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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 3 months

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the counterpart

chapter 2 — if you’ve a lesson to teach me — i’m listening, ready to learn

pairing: viktor x fem!reader (no use of y/n, as usual)

word count: 3,7k

rating: explicit

cw: chess games stuffed full of sexual tension are finally HERE, viktor humbles reader (elegantly), reader is a smoker (it’s a modern 90s au, of course her lungs are cooked), mentions of blood and some nail biting injuries (reader has an anxious nail-biting problem). people who are good at chess and english: please come smack me if i wrote something ridiculous, since both of these are mostly self-taught. thank you.

ao3 link

part 3

—

Pop-quiz: what’s the quickest, stupidest, pathetically embarrassing to the point of biting off the nail on your pinky finger way of responding to White’s 1.e4 if your opponent is terrifyingly experienced?

Your teeth closed around the poor claw, nervously reducing it to a thin, fragile little husk, then yanking angrily at the tip of it with a neurotic little squint; eyelids twitching instinctively as it ripped all the way off to the very base of your nail fold.

The consequences of your risky Sicilian were staring at you demeaningly right from the board, sharply invading the retinas of each devastated eye with the misery of your predicament. Made you lick the creased corner of each dry lip with an alarmed shudder, wondering silently if your tiny act of autocannibalism passed more as a cry for help, or as a lamentable, hopefully lethal way out of the stalemate.

But you didn’t have the time to eat yourself alive with that miniscule of a nibble. The clock was ticking ruthlessly — no, but actually, what were you even thinking? Pulling such a stunt; utterly hopeless in front of your unpredictable rival.

So you stared — intimidated and crushed — right at your now queenless, unsolvable quandary; not brave enough to raise your drawn to the board gaze, knowing damn well that if you do — the copper orbs will swallow you whole with the very chair your competitive ass is nailed to.

But that’s precisely what you deserved. Some good, merciless spanking — but not for that lovely, inquisitive rear of yours. Oh no, your ego was the infamous asset on the receiving end of it.

And it made you feel so fucking stupid. Had you muttering a heated curse against the clenched cage of teeth — an angry scold for ever considering the events of the night you met him fruitful.

‘I shall bring the clocks.’

It’s funny how something as crucially significant can slip one’s mind like it was never even in there. You spent the rest of the week by the board, lazily rewinding Tal’s 1976 matches, with an occasional attack of positive nervousness. Crawling out of bed only to fetch a can of deliciously cool sparkling something, or to jump imperiously onto the windowsill, stretching each bare leg out under the cruel sunshine — so hot you could just hold your cigarette up in the air to light it. Your mind would wander back to Viktor — but not frequently. Only when you’d lay sprawled out on the sheets, haphazardly dropping the ashes into the flexure of them, musing dreamily about what opening you should play. Or when you’d fidget mindlessly with a rook or a bishop, spinning it slowly between each finger as you pondered silently who gets to play White in the very first game. Or — but this one was more of a guilty pleasure, actually — when you’d imagine that handsome face of his in deep astonishment, one brow cocking upwards as he would witness his own omission.

‘I shall bring the clocks.’

You’ve played with them before — and quite occasionally, to be frank. Back in the day you were quite the familiar face at every youth chess tournament — until it all came crashing down with college applications, forcing you to put the fervent passion aside. You were still mourning those peaceful years: no responsibilities, just playing chess and consuming books, feeding the insatiable mind with whatever meals you could grab from the library’s shelves.

And now here you were — wrapped up in missed assignments and a million academic burdens, hating your major with a passion more burning than the one you felt towards the board and those pretty sixteen pieces.

The arrangement Viktor offered you felt like a warm embrace you jumped into with no hesitation, eager to escape your desperate, chess-starved state.

But that endlessly slow Friday morning you’d run out of cigarettes. Groaning exasperatedly into the racket of damp from the overnight sweat pillows, you crawled out of bed, preliminarily throwing the empty box of tobacco treats into the darkest corner of your apartment — where the infernal July sun doesn’t shine.

Putting on your second skin made of restraining fabric felt like pure torture — and as much as you’d love to walk under that shining ball bare to escape an overheated death, the people outside would most likely not appreciate the bold gesture. Especially your new opponent; though if Jayce didn’t lie about him only having eyes for one queen — an inanimate, tiny and wooden one — the possibilities of Viktor even noticing your nude form were practically non-existent.

You slipped thoughtlessly into whatever relatively decent pair of pants plastered across the obscene clutter on the floor, swearing copiously as a bare foot stepped into something liquid and sticky — the remnants of your late night coffee-break, a dark quagmire staining the carpet. Now petulant, you made it furiously to the bathroom — to turn the combed hair into something acceptable, or, rather, something less revolting. Looking like a mad genius — which suited you partially, since you only deemed the former word relatable — you left the dorm in redundant rush, a chess board tucked firmly under your armpit.

It was still somewhat early for your rivalry little date: surprisingly enough, you grabbed a humble breakfast, restocked the nicotine supplies and even fed on them urgently and so very greedily in the soothing silence of a nearby park — and that still didn’t bring noon any closer, leaving you twenty endless minutes ahead of the arranged hour and negatively impatient.

Fuck it. Punctuality is certainly not a vice — and since your expertise in the field was impeccable, you were headed to the library shortly after failing to find that trait among the endless list of your actually contentious ones. Besides, your college always remains unaffected by the heat — it’s better to endure the waiting inside its comfortingly cool walls, instead of letting the vile season fry your last brain cells outside.

The quiet book shrine greeted you a tad bit too dryly. You passed the ever depleted librarian, trading a rushed, yet polite nod for her pretentious sigh, marking it the worst deal of the morning in your mental little planner. Eager to escape her tortuously meticulous eyes, you vanished into the labyrinth of shelves, humming a silly tune as your fingers ran over the row of books, searching for a decent one to occupy yourself with until Viktor shows up.

“Hm, ‘Introduction to Quantum Mechanics’, is it?” someone — you knew exactly who — whispered a gentle reproach precisely above your ear, almost wheezing it into your freshly untangled hair. Technically, freshly untangled just to see him — but you didn’t entertain that thought any further. A synevy hand, armed with a set of impressively long fingers, was laid atop the book your touch lingered on, teasing you with a fleeting knuckle brush.

“Excuse me?” you maneuvered with a subtle chuckle, spotting a spike of chestnut curls invading the corners of your peripheral vision. The man was sneaky and utterly undefeatable in that capacity — a calm, charming serpent, the one who comes and goes whenever he pleases.

His cane tapped against the floor with a dull thump.

“A truly peculiar subject,” Viktor observed, stroking a sturdy little spine of the manuscript before you. It had, indeed, taken you long enough to notice the cover your fingertips chose to stop at.

“I suppose so,” you mumbled, secretly admiring the shy intercourse your hands shared on top of a dusty book, watching him extract the ‘Introduction’ out of its secure slot on the shelf, then turned around to face your all too familiar intervention. Voluntarily crawling under the handsome obstacle of his shoulders, letting them block the exit as you leaned against the stand filled with other ‘quantum’ shenanigans.

“A woman of many talents, are you?” he cocked a bushy brow up, half-lidded gaze inscribing into your memory. Made your breath hitch somewhat cowardly at the proximity, and the amber in each sharp eye twitched, landing on your stilled expression.

“Perhaps,” you shrugged — a pathetic attempt at regaining some composure, “quantum mechanics is not one of them though.”

Viktor hummed, putting the book away with an understanding sigh.

“A pity,” he chuckled, chapped lips protruding into a pensive pout, “I’m yet to find other common grounds between us, then.”

“Don’t you think that’s unnecessary?” you queried, fingers drumming a light rhythm against the still nestled in your arm chess board, eager to turn it into your personal battlefield. “You’re not here to befriend me, Viktor.” “I would much prefer to make your acquaintance before we take it to the board,” he objected, flawless in his logic, “getting to know your opponent is… well, profitable. You might find their weaknesses while performing this so-called interest-autopsy.”

“Oh, are you a mortician now?” it came out unexpectedly bold — almost unnecessary flirtatious considering the context, but the comment seemed to humor him just fine, and he smiled, returning the shrug you offered him earlier.

“Eh, in a way,” he budged, filling the air with raspy laughter as his hand squeezed the handle of his cane.

“I see,” you nodded, watching him squirm oh so courteously in your powerful, grabby hands. At least that’s how it felt like to finally move him around — a treatment suited for a little pawn: relentless and hasty.

So you decided to push it further. A cheeky creature — you smirked, preparing for the much riskier next remark, had him humming inquisitively in pent up anticipation.

“A man of many talents, are you?”

Well, would you look at that. Check, and an immediate, flawlessly smooth mate, Viktor.

Except he didn’t get it. Dropped the tactful smile and surrendered to the panic, glaring at you like a boy who’d just experienced being flirted with for the first time in his life. As if he was utterly oblivious to your random little advances, staying there all wide-eyed and confused to the bone.

Viktor retreated. Turned around with a sharp sigh, inviting you to follow his lead with an adorable little gesture — as if challenging ou to have your way with him on the board now. His choice of a sparring room was obvious: you both walked into the reading hall at a slothful pace, simultaneously spotting a distant desk by the window, then exchanging shy, confirming nods before sitting down at it.

‘I shall bring the clocks.’

Your triumph was ruthlessly murdered by those infamous timers, of whose existence you’d so inconsequentially forgotten this very morning. You stared at them — puzzled and deservedly bitter, failing to notice a chair Viktor had obligingly moved out for you beforehand. Not so certain in your flawless victory anymore, you mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ and settled into the seat, softly placing the board on the table. Your opponent followed suit, crossing his lanky legs in a clumsy manner, haphazardly kissing the nose of your loafer with the evidently polished leather of his shoe, leaving a fresh smear behind.

“Sorry,” he blurted out, rushing to set up the pieces for you — an efficient gentleman, pretty hands not only a sight to behold, but also the nimblest of instruments. Had you laughing softly at his distinguished haste, head tilting to rest on the back of your palm.

“Don’t worry about it,” you protested, brushing him off with a careless shrug. “Are we doing the standard?”

“Ninety minutes for the first forty, yes,” Viktor confirmed, placing one last piece in its place. “Though by the looks of it: I’m certain I won’t need that many moves nor minutes to defeat you.”

“Are you bluffing to scare me away?” you teased, perfectly aware of just how wholeheartedly he meant that. Cocky or not — he really was talented. You’ve asked around. You had your ways. You knew you had a champion sitting before you. Setting up your board. Blushing awkwardly at your cruel flirtations.

“Of course not,” he objected, nonchalant. “I am merely making an observation. You look terrified of that clock. It was only natural for me to assume you’re not familiar with time limits.”

You huffed out a scoff, displeased with his sharp attentiveness. Merely making an observation. Does he always talk like a sophisticated professor?

He wasn’t exactly wrong though. You decided to allow him at least that mercy.

“It’s been a while since I played in a tournament,” you reluctantly admitted, lazily leaning back in your chair. “So yes, I haven’t dealt with clocks in a fat minute. But it’s nothing I can’t endure. Especially since you were kind enough to offer me the first move.”

Viktor didn’t get it either. His brow formed a perplexed arc, eyes abandoned their thorough examination of your face and flew instantly to the board, mouth dropped open to let out a gasp as he noticed that every single white piece was lined up on your side.

“Oh, how foolish of me,” he excused himself with a sheepish smile, scooping up a pair of pawns from their squares. You watched your potential advantage get swapped a few tortuous times, cursing the fuck out of whatever stupid call tearing that last cheeky remark off your tongue. You already knew it was far too long for your own good — but now the hatred was burning with a particularly lively enthusiasm.

You could have played White first if only you didn’t make him notice.

He could have let it slide.

Your pupils kept jumping between his fists, scared of leaning too much onto your rotten crutch of an intuition.

“Please, pick faster,” Viktor muttered, “sadly, I only have a few hours to indulge you with.”

With a grunt, you gave up the pitiful attempt of finding the white pawn through the gaps between his fingers. You didn’t even squint when the hand you nodded at unraveled before you, black glistening in it with glorious mockery.

Whatever, you hissed, coming to terms with your self-made quandary. Surely, you can beat him even without this little privilege.

You switched places with Viktor, the hostility on your physiognomy so ostentatious it had him dropping an apologetic chuckle. He was now facing you from the other side of the desk, hands tucked under the sharp chin in tacit anticipation.

Viktor started his timer. Grazed the button with the softest of taps, then rubbed a few fingers against the pad of his thumb — picking out your poison with a meditative hum. Reducing you to a tense, sweaty disaster in an instant, made you shake on the very edge of your seat.

His first move was so… predictable. White 1e4 is a classic. An axiom, if you will. A thing you were least expecting from this mystery of a man — wasn’t he supposed to destroy you with a more complex, niche opening? You froze, looking him persistently in the copper eyes. As if silently contemplating his decision, waiting for him to be absolutely certain.

But he pressed the button again, letting you shoot your reciprocal shot. Still wholeheartedly convinced it’s a trap, you timidly moved your pawn to c5. For better or for worse.

The first handful of moves felt quite… tasteless. You decided to be the pioneer: swallowed his d4 pawn and watched him mimic you shortly after — except he went for it with a preliminary prepared knight. Your boldness was nothing but an empty threat to him.

“Greedy much?” you needled with a vicious smile, moving to use your own knight in a frantic rush — turning it into a figurative shield from his sly tricks.

“You can’t win without sacrificing a piece or two,” he replied, taunting you with a crooked half-smirk. Moving his other knight to c3. Sneaky bastard.

“A piece or two?” you laughed, baring your teeth for him to witness your precious derision. No doubt imagining how he’d look with your fingers digging into his throat. “I plan to take much more than that.”

“Take whatever you want,” Viktor replied, too wrapped up in studying the board to pay any mind to your bragging. “Take all my pawns if you have to. I don’t need them to put you in a stalemate.”

You loved the quarrel while it lasted. Both on the board and whatever this sexy verbal bile-spitting was: you’d run away from him by hiding your king behind the bishop, he’d chase you with the peculiar positions of his pieces. It’s like he didn’t know what he was doing: forming a tiny row of pawns, covering the queen with both of his bishops, letting the knights remain still — evidently baiting you to attack, yet still keeping a respectable distance. The actual problem occurred much later though. After a heated session of running around you were done with him. It was pushing past your twentieth move — and Viktor still had almost all his pawns thrown around the place, with only a few substantial pieces missing. This eye for an eye situation — despite looking quite counterpart-ish — still didn’t entertain you as much as you predicted. He took your bishop — you got rid of his shortly after. He chewed your knight up — you were paying him right back.

But it wasn’t enough. You wanted it all, and that included his king lying lifeless on that damned board in an old-fashioned way of resigning.

You decided to go for the bishop’s pair. It seemed logical: the piece was asking for it, standing so dangerously close to your powerful d7 knight. You consumed it without hesitation: had Viktor whistling out an amused little sound, appeasing you with what you believed was a sign of regret.

And a sign of regret it was. However, not to mourn his bishop. But you were too drunk on your freshly annexed trophy to notice the complete lack of defense around your abandoned d5 queen.

Of course: knowing what you know now, you would’ve never let that happen. That game turned you into a changed woman: you’d analyze it countless times months down the line, memorizing each tiny detail. Smacking yourself with a mental whip for even allowing him such an opportunity in the first place.

But that day, he took your careless offer and slayed the royalty. At first, you thought your vision was betraying you from looking at the chequered space for too long. But oh well — he still had one rook, and carefully moved it precisely one square forward, prying your precious omnipotent piece with one subtle movement. And only when it was gone were you able to comprehend the damages. You watched him throw your queen into the pile by his elbow — a makeshift bed for all the fallen soldiers he took from you.

That’s how you lost your nail.

“Fuck,” you groaned, squeezing that poor finger between the hard press of your teeth.

Viktor simply snickered. As if he didn’t just disarm you, guaranteeing himself an easy checkmate.

“A bit too harsh of a word to describe your predicament, don’t you think?” he provoked, gently nudging you towards the already rushing you with its ticking clock. “Surely, you can get out of this.”

“No,” you disputed, feeling the thick metal taste invading the cavity of your mouth. “No, I can’t get out of this. Technically, I already lost.”

“There you are: jumping into conclusions again. I can think of a few ways we could turn this into a draw–“ but he didn’t finish. Something got in his way —just like a sharp fish bone stuck in one’s throat; he even sounded choked up and hoarse, eyes widening with a petrified little gasp.

The way your name rolled off his trembling tongue insisted that his fright was targeted towards you.

“You’re bleeding,” he uttered — a nervous constatation.

You blinked, utterly bewildered. Only then did you register the weird flavour, withdrawing that tremendous finger from the pinch of teeth. Watching the trail of crimson flow rapidly down your arm, a mere inch from snaking into the sleeve of your shirt.

“Oh,” a guilty thing, practically unintentional. “I’m aware.”

Viktor froze, now perplexed to the point of reaching over the desk and shaking some sense into you.

“I bite my nails when I’m anxious,” you quickly offered a breathless explanation, “I simply must have bitten too hard this time.”

He didn’t respond. Well, not with his words, to be precise — his hand stopped the timer, signaling the game’s inevitable delay. You almost stuffed your mouth full of still presentably looking digits, almost certain that your opponent was now grabbing his cane to walk away from you as fast as his thin body was capable of moving. Had you grabbing his wrist with a desperate plea, panicking eyes meeting his — strict and half-lidded.

“Where are you going?” you queried, childishly hoping to hear something that wouldn’t include an insult.

“To the pharmacy, of course,” Viktor said, allowing you to hold onto him. Peering down at your contorted with astonishment face: as if he was judging you for ever thinking of him that low.

Because he’s sweet. Sweet boys don’t run away from their dates. Nor from their unfortunate opponents.

“What for?” you dared to ask, releasing his wrist in order not to overstep.

“To fetch you something to disinfect that with,” he laughed, registering your gesture as a non-verbal permission for him to go.

You watched him walk away from you oh so slowly — as if he made each step that pretty of a torture on purpose, tempting you to yell something foolishly grateful while your eyes could still swirl his posture, brimming with glassy, sheer excitement.

Or perhaps the pain from your injury finally decided to kick in.

“Viktor!” you managed to find your voice — shaky, a little too resonant for the library. He didn’t comment on that though. Just turned to face you once again, nodding quizzically. “Will you show me the draw thing later?” you offered him the loveliest smile — not a smirk or a devious snicker. A smile, sincere and pretty. Had his lips arching into one of his own — so warm you wanted to slap yourself for ever considering toying with this polite, darling man. The thought didn’t linger, of course — but it swelled deliciously inside your mind, making you forget about the stinging finger for a few seconds. “Sure,” Viktor replied — no hesitation prominent in his tone, “just don’t chew on any more of your nails while I’m gone, please.”

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @thehistoriangirl @queen-of-elves @vyshnevska

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #a very self indulgent reader #but oh well #viktor x f!reader #viktor smut #viktor fluff #the cunterpart

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eddies-house · 10 months

Text

The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Four - Roadkill

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - A moody car ride and muddled emotions.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

9.9K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, drug dealing, allusions to mental illness, mentions of blood, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I put my soul into this chapter like I just wanted everything to be right and for things to add up. Anyway, I'm so glad to finally share it as we reveal more about their story.

Masterlist

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Hawkins High - English Class, Sophomore Year

The clock ticked by tauntingly slowly, five minutes feeling like an eternity in the stale classroom flooded with white and beige, each desk meticulously placed in their respective rows, all uniform and not one out of line as each student occupied their own. A pop quiz rested in front of every anxious student, Mrs. O’Donnell being overly unfair in springing the assignment on everyone after only going over the unit one time in the span of fifteen minutes.

Only the sound of pencils gliding across paper and the ticking of the clock were evident among the prison-like room. Just outside of the window to your right was a perfect view of the large oak tree you’d claimed as your lunch spot. Though Steve had asked you to sit with him and his friends at lunch, you declined. The mere idea of having to face all of those preppy and popular kids was terrifying and you’d rather enjoy your lunch in solitude. Steve seemed like a promising friend the deeper you got into highschool but you’d settle for sitting with him in class if it meant you could avoid the jocks he hung out with.

Stomach grumbling, you only prayed that the next two class periods would go by faster than the first period had been dragging along. It was only a week into sophomore year and you were already counting the days until summer. You thought you’d be able to avoid Mrs. O’Donnell’s dreaded English class throughout all four years but sadly in only your second year you were cursed with her name on your schedule. Everyone knew her class was the one to dodge if at all possible.

Marking your answer to the last question on the quiz, you bashfully stood to set it on Mrs. O’Donnell’s desk, noting the way she glared at you before heading back to your desk as quietly as you could. There was no pleasing the woman, she was alway miserable. Being one of the shyest students in the class, she still made it known that not even you were safe from her wrath. Just as you reached into your bag to retrieve your copy of Of Mice & Men which was assigned at the very beginning of the week, the classroom door swung open, the hinges squeaking in protest.

“Oh, Mrs. O’Donnell!” A boy’s voice sang as he sauntered through the door, skateboard in hand and backpack in rough condition barely hanging onto his lanky shoulder. It was the same boy from the ice cream social, he was wearing pretty much the same thing, black jeans with noticeable rips and a matching t-shirt with ‘Iron Maiden’ on the front. The chain hanging from his jeans clinked as he walked and his tousled brunette curls swayed with the movement. Eddie, as you recall. His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he came to a stop in front of the teacher’s desk, her face displaying a different kind of disdain for the boy in front of her, his dimples still framing his smile regardless.

“Munson, it is not polite to interrupt my class. Where are your manners?” The older woman seemed to gain more wrinkles just by engaging with him.

“Actually, that’s why I’m here. You get to experience another glorious year with yours truly.” He had no fear, he was dripping confidence and from the looks of it he didn’t care if Mrs. O’Donnell wasn’t having it. You were suddenly envious of his charisma, only wishing you could absorb some of the self-assurance he was possessing in the few seconds he had walked in the door.

“I’ll be the judge of that, you’re not on my roster.” O’Donnell suddenly stands, her gaze would intimidate you but Eddie only sighed and ran a hand through his hair as if this wasn’t his first rodeo with her.

“I swear, the office sent me here directly. Call them.” Before she could scold him, he had made his way toward the back of the room, tossing his backpack on the ground next to the empty desk just behind you and slumping into the chair while crossing his arms. So it seemed he was in your grade. Every other guy your age was still struggling with voice cracks and puberty mustaches but he seemed to have a grasp on things and was more mature looking than them. Or maybe he was in another grade and just in a sophomore English class. Whatever the case, he sat right behind you and it made you nervous, the kind of nervousness that makes you question if you tried hard enough on your appearance, wishing you would’ve taken more care in the mirror that morning.

Who were you kidding? Boys didn’t even look your way so what made this one any different? He wasn’t. You were just riling yourself up again only to let yourself down by setting unrealistic expectations. And all within a few seconds, that dream was discarded and you came back to reality.

Only for some reason you dared to sneak a glance over your shoulder at him. Where that sudden bravery came from, you’d never know. But you’d never forget the way his eyelashes casted perfect shadows along his cheeks even in the annoyingly fluorescent lighting of the classroom and the way a dimple peeked out at you as he offered a boyish close mouthed smile, by far the most charming smile you’d ever seen. It happened so quickly you started to question if you were daydreaming.

—

Present Day

There are a lot of things to focus on in Eddie’s van. The big gulp cup in his cup holder filled a third of the way with change, food wrappers littering the floor which he must have shoved away to make room, a few cassettes among the trash—who used cassettes anymore? There was a car parts catalog on the dashboard, a pair of headphones on top, and next to it a small box of unopened guitar strings. Among the many things happening visually in the van, it was all very Eddie from what you currently knew about him against your will. Even the lingering smells screamed his name, the hint of cigarettes, a little bit of the pine air freshener dangling from the mirror, a tinge of skunk-like bitterness, and the spice from his cologne.

It was silent, not even the radio he famously blared at high volumes playing, only the sound of the engine rumbling. You didn’t dare look to your left at him, embarrassment seeping through your pores from earlier. There was no way you would talk about being that vulnerable in front of Eddie Munson out of all people. Hell, you weren’t even sure why you were riding in the passenger seat of his van and had you been coherent enough when he guided you to sit, you would’ve refused and walked home, paying no mind that it would’ve taken around thirty minutes. Now you were stuck in one of the most uncomfortable positions of your life, riding shotgun in your nemesis’ car and on shaky ground with your best friends. The more you thought about it, Steve couldn’t even look at you when you’d asked if Robin knew about his sneaky endeavors. It was as though you were subject to isolation with no reparations in the foreseeable future.

“Pull over.” You were surprised by how strong your voice had sounded despite how much you’d been crying before.

A glance your way was all you received as you watched him in your peripheral. Why was it that the most common occurrence tonight was to be unresponsive?

“Pull over.” You repeated a bit louder.

Still, he ignored you.

“Pull over or I’m going to jump out.”

The threat was lost on him, earning you no reaction however you took him by surprise when you reached for the handle, pulling and cracking the door open as the pavement beneath zoomed past and the wind sucked the breath out of your lungs, the crisp fall air felt like a punch to the face in contrast to the warm cabin of the van.

“What the fuck!? Do you have a death wish or something!?” Eddie kept a hand on the wheel while simultaneously stretching his arm across you as he reached for the handle to pull it closed but failing in his first attempt. “Shut the damn door!” Unsure of what you were trying to gain from this, you tugged the door toward you with a scoff, Eddie shifting his eyes between you and the road. What would be your next move? You hurl yourself out of a moving van and end up roadkill? It wasn’t a very well thought out plan.

“Just pull over.” You couldn’t stand being trapped within the confines of his van much longer.

Everyone and everything you knew was turning out to be a lie, straight to your face and the pressure was only building up inside. And it all boiled down to one person who happened to be sitting just to your left. “Dammit! Just pull over! I wanna walk!” You shifted, now turned toward him, his brows furrowed and his lips downturned, complete displeasure written on his face.

“Would you quit being such a fucking brat!?” There he was. This is the Eddie you knew of, a complete contrast to the one that had emerged earlier. He was unrecognizable as he played the part of the neutral party between you and Steve. And he had no right either, you would be sure he knew that.

“Then fucking pull over!”

“We’re almost there, then you can do whatever the hell you want. See if I give a shit.” His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, a pinky tapping against it as he seemed to try and keep himself calm.

“You don’t even know where I live. Let me out. Right here, pull over.” It was a constant battle, neither of you having the slightest urge to just give it up although it looked like you were going to win when the brakes screeched, the van halting to a stop in the middle of the road. You were at a bend with nothing but forest on either side so you could either step out with your pride, also bearing the possibility of becoming a news headline in the morning: ‘Girl found dead on side of the road’, or you could let him win this one and make it home in one piece.

“Go on then. You wanted to walk? Have at it.” Eddie gestures to the open road, very clearly unwalkable from this point. You remained silent, contemplating your options. “What? I give you what you want and it's still not enough?” He huffs in annoyance, head shaking.

“You did that on purpose.” You mumble, barely audible but he catches it anyway.

“Did what? Drive you home so you wouldn’t strangle Harrington?” He was very clearly trying to push your buttons and he was going to end up being the one strangled if he kept it up.

“You know what?” The sound of your seatbelt clicking alerted him that you were about to hop out, your hand reaching for the door. “You want me to be roadkill so bad? Fine.” And with that you stepped out into the crisp fall air, a light sprinkling of rain painting your skin as you stomped down the road.

The van’s engine didn’t rumble which told you he hadn’t sped off yet, most likely watching in victory as you began your trek home. The frigid air started to bite at your skin, your cheeks and nose beginning to hurt and lose feeling. You didn’t get very far when you began to regret leaving the warmth of the van, you just had to pick this battle and now it seemed you lost in the end anyway.

It still hadn’t zoomed past you like you envisioned, only the sound of someone running behind you was heard which in all honesty only freaked you out even more. This was the worst case scenario for how the night was supposed to end. Maybe some serial killer had gotten Eddie and now you were their next victim. A new headline flashed in your brain, something along the lines of ‘Young couple found murdered near the woods in Hawkins, Indiana’ and you nearly puked as you began sprinting, the downpour of rain becoming heavier as you did. Lungs on fire, you forced yourself to keep going no matter how ridiculous the thoughts racing through your mind were. Maybe it was the quickest way to get home after all, to imagine you were being hunted for sport the whole time. The nightmare you conjured up quickly came to an end when you slammed into something firm, almost being knocked to the ground only to be stabilized by two hands gripping your arms. Your eyes were shut tight, avoiding whatever fate was awaiting you. Were you being dramatic? Yes, however it couldn’t be helped especially being just next to the woods in nearly pitch black. The basis for a classic horror film.

“Are you crazy!? Get back in the van! You’re gonna get killed out here, you can��t see shit.” Much to your relief just this once, you were happy to open your eyes and find Eddie, out of breath with his curls dripping, a few sticking to his face.

His eyes were more doe like than ever, staring down at you, the headlights from the van barely reaching the two of you allowing you to make out his features. His stare flickered between you and the road urgently. “If a car comes around the corner we’re fucked, LETS GO!” If he had any remaining patience, it was gone because suddenly his arms wrapped around your legs and waist, throwing you over his shoulder without struggle, jogging back to the van as you were left breathless. Ending up tossed over Eddie Munson’s shoulder was the last possible outcome you’d imagined tonight and yet here you were.

“Put me down!” You still protested, delivering a firm smack to his shoulder blade. If he obeyed, you had no plan so you weren’t sure what your motive was here however he continued on without so much as a flinch.

“Oh yeah, look what happened the last time I listened to you. Had to fuckin’ chase you down.” The passenger door was left open from when you took off as you glanced over Eddie’s shoulder.

“You didn’t have to! I could’ve made it home perfectly fine!” You weren’t one hundred percent sure about that but you could sell the lie. In your defense, he took a completely different route than what you had originally walked earlier in the day since you had to stop by the Byers’.

Suddenly you were placed in the passenger seat again, and not very gently either. Eddie’s intense gaze only egged you on, returning the favor as you looked up at him, narrowing your eyes.

“Yeah? You sure about that Roadkill?”

You’d had it and there was very little if any fight left in you. Teeth chattering and hair wet, you came to the realization that your clothes were almost completely soaked and before you could huddle in on yourself for warmth, a leather jacket was tossed at you before the passenger door was slammed shut, Eddie quickly returning to the driver’s side, a displeased expression remaining on his features as he shifted into drive.

–

Rain dotted the windshield and other than that and the squeaking of the wipers against the glass, it had been silent. Five minutes had passed but it was easy to mistake it for five hours with how tense the air in the van was. Eddie released a heavy and dramatic breath every so often and if he was searching for a reaction in you, you weren’t interested in partaking. Home wasn’t far, you only needed to endure a couple more minutes in the stuffy but thankfully, warm confines of the vehicle.

Maybe you were delirious, your brain muddled in the events of tonight because Eddie had finally been silent that full five minutes and you stupidly took it upon yourself to engage in further conversation.

“Roadkill? Really?”

The green traffic lights overhead created a glow around him, painting him almost like a picture, a renaissance painting you might even say. If a renaissance painting could include a grumpy metalhead adorned in rings, tattoos, and a demonic t-shirt. So no, not a renaissance painting and yet, you couldn’t find another way to phrase it in your mind. Why?

“Roadkill. That’s all you have to say?” Offense lingered in his tone, his eyes glancing to you briefly.

Your body turned toward the door, even more than it already had been as you watched the scenery race by, deciding to go mute again. There was no civil conversation with him, only snarky comments and full blown arguments.

“Better than Socks.” A smirk graces his lips when you turn to look back over at him and there was no way to tell if it was playful or cynical.

Should you bite and comment back or should you remain ignorant? You’d started it after all. This time he wasn’t the one breaking silence to torture you, it was the other way around and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why you yearned to instigate.

“I will not be called ‘Roadkill’ if that’s what you’re getting at.” It was said cruelly however just beneath the surface, if he was intelligent enough to pull at the corners of your gaze with his, he may find a seed planted deep within your depths.

Could it have been that the way he stepped in earlier was in some regard an olive branch? Extended with the means to mend what was previously shattered beyond repair, an intention. No. It couldn’t be, not even in the slightest. Because he was Eddie and you were you, this is how your stories were written and engraved into the margins of the universe. That didn’t mean you didn’t wonder why he had been so tangled up in the ball of yarn that was your life for so long if not to infinitely cause an ache from wounds slashed into your soul years ago.

“I think you’ve definitely been upgraded from Socks to Roadkill.” Though he was snarky there was a glimmer in his eyes.

“Hell no. If I’m Roadkill then what are you?” Arms crossed, you shifted to turn your body further toward him, brow raised in expectancy.

“I don’t do nicknames.” It was a short and simple answer and it simply wouldn’t do.

“You can’t just go by Munson, you need some kind of…some kind of earned name for some dumb shit you would do—or have done!” You snap your fingers at him, a smile playing at your lips and he swears he hasn’t seen that kind of smile directed his way in years. It’s enough to bring a flush of pink to his cheeks that he hopes is hidden by the darkness and won’t become evident under the street lights passing by.

“What, like running into the open road in the pitch black during the rain—at a bend in the road, might I add?”

“Well…don’t—don’t even pretend I’ve done even half of the dumb shit you’ve done!” That smile still pulls at your lips uncontrollably and he’s not sure if you’ve given up trying to hold it back or if you’re so beyond tired and delusional that you’ve forgotten who you were talking to. Either way this moment would be burned into his memory, even if it would be the last time you’d offer him the upturn of your lips, even if you were sleep deprived and not in your right mind.

You continue to ramble, searching your brain as he admires to the best of his ability while driving, eyes drifting from you to the road and back. “Like—like the raccoon thing! Yeah you’re Racoon Boy!”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Really? Racoon Boy? That’s the best you can come up with? Doesn’t really roll off the tongue like Roadkill.”

His criticism earned a glare from you but not the kind of glare he was so used to receiving from you. This one held some kind of spark if he lingered long enough, large eyes beaming at you if you cared to notice.

“Okay well, a raccoon becomes Roadkill, right?. If I’m Roadkill, you’re Roadkill.” You decide.

Eddie doesn’t know why he has butterflies, all he knows is that the way you incorporated him into the phrase is making his palms sweat, just like when he was sixteen. And the fact that you had even put his jacket on was something he never imagined in his wildest dreams. Nevertheless, he keeps his cool.

“And you think I’m gonna stand for being called Roadkill? You’re out of your mind. Try again.” His head shakes in disapproval.

“Oh please, would you rather be called Liar?” Just like that everything reverted back to the way it was, as it intended to be.

“Or Friend Fucker?”

He knew it was too good to be true, the way your eyes crinkled as you grinned just seconds ago, how you teetered on the brink of giggling as you attempted to conjure up a nickname for him, the sole fact that you were even trying to give him a nickname. It was all a facade put on to deliver a blow of karma that he rightfully deserved and though it may not have been a facade on your part, he knew somehow the puppet strings controlled by the universe created this moment to torture him. The air turned eerie, sour almost.

Disgusting.

He felt disgusting.

Because you didn’t know how wrong you were about him and yet he kept further providing reasons for you to keep believing it.

Suddenly he’s seventeen in the stairwell of the Harrington’s basement regretting every move made that night. And you were sixteen trying to make sense of it all, asking yourself, why?

And now you were still begging the question, why? Why did Steve have to ruin everything? Why was Eddie still causing destruction even now? After all, he played just as big of a part when you’d seen them both leaving the van, so why did you offer him the courtesy of bestowing a nickname upon him as if you were old friends? As if he hadn’t taken your heart, played with it, made it beat for him all those years ago only to take a dagger to it and leave you bleeding and devoid of the ability to beat for anyone else.

Your apartment came into view, an escape from the toxic atmosphere that you’d tricked yourself into breathing in, under the illusion of sleep deprivation and wounded feelings. This wasn’t some redemption arc for Eddie as you’d begun to imagine in your deliriousness, this was you caving in at a moment of fragility and venturing to the nearest soul in hopes to cling onto some of your sanity. But what you failed to realize in your misconception was that there was not one soul to sympathize with in your agony. As the van came to a stop, you dared to glance over once more. His eyes looked almost black, the absence of sunlight keeping every brown hue hidden in the shadows which only further fed into the idea that he was cold and heartless. And as you exhaled a final time into the void created between two opposing forces, you were hoping that would be the end of it, that he wouldn’t do as he normally did and fabricate a reason to fuel a never ending war. But then again you never had faith in him in the first place.

“I’ve told you. I’m not a liar.” His nostrils flared, ringed hand tightly gripping the steering wheel once again.

“You’re not a liar?”

“Did I stutter?”

“What do you call it then when someone withholds the truth from you? You’re saying that doesn’t make them a liar?”

Your name was muttered under his breath as if it were a curse. “Dammit! When will you just let it go!?” His face contorted in anger, brows furrowed in misery. “Why do you have to fucking hold on to this thing that happened ages ago!? I never once lied to you and you keep trying to throw it back in my face!”

“Never once lied to me, right.” You laughed, however there was no humor behind it.

“Do you know how many times we’ve had this argument? Do you ever think maybe I keep fighting back because you’re wrong?”

“Oh, I’m wrong!? Was I wrong when I caught you and Steve just now in the parking lot? Was I wrong about that too? Was it my imagination when you planted one on Steve? At least I’m not a fucking liar!” Tears welled up in your eyes and you’d never forgive yourself for it but it was inevitable, the anger demanded to be poured from your eyes.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll keep saying it, I have never once lied to you.” He sucked back his lip as if trying to hold himself back, fist now clenched in his lap.

“Another lie!” You tried to stop them, oh how you tried but the tears began to trail down your cheeks one by one, sucking them back only did so much due to the overflow already gracing your waterline.

Eddie debated digging up the old box in his heart that he locked up and swore off forever, promising to never let another soul touch it. But he was Eddie and he didn’t know how to let others open him up, only knew how to push everything deeper until it was forgotten about and collecting dust. All he could do was what he did best. Shut down and push back. He regretted inheriting even a sliver of the temper his father held.

“Get out.” The demand was met with your wet eyes burning into him as he faced forward, gaze set straight ahead with no sign of meeting yours. His jaw clenched, you could see him swallow. Before you could offer any further comments, he caught you off guard. “Get out. Get the hell out.” His arm was suddenly reaching over you to open the door, his damp curls tickling your cheek briefly until he was scowling at you from the driver’s side once again. You remained sitting, not because you wanted to but because your brain simply refused to cooperate, leaving you staring dumbly at the floor of his van. “Well, I’m not lying this time am I!? Get out!”

The way his voice raised made you wince and you had that gnawing feeling settling in your stomach and your chest. Hands trembling, that random pang of anxiety began to take over and you wanted so badly to run and find some sense of comfort in your little apartment just upstairs but you were frozen. The energy of the confrontation just endured shocked your nervous system and though you’d argued with Eddie before many times, it had to have been the build up throughout the night, the betrayal you’d experienced only adding that much more strain. Everything was spiraling and it was as though a weight too heavy for anyone to carry was placed on your shoulders. And you were left to bear it alone.

Eddie stared expectantly, brow raised though he couldn’t catch your line of sight even if he tried, you were too in your head by this point and it seemed that the contents of the trashed floor was far more interesting however he was able to lower his head to catch the trace of fear—or maybe it wasn’t fear maybe it was loneliness topped off with uneasiness—either way he was able to detect it among your features and the way you were absent from the van, your mouth ajar and hands shaking in fists balled up at your sides. Maybe he’d gone too far? Or at least that was his initial conclusion but it didn’t make much sense seeing as you’d mouthed off to each other several times before and you’d both said things far worse. Whatever the case, he knew he’d be laying on his lumpy mattress tonight wondering what he could’ve done differently.

“Shit.” He mumbles while putting the van in park, undoing his seatbelt and inching the slightest bit closer to you. “You still with me?” It came out shakier than he’d intended, not really having the knowledge of what to do. Sure he knew what he’d need to do for himself for the most part if it were him but comforting others was not something he specialized in. Was it even comfort you needed? He didn’t know, but there was something wrong and your body language was telling him that you were stuck in some kind of a panic.

But before he could even make a decision on how to proceed, you’d snapped out of it right before his eyes, a wobbly breath escaping you before your eyes darted up to his wide ones. He was too close for your liking, and far too close for someone who had just yelled at you to get the hell out. It was frigid, the air from outside stinging your cheeks as the door remained open. In the blink of an eye you were gone, your feet carrying you up the cement stairs of the complex and away from him, his jacket still engulfing your frame, sleeves falling over your hands and slapping against your legs as you scurried. You hadn’t bothered to shut the door in your quick departure, raindrops finding their way onto the fabric of the seat and covering the interior. At the top of the stairs, he caught a glimpse of you momentarily with your head in your hands before you rounded the corner and disappeared. If he never saw his jacket again because it provided you with warmth, well he figured that would be just fine.

“If I’m Roadkill, you’re Roadkill.” He muttered with his eyes glued to the ceiling.

—

The Harrington House, December of Junior Year

“Munson, did you bring the stuff?”

“Yeah, what’re you looking to buy?”

“What? You brought everything?”

“Just about, what’s your poison?”

Eddie rummaged through the little black metal box full of various substances, naming each one aloud to the jock that had spotted him across the living room, the music bumping as he shouted over it. Was his name Ben? Brady? Eddie couldn’t recall and if he’s honest, he didn’t really care. The only time the guy acknowledged his existence was to buy from him at whatever party they happened to be at. This time it was Steve Harrington’s ugly Christmas sweater party, the second one in the making of an annual event. Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those nasty sweaters with bells and tinsel but he certainly had no problem with making money off of the spoiled rich kids who would pay out the ass to pop a pill and let loose for the night. And so he found himself lingering in the dark corner of the living room, awaiting those who would recognize him, giving them their fix in exchange for a fat stack of cash. They seemed pathetic in his eyes, all decorated in their multi patterned sweaters with all kinds of crap dangling off of them, fiending for a high as they kept their interaction with him as minimal as possible. It wasn’t his business though, his business was to sell and collect until his supply ran out and if he thought hard enough about it, both parties were doing the same song and dance of quick exchanges with not a smidge of regard for the other’s presence once the deal was done. That’s just how it was and he wasn’t going to complain so long as he got paid.

So he sold Ben–whatever his name was, a few grams of weed and some ecstasy. That guy would forget Eddie’s existence until the next party. That or until he wanted to buy some more weed from him at school. The guy was relatively mellow with Eddie when alone but once other senior jocks were in the equation they threw every name in the book at him and tried to make his life hell. Key word, tried. Eddie was tough and a few names were nothing, hell even the few times he’d been jumped by them in the school parking lot didn’t phase him. You learn to pick your battles when your dad is the antagonist of your life. That didn’t mean he didn’t lash out every now and then at them, cause he did. He just knew which fights were worth a black eye and bloody knuckles and which ones to surrender on, let them shove him around a little bit, maybe take a kick to the ribs and then move on. The less he struggled against them, the quicker they would get bored and call him a slur before marching off with their chests puffed out.

It was only nine, the night was still young and he had already made enough to sneak a good amount into his Uncle Wayne’s wallet with enough leftover to pay for the week’s groceries. He’d sooner just put the money into his own bank account and transfer it to Wayne’s but his old man was old fashioned and stuck mainly to cash. That cash would usually go toward utilities if Eddie already handled the groceries. By the end of the night he should have made enough of a profit to buy that new part for the van he was fixing up. He’d made a deal with the guy at the junkyard that if he could get it working and get it the hell off his lot that it was his. Sure it was an older model, a little rusty with a funky smell clinging to the interior but he could make anything work and he’d rather drive that than keep borrowing his uncle's pickup truck or hitch a ride with someone. It just wasn’t reliable and he had his own agenda though he’d never tell Wayne exactly what that agenda was. As far as he knew, Eddie was working odd jobs around town, repairing the neighbor’s sink, mowing lawns, fixing cars. It wasn’t a lie–it was just that according to Wayne it generated a suspiciously large income. Eddie always insisted his charm was a contributing factor and the moms up in the fancy neighborhoods would pay him extra for being ‘so sweet’. Which wasn’t a lie either. Those moms knew of his reputation but were reaching the point of their mid-life crisis and it seemed they were willing to do anything for a smidge of excitement while their boring husbands left for a business trip every other week. He never entertained them past telling them how wonderful they looked. But he would never admit outright to his uncle that he had been in contact with Rick who his dad had been involved with before going to prison. Now it seemed at only seventeen he was following the same path however it was to keep food on the table and the strain of all of the financials off of Wayne’s aching back. ‘This is different.’ He’d keep telling himself that but sometimes he’d look in the mirror and his father would be staring right back at him.

Becoming bored with the clientele of the living room corner, he made the decision to migrate to the hall just near the basement door. There was heavy foot traffic and a possibility that he could sell out the rest of his supply in minutes to those desperate enough for a good time. Leaning against the wall, he heard shouts from the basement, a beer pong game with high stakes no doubt. A younger kid, most definitely a freshman shuffled by with six unopened beers clinking together in his arms and without drawing any attention to himself, Eddie snatched the one that was just seconds away from toppling over onto the floor. It went unnoticed as the freshman continued down the hall toward the back door, a satisfying crisp snap filling his ears as he opened the stolen beer. As the fizzy ale met his lips, he was grateful it was cold with condensation collecting on the glass since the house was stuffy and hot despite the contrasting weather outside.

In about ten minutes he’d sold almost everything, people were drawn to him like a moth to flame, knowing he was the go to for anything good. It always sucked trying to get rid of the last of it, which made the night even longer since he just wanted to be done and leave. Sweat gathered at the nape of his neck and a dip in the Harrington’s pool seemed like heaven right about now even in the freezing cold snow. He was just about ready to give up and head down to the basement to start marketing his product to the rowdy football boys so he could get out of the muggy hallway when he caught someone’s gaze from the opposite end of the hall. The only person he really hoped to see at this dumb party and he was intuitive enough to know that she would show up due to her friendship with King Steve. Before he knew it she was making her way toward him, dodging other teenagers.

You kept your eyes on him throughout the several people in the way, reaching him being your only goal for the moment while Nancy and Robin–the new girl with the pretty blue eyes and freckles–rolled their eyes at your gawking and patiently waited while you wandered away. It was loud but you tuned out everything as you took in his curls, longer than they were last year when you’d first noticed him. He still seemed to be growing it out, brunette locks now covering his ears and a few hanging in his eyes as he bowed his head but still kept his focus on you. You’d seen him just last week at school but you were only now noticing the progress on his hair growth, usually too enamored in his molasses pools of eyes. He wore his standard getup, a black leather jacket, black jeans with a few holes, and some black boots. Maybe it was the single shot you’d taken with Nancy and Robin back in the kitchen but he was looking especially handsome and you feared your heart was going to leap out of your chest right in front of him.

“Thought you swore off parties.” You shouted over the bass vibrating the house.

Shaking the little metal box he held at you, you understood that he was ‘working’.

“Parties are my biggest sellers so I couldn’t really keep my word on that one.”

“Fair enough.” You leaned your shoulder against the same wall he leaned his back on, turned toward him with all of your attention solely on him right now.

“Was just about to get outta here though. I got roughly enough for one last sale, just need to find someone to bite.” Taking a swig of his beer, he glanced around for any takers but still found no success.

“Well, what do you have?” Your innocent eyes stared up at him, your ridiculous Christmas sweater being the only one he actually liked out of the hundreds he had seen that night.

“I don’t sell to children.” He teases. You were only a year younger after all.

“I am not a child! You’re a year older, c’mon! What do you have?” You whined, bouncing on your toes.

“No way, sweetheart. I have the right to refuse service and I’m refusing yours.” A smirk graced his lips as he turned his body toward you, mirroring your stance as you each leaned a shoulder against the wall.

“Munson-”

“Nope, closed for business.” Tucking the little metal box under his leather jacket as if to hide it from your view, you playfully shoved at his shoulder.

“I guess I’ll just have to get my weed from some other sketchy guy.” You sighed dramatically.

“Whoa whoa, are you calling me sketchy? I’ll have you know I am probably the least sketchy drug dealer you could hope for.” He showed fake offense in the knitting of his brows and a hand thrown over his chest.

“I dunno, that sounds like something a sketchy drug dealer would say.”

His eyes squinted at you in thought and he was definitely not going to sell you drugs however he could extend you an offer.

“How about…I keep a joint with your name on it on supply and you come get me when you wanna smoke?”

Before you were able to answer, a group of jocks came tumbling into the hallway, one of them bumping into you particularly hard in his drunken state. Eddie had already intervened before you could tell him that it was okay and that you were sure it was an accident.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going!”

His hand shoved the muscular guy back with no problem and had that guy not been completely wasted, a fight would’ve broken out but it seemed he couldn't register what was going on as he began roughhousing with one of his friends once again, thankfully making their way into the basement.

“I-uh-how–how much?” You stuttered, ignoring the interruption.

His plush lips tightened before his tongue darted out, one of his nervous habits.

“Share it with me and we’ll call it good.” Your heart fluttered, face heating.

It was flirting. It was in your face, outright, one hundred percent flirting and yet you couldn’t let yourself believe it. He was just being friendly. Because boys didn’t like you like that, they never have and they probably never will. Especially the one in front of you who everyone warned you against associating yourself with. It never stopped you from talking with him in the classes you shared or waving to him in the halls, him always returning the favor. Your experiences clearly indicated that he wasn’t always rough around the edges like everyone said, he was actually a sweetheart with a lot of nerdy tendencies. At least that's what you learned from your shared time at school. There were select occasions outside of school such as previous parties where he’d sell that you would approach him with a shy smile and he would be as charming as always. And there were times where he led you to think that maybe, just maybe he liked you as much as you liked him. But you’d never act on it, having never even had a boyfriend before so what experience was there to guide you? He was one of the only boys to offer you that kind of attention but it was never expected of you to cross a boundary and he let you take the lead, accounting for your bashfulness and fully realizing that he couldn’t just hook up with you and leave it at that. Because there was something else there and he didn’t want to ruin whatever it was.

“Well, I have to pay. Seriously, how much?”

His arm was braced against the wall as he leaned toward you, breath fanning over your cheek, you didn’t even mind the smell of beer filling your nose.

“Your money’s no good here.” His dimples had you hypnotized.

“That’s not fair.” You breathed, your eyes sparkling while looking up at him.

“No?”

“No.”

“Alright Munson, quit hitting on my friend. You got any weed left or are you done here?”

Steve Harrington was going to get a mouthful from you later.

–

Present Day

You’d never existed in that van if anyone were to ask, not that they would. It had been the shittiest night you’d experienced in a good while. The worst part of it all was that you couldn’t even call Robin or Steve to rant to them about how shitty of a night it was because they were part of the reason. Loneliness was the most debilitating illness and it was conquering you from the inside out. Sure you could probably confide in Jonathan but your brain was screaming at you to suffer alone. No one else needed to be bothered by your whining when they had their own lives to live. This was now between you and yourself.

Living in a small town had never been such an issue. Working in the same coffee shop as your best friends as well as your biggest enemy was proving to be a stupid idea but you were in no position to change jobs, not when you could barely make rent and no other jobs would have the flexibility to keep you around with your class schedule. Plus no one was even hiring, they’d already secured their seasonal hires. So back to the drawing board you went. No more arriving at work early, minimizing the chance of interaction with Steve and Robin and keeping to yourself your entire shift as a means to tune Eddie out no matter how hard he would try and press your buttons. It was going to be hell but what other option did you have at this point in time? There was always the choice to drop out of college but then that’d be a waste of a scholarship you’d received based on your low income in combination with a well written essay your senior year. Senior year you would punch you in the face if you dropped out all because of the poorly thought out actions of others. All that hard work down the drain for a couple of dumbasses? Absolutely not.

No. You were not going to alter your life just because of them. Although it felt you were being somewhat dramatic, you weren’t going to let this go. It was as if they’d isolated you and laughed about it behind your back. Left you in the dark and giggled to each other about how pathetic you were. No one should ever have to endure this pain, especially not at the hands of the people who you’d thought mattered to you most but seemingly proved that they were just like everyone else. You figured you still had the kids but then quickly remembered whose house they mainly hung out at and it left you defeated. At least you could always stop in at the Byers, that much you knew. Even so, you didn’t want to bother them with the sudden friendship politics, it seemed childish on your part and Will definitely didn’t need to hear you complain about the other two people he looked up to. That was not a road you were willing to go down, he’d had enough of seeing adults bicker to last several lifetimes and you already vowed to shield him from any more of it.

That night was honestly even more awful the second your back hit your shitty mattress. Sobs racked your body and it was nearly enough to make you throw up. Nearly. You held it down but still dry heaved, curled up in a ball like a loser while everyone else seemed fine. The cherry on top was the way Eddie clawed at old wounds, your guts may as well have left a bloody trail from the street where he dropped you off all the way up the stairs to your apartment. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the fact that he yelled at you to get out of his van that was inducing the vomit rising in the back of your throat. It certainly contributed but what brought the taste of bile to your tongue was the way that you’d bantered for a split second just like in high school—when there was a chance. When you were naive and sadly mistaken. A love sick puppy for a boy who had only misled you and mistreated you. You suppose some of the blame could’ve been on you, letting yourself fall harder and harder each time you’d seen his contagious smile in the halls and in class. You know how they say some people peak in high school? Well you could say that you hit rock bottom which to be honest, felt far more embarrassing than peaking. All because of a stupid boy.

Was this really what you’d become? A sorry excuse of a woman muffling sobs into your pillow over some mistakenly split open feelings for a boy—now a man still taunting your everyday life? Why did he have this power over you all of the sudden? For the past few years you had felt nothing but disgust for him and now it felt like you were dealing with the heartbreak all over again, as if that night happened just hours ago.

And Steve had practically spit on the heartbreak that he’d witnessed before his eyes. That he’d helped nurse you through, drying your tears with countless tissues, lending his shoulder to cry on. That version of him was flushed down the drain the minute he stepped out of that damn van. Where you used to see kind and caring brown eyes with that sympathetic wrinkle in the middle of his eyebrows, you now saw betrayal in human form.

—

The smudged mirror of the public bathroom in Hawkins Community did little to enhance any beauty you may have held at some point. It only added to your dark under eyes, hues of purple beneath the skin along with a puffy redness from non stop crying. To sum it up, you looked swollen and you were sorry to anyone that had to witness the sight. The cool water you splashed on your face from the sputtering faucet didn’t do as much as the internet said it would. If anything you only looked worse but now your nerves were shocked from the temperature change. You had to get over yourself eventually, just suck it up and go to work.

With one last wipe of a gritty paper towel, your nose raw from constantly wiping snot away, you gave up the pity party and forced yourself out of the depressing, poorly lit bathroom. A push of the germy door with your shoulder has you moving on to brave the rest of the day—the hard part of the day. The part that you’d dreaded and played out in your mind like a projector on a screen. Every scenario laid out before you like a deck of cards and so unsure of which one would become your fate.

The sky looked an eerie gray, more rain expected to accompany that morning's light drizzle, casting the hallways in a darker light than they usually led on. It was beyond you that you kept leaving your umbrella at home when rain was almost always on the forecast these days. You suppose the sky reflected your mood and that was fair enough.

Stepping outside as the metal door slammed shut behind you, your skin erupted in goosebumps, wind swirling in your hair as mother nature declared its fury in thunderous echoes in the sky. It was only a fifteen minute walk, just endure the unusually strong winds and keep on, that’s what you told yourself. Things can’t get any shittier, they just can’t.

—

Slowly The Under-Ground came into view as did the downtown square where not one person lingered due to the weather. Each bench was devoid of its regular users and it seemed like a ghost town more than anything. The faint smell of chimney smoke crossed your senses and it only made you wish you’d be able to just cozy up next to a fire and forget this cursed timeline you were in. You could just imagine the families in their homes just a few blocks over, probably preparing for dinner in their well manicured kitchens while their kids enjoyed the warmth of the fireplace and watched a wholesome movie. What you’d give to be in their position again. Young and free of responsibility.

Fat rain drops began to paint the pavement and you thanked whatever higher power that it had waited until you arrived at work to unleash the beginnings of what seemed to be a storm. You now only bargained with Mother Nature that it would be kind enough to let up by the time your shift ended. The Fall rain seemed to be treating Hawkins extra cruelly this year.

You’d scurried as fast as you could to the front French doors of the shop, swinging one open as the bell chimes above and a blanket of warmth cocoons you, allowing you to take in the rich, chocolatey smell of a recently warmed brownie mixed with notes of espresso. It was 4:55 PM, just five minutes shy of when your shift was supposed to start, aiming to keep it as close as possible to avoid Steve and Robin the best you could.

There wasn’t a single customer in sight, a brief whiff of bleach filling your nose as you walked by a ‘Caution Wet’ sign propped in the middle of the floor. You didn’t even give whoever was behind the counter so much as a glance as you kept your focus on the floor, making your way toward the back to hopefully avoid everyone so you could set your things in your locker and prepare yourself for your shift. The typical jazzy music played over the speakers and you could just barely hear a whisper of what had to be Robin’s voice directed at Steve. Something along the lines of ‘fix it, right now’. If she was referencing what you suspected, she was naive to think that Steve could just ‘fix it’ right here right now. In your eyes she was practically telling him to slap a band-aid onto a bloody gash that would actually require a severe amount of stitches.

Your gaze remained glued to the dark tiled floor, the grout interesting you more than the hushed conversation between two traitors. The hope was to ignore any and all attempts to make amends at this point in time on Steve’s part. And to dodge any reasoning Robin tried to sprinkle on top. But hopes are often lost and before you could reach the back, Steve’s scuffed Adidas forced their way into your line of sight. Your name fell from his tongue like an apology that you were far from accepting.

“Listen, can we-can we talk?” He sounded as if he was begging for his life and you were too mad to look into his eyes to further read him.

All you offered was a scoff as you tried to push past him however he stood in your way, a bold move for someone on such thin ice.

“Please?” His head ducked down in an effort to meet your eyes, succeeding for a mere second where you caught that stupid sympathetic wrinkle in between his eyebrows and his apologetic stare. It didn’t work this time.

“Move.” You were stern as you bit your lip to keep from showing any kind of emotion.

“We have to talk about it—“

“We don’t have to talk about anything.” You snapped bitterly.

Robin seemed to understand to keep her mouth shut in this instance, she knew this wasn’t some dumb disagreement that you’d end up laughing about at the end of the day. This was grounds for a possible severed bond. So there she stood, wide eyed as she pretended to clean the already sparkling countertop, blue polish chipping from her nails as she gripped the rag with apprehension.

And Steve seemed to know his place as he stepped aside, comprehending that he would not make much progress with you right now and that you may not even forgive him ever. It terrified him but what could he do? He fucked up and he was suffering the damages, a far greater loss than his selfish needs were worth. Respecting your boundaries was the most he could do right now and it gutted him from the inside out.

You were lucky that only a single tear escaped and trailed down your cheek, your skilled ability to not cry in public proving very useful in the moment. Wiping it away with dignity, you proceeded to the back room, only wishing to have a minute alone to recover before having to put on a facade. Your locker was your only target but you’d fumbled as your mind worked quicker than your legs, bag flying off of your shoulder and spilling out a tube of mascara, a half eaten bag of chips, and a few papers from an assignment you’d tried to work on last night to take your mind away from the endless sobbing. It felt as though the dark clouds outside were following you and wreaking more havoc than could handle. Quickly, you scooped up each item and shoved them back in your bag, a few curses uttered under your breath and when you were about to push yourself up off the sticky ground, you were met with a pair of abyss-like brown eyes.

He was tying his decked out apron around his waist, looking down at you with concern. You hadn’t even seen him upon first walking in, his presence residing in the corner of the room where it seemed he placed his helmet on the window sill farthest from the door. He was early. And he was never early. Without a word between you, his hands were up in surrender as he spun back around towards the window, back facing you as he pulled a pen from the apron and seemed to scribble on something. The interaction seemed strange as he didn’t offer some insult about how clumsy you were. And you didn’t snap at him the moment he laid eyes on you.

Seeing him still made you beyond upset but the tension in the air carried something far more complicated that you couldn’t distinguish. So you left it, swinging open your locker and snatching your apron before shoving your bag inside, the metal clanking noisily as you did. A breeze brushed past you while you secured your apron to your satisfaction and when you finally glanced behind you, Eddie was no longer in the room.

Patting at your pockets dumbly for your phone before departing out to the front, you were having trouble locating the device. You double checked your bag but no success, even feeling around the inside of the locker just in case. It wasn’t until you turned around that you realized you must have abandoned it on the foldable break room table in your uncoordinated walk earlier. And there it was sitting atop the table—with a steaming to-go cup next to it? Surely that wasn’t there before, you would have definitely knocked it over with how close it was to your phone and how ungraceful you were in your movements. You were starting to question how insane you were going with everything swirling around in your brain since last night, did you make yourself a coffee in the midst of Steve trying to coax you into a conversation? That must have been it.

Except as you further inspected, there was some kind of writing on the side of the cup. Scribbled in black sharpie was a single word. And realization hits you like a train when you read it.

“Roadkill”

~end~

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Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic @micheledawn1975 @dreamerjj @hideoutside @hellfirefiend @emilyslutface

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #st fic #eddie fic #eddie munson series #eddie munson fics #the under-ground

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katboykirby · 4 months

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Insane how fans can write the characters more in-character than the actual devs in this fandom

Do you remember that personality inconsistency thing happening w/ Satan?

So OM has it's writing staff, but that doesn't mean that the same writers will always be working on the same things, or even that there will be consistent communication between the different writers.

OM splits its writing team up in order to tackle things like the main story, the Pop Quiz events, all the different character Devilgrams, the daily and unlockable chats, etc. This is very much standard for the industry. It's entirely likely that someone who was writing a Mammon-centric Devilgram on one day will find themself assigned to the new Simeon-centric Pop Quiz event the day after, and then be tasked with writing scenes for the main story after that. It's very unlikely that any one writer will be assigned a single task or single character to dedicate 100% of their focus to... everyone is kind of just working on everything, which may make the process faster (since your writers are working on three or four different plots/stories at once) but it also spreads focus and creativity much thinner.

Solmare has also been known to bring in guest writers from outside the regular OM staff, whether it's writers from other studios or independent writers/freelancers. So we'll sometimes even have people who aren't actually fully familiar with the characters (or at least, not familiar to the level of the regular OM team) writing for them!

Writing for mobile games (or any constantly-updating medium, really) is always going to be an uphill battle. If the demand is for new Pop Quiz events to be released every 2-3 days, along with Devilgram stories and unlockable chats for the Nightmare banner and Pop Quiz reward cards, then it stands to reason that the writers are basically running on fumes at all times. And if the main story is actively in a current/updating season, then you have to add that to the writer's workload as well.

All of this doesn't even take into consideration things like edits, rewrites, script changes, etc. It's extremely common to send in a completed scene or story for review and approval, only to get your script back full of notes about everything that needs to be changed. With the constant turnover time for things like events and stories in mobile games in general (not just OM specifically) I wouldn't be surprised if new content is only getting finished and approved within hours of it going live - which would also explain the occasional text errors and typos that we see in-game, considering that there likely just isn't time to fix everything before releasing it.

All of this is really just a very long way to say "this is why fans of a series or character are often thought to understand or write for the series/character better than the actual staff" and in a lot of ways it's fairly true. Especially when many fans are writing out of sheer love, and some official writers are possibly only writing for a paycheck.

(Writing for a paycheck is in no way bad, especially in 2024 with the economy and cost of living crisis the way it is. And many official writers love the series and characters they write for, this just isn't a universal thing)

As for Satan himself, when it comes to OM specifically he is fairly lucky in that the brothers are typically given a lot more attention and care than the rest of the cast. This is a problem in itself (OM has a long history of sidelining beloved characters in order to constantly spotlight the 2 or 3 most popular money-makers, this being Lucifer, Mammon, and sometimes Leviathan) but in this particular case, it means that Satan usually isn't victim to being thrown out-of-character by the writers, or at least not as often as someone like Solomon or Barbatos.

From what I've noticed, it tends to be the "Satan loves cats" thing that gives him the most OOC moments. Yes, Satan loves cats very much. Very big catboy energy. However, there have been times where his "obsession" with cats is so overblown for the sake of comedy and silly wacky hijinks that it goes directly against his actual character. Yes, Satan loves cats, but not enough to knowingly endanger himself or the people around him, which has happened more than once - the biggest examples being S2 and S4 of the original game, where Satan's IQ suddenly dropped into single digits during a very serious situation and he abandoned his actual goals in order to chase after a random cat. In S2 he did this despite the fact that it not only endangered his own life while he already knew that the cat was not real, but also at the detriment of the rest of his family and MC (as the fake cat was a known trap meant to prevent him from helping MC and Lucifer save Beel's life)

Yes, Satan loves cats. But he also loves MC and his family more than anything else, and the idea that a random cat that he literally knows is a trap can cause him to suddenly become stupid and abandon everything at the drop of a hat when he knows that it will risk him and everyone else is so wildly, ridiculously out of character for him it's almost laughable.

We know that Satan would not ever put himself or anybody he cares about in serious, life-threatening danger on purpose.

But the story needed a little ✨️drama✨️ so the writers decided that Satan's established characterisation was worth sacrificing in order to write the scene they wanted.

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #omswd #obey me satan #satan #satan obey me #LONG POST #LONG

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lilmissheartbroken · 4 months

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Class President ||Part 1|| Yoon Gwi-nam x Fem!reader

Part2 https://www.tumblr.com/lilmissheartbroken/739361852906143744/class-presedent-part-2-yoon-gwi-nam-x-reader?source=share

the classroom was quiet besides the early chitter-chatter of the students as they all discussed their weekend with their friends and the activities they got up to. You were no exception, as you sat with a small group of your friends and discussed your weekends.

" So, what did you get up to, [name]?" Your friend Seol-ya asked as she smiled at you knowingly with a soft giggle, "let me guess, you studied more?" She sighed as you nodded sheepishly. You were pretty quiet quiet honeslty and didn't get up to much, usually sticking to yourself and confiding yourself to your room and indulging in your studies.

"yeah..." You answer with a soft smile. what could you say? You were a straight A student aswell as class president, you had a seputation to uphold!

"Boring!" Rin groaned as she glanced at you. to be honest, she wasn't really a friend. More-so just someone you tolerated for Seol-ya's sake. You didn't really like her and she sure as hell didn't like you, constantly going out of her way to make her opinion on you known.

" Gosh [Name], you're so lame! No wonder you haven't got a boyfriend. How can you meet someone if you're always studying?" She laughed snidingly. that was always her go-to, but it was only because she was mad that she couldn't keep a boyfriend. She always had a new boy-toy every week. You roll your eyes at her comment, brushing it off.

" Honeslty rin, a boy is the least of my worries right now. I don't need one!" You answer as you begin to pull your books out of your book bag. At that she rolled her eyes.

The doors slid open rather loudly as Gwi-nam walked into the room, his face void of all emotion. You rolled your eyes at the boy, such a nuisance. He was known for being a bully around the school, and quiete frankly, you didn't think much of the boy.

" Isn't he so dreamy.." Rin swooned as she oggled at the tall boy, Seol-ya looked at her, mouth agape, disgust clearly written all over her face.

"Ew! No way rin! Even you should have more self respect." Seol-ya reprimanded, The two bickered at the insult but you payed no mind. You would never say it out loud, but even you had to admit that Gwi-nam was quite the looker...if you could ignore how he made many peoples lives, including yours, a misery.

Your train of thought was cut off by something light hitting you in the back of the head. Pausing, you turn around and look to see a crumpled up piece of paper on the ground. A group of boys snickering could be heard in the far corner of the room. You internally groan, already knowing fine well who was the culprit. You whip around to glare at gwi-nam, he was smirking and laughing with his mates as if he had just made the most hilarious joke in the whole world. You roll your eyes and turn away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Just then the teacher walked in.

" Settle down everyone.." The teacher called a few times, attempting to grab the classes attention, You went and took your seat, which was sadly, right beside Gwi-nams.

" Pop quiz!" The teacher called out excitedly, almost immedietly the classroom was filled with annoyed groans ... and so goes another typical day..

**Hi! I know this is short im so sorry! Other chapters will definetly be longer i promise!! let me know what you think of this chapter and let me know what you think needs work and any recommendations for upcoming chapters!! Thank you for reading**

#gwi nam x reader #gwi-nam #yoon gwi nam #fanfiction #all of us are dead #Romance #slow burn #smut #Fluff #hurt/comfort

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polyphonetic · 1 month

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pop quiz!

these questions are from the international linguistics olympiad (questions posted originally on a twitter thread). They can be solved through pure logic, but personal knowledge of languages is always fine to consider! My correct answers and process below the cut.

Sake and Katana are the easiest to find referencing Karaoke, Haiku and Koi will both have an "i", and every "-a" word had a dot at the top left, making the "ta" in "atari" easy. I also know a bit of hiragana (one of the japanese alphabets) already, and that A I U E O are the beginning.

Second image answers are C and D. Diane's sentence tells me that strungy and struffy are "good", so i kept track of if things are presented as opposites. The sentence forms are pretty much "good and good", "bad and bad", "good but bad", "bad but good".

"masterō and masters" appear the most times on the right, which aligned with cyriōn / cyriu / cyrios / cyrioi. I know that languages can sometimes reverse the order of things, so B/F, E/H, can be connected to 1/4, 6/8 (not knowing which pair to which).

Then i know that either -ōn or -ou must be plural, and -oi or -os must be plural. There's actually 5 instances of -ōn, and 5 instances of "of the [plural]", whereas "the [thing] of" has 4 singulars and 4 plurals. This led to the A and B note at the top of each column, and from there it was matching and deduction.

#kassandra rambles #language #linguistics #games #polls #japanese #greek #international linguistics olympiad #logic #puzzle

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iwillrememberyoumarathon · 7 months

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Bangel fans, we want to hear from you! During the run-up to the IWRY Fic Marathon in November, we’ll be getting to know each other through our Meet the Fandom series. Answer the questions here to join in.

What is your name?

Grace

Where do you hang out?

Mostly on Discord. AO3: GraceNM

Do you create any fan works?

I have written Bangel fics, and I used to make photo edits and vids sometimes back in the day. My most bookmarked Bangel story is The Whole Point.

Funniest Bangel/Buffyverse moment?

The moment in Doppelgangland when Xander holds out the cross to Willow, thinking she's a vampire, and it doesn't do anything, so he pulls it back, shakes it and holds it out again. Cracks me up every time.

What Buffyverse opinion would have you chased through the village with pitchforks?

I love Faith, but I'm almost always on Buffy's side, and I think Buffy went above and beyond to help her in Season 3.

Share a headcanon you have about Bangel or the Buffyverse?

My headcanon is that IWRY was a test of Angel by the Powers That Be. They sent Doyle that vision of Buffy to set everything into motion; it wasn't really genuine.

I think there were "three temptations" set up for Angel to overcome: the Gem of Amara, the Mohra demon, and the Shanshu. Angel only proved he deserved the Shanshu when he was willing to give up all three of them. (Whether he ever gets it or not is another question entirely.)

How would you have given Buffy and Angel their Happily Ever After?

I think Buffy's big wish was to be normal, and Angel's big wish was to be human, but I think both of them learn that getting what they think they want is less important than their bigger goals of helping people and keeping each other alive (and occasionally saving the world). So Buffy never gets normal, and Angel stays a vampire, but they find a way to fix the curse so they can help each other fight the good fight and provide each other solace and comfort along the way. (But I'd be happy with a Shanshu too! Any option where they're together is good!)

Last fic you read?

Kairos' amazing Older, which is a twist on Season 2 and 3 of Buffy, where she's one year older. (Yes, that means the Cruciamentum comes earlier in the story!)

Slay, Lay, Obey - Dawn, Faith, Connor?

Slay: Connor. C'mon, what am I, Saint Grace? This was the only possible choice.

Lay: Faith. Yes, please and thank you. Is it hot in here or ??

Obey: Dawn. This is easy, as I adore Dawn Summers with all my heart. I will happily sing pop music, eat cookie dough and talk about boys forever.

Fill in the quiz so the fandom can meet you!

#bangel #buffy x angel #iwryficmarathon2023 #meetthefandom

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morganofthewildfire · 1 year

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You're On Your Own, Kid

Part 2

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CW: mentions of cancer, implications of prostitution, mention of death, implications of child abuse, NSFW,

~ 11k words

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Eleven Years Ago

“How was class?” Aelin asked Rowan as he made his way over to her in the hallway, his backpack slung over both shoulders. He shook his head, his silver hair flopping over his forehead.

“Horrible,” he answered, “pop quiz.”

They fell in line next to each other, heading down the hallway and out of the middle school building.

“But you love history,” she asked, brows furrowed. “I’m surprised you didn’t ace it.” He just shrugged and she decided not to pry, just walking next to him in the quiet.

“I had music today,” Aelin continued after a minute, “Miss Florine let me play on her piano again.”

“That’s good,” Rowan answered, nodding his head a bit. “I’m glad she recognizes how talented you are.” He sent a small smile her way, and Aelin had to forcibly stop herself from blushing scarlet.

It was a problem. Since she’d discovered the extent of her feelings almost a year ago, it’d only gotten worse. Every time he touched her, a whole swarm of butterflies flew around her stomach. Every time he smiled at her, she wanted to melt into a puddle. Every day they spent together only made her feelings stronger, and she was pretty sure she’d die if she ever had to be without him.

But she couldn’t tell him, she couldn’t risk losing him.

“The rest of my classes today were terrible,” she admitted as she shrugged, hoping to sympathize with him a little bit. “I got my test grade back in Math, and it was not what I was hoping for.”

“No?” Rowan asked, pushing open the door to the courtyard, and she shook her head.

“See?” She said, nudging his shoulder and smiling slightly. “Everyone gets bad grades, it’s alright.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Remelle and her friends, and she looked away quickly. Hoping they wouldn’t notice them. Remelle didn’t attempt to mess with her in front of Rowan usually, but whenever Aelin was by herself she would get choice comments about him.

She just tried her best to ignore it all.

“Loser!” Someone shouted from across the courtyard, and Aelin huffed, picking up her pace. Rowan frowned next to her, but didn’t comment, picking up from her that she just wanted to move on.

Until a spitball hit her face, right on the bruise on her jaw she’d tried to cover up with makeup just that morning. Aelin wiped it away quickly, clenching her jaw and fighting the humiliated tears that pricked at her eyes.

And when Rowan slowed down, about to say something to the antagonizers, she just grabbed his hand, pulling him along after her.

“It’s not worth it,” she muttered, “they’ll just think they got a rise out of me and keep doing it.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t, just nodding and following her when she pulled him toward the sidewalk to begin the walk home.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until Aelin could sense he was about to ask her about it, so she cut him off before he could.

“So what happened with your history test?” She asked, glancing over at him. “Why weren’t you prepared?” She kicked a rock idly in front of her, keeping it moving as they walked toward his house.

Arobynn had been especially riled up that morning, and after she’d mentioned it to Rowan on the way to school, he’d practically forbidden her from going home that afternoon.

To her surprise, his cheeks turned red. He stuttered over the start of his answer, and she felt her heart sinking, already knowing she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

“My teacher switched our seats around,” he answered, not looking at her. “I ended up next to Lyria Willow.”

Oh.

Lyria Willow. She was a pretty brunette cheerleader, popular, but not part of Remelle’s group of friends. Aelin barely knew her, but she seemed sweet. And sweet was apparently Rowan’s type.

“Does Rowan have a little crush?” She teased, forcing a smile on her face. If anything, his blush grew.

“It’s nothing,” he denied, shaking his head. “She’s moving anyway, she won’t be here next year.”

That was some relief at least, but it still hurt to hear about him liking anyone.

“I got distracted during the quiz because she smiled at me,” he said quietly, as if embarrassed to admit it. He probably was, and she thought he should be. But being the supportive best friend she was, she wasn’t going to tease him about it anymore.

The only thing that soothed her about this conversation was that she could see he was wearing his bracelet. True to his word, he hadn’t taken it off since she’d given it to him, and neither had she.

Maybe Lyria had his heart, but she’d always have him.

Now

Back home at his apartment that evening, Rowan couldn’t get what he’d just witnessed out of his mind. Couldn’t get that guy out of his mind, or her outfit, or the sheer embarrassment in her eyes.

He understood now, what she was doing. What her job was in Rifthold.

“Gods,” he cursed under his breath as he closed the apartment door behind him, leaning his head against the other side of it. He’d missed a call from his mom earlier, but he couldn’t bring himself to call her back.

Not that she’d even be awake, but on the off chance that she was, he didn’t even know what he’d say. Maybe cry again like he had the night Aelin had left. Maybe just say nothing, maybe spill everything. But before that, he needed to sort out his own shit first.

He locked the door roughly, tossing the keys onto the kitchen countertop and moving to go collapse on the couch, his head in his hands.

The silence settled over him and he stared down at the carpet of his apartment, too much going through his head.

An unknowable amount of time later, he stood up aggressively, going to his bedroom to grab his laptop. His hands were shaking as he sat back down on the couch, nearly throwing it open as he opened a search browser.

First, he went on incognito mode, and then he messed around with it more until he got to the other side of the internet. The side most people didn’t go on.

Rowan was a commercial lawyer, so he didn’t deal with things like that, but in law school he’d taken a class on more criminal law. He’d figured out how to access the dark web, and learned some of the ins and outs of the common sites you’d find on there.

His friend in law school, one of the boys from the football team actually, Lorcan, had gone down more of that path. Rowan hadn’t wanted to, but the knowledge was useful now.

With a heavy sigh, he typed in just the name he’d heard. Just Celaena. And immediately her website popped up on the search results.

His heart was pounding as he clicked on it, a picture of her immediately popping up on the page. She was laying on a couch, scantly clad with a seductive smirk on her face. Her golden hair was loose and hanging around her, her body clearly on display for potential clients.

In big text at the top was the name Celaena, her pseudonym he supposed, and a tab for booking “appointments”. He didn’t want to click on it, or the tab labeled “pricing.” He didn’t want to know how much it cost to buy her body, to buy her time, to buy her.

She wasn’t something that should be sold.

People shouldn’t be able to charge an hour of time with her to their credit card, like she was a commodity you could pick up in a store. It was sickening.

Nausea swirled in his stomach at the sight of the screen in front of him, and he shut it before he could vomit all over the keyboard, his heart clenching in utter pain.

He’d coped with her leaving by imagining her new life wherever she’d ended up. He imagined she’d found a job she loved, or imagined she’d been able to do something with the music she loved, or just ended up happy. Now he knew that wasn’t the case.

A sob escaped him before he could stop it, and he scrubbed at his face, hoping to stop the tears before they really started spilling out of his eyes. But it was too late as his hands came away wet.

And all he could do was lay back against the couch, and let it all out.

Ten Years Ago

High school had come.

Aelin hadn’t been especially excited or especially nervous about it. In a town as small as Perranth, it was essentially the same as middle school. She was sure to continue to be the outcast, and Rowan was sure to only get more popular.

Especially now that he’d made it onto the varsity football team.

It was nearly unheard of as a freshman to surpass JV altogether, but her buzzard had. She’d been incredibly proud of him when she’d heard, just like he’d been proud of her when she got a piano solo in the music department’s showcase the year before.

But she was sad too, because it just felt like another nail in the coffin for how everything was going to change.

They’d only had a few classes together in eighth grade, but this year they had none.

Her first day so far had been miserable, as she tried to figure everything out by herself, but Rowan had promised to meet her for lunch in the cafeteria. So that’s where she was, standing outside of the cafeteria with her bought lunch on a tray, waiting for him to show up.

She glanced down at her watch, shifting on her feet nervously. Lunch had started nearly ten minutes ago. Where was he?

She glanced around, fighting the urge to chew her lip to shreds as she tried to spot him. Arobynn had given her a split lip the other day in a particularly nasty incident, and it was an admittedly bad habit of hers to continue to reopen the wound.

She needed to stop, but sometimes venting the pain into that was the only way she could cope.

“Aelin,” a familiar voice said breathlessly, and she turned to see Rowan catching his breath, his lunch bag in his hand, his bracelet on his wrist. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay,” she said, forcing a small smile onto her lips. Her self cut curtain bangs fell over her eye and she transferred the tray to one hand to use the other to push it back, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Where do you want to sit?” She nodded to the open cafeteria doors.

But Rowan cringed. “About that,” he said, sighing. “A couple of the players asked me to sit at their table today, and since I’m a freshman I don’t want to -”

“Miss out, I get it,” Aelin said, nodding. She ignored the disappointment swirling in her stomach.

“It’s all good?” He asked, his brows furrowed, and all she could do was nod, especially after reading the excitement lining his features. He didn’t want to step on her toes, but he also clearly wanted to go sit with them. Who was she to deny him that?

“Yeah,” she rasped, “go enjoy.”

“Where will you sit?” He asked, glancing back at the open cafeteria, and Aelin did the same, finding absolutely no one she knew. If she went in there, she’d end up alone at a table, and she wanted to do everything she could to avoid that.

“You know what,” she said, completely lying. “I just remembered. Chaol asked me to eat with him in the music room, so I have to go do that anyway.”

“Chaol?” Rowan asked, and she nodded, forcing yet another smile onto her split lips.

“He just moved here,” she said. “He’s in the music program.”

Chaol did just move here, and he was in the music program, but he certainly did not ask her to lunch. What was a little white lie, though? If it made him feel better, it was worth it.

“Oh, okay,” Rowan said, nodding. “That works then.” He took a step backward toward the cafeteria. “See you after school?”

“Yep,” she answered, tucking more falling hair behind her ear. “See you.”

She waved once and then he was gone.

With a sigh, Aelin turned away from the cafeteria doors, resigning herself to lunch alone in the library. That’s where she’d gone in middle school whenever Rowan had to miss for the day. Looks like she’d be starting the habit again.

Whatever, it was what it was. She just had to deal with it.

Now

After debating it for nearly the whole day before, Rowan was once again at Aelin’s apartment, this time with a box of chocolates in tow. She was right, and he needed to apologize. Well - he wasn’t quite wrong, but he couldn’t erase the look of pure embarrassment from her eyes and he needed to let her know that this didn’t change anything. That the life she’d ended up in didn’t change how he thought of her.

Or how much he cared for her.

He paused when he reached her door, nerves racing through him as he hesitated. Faintly, he could hear lilting piano, and he stayed quiet, hoping to hear the rest of the song.

“Summer went away, but still the yearning stays,” he heard through the door. Aelin’s voice was quiet, and a bit hesitant, but as melodic as ever. He didn’t knock, not wanting to interrupt her. “I played it cool with the best of them.”

He stepped closer to the door, placing his ear to it so he could hear better. It’d been so long since he’d heard her sing, and even then it was something she’d always been shy about. If Rowan had to guess, he’d say she really only ever sang around him maybe five times? If that.

But he’d always been enchanted by it.

“I wait patiently,” she continued, slowing down a little bit, as if she was thinking of what to sing next. Probably workshopping this very song. “He’s gonna notice me,” a small sigh. “It’s okay, we’re the best of…”

She trailed off, a few dissonant chords hitting his ears before he could hear the piano bench scooching against the floor, and the light patter of feet leaving the room.

“Fuck,” he heard through the door, and he furrowed his brows, but decided it was time to stop eavesdropping on her. So he straightened, transferring the chocolates to one hand as he knocked with the other.

There was a pause where there was no noise at all, and then the door was opening. Aelin was on the other side, wiping her face quickly and sniffing before glancing up at him warily.

“I brought chocolates,” Rowan said, lifting up the box as a peace offering. She hesitated, clearly considering what to do, but eventually she opened the door more to let him inside.

“You can’t stay long,” she said lowly. “I have a client coming in half an hour.”

His brows furrowed. “It’s noon,” he said, a little dumbfounded. In fact, he was here on his lunch break, so he couldn’t stay very long anyway. But she just shrugged.

“I’m available any day, any time,” she said, her voice humorless. “I don’t get to judge when they want to use me, I just let them do it.”

She shut the door behind him with a bit of finality, and he saw what she was wearing properly.

It was another set of lingerie, sheerer this time instead of lacy, but covered up by that same red silk robe. Her tanned legs were on display, peeking out of the bottom of the material, but he forced his eyes away.

“I want to apologize,” Rowan said, and he heard her sigh before she turned around to face him. Her expression was tired. “I want to say I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry too.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, that familiar nervous gesture of hers, one of the few lasting similarities between how she was now and how she was then. Clearing her throat, she brushed past him, moving toward the kitchen.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, staying put.

“A lot better than the other day,” she answered, not looking at him. “Thank you for your help.”

Rowan just nodded idly, pursing his lips.

“How…long?” He asked after a moment, trying to figure out how to frame the question. Taking a step after her, he set the chocolates down on the counter, choosing to perch in one of the barstools.

Aelin just laughed humorlessly. “Eight years.”

Eight years.

Which meant… “Aelin, you were seventeen,” he said, blinking in shock. “Who did this to you?”

She furrowed her brows at the phrasing, but Rowan didn’t know how else to put it. She was probably blaming herself for where she’d ended up, had likely blamed herself ever since it started. But if it’d been going on for eight years, and she really had been seventeen, then he placed the blame solely on whoever had gotten her into this.

Who had first… had first hired her.

Or used her. Whichever statement one preferred. Either way, Aelin was in no way at fault.

“I was at a bar,” she said, looking to the side a little bit. “When I first came to Rifthold.” She shook her head. “There was a man, and I don’t know, I just… it was easy to just… I don’t know.” She shook her head again, and Rowan didn’t press the point. She’d tell him when she was ready.

He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t go kill the man who’d done this. But he’d cross that bridge later.

Aelin slid into the seat next to him, leaning her elbows against the counter. “So there you go,” she said drily. “You know my sordid secret. I’m assuming you still think I made a mistake leaving?”

Rowan didn’t know what to say. The immediate answer was yes, but -

“Did you want to stay?” He asked, knowing the answer to that too. Aelin pursed her lips, looking away. No. She didn’t. And he knew why, part of the reason was him. And that godsdamned mistake and that godsdamned night. “Aelin, I’m so-”

“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head and smiling weakly. “Don’t apologize. There’s no need to rehash the past.”

Rowan just nodded, not saying anything. She was right. It wouldn’t do anything now. Any apology he made would be eight years too late.

“You probably should go soon,” she said after a minute, not looking at him.

“It’s only been ten minutes,” he said, and she shrugged, looking away.

“Gives me more time to prepare.”

“Prepare?” He couldn’t help but pry, and she just chuckled humorlessly.

“Prepare mentally,” she answered, pushing herself to a stand. “It takes time, you know?”

“You know,” Rowan said, already wincing. “You don’t have to keep doing this.”

“And do what?” Aelin asked, incredulous, and he couldn’t blame her. “I didn’t even graduate high school, Rowan. What am I supposed to do?”

“Anything but this,” he said quietly, shaking his head. Her brows wrought together, and he knew he’d messed up.

“Are you judging me?” She asked, stepping away from him a bit. “You think this is easy?” Aelin continued, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield. “You think I didn’t cry myself to sleep for weeks at the beginning? You think I didn’t used to vomit after every godsdamned appointment I had?” She shook her head, tears collecting in those soulful blue eyes as she had the breakdown he’d known was coming.

“People want so much from me,” she sighed heavily. “I’m not curvy enough, I’m not skinny enough, I’m not sexy enough, I’m too sexy.” She closed her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I don’t…always eat properly, I know that. It’s just easy to let all of those words sink in. And easy to let myself cave in, internalizing the disgust I feel for everything,” she shuddered, “and directing it at myself.”

She blinked her eyes open, glancing over at him. His heart had already fractured in two.

“But it’s just the way it is,” she said, her voice eerily empty.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he whispered, shaking his head and taking a step toward her. But she just shrugged.

“There’s no changing it now,” she said, wiping the tear off of her cheek and straightening her robe. “I’m already ruined.”

Before he could say anything against that declaration, she was pushing open the door to the guest bedroom. Or not her guest bedroom - her working room - making sure everything was ready to go.

He took that as his cue to leave, just like she’d requested.

Now wasn’t the time to argue. He just wished she could see what he saw. Not something broken that needed to be fixed, but someone so godsdamned strong she’d managed to survive everything life threw her way.

His Fireheart. That’s who she was.

Nine Years Ago

“Hey Mrs. Whitethorn!” Aelin greeted as she opened the front door without even knocking, so familiar with both of its occupants she didn’t even need to.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Rowan’s mom greeted warmly from where she was at her desk tucked back in the corner of the kitchen. She worked as a nurse, but sometimes had to do some administration and budgeting stuff from home. Especially right before she had a shift, which she did tonight.

Aelin poked her head around the frame, carrying her bag on one shoulder.

“Rowan’s not home yet from practice,” Lianna continued, “but feel free to make yourself at home. Like always,” she laughed musically.

“It’s what I do best,” Aelin said with a wink, before pushing off the frame and heading down the hallway toward her best friend’s room.

It was their annual sleepover, and though things had certainly changed from 10 to 17, they’d kept up with it. Since discovering her feelings for him, and how deep they went, she’d thought it’d be awkward to share a bed. But she’d been respectful, and he always was, and she found that it was just comfortable.

It always was.

She opened the door, closing it behind her and dropped her bag on the ground before collapsing onto his bed. His pillows smelled like him, that pine scent she loved so much, and like a creep she breathed it in, closing her eyes as she relaxed into his mattress.

After a minute of that she rolled over, staring up at the ceiling fan, watching it circle around and around. Aelin much preferred this room to her own. She much preferred this house to her own. She much preferred him to herself.

Maybe it wasn’t healthy, but it was true.

It was hard to have great self esteem when your supposed parental figure hit you every other day, your entire school bullied you, and the one friend you had would never care for you the same way you cared for him. Warmth hit her eyes unbidden, and she blinked them away, rolling to her side.

But something caught her gaze.

Her face fell and she sat up, reaching for the friendship bracelet that lay abandoned on his nightstand. Unabashedly not on his wrist where it was supposed to be. Aelin couldn’t think, she just stared at it and felt her heart splinter.

Until the sound of the front door bursting open and closed.

“How was practice, honey?” She heard Rowan’s mom ask him, but he just grunted. Aelin frowned. “Aelin’s in your room by the way,” she added, and Aelin sat up fully, wiping at her face to get rid of any trace of tears.

It wiped away a bit of the concealer she’d carefully applied that morning, but it was alright. He’d seen so many of her bruises it didn’t matter anyway. His mom had seen a few, ones she’d tried to explain away unsuccessfully, but hadn’t pushed the matter.

The couple of times Lianna Whitethorn had tried to bring up legal action, Aelin had shut it down immediately. It wasn’t worth the trouble. She didn’t want to owe them anything more than what she already did.

As Rowan headed down the hallway, Aelin darted up, reaching for his closet to pull out the blankets and extra pillows needed for their pillow fort. He’d made it the first year, but now it was tradition to make it together. They’d gotten pretty good at it over the years.

The bedroom door opened right as she dropped the pile on the floor and her best friend stumbled in, dropping his football bag on the ground next to it. She furrowed her brows, analyzing his appearance. His hair was messy and he was sweaty like he always was after practice, but his head was down, not giving her a good look at his face.

“Rowan?” Aelin asked hesitantly, turning to sit cross legged on his bed. “You good?”

He just grunted again, looking like he was going to head right back out the door and down to the bathroom, but she stopped him, darting up and placing a hand on his arm.

“Hey,” she said firmly, turning him to face her. And her face fell yet again as he finally looked at her. Looked at her with red, bloodshot eyes. His pupils were dilated, nearly hiding all of that beautiful green, and she knew. “Are you high?” She asked, completely shocked.

Rowan just stepped away from her, slurring “I don’t know what you mean.”

She clenched her jaw. ‘What the hell happened?” She asked, her voice tight. “You were at football practice.”

He looked away again, shrugging loosely. “One of the boys had a joint after practice, Archer I think? They were all doing it.”

“So you did it too?” She huffed. “Gods, Rowan. And you drove home like this?”

“Walked,” he said, slumping down onto the bed. “Left my car.”

She heard the telltale signs of the front door opening and closing again, and then the fiddling of the lock, signalling Rowan’s mom leaving for her shift at the hospital. Leaving them alone.

Aelin sighed heavily, walking in front of him and grabbing his jaw with a hand, tilting his face to get a proper look at him. His eyes were hazy and bugged out, his mouth slack and his gaze altogether unfocused.

“Gods, how much did you even smoke?” She asked, sighing heavily when he just shrugged again. “Okay, I’m going to get you some water okay?”

He didn’t say anything, so she left him laying there, toeing off her shoes and padding to the kitchen quickly and filling up a cup with water from the sink. Once back in his room, she grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to sit up a bit and lean against the headboard, kneeling next to him on the bed and holding up the cup to his mouth.

He hesitated, but after she pinched his arm he complied, opening his mouth and letting her get water into it. They repeated it a couple of times, and she made sure he swallowed after every gulp until the cup was empty.

Aelin set it down on his nightstand, next to the bracelet he’d seemingly taken off who knows when. She hadn’t seen him at all today, or yesterday. He’d been busy with practice, and she’d had music lessons after school.

She’d really dived into music more and more since entering high school, and even found a new passion in writing lyrics. During boring classes, she’d take out her journal and scribble down little poems that she later tried to set to music when given free time with the piano at school or at the music store down the street.

The owner there, Emrys, was always nice enough to let her use it.

It was a great way to vent, and she found that whenever she couldn’t process what she was feeling, translating it into song was helpful.

“I’m going to be sick,” Rowan muttered a few seconds later, and Aelin cursed, helping him to a stand. She managed to get him down the hallway and into the bathroom before he was falling to his knees and vomiting in the toilet.

She brushed his back soothingly as he retched up whatever he’d eaten that day, murmuring words of comfort.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, darting back to the kitchen to get more water. He was breathing heavily, but was leaning against the wall and away from the toilet when she returned, taking the cup from her willingly.

She sat down next to him, watching him carefully as he took small sips of water.

“Are you feeling any better?” She asked, and he sighed, simply taking another sip of water. But then his bleary gaze focused on her face.

Without saying anything he reached out a hand, lightly caressing the bruise on her cheekbone. Aelin couldn’t stop herself form leaning into his touch, but didn’t fight it as his arm dropped again.

“Let’s get you into bed,” she said, unable to hide the tinge of disappointment in her voice. It was their sleepover, it was supposed to be her comfort to escape from the memories of her parents’ death. It was supposed to be one of the only times they just got to be them.

She was happy to be here to help him, but she was still disappointed.

Rowan followed her willingly, letting her help him up and back down the hallway, helping him get his shoes off and onto the bed, taking one of the discarded blankets that was supposed to build their fort and laying it on top of him.

He fell asleep quicker than he probably ever had, and Aelin just laid on top of the bed next to him, staring back up at the ceiling fan. Words were swirling around in her head, and she took her phone out of her pocket, opening her notes app and jotting a few things down. It was a bit nonsensical, but all the best music was. She’d fix it later.

She stiffened as Rowan turned in his sleep, reaching an arm out carelessly to hook around her waist. His nose burrowed in her hair, and she could barely breathe, feeling every inch of the closeness between them.

It took her a few minutes to calm down, and even longer to even entertain the idea of sleep. But after getting over the initial shock, his arms around her were familiar and comforting, and she put her phone down and sunk into the grasp, letting sleep take her.

But even as the world drifted away, the sight of that bracelet on his nightstand haunted her dreams.

---

An indiscernable amount of time later, she was woken up to the soft sounds of sniffling, and she cracked her eyes open to see Rowan laying next to her, his eyes on the ceiling fan as he tried to hide his evident tears.

“Rowan?” She asked, turning to face him. It was pitch black outside, so it must’ve been the middle of the night. “Are you alright?” She asked, her voice raspy.

He started to nod his head before realizing it was futile and shaking it instead. Something close to a sob escaped him. “What am I doing?” He asked, and her heart splintered a little more. “Why the hell did I do that?”

She knew what was bothering him. It was what always bothered him.

She sighed, sitting up a little bit to fully face him. His green eyes were watery, but they were back to normal and she was grateful to see the change. Even through the devastation in them.

“I try so hard not to be like him,” Rowan whispered, “and yet here I am, getting high and hurting myself. Hurting you.” His eyes were glued to hers, vivid in the dark room. “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you today, and yet I was vomiting in the bathroom while you kept me safe.”

“Row-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, a rebellious tear spilling down his tan cheek. “I’m so sorry.” He normally didn’t let his insecurities show, but this was the one thing that always got him.

“Rowan,” she said more firmly, scooting a bit closer and daring to set a hand on his cheek. “I’m okay, okay? I’m here, I’m fine. Yeah, I can’t lie and say I think smoking weed was a good decision.” She cracked a wry smile and he huffed a tiny laugh. “But I understand the pressure. And I think the fact that you’re so worried about it shows so much that you will never be like your dad, alright?”

He hesitated, but nodded, sniffing back his emotions.

“Can I hold you?” He asked, and she tried not to read too much into the question, but complied, laying back down beside him and letting him wrap both his arms around her, pulling her in close. She was fully wrapped in his body, and she let her eyes fall closed, tucking her nose into his shirt and breathing him in.

They fell asleep again like that, finding comfort in each other. Despite the way everything was changing, that was something that hadn’t.

Yet, as they woke up the next morning and got ready for school with soft smiles and tired hearts, neither of them mentioned the bracelet.

Now

Rowan needed a drink. Desperately.

After the talk with Aelin the day before, he’d gone back to work completely out of it, and his new coworker Fenrys had talked him into going to the bar with him that evening. He’d agreed, and the drinks had admittedly cleared his head for a little bit.

But it’d all returned the next day, so here he was again, outside the same bar, hoping to have that hour or so of freedom.

It maybe wasn’t the best method, but he’d both texted and called Aelin earlier in the day to no avail, so he needed to get lost for a little bit while figuring out what to do to help her. Or at least get her to see that he was there for her.

It was chilly outside, so he’d worn a sweater probably nicer than needed for the establishment he was going to, but he hadn’t finished unpacking all of his clothes. So this was what he had to work with.

But he barely even cared as he pushed open the door, welcoming the chaos of the crowd inside. It was noisy, and no one noticed him as he slipped up to the bar, ordering a whiskey.

He sat down on a barstool, jiggling his leg and staring at the bartender as he waited for his drink. Just a couple, and then he’d go home and get some sleep. He really needed some good sleep.

“You again,” a familiar voice slurred, and he furrowed his brow. “Of course you’re here.”

He turned, seeing Aelin sitting down a couple of barstools away from him, several empty glass in front of her. From that, her voice, and the way her eyes were slightly glossy, it was clear she was well past sober.

“Aelin,” he said, a tad surprised.

“I was trying to escape my problems,” she continued to say, slumping her head against her hand and stirring the cocktail in front of her. “But you’re just following me around.”

“I’m a problem?” He asked, raising a brow, trying to hide the hurt he felt from the words. But Aelin scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. The motion took her head with it, and therefore pulled it off her hand, and she nearly fell over if not for Rowan reaching to help straighten her.

Gods.

He grabbed the drink from the bartender and scooted over to sit next to her, brows furrowed in concern.

“You’re not a problem per se,” Aelin continued, gesturing wildly at him. “You’re just- you’re just mean.”

“Oh so I’m just mean?” Rowan asked, one side of his lips quirking up. “That’s all?”

“You’re making me feel too much,” she complained, taking a large sip of her cocktail, which left a line of pink on her upper lip. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“What does that mean?” He asked, taking a sip of his drink. He couldn’t deny he was curious. Maybe prying just a little bit.

She groaned, dropping her head to the bar top. “I don’t like feeling.” She tilted her head to look at him, her eyes bleary, mascara smeared. “It hurts.”

He’d been chuckling a minute ago, but now concern was spilling through his veins and he wondered if it was just best for her to go home.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, sitting his drink down. She shrugged, the movement awkward in her position.

“Drinking my problems away,” she said, “but they don’t like leaving.” After that, she sat up abruptly, reaching for the half full cocktail glass and draining the rest of the contents. “Ah,” she said, smacking her lips. “Delicious.”

She tilted her head back, but the movement, like before, took her too far and she almost slipped off the back. She would’ve, if he hadn’t darted behind her to keep her from falling flat on her face.

“Okay,” Rowan said, helping her stand up. “Time to go home.”

She mumbled a protest, shaking her head. “I just got here,” she said, and he laughed humorlessly at the clearly untrue statement. He’d just gotten here, but it didn’t matter now.

“You need to go get some sleep,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and letting her lean against him as they stumbled toward the exit. He’d thrown cash on the bar top, hoping that was enough to cover what they both owed.

But suddenly, she stopped, shaking her head rapidly. “I can’t go home,” she said, looking up at him, her blue eyes wide and drunk. “He’s there.”

Rowan froze, eying her carefully. “Who’s there?”

“Farran,” she said, sounding surprisingly sober. “He’s a regular but I didn’t want to tonight, I couldn’t tonight so I bailed and ended up here.” She shook her head. “He’ll be waiting for me. I can’t go back.” Her eyes were wide as she added one last thing that chilled him to the bone. “He’ll hurt me.”

Rowan loosed a heavy breath, fighting the urge to go over to her place and beat this Farran guy up. But he needed to make sure she was safe. That was the priority.

“Okay,” he nodded, “we’ll go to mine. How does that sound?”

Her eyes were still wide but she nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said, forcing a small smile onto his face. “But don’t judge the place too harshly, I haven’t had time to set up.”

A small giggle escaped her and he took that as a sign of success, hugging her close to him as he hailed a taxi.

It didn’t take long, and once they were inside, she leaned up against him, resting her head on his chest. Rowan wrapped an arm around her, combing gently through her hair as she nuzzled into his shirt. The contact made him blush slightly but he pushed the feeling away.

It was a short ride, and soon enough they were at his apartment complex. He knew the stairs would be daunting for her, so all he did when they got out was hoist her into his arms, her heeled feet floating in the air as she cuddled into him, not even speaking.

In fact, she was nearly falling asleep.

So much so, that when they got upstairs, after he carefully transferred her weight to unlock his apartment door, all he did was walk into his bedroom and set her down carefully on his mattress. He took off her shoes gently, but left her in her dress, not wanting to do anything that would make her uncomfortable.

Rowan tucked a blanket over her carefully, and then grabbed her a glass of water and some advil for when she woke up. She could stay for however long she needed, if only so she was safe. Not just because he wanted her around, though he did. But he felt like he owed it to her after all the years apart, after all the mistakes he’d made.

Plus, he cared too much about her to let her be in danger. He wanted her safe, and preferably happy. If that meant with him, he wasn’t about to complain.

Rowan went over to the door, about to flick off the lights and leave her to rest in peace, fully prepared to go sleep on the couch.

But then -

“Stay?” Aelin’s croaky voice asked, reminiscent of when she was sick just the week before. And who was he to deny her?

So with barely any hesitation, he turned off the light and took off his own shoes, climbing up next to her on the bed. He laid down a respectful distance away from her, but she rolled onto her side, reaching out for him.

She curled up to him like a koala, tucking her nose into his neck and wrapping her arms around his body. Rowan just placed an arm around her, holding her close. If this was the comfort she wanted, he would provide it.

“Get some sleep, Fireheart” he murmured quietly, combing through her hair gently. She mumbled something he didn’t quite comprehend, something like I and then he heard ou, with a v sound in there somewhere.

It wasn’t very clear, but he wasn’t going to wake her up to ask. She fell asleep easily, and after a few more minutes, he did too.

Eight Years Ago

Aelin felt surprisingly jittery as she stepped into the building, her feet shaking a bit in her tall heels as she walked toward the entrance to the hotel conference room, where their junior prom was located.

She hadn’t even decided to go until earlier that day, and scrambled for the store to get a dress and shoes, and then do her hair well and makeup, which she’d never really done before. At most she wore mascara and concealer to class every day, this was her first time doing more. Her mom should’ve been the one to teach her, but instead, she’d figured it out on her own.

The hours wasted on that aside, Aelin thought she looked nice, and she was actually feeling excited about this. She was excited to see Rowan. Sure, things hadn’t been the same between them for a while now, something that had been the subject of multiple half-written songs, but it was still Rowan.

He was still her best friend, no matter how much she’d prayed to the gods that he could be something more.

Rowan didn’t know she was coming, and nerves fluttered through her as she pushed open the door into the main room. It was decked out in style, matching the 1920s Flapper theme, or whatever Student Government had come up with. All she knew was that in her golden dress, she nearly fit in with the decor.

She spotted him quickly enough, standing by a wall, sipping on a glass of punch. She smiled weakly, though it fell when she saw him talking to another girl, even if he didn’t look very enthused to be doing it.

She could tell the exact moment he saw her though, because his face went slack. His green eyes went wide, and Aelin smoothed down her skirt with shaking hands, staying still and smiling nervously as he walked over to her, abandoning the girl he was with.

“You look… absolutely beautiful,” he said, shaking his head, and she could feel her entire face break out into a flush.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she said teasingly, which was an understatement. In the black suit he wore, with a black shirt underneath, he looked absolutely mouthwatering. Warmth stirred through her body, pooling in her core, and she glanced away, trying to fight the arousal. He was her best friend, she couldn’t feel like that.

Especially when he didn’t feel the same way back.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Rowan said, and she shrugged.

“It’s prom,” she said, “you only get two in your whole life. I don’t know where I’ll be next year, so might as well try this time.”

Rowan narrowed his eyes at her wording, but didn’t press her. He didn’t like it when she talked like that, more pessimistically, almost fatalistically, but what else was she supposed to do? Her life didn’t exactly make it easy to consider where she’d be in a year’s time.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I’m happy to see you.” His lips quirked up in that little half smile of his she loved, and her heart fluttered. Aelin smiled bashfully, tucking her bottom lip into her mouth to hide it. “Want to get some punch?” He asked, and she nodded, a jolt of electricity racing through her when he lightly touched her lower back to guide her to the refreshments table.

The back of her dress was open, meaning she could feel his rough calluses from football directly against her smooth skin. It wasn’t exactly helping her hide what he did to her.

They didn’t speak as he got her a glass of punch, and they hovered over by the side of the room as she sipped on it. The room was crowded, with loud music playing, but instead of feeling overwhelmed at the chaos, she was at peace there next to him.

He was wearing his bracelet, visible in brief moments when he moved his arm, and she was happy to see it back where it belonged. He’d put it on again the day after the failed sleepover, not mentioning why it was off in the first place, but it hadn’t budged since.

“Rowan!” A shrill voice cut through the music playing in the room, and Aelin’s face fell as Remelle LaFleur made her way over to where they were standing. “There you are!”

The blonde was wearing a skin tight ice blue dress, and no matter how much Aelin hated her, she couldn’t deny she looked good. Head cheerleader, blonde beauty, she was the queen of the popular crowd, and tended to treat Aelin like she was the scum on the bottom of her high heeled shoe. She had since elementary school.

Rowan, being on the football team, was too high status for Aelin’s company, which Remelle never failed to remind her. This time, she just disregarded Aelin entirely, pushing past her to nearly throw herself at Rowan.

“I haven’t seen you all evening,” she pouted, making Aelin want to gag.

“Remelle,” Rowan said, forcing a smile to his face. At least she liked to think it was forced. Something sank in her stomach. “How are you?”

“I’m doing amazing,” Remelle cooed, and Aelin nearly rolled her eyes. “Benson spiked the other punch bowl,” she said, “makes the evening much more fun. Do you want some?”

Aelin almost said something, but Rowan nodded, reaching over to the punch bowl on the other side of the table, filling up a cup. She felt queasy. “Do you want some, Aelin?” He asked her, and she was going to shake her head, but Remelle answered for her.

“Of course she doesn’t,” she said dismissively. “She’s such a prude.”

“Just because I don’t want to drink at prom doesn’t mean I’m a prude,” Aelin spit without thinking, earning Remelle’s full attention for the first time that evening. The blonde looked at her with her icy eyebrows raised, an ugly snarl on her lips.

“Oh yeah?” She asked, and Aelin clenched her jaw. “You’re just a joke.” She spit the word as if it was the worst insult imaginable. “You’re such a child," she shook her head. “I don’t know why Rowan even bothers to put up with you. Probably just out of pity cause your parents died and your new daddy hits you.”

Aelin was shaking - with anger, shame, frustration - she didn’t know what.

“Hey, back off,” Rowan interrupted, his voice harsh. “Who do you think you are?”

Remelle just turned to face him, smiling prettily. “I’m just trying to remind her of her place,” she said casually. “The school charity case.”

Aelin couldn’t sit there anymore, she turned and headed in the opposite direction, toward the exit. She pushed open the double doors aggressively, hurrying down the hallway in her heels until she was far away from the blaring music. It was only then she collapsed against the wall, bracing herself up with a hand.

“Fireheart,” Rowan’s voice reached her ears, slightly breathy like he’d chased after her.

“What,” she snapped, squeezing her eyes shut. “What do you want?”

He stayed silent for a moment, and she breathed slowly, feeling him come up behind her. He lightly grabbed her chin, turning her head gently to look at him. Aelin opened her eyes, slightly blurry from the tears. Her best friend was looking back at her so sadly, and she sniffed, turning her head out of his hand.

She sucked in a shaky breath, smoothing down her dress.

“Let’s just get back inside,” she said flatly. “I don’t need to let her know she affects me.”

Rowan caught her hand as she turned to walk back to the doors, and her eyes watered as he lifted it, pressing a quick kiss to her palm.

The trip back into the room felt like a blur, her ankles wobbling in her too tall heels as she headed back inside, her buzzard at her side. She breathed deeply as she pushed open the door, keeping her chin high.

And was immediately met with a bowl full of punch.

She couldn’t move as it was thrown all over her front, the red liquid soaking through her dress and staining her skin, slowly dripping down the golden fabric. Blood rushed through her ears, and she could practically hear her heart pumping as she stood there unable to move as the other bowl was dumped from above, soaking her hair and dripping down her face and ruining all of the makeup she’d worked so hard on earlier.

She couldn’t hear all of the laughter and the jeers from the rest of her grade, she couldn’t see the flashing lights of pictures and videos, couldn’t hear Rowan yelling at them all, berating them for ruining her fucking life.

He probably wasn’t saying that, but godsdamn did she feel like it.

One night. She was just trying to have one night, and she wasn’t even able to do that.

Hot tears pricked at her eyes, and dripped down her face like burning lava, undoubtedly making streaks in the red liquid covering her.

“Aelin,” a voice finally pierced the haze, and she slowly turned her head, feeling like the world was in slow motion as she looked at Rowan. Her gaze locked onto his green eyes, full of so much concern and sorrow, and in the midst of this fucking chaos, everything settled right into place.

---

Rowan gave her a towel the moment they got to his car, and Aelin spent the ride to his house wringing spiked punch out of her hair. His mom was working a night shift, so they’d have the place to themselves.

Aelin hadn’t originally planned on it, but she couldn’t stand going back to her own house now. Not when she’d have to explain why she was covered in red, and would undoubtedly be laughed at yet again. She couldn’t bear it.

“We’re here,” Rowan said as he pulled into his driveway, and Aelin didn’t bother to respond, holding her shoes in her hand as she climbed out of the car. The concrete bit into her feet, but she didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel much of anything.

Her face was flat and she lagged behind as her best friend unlocked the door to his house, holding the door open for her to trudge inside. She wanted to flop on the couch and cry, but she also didn’t want to touch anything, lest she stain it.

“Can I shower?” She asked, her voice cracking a bit. She hadn’t talked all car ride there.

“Of course,” he said, taking the towel from her as she began to head down the hallway, toward where his bathroom was. She’d been over here so many times it was practically second nature. “Hey, Aelin?” Rowan called softly, and she turned, unable to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry.”

All she was able to do was nod absently and walk away.

She felt hollow as she stripped off her dress, watching the red stained fabric fall to the tiled floor. The golden she’d been so excited about…ruined. But no tears pricked her eyes as she pulled her hair down from its style, climbing into the shower and rinsing the whole evening away.

By the time she was done, cleaned off and changed into the clothes Rowan had let her borrow, her mind was whirring. Instead of numbness, she was feeling too much, and it hurt as she traversed back into the living room. Until she saw what Rowan had done.

Tears finally pricked her eyes as she saw the little blanket fort he’d made, creating a cozy little area right in front of the couch.

“To make up for last time,” he said, referencing their annual sleepover, the night he’d gotten high and had cried to her about it. The night she wrote her first song. It hadn’t been long since then, but now she had journals full.

More than a few of them were about him.

The words were on the tip of her tongue, those three little words that she so desperately longed to say but couldn’t.

She forced her legs into action, coming to sit down by him in the little fort. It was spacious inside, with several pillows and blankets making it comfortable, but she still sat right next to him, unable to deny herself that. He smelled like pine, and she could feel the heat emanating off of him. She wanted to drown herself in him.

“I’m sorry,” Aelin said, her voice tight. Rowan’s brows furrowed, and she elaborated. “I ruined your night.” He was already shaking his head.

“No, Fireheart,” he said, reaching out to brush a strand of her wet hair behind her ear. She leaned into his touch. He wasn’t always this touchy with her, and had been even less so recently, so she craved this momentary closeness. “I’m sorry, for not realizing how bad it’d gotten.”

Aelin just shrugged, glancing away from him. There was another moment of silence before - “Do you think I’m a joke?” The words were quiet.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, trying to get her attention, but she wasn’t looking. “Aelin.” His voice was insistent enough that she turned to look, her gaze blurry from unshed tears. “Of course I don’t think that. You’re my best friend, alright?” His expression was full of determination, and she didn’t realize when it happened but somehow they were only inches apart.

Her breathing suddenly felt tighter, her heart pounding and her core heavy with want as she realized how close they were. How she could lean forward just a tiny bit and his lips would be on hers.

He seemed to realize it too, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he glanced down at her lips, leaning almost closer.

“What are we doing?” She asked breathlessly, mad at herself but unable to continue without some sort of provocation. She didn’t want to ruin anything.

“I don’t know,” her best friend whispered back, but it didn’t stop him from moving in, nearly speaking onto her lips.

“What does this mean?” Aelin pressed, desperately hoping for any hint that he felt the same way back. But her hopes were dashed when he answered-

“Does it have to mean anything?” He asked, and her heart crumbled, but she didn’t pull away. It was definitely self-sabotage, but if this was all she could ever get of him… she’d take it.

So Aelin crossed the space between them and kissed him.

He hesitated for a moment, and she paused, wondering if she’d completely misread the situation, but then he was kissing her back. His lips were hot against hers, and she sighed into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, a hand sliding around to her waist, pulling her slightly closer.

He tasted better than she could have ever even imagined, and her whole body felt charged, especially as he tugged her even closer. She ended up practically on his lap, every inch of their bodies touching.

“Gods, Rowan,” she moaned into his mouth, her hands cupping the back of his neck. His had slipped under the hem of her (his) shirt, his skin hot against hers as he continued kissing her, their lips sliding against each other over and over again.

But as he slowly shifted her to lay down against the blankets, Aelin hesitated. The farthest she’d ever gotten with someone was kissing, certainly not anything close to what she wanted to do with Rowan. Right here, right now. But she needed to tell him first.

“Rowan,” she said, an unwilling gasp escaping her as he pressed hot kisses to her neck. “Rowan -” she repeated, pressing at his shoulder, and he paused, pulling back to look at her.

“Are you okay?” He asked, brows furrowed. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” she shook her head desperately. But then she bit her lip, her cheeks flushed bright red. “I just - I’ve never done this before.”

Aelin was sure he already knew, or at least suspected. She was an outcast at school, who would she have lost her virginity to? It wasn’t something she was normally embarrassed about, but for some reason she was now.

Until Rowan smiled bashfully down at her. “Neither have I,” he agreed, and she blinked in surprise. She would’ve thought… he was on the football team, he was popular, he had girls like Remelle clinging to him. They were best friends, but for some reason she’d never expected that he would tell her, she just thought she’d always be doomed to lag behind.

“Do you want to figure it out together?” He asked a bit shyly, and in that moment, as she nodded, she had to force herself to remember that he’d already shut down her feelings if he knew it or not. He’d already rejected her. It didn’t mean anything to him, it was just getting the awkward first time out of the way.

Aelin knew all of that. But she didn’t know how long she was going to last without telling him she loved him. She wouldn’t survive this much longer.

But now wasn’t the time. Instead, she just gave in to the deep kiss he pressed to her lips, clutching his shoulders as he awkwardly settled himself on top of her. Her breath caught as she felt him hard against her, her body pounding with desire.

Her toes curled against the blanket as he hesitantly nudged at her lips with his tongue, and Aelin opened her mouth to let him in. She didn’t think she could feel this much going on at once, her whole body felt like it was going to combust.

One of Rowan’s hands was braced by her head, but the other reached for the hem of her shirt, sliding under it to touch the bare skin of her stomach. A shuddering gasp escaped her, despite how light the touch was, and she could feel him grin slightly against her lips.

She clutched his shoulders tighter as he lifted his hand higher, his thumb caressing the underside of her bare breast.

“Is this okay?” He asked, pulling back slightly, and she nodded, sucking her bottom lip in between her teeth. Another gasp escaped her as he brushed his thumb over her nipple, her toes curling against the blanket again. She was going to die.

He swallowed the gasp in another heartstopping kiss, groaning himself as Aelin finally moved her hands to reach for him through his pants. She needed him inside of her, now.

Rowan seemed to sense her urgency, leaning back to take off his jacket and quickly unbutton his shirt, stripping out of his prom clothes as quickly as possible. Aelin rid herself of his shirt, only hesitating a moment before laying back down, feeling suddenly exposed.

But he just let out a shuddering sigh, leaning back down to press a hot kiss to her neck. “You’re so beautiful.”

Her whole body was pounding with desire, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat, and she pulled his head back down for another kiss. This time, his free hand slipped down to the hem of her underwear, slowly, while checking to make sure she was okay, sliding it down her legs.

Aelin was sure her entire body was flushing red, but she fought the urge to curl into herself and hide as he saw her whole body for the first time ever.

A dozen emotions passed over his face, but he just placed a light, reverent kiss to her lips as his free hand brushed over her clit.

“Oh,” she sighed, her brows wrought together and her eyes falling closed as he slowly pressed a finger into her. “Oh gods.”

She’d never felt anything near this before, she felt like she was on fire, like she could dissolve into a thousand little pieces as he added another finger, slowly figuring out what to do, pumping them in and out of her.

“Rowan,” she moaned, her head dropping back against the blankets. She clutched at him desperately, heat racing through every inch of her. But before she could reach that mythical cliff, she stopped him.

He pulled back, a question on his face, but she just lifted herself up on her elbows, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. She hadn’t gotten to see him shirtless anytime recently, and she’d been missing out.

Varsity football had only added to the muscles already defined across his chest and stomach and arms, and it was a mouthwatering sight. She could stare at him forever and never get bored.

“I want you,” she said breathlessly, and he just groaned, reaching for his pants. He pulled a condom from somewhere, sliding it on himself when he took off his underwear. Aelin couldn’t breathe at the sight.

Her heart was pounding as he hovered over her, lacing their hands together and pressing them at the side of her head.

“Let me know if it hurts, okay?” He asked, concern etched across his features, and warmth soared through her. Not desire this time, love.

“I will,” she answered, smiling softly up at him. But the smile turned into a gasp as he pressed into her ever so slightly, her brows wrought together as he pushed in a little more. He was pressing dozens of little kisses to her neck and her jaw, fluttering over her cheeks too.

It didn’t hurt, more uncomfortable, but she urged him to keep going, a long groan escaping her as he sheathed himself in all the way.

And then he started moving.

It was slow at first, and careful, but when she lifted her leg to dig a heel into his back, he picked up his pace, pushing into her faster and faster.

Breathy gasps escaped her the more he went, and he groaned into her lips as he captured them for another kiss, deeper and more desperate this time.

Their hands were clutched tightly together, bodies molding together as they shared this moment. It didn’t take long for Aelin to reach that edge, not for Rowan either, and she clenched around him tightly as they both fell into the grips of pleasure.

Her body shuddered with the pleasure racing through her, and when she came down she was panting. So was Rowan, breathing heavily into her neck.

It took a few moments, but then he was pulling out of her carefully. She winced slightly, but dismissed his concerned look with a shake of her head.

He went to dispose of the condom, but came back quickly, collapsing back down by her side.

Externally, she was exhausted, her body tired from the ordeal she’d never experienced before. Internally, she was panicking.

Was this going to change things? Would it be awkward now? How was she supposed to go on pretending this didn’t happen? Pretending that with every concerned look and gentle touch she didn’t fall in love with him even more?

But she relaxed when Rowan tugged her closer to him, tucking her body in close like they’d slept that fateful sleepover only a few months ago.

And neither of them said anything before falling asleep.

-----

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