair.

You tucked, pulling it loose.

“Remember the day we met?”, you choked, “In the cafeteria?”

“Jell-O-gate,” Eddie snickered, “’course. You know I do. It was the day I practically fall for you.”

You sniffled, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady your voice. “I fell a little for you, too. That day. You were so…different. I thought you were beautiful.”

Eddie’s eyes widened in disbelief as he watched you, your fingers tracing the soft green silk of the ribbon in your palm.

“You did?”

You smiled at him through the tears. “Still do, but yeah. I couldn’t get you out of my mind, either. I was always scanning the crowds to get a glimpse at you, you know.”

With a trembling exhale, you held the silk ribbon between your hands. The edges were a little frayed, the vibrant color a little faded in places where it had lain on the ground of these very woods until someone, maybe even Jason, had picked it up, used it to deliver the threat for Eddie to you – but you didn’t care. This ribbon had always been a lucky charm, from the moment Nancy and Barb had given it to you that day in the cafeteria right before you’d met Eddie.

Hadn’t it fallen from your hair that day, you’d never have bumped into Eddie. Would never have had those few heartbeats of a shared smile, getting lost in his beautiful eyes.

And just like Eddie, this ribbon had always found its way back to you.

“Is – wait, is that the ribbon you lost that day in the cafeteria?” Eddie asked, watching as you gently tied the silk around his wrist, right above the metal bracelet glittering in the candlelight.

“Yes,” you smiled, tying the ends into a ribbon, “It is. Now you got something from me, too. Don’t lose it, Munson. Else, I’m gonna keep the necklace.” Your face grew serious again when you added on a whisper, “This ribbon always made it back to me. Now that you have it…so will you.”

You could see the tears brimming in Eddie’s own eyes as he nodded, swallowing against the lump in his throat as he watched you raise his hand to your lips, turning it to place a delicate kiss on the inside of his wrist, your lips brushing his pulse point, and a second kiss on the silken green fabric of the ribbon, vibrant against Eddie pale skin.

Bring him back to me, you silently pleaded. Be my lucky charm one more time.

You couldn’t remember who crossed the remaining few inches first, and it didn’t matter. All that mattered were Eddie’s lips on yours, gentle and sweet and desperate, laced with so many emotions mirroring those churning in your own heart.

Love. Fear.

Hope.

His hands found their way back to your cheeks, his tongue to yours, and you sunk into the kisses, the tears continuing to stream down your face to mingle with Eddie’s and lace his kisses with the taste of salt.

Your fingers flitted down, working the buckle of his belt open, his own hands shooting out to help free him of his pants, and you pulled away from the kiss to watch him as your hand gently wrapped around his hardened length, your thumb brushing over the underside of his tip, relishing the way his lips parted for the softest groan, his heavy-lidded gaze resting on yours.

“Sweetheart, you’re crying -” he whispered, his breath hitching as you repeated the motion of your thumb.

“I need to feel you,” you breathed. “Please.” Your voice was barely a whisper in the space between the two of you, ragged breaths mingling as Eddie’s hand settled on the back of your head, his forehead still resting against yours.

You wanted to stay in this moment, to feel him, relish every single second you had left before he’d follow you into the darkness of the Upside Down. To catch those final moments, lock them up like the glittering flakes in a snow globe and keep them behind polished glass, frozen in time. Safe and sound, forever.

For Eddie’s kisses to chase away the panic and the terror of what lay ahead, your all-consuming fear to lose him tonight.

You locked your legs around his waist, the fabric of ripped jeans rubbing against the bare skin of your legs as you gyrated your hips against him, and the sensation of his tip grazing against your heat, slick with your arousal, stole the loveliest groan from Eddie’s lips.

And gazes locked and overflowing with so much adoration and love, it felt as if you could feel the threads connecting your soul with his, like strings of silk wrapped around your hearts and binding you to each other, making your paths cross over and over again like twin stars bound in each other’s orbit by their own gravity.

The air was knocked from your lungs with a sharp exhale when Eddie moved his hips and sheathed himself inside you, your velvet walls stretching around him as he filled you, bodies melting together.

You could tell he wanted to wait for you to adjust to him, so careful and gentle with you even in a moment when passion despair ruled out every other thought.

With Eddie’s chest pressed flush against yours, you couldn’t tell where his own heartbeat ended and yours began until they felt like becoming one, their beats were forming a beautiful duet alongside your shared moans tangling in the cool spring air as you moved you dug your heels into his lower back to bring him closer still, bury him deeper inside your walls.

For a few heartbeats, you just stayed like this, with your foreheads pressed together, his curls tickling your face and breathing in each other’s scent, the physical connection matching the one between your hearts, your bodies fitting just as perfectly.

When you angled your head and your lips found Eddie’s, quiet understanding passing between the two of you, he began to move, pushing out slowly before he thrust into you again. You fought for your eyes to stay open, locked on Eddie’s, the light of the candles dancing in the darkness of his dilated pupils, a kaleidoscope of warmth and love and tenderness that could never be fully put into words brimming in those beautiful umber eyes as Eddie held your gaze.

A strangled moan tumbled from your lips as his tip grazed the sweet spot deep within your walls, sending pleasure spreading through your body in glowing hot currents. And as if a scale had been tipped, Eddie’s grasp on your lower back tightened a little more, as he guided your hips against him, his thrusts matching the roll of your hips perfectly. You drew a sharp breath when he sucked at your bottom lip – gently enough so he wouldn’t hurt you, a love bite that made your bliss-addled mind spin like a carousel as your hands wove in his curls, so soft to your touch, tangling around your fingers when you tugged him closer.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Eddie breathed between kisses, his hand sliding down between your bodies, fingertips brushing over the swollen bud of your clit to send searing pleasure through your veins and make your body hum with electricity, as if every single nerve in your body to the very tips of your fingers raking through his curls was sizzling with tiny sparks, and you could feel his smile against your lips when you arched further into the touch with a broken moan.

“I can’t believe you came back to me, monster slayer. I can’t believe you love me.”

“I do,” you whispered, voice strained with the moan you were biting back in order for the words to find their way into the air, your own laboured breaths mingling with Eddie’s, his caresses of your clit growing more urgent with the quickening paces of his thrusts, grazing the spot inside of you over and over again to build the glowing sensation in your core. “I love you, Eddie.”

Please don’t let him. Please don’t let him take you away from me.

With his name leaving your parted lips in a broken cry swallowed by his greedy kisses, your climax washed over you. Torrents of pure bliss engulfing you as the glowing feeling which had built in your core cascaded through every last cell of your body like radiant, blinding-white sunlight, and little shooting stars danced in your vision as you could feel Eddie’s pace faltering, toppling over the edge of his own climax alongside you, his voice shattering beneath the blissed-out moan tumbling from his soft lips.

Your head fell on his shoulder as you rode out your orgasm with him, clinging to each other.

“I love you, monster slayer” Eddie whispered on a string of broken moans as he came undone inside of you with a final gentle thrust, his words making your heart sing, “It’s always been you.”

For a few heartbeats the two of you stayed like this, trying to catch your ragged breaths, your legs still hooked around his waist to hold him close against you, to just feel him inside you for a few moments longer, breathing in each other, hearts racing and minds dazed with the remnants of the bliss you’d just shared.

“When this is all over,” Eddie whispered, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. “I’m gonna take you to prom. I mean, if you wanna go, that is. I’d love to be all sappy and cheesy and take you to prom. I’ll give you one of these little flower-bracelets and take you out for dinner first. Or milkshakes. Or both. Gotta treat my girl,” he chuckled softly. “Dance with you all night, twirl you around in whatever dress you’ll pick which doesn’t matter ‘cause you could attend in your pajamas and you’d still be the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“We’d probably create a bit of a commotion,” you smiled, nuzzling your nose against his, your fingers playing with the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

“Would you be okay with that?”, Eddie asked, a little shy of a sudden before the beam you gave him in reply chased the little frown of worry from his beautiful features.

“I told you I’d wear my Hellfire shirt proudly. I wasn’t joking, Eddie. When this is over, I can’t wait to show the world that I’m Eddie Munson’s girl. That you’re the one who stole my heart.”

“Not stole,” Eddie whispered, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose, “Won. Stealing means it doesn’t actually belong to you, but winning means it’s been given freely. That it was a choice. So…you’re gonna go to prom with me?”

There was a beat of silence, filled only by the thudding of Eddie’s heart against your own, entangled with each other, before you murmured, “That sounds like a Go-Directly-To-Jail-Card, Eddie. You’ll still be wanted for murder.”

“We’ll find a way to make the cops believe me.”

“The whole of Hawkins wants to see you burn at the stake.”

Eddie huffed. “I don’t care about them. I’m gonna take my girl to prom.”

“And then?”, you smiled.

He chuckled softly. “Then I’ll very gently rip whatever pretty dress you’re wearing right away from you as soon as we’re alone again and put my tongue to good use. And then…I’m gonna take you wherever you wanna go.”

“But where do you want to go?”, you breathed. “I mean, if you could pick a destination right now?”

“Wherever you are, monster slayer. So…where do you wanna go first? Where did you always want to visit? Hadn’t all the monster shit happened?”

“The beach.” You’d never thought about it – but as soon as the words were out, you realized how much you wanted to go to the beach. “Swim in the ocean, walk through the warm sand. Listen to the waves. I think I’d love to go somewhere where there’s a beach with you.”

Eddie’s smile was radiant. “Then I’ll take you to the beach, monster slayer. I promise.”

***

The moment was over too soon.

You drove the camper back to the little hill to gather the others.

You put on the combat vests and pants and boots you’d grabbed from the War Zone.

You shouldered your makeshift-weapons.

And when you stood underneath the gate in Eddie’s trailer, its angry crimson glow like an infected wound a second pulse alongside your own, the powers which had once belonged to Vecna now nestling against your own soul, watching your friends climb the makeshift rope to the other side, Eddie squeezed your hand in his.

When the two of you were the last ones left to climb through, you whispered, “You can still run, you know. They’ll understand. They know he wants to kill you.”

“I’m gonna make him pay,” Eddie said softly. “I’m gonna make sure this fucker will never be able to lay a single finger on you again, monster slayer.”

He turned to face you, and his umber eyes found yours.

He looked beautiful. He looked like a warrior.

Like the hero he was.

His dark curls peeked out from underneath the fabric of the bandana he’d tied around his head, the crimson glow of the gate casting shadows across his pale features, making his eyes shimmer. Your gaze flitted down to the red demon face of his Hellfire shirt grinning back at you from beneath the combat vest and leather jacket. As an afterthought, you reached out, your fingertips fiddling to zip the combat vest up.

“You’re ruining my look,” Eddie teased, but his grin slipped at the sight of your own stern expression.

“That zipper,” you said vehemently, leaving no room for doubt that you were being serious, “Stays closed. Do you hear me, Edward Munson?”

“Are you two going to join us today?”, Steve called out from the other side of the gate, breaking the moment, the promise still out in the open, and Eddie bent down to pick up the makeshift shield he’d made with rusty nails and the lid of a trashcan, before he grasped your hand, his eyes never leaving yours while he placed a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“See you on the other side, monster slayer.”

***

At the edge of Hawkins, there was a house.

The once vibrant blue paint was peeling away from its wooden façade, tar-black creepers climbing its walls, wrapping around the pillars framing the front door with its bouquet of crimson stained-glass roses.

It had once been a home.

It still was. The home to a monster – but a home, no less.

It wasn’t far from the Forest Hills trailer park, embedded in a patch of woods, the naked branches of the trees surrounding the little hill reaching towards the clouds in the skies, crimson flashes of lightning making them look like skeletal hands reaching up from graves as flurries of white spores drifted through the icy air.

It was calm, the place frozen in time – until something changed.

It was a small change, a ripple travelling through the air like a breeze stirring the surface of a pond.

The vines curling around the rotting pillars flanking the front door could sense it, vibrating with the sensation as a chorus of shrieks pierced the air, the sea of bats flitting in circles around the house growing restless with the sensation.

Hungry.

And in the old house’s attic, hovering amidst the tangle of his vines like a spider in its web…Vecna woke.

Forget-me-not blue eyes flying open at the ripple travelling to this realm, his realm, so beautifully frozen in time.

It felt like a sigh. A relieved sigh, of a missing part of himself returning home at last.

They were here.

For the first time in decades, his rotten lips curved into a smile.

He couldn’t hurt the girl who’d banished him here.

But he could hurt the girl who’d stolen from him.

And hurt her, he would.

Get back what was his.

And take her songbird away.

Because nobody stole from him and walked away unscathed.