solthia-x

[solthia-x]

The Casket of Venus

Chapter X

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐜

Summery: finally his.

Hi guys in these chapters there it will be some sweetness maybe, we hope that the two of them could have a moment of peace.❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: smut, sweetness, care, sensual tension, 18+, both characters are over 20.

Haydee felt warm as the kiss grew hungry, the Greek’s hands tangled in the copper strands of the emperor’s hair, and Geta moaned at the delightful sensation of her fingers among his locks.

Geta deepened the kiss, his tongue invading the Greek’s mouth, devouring her sweet lips like he was addicted, like he needed her to breathe.

His hands roamed over her body, and she sighed with pleasure.

The emperor’s calloused hands felt perfect on her soft, delicate skin—a flawless contrast.

Geta pulled back slightly, cupping her breasts without shame, with such reverence and desire that he resembled a lion staring down a lamb.

Haydee let out a muffled moan when he grabbed her thighs and set her down on the edge of the large bath.

The emperor kissed her neck, biting and sucking, the only thing echoing in Geta’s mind was the need to mark that sweet skin beneath his lips. His teeth grazed and licked every patch of flesh he could find—Rome had to know she belonged only to him.

If not for preserving her dignity, he would’ve taken her in front of the whole capital.

Geta’s eyes were wild and ravenous, pupils blown wide, leaving only a ring of amber, while Haydee was overwhelmed with pleasure.

The water had grown cold, but their bodies were burning, passion and lust blazing between them like fire.

The emperor’s lips moved lower, his mouth finding one of her breasts and savoring it, drunk with delight.

Haydee moaned louder, pulling him closer, tired of fighting this impulse—she needed more.

Geta grinned wickedly, finally, “So impatient, mea Venus,” he whispered against her skin.

His arousal pressed against her, and Haydee bit her lip at the feeling.

She grabbed his hair, her nails scratching his scalp. Geta’s eyes rolled back as he groaned with pleasure.

The Greek kissed him, taking initiative for the first time. It caught him off guard—but it wasn’t unwelcome.

No, it was exhilarating.

Geta’s hand wandered south, sliding over her belly until it reached the place between her thighs.

Haydee gasped when he touched her center.

Geta had never been concerned with giving pleasure to a woman before, but now all he wanted was a taste of the forbidden fruit nestled between her legs.

But he wanted her to beg for his touch.

Haydee whimpered as he teased her clit, panting—she wasn’t used to this, had never been intimate with a man.

Geta whispered in her ear, then bit her earlobe.

“Come now, Graeca. Tell me what you want,” the emperor’s rough voice trembled with impatience.

Haydee cried out with pleasure, pride forgotten. “Please… I need—I need you to touch me!” Her cheeks turned red with embarrassment, like two ripe apples.

Geta smiled. Slowly, he began his torturous descent, kissing and worshipping her as though she were a goddess.

And to him, she was.

The emperor finally reached his destination, groaning between her thighs.

She was already soaked, ready for him—his mouth watered at the sight.

Rationality be damned. Geta dove into paradise, feasting on her essence.

Haydee cried out in ecstasy, “Oh gods!”

The Greek arched her back, thighs clamping tightly around the emperor’s head like a vice.

Geta moaned at her sweet taste—better than he ever imagined, better than his whole harem, like the finest wine he’d ever sipped—ambrosia.

He didn’t stop, not even to breathe.

He feared it was a dream from Morpheus, and he’d rather be smothered than wake up hard and unsatisfied in the middle of the night.

His tongue spread her wider, like an opened peach—he needed more.

Haydee trembled under the overwhelming pleasure, something inside her coiled like a violin string ready to snap.

She tried to push him away from overstimulation, but it was useless. Geta wouldn’t relent.

Her orgasm hit, and her vision went blurry.

The Greek tried to catch her breath, now short from the cries she had released.

When she opened her eyes again, she found two amber pearls staring at her, Geta’s chin slick with her essence, his hair disheveled.

Damn tempter.

She felt boneless—but not satisfied.

“You’re beautiful, mea Venus,” the emperor whispered, caressing her cheeks with tenderness.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand—he wasn’t satisfied either.

This was only the beginning.

The emperor lifted her, still wet, they moved into Haydee’s chambers.

Reaching the bed, he laid her gently onto the silk sheets.

He stood tall, positioning himself between her legs.

Her cerulean eyes met his, giving silent consent to continue.

Geta never asked for consent. If he wanted something, he took it—with force, if necessary.

But with her, it felt wrong.

Taking her by force left a bitter taste.

Haydee nodded shyly.

The emperor’s manhood pressed against her most sensitive place, and he entered gently.

She tensed, holding her breath—she was a virgin, after all.

The sweet blood of her purity stained the sheets.

Geta groaned at how tight she was.

He took a deep breath, holding back from thrusting too hard.

He stroked her hips, her thighs, bent down to kiss her, trying to relax her as much as possible.

“Shh… breathe for me, Graeca,” Geta whispered sweetly in her ear, kissing the spot between her neck and shoulder.

Haydee slowly adjusted to his size, nodding slightly to let him know he could move.

Geta groaned deeply, moving his hips gently.

She had been made for him.

His human Venus.

He would do anything—even burn the entire capital—if she asked him.

Damn Cupid and his cursed love.

Damn Bacchus.

Geta grunted, and she cried out as he hit a certain spot inside her.

He focused on hitting it again.

Haydee arched against the sheets, her head thrown back as her breasts bounced with each delicious thrust.

The emperor’s hips slammed harder, more wildly against hers.

“Come on, mea Graeca!—say my name!” he commanded, moving with renewed force.

Haydee moaned loudly, the filthy sound of their skin meeting echoed in the room, their sweaty bodies tangled.

“Geta!—please!” she cried, lost in the pleasure, more beautiful than ever.

Her golden curls scattered across the silk like a halo, her ocean-colored eyes glistening with sensation, her lips parted, singing pleasure.

A song meant for him alone.

She pulled him down, gripping his shoulders, his muscles tensing as she scratched his back in the fog of pleasure.

He growled with bliss.

Geta was undone and on the edge—just like her.

Sweaty curls clung to his forehead, and his milky skin shimmered in the sunlight.

Both near their limits.

“Come for me, Graeca, come for your emperor,” Geta urged at his peak.

Haydee cried out his name, screamed as the warmth inside her exploded again—

The violin string finally snapped.

The emperor bit her shoulder as he let go, his essence spilling deep into her.

Geta collapsed onto her chest, his face nestled in the valley between her breasts.

They both caught their breath.

Silence wrapped them like a comfort, their bodies intertwined as one.

Geta brushed her hair from her face—no words were needed, their eyes spoke enough.

He kissed her shoulder, whispering softly as the sun’s light kissed their skin.

“An emperor dies either of illness or conspiracy—” he began, amber eyes melting into cerulean.

“…but let me be the first to die at the hands of a woman” he finished, kissing her knuckles.

Haydee was speechless but her eyes softened.

Their bubble of intimacy was shattered by a knock at the door.

Geta growled in irritation—who dared disturb them?

Lemonia’s voice came from the other side.

“My lord, Emperor Caracalla requests your presence.”

Geta sighed in frustration—even in moments of sweetness, his brother had to appear and ruin all the comfort.

Haydee looked at him, and he kissed her forehead.

“We’ll speak later,” he whispered.

The emperor covered her and disappeared into his adjoining chambers.

Haydee sighed, relaxing back into the sheets.

But after every clear sky, there was always a storm.

Haydee knew this was the foundation of something she didn’t yet have a name for.

Masterlist

Hi guys, i’m sorry for the long absence but I had some problems with inspiration and issues with myself probably.

I will try to stay more active and finish the chapters, mostly the story,I hope you like the chapter!💕🎀

Translations

Mea Venus= my Venus

Graeca= female Greek

Tags 🏷️

@opy005

@deliciousfestsalad

@coruja12345

If you want to be tagged leave a comment!❤️

[solthia-x]

ALI'S 11K CELEBRATION: Favorite Stranger Things Characters — #1: Eddie Munson (featuring a young, buzzed Eddie)

[solthia-x]

The Casket of Venus

Chapter IX

𝐀 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐜

Summery: the beginning.

Hi guys in these chapters there it will be some sweetness maybe, we hope that the two of them could have a moment of peace.❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: angst, sweetness, care, sensual tension, smut part is arriving 18+, both characters are over 20.

Geta paced anxiously, back and forth, feeling like he was going mad.

The anxiety was eating him alive. The medicus had asked him to wait outside in the corridor while he examined her.

Someone had tried to kill her. Someone had tried to take away the Graeca—his Graeca.

He hated feeling so worried. She was just a concubine, he told himself. Just another possession in his harem.

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. Ever since she had escaped, ever since her body had disappeared from his bed, she had left behind a gaping hole in his chest.

An emptiness so vast that not even his wine could fill it. The image of her gasping for air, her hands clawing at her neck, echoed endlessly in the emperor’s mind.

It had destroyed him.

Geta felt his anger twisting into something else—something suffocating, even for him. Worse than poison.

He leaned against the wall, his back sliding down the cold marble as his knees gave out. He felt bare.

No armor. No protection.

He felt as naked as the day he was born.

His soul pulsed with guilt—bare, too.

He felt something salty reach his lips.

The tips of his fingers brushed his cheek, and with wide, shocked eyes, he stared at his hand.

Lacrimae.

The great emperor of Rome… crying for a woman?

His father would have called him pathetic. But his mother—she would have understood.

She would have pitied him, for she knew what this was: helplessness.

Geta sighed. He had to make peace with his heart.

The emperor had to try to understand what he was feeling. But it was so hard.

He smiled bitterly, recalling when his mother used to tell the myth of Mars and Venus, back when he was just a pueri.

He used to dream of a love like that—even though at first, the poor Venus didn’t love the god of war.

She didn’t love the blood or battles he waged among mortals. In fact, she had been promised to Vulcan, by order of great Jupiter.

But Mars had gone so far as to abandon his duties, just to show her his love.

To prove to her that he didn’t love war—not as much as he loved her.

That was when the goddess fell—madly in love with him.

Theirs was a forbidden love, but neither seemed to care. They loved each other too much.

Even when Jupiter discovered them, Mars fought fiercely for that love.

Geta remembered how often Caracalla would groan in annoyance at that tale—he didn’t like love stories.

Not like Geta did.

Geta prayed. He would do anything—anything—even stop breathing, if only she could live.

The door opened. He stood up in a rush.

The medicus appeared on the threshold.

Geta didn’t need to speak. The doctor simply nodded, and relief flooded his chest.

She was alive.

“Leave us” he whispered.

Geta entered the room and shut the door behind him.

The moon was shining, and the flickering candlelight brought some comfort to the night.

The darkness was no longer so frightening—not compared to the thought of losing her.

Haydee was conscious. Her ocean-colored irises were open, and another wave of relief washed over him.

She noticed him. The woman could tell it was quite late by the dim light coming through the windows.

The young emperor’s tired eyes said everything.

Geta looked utterly drained of energy.

“How do you feel?” His voice was almost a whisper, as though he feared hurting her with just his words.

She slowly sat up, her back meeting the headboard. Geta moved to help her.

He adjusted the cushions behind her and sat at her side.

Haydee spoke with a weak, hoarse voice.

“A bit better,” she said.

Geta, with a gentle touch, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, nodding softly.

The emperor wanted to speak freely—to tell her how terrified he’d been of losing her.

He was still terrified. The guilt wouldn’t let him go.

“I’ll find him” he said simply.

He had promised himself that he would find the one who tried to kill her—and he would enjoy tearing him apart.

Geta leaned down and brushed his lips against the Greek woman’s forehead.

Haydee closed her eyes, too tired to resist the warmth she felt whenever he touched her gently.

The amber pearls of the emperor’s eyes traced her face, like a sculptor working clay.

Geta had never believed in love—but maybe now, he had to change his mind.

Maybe love really did exist.

Or perhaps Cupid was toying with him, trapping him in a snare only he would fall into.

But the look in the Graeca’s eyes… it mirrored his own.

She was beautiful—even with tired eyes and messy curls.

A human Venus.

“I’ll let you rest” he said abruptly.

The emperor stood to leave, but Haydee’s hand caught his wrist.

“No!… Please, I don’t want to be… alone,” she said hesitantly.

Geta knew that if he stayed, his heart would win.

But the war between reason and impulse had already begun long ago.

He cursed Bacchus, when his thoughts turned impure.

She was wearing only a thin, nearly transparent tunic—it didn’t help.

Unable to speak, he simply nodded.

He dragged a chair close to the bed and sat beside her.

Geta forced those thoughts away.

She was weak. Still shaken.

He couldn’t think like an animal right now.

Geta fell asleep from exhaustion. She, however, stayed awake a little longer.

Haydee smiled at the peaceful face of the sleeping emperor.

He looked so serene—almost younger without the usual crease of anger on his brow or the coldness on his face.

His slightly tousled ginger hair brushed gently across his forehead.

Under the candlelight, it gleamed like the finest copper.

It was shocking how beautiful he was—even in sleep.

Haydee studied him: the sharp cheekbones, the gently lifted chin, the soft, full lips.

The prominent Adam’s apple on his throat.

He looked sculpted by the gods themselves.

It was unfair how beautiful he was—and cruel, all the same.

Fatigue reached her at last, her eyelids closing as Geta’s presence and spicy scent lulled her to sleep.

Morning came quickly. Haydee was the first to wake.

She sat up, her tunic stained with sweat and wine—likely from the struggle against the poison, and from when the cup had slipped from her trembling hands.

Quietly, she got up. She needed a bath, but wouldn’t disturb Geta’s much-needed sleep.

The cold marble under her bare feet felt pleasant.

She entered the grand bath right beside her room.

The large Roman tub looked inviting. Slowly, she let the dirty tunic fall around her ankles and stepped into the warm water.

She smiled as she relaxed.

As much as she hated Rome, Roman baths were beautiful.

She eased into the scent of oils, staring at the crystal-clear water, letting her mind drift through the recent events.

Her thoughts were broken by the creak of the door opening. Instinctively, she covered her chest.

A half-asleep Geta appeared, and both stared at each other in silence.

The air grew warmer.

Haydee’s cheeks turned red as cherries, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the hot water or from the emperor’s gaze, which was growing darker by the second.

Her eyes widened as he let his fine tunic fall to the floor beside the tub.

She quickly looked away.

“If you want me to leave, you need only say so, Graeca” Geta whispered, standing there completely naked, in all his glory.

Haydee couldn’t answer.

A heat bloomed in her belly. The sound of water shifting echoed behind her.

She jumped slightly when a chest touched her back.

Two hands found her waist.

“We both know you want this too, don’t we, Haydee?”Her name on his lips sounded like honey against her ear.

Geta’s lips brushed her shoulder as she sighed, already too far gone.

Why deny it now?

The Graeca turned. The softness of her breasts grazed his firm chest.

Geta bit his lip to stifle a sound.

This would be his death—but what a sweet way to go.

He leaned down, and his lips claimed hers in a hungry kiss. He was tired of waiting.

His mouth met hers like a starving man—like she was his only sustenance.

Like she was ambrosia, water, air.

He held her face tenderly and growled with pleasure.

Finally, he had tasted her.

And the first taste was only the beginning.

Masterlist.

I hope you liked the chapter!

Please leave a heart and a comment, and don’t forget to follow me for more updates and stay tuned for more contents!🩷💐

Translations

Medicus= medic

Lacrimae= tears

Graeca= Greek female

Tags 🏷️

@opy005

@deliciousfestsalad

@coruja12345

[solthia-x]

ARGH THIS IS PURE ART I EAT IT AN LEFT NO CRUMBS ❤️‍🔥

Narrate me love.

Bard!Eddie Munson x princess!reader.

summary: Eddie "the Freak Bard" Munson is your only friend at the palace and your knight in shining armour when he proposes something you've always have been dreaming for. Will the answer be refusal or consent?

divider credit to @strangergraphics.

Strolling through the royal gardens, the princess was immersed in her deep thought hole. She carelessly let her hand drag along each stalk of every flower she passed in front of, not memorizing the details, colors, and scent as she used to do.

What a bore, thought the princess.

For months she did not leave her fortress in which she was born, cared for and raised, except for rare occasions – the visit of an allied kingdom or the carriage ride through the streets of the small town, greeting people with slight gestures of the hand – this was beginning to tire her.

She longed for adventure, adrenaline, the crossing of seas unknown to her with the right company, immersing herself in the fascinating enchanted forests of which she had heard about. Perhaps she would have found the love of his life just like that. The girl shook her head, slapping her head. That desire grew in her every time she opened a chivalreque novel placed on one of the many tables in her mother’s library.

The fingers caressed the edge of the page for no apparent reason and let her mind wander beyond the walls where she had spent most of her life. She let herself go on a marble bench, and sighed deeply. The pure air filled her nostrils, tasting the scent that the plants emanated around her, until she noticed the light pulsating at the base of the nape.

Curse these braids. They are killing me! She immediately took the thread that held the hair together in a braid; quickly, she loosened everything.

She was moved from her thoughts the moment she heard an instrument playing that she knew to be a mandolin. A sound that was not unknown to her ears and that had conquered her from the first moment. Looking up, her face softened at the sight of Eddie the Bard, his foot dangling back and forth as eyes were shining in the sunlight. He looked down at her, holding his back against the bark of the tree, sitting on a branch. "What brings you here, your highness?" he said teasing her.

The princess laughed slightly; her eyes had lit up. "I was walking, Eddie the Bard."

"Oh? I can see beyond your lies, your immense grace. Do not lie to me," he scold, shaking his finger with disapproval. "What is troubling you?"

"Nothing troubles me"

Eddie snorted at her insistence. With agility he landed on the ground and put his instrument back in its case behind his shoulders. He looked at her from top to bottom, dwelling on the tangle of loose hair earlier. "Has a storm passed over your head?"

The princess crossed her arms to her chest. She seemed annoyed by the Bard’s behavior, but it wasn’t really so. It was never like that. They enjoyed each other’s company. Many times they had stayed in those gardens: the Bard told her of the many lands he had visited in verse, accompanied by his mandolin; the princess instructed him with the many books of philosophy and literature that often kept her company. She felt that she was returning a favor which it did not seem to be as one.

"So the princess won’t confess what’s in that head of hers?"

Again. She had thought too much again. The young royal shook her head slightly; sitting down again on the bench, she tried to ignore the bard’s hazel eyes. It seemed that he would not leave there without first receiving a proper explanation. Understandable, thought the princess. Unable to remain composed, she stood up; it seemed that her legs did not want to stop, since she began to walk around the bard. "I want to go on an adventure".

"On an adventure?"

"On an adventure".

"Adventure, she says! Bah!"

Eddie burst into a thunderous laugh, his hand held to his chest, almost as if he were supporting himself. He could hardly believe it. A princess, accustomed to luxury, abundant banquets, the finest fabrics who wanted to...travel?

"What’s so strange about that?" The girl turned to him with an expression of reproach painted on her face. "Do not make fun of me!"

"I am not, or your great, immense…"

"Edward!" The girl went at the attack: she sprayed with dirt the white shirt of the bard. At that moment, two thoughts developed in Eddie’s head. The first: 'How did she catch me by surprise?'. The second: 'She used my full name!'

"Princess…" He began, followed by an exclamation from the royal. On her face it looked as if her eyes were about to explode from the sockets for how much anger she was stirring. Eddie made a mental note not to provoke her in this way again.

"You’re so ungrateful! I confess to you the deepest desire, hidden in my heart, to be mocked."

"I was not mocking you! I mean, yes…" Bad idea. Now, it looked like she was about to spew fire. "Well, that surprised me. How come you, my lady, want to wander elsewhere?

"So what?"

"So…" He began to walk around her, studying her from head to toe. "Is this what your heart truly desires, Your Highness? Because I have a proposal. And I expect the utmost sincerity from you." He continued after a short break. "Come with me. Tomorrow. Let’s run away together."

"Edward" called her again. The princess grabbed his wrist, determined, agile, looking straight into his eyes. She wanted him to read them, she wanted him to know that if she continued living in those four walls, she would go mad.

She no longer wanted to live a life of convenience and falsehood, oh no. She longed for the thrill that adventures would give. She knew well the dangers. She had received some information from the knights who were at her court, how they faced unforeseeable missions or unforeseeable monsters, in size and strength. Lurid inns visited. She would have been willing to do all this, just to get away from there. With the bard.

He, who had always entertained her with his songs, with his verses endowed with rhythm and musicality, with his melodious voice and his talent in playing his faithful mandolin. It almost seemed he had some sort of.. magic within him.

He, who long after they met, had almost kissed her in a remote corner of the castle. He had brushed her cheeks with extreme delicacy, his touch almost imperceptible for fear of ruining one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen.

His main poetic inspiration, although he would never admit it.

"You have until tomorrow to accept or reject my proposal. At dawn" Then he pointed over the garden. Exactly where his finger pointed was a huge willow. "Just before sunrise, I will be there waiting for you. Don’t be late."

~

"You came."

"I could not miss this magnificent chance," She said softly. Their hands held together, and Eddie swore to himself he would never let it go.

"Wonderful. Shall we go, Y/N?"

[solthia-x]

The Casket of Venus

Chapter VIII

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐜

Summery: it was supposed to be only a normal servant..right?

Hi guys! I hope the story is of your liking, stay tuned for more chapters, please leave a comment or like if you want more!❤️‍🩹

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠:poisoning, attempts of killing, angst, gentle Geta (he is bipolar in my story), fear.

The scent of incense hung heavy in the air as servants and concubines prepared for the Quinquatria celebrations.

Haydee stared at herself in the ivory-framed mirror. Her chamber, made of white and bluish marble, didn’t displease her—it reminded her of the ocean.

Lemonia was gently arranging her hair.

The attire was terribly lascivus, with deep necklines. It was a ball gown, the youngest maid, Aurea, had told her.

But Haydee hadn’t expected it to be nearly transparent, except for the chest and intimate areas. The fabric was a dark blue and shimmered in the sunlight, embroidered with beautiful golden patterns.

“You are beautiful, Puella” Lemonia said with affection. Haydee thanked the woman.

She was truly stunning. Slowly, she twirled, letting the transparent skirt flow around her.

Her hair had been styled into a modest braid, and the usual strands no longer obscured her face.

She joined the other concubines in a large hall; they all seemed hostile toward her. She hated their poisonous glances crawling over her skin.

Only then did she realize she didn’t know what kind of dance was expected. She had no idea how the others would dance.

Seeing the distracted look on Haydee’s face, Aurea leaned closer.

“My Domina, what troubles you? You seem worried,” the young maid whispered.

“I don’t know what dance to perform, Aurea,” Haydee whispered back.

The maid giggled softly. “Don’t be afraid. If you dance something only you know, the emperor will be more than pleased. He adores the unknown… and you, it seems, throw him off quite a bit.”

The banquet doors opened, and Haydee moved with the other women. One detail stood out—many of them wore orange, red, and some green. She alone wore the damned color blue.

The hall was immense. The two emperors usually sat upon their ivory thrones, sipping wine.

When the concubines entered, everything seemed to halt. Geta raised his gaze, ignoring Senator Thaex’s usual chatter.

His eyes searched among the women—he was looking for her.

The music began, slow and sensual. Haydee tried to follow the others’ movements. She was lucky—if there was one thing she was good at, it was learning quickly.

But then something changed. The music overtook her mind, and her body began to move in her own rhythm—like a rattlesnake swaying its tail.

Some women were shocked to see her break from the group.

Geta saw her and bit his lower lip at the sight of that body and those hips.

Damn temptress—Geta thought.

Their eyes met, and Haydee felt a heat ignite in her chest at the emperor’s hungry gaze.

She didn’t dare stop. She moved with grace, like a butterfly among the other women—miserable in comparison.

Many concubines stared, stunned. No one knew such a dance, nor one so shameless.

The dance ended, and Haydee stopped. The emperor called her over.

The others could only watch with envy.

Geta’s eyes never left her as she ascended the few steps of black marble.

He touched his own thigh—a signal—he wanted her to sit on him.

At first, Haydee considered refusing, but in front of the whole banquet, it wasn’t worth it. She gave in to his command.

Geta felt her body, tense like a violin string, pressed against him.

He slowly guided her back against his chest, and the emperor’s lips brushed her ear lobe.

“Relax, Graeca, being so tense is useless,” he whispered hoarsely.

His hands stroked her thighs through the fabric of the skirt. Haydee held her breath, then let it go.

The emperor pushed her styled hair off her shoulders and kissed her bare skin.

“You wanted my attention, didn’t you, temptress?” he said, softly, just for her.

“I only did what I was told,” she whispered, trying desperately to sound neutral.

Geta chuckled. She was clever, but not enough. The emperor could taste the sweet lie on her tongue.

“Of course, Graeca. Then I should kill everyone at this banquet,” he said.

She didn’t understand. Why would he kill his guests?

Geta smiled at her naïveté. “You should’ve seen their eyes. Like crows, ready to feast on your body. So much lust… but they know they’ll never touch you. Never have you.”

His words stirred something in her belly.

Haydee blushed.

Caracalla, sitting next to his brother, stared at the concubine but found nothing special in her. He returned to playing with his little monkey, Dondus.

“That blue suits you enchantingly,” Geta whispered.

Haydee didn’t know what to say. Just yesterday he had almost hurt her—and now, suddenly, he was too sweet to even seem like the same man.

She shivered as Geta’s lips grazed her neck—too gentle, as if she were made of glass.

The banquet continued stiffly: wine, senators’ usual chatter, and vulgar touches from some women toward the guests at the large table.

Haydee didn’t try to touch the emperor in any way. She sat still, like a statue.

Geta didn’t tease her further, nor touch her inappropriately.

He even rejected Alba’s advances when she tried to caress his chest.

The concubine glared hatefully at Haydee, seated on her emperor’s lap.

Geta watched Haydee from the corner of his eye. He was enchanted. She had cursed him.

She had wormed her way under his skin, to the bone—consuming him like fire devouring candles on the banquet table.

Haydee politely accepted a cup offered by a servant. She didn’t recognize him—thought he was just a kitchen boy.

How wrong she was.

The sweet taste of wine touched her lips and tongue.

The emperor reached for a glass from the same tray when Haydee suddenly felt irritation rising in her throat.

She coughed once, thinking the wine had gone down wrong—but the sensation worsened. Her throat began to burn, pulsing painfully.

Geta looked at her. His blood turned cold when he saw her clutching her throat, the glass slipping from her fingers as she desperately tried to breathe.

Poison. The wine was poisoned!

Geta caught her in his arms, shouting in panic, “Charcoal, quickly!”

Aurea ran to fetch the antidote.

Alba chuckled under her breath.

Geta held her tightly, forcing two fingers down her throat—he had to make her vomit, and fast!

Haydee coughed up the wine, but the poison had already entered her system.

The emperor whispered deliriously, eyes wide, trying to help her breathe.

He had never felt so powerless in his life.

“No… No! Graeca!… Look at me! Breathe, damn it!” he whispered.

Someone had tried to kill her. Someone wanted her dead.

Haydee’s cerulean eyes welled with tears. She had fought so hard to survive—was she to die now?

The charcoal arrived in time. Geta mixed it with water and forced her to drink it.

Haydee, exhausted, closed her eyes.

The last thing she heard were the emperor’s furious screams.

“Who… dared… WHO DARED!!”

Then everything became a blur—like a memory fading into darkness.

But Haydee knew: whoever had tried to kill her wouldn’t escape.

Because Geta was ready to unleash hell—if not burn all of Rome—to find them.

He would be worse than Nero, than Commodus, worse than any emperor before him.

Mastelist.

I hope you like this chapter!

Yep someone tried to killed her, and we might know who is already mhm mhm…🙃❤️‍🩹.

WHO wants to be tagged please told me!!🌻

Taglist🏷️ my beauties pookies!💕

@deliciousfestsalad

@coruja12345

@opy005

Translations

Lascivus= dirty, sensual

Domina= lady

Graeca= Greek female

Puella= girl

[solthia-x]

THIS IS SO DAMN HOT—CHEF KISS❤️‍🔥💋

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.

Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.

Thanks to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing bestie

I’m astounded at the response to the preview I posted last week. Thank you so much for the love, I hope you enjoy all 40k (20k wtf did my brain go)

-

As you pull up to the little house at the end of the street, you look over to the sweet boy with blonde hair and green eyes nervously, curtaining a strand of hair behind one ear. He shoots you a smirk, white pearly teeth peeking from behind pretty pink lips. The date has gone phenomenally well, the conversation over dinner was easy and your date even easier on the eyes. You smooth your hands over the dress you’re wearing, picking at imaginary lint as you’re entirely unsure of what to say next.

Daniel, your date, leans onto the center console, the scent of his minty breath roping you in. “So, dinner was like, forty dollars.”

Your brows pinch together, the topic of conversation coming from left field.

“And the flowers were about twenty.” He says, his voice hinting at a subtext lost on you.

You think back to the flowers, a cascade of spring colours that drenched you in their floral scent. They sit on your dresser in a vase, waiting eagerly for you to come home.

“Okay…?” You ask, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Daniel sighs, suddenly the frustration you didn’t see before is clear on his face. “Well, I think I deserve some compensation for the princess treatment, don’t you think?”

He’s raising his brow suggestively, and the atmosphere in the car turns thick as you realize what he’s referring to. You feel so stupid. Suddenly the smirk on his face isn’t sweet, it’s sleazy. The cologne he’s wearing isn’t earthy, it’s gross. He’s not a good guy, and you feel foolish for thinking otherwise.

You think fast, lowering your eyelashes in a feigned blush. “Actually, I think it deserves just a little more than that. Be right back, I’m going to grab a condom.” You wink as you get out, the cherry on top.

Daniel lights right up, apparently not expecting his ridiculous method to work. The sound of him undoing his belt makes you nearly gag as you run in the front door.

Your dad, the sweetheart of a single father he is, welcomes you with a kind smile until he sees your crestfallen face. “You okay?”

“No,” you choke back, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. “He’s demanding I repay him for dinner.”

“Repay?” You tilt your head, inferring what it means. “Oh. Fucking twerp. You need me to–”

“Can I have 60 bucks?” You interrupt him, avoiding his angry eyes.

He melts. “Sure.”

You walk back out the door, head held high right to the little corvette that sits at the end with the cheeky asshole sitting contently, waiting for his treat. The window is still open from earlier in the night, which works right in your favor.

“Here,” you toss the bills at him, allowing a small smile to grace your face at his confusion. “Since you’re so worried about being paid.”

As soon as he understands what you’re telling him, his face curves into a scowl, embarrassed, but too proud to say so. “Like I wanted to do it with Eddie Munson’s slut anyway!”

Halfway back up to the house, you turn back to the car as the engine growls into the night. How does that make sense? you wonder. Why am I being called a slut when I refused to put out?

The front door to your house slams shut again, and your dad receives the message that you would not like to talk about it. “Ed called just now, by the way,” he mentions as you reach the top of the stairs. Your pause in gait tells him you heard him, but you don’t respond because you can hear the smirk he wears, as much as you repeatedly tell him that Eddie is just a friend.

The flowers you thought so fondly of now have a looming presence in your room, like a dark shadow menacingly waiting in the corner. You ignore them as you lift the pastel phone to your ear, dialing the number you know by heart.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hi, sweetheart.” Relief washes over you, instant and comforting.

“Hey, Eds. How was your date?” You and he had the same plans tonight, you just hope it turned out better for him.

“It sucked,” he sighs, sounding like he’s rummaging through his messy chest of drawers. “She didn’t want a date, I guess.”

“Well what did she want?” You ask, going through your own drawers for something comfier to wear.

“Uh, to be shown a good time,” he answers dryly, the sound of rummaging coming to a sudden stop. “Heard the rumors of Munson’s magic fingers and apparently only wanted that.”

Yikes, you think. Eddie’s had many hook ups in the back of his van, but as of late he’s finding himself defeated when they don’t want him, just what he can do for them. Your heart hurt for him last week when he admitted they rarely, if ever, reciprocated.

You didn’t think it’d be an appropriate moment to tell him you would happily reciprocate for him.

“That’s extremely shitty. Guess it’s not all that different from my date though, who expected payback from spending a lousy sixty bucks.”

“Payback?”

“Asked me to suck his dick and pointed to it,” you say, a million times more bluntly than you could to your dad.

“I knew that Daniel guy was an asshole,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I think our shitty dates deserve each other.”

You laugh, holding the PJs you plan on wearing as you sit cross legged on your bed. “To be honest, I don’t think Daniel would’ve been all that great in bed anyway.”

“I could’ve told you that. He looks like he would call thirty seconds a long time,” Eddie laughs. “Sit tight, princess, I think we’ve earned pancake night at Benny’s.”

“C’mon, I was just about to get comfy!” You whine.

“Nah, wear the pretty dress. It deserves to see a strawberry milkshake, don’t you agree?”

Honestly, a milkshake night with your best friend is exactly what you need. “Sure. See you in twenty?”

“Eh, ten.”

You throw out the flowers, tossing the vase full of water into the kitchen sink, shrugging when your dad gives you an apologetic look. You certainly are already over it, just another asshole in Hawkins, who would’ve thought? When the loud music from Eddie’s stereo pulls up, your dad nods in understanding, telling you to have fun as you leave through the front door.

The date night dress you wear is a summer dress that sits just above your knees, held together by spaghetti straps decorated with pretty blue florals. It's a dress you go to for formal events, and even saw a dance or two back in high school. Of course, you had to dust it off for the cute boy in your Psych class who ended up being a complete dickwad.

The fabric of Eddie’s beat up van is familiar. So familiar that you could argue his passenger seat has a permanent indent from your ass. Eddie has, in fact, pointed it out from one night stoned in the back with him, giggling as you vehemently denied it. At your sudden quiet shut down stature, he patted your ass gently, claiming that he didn’t want any other person’s ass planted on his seat except yours.

That conversation, as hazy as it was, stayed in your mind for days after the fact.

Eddie’s dressed in his own version of a date night outfit, tight jeans exposing his knees with jagged rips under a leather jacket and plain black t-shirt. He’s gorgeous, tauntingly so. It’s not much different from an ordinary outfit, but the faint smell of fresh laundry detergent and his best cologne is the best evidence he’s all dressed up.

The loud music speaks for him, loudly, pulling off before your seatbelt is even clicked into place.

The path from your house to Benny’s is well trekked by you and Eddie on late nights when you should’ve been doing homework but ended up goofing off instead. Martha, a waitress that’s been working there well over twenty years, smiles with smeared red lipstick and too much blue eyeshadow.

You walk in stride with each other, straight to the corner booth as the husk of 20 years of chain smoking barks over the gentle music, “Hey, you two! Eddie, are you finally taking this girl of yours on a date?”

Shut up, you silently beg her, avoiding either of their eyes as you stare at your lap, seemingly fixated on a loose thread at the hem of your dress.

“Oh, I’m not that lucky,” Eddie winks, throwing his arm behind you on the back of the booth. “We’re just recovering after shitty dates.”

“One day, you two,” she muses, tapping her pen rhythmically on her little notepad. It’s never been the same notepad twice, always decorated with a little cartoon sticker on the front. You’re tempted to run to the dollar store and grab her a larger one, but a part of you thinks she thrives on her many little notepads. “Alright, a large strawberry milkshake with two straws, pancakes with extra strawberry sauce and fresh strawberries on top, and waffles loaded with whipped cream and sprinkles. Correct?”

You nod in unison, both aware that she insists you will collectively rot the teeth out from your gums if you insist on overdosing with sugar every damn time you waltz in late at night. She’s given up offering other menu items, having ordered extra strawberries just to make up for your love of the fruit.

Less than five minutes later, following the blissful sound of a blender, the milkshake is wordlessly dropped off at the table, closer to you as even Martha knows you will be drinking 75% of it. The sweet, pinky taste flows easily down your throat, humming softly as you dip into the whipped cream with a finger. “Best milkshake in town,” You assert.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie answers, smirking, “you never let us get a milkshake from anywhere else!”

You giggle, licking some of the whipped cream that found a home in the corner of your mouth. “I could never! It would be like cheating! This milkshake would just know,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “it would smell the other milkshakes on me!”

“We couldn’t have that,” Eddie grins, grabbing the large glass to take a sip. “Sorry your date was such a jerk.”

You shrug, already having gotten over it. You’ll just need to sit on the other side of the lecture hall from now on. “He seemed so nice.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I could’ve told you that Daniel Moore was a shitty person,” Eddie finishes another sip of the milkshake, making a large dip in the glass as the pink slush is pulled up the straw. “He likes to instigate.”

You rest your chin on your elbow, sad the milkshake is already nearly gone. “I had just hoped he would’ve matured by now…”

“In seven months?” Eddie asks you incredulously, raising his brows past his curly bangs. His expression quickly turns curious, tilting his head at you.

“What?”

“So, you’re willing to bet that Daniel Moore has improved just based on personal speculation alone but you’re not willing to believe me when I say Steve Harrington is no longer a douche?”

You roll your eyes. God, you should’ve seen this one coming. “That’s different! I only heard about Daniel. Steve Harrington actually sat back and laughed when Tommy asked–”

“You out as a joke, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it before,” Eddie mumbles, grinning at your shocked expression. “Well, that was like what, three years ago?”

“I still can’t believe you’re friends with Steve Harrington now, of all people! Listen, I know he’s also Dustin’s friend, but I find it hard to believe that you guys even have something in common,” You shrug.

“I still can’t believe you refuse to give him another chance!” Eddie playfully retorts, licking some of the whipped cream that still sits on the rim of the glass. “He’s in your Sociology class, isn’t he?”

Yeah, and he seems to insist on forcing his friendship on you, too, no matter how much you resist it. If you found friendship in Eddie, it seems reasonable to find friendship with Steve, too. Yet, there’s a little part that remembers the cruel laughter, his carelessness with others’ lives, and it ripples down your spine in a violent shudder.

You haven’t gotten rid of the notion of being his friend completely, but it’s just not the right time for you, yet.

You shrug. The topic has too much nuance for a nice dinner with your best friend. Just in time, Martha wordlessly drops off the two plates, the smile that spreads across your face is effortless. Zachary, the night chef must’ve heard about the shitty night and added extra for you, because the mountain of strawberries on the table is huge, even for your standards.

Eddie smirks, reading your mind. “You gonna finish all those?”

“Absolutely!”

-

Eddie sits on one side of the open courtyard, flicking off ashes from his cigarette as he waits for you to get out of class. He mentally reflects on his crazy afternoon, taking another long, much needed drag. The car with the million symptoms was one thing, but the proposition he got right before, he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

It’s been 13 days since Daniel, four awkward classes of avoiding his glare, and you’ve decided to give up on boys completely. The one you want doesn’t want you, and the dates you’re going on don’t seem to do well no matter who you say yes to. The two offers you’ve gotten in the last week were therefore denied, realizing that even if they are cute, you don’t want to lead anyone on when your heart belongs to someone else.

Before the aforementioned date, you were practically begging for someone to ask you out, but for some inexplicable reason, now you’re getting offers left and right. Somehow people just know when you’re playing hard to get.

At least Eddie’s dates seem to be going terribly for him, as well. That’s one thing you can thankfully count on.

The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be as gorgeous as it is. It’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.”

He flicks the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?”

He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.”

Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie, this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”

He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.”

Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to claw its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will.

It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”

A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?”

“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?”

Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tiled floors and fall into the depths of hell.

“She asked you out?”

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!”

That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per se. But a girl like Chrissy, one with pretty blonde curls, adorable smile and a sweet disposition, it’s like your worst nightmare come true.

Thanks to living in such a small town, you can recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out.

This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing.

“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, walking in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.”

“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?” You try to keep your tone nonchalant, but bitter jealousy coats your tongue.

Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.”

This is also new. Even as his dates would happen, any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this doesn’t become a new habit of his.

“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?”

You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you try to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing.

Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what will probably be another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed.

You smoke more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong hit rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself.

-

A weight on your bed suddenly dips down and you sit up quickly to face Eddie sitting on the corner of your mattress with a small smile on his face. Your headphones, still playing the obnoxiously loud music that drowned out his knocks, fall off your head as you sit up. You press the STOP button, clicking loudly in the silence as you stare at your best friend.

The anxiety of his date has eaten you all night long, the only thing strong enough to distract it being music loud enough to hurt your eardrums. You always feel some sort of anxiety, but tonight was even worse, eating at your brain in fear of how painful it might be to be third wheeling with him after being his #1 for so long.

For once, you can’t tell how it went. A slimy, selfish part of you is hoping he shares bad news. His smile breaks. Into a bigger, much brighter beam. Damn.

“How did it go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Eddie slams himself onto the bed next to you, hiding his eyes with his hands with his dimples deep, his pearly whites exposed. “Fuck, it was the best date I’ve ever had.”

Your heart shatters. “That good?”

“God, she’s– much better than I thought she could’ve been,” Eddie answers, peeking out from behind his hands. “It’s fucking crazy.”

Of course Chrissy Cunningham, a known sweetheart, is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Of course she lived up to his expectations. Just your luck. “I’m just jealous of your remarkable turn in luck, I guess.”

Eddie chuckles, turning onto his stomach to face you as he kicks his feet. “You’ll have your turn, baby.”

The pet name stings in the worst way. Instead, you raise your brow at him. “Look at you lookin’ like a schoolgirl with a crush. Pretty boy doesn’t even need makeup with all that blush.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching you on the shin. “You’re such a shithead.”

“Yeah, well you still choose to hang out with me anyway, so, that’s on you.” It takes everything in you to ask the following question, “So, tell me about your date, will ya?”

He does. He rattles on and on about how pretty she is, how easy the conversation was, how much she surprised him, how the night ended with a kiss that had Eddie giggling. He lays next to you, leather jacket put aside on the corner chair and boots next to your bunny slippers at the end of your bed. Your small twin mattress has you close in proximity, your side in direct contact with him as he rests his head on his hands.

“She’s such a cool girl, you know?”

You’re half asleep by now, allowing the exhaustion to overwhelm the slight ache in your chest. It zaps through your heart, overwhelms your senses and makes you dizzy. Your eyes flutter shut, but Eddie keeps talking softly next to you.

“Why were you blasting your 8-track, anyway?”

The question harshly yanks you out of the haze, failing to think of something that doesn’t seem completely false. You wish you were a better liar. “Just stressed out about your date.”

He gives you a strange look, eyebrows tilted. “Hmm?”

“We both haven’t had a very good track record, lately, and if things won’t turn around for me, then at least they should do one of us a favor.” Not, not the truth, but definitely an over exaggerated version of it.

“You’re so good to me, you know?” Eddie asks, intertwining his hand with yours. “Wasting your anxiety on me.”

The rings are harsh against your skin, squeezing your fingers tightly. The physical hurt is almost comforting in direct contrast to your emotional hurt.

His scent is comforting, as it lures you like the pied piper into the land of sleep. It’s about another twenty minutes until he realizes there are soft snores coming from you. He doesn’t care to drive all the way home, despite it only being a five minute drive away.

He falls asleep to your comforting breaths, allowing your hand to remain engulfed in his.

-

The loud ringing of your phone jerks you awake, quickly crawling to the side of your bed as you grab it from the dock housed on the floor.

“Hello?” Sleep sits deep in your voice, spelling out clearly to your caller that you just woke up.

It just occurs to you that you could’ve just allowed your dad to answer it.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Eddie’s voice is chipper, alarmingly so since you’re not even awake yet.

“You sound way too awake for someone that didn’t believe in waking up before 1pm,” you quip, rubbing your eyes sleepily.

“Ha,” he deadpans, yet it's clear he’s smiling. “Chris wants to meet you. I mean, I know you’ve already met her, but you know, as my girlfriend?”

Ugh. It’s been a harrowing three weeks. “Yeah, sure. What did you want to do with her?”

“I thought we could introduce her to pancake night,” Eddie sheepishly answers, like he knows you would be hesitant to invite someone into your holy ritual.

Yeah. You don’t want to invite her. But…you asked for patience last month and it seemed that the universe has answered with a lovesick Eddie Munson.

“I don’t see why not,” you lie, finding it rolls off the tongue much easier than it used to.

“You’re the best! I’ll see after you study in the library, yeah?” He knows your schedule. On Thursdays after the morning Sociology class, you opt to crawl up into a small corner and hermit yourself with snacks and a pile of books to get the work that needs to be done finished.

In high school, you could get away with doing minimum work and passing, but with your dad paying and barely able to afford it even with his second job, it sent the need to do your work to the best of your ability for once. You owed him at least that much from all the calls of missed classes for four years straight.

“Sure.”

As you stretch while hanging up the phone, you glance over to the alarm clock to see the time and it lurches you forward in bed to scramble for clothes, textbooks, and scattered papers as your lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. You’re usually already sitting in the seat by then.

On your way out the door, your dad is surprised you’re still home, offering to drive you. You don’t want to burden him even more than you already have, so you insist you can ride your bike and still get there on time. Well, at least you hope you can.

The bike rack is nearly full when you get to the college, six or seven locks messily put around the poles, most bikes already fallen over. You jam your bike in between two of them, hurriedly wrangling the annoying coil of sturdy cable between what you’re sure is entangled in someone else’s lock, too. Whatever, they should’ve been more organized.

The clock on the wall tells you class started three minutes ago and your heart falls to your stomach, knowing the professor is a stickler for punctuality. His words falter as soon as you enter the hall, the heavy door echoing its creak against the walls. He graciously allows you to sit and get situated before he continues. He makes examples of every late student, and you figured you would never be in his laser eyed focus. Well, before your alarm decided not to go off.

The last chair available is the corner chair in the front row, the one spot in class you love to avoid. It’s too close for comfort, a place he often chooses for students to answer his questions even if they don’t raise their hand.

That, and it’s right beside Steve Harrington.

His fingers raise from the desk as a greeting, sharing a sweet smile as you start to collect your textbook and notes. You awkwardly smile back at him, your attention snapped back to the professor as he pointedly talks right at your desk in his lecture. Fuck, this’ll be annoying.

By the time the three hour lecture ends, your hand hurts from the amount of notes you wrote down, one side covered in graphite from smudging the paper. Your stomach grumbles, asking loudly for lunch after neglecting to eat breakfast as usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve follows a step behind. “That lecture was brutal,” You hear from behind you. You toss your head over your shoulder to glance back at him before turning back around.

“I guess.” You say awkwardly. Here we go again.

“Out of curiosity, how are Eddie and his new girlfriend doing? Chrissy Cunningham, huh? I cannot say I saw that coming.”

Neither did you. “They’re doing great, from what I hear. Haven’t really met her, yet,” you answer, heading straight to the small cafe that has a home in the heart of the campus. “Listen, Steve, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Why not? You don’t think he’s happy with her, or something?”

You stop midstep, turning to face him. “It’s not that. I just don’t have the capacity for it, ok?”

“You like him,” Steve accuses, his brows meeting his hairline.

Your jaw drops, stuttering through an empty sentence. “I do not like him!”

“Really?” Steve laughs, crossing his arms as he watches you build a brick wall around yourself. “So you not wanting to talk about his new girlfriend has nothing to do with the way your face fell when I asked about it?”

How the hell did Steve Harrington pick up on it so fast, of all people?

“Even if I did, why the hell would I want to talk about it with someone I don’t even know?” You sigh, looking wistfully over to the cafe. “Besides, I’m not even caffeinated yet.”

Steve rolls his eyes, nodding towards the said cafe. “Here, if I treat you to some coffee will you talk to me about it?”

“If you add a wrap to the deal, then I’ll think about it,” You say dryly, pulling a laugh from him.

The barista, a student who you’ve gotten to know is somehow managing to do pre-law and work part time smiles nicely.

“I’ll get a vanilla latte with nonfat milk and an extra pump of vanilla, please.”

Steve raises his brow at you before making his own order, “I’ll get a medium black coffee with room for creamer, please, and whatever this lady wants from the menu.”

You scan until you reach the egg omelet wrap with mushroom, bell peppers, and tomatoes. “The loaded omelet wrap.”

After Steve pays he meets you on the handout counter. “Why nonfat milk and the extra pump of vanilla?”

“If I get nonfat then I can replace the sugar with the extra vanilla.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works.”

You pick up the cup as it lands on the counter, wincing at the temperature on your tongue. “It works.”

Steve grabs his, shaking his head as he makes his way over to pour some creamer in.

The wrap is soon presented as well, steaming in its cardboard sleeve as the scent alone pools on your tongue with saliva. The only thing that got you through that lecture was just the thought of lunch.

Steve meets you at a two-top by the window, setting his own bag down as he sits right across from you.

The omelet, much too hot to eat, sits waiting for you on the chestnut brown table as you sip on the latte. The latte is much too hot as well, but you’ve never had enough patience to wait for that caffeine kick. If you weren’t so afraid of your professor’s wrath you would’ve shown up another ten minutes late with a coffee cup in hand.

Steve allows you and himself a few minutes of quiet before he speaks. “So, why don’t you tell him?”

You cough mid sip, mentally apologizing to your lungs for allowing non-oxygen to make its way in. “I’m sorry?”

“Stop pretending. Eddie was dead on when he said you were a bad liar,” Steve says, grinning with stupid smirk on his face.

“Why have you and Eddie talked about me?” You ask, narrowing your glance towards him.

“Are you kidding? You’re all he talks about,” Steve shrugs, so nonchalant that you have no choice but to believe him. “Kind of annoying, actually.”

“Why?”

“I have to hear about how great of a friend this girl is but also how she can’t stand me.”

You huff in laughter at how distraught he genuinely seems by it, his face contorted into someone who definitely isn’t used to rejection. You cock an eyebrow at him. “Can you exactly blame me?”

“Yes! I can! Everybody loves me!” Steve rolls his eyes playfully, and damn it if you can’t help but find it mildly amusing.

“Hate to break it to you, there, sweetheart, but the people who were picked on by you don’t exactly crave to be around your oh-so-wonderful presence.”

He squints, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Picked on? I mean that’s a little harsh, considering–”

“Fine, yes, you didn’t exactly jeer, or outright bully even, but you watched and laughed along and sometimes that feels even worse,” you admit, feeling suddenly small under his gaze. “Tommy and Carol said shit, that’s just what they did… But sitting back and watching sometimes is just as bad. You were nice, sometimes, I guess. But the fact that you had that capacity for kindness and chose against it just spoke volumes.”

“I met them in seventh grade. They weren’t as bad back then, mostly just somewhat belligerent. They got worse over time, but we all had terrible home lives, it was like we were the only ones that got what that was like…and somewhere along the way, I forgot that just because we had an excuse didn’t mean they had the right.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you answer, glancing at the omelet, debating taking your first steaming bite. “I mean, I’m not condoning it, but sometimes loyalty can be blinding.”

“I’m not that douche, anymore. I got that knocked out of me when I was seventeen. Literally. Now I spend most of my free time with a high school junior,” he laughs, taking another large sip of his coffee.

“Aah, Dustin,” you hum, thinking of the many instances where he had tried to convince you of what Steve had just told you. What made you so insistent on denying believing in either of your friends seems to dissipate, however, just in the friendliness that Steve radiates alone. Damn his charisma. “Would you believe me if I said he vouched for you many times?”

“The kid loves me, what can I say?” He shrugs, not hiding his laughter. “Now. Back to you. Why not tell him?”

No use in hiding it. If Steve can bare his soul in the middle of the day at a damn cafe just to get you to trust him, you suppose you owed him the same. “‘Cause he doesn’t feel the same,” you answer, starting to peel open the snack from the hunger pang. “Why make it weird when there’s nothing that could come from it?” You shrug, looking down sheepishly as the weight of your words sink into your heart like a stone.

“Doesn’t like you. Are you sure about that?” Steve asks, licking his lips.

You hesitate. “Is this a trick question?”

“Nope. I just wonder if you truly believe it, or if you’re too scared to let yourself have something you’ve wanted for so long.”

“Where do you get off on acting like you’re some sort of expert on this?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest. The question rings out from the mere fact that he is dead on the nose. He couldn’t be any more right. The very idea that Eddie had even an inkling of what you had for him scares you to death. You would rather keep him as a friend and lie in wait than lose him from a great love and not have him at all.

“I’m more observant than most people give me credit for,” he admits, twirling his almost empty coffee cup. “I’ve heard countless hours of Eddie talking about you, yet I haven’t heard him speak once about Chrissy. That says a lot, don’t you think?”

“Well, me neither, and I’m his best friend. Don’t get down on your luck.”

“You are both idiots. Just tell him. Seriously. I’m sick of you both acting like a pair of love sick fools.”

“You seem to be very convinced of something that is not real,” you tell him, garbled from the bite of omelet you’re in the middle of swallowing. “If you keep this energy up when you’re studying, you would probably do pretty well for yourself.”

“Fine. Remain in denial. I don’t care. You can destroy yourself from the inside. Who cares? Just, let me in. I need someone to help me with these assignments. They are mind numbingly dull.” He throws his hands up like he’s admitting defeat.

“You need a study buddy?” You laugh, hiding the food that sits in between bites. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

“Sweet. Now are you gonna treat me to a coffee every now and then, or?”

“I have a single father, not an unlimited credit card from Daddy’s big business, Steve Harrington.” You say matter-of-factly, jabbing your finger towards him accusingly.

“Oh, so I have to provide the newly released movies and buy the coffee, I see how it is.”

“Privilege breeds responsibility, Stevie. I don’t make the rules.” You give him a half smirk. As you look at him, you’re finally seeing the person you thought could see all those years ago behind the mask of his terrible friends. Steve’s ambush would be the best thing to come out of the next few weeks.

Because it turned into hell.

-

As your hair runs wild behind you, there’s a grand attempt to allow yourself to let the wind distract you from the sinking feeling in your gut. It grows bigger and bigger, until it becomes unbearable as you reach the gravel lining the trailer park. You allow your bike to fall heavily on the trailer, taking a moment to collect your courage before knocking on Eddie’s front door.

It feels weird knocking. You can’t even recall the last time you did. But, you refuse to overstep any boundaries that might not be communicated yet. Being on Chrissy’s good side will make your life a lot easier.

Eddie answers the door, out of breath and sweating with wild eyes and even crazier hair. “Hey!”

“Hey,” you greet, stepping in right behind him. You blink, taking in the pristine surroundings. It’s like stepping into an alternate dimension, one where Eddie and Wayne regularly cleaned their trailer and preferred the smell of lavender over stale beer and greasy pizza boxes. The kitchen is spotless, the living room has a lit candle sitting on the coffee table, and the shelves containing the million mugs were dusted. “Who are you and what the hell did you do with my best friend?” You laugh.

He chuckles sheepishly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as protection. “Uh, is it too much?”

“Better warn her now so she doesn’t get used to cleanliness,” you answer, watching as the surfaces around you sparkle and shine.

“Ha, ha. I have to get dressed. I have some snacks on the kitchen counter. You mind starting the popcorn?” Eddie doesn’t bother waiting for you to answer, already walking to his room.

You get a glimpse of his bedroom as he shuts the door behind him, smirking at the clothes still scattered on his floor. At least one part of this little haven of yours remains normal.

The popcorn shakes in your hold as you continually stir it on the stove to prevent it from sticking to the bottom of the thin aluminum bottom and burning. Just as the first batch of kernels reach their limit, a knock from the front door hits, each one feeling like a crack in any normalcy you’ve ever had.

Things will never feel the same ever again. Not after tonight. On your way to open the door you try to tell yourself that it can be a good thing.

Right?

The door opens to the once head cheerleader of Hawkins High, wearing a pink dress that fits her tiny frame nicely with blonde curls and bangs that beautifully frame her face. Her hands are folded behind her back, standing meekly in white sneakers and long lashes and blue eyeshadow. It’s hard not to be envious of how pretty she is.

It’s clear she’s not expecting you to open the door. “Hey! Sorry, Eddie’s just in his room. He should be out any minute.”

“Oh. Ok,” she enters as you back up, wringing her hands together, probably out of anxiety. “What movie did he rent?”

“You know, I was so busy making fun of him for cleaning up for once I didn’t bother to ask,” you admit, hoping to make the atmosphere just a little bit lighter.

She looks around the place, seemingly taking it in. “Hmm,” she hums, walking over to the couch. “It’s cute when they try so hard.”

“Sure,” you answer, walking back to the kitchen, hoping the popcorn isn’t irredeemably burnt. “Do you want butter on the popcorn?”

“Yes please!”

You’re in the middle of mentally begging Eddie to come out already while the butter melts in the microwave, the hum of the microwave loud in the silence.

“Okay! I’m ready!” Eddie announces, opening the bedroom door with a flourish. “Sorry for the wait!”

As he gets to the couch behind Chrissy, he wraps her in a big hug and plants kisses all over her neck. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

You hold back the nausea as you pour the hot butter all over the popcorn in the large plastic bowl. You find it ironic that this is the same bowl you’ve held back Eddie’s hair over as he hurled into it. You just hope Wayne thoroughly cleaned it.

“Popcorn is ready, can y’all help me bring the chips and candy?” You ask, shaking the bowl to coat the butter over each kernel.

“We can do that,” Eddie answers, grabbing Chrissy’s hand as they walk to the kitchen.

“How can I help?” Chrissy asks, arms open as she looks around a kitchen she has no familiarity with.

“Um there’s some soda in the fridge, grab me and Ed a Coke, and you can grab yourself whatever you want,” you answer, pointing to the twenty year old fridge in the corner.

“Hand me some,” you command, holding a single hand for one of the many bags of snacks Eddie juggles.

The popcorn and a couple dozen little bags land on the coffee table in front of a blank tv screen. Chrissy sits with a soft grunt in between the two of you, cradling the cans of coke and sprite in her tiny arms.

She distributes the cans, handing them over to you and him. Eddie squats in front of the TV, pressing play on the tape which he apparently already prepared to watch. His plaid boxers peek out of his jeans, sitting above the studded belt as he adjusts volume and picture.

You share a smile with the blonde, opening your can and wincing at the loud hiss. You keep thinking about the days you and Chrissy will look back on how awkward this was. How the first days of this trio were so weird, and off putting, and how she thought you were a bitch when she met you.

Where she’s a friend.

You have to try.

“What are we watching?”

Eddie turns around slowly, that over exaggerated smile on his face that tells you he’s up to nothing but trouble. “Oh just a little somethin’”

“Oh god,” you wince, knowing that look on his face. You lean into her, whispering, “Hope you like horror.”

Chrissy turns to you with wide eyes and a queasy smile. “Not really.”

“Oh, this one is a classic,” Eddie promises, animatedly using his hands as he crouch-walks back next to her. “If any movie can turn someone into a horror fan, it’s this one.”

As soon as the music starts playing you recognize it. It’s a tune you’ve heard many times in his living room, subjected to it too many times if you had anything to say about it. Of course, you’ll watch it with him every time, regardless.

“Halloween? Seriously? The serial killer stalking the babysitter? You couldn’t think of anything else?” You roll your eyes. He could probably do a whole reenactment of the movie word for word if he tried.

“It’s a classic for a reason, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you, grabbing the bowl straight away. Of course, he will rip through the popcorn, he always does.

You feel Chrissy tense up, not that you can blame her. You suppose a talk about proper pet names will be necessary.

Each bag of snacks is eventually opened because you can’t stick to one bag long enough to finish it even if you tried. You get bored of the same taste too often. You have your favorite few, fuzzy peaches, M&Ms, Reese's Pieces, Swedish fish, and last and most controversially, at least where Eddie’s concerned, salt and vinegar chips.

He always has his own snacks at his disposal from nights of having the munchies, always on a dollar store run for said snacks. At each movie night he restocks, both yours and his alike, and suddenly you realize you will need to remember Chrissy’s too, if you’re going to be cordial.

With each bloody death that splatters the walls on screen, Chrissy grows closer and closer to Eddie. There’s a part of you that has considered using scary movies to cuddle up to him, but you’re just not genuinely scared of them enough to consider it. The ruse would’ve faded eventually. You try not to let the jealousy eat you up from the inside, no matter how much it burns your skin.

His arm wraps around her, petting her shoulder gently as she whimpers at the slash of his knife. “It’s corn syrup. Totally fake. You can tell by the color, it’s way too bright.”

Towards the end, the loud, chirpy, nauseating sound of kissing fills your ears. Your eyes can’t help it, they move towards the noise and immediately regret it. Oh god, they’re kissing. If you can even call that kissing. He’s practically engulfed her mouth.

Surely, with the company they have, they’ll stop, right? Their heads will remember and sheepishly get the fuck off each other? Right?

Two scenes and what feels like forever, later, you realize how wrong you are. “I’m glad you two are crazy for each other, really I am, but can we please wait until I’m gone?” You give an awkward laugh to try to stifle the discomfort coursing through your veins.

Eddie makes a surprised sound, almost like he completely forgot you were there. “Shit–sorry.”

Chrissy doesn’t make any apologies, in fact, you miss the way she rolls her eyes against his chest. She wanted to keep going, hoping you would take her hint to get lost.

Before long, the end of the movie finally arrives, the end credits rolling with that famous piano tune. Chrissy has practically stitched herself to Eddie’s side, her arms wrapped around his waist. The popcorn bowl is nearly full. All that work on it for nothing.

You sigh, about to claim that it’s your cue to leave when–

“I’m thinking we should show Chrissy one of our pancake nights, don’t ya think?”

No. You don’t want that. From the way Chrissy completely tenses up, neither does she. But for his sake, you both reluctantly agree.

Hawkins looks a lot different from Eddie’s backseat.

As the ring of the bell against the glass door announces your arrival, Martha’s head snapping up from the magazine she’s buried her nose in. “Hey you two, I was wondering when I would see you again!”

You and Eddie walk directly to the corner booth, as per usual, Chrissy trailing a half step behind him with her left hand intertwined with his right. Before Martha walks up to the booth, she starts the blender, the sound oddly comforting for how uneasy you feel.

“Well, looks like we got ourselves a little straggler! What’s your name darlin’?” She asks, the notebook she now holds a dark purple instead of the red she had last time.

Chrissy stares blankly at her, curling back into him. You don’t remember her being this shy in High School.

“This is Chrissy,” Eddie introduces her, giving her a fond look. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Martha’s penciled brows raise straight to her ruby red hair, the chewing gum loud in her silence. Her surprise only lasts two seconds, shifting into hospitality for the new member. “Welcome to these two’s many, many nights spent here at Benny’s. In fact, could you make them come a little less often. We’re starting to get annoyed at them.” She jokes, throwing a wink at you.

You laugh with Eddie, taking note of the fact that Chrissy is still silent.

“Alright, well I already know what these two want, did you need a second to look over the menu?”

She nods.

“Alright, well, I’ll be right back with your milkshake.”

“Can you make it one medium, one large with two straws?” You ask Martha, sure it would get more awkward if she brought one for you and Eddie to share.

“Oh, sure,” she answers, her voice unusually soft.

Less than five minutes later she returns with two milkshakes and a menu.

“Oh,” Chrissy comments, looking curiously at the pink ice cream drink in front of her. “I don’t really like strawberry. Can I get vanilla instead?”

Your forehead meets the table, punishing yourself. “Shit. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to ask.” Eddie apologizes.

“It’s fine.” Chrissy smiles sweetly at him.

“Oh, you gotta eat breakfast, it’s tradition,” Eddie mutters, switching her page to the all day breakfast menu.

“Hmm,” she responds, pointing to one of the menu options. “I think I’ll get the poached egg with the avocado toast.”

“Alright. Should be out quickly,” Martha answers, grabbing the milkshake from them.

“How often do you guys come here?” Chrissy asks, turning her face to Eddie.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Probably more often than we should. Like when shit goes sideways, or we need a hit of sugar, or when we just feel like bugging Miss Martha, over there.”

“When did you start coming?”

“My junior year,” you answer, smiling at the memory, “his second attempt at senior year, we both didn’t want to go to the stupid school dance, so we decided to get dressed up and come here, instead.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

Eddie shrugs, petting her shoulder with his thumb. “We thought it was dumb. Then, we ened up coming back when both of us failed this one really important bio test. Then, by the third time she remembered our orders and had the blender going by the time we sat down.”

Eddie asks how your day was, so you inform him you managed to have a civilized conversation with Steve Harrington. You have an audience for the conversation, one member animatedly interested, the other politely listening.

Polite is definitely the way to describe it, no spark in her eye. At least, not the one she wears when she listens to her boyfriend speak. In fact, you can practically see them glaze over.

Just as you nearly avoid explaining the main topic of the awkward conversation, Martha comes back over with two plates, one for you, one for Chrissy. It’s only half a moment until she’s back with the new milkshake and third plate.

The mountain of strawberries is bigger than average this time, this larger size becoming something you might get used to if the staff continues to spoil you like this. You take another flick of whipped cream from the top of the milkshake, suddenly realizing you’ve barely taken a sip the entire time. Damn, it’s usually half gone by the time you get your food.

“Do you guys order the same thing everytime?” Chrissy asks, looking at both of your plates.

“Yup!” You exclaim, spreading the strawberry sauce around your plate.

Her blonde brows furrow. “Maybe it’s not good to eat this much sugar every time you guys come here,” she comments, cutting at her squishy green toast. It doesn’t look appetizing to you in the least.

“It’s not like we come here every night,” Eddie laughs, spreading his sprinkled whip around the fluffy waffle. “It’s fine to indulge every now and then, you know?”

“Maybe you guys should try something a little healthier?” Chrissy asks, her voice having what you think is a little bit of a bite in it.

“People don’t exactly come here to eat healthy, Chrissy,” you laugh, thinking of the menu item called Heart Attack Jack, which is a burger doused in American Cheese with layers of bacon and a bucket of grease. It’s not going to be a soccer mom’s number one choice for health.

“You don’t have to bite my head off, it was just a suggestion,” Chrissy mutters, curling into herself.

“I-I didn’t,” you reply, very surprised at her knee jerk reaction. “I’m just saying, if we wanted to go somewhere to eat healthy, we probably wouldn’t pick a greasy diner in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I’m not sure anywhere in Hawkins really has the healthiest choice.”

“Chris, what she’s trying to say is that eating a crap load of sugar is just tradition at this point,” Eddie says, intertwining her hand with his. “It’s a part of our ritual. You don’t have to eat like us if you don’t want to, we just thought you’d want to be included.”

“It’s just a lot of sugar, is all.” She’s barely taken a chunk out of her food, resembling a bunny in the very small, very tiny bites she continues to take. “Maybe I won’t join you guys next time. I don’t really understand the point.” She says sheepishly.

In the depths of your soul, you feel at that moment you would probably never get along with her, have given up hope on her completely. It wouldn’t be for a handful of weeks until you acknowledge that you had sound reasoning.

The bill is paid, money hitting the table on your and Eddie’s parts, the vanilla milkshake just barely touched. If you knew she wasn’t gonna drink it you would’ve doubled down on the strawberry, Eddie hates vanilla.

As you walk out to the van, trailing behind them as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, you find yourself at an impasse. “Eddie, can you give me a ride home?” Chrissy asks. She moves on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Maybe I can ride you before you drop me off?”

The pancakes you wolfed down churn back up your throat, threatening to make their second appearance for the night.

Eddie’s cheeks flush, his eyes wide as he tugs her in. Guess that answers that question. “Um, do you need a ride?” He asks you, almost avoiding your eyes.

Chrissy’s death stare is plain as day, silently warning you not to take it. Fine, you didn’t want to sit in the van with these two, anyway.

“No, it’s fine. I can grab my bike from the back.”

Chrissy beams, her curls bouncing as she jogs to the passenger seat. You hope your ass imprint is uncomfortable for her.

Eddie returns with the bike, putting it gently down in front of you. “Hey, Ed?”

“Hmm?”

“Might want to teach your girlfriend how to whisper,” you tell him, grabbing the handles from him. “It’s not considered a whisper when everyone in a ten foot radius can hear!” It comes out harsher than you intend it, but with how horribly tonight has gone, you can’t bring yourself to want to apologize.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie swears, the pink in his cheeks now from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” you insist, dismissing it. You had a feeling she said it loud enough for you to hear on purpose, anyway. “Just use protection, ok? We don’t need any more Munsons in this world running around, creating chaos.”

If you got Chrissy pregnant I would actually be sick, is what you mean.

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, wrapping you in a hug over the bike. “See you next time, slugger.”

That was when you changed from sweetheart to slugger.

-

There’s no whiplash like discovering your best friend is a completely different person when he’s in a relationship. On one hand, phone calls with him are as ordinary as always, teasing and jeering and flush with the familiarity of a best friend.

On the other hand, when you meet with him and his girlfriend, he seems to dampen his wild personality and slice it into ribbons for her sake. It kills you.

Reruns play on the small tv, old cartoons Wayne recorded for a rambunctious little kid in his mix. You’ve watched them enough to know some of them by heart, especially your favorite gags.

Eddie sits in the corner of the couch, curled up with Chrissy on his lap as they talk quietly. They’re low enough you can barely make out what they’re saying, but from the giggles alone, you have no interest in the nausea it would give you.

She was already in his lap when you got there, a sarcastic comment choked back having something to do with maybe getting off, opting to sit on the other end.

“Oh, Ed, the movie is next Friday,” you remind him, taking another sip of the ice cold coke in front of you.

“Remind me what that was?” Eddie asks you, peering his chin over Chrissy’s head.

You narrow your eyes, scoffing in incredulousness. “Uh, hello? I did not wait in line for hours for the Princess Bride just for you to forget!”

“OH, fuck I didn’t realize that was coming up so quickly!” Eddie exclaims, a wild look in his eyes. “Well, shit I’ll make sure to free my oh-so-busy schedule!”

“Sweet.”

“Oh, I totally wanted to see that movie!” Chrissy chirps, sitting up in Eddie’s lap. “Are there any more tickets for the night you guys are going for?”

“It’s been sold out for weeks,” you shrug, chomping on a potato chip. “I stood in line for like six hours that morning.”

“Oh,” she mutters, curling into him.

You wish you could say it doesn’t give you great pleasure to know she won’t be able to crash your movie night.

“You think, uh,” she starts, turning around to face you. “You think I could have your ticket and Eddie could take me?”

You scoff, bewildered that this even crossed her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, I really wanted to see it and it doesn’t really make sense for you two to go out for a date, now that he’s dating me…”

“I think you forgot the part where I stood in line for six hours to get these tickets,” you reply, trying to catch Eddie’s eyes. He’s avoiding you.

“And I’m sure we’ll all go next time!” She offers as an almost smug smile plays at her lips.

She can’t be serious. After watching her face, you realize she is fully expecting you to give up your ticket so she can go with him. Guess that Iron Maiden concert coming up this summer is off the table, too, you think, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

You look at him, waiting for him to say something to indicate how ridiculous his girlfriend is being, to stand up for you.

Oh. He’s not going to.

“I really don’t see the big deal.” Chrissy scoffs.

Of course you don’t. “I’m sorry, but I’m not giving you my damn ticket!” you snap. “If you really don’t want Eddie to come with me that badly then I can get Steve to take me.”

Which is ridiculous, Eddie was the one who wanted to see this movie in the first place. It looked like it was about adventure, something Eddie loves in movies. You decided then sure, since his birthday is right after the movie comes out, you’ll stand in line for the tickets then treat him to a fun movie night.

If Chrissy is uncomfortable with that, then that’s her prerogative, but she can choose something else to do with her boyfriend since she wants to so badly. You won’t let her walk all over you.

Chrissy doesn’t answer, but she’s clearly upset by yours. “It’s alright, babe,” Eddie hums, tugging her up against his chest so she curls into him. “I can wait until it comes out. We’ll just rent it, yeah?”

You’re not sure which makes you more nauseous, the fact that he just made a plan with her that won’t come to fruition for six months, or that he had nothing to say in the conversation.

You’ve never felt so unwelcome on his couch. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you later.”

Whatever comes out of Eddie’s mouth then falls on deaf ears as you fight the tears that irrationally threaten to spill over your water line. They’re stupid, your emotions are stupid, the movie is stupid.

-

Steve sits on the other side of the light brown table in the library, hunched over some notes as you explain the concept to him once more.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous, I’m going to forget this as soon as we learn it,” Steve whines, rubbing his eyes.

“Well you’re only taking Sociology because you haven’t claimed a major yet and sociology is required in most degrees.”

“That’s true,” he smirks, stretching his arms. “This still is all starting to look like gibberish. I get it, we live in a society in which the rules are not in our favor, why does that have to be studied to this intent?”

You shrug. “It’s fascinating.”

“To who?”

You roll your eyes, wondering how he grew on you like a weed. “Alright, we’ll take a break, then.”

“Any plans upcoming for next Wednesday?”

“Uh, no, at least not that I’m aware of,” you answer, putting your highlighter down. “We were supposed to see the movie for it, but, well you know how that turned out.”

“I’m sure there’s something he’s planning,” Steve assures, tapping his pencil rhythmically. “It’s not like him to not make a spectacle of his birthday.”

That, you agree with.

“Dustin said he hasn’t heard anything about it, either. He almost planned a surprise party for him. You think he’s just taking it easy this year?”

You doubt it, he’s turning 21, after all. Not like hasn’t been going to bars since he was fifteen, but now at least he’d be able to go into a major city with his real ID without getting flagged. Last year he prattled on about plans for this one, how he was gonna have a big rager at Steve’s and drop a whole paycheck on kegs.

You’re sure if he was going to do anything in those next two days, then he would’ve told you by now.

That Wednesday morning, you rise early to the sound of your alarm.

The kitchen counter is already filled with the ingredients you need, preparing for a labor of love. You hook your Walkman to your jeans, listening to the music blaring in your ears as you add one ingredient at a time, watching the batter slowly come to shape.

It’s familiar, your mom’s famous homemade recipe for cake batter. After missing her many cakes and the familiarity of her food, you finally searched for the cards containing her neat print, clearly and concisely telling the reader what her recipes needed.

It became your favorite thing to do when you missed her.

As you pour the batter into each divet in the tray, you recall the first time you thought to make a birthday cupcake for Eddie.

Neither of you cared much for first period, so it was easy to catch him before he woke up. That day you presented a vanilla cupcake with a swirl of black and blue frosting. You learned that morning he hates vanilla.

Every other instance of making him a cupcake has been a litany of flavors, but never vanilla.

As they bake, you whip up the frosting with a hand mixer, hoping the low hum doesn’t wake your father. He works so hard already. Red food coloring turns it from white, the process all too satisfying.

A plastic sandwich bag with the corner cut off is always just enough for you to pipe frosting on, the skilled hand you’ve trained after trial and error working fast.

Your dad always knows on February 19th he will wake up to 11 cupcakes on a big plate.

The pastry sits in a comically large container as you borrow your dads truck, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon as you climb the stairs to the Munson’s front door.

You balance the cupcake in your hand as you head straight down the hall towards Eddie’s room. The sounds filling the trailer take a moment to register, for some reason not realizing how quiet it should be on an early weekday morning. The only sounds should be that of an early bird or newspaper hitting the front door.

Dread finds home in your stomach, as if on a very instinctual level you realize what you’re hearing. Though for some crazy, masochistic reason, those instincts wanted to be sure.

His door, wide open, reveals him hunched over Chrissy with the blanket barely covering his broad shoulders as he’s rocking. He’s rocking…and oh, you can hear her, too.

She’s moaning, whining, clawing her nails up his back like a leech, or worse, a tick, digging itself in and refusing to give up the tight hold they have on their victim.

Your mind goes empty, numb, until you hear her faintly wish him a happy birthday. You blink yourself out of the trance, blindly stumbling back into the fresh air of the living room. The cupcake lands on the kitchen counter on your way out the door, not caring as it slams behind you, definitely alerting Eddie and Chrissy of the third unknown presence in the trailer.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to even care about it, the queasiness deep rooted in your stomach threatening to make itself known on the outside plants.

You have a class in less than an hour, something you need to continue into the second year of your Communications degree, but not something that requires brain power.

The simple question of how you managed to ride your bike all the way to the campus, take notes in your class and blindly walk over to the library will always escape you. You somehow watch yourself go through the motions until you meet Steve at the cafe.

The moment he sees you, he knows something is wrong just by the deadened stare that’s taken over your face.

When you break down into tears, he brings you to his house, letting you finally admit to him what you’ve been afraid to admit to yourself.

You’re in love with your best friend. And while you’re doing your best to be happy for him, your poor heart can’t handle it.

-

The cupcake isn’t mentioned until you call him two days later, still heartbroken, but missing his voice. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, despite the great ache that makes each and every day fuzzy.

Usually, more than half the cupcakes get eaten by him, which is why a dozen are made each year. There’s still more than half left, the very sight of the cupcakes depleting your appetite as his continued absence carves a bigger and bigger hole in you.

He answers on the fifth ring, sounding as if he’s in the middle of rummaging through items in some way, slightly out of breath. “Hey, Chris, sorry I can’t find–”

You swallow the pain. Maybe the lump of pain swallowed in your stomach will finally evict itself like the contents of stomachs should. Yet, the more you throw it up, the more it seems to gather. How does that work? “It’s me.” You say dryly, tiredly.

“Shit,” he breathes, the background noise coming to a sudden halt. “Hey, you.”

“Hey. How was the cupcake?”

“The mysterious appearing pastry was delicious as always, slugger.” Slugger. “What-what time did you drop it off?”

You know that he knows that you heard something. He doesn’t know how much you heard, but he knows the slam of his front door was you.

“I didn’t hear much. Just enough to know you had already received your birthday present for the year,” the attempt at humor doesn’t hit you very well. You’re not sure how it’s received, but Eddie laughs regardless.

“Sorry about that, she slept over the night before unplanned. I should’ve remembered your yearly morning cupcake.”

“Should’ve remembered you have a girlfriend,” you answer, wishing you had that better judgment. “Did you do anything for your birthday?”

“Chris took me out for dinner with her parents.” Honestly, that sounds like it was for her more than it was for him.

“Sounds fun,” you deadpan, earning earnest chuckles from him.

“They’re an acquired taste,” Eddie offers, allowing your slight criticism of his birthday party.

“You sure you still don’t want to go to Indianapolis and bar hop?” You can’t help but ask. It’s like you can hear his reluctance to accept the celebration he got.

“Nah. Besides, we can’t risk your fake ID, after all.” He pauses, an understated sigh passing through his breath. “How has school been?”

Small talk is not often something that passes through a conversation between you two. You’re aware of it, he’s aware of it, and it turns the conversation into something almost jilted.

“I miss you,” you admit, lying back on your bed.

“I miss you,” he parrots, soft and sweet.

“Can we do something? Just you and me?”

He chuckles, low and under his breath. “Sure. Pancake night. Just you, me, and Martha’s perfume.”

…that never happened.

-

The less you see Eddie, the more you end up hanging out with Steve. He seems to want to introduce you to his own best friend, but your admission of not wanting to be a third wheel again gets him to drop it. You can’t help but notice the only times you speak to Eddie are when you call him. He hasn’t called you since asking for Chrissy to join pancake night.

That alone wouldn’t entirely convince you to not call him anymore. The jilted conversations always ending with promises of time with one another never coming to fruition. It’s the equivalent of being skinned alive, one strip at a time.

Steve has watched the circles under your eyes darken, the enthusiasm in class deplete, and the lust for life dissolve before his very eyes. To say he’s pissed at his friend is to understate it, he’s ready to tell you to give up on him and forget he exists.

Yet, Steve knows how unlike Eddie it all is. Dustin has complained he hasn’t been called back for a long time, Gareth reached out to you asking if you’d heard from Eddie lately as they haven’t rehearsed for a while. He garners more concern than anger at times.

Steve’s living room has become a new choice of hang out space, but the unnatural cleanliness of the house, the lack of cologne that both Eddie and Wayne use, the familiarity of eight years of friendship, it gives this unrelenting feeling of emptiness. It’s worth trying to fill it with edibles and weed.

It doesn’t seem to work, but you’ve become more open, more free willing with him as a direct result. He doesn’t favor horror movies like you and Eddie, but you find common ground in action and slapstick comedy, instead. Anything but romcoms, you implore. Anything even close to resembling romance is rejected.

Steve spills the latest he heard from Hawkins’ elite country club group, a bunch of ladies with nothing better to do with their afternoons than spread rumors about the population as a whole and judge them for it. Steve knows for a fact which members of the country club have side women, bringing them in hours after walking in with their own wives.

It’s so nice to be concerned with the lives of others and to not care about yours falling apart at the seams. Well, really it's being ripped apart by Chrissy Cunningham’s greedy little claws.

Ironically enough, you get paired up with Steve for a major assignment in Soc class, one required to analyze social constructs that have been deep dived in class. Another little gift of irony is you were given Social Stratification, which is the hierarchical arrangement of individuals or groups within a society based on various factors such as wealth, power, and prestige.

Being from two very different classes, you and Steve find yourself uniquely qualified to discuss the topic.

It provides opportunities to hang out together, distracted by the collective want to not work at all, but driven by an looming due date. Your mind wanders to Eddie non stop, wondering how he is, if he’s ok, if work is still giving him a hard time, did he finally get the belt he was needing, if Wayne was taking it easier.

Your fingers itch for the phone to call and ask, always haunted by the memory of each phone call, the polite conversation and empty promises. You crave to remember what it was like before.

Steve seems to act as your voice of reason, disencouraging you every time you mention wanting to call him. He sympathizes, of course, but he recalls the last time you called him and the aftermath following it.

When the assignment is finally in the last stages, making final edits to clear up any loss in conciseness, the final second guesses if the point has been made clear, you sit on the floor of Steve’s room cross legged, going cross eyed as you reread it, again.

“I can’t wait for this thing to be handed in,” you groan, throwing your pen at him.

“I think we earned a celebration,” he sighs, throwing the pen back to you. “On Friday, after we finally hand over this paper to this asshole, I am throwing a big ass party in your honor.”

“A party will not make me feel better,” you reprimand, glancing at him under your brows.

“No, but a good excuse to drink the pain away, might,” he grins, leaning forward on his stomach and kicking his legs animatedly. He looks so innocent, as if he doesn’t have his own agenda. You’ve come to know him well enough that he really doesn’t. “C’mon. Let loose with me just for one night!”

You reluctantly agree to it after he pulls out his dumb puppy eyes.

News of Steve’s party spreads fast across campus, and you find yourself curiously excited for it when you usually dread dancing with complete strangers. The strangers at this point make it better, not needing to concern yourself with anything other than how the alcohol burns.

Your dad drives you to the party, the rain heavy on the pavement making it hard to bike in such weather. He’s noticed the way you’ve shut down a little bit as of lately, more than happy to bring you to a party if it means putting some life back into the eyes of his one and only daughter.

When you enter the door with slightly damp hair just from the walk from the truck, the party is already in full swing, music overtly loud, bodies bumping and dancing, empty cups already scattered on dusty surfaces.

As soon as you see Steve, he waves you over, talking to Robin, who he’s introduced you to. She became your friend the same way he became your did; ambush. Turns out, Robin is really cool. She hands you a beer, winking as you tilt your eyebrow out of skepticism.

“Beer, really?” You ask over the music, turning the bottle around in your hand.

“You’re drinking to forget, right?” She asks, an air of wisdom in her scratchy voice. “Then what does it matter what it tastes like?”

Well, you guess she’s right. You grab another from the fridge while you’re at it before they lead you to a couch. It’s surrounded by a crowd of people you mostly have never met before, more than happy to laugh with them at the particularly stupid topics of conversation.

You’re already pretty buzzed less than an hour spent at the party, having asked Steve to get you a third bottle. “Might wanna slow down, sweets.”

“I’m drinking to forget, remember?” You ask him, winking cheekily.

Time starts to meld together as the bottle gets emptier and emptier. Robin grabs you by the hand to dance with her and Steve in a circle, top 40 pop acting as a soundtrack while you forget any goddamn trouble that might have plagued you.

You’re chatting about some mindless gossip when something tells you to turn your head towards the door. The door opens to Eddie and Chrissy, holding hands as they look around the party that got even rowdier since your arrival.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours, frozen in place as the emptiness his absence has left consumes you.

“Oh shit,” Robin mutters right next to you, but you don’t answer it as you stumble your way into the kitchen.

The internal debate on whether you need to drink water or more alcohol is roaring, so you drown it with more alcohol. Maybe you can shut it up. It’s too fucking loud. The ajar door opens and closes, a presence in the kitchen you don’t bother acknowledging. You don’t smell Eddie’s cologne, the momentary disappointment flooding your senses that he saw you and didn’t even bother talking to you.

Another sip. Another gulp. Make it go away.

“I was wondering when I would run into you,” it’s not Eddie, or Steve. Confusion takes over you as you wonder which male voice in your life you’re forgetting, turning to face the culprit.

Daniel.

“Here I am, I guess,” you mutter, taking another swig. “What exactly do you want?”

“Retribution.”

“Huh?”

He laughs, cruel and blunt. “I’m here for what I’m owed, sweetheart. I don’t get told no. Girls don’t say no to me. So, I think I’m owed some payback for the humiliation you put me through.”

What the fuck?

The laughter that leaves your throat is loud and abrupt, clearly not what he’s expecting. “Oh my fucking god, you’re just delusional. Girls don’t owe you shit for buying them dinner! You ask us out for a date, that’s on you, bud!”

“I don’t fucking think so,” he growls, slinking in closer. You can smell his breath, he’s clearly been drinking. “I will get what I want, I always do.”

Panic floods your brain, suddenly realizing he’s being dead serious. “Wait–” you protest as he leans in, the wall and your back colliding harshly. “Wait, no–”

“All you had to do was blow me, baby,” he chides, as if he’s reprimanding a small child. His hand harshly wraps around your waist, preventing you from weaving from between him and the wall. “Now look what you made me do.”

You try to push him off, panic continuing to push up your throat as he proves himself much stronger than you. Oh god, am I about to get raped in Steve’s kitchen?

His hand feels slimy as it pushes past your shirt, sending a jolt of shivers down your body. You’re shaking from fear, one cheek against the wall as you continue to resist him. “Stop– Daniel, please stop–” Your voice is frantic, eyes wide in terror as you try to push his hands away.

The harsh laughter directed at your pleas are cut off, an incredibly familiar voice slicing the air with malice. “She said stop.”

The heat you were surrounded by is thrown off, leaving the cold air behind Daniel to overwhelm you as he’s thrown onto the floor.

Blows of fists on flesh fill the room, watching in horror as Eddie has him pinned, delivering blow after blow to his face. You only see a portion of Eddie, his dark jeans and leather jacket as he hunches over his victim and blindingly delivers one punch after the other. Daniel has stopped fighting back, just a limp set of limbs as it jumps from each hit.

When Eddie has shown no signs of letting up you’re forced to jump into action, stumbling as you run into his line of eyesight. “Eddie, stop! You’re going to kill him!” You plead.

The sounds of brutal fists on soft flesh die immediately, Eddie huffing as he rises to his feet. “You okay?”

You blink as his hands frame your cheeks, petting them softly with his hands. A tear falls, splashing his hand. His concern is comforting, but the direct juxtaposition of his concern from the silence he’s fed you the last few weeks washes over you, confusing every emotion that has been hurting.

Despite the sweet shine in his eyes as they watch you, you back from his hold in a jerk reaction. “Didn’t know you still cared about me.”

He wears the hurt from this statement on his sleeve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You wander back over to the fridge, grabbing a beer from the second six pack you’re working through. You pop it open from the mounted bottle opener, taking a handful of sips. “You’re kidding me, right? You haven’t called me in weeks. Weeks.”

He stands there, blankly watching.

“I might be more forgiving if it weren’t for Dustin and Gareth and hell, Steve also saying the same thing. None of them have heard from you. You went from calling at least once a week to radio silence! I wanted to get along with Chrissy. I really did. I started all the conversations, offering snacks, asking questions about her, letting her set her boundaries, but she had something to say about everything we did together!”

Eddie stutters, blinking as he watches you talk. He doesn’t try to talk, doesn’t try to defend himself. You don’t give him the chance.

“She clearly doesn’t respect you, otherwise you would still be my best friend and I would remember the last time we had a normal fucking conversation. I get wanting boundaries, but at this point, I don’t think she even wants you to have friends! Is that what you want? A girl who makes you make yourself smaller for her sake and isolate completely? Really? Because that’s what you have. No horror movies? No more junk food? No heavy metal music? She’s making you shrink yourself so she deems you desirable! Fucking– I can’t watch it anymore.”

“Wait, what do you mean–” he’s interrupted by the door closing, a yelp filling the room as Chrissy runs to him.

“What happened to your fists?” You glance down to them, seeing bruises lining his knuckles.

“Nothing, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he assures her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Alright. Well. I meant exactly what I said. I can’t do this one sided friendship thing with you anymore,” you take another swig, wondering how the bottle was already so light. “I can’t. Call me when you find my best friend, because I haven’t seen him in three months.”

You leave the room, ignoring the calls from his mouth that suffocate you. As you stumble into the living room, you catch Steve’s eye right away, chin trembling. The hot tears that trail down your face have already drenched your cheeks by the time you realize it’s even happening, choking on the emotion that drowns you.

Steve guides you into the guest bathroom, closing the door as he watches you attempt to stop the sobs long enough to tell him what happened.

“I think–” you hiccup, sniffling loudly, “I think I just lost my best friend–” tears rattle through you once again, just saying it out loud feels like lightning in its startling ability to shatter you once more.

By the time the sobs diminish again, you’re sat on the floor by the tub, head sitting in his lap as he pets your hair. You sit up suddenly, mid hiccup as you give Steve an odd look.

He almost asks if you’re okay when you spill over his lap, whimpering between gasps as you know what you’re doing, the toilet only a foot away, but it continues to explode from your stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” you explain, tears falling again, as he sits in shock.

He grins sadly, undoing his belt. “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

He finds someone, Robin, to grab him a second pair of pants, ditching the ruined pair in the bathtub.

The dry heaving seems to stop the tears, now staring blankly with a wet face and lashes that stick together. Steve brings you upstairs, wrapping his arm around your waist as he brings you to his bedroom.

As your head hits his pillow your eyes fall closed, mumbling something about fucking up, about three months ago.

Steve locks his door from any stragglers, walking down each step to find a particular metal head to give him a piece of his mind.

From how your sobs shook your body, he might give him the whole thing.

-

The light cascading through the blinds hurts, like a dagger through your brain as you take in your surroundings. You don’t know how you got into Steve’s room under his blanket.

As soon as you sit up, the pain stabs you, pushing you back down. Ow. You don’t even attempt to get up again until the urge to pee hits you, when it’s too much to ignore. You rub your eye, tip toeing to try to get back under the dark blue comforter decorating Steve’s bed.

On the corner of the bed Steve sits, one foot resting on the other knee as he holds a jade green drink. “How badly does your head hurt?”

You wince at the volume of his voice, placing your hands over your eyes. “Not great.”

He winces sympathetically, offering the smoothie. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Blurry images flash through your mind, the kitchen, Daniel, half of the second case gone. You attempt to remember past that point but it comes up blank. “I remember running into Daniel.”

As you sip on the surprisingly delicious hangover smoothie, Steve watches you, wearing a clear expression of concern.

“Anything after that?”

You can tell he’s egging you on, digging for something with an unprecedented seriousness in his tone. But there’s no memory after that. You gingerly shake your head, which sends more needles of pain through your skull.

“Why?” You ask weakly. Steve pauses, ruffling a hand through his hair as he releases a long sigh.

“You really don’t, huh?” Steve asks, one last attempt. “Maybe it’s good you drank as much as you did, then.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.” Images of worst case scenarios course through your mind. What did you do?

Steve pats the spot on the bed next to you, double checking you don’t feel the urge to throw up. You don’t.

“Daniel tried to force himself on you.” He’s gentle, compassionate in his admission as he watches your reaction.

Huh. “How far did he–” you stutter, breath hitching as you bite back the sobs that suddenly threaten to rake through your body.

“He was interrupted before he even got that far,” he comforts you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he caresses it. “Eddie sort of bashed his face in.”

Now that you think about it, the memory of Eddie hunched over Daniel as he delivered blow after blow to his nose, his cheekbone, his eyebrow. You didn’t see the final result of Eddie’s defense, but the bruised knuckles you vaguely recall spell out how brutal the retaliation was.

Eddie.

“What–” you pause, stuttering through your breaths, “what happened after that?”

“You yelled at Eddie. Berated him. I think you even told him you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. At least, that’s what I gathered from what you told me,” he admits.

Your blood grows cold. From the weeks of silence, the jilted conversations, the slow resentment that bloomed through your stomach for him. The ache already hurt just from the absence of your best friend, but it was good for you. Fuck, this hurt.

“Is that all?”

He laughs, pulling your head into his neck. “Just that you can’t hold back your liquor.”

That’s why your breath tastes like vomit.

From the extra strength tylenol he gives you, the rest of the morning is spent helping Steve tidy up the trash around his house. Only after spending twenty minutes in the kitchen on his hands and knees scrubbing up the red stains does he allow you to help him. You only catch a glimpse of the paper towel soaked in dried blood and bleach when throwing out red solo cups, a small hint of the mess Eddie made of Daniel.

The thought of his name is a self betrayal, and you work faster once it crosses your mind.

Once the place is clean, you allow Steve to drive you home at his insistence, repeatedly asking when he pulls up to your house that you’re sure you’re okay.

Your dad is at work, not there to ask any questions you wanted to avoid from the previous night, namely why your eyes are swollen from tears. The blinds in your room fall with a trill resembling a xylophone, blocking the sun from your intense migraine.

For the first time in weeks, you’re stirred awake from sleep from the ringing of the phone on the floor that has been pushed under the bed. You let it ring.

Just as sleep pulls you back in, you’re abruptly startled as the phone alerts you again. You roll over, ignoring it as you wrap your head in your hands, curling into the pillow. No one has to get a hold of you that badly.

This person does, it seems, as they call you again. You groan, crawling over the edge as you grab the phone from your receiver. “Hello?”

You refuse the want to chew them out, to take your emotions and friendship breakup out on the person who has interrupted your sleep.

“It’s me.”

You lurch forward in your bed, still tethered to the receiver by the tightly coiled wire as it forces the receiver to scuff against the hardwood floor. Eddie.

-

Eddie’s sat on his couch, limply resting his head on the couch arm as the shrill voice of the main character complains over a problem that could be solved if she had just told someone. His hand rests on his eyes, shielding himself from the light to prevent the headache he can feel coming on. He’s given up on suggesting other movies by now, but she somehow seems to only play the movies that get on every last nerve.

He would probably be more willing to watch the romcoms in question if they weren’t the bottom of the pack. Last time Eddie even suggested a romcom he actually doesn’t completely hate he had to hear about it for an agonizing twenty minutes. Fine. She could watch her movie, he can practice on his guitar, right?

You would think.

So he dissociates and focuses on the gentle petting of his calf as he rests his leg on her lap. His mind floats to his best friend, how much he misses the smell of your shampoo, or when you make fun of the cheesier horror movies he loves to watch. If Chrissy wouldn’t make a near temper tantrum every time your name is mentioned in conversation, he would’ve called you weeks ago. He missed your voice.

Chrissy continues to insist that you like him, that you’re trying to steal him from her. It turned into many fights where Eddie felt like he was losing his mind, insisting he just wanted to see his best friend. There is a stubborn, immovable force still holding hope that something will just click one day and realize just how wrong she is. There’s a little nagging part of him, eating at his brain, warning that it probably won’t ever come true.

The possibility is almost too much for him to mentally handle, because when it blows up in his face and you decide not to forgive his radio silence, he doesn’t think he will be able to handle the absence in his life. So he procrastinates the detonation.

“I’m surprised you’re not going to Steve’s party,” Chrissy chirps, interrupting Eddie’s disarray.

Eddie blinks, trying to recall any mention of a party that might’ve slipped his mind. That might’ve been the reason for his ignorance if he could remember the last time he even spoke to Steve. He’s sure Chrissy knows that.

“I didn’t even know he was having one.”

She grabs at the extra material of his jeans, pulling his attention. “Did you want to go?”

He mentally rattles through the mechanics of going to Steve’s stupidly large house, knowing damn well his distance has managed to drive you straight into the arms of someone new, even if it’s only platonic. You’ll be there, the chance much more likely than not.

He wants to see your face, even if it’s in passing. He wonders if Chrissy sees you there if she’ll decide to leave early or just avoid you altogether. But it’s just the chance that drives him to agree.

By the time he gets there, vehicles have already littered the streets surrounding his house, some even audaciously blocking his neighbor’s driveways. Chrissy’s hand is in his as he walks in, anxiously looking around the party for you.

He peers into the living room, to the couch containing members of some of Steve’s closer acquaintances and it wasn’t long until he saw you, sitting right next to Robin holding the bottleneck of a beer bottle.

Your eyes are already on his, wide and still as you stare at him. You’re even prettier than he remembered, any polaroid he’s ever had of you does absolutely no justice to your radiant smile or vibrant eyes.

Fine, you’re staring at him like you would rather be anywhere else for the moment, panic flooding your features, but it’s a breath of fresh air for him compared to his last few suffocating weeks. As you stumble to your feet, Eddie tricks himself into believing that you’ve gotten up to talk to him until you pass the front entrance straight into the kitchen.

He supposes he deserves that, fading as Chrissy tugs him to the dance floor. His hands find her hips, allowing himself to get lost in the relentlessly catchy pop tune. He can’t help but allow his eyes to float back over to the couch every now and then, something in him carnally needing making sure that you’re safe.

Alarm bells go off, goosebumps trailing over his skin as something in him screams that you’re in danger. You could very much just be avoiding him, which he wouldn’t blame you for, not for one moment, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he found out his worry had any footing.

“Babe, I’m gonna grab a drink,” he mutters, blankly kissing her sweet scented blonde hair before his long legs take him to the kitchen.

His stomach drops as your voice fills the kitchen, asking the asshole with wandering hands to stop as he forces himself on you.

The next thing he knows, Daniel is under him, his back slammed on the floor with a face scrunched up in pain as Eddie’s fists are flying. His fists, his jeans, the floor, the whining little shit’s face, it all gets painted with blood.

Eddie doesn’t realize when the pair of arms stop trying to push him off, or when the green eyes no longer stare at him in horror, shut from the trauma of one blunt hit after the other. He just continually bashes his face in for even daring to attempt to force himself on the woman he loves.

Fuck this guy. Fuck him.

Eddie’s blind with rage, but he’s also blind with his own regret.

Your voice cuts through the anger, a warning that seeps in his brain like a sponge. If he keeps hitting him like this he will end up taking his life.

He stands up, facing your trembling form as you seem to be in shock. You melt in his hold, tears spilling over his hands as he caresses you, doing his very best to take care of you. He knows the answer when he asks, but he has to hear it from you.

Finally, the words seem to sober you from wanting his comfort to the hurt that you’ve felt from his silence. You lurch yourself from him, staggering blindly to the fridge as you grab another beer. The scent was harsh on your breath, the sight of you glugging back as much as you can sends jolts through his system.

Then you tell him everything. And he deserves it. He wants so badly to tell you how badly he wanted to call you, but the excuses sound lame even in his own mind.

When you tell him you’re done is when he finally snaps out of his own trance. He knows what you mean, but surely, you don’t really mean it? Before he can ask, Chrissy comes into the picture, doting over his bruised knuckles, ignoring you completely as she asks what happened. He’s fine. He’s not, but he’ll say anything to get back to what you were just saying.

Choked back sobs escape as you tell him with absolute finality that you are done, tripping over your own feet when you leave through the kitchen door.

No, this has gone too far. Eddie hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol but feels as if he’s wasted from stumbling after you, blocked by his girlfriend.

That conversation goes as well as can be expected.

In the hours following, he doesn’t seem to find you anywhere. But without Chrissy trailing after him, he finds himself free to converse with friends he’d missed, meeting their snide remarks of coming back to the land of the living with grace. Eddie stays for hours, half heartedly partaking in any conversation he finds himself witness to just in case you make another appearance.

Steve walks down the stairs after what feels like forever, wearing a grim look on his face. Eddie approaches him. “Hey have you seen–”

“She’s upstairs,” Steve answers, sighing. “Passed out. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Is she okay?”

“Didn’t choke on her own vomit, at least,” Steve quips, his voice harsh. “Physically, she’s okay.”

Steve moves to walk around Eddie, seemingly done with the conversation.

“Physically?”

Steve sighs, angry, frustrated. “She just sobbed on the bathroom floor for an hour and a half, Ed. I literally watched her heart break! Safe to say, I don’t think she’s doing so well emotionally.”

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, feeling hopeless, like he should’ve been there to take care of you instead of being the cause of your suffering. “Steve, I–”

“Listen, Eddie. I just heard a bunch of shit from her that I’m not even sure she knows that she said. Other than her I guess telling you to fuck off, what else happened?”

Eddie gulps, not exactly wrapping his own mind around it, yet. “I found Daniel Moore trying to force himself on her.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, passing Eddie straight into the kitchen.

“Steve–” Eddie tries to stop him, or warn him at least, wondering how no one else has seen him, yet. There is almost no reason for most to make their way into the kitchen as the drinks station is in the living room, but usually a straggler or two, especially couples would make their own way in. He’s definitely not up and partying from the blood that seeped through the shirt he was wearing…

Should Eddie have called the ambulance?

“What the fuck–” Steve barks, taking in the crumpled form before him. “Jesus, Eddie, what happened?”

“You listen to your best friend beg someone to stop assaulting them and not beat the shit out of him?” Eddie retaliates, watching as Steve double checks to make sure he’s still breathing.

“Well, now I gotta get him out of here before someone has you fucking arrested,” Steve mutters, wracking his brain through old morally questionable friends of his that would help with no questions asked. Fuck. He has a few favors to call in. “Where’s Chrissy gone?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Eddie spits.

“Considering she has control over who you’re allowed to spend time with, probably somewhere nearby with binoculars,” Steve mutters, a fragment of seriousness in the joke.

“Well, not anymore,” Eddie shrugs, feeling surprisingly pragmatic about it.

“Oh.” Took you long enough, Steve thinks. “I’m gonna get him out of here, but I suggest you do the same.”

“Can I stay? I wanna be here when she wakes up.” His eyes pleading to Steve.

Steve’s brows raise. “Respectfully Eddie, I don’t think she really wants to see you.”

“I haven’t been able to tell her anything for weeks, I’m staying!” he insists, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Steve shakes his head, leaning on the counter. God, he wished he hadn’t invited a few dozen people to come to his house for the night. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot. You’re both idiots, but, man I think you’re the bigger one.” Steve walks around the kitchen island, getting unreasonably close to him. “I don’t know if you’re blind, or just selectively ignorant. She loves you, dude! She was willing to support you getting a girlfriend, but then you just shut her out. It’s gonna take more than an apology to be back in her good graces. When she wakes up with a killer hangover, I think the last person she’ll want to see is you. God, if one of you just made the jump years ago this never would’ve happened!”

Eddie’s heart drops at Steve’s angry words, refusing to believe any of his feelings for his best friend are reciprocated. “Sure, because three months of friendship tell you everything you need to know about a person.”

Steve chuckles, walking over the snoring asshole as he steps out to the living room. “I would have to be blind not to see it. She talked about you one time about this stupid fucking movie she watched with you and I could tell. Rather than telling your girlfriend that you have a best friend and she has to get over it, you shut her out. For weeks. And left someone else to pick up the pieces.”

“Steve, I know. I know I was being an ass–”

“Then why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you give her a call? You had to know she wasn’t going to forgive you so easily–”

“Of course I fucking knew that, Steve! Why do you think I put off letting it explode in my face?”

“Because you’re an idiot! She loved you. She loves you! If you can’t see that then I really don’t know what to tell you. Listen, if you call her tomorrow, I’m not all that sure what would happen. It’s gonna be a while before she’s ready to forgive, bud. For now. Maybe you should go.”

-

“Oh,” you sigh, hugging your knees into your chest, feeling small. A war rages in your mind. You were hurt enough by him to break your friendship off with him, but you don’t even remember it. The other side of you just wants to be close to him again, willing to sink into the apologies that he owes you and happily accept them.

But you shouldn’t. And you know you shouldn’t.

“Do you wanna come over for a movie?”

You want to come over and watch a movie so badly, it wraps around you and constricts your airflow. “Will she be there?”

“No. Just me and you. I promise,” Eddie swears, voice low enough that it resembles a whisper. “She won’t be, uh, crashing our movie nights anymore.”

You diminish the pulse of hope that threatens to bloom. “What do you mean?”

Eddie sighs. “I was hoping to tell you in person, but we broke up last night…come over, I’ll tell you more. I just need my best friend…and a horror movie…and junk food, god, I miss junk food.”

You miss him so much it hurts. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The bike ride sends pulses through your head, worsening the ache of the hangover. If the pain isn’t gone by tomorrow, you might just ask someone to shoot an arrow through your head to put you out of your misery.

It’s been more than long enough since the last time you were on his front door step, nervous as you hesitate to knock. Eddie’s footsteps are rapid and loud as soon as your knuckles hit the door, the opening to him, wide eyes, graphic t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. He appears unlike himself, almost tired. You wonder if you noticed it last night.

Before either one of you says a word, he tugs you in, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace in his scent. Overwhelming emotion takes over, his shirt absorbing the tears that fall. He feels like home, every part of him. His scent, the muscles flexing under your grasp, his steady breaths.

“I missed you,” he mutters, his voice low, choked, even.

Then why didn’t you call me? “Me too–” you whimper, squeezing onto him even tighter. You sniffle, curling your head into his neck.

The hug lasts forever, or at least long enough for your arms to become numb.

Your butt lands on the couch, the spot that was once permanently marked by you now weirdly lumpy from the lack of use. Did Chrissy know she was allowed to sit in her own seat on the odd occasion? On the coffee table, Eddie has already prepared the popcorn and your favorite snacks, only your favorite snacks. Three movies are laid out, all awaiting their turn in the VCR.

“What’s this?” You ask, rubbing your nose from the snot.

“Uh, three movies. Pick one.”

You read the titles, Back to the Future, Friday the 13th, and Labyrinth. “What happened to wanting to watch horror movies?”

“I have a lot of sucking up to do before I get to be picky with our movie night,” Eddie answers, his voice gentle and careful. “Pick one.”

If he says so, then you’ll have to pick your favorite, rather than his favorite. “Alright, then, Labyrinth it is. David Bowie in leather pants, here I come!”

As the movie plays, a teenage girl desperate to find her brother, you sink into the comfort of the ratty old couch. Through Eddie, you found out that the rattiest couches are actually the most comfy. The more tears and rips, the better. Eddie stands up, running to the kitchen to grab fresh cans of soda from the fridge.

He sits back down, handing you a Diet Coke while popping open his own. Two things you notice when he sits. One, he’s remarkably close, his ass nearly planted in between the cushions. Two–

“Since when did you start drinking diet coke?” You ask him, wincing at the aftertaste.

“Since Chrissy was such a stickler for sugar,” he answers casually, grabbing a bite of the popcorn.

His simple tone, emotionless and understated, squeezes your heart. “What happened with her, anyway?”

Chrissy blocked him, staring at him with wide eyes as she held his shoulders. “What–what is going on?”

“I need a minute,” he stuttered, attempting to walk around her.

“Did you do that?” Chrissy asked, pointing to the lifeless piece of shit on the floor.

“Chris, it’s really not a good time, right now. I will tell you later, I promise. I’ll be right back.” Eddie promised.

She blocked him again, hands pushing on his broad shoulders. “You’re not seriously thinking of going after her, are you?”

“Chrissy, she’s my best friend! That creep just tried– I have to go check up on her, make sure she’s okay!”

“You mean the girl who is pathetically in love with you?” Chrissy asked, belligerent and full of sass. “Sure, go and give her more false hope! She was practically all over you at the diner, mooning over you, desperate to take you out on a date, I mean, don’t give her fucking hope!”

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face angrily. “I don’t know how many times I need to fucking tell you, Chris. She is just my friend. She was being nice, trying to include you. I’m so fucking tired of this conversation!”

“So am I!” Chrissy crossed her arms, popping her hip out. It was times like these Eddie was absolutely sure of why Chrissy and Jason dated for so long. “You know what? Fine. Me or her.”

“What?” Eddie was unsure if she was being serious.

“Pick! Me or her? Because when you pick me maybe then she’ll get the fucking hint!”

It was the easiest decision he’s ever made in his life. “Her.”

Eddie finishes explaining it, mostly nixxing the parts where she berated you or talked shit. You just needed to know the part where she practically had a temper tantrum.

“Wow,” you mutter, remembering how you called Chrissy sweet when they first started dating. “And…you, you picked me?”

“Of course I did.” Eddie pops a kernel into his mouth, leaning back into the couch. His body heat is warm, his scent intoxicating. “You’re my best friend.”

“You haven’t called in weeks, Eddie.” It comes out quietly, the hurt overflowing in your body and pouring out your mouth. “I thought you had a new best girl.”

Eddie sighs, grabbing your hand. “If I could take back the last three months, I would. I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I missed you so fucking badly,” you admit, focusing on how your hand feels intertwined with his.

“I missed you. I know– I fucked up, but believe me when I say, I missed you so fucking much.”

On one hand, it’s hard to believe him. It seemed like it was so easy for him to cut you off. On the other, the glint in his eyes, his thumb caressing the back of your hand, gentle and unequivocally vulnerable.

Eddie leans forward, connecting his forehead to yours. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”

“You have a lot of making up to do, mister,” you inform him, pulling away from him to lightly nudge his hair.

“And a million strawberry mountains covered in strawberry sauce,” he answers, kissing your forehead softly.

“You really had me worried,” you admit, taking a good look at his face. “I believe you when you say that you missed me, but Eds, you hurt me. I want to trust you, but–”

His movement is swift as he grabs your face with his hands, pulling you in close. “I know, baby, I know.” The pet name takes your breath away, music to your unsuspecting ears. The name wraps itself around your like a warm hug, melting all those months of worry and panic away. “I’m so fucking sorry, if I could just–”

Maybe it wasn’t the right timing, months of silence, unanswered questions, hurt, but all that just conveniently disappears the moment his lips touch yours. You startle, jerking backwards as you look at him curiously, looking for something that’ll tell you he’s not kissing you out of pity, or obligation.

You’re met with the exact way that he always looks at you, but this time, it’s radiant. How did you miss it this whole time? You smile, wrapping your hand behind his neck as you tug him in, entangling his lips with yours and chasing that emotion that ran through you the first time.

Eddie meets your kiss with enthusiasm, grinning madly as he pulls you in closer, your body flush against his as he pulls you down with him.

It’s maddeningly enchanting, the way you can taste his minty breath and his hums against your lips, buzzing and tickling. His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip, pulling a gasp as you happily meet his with yours. Your skin feels electric as his hand sneaks under your shirt, as if he’s just getting the feel of you.

You sigh, curling your arm around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. His kisses trail along your jawline, down your neck, pressing sweet kisses down your jugular. “You taste like strawberries,” he mutters, audibly smiling. “I should’ve known, all those damn strawberries you eat.”

“Before we go any further,” you gasp, clutching at his t-shirt, “and believe me, I want to, you owe me a proper date.”

“Taking you out for a date, baby?” He places more rapid kisses on your neck, letting himself absorb your laughter. “God, I’m lucky.”

-

You’ve learned one thing for absolute certainty, Eddie Munson knows how to grovel. Between the many kisses you’ve shared that night you tell Eddie with surety that just because he knows how to kiss doesn’t mean he’s suddenly forgiven. Eddie relishes in that, grinning just because you’re kissing him.

The previous night he was losing his mind at his ex-girlfriend’s terrible movie choices, and you, his best friend, the person who has always known him best, you’re finally here kissing him. You could ask him to write a 1000-page apology letter entirely in rhymes or haikus and he would do it heartbeat, but all he’s required to do is prove it?

He’s more than willing.

When the date is proposed, he swears he would love to take you anywhere. He provides a list, with all of the restaurants you know he can’t afford. When you ask him and inquire about such, he shrugs casually. There’s a silent question there, wondering if Chrissy had even considered his wallet size before their date nights.

Instead, you answer with, “Our first date should be the diner, no?”

You’ve never been so nervous before, looking through your small arsenal of date night dresses. He’s seen all of them, whether from a school dance or the aftermath of a date gone sour. One dress catches your attention, at the very back of your closet covered in plastic, just waiting for the right time.

White, with blue flowers hand embroidered on the bodice, a sweetheart neckline and bubble gum pink ribbons tied together as the straps. Periwinkle blue that bleeds into mint green leaves along the hemline, fanned out into a hoopskirt. You’ve stared at this dress when it sat in your mom’s closet, asking when it might be your turn to finally wear it.

The dress fits you like a glove, looking remarkably close to the photo on the easel downstairs, a first date 25 years ago that ended up being one of your favorite bedtime stories.

As you finally make your way down the stairs, hair half up in curls in a ribbon matching the ones on the dress, your dad looks at you with pride and glossy eyes. Whispered words of the resemblance as he hugs you, eyes too tired for a man in his forties from loss and stress, a whiff of gratitude hits you.

It’s a warm spring evening, no need for a coat as the van pulls up with the usual melodies of heavy metal and drumming. You make your way down the sidewalk to his passenger side, butterflies erupting as you open the door.

The volume is turned down to a background noise, the heavy metal feeling oddly out of place at such a low volume. “Hi, sunshine.”

You grab his hand, petting at his calloused skin. “Hi.”

You feel his eyes on you, taking in the dress that is on its first night out in decades. “I don’t know how you show up looking this good and expect me to act normal.”

You grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and sniffing at the leather. He can’t say shit like that and expect you to go on like normal. “C’mon. I haven’t had a strawberry milkshake in ages.”

You open the window just a crack, appreciating the scent of fresh grass in the spring. New beginnings, fresh starts, rebirth. It seems oddly poetic.

He pulls up to the diner, bright neon lights against an evening sunset. It looks as if it’s painted, yellow into orange into blue. A lonely diner isolated sitting against a watercolor sky, but one of your favorite places in the world.

The bell ringing feels like an old song you haven’t heard in years, bringing some bittersweet nostalgia.

Martha perks up, the diner even deader than normal with only a lone man sitting on a bar chair holding a milkshake like a beer. The comparison sends a gag reflex through your body, never wanting to even smell another beer in your lifetime. As you sit next to Eddie, in such close proximity that the other side of the booth is useless, Martha appears with a cheeky smile on her face.

“If you two aren’t on a date, I’ll eat my notebook,” she sighs, hands on her hips as if she’s chastising two kids.

You and Eddie glance to one another, debating on fucking with her. It’s all the approval she needs.

“Finally! If you came in my diner again with those puppy dog eyes of yours I would’ve about had it with you two. Now, are you getting your regulars again?”

Eddie’s arm curls around your shoulders, his thumb petting the bare skin of your shoulder. “I’m disappointed you haven’t already brought the milkshake, Martha.”

“Smartasses. The both of you!” She walks off, a brand new pep in her step.

His thumb turns under your chin, pulling your face towards his. “C’mere. I need to make up for the times I just wanted to kiss those pretty lips in this booth of ours.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, breathless as you stare at his eyes.

“I didn’t think the prettiest girl I know would want to kiss a goofball like me,” he chuckles, self deprecating and vulnerable.

You shake your head sadly, sighing happily. “You are so wrong.”

His chuckles are interrupted by your kiss, clutching onto the cotton t-shirt clinging onto his chest. It’s like you to forget how to breathe, taking the moment to take a deep breath before kissing him deeper, harder.

Your tongues meet, wrapping together with his and leaning forward to be as close to him as possible. His hand lands on your thigh, petting it roughly as he teases you. You hated yourself, hated how you told him you wanted to wait, because it’s becoming too much. The need for him sits deep in your stomach and begs you for any resolve from his teasing hands.

His kisses keep you only so satiated, whimpering by the time your make out sessions are done and ready to beg him to touch you already.

The glass of pinky sweetness hits the table, interrupting his electric lips on yours. “If you two do it, at least have the decency to take it to the bathroom like every other patron.”

You yelp, avoiding Martha’s eyes as Eddie tugs you in against his chest, kissing your temple. “Yes ma’am,” Eddie obeys, saluting with two fingers. Two, very distracting fingers.

You take a sip, humming. After weeks, you will proudly proclaim that this is still the best milkshake in town.

Eddie kisses your cheek, pulling you even closer. “If you lick that whipped cream off your finger, so help me god.”

It’s a habit of yours, one you’ve done at least once a visit just to get a taste of it before it sinks into the milkshake. The numerous times you’ve done it sinks in, unknowingly teasing him. “Something wrong with tasting whipped cream, Eds?”

“When you do it with that tongue of yours, yes,” he mutters, nipping on your jawline.

“Why don’t you have a taste,” you hum, taking a scoop with your pinky, licking it up.

Eddie pulls you in, humming as his tongue reaches out for yours to grab a taste of the cream melting fast in your mouth. He pulls back all too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he tuts his tongue. “Mmm. Yum. Thanks, baby.”

The milkshake is nearly gone by the time Martha rolls around again, pancakes and waffles in hand, interrupting soft conversation and sweet nothings.

He finally tries a taste of your pancakes, eating from the fork you offer him. His face winces, screwing up as he chews on it. “That strawberry sauce is sweet, ain’t it?”

“A little sour, I guess, but it’s my favorite. The fresh strawberries are a nice little addition.” You tell him, cutting up the pancakes.

“I’ll stick to my sprinkles,” Eddie mutters, dipping a piece of the big fluffy waffle in the whip. “They are the best.”

“I have a question,” you mutter, relishing in the taste of the sweet strawberry sauce. “How-how long have you liked me? Was it more recent, or have you liked me for years?”

Eddie smirks, placing a stand of hair over your shoulder. “Years.” He chokes back the correction of the word like, cause it’s so much more. “The first time I saw you, you were giving one of the football dicks hell for picking on one of the scrawny little freshmen. And I mean, berating him. You’re shy, baby, but not when it comes to others.” He pauses, chewing thoughtfully. “I knew from that moment.”

Oh. It was a handful of months before you found yourself sitting by the hellfire table, shaking your head at their antics. Plus, Gareth was just plain wrong in his opinion, you shook your head disapprovingly as you dug your nose in the book. Eddie caught on to it, demanding you join their group and inform him of how wrong he was. You did. You didn’t realize how charming Eddie was, how welcoming and genuinely kind.

It took your breath away, especially how gorgeous he was. The crush was kindled from then on, only being nurtured as you continued to debate him and his friends on their nerd culture.

Eddie followed up with the same question, asking how long ago for you, too. You tell him that very story, of how he enamored you just from being around him.

“You know, by then I was already head over heels for you,” he admits casually, sipping the last of the milkshake. “Something about sticking it to the man just does that to a guy.”

“Those dimples of yours are a weapon.” You admit in kind, and he laughs. You drop your jaw incredulously. “They’re a weapon! You think your hands are the only things those girls call magic?”

Eddie leans in, hot breath on your ear sending ripples down your neck. “And have you thought about these magic hands of mine, sweetheart?”

You gulp, licking your lips as your heart races in your chest. “Maybe...” You say softly.

He hums, tentatively kissing your skin. He really shouldn’t be doing this in a public space, you think, attempting not to wiggle at the uncomfortable feeling of arousal pooling in your panties. “I can’t wait to show you just how magic they are.”

You hold back a whimper, choking on it as your eyes flutter shut at his tentative kisses.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” You nod, watching as he places the right amount of bills with a decent tip for Martha.

On your way out the door, Martha shouts her goodbyes, happily yelling out her congratulations as the glass door slams behind you. Eddie’s lips find a home on the back of your hand, holding it as he kisses loudly, tickling the skin.

The trailer sits alone in the park, all lights off as he pulls up. With the turn of a key, his arm wraps around your waist as you walk in sync. It’s familiar as you help him turn on the lights, domestic, even. His jacket is off, tossed on the couch as he tugs you by the hand towards his room.

You’ve thought about it so many times, whisking away into his room with him to devour him completely. Usually it occurs when you’re mad stoned, happy and horny, but too blizted to make a move.

Your hands curtain the back of his neck, thumbs petting the nape of his neck and tangling themselves in his curls, rubbing in small circles. His lips connect to yours, stumbling over dirty laundry as he guides you to his bed. “Hmm, strawberries.”

He yelps as lands on his back, laughing as you collide with an oof. The playful moment is quickly replaced with intensity, staring down into his brown eyes, darkened by desire. Across the years of being his friend, he’s darkened his eyes in many moments, right before he decides to pin you down and tickle you senseless or when you talk down on yourself.

There were moments when his intense gaze took you aback, mostly when you innocently used too much enthusiasm in eating ice cream or put your hair up in a ponytail.

Or when you wore a sundress that sat a bit too high on your thigh.

All these moments suddenly make sense, filling you with a gust of emotion as you grab at him, tugging him harshly for a kiss much more powerful than you knew you had in you. He gasps into it, deep and desperate against your lips as you pull him closer. One of his hands travels downward, hiking under your skirt and grabbing at your thigh, your knee pulled up against his stomach.

Eddie turns you over on your back, hands grabbing at the skin harshly, his rings pressing at your skin hard enough to create an indent. Your leg wrapped around his waist tugs him down, his chest landing on yours.

“Question, my love,” Eddie mutters, words intertwined with his kisses. “Why the hell haven’t I seen this dress until now, it’s…oh my god.”

You grin against his lips, pushing your hands past his cotton shirt. “Waiting for a special occasion.”

“You telling me I could’ve seen this ages ago, baby?” He gasps, wrapping your tongue against his, delicate but enough to make you mewl into his mouth.

“Probably.”

He nips your lip, a punishment for your cheekiness. “It’ll look better on the floor.”

Your hips grind up, meeting the bulge in his pants just right. “You can’t say stuff like that–” you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck to hold on to him pathetically.

“You have no idea the things I’ve wanted to say to you.” His hand travels further up, passing the waistline of your panties and spreading on the skin of your tummy. “All the things I’ve held back…”

The admission is thrilling and terrifying, giving you almost everything you’ve ever wanted.

Now if you could get that bike you wanted for Christmas when you were twelve…

“Can you tell me now?” you ask, smiling up at his pretty, bewildered face.

“Hmm, patience,” he tuts, using his hand to explore. “Right now I just really want to touch your pussy, please, baby, please.”

It’s your turn for bewilderment. He’s acting like touching you is this great honor, instead of a means to an end like anyone else you’ve slept with. “Uh, yeah, I want that. I really, really want that.”

Eddie sighs, using his traveling hand and dipping it under the waistband of your panties. As his best friend, you’ve gotten so comfortable around him, arguably too much. Late nights in his room with a t-shirt and panties as his room fills with smoke. Eddie is only human, appreciating them too much as as you sat cross legged with the strip just a tad too thin for what it was supposed to cover.

This particular pair is decorated in lace up the front, a sheer lace for the bum, a light blue to match the flowers. His fingers latch to your pussy, delicately moving them up and down the folds.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, playing with the slick and spreading it. “You’re so wet, all this…all this for me?”

He adds more pressure, rubbing small circles and watching you throw your head back and melt in the heat that spreads across your thighs and takes form in a tremble, in a shake. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, placing his thumb on your clit and rotating it in tiny circles. “You like the way I play with your pussy, baby?”

You frantically nod, grinding up against him. “Need..need more. Please? More?”

“What does more mean?” He leans in, decorating your neck with sucks and bites and licks. “You want me to lick it, baby? You need my fingers, you already beggin’ for my cock? C’mon my girl, use your words.”

You might just beg for his cock, but you don’t want it to be over so quickly. “Want–want your fingers, Eds.”

He giggles, planting a nice wet kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.” He doesn’t wait a second, curling one finger past your entrance and pumping it slowly, building a slow momentum that pulls at your stomach. He sighs, husky and deep, “Fuck, it’s so tight.”

He removes his finger without warning, not commenting on the moan in disappointment that escapes your mouth. He sits up, grabbing at the waistline as he tugs them down your legs, slowly, carefully, savoring in the moment. He lifts up the skirt, exposing the landing strip that sits waiting for his eyes.

“Did you decorate your pussy just for me? It looks so pretty… Thank you, baby girl,” Eddie is borderline emotional in his gratitude, showering you with praises.

Your legs attempt to close back together in embarrassment from his intense stare. He notices it, pushing your legs back down. “Do me a favor, won’t you? Keep these legs open while I eat your pussy.”

You drench your thighs, turned on even from the mere idea of being with him. “Mmkay.”

“You–” he gasps, delicately licking at the mound. “You taste so good. Wanted to bury my face in this little cunt for so long.”

His hands lift your thighs up and over his shoulder. His mouth tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, listening to the cues you give him through your quivers and whines. The dress is completely covering his face, hiding the man that is eating you out, slowly and carefully, as if wanting to taste every drop of arousal you feed him.

Before long, your legs start shaking in his hold from the pleasure that has your hands tangled in your hair, eyes squeezed tight as he pulls whine after whine from you. One finger slides right back in, facing no resistance, sucking on your clit simultaneously. That arches your back and curls your toes, gasping from his build up, his words, god just from the years of mental torture.

You cum against his lips without warning, for him or yourself, twitching around his fingers and crying out his name.

He coaxes you through it, kissing your pretty pussy lips gently until your legs stop convulsing. Sweat beads on your forehead, spreading on your back and neck and making the thick fabric of the dress too hot. You untie each ribbon, desperately grabbing at the neckline to pull it up and off.

He kisses up your torso, laughing as you get stuck with the dress half off. One heel digs in his back in retaliation, whining as you gesture to him to help you. “I’m sorry, you’re just so cute.” Eddie giggles.

You whine, kicking your legs for him to hurry up. Your hair is stuck in your dress. It lifts over your head, a light bra covering your tits acting as a tease for him. The dress lands on the floor, nice and splayed out as it’s done its purpose.

You roll your eyes, tugging him in for a desperate kiss by the neck, wandering hands moving south to tug at his t-shirt. “Wanna see you, too,” you confess, helping him rid of his shirt. “Show me those tattoos.”

“You like the tatties?” You nod enthusiastically although you know he’s just teasing you. “Oh, I bet ya do. Probably ogled them while I wasn’t lookin’ huh?”

With a chest like his, you don’t imagine he could blame you. You let your eyes speak for you, raking over his covered chest and openly staring. “Wanna suck your cock.” You look up at him with big doe eyes, silently begging.

Eddie’s eyes widen at your admission, groaning as you start to undo his jeans. “Fuck, I don’t know if I’ll last that long…I need to be buried in you, wanna feel that pussy around my cock.”

You gulp, wrapping your legs around his torso so his jeans meet your pussy, probably drenching a wet spot on the front. “Me too…but I remember you said you didn’t really get reciprocated very much.” You inhale, gathering courage. “I remember thinking how I’d love to spend hours with your cock down my throat.”

Eddie keels over you, curling his face in your neck as he whimpers. “You were holding that back from me?” He punches the mattress right next to your head, a mild temper tantrum. “What other depraved thoughts have you been hiding from me?”

“You want me to tell you, or show you?” You’re not sure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but you’re running with it, especially if it means you can hear him make that sound again.

“Sh-show me- want you to show–” he nods, whimpering into your neck and shuddering.

“Mmkay,” you muse, smirking at just how easily the shoe falls on the other foot. “Get on your back.”

He complies promptly, wrapping his arm around the small of your back and turning the two of you over. You straddle him, grabbing at his chest carefully as you plant kisses all the way down his lean torso. You bring teeth into the mix, sucking and biting and marking your territory.

You’ve been itching to do so since he showed up one morning with bruises decorating his neck, claiming his hookup got a little too eager.

I'll show you eager, you begrudgingly think, wishing that all the boys were teasing him from bruises you gave him, instead. God, there was one planted on his collarbone that was excessively large, annoyingly so.

You mark your way down his chest, his stomach, lapping greedily at his treasure trail as he whimpers at your enthusiasm. This is power, you think to yourself, wondering what other noises you could conjure from him. As your mouth moves, so do your hands, undoing his belt slowly, taking your time as you unzip his fly.

The evidence of his arousal is strikingly clear, his boxers bulging out of the open fly and begging for your attention. While your subtle glances downward gave you an inkling of his size, his hardened cock presenting itself to you, even disguised in its plaid wrapping, had you letting out a gasp in unbridled lust.

You wrap your hand around it, gleaming as he hisses, a hushed swear passing through his lips. You watch his face, observing him as you place your lips on the covered shaft, just letting him feel the heat of your breath on it. “Oh, fuck–” Eddie chokes, letting out harsh shudders.

The sight of his face is borderline angelic, all of his walls down as he focuses on you. You can’t help but smile at that, at how you desperately wished for nights like these, only paying attention to one another. You poke your tongue out, drenching the cotton fabric with your spit, working your way down the length.

At his little whines, you finally curl his fingers under his waistband, drooling at the taut cock that pops out, giving you a friendly hello, swaying from the spring. You smile ear to ear, delicately wrapping your hand around the base.

You kiss the tip, lapping at the pearl of precum that gives the clear indication of his arousal, as if his hard on wasn’t enough. “Mmm,” you hum at the salty taste, leaning in to suck every last drop from his flushed tip.

You let the saliva that has pooled on the surface of your tongue drool onto his cock, spreading it down the shaft, absorbing the moan he rewards you with. “Shit, that feels–oh my god.”

You smile with pride, finally taking him into your mouth, enthusiastically bobbing up and down on his length. Your eyes remain on his, watching him as his face melts, committing it to memory.

“Oh, Jesus,” he swears, hips rutting up, clawing further into your mouth. You take him in further, gagging on it as you wrap your tongue around it experimentally, choking loudly and purposely. “Ch-choke on it, yeah, ch-ohmy god, just like that–”

Your hand moves in rhythm with your mouth, slobbery sounds of spit on flesh, his and yours, deliciously wet. He tenses up beneath you, whines growing more desperate, moans huskier, deeper. It’s a marvelous melody, one no composer could make even if they tried their hardest.

“St-st-stop,” he stutters, curling over himself, writhing under you. “Stop–I-I’m gonna cum.”

Reluctantly you listen, lifting your head off him with a pop and cheekily smiling at his heaving chest. You crawl upward, yelping as he wraps his arm around the small of your back and tugs you in for a kiss, more powerful, wrapped in an unnamed emotion you couldn’t possibly let yourself be delusional enough to define as. The one hand crawled up your back undoes the clasp of your bra, tugging it off your arms and flinging it across the room.

“Gimme those tits,” Eddie sighs, kneading them in his hands and toying with the flesh and nips. “Oh, they’re so pretty, baby. I love them, I‘ve wanted to play with them for so long.”

Eddie’s legs move under you, kicking off his jeans while holding you close to his chest. You sit up, tugging him up with you as you hover just over him.

His skin directly on yours, close and toe curling as you straddle his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you stare into his eyes. There’s a glow in them, eyebrows relaxed as he holds your hips, staring up at you with such enamour. “Want your cock,” it’s only a whisper, but loud in the intimacy between you two. “I want you.”

His brows furrow, only a moment. The thought passes through him quick as a flash, but you see it.

“What was that?”

He smiles, relieved and tender. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He leans in, pressing kisses on your clavicle, your neck, your shoulder, the swell of your breast. “Not-not just like this. I mean, fuck, I wanted it, so, so bad. But…I’ve wanted you, wanted your late nights and early mornings, to help you when you need to study, wash the dishes…sorry, I’m rambling.”

You pet his cheek, shaking your head. “No. Keep going.”

“I mean, we’ve always sort of had that, you know? It was just torture, not kissing you stupid whenever I wanted…because I wanted to. I wanted to, so much, baby. I love you. So much. You’re my best friend, my person, and I just love you so fucking much.”

A breath of a laugh passes through your lips, attempting to absorb what he had just told you. “Really?”

You smile, holding him tightly as you kiss him, sighing happily as he confirms, nodding frantically. The head brushes against your entrance, pulling a whine from you. “Eds, I-I love you, too.” The kisses get more fierce, Eddie clinging onto you harder and nearly attacking your lips. “But…if you don’t fuck me soon I might actually lose my mind,” You giggle.

He laughs, combing his fingers through your hair, away from your face, from the sweat. He slaps his cock against your clit, teasing you with his head. “Of course, baby, you wanna ride me, hmm? Hop up and down on my big fat cock?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip, hissing when he pushes his head in, watching as your jaw drops. “Oh, look at you, I knew you could take it like a good girl.”

You choke back a whine, swallowing hard as his words have such a strong effect on you. ‘Fuck, f-feels so good.” You stop, mewling as the burn of his girth becomes too much.

“Don’t rush yourself, baby, it’s okay.” He puts his hands on your hips, digging into the soft flesh. “So nice and tight, fuck.” His eyes practically roll to the back of his head.

You sink further, taking him deeper as the burn bleeds into bliss and back to burning again. “Jesus, s’good.”

“Mm, almost there, baby.”

“Move, please. Eds. Need-need you to move.”

Eddie chuckles, large hands holding your back. He lifts his hips, slowly filling you to the hilt and bringing it back out, one hand landing by his side to use it for leverage. You chirp out his name, mewling as he slowly rocks his hips. “Love the way you say my name,” he gasps.

You start rocking, slowly lifting your hips as you assist him. “You gonna make me scream it?”

“If that’s a challenge, then I will happily accept,” Eddie growls, gripping onto your hips harder and pulling you down so the union of where your bodies meet hurts in the best way. “Wonder when those legs will give up, hm?”

“I’ve thought about riding you on the couch too many times to give up easily,” you admit, giggling at his wicked grin.

“Oh, have you now? Been wearing those little panties just so I’d snap and ravish you, hmm?” He asks, hair wild as he watches you bounce on him.

“Maybe,” you admit, though that was mostly just out of comfort and trust of your best friend. “You have stronger will power than I thought you would.”

“Hmm, you think too much of me, baby,” Eddie mutters, framing your face with his hand and pulling you in for a kiss.

Admittedly, your legs are growing tired, but you soldier on, connecting your forehead with his desperately and watching his eyes glaze over. Your head already feels hazy, heat building in your stomach as you rapidly climb towards your climax. “You getting close? About to cum on my cock?”

You nod, startling in your movement as he starts to move you quicker with just the tightening of his grip on your hips. “Eds,” You whimper as he rubs his thumb on your clit, rapid movements as he hurdles you towards your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him as your eyes roll back.

“Lemme feel you squeeze my cock, baby, wanna feel you cum all over it.” Almost as he demands it into existence, you finish with a start, twisting your toes together and hunching over his shoulder while he rolls his hips, gasping and whining and mewling. “Oh, that’s my girl. Here, bet those legs’re gettin’ tired, hmm?”

You nod, giddily giggling as he maneuvers you on your back. “God, I love you. I really really do. I don’t–I don’t know what the fuck I’ve been thinking–”

You slap your hand on his mouth, giggling at his wide eyes. “Sorry, but…shut up. Rail me. Destroy me. We have time for all that later, now quit getting all emotional on me.” You take your hand off his mouth and pat his cheek. “Be a good boy and make me scream your name, won’t you?”

He chuckles deeply, his jaw dropping as he nips on the palm of your hand. “‘Be a good boy,’ hmm? Yes, ma’am.”

Okay, this turns you on too much not to eventually dissect it, but Eddie’s hips start moving, harsh and raw and brutal, just as you asked for. With each collision of his hips comes a whimper from the force, each one louder than the last.

His head curls down into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin as he sucks and bites and laps his tongue over the pain. “Look at your neck, all marked up. All mine,” He rasps.

“All yours,” you whisper, choking on the emotion that fills your throat.

“My good girl who loves to get fucked hard, hmm?” He chuckles, curling his arms tightly around you. “Oh, listen to those pretty little noises you’re making, so pathetic for me, oh fuck.”

“Ed-keep-oh-oh–” you gasp, whining higher and higher.

“Yeah, just like that. Pathetic little princess.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in close, skin to skin, all sticky and sweaty as the smell of sex fills the air.

“You’re moaning like a desperate little slut but you’re not screaming my name, yet. Can’t wait for it. Hmm? Why you makin’ me wait?”

“Maybe you’re not hitting hard enough,” you gasp, a smile spreading across your face.

Eddie’s eyes widen, lifting his body off yours quickly. “Oh yeah? Hands n’ knees. Turn around.” He sends a jolt of fear through you, eyes widening as move into a crawl position. “That’s a girl.”

His hands tighten on your hips, lining himself up and pushing in all within the span of 3 seconds. He’s relentless with it, lurching forward as he grabs a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, I can’t hear you.” He taunts you, pulling deliciously at your scalp.

He starts moving faster and harder, clumsily planting his lips on your back, messily trying to take any claim he can on you. One hand slaps your ass, Eddie hums, appreciating the print of his hand on your skin. Moans pass through your lips, the loud ones that Eddie was asking of you. HIs name is added into the mix, cross eyed and desperate as he somehow increases his force.

“There we are. Where do ya want me to cum, baby, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

“Cum–cum in me, Eds. Fill me up.”

“Fuck-you, y’sure?”

“Fill. Me up.” You say again, getting your point across.

“Oh fuck–” he stutters, jaggedly rutting into you as he bends over you, filling you up with sticky white ropes. “You feel that, baby? Fuck. You feel all full?”

Eddie releases the hold on your hair as you fall forward, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. He pulls himself out, collapsing right next to you. His arms easily wrap around your back, pulling you in against his chest. You curl into him, sighing happily as you listen to his racing heart.

You lay like that for a while, listening to his breathing even out as he pets your hair gently. He plants a kiss on your forehead, humming. “Why did that take us so long to do?” You ask, still trying to regain control over your breathing.

“Hmm?” He pulls away, processing your question. “Oh, I don’t know. We’re idiots.”

You tug him back in, feeling sleepy as you smile against his chest. “Yeah. Big, big idiots. I love you, idiot.”

He hums, pulling you in tighter. “Love you too, ya idiot.”

It’s strange. You thought it would change everything if he were to finally be yours. It doesn’t change anything, banter traded as always, only with a caressing hand that tugs you in for a kiss when he teases you. Hormones go wild, finding resolve in one another as movies are no longer watched, just a nice background noise.

-

Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

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[solthia-x]

The Casket of Venus

Chapter VII

𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐮𝐬

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐜

Summery: the only pillar who hold the empire, it was him.

Hi guys, this chapter is a little strong, especially for our poor Geta and his damned past.

If you like it leave a heart and a follow for more chapters!❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: violence, assault, breakdown, Geta is only a broken man, flashback, angst.

Haydee didn’t dare utter a word—she felt empty. The only sound was the steady clatter of hooves.

They passed through the gates of the Palatine in silence. Geta hadn’t spoken a single word the entire ride back.

The emperor brought the horse to a halt, and a servant swiftly took the reins. Geta dismounted first, then grabbed her by the waist—but he didn’t let her touch the ground. He lifted her into his arms just like before, her hair falling into her face.

She could feel the cut on her nose throbbing in sync with her split lip. The cold gold of Geta’s armor offered relief to her aching temple.

Instead of entering through the main gate, Geta chose the garden path—he didn’t want to draw attention.

The silence between them had never felt so excruciating—and yet, strangely comforting.

She recognized the room by the red marble with golden veins. Then Geta finally spoke—but not to her.

Haydee was surprised to see Lemonia holding a bowl of water, accompanied by a younger servant carrying towels.

She couldn’t make out what Geta said—she only saw everyone swiftly dismissed from the room.

She was thrown onto the bed. Her blood ran cold.

She tried to move, but he held her down. His face was as cold as ice.

Haydee tried to push him away, but he gripped her face violently—the other hand tore open her tunic, and part of her breast was exposed.

She felt tears stream down her cheeks, a sob breaking from her throat.

Geta suddenly froze, as if jolted awake. His hands trembled.

What was he doing?

His eyes widened at the sight of her tears. Her hands lay at her sides, as if she had given up.

Geta pressed a hand to his lips, disgusted. He felt bile rise in his throat as a memory blurred his vision.

The two brothers had been playing with wooden swords in the palace halls when a loud crash of glass shattered the air.

They froze. Their mother’s scream made their skin crawl.

Caracalla—still young and unaffected by the illness—grabbed Geta’s hand. They both hid under the banquet table, trembling.

Geta clung to his brother, holding his breath.

“Septimius, please…” their mother sobbed.

“Where are they!? Those little brats!!” the emperor shouted, clearly drunk from too much wine.

“Where did you hide them, Inutilis Mulier!?”

The sharp sound of a slap was followed by a cry of pain.

When they heard the banquet hall door swing open, they both stifled sobs.

Their poor mother’s moans echoed through the corridor—she was likely on the ground.

Suddenly, the tablecloth was yanked away.

“Found you. Liberi nothi!” their father’s face appeared—his maniacal smile made them scream.

Geta snapped back to reality, stumbling away from the bed. His back hit the carved headboard.

He looked down—blood stained his hands. His own blood.

He remembered his mother’s swollen face as she treated the lash wounds on his back.

Caracalla, unconscious from the beatings.

Haydee sat up, noticing his breakdown.

Geta buried his hands in his hair, tugging at his ginger curls as if to tear them from his scalp—trapped in his madness.

A rotten apple. You’re a rotten apple, Filius.

Haydee thought of running. But she stopped.

Her mind told her one thing—her heart, another.

This city, somehow, had infected her too.

She slowly knelt before the emperor, who now sat on the cold marble floor, his hair disheveled, eyes distant and full of tears.

Haydee saw the Geta from the mural again—but this version wasn’t joyful. He was terrified.

Gently, she tried to pull his hands away from his face. At first, he resisted.

But then, slowly, he let her.

She hushed him softly as he whimpered, his makeup smudged across his face.

Geta seemed to come back to himself, but stayed silent.

Haydee dipped a cloth into the bowl and began to clean the mess from his face.

Geta’s tears started falling again, heavier than before.

But this time, the silence felt safe.

Geta then took another towel and gently wiped the blood from her battered face.

“I should have killed them more slowly,” he whispered.

She didn’t understand at first—then it hit her.

The two soldiers he had killed earlier.

“They shouldn’t have touched you,” he said.

She silenced him gently. “They didn’t deserve death,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer at first.

“Then you shouldn’t have run,” he said.

Haydee felt a pang of guilt. “Then you should’ve given me more freedom” she replied.

Geta said nothing—because she was right.

Gently, he helped her sit on the bed. He cleaned her feet and knees while kneeling before her.

His hands were calloused—but careful.

Haydee was stunned when he kissed her now-clean feet.

He didn’t seem like himself.

Where had the cold, impulsive Geta from just moments ago gone?

He finished wrapping her wounds, then rose. He stared at her for a moment, then grabbed a clean tunic laid out on the table.

Haydee felt a flicker of fear.

He handed it to her and turned away, moving toward the table to pour himself a cup of wine.

“Change. That toga you’re wearing is filthy.”

She obeyed. He didn’t even try to look.

When she was done, he turned around.

They stared at each other in pure silence.

“You’re afraid of me,” she said—it wasn’t a question.

Geta bit his lip. That alone was answer enough.

He was afraid? No—he was terrified.

But not of her appearance.

Of what he felt when she was near.

“Why are you afraid? You’re the emperor. You rule a vast empire. You have all the concubines you want. You can do whatever you wish without needing anyone’s permission” she said.

Her cerulean eyes met his amber ones.

Geta smiled bitterly.

His father’s words echoed in his mind.

You’re a rotten apple. You’re a rotten apple, Geta. You’re a rotten apple, Filius.

“You think it’s easy, Graeca?” he snapped. “To be the only sane emperor between the two on the throne?”

“To be the one the senators feast on like vultures?”

“To stand between my mad brother and the people?”

“You think that’s easy?”

The weight he carried came pouring out with every word.

Haydee finally saw the emperor for what he truly was—a man bearing the weight of the entire empire, the last pillar holding everything up before it all crumbled into chaos.

Geta sat down on the triclinium, far from her, sipping his wine slowly.

“Starting tomorrow, your chambers will be connected to mine. You’ll have more freedom, just as you wished ” he said.

Haydee listened quietly.

“You’ll attend the dances tomorrow. It’s the Quinquatria. You’ll dance with the other concubines,” he added.

Haydee didn’t have the strength to refuse—she simply nodded.

Not long after, he called for a servant.

Lemonia herself escorted Haydee to the rooms linked to the emperor’s.

Before leaving, she cast him one last glance—Watching him drown his sorrow in wine nearly broke her.

That night, she slept alone.

No warm body beside her.

She should’ve felt relieved.

But instead, she felt an aching void in her chest.

Masterlist.

I hope you are liking the story!

Stay tuned for more!

I think that Geta suffer from bipolar disorder ( in my story, in reality i don’t think).🙃❤️

Translations 💐

Inutilis Mulier= useless wife

Liberi Nothi= bastards sons

Filius= son

Triclinium= Roman couch

Quinquatria= festivity for Minerva

[solthia-x]

The Casket of Venus

Chapter VI

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐜

Summery: Escaping, what a bad idea.

Hi guys! Here the chapter six, I’m happy that you are liking my story so far, chapter seven will be out tomorrow or Sunday so stay tuned!❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: violence, intimidation, death,assault and injuries, angst, fear, angered Geta.

When the first glimmers of dawn appeared, Haydee took in the entire landscape with a sliver of relief—today she would carry out what she had planned during the night.

She would escape this place, this land infected with blood and tyranny.

Haydee didn’t wait for the maids to wake her; she dressed alone in complete silence, the only comforting sound being the wind and the tintinnabulum swaying with it.

The Graeca stepped out of the room with courage—the corridors of the Palatine were silent. She prayed to Apollo to help her find her way through the labyrinth.

She had even removed her sandals to avoid making any noise. The cold marble offered no comfort—this was no nightmare, no, this was pure reality.

Her eyes caught something: an enormous mural of the Severan family. She immediately recognized Caracalla and Geta in the panel, but she couldn’t tell who the stern-looking man and woman beside them were—though she knew they were their parents.

Geta looked radiant, almost happy, with that glow only young boys have—completely unlike the cold and wrathful man she had come to know.

Haydee wondered how the couple had died, but no answer came to her question.

She felt a deep sadness upon seeing that younger Geta, so different from the one she knew now. What had happened to cause such a drastic change?

A noise froze her in place. She quickly hid behind a white marble column.

Slowly, she peeked out to see a servant carrying some linens. As soon as he disappeared down the corridor, Haydee moved as fast as a fox in a henhouse.

She had to get out—and fast.

She reached the Palatine stables, gracefully pretending to be a servant and tricking two utterly useless guards.

With care, she took a horse by the reins—the animal was calm enough.

She climbed onto it, wrapping her face well with the shawl she had clearly stolen from Geta’s room.

Haydee had never ridden a horse before, and clumsily mounted the saddle. In that moment, she hated being a woman.

Her younger brother, Britannio, would’ve mocked her.

She prayed to Ares for the courage to carry out this insane plan.

With a tug of the reins, the horse began to move. Two guards at the gate didn’t understand what was happening—when she rode past without heeding their calls to stop, she blatantly ignored them and spurred the horse to gallop.

Freedom tasted sweet on her lips.

The wind tugged at her shawl as the black Friesian sped toward the city.

⸻

Meanwhile, Geta had been summoned to the Senate. Just one day remained before the Quinquatria, and preparations were underway for the celebrations, the dances—and especially the offerings to Minerva.

Caracalla was seated next to him this time, having actually deigned to show up to the political meeting.

The atmosphere in the room was tense; for a brief moment, the topic of marriage had been forgotten.

If Caracalla heard about it—and that he might be removed from the throne—he would have turned the room into a bloodbath.

Caracalla was ruthless. With his illness, everything had worsened. He craved only blood and the gladiator’s fights.

Senator Tiberius was describing the upcoming days at the Colosseum and the plan to introduce new gladiators from the recent conquest of Numidia.

Caracalla was clearly delighted, listening intently and missing no detail.

Several concubines lingered in the room around the two emperors.

Geta, suddenly noticing her absence, called for a slave and ordered him to bring her—immediately.

“My emperors, we wish to propose a reenactment of the battle between the Greeks and the Persians,” Tiberius said, intriguing the two rulers, “with a naval combat.”

But before the discussion could deepen, the slave Geta had sent returned empty-handed and out of breath.

“My emperor… it’s terrible…” he gasped.

“Speak, or I’ll kill you” Geta growled.

The servant trembled beneath the younger emperor’s fiery gaze.

“The girl… the one in your chambers… she’s gone—” the servant was cut off as Geta grabbed him by the throat and began to strangle him.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep an eye on her!?” he roared. His face turned red, his eyes full of fury, enough to rival Mars himself.

With a flick of his hand, Geta broke the servant’s neck and tossed the body aside. The others trembled. Caracalla chuckled at the scene.

Geta, enraged, shouted to the Praetorians, “Find her… FIND HER!”

He stormed out of the political meeting like a madman.

“My lord—” a guard began.

Geta pointed his sword at the man’s throat.

“I will search myself. You sweep the city, you filthy ingrates!” he bellowed. He would kill again if they failed to obey.

“Brutus!” Geta called. The general rushed forward.

“Yes, my lord!” the general said, tense.

“Don’t let any ship sail. Block all departures from Ostia, now!” the emperor commanded.

Still in his armor, Geta moved quickly. A servant brought him a white Friesian instead of his usual horse, Bucephalus.

“Where is Bucephalus?” he asked, irritated.

“My lord, it seems someone took him,” the servant replied, terrified.

Geta smiled—this narrowed the search. If the Graeca had taken his horse, he knew where to start.

Geta rode off at a gallop, his ivory cloak billowing behind him. Four guards followed.

⸻

Meanwhile, Haydee was riding through the less crowded alleys, trying not to draw attention. She had a terrible feeling in her gut.

She had slowed the horse to avoid being noticed, already sensing the alarm had been raised—she could feel it in her bones.

She had covered her face so thoroughly that she could barely see.

Along the streets of Rome, she saw only misery and poverty.

Filth was everywhere. This city infected everything it touched.

Her relief shattered when she saw a guard at the entrance to Ostia’s port. No! It couldn’t be!

They couldn’t have figured out her plan so quickly.

The guard recognized her by the horse and the damned imperial crest on the saddle. He shouted, and she instantly broke into a gallop, turning down another street.

Haydee felt tears stream down her face as the wind tossed her hair. Chaos erupted across the city as she searched for a way out—but everywhere she turned, guards were waiting, as if they had been lying in ambush.

She knew no one was coming to save her.

All she could do was pray. And so she prayed—and prayed—and prayed.

She tried to steer the horse toward the countryside—she had to get out of the city. But just as the situation seemed to be improving, the horse neighed in pain.

Haydee screamed as it reared onto its hind legs—a single arrow had pierced its flank.

Haydee clung on, but the horse collapsed.

She hit the dirt, scraping her knees and her bare feet. She scrambled to stand, but like vultures, they were already on her.

She was slapped—once, twice, three times. She felt her face bleed from the violence.

A soldier grabbed her hair and yelled for her to stand.

“Filthy whore, get up now!” he snarled, just as hoofbeats echoed nearby.

“My emperor—she’s here!” Yelled another soldier holding her down.

The blood froze in her veins. Tears streamed from her eyes.

That sweet and bitter freedom was nothing compared to the poisonous death approaching—Hades awaited her with Cerberus at the gates of the Underworld.

“My lord, I’m sorry about your horse—” the guard didn’t finish his sentence.

The emperor, dismounting with a gaze that could kill, wasted no time unsheathing his sword.

Haydee closed her eyes—but the strike was not for her.

In a single, fluid motion, Geta sliced off the arm of the soldier who had grabbed her hair. The man’s scream chilled her to the bone.

The other soldier let go instinctively—but there would be no mercy.

The emperor looked at Haydee’s battered face and felt a surge of fury. She said nothing.

The second soldier was shown no more pity than the first. Haydee felt the spray of blood on her face as Geta beheaded him before her eyes. She trembled.

Two soldiers were dead. Geta’s fury, burning in his bronze skin, knew no limit.

He sheathed his sword and, with a gentleness she had never seen before, lifted her in his arms.

He said nothing—and that was worse. Silence could mean so many things.

He placed her on his horse.

“Brutus,” Geta said coldly. The general nodded silently, listening.

“Dispose of the bodies. Increase the guards at the palace. If this happens again, I’ll hang your entrails on the gates of Rome” the emperor said.

Geta urged the white Friesian forward, returning to the palace.

Mastelist.

I’m so happy for how it’s coming out this story, when I will finish this I will write another about Eddie Vampire you find the plot on my profile!🩷

I had put some lines from a song of Ethel Cain, sun bleached flies!

Translations

tintinnabulum= bells for the wind

Graeca= Greek female in Latin

[solthia-x]

heyy, i really like the geta story sm, your writing is so good🩷 are you gonna continue writing it?

Yep of course! The next chapter will exit soon, don’t worry pookie, I will continue it.

I’m actually writing the chapter nine in Italian, the chapter 6 is already written but I have to write it in English.

Probably it will exit soon, maybe in the night because since I’m Italian here it’s afternoon.❤️

[solthia-x]

"The Scent That Bled Through"

✧𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭☆彡

✧𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫...

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬:drugs, sex 18+, both are over 18, sensual tensions, blood, angst, assaults from other vampires, werewolves, dead animals, fangs, bites.

ఌ𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭

In Hawkins, darkness isn’t just a whispered myth — it pulses beneath the town��s surface, lurking in the woods, between high school hallways, and in the midnight murmurings of the Hellfire Club.

Eddie Munson has always known he was different. Born of a human mother and a vampire father who vanished long ago, Eddie is a halfblood — a forbidden, hunted creature in the eyes of the ancient vampire orders. Sheltered by his uncle Wayne and hiding in plain sight among dice, music, and high school outcasts, Eddie survives on animal blood and sheer will, keeping his true nature buried deep.

But when she arrives in Hawkins — a girl broken by divorce, hardened by silence, and sent to live with her grandparents — everything shifts. Eddie can’t read her thoughts. Her mind is a void he can’t penetrate, and her scent — sweet, fruity, intoxicating — is stronger than any drug he’s ever smoked.

The balance begins to unravel. The templar vampires have caught wind of Eddie’s existence and want him gone. The Hellfire Club hides more than friendships and fantasy games — it shields ancient pacts and blood-bound secrets. And the bond growing between Eddie and the unreadable girl might just be the match that sets their world ablaze.

In a web of forbidden hunger, hidden truths, and burning tension, the line between love and damnation wears thin — like a whisper of blood on the wind.

Coming soon..

Hi guys this is an idea that will come after the story of the emperor Geta that I’m doing in these months.

I hope you like this!!❤️🌻

[solthia-x]

The casket of Venus

Chapter V

𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐬

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐜

Summery: He is only a man who held nothing.

I hope this story is taking a good way, if you like it leave a heart and follow me for more!❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 scene, sexual activity but not with the protagonist, Geta is conflicted, hurt past, Geta past, both characters are over 20,filthy thoughts.

Geta, full of resentment, had turned to someone else in fury.

The concubine beneath him sobbed as he took her without mercy.

The woman moaned, clutching the sheets; Geta growled.

Though he had told himself that no one stirred his desire, he needed release.

His hips slammed against hers — Alba, the concubine beneath him who whimpered — but she was nothing compared to Haydee.

Her black hair and falsely green eyes were not those of the damned Graeca.

She lacked her beauty, even though she was one of the most beautiful concubines in his harem.

Geta found himself thinking of Haydee, imagining it was she who begged him to continue — to not stop.

He growled when Alba tried to touch him. She whimpered.

“Please, my Emperor,” she pleaded.

But he denied her. “Silence, filthy meretrix” Geta said as he continued.

He only managed to reach his peak by imagining Haydee begging him — that woman had bewitched him.

He left Alba lying on the bed, grabbed his red tunic with golden hues.

She begged him to stay, but he ignored her and walked out of the room.

He didn’t return to his chambers — he knew she was there.

He preferred to take refuge in his office.

He hated feeling so confused, so unmoored by a single woman.

He feared going mad, as his brother was.

His thoughts turned to the last meeting he had with the Senate.

⸻

He had been seated on his ivory throne, while Caracalla, as usual, had refused to attend, lost in his debauchery, leaving Geta to get his hands dirty.

Geta was like Caracalla’s shadow, but he moved in the political sphere.

When Septimius Severus was still alive, he had used Caracalla for military campaigns, exploiting his raw lust for blood, while Geta handled the organization and cunning.

But unfortunately, he had not been born the firstborn — his brother was meant to rule alone. Yet, due to his grave illness, their father had placed them both on the throne.

“My Emperor, we have come to a conclusion.”

The words of Senator Gracchus pulled him from his thoughts. The oldest and wisest senator stared at him.

“What conclusion?” Geta asked, his steel face revealing no emotion.

Senators had to weigh every word when speaking to him — even more so when Caracalla was present.

Geta was more merciful than his brother.

“Your brother’s days are numbered, my Princeps” Gracchus continued.

Thaex spoke next. “The people of Rome are afraid. Your brother is worsening. They fear for the instability of Rome, my Emperor.”

Geta remained silent for a moment.

“And what is your conclusion?” he asked again, impatient — he hated words games.

“We would like you to take a woman, a wife, and continue the bloodline, my Princeps” Gracchus said calmly.

Geta clenched his jaw — what nonsense. Marriage? What absurdity was this?

⸻

He remembered well how he had spoken in rage, freezing everyone in the room.

But as much as he wished to escape that harsh truth, they were right.

He slammed his fist against the table, grunted, and pushed all the scrolls to the floor.

They were right — his brother’s madness and the disease that had now reached his loins had become unbearable.

But the word “wife” only brought his thoughts back to his poor mother, and the many tears she had shed for that sadist of a father.

Septimius Severus was nothing but a cruel man.

That man had beaten both him and his brother since they were infants.

Their poor mother always tried to hide them. Julia Domna had been a faithful wife and a gentle mother, unlike the other empresses of the past.

But his father had killed her before dying of illness himself.

He had dragged to hell the only woman who had given even a flicker of tenderness to his and his brother’s lives.

After her, there was no more understanding. Power, along with pleasure, had bloomed into tyranny and bloodlust.

They had known nothing else.

Haydee had given him comfort, had shown him compassion — and he hated her.

He hated her so much it made him sick.

But his cordis beat wildly in his chest, like a wild horse.

His fear was becoming like his father — but he already had, without realizing it.

He should have been better than him. But he wasn’t.

Geta grabbed the wine jug.

Gold ran through their veins.

The people called him a vessel of the gods, but he was just a miserable man who believed he held fate in his hands — when in truth, he held nothing.

Mastelist.

Hi guys! Here another chapter for you, I hope you are liking this story, the next chapter will come out this Sunday, goodnight!

I remind everyone that my first language is not English if I do mistakes please excuse me!❤️

Translations

Graeca= Greek female

Meretrix= whore

Princeps= emperor in Latin

Cordis= heart in Latin

[solthia-x]

The Casket of Venus

Chapter IV

𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭?

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐜

Summery: Geta refuses to use her.

I hope you are linking the story!

Please leave a comment and a follow if you want more!❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: sensual tension,and the start of smutty part but is not with the protagonist, wounded Geta, angst, conflicts, both characters are over 20.

The emperor looked up, angered as he was—he didn’t want anyone near him. But Haydee was never smart enough to stay away.

Slowly, she approached the wounded emperor, picked up the damp cloth, and then spoke softly—something she had never done before.

“Let me see” she whispered.

Geta stared at her as if she had grown two heads. Still, he slowly extended his arm with a huff. The wound wasn’t fatal, but it was deep enough. She began to clean it with a gentleness he would never have expected from her.

His voice broke the silence.

“Why are you doing this, Graeca?”

Geta’s chocolate-colored eyes met hers. They were two opposite worlds, yet the earth always found a way to blend with the sea.

“I’m simply returning the favor” she said, trying to sound casual. The emperor grew thoughtful.

His skin was pale like milk, while Haydee’s was kissed by the sun—a beautiful creamy tone.

Geta’s hands were calloused, covered in rings, and adorned with two rigid golden bracelets encrusted with gems.

“Why should you?” he asked, his calm tone giving her goosebumps.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she retorted. That question left him speechless.

But Geta eventually found words again, muttering,“Now you’re the one acting against your nature, Graeca.”

His eyes no longer held anger, but something Haydee couldn’t name.

She finished cleaning his arm. Despite the sweat and dust clinging to his body, she couldn’t deny how beautiful he looked—even covered in grime.

As wicked as he was, Geta’s beauty surpassed any man she’d ever seen.

“You should call the medicus. That plaga needs stitches.”

She tried to pull her hands away from him, but Geta seized her wrist.

“You won’t be able to resist me forever, Graeca,” he whispered.

Haydee stared at him one last time before pulling away. She instructed a servant to fetch the medicus, and the order was quickly carried out.

Moments later, the same medicus who tended to Caracalla arrived and began suturing the young emperor’s arm. He gave Geta devil’s breath ( mandragola in italian) to dull the pain.

Within an hour, the procedure was finished. Though the bandage irritated him, Geta had no choice but to endure it.

When the medicus was gone, Geta froze at the sight of Haydee sitting on the bed.

He rose, still shirtless, and slowly moved toward her. But when she tried to initiate what they had done the night before, he stopped her.

“Don’t move” he said firmly.

He lay down, resting his head on her thighs. Her breath caught in her throat—she was as tense as a drawn bowstring.

“Stroke my hair” Geta commanded, his voice needy.

Haydee slowly threaded her fingers through his ginger curls, and the emperor sighed in relief.

The sound of that sigh stunned her. The co-emperor seemed like a child seeking comfort in a mother’s arms.

Geta was tense, too. Haydee stroked his hair with care.

She could have hurt him—she wasn’t harmless, after all—but seeing him like that, vulnerable and exposed, didn’t feel right.

Why did she hesitate? she asked herself.

He was her jailer now—cruel and merciless.

But in that moment, he seemed like a defenseless child.

The silence filled the room. The emperor stared at the ceiling before breaking the stillness.

“Why do you torment me? Why can’t I take you by force?” he murmured in frustration.

Haydee didn’t answer. She had no words for the emperor in turmoil.

Geta seized her wrist again and pulled her close with fury.

Haydee finally found her voice.

“Because Apollo tells you not to. He shines his light and grants you compassion for me” she whispered.

Geta was stunned. He sat up from her lap and, in a furious storm, stormed out of the room.

Haydee flinched when the doors slammed shut. He left her alone again, not even giving her a reply.

The poor Graeca didn’t sleep that night. Instead, she began crafting an escape plan.

She wouldn’t survive another night with that man.

——————

Meanwhile, Geta made his way to the chambers of the other concubines.

He opened the first door he found and entered noisily.

One of the most beautiful women in his harem sat on the bed.

Alba was startled to see him but remained silent.

Geta stared at her with bitterness.

She would never be her.

Alba seemed about to speak, but he raised a hand, signaling her to remain silent.

“Strip and get on your knees. Don’t dare say a word. Tonight, I seek pleasure, and you will be my instrument.”

Alba almost smiled with joy, pleased that the emperor had summoned her.

But she didn’t know he was already lost to that Graeca—she was only a remedy, nothing more.

And yet, Geta refused to take her without consent, out of some twisted respect.

But why now? Why with her?

With the others, he had never shown pity.

Why was he now capable of it—for her?

Masterlist

Hi guys!❤️‍🩹

I have been a little busy with the school and some tests I’m lucky I have other chapters ready but I have to just adjust them and then publish them.

I remind everyone that my first language is not English if I write something wrong please tell me!!

Translations

Greaca= Greek

Medicus= Medic

Plaga= wound

Devil’s breath= it’s an Herb that dull the pain we could see it in the film, when Lucius or Hanno is wounded and Ravi helps him.

Tags 🏷️ ( if you want to be tagged ask me!)

[solthia-x]

ARGH WHO PAYS MY THERAPIST NOW?!💔😭

GETA & CARACALLA in TCHAIKOVSKY'S PAS DE DEUX.

[solthia-x]

Argh my friend, your knight Eddie will kill me one time—CHEF KISS 💋

Dance with me, my lady. My princess.

Knight!Eddie × Princess!Reader.

Finally, the grand day everyone was waiting arrived: the ball, hosted by your parents, the sovereigns of Hawkins. And Eddie will take this chance, once and for all, to confess his love for you.

⚠️ warnings: use of Y/N, Eddie being madly in love with reader, mention of sex at the end.

A/N: Ugh, I love knight!Eddie. This gotta be my fav fan version of him.🤭 As always, I apologise for my English and any mistakes in this fic. I'm a non-native English speaker.

Divider by @strangergraphics.

Great day today for the reign of Hawkins! The palace had opened its doors to celebrate the tenth year of birth of the new kingdom. All that was said about it, from the nobles to the villagers. Even those living in the most rural areas would not have missed such an opportunity. This celebration would mark the beginning of a dance that would take place on the day of the anniversary; the palace was in ecstasy, especially the current queen, making sure nothing was out of place. From the golden banners, to the pruned hedges of the immense royal garden. On one of those sunny spring days the princess of Hawkins was admiring with amusing her mother and the maids run right and miss to select the most beautiful flowers to decorate the ballroom.

She did not notice that behind the pillar where she was resting appeared the knight Edward C. Munson. Her great friend, personal protector who simply called 'Eddie'. "There is a great movement today, eh?" asked the knight with a grin. The princess jumped, only now noticing her presence. "By the gods!" She exclaimed, surprised, "stop appearing out of nowhere. I’m always afraid it might be someone else but you". Eddie rolled his eyes, amused. He knew that it was not mature to surprise the princess like this, but after months of service at the castle, he had a strong relationship with her, so much so that he had difficulty in hiding his playful nature.

"Excuse me, Your Royal Highness. Or is it better Y/N?" "My mother would kill you with her own hands if she heard something like that." And it was true. It was not allowed for a knight (moreover, one of such lower rank) to use the name of a descendant of the royal family. Eddie also leaned his back against the pillar and crossed his arms to his chest, watching with amused eyes the desperate faces of the maids.

Then he turned his head slightly and let his eyes rest on the beautiful face of the princess. "I bet you already have a suitor for tonight". The girl looked up at him. She shook her head. "Actually, no. I didn’t want anyone by my side". Eddie felt a jolt of hope and adrenaline mixed together, but he did not show it; he only widened his eyes and puffed. "I’ve never heard a princess turn down her suitors." "Then I must be the first in history". "It appears so".

An almost embarrassing silence followed. The princess swore to hear the knight’s eyes upon her, making her feel embarassed, until she was shaken by the voice of her friend.

"You’re too beautiful to dance alone tonight".

A wave of heat swept over the girl, her cheeks turning purple-red; Eddie found them pretty in his heart. He would have preferred to die protecting her and the kingdom for which he served, rather than admit what was currently going on in his head. "You only say that because we are great friends," the princess whispered. "I only say that because this is the truth." He turned his head elsewhere, everywhere but to look at her face. Eddie’s hand gripped the hilt of the sword, a habit he had begun to develop since he first stepped in the palace. "But I don’t want men by my side-" Eddie wouldn’t let her finish the sentence, cutting it off almost aggressively. "You should. You’re beautiful, smart, funny, educated and.. and you will soon be married to someone who deserves you. Someone who will really do you justice." He sighed, trembling. "Who will go to battle for you, protect you dutifully. And that day, I’ll be happy to see you happy".

The words died in Y/N’s throat, not knowing how to respond to that confession from his friend, but there was no need for it because Eddie had already set out for the other wing of the castle, marching away. The princess laid a trembling hand on her heart.

Dub. Dub dub. Dub dub.

She felt her heart beat faster than expected. Perhaps that confession was not as far off as he thought. And maybe those eyes full of adoration when she least expected it were not random, just as they were not random compliments, kisses on the hand in the stupidest moments or Eddie's hands braiding her hair with daisies… She would not have wanted any other man at his side but him.

That very evening the royal hall was full of people, and the dances had already begun. A table full of food, on which were placed spicy chicken, oils, marinated vegetables, fruits and much more was placed on a pedestal under an imposing stained glass window of the palace. There sat the rulers and the princess positioned between them, with an expression of melancholy and boredom adoring her face. The most beautiful fabric surrounded her body; a graceful and brilliant dress that shone in the light of candles. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Edward standing straight, just beyond the end of the table, looking at the people present. Nor did he turn his head to the princess. She felt overcome with disappointment when a knight, too presumptuous and too insistent, slid her off the chair and led her to the center of the room, hand in hand. She had recognized that face: Ser Jason from the house of Craver with a fine reputation on his back for decades.

She glanced back at Edward, over her shoulders. A silent cry for help. For a moment the eyes of the two crossed, then she continued to walk. How much she hated those formalities. And how much she hated that it wasn’t her Eddie dancing with her. That was what Edward was thinking, feeling powerless even in his heavy armor. He sighed heavily, trying not to break down. Tonight, she is radiant. But when is she not so beautiful?

Edward flinched when someone, imperceptibly, touched him. Steve, that is how he called him, higher in rank than him, looked at him with disappointment.

"I can see it in your face. Come on, that thing is probably boring her to death," said Steve, crossing his strong arms at his chest, now looking at the princess. She was almost dying of boredom! Eddie didn’t say anything, nor did he move. "Really? I think she’s having fun," he lied. Steve rolled his eyes. "Sure, sure. If you don’t ask her to dance now and confess your love to her, I swear I will". Obviously Steve didn’t mean it, he was just teasing him, yet Eddie snapped at him, frowning his thin eyebrows. "What about the rulers?" "Let them watch, but get her out of that pompous Jason’s arms, now or never". Without being told twice, he descended the high steps of the pedestal, trying to walk with confidence. The heart had begun to beat madly, making space among the dancers and nobles. The closer he got to his beloved, the more courage alternated between ascent and descent.

"Excuse me.. or maybe not?" Eddie’s arms wrapped around Y/N’s waist, making her do a spin. Jason’s face darkened, realizing that his prize had been taken away. Eddie replied with a grin. Suddenly he felt floating on a cloud, dancing among the Y/N present, moving away from Jason’s presence. They danced awkwardly, not caring for the possible eyes that had landed on them.

"My hero," the princess joked, whose hands rested on the shoulders of the knight. "I could not but save you. You were a damsel in distress". Meanwhile, the people continued their dances. Eddie was pleased with the laughter and songs that overcame the volume of his voice because what he was going to say would be extremely embarrassing or… Who knows. It would have been fine. Steve’s words echoed back in his head: now or never.

He tightened his grip on the princess'waist, looking into her eyes. This evening she was indeed a diamond. He opened and closed his mouth. Everything he had tried in the mirror before a mission, before bedtime, was now as if he didn’t know what to say. Where to start. He seemed to have forgotten everything.

"I love you".

He cursed himself silently. Eddie looked away, looking for a way out, but found none. It seemed that in any direction the face of his beloved appeared. Like a feverish dream. "How long?". With courage, Eddie moved his eyes to her face and could see her eyes slightly widened with surprise and the cheeks tinged with that redness he adored.

"Since I defended your honor from that mad madman Craver". The princess laughed. In the middle of the dance, laughter grew louder and louder and the music accelerated, just like the hearts of the two lovers. Suddenly the feet of Edward stopped and so also Y/N, the look confused but full of curiosity.

"I need to feel your lips on mine" the man confessed tenderly, "may I, my lady?" The princess knew that it was what she had long desired, and so, nodding, their fingers intertwined gently, while Edward with his other hand resting on her cheek kissed her.

He kissed her with all the affection that he felt and with all the desire that had kept him alive in these months. He mentally remembered that he should thank Steve, He thanked the princess, his friend and lover, for being so kind to him as no one had ever been before. Maybe he thanked those divine beings, the gods, for having given him a second chance, redemption to show the world who he really was: only a poor man with strong and playful appearance, but in need of love, taken away from his first whimpers since he was a newborn.

He kissed a second, third, fourth time the woman who held close to him, enjoying the delicate taste that felt on his lips and letting himself be embraced by the heat that her body emanated against his. In the background, laughter and dancing continued to enliven the room. Much later, the rulers became suspicious of the disappearance of their benevolent daughter. There was nothing to worry about, Steve reassured them, for he had seen Edward escort the princess into his chambers, accompanied by the other court ladies and acquaintances. Not that it was entirely true: the two lovers were busy making love at the time, filling the room with moaning, unfolded sheets under their bodies while Edward rocked his hips sensually, slowly inside of her, savouring the moment.

The princess couldn’t help but think of him, him, only him, and how she had never felt such a feeling. To a pleasure that even the gods themselves could not grant.

They would be occupied all night.

[solthia-x]

CHEF KISS 💋

Detention part 2

MDNI!!

Eddie Munson x fem!! Reader

Eddie’s bed, later that same night. The air is warm, the storm outside has passed, and all that’s left is you and him.

Your body was still humming—used and stretched and gloriously sore. Eddie was next to you, sprawled across the sheets like a sinner in church, one arm slung lazily over his eyes, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

For a minute, neither of you spoke. Just breathing, skin on skin.

Then his fingers found your wrist under the blanket and laced them with yours, thumb brushing slow circles.

“…You good?” he asked, voice lower now. Rough, but not cocky. Careful.

You nodded, then rolled to face him, hair sticking to your neck. “Didn’t expect you to be so… thorough.”

He grinned, eyes still closed. “Babe, I’ve been mentally rehearsing that for like… eight months.”

You laughed—actually laughed—and that’s what made him finally look at you. His smile softened. “Wanna go again?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Slower this time.”

You nodded again.

This time, he kissed you like he meant it. No games, no power play. Just lips, warm and patient. His hands wandered with the same gentle curiosity, dragging over your sides, mapping your body like a song he finally got to play.

“Still with me?” he asked, breath warm against your throat.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Just… don’t stop.”

So he didn’t.

He slid inside you slowly, holding eye contact the whole time, the tension thick but different—intimate. Reverent. Like he was trying to memorize the way you felt.

No rough edges this time. No bruises. Just the slick slide of skin and sighs and whispered curses.

“You feel so good,” he breathed, forehead resting against yours, his pace steady and deep. “So perfect…”

You dug your fingers into his hair, pulled him closer, let him bury his moans in your neck.

You came slowly, silently, body curling into his, and he followed soon after, his breath stuttering against your cheek.

He didn’t pull away.

Just held you there, both of you tangled and trembling.

“Okay,” he murmured finally. “So maybe I like you a little.”

You smirked, eyes still closed. “You’re just saying that because I let you come twice.”

He laughed, but it faded into a hum, low and soft.

“No,” he said. “I mean it.”

You kissed his shoulder, your fingers still threaded with his.

“I know.”

Lmk what you think :)

This was my first fic so please let me know how I did:/

@ali-r3n

[solthia-x]

THIS IS CHEF KISS 💋💗

whatever you tell me to do ౨ৎ emperor geta x reader ౨ৎ nsfw

prompt: geta needs to feel something; anything and everything before you was hard, brutal, punishing. so when he asks you to hurt him, you're forced to commit treason

warnings: graphic descriptions of sex, past abuse subtext and self-destructive tendencies, slight angst

note: there are so many variations I could do with this scenario alone... falls down 10 flights of stairs. also this is my first fanfic in at least a year so. falls down another 5 flights of stairs

words: 1.9k+

Geta would prefer to think himself above his brother. He always presented himself as such — cleaner, shinier, younger, yet all the more mature. More composed. More capable of ruling over Rome. But few were unaware that the young man had his twin's rage, if not more so. You were warned of it long before he ever laid eyes on you, even longer before you found yourself his most willing captive, and you could see it then. The flicker of instability, the quiver of a smile that was more nervous than happy, or at ease. The agitation, threatening to bubble over.

That slight quiver you noticed would envelope him with its rage and often become a convulsive fit, the outburst echoing against chamber walls and leaving sparkling emerald glass everywhere, cracked marble and lavender bruises that would darken before fading. And when that flicker erupted into a scorching flame, you soon learned ways to best stifle its heat before those points were reached. But as he wrung his hands, twisted at his fingers--discarding their usual gold rings--and paced before you now in his chambers, with one hand remaining lifted to beckon him closer, hoping that gravity would slowly pull him to your touch, you watched him tremble so ferociously he began to look fragile, in a way you hadn't witnessed in all of your days and nights with him.

He was rambling on about things you didn't understand--politics, names and places you'd only ever heard in passing and had no real experience with--until his words melted into a murmur. When they did, the sway of his robes also slowing, you took the opportunity to close more of the distance between you.

Nevertheless, as soon as you neared, his widened, reddened eyes latched onto yours as biting as his jaw, and his knees buckled. He didn't break his gaze even when they smacked the flooring with a heavy thud. For as lean as the emperor looked, you had felt the power of his weight on top of you. It had often trapped you for hours on end.

His lips opened, closed, and his tongue swiped over their plush pink before the words burst from his chest, as weak as he looked, yet demanding and forceful. "Hit me."

Your hips jerked forward as soon as he could reach out and snatch them, causing you to nearly stumble into him. You gasped, shooting a hand forward to stabilize yourself atop his shoulder, and curved your spine to look down at him. Even on his knees, even in such a state, something no one else would ever whisper into existence, even in the privacy of the mind, he was nearly at eye level to you. He repeated himself, this time not as harsh, despite the implications of the words. "Hit me."

"I will not--" You were bewildered. And he could see that, but he couldn't take it back. His lips curled up as he grabbed your wrist and pried your hand from his shoulder, keeping his hold on your opposite hip. His fingers twisted in the fabric he had dressed you in, and from the strength of his grip, you felt it begin to snag, threatening to rip at the delicate seams.

Geta held your palm up a few inches from his cheek, and seethed, "I need to feel it--something, the sting of your touch. I am commanding you as your emperor to hit me."

"To strike you would be to commit treason." To betray you, you thought.

"To disobey me would be treason enough."

You tried to pull your hand back with a huff. But he refused to concede, his nails digging into your skin. He yanked you back, this time so his arm could wrap around your middle, locking himself against you. The emperor's eyes were glossed over, glistening with tears that smeared the white covering his face. His expression was twisted with pain enough, you could hardly see how the relief of being struck would help remedy his state. Despite being aware of how it's thought to know one's past is to know oneself, more so by repeating one's past, and how he had assumed being able to redirect pain once inflicted onto him by the likes of others by inflicting it upon himself gave him more control, your palm remained lax.

"I will not feed your hunger for destruction. That is not my place." If you want a fight, go to your brother. But not even he knows this side of you. At first, he resisted you pushing your hand forward, but once your fingertips brushed the dew on his cheeks, he stuttered forward again, this time into your caress. A caress that was firm in its gentleness, determined in its virtue. You felt his mouth against your pulse, and buried your other hand in the darker roots of his shaggy hair. Their flames licked over your knuckles, while you managed to quiet the fire in his belly.

Staring down at the top of his head, then, you heard him cut off a whine by shoving his face into your middle. He nuzzled your stomach, stiff, still shaking, as his hands tightened. The one around your wrist left behind its markings and slipped around the back of your thigh. It stayed there for a moment as he continued panting, sniffling between rushed inhales, helping stabilize you further, until he looked down and you felt his touch reach for the bottom hem of your dress.

His arms disappeared beneath the delicate fabric at the same time he looked back up at you, the veins still visible along the sides of his long, flushed throat. Standing up, he brought you with him to his full height--his lips fitting around various points of your figure until you felt his wet breath on your jaw, and he had lifted your legs. You had already hugged yourself around his broad shoulders as soon as he began to move, and now spent yourself on littering his damp face with kisses when another grunt left his clenched teeth while he lowered you to the thin cushioning of the accubitum.

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment between him setting you down, falling back to his knees--this time still fitted between your open legs, and when he finally got sick of the clothing covering your body. As rageful as he was, most of it came from, or at least intertwined with, his impulsiveness, greed, opulence, and selfishness. You stroked his hair, his face, and his chest while he discarded layer after layer, determined to feel all of you, to use you as a means to exert the stress and tension still winding his form tighter. In his hurry, you clung to him, keeping him close--as gently as you could, although his jagged movements only fed your own, and thought if anyone were to come striding in requesting his attention, he wouldn't stop to look at them. You wondered if he'd address them, or wait until he'd successfully sheathed himself inside the warmth and comfort of your cunt. The warmth and comfort you teased with your hands, radiating sweetly from your pores.

By the time his mouth pressed back against yours and stole your next breath, shoving you entirely beneath him as he curled over your timid form, drawing his own robes up to reveal where all of his rage seemingly pooled, it was painted over your face the pride of knowing if anyone dared to interrupt, they would be forced to watch. Your face inevitably fell to the side, away from his suffocating kiss as you pictured his brother stumbling into the spectacle of feverous desire and its companionship, of not only him laying claim to you but also using you. These thoughts swirled in your gaze, which fell to the doors, and Geta watched it contort and snap back to him as soon as he fit the head of his weeping cock against your entrace.

The muscle spasmed at the intrusion, the silken flesh pinched with the shock of him stretching it wider without warning. Once your attention was fully returned to him, he allowed his hips to fall forward more. Between the resistance and squirming on your end and the nauseatingly pathetic fluttering of your walls adjusting to him, sucking him in deeper despite the pain, he squeezed his jaw again. He snapped his hips more forcibly so the seeping heat of your arousal could melt over his taut, swollen balls. He would never admit it, but you could feel the resistance of his own body adjusting to how quickly he'd gotten riled up; how startling his need for you was. It never took him long to become erect with you, but his body's response in a state of emotional distress was almost automatic.

You wanted to see him, feel him entirely, but each following snap of his pelvis, tilted slightly upward as he met your hips in bruising thrusts as they dangled off the edge of the cushions, caused your shoulders to tuck and your head to hang back. In a blurred daze, you felt the sting of his teet hsinking into your neck as though he planned on tearing a chunk of flesh from your jugular and devouring you in all manners conceivable, but any blood that was drawn was quickly lapped up by his tongue, and another moan was muffled by the crook of your shoulder.

Geta never spoke much when he fucked you. Only when the words were coated in wine or when his eyes were half-lidded with sleep would you catch the whispers of a man accepting his vulnerability. Now, he denied himself the breath, the oxygen to spend on any vocalization other than that which spat and dribbled saliva from his lips.

By the time he stopped shaking, first turning to rigid stone, as still as the marble surrounding you, while soupy threads of pearl white spurted into your core, before slumping down, you had turned to limp limbs and a weak grasp. Your hips aching and muscles burning, you whimpered and choked on your own gasps and moans until tears leaked from your eyes and mixed with the salt of his sweat that dripped from his temple and now shiny hair. This fatigue caused you to lack response, even when silence fell over the two of you once more. Like a heavy blanket, you could only pull your brows together, gulp air into your lungs, and focus on the sensation of his seed leaking from you, until his curious hands left your hips and he carefully pulled you from your back to be seated, cradled in his lap.

Emperor Geta refused to say anything, and so did you. You could feel his silence was partially due to having spent himself with words, having nothing else to say--but you could see in his eyes that clarity had returned, the smoke of his rage dispersing, clearing into a haze of post orgasm bliss. He pressed his forehead to your temple and attempted to wrap your stripped form in his own robes. And in the burning discomfort and pang of both your bones and muscles, before he would pick you up to transfer both of your exhausted bodies to his bed for some much needed rest, you melted into him, thus sharing in his fire, in the lick of his fire now painting the flesh of your loins, buried so deep inside you, you began to recognize all of its anguish and pain as your own. If you had committed treason, it was a crime you would have repeated over and over without question, just as any other action to keep him safe, especially from himself. It was a form of defiance that the young ruler would have to get used to, but was willing to tolerate. He would find other suitable punishments later.

[solthia-x]

The Casket of Venus.

Chapter III

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞!

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐜

Summery: a bad fall.

If you like the story please comment and leave an heart and don’t forget to follow for more chapters!❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: sensual tension, filthy thoughts, no smut for now , both characters are over 20+.

Haydee walked behind the guard, and they reached an unfamiliar room.

The guard knocked, and the emperor’s voice echoed from within: “Enter.”

Haydee stepped inside alone and was shocked to see him sitting there, examining some scrolls.

She remained silent, hoping he would forget she was even there. Geta only acknowledged her with a glance after he had finished reading.

The emperor froze when he saw her, and by the gods, he regretted it—he even regretted choosing her attire himself.

That violet gown clung deliciously to her waist, and he prayed to Apollo to chase away those filthy thoughts. One of them delighted him especially.

He imagined placing her on that damn table, sweeping all the scrolls aside, and tasting that damned nectar between her—

He shook his head. Damn Bacchus and his pleasures!

“You will come with me to see the play,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“I’m not a decoration you can carry around whenever you wish,” she replied, her eyes hard, like a stormy sea.

“I could kill you,” Geta said as he stood, grabbing a dagger and approaching her. But she didn’t move, even if her heart leapt into her throat.

“You saved me only to kill me? That seems a bit contradictory, Emperor,” she said with an arrogant tone.

In the light, Geta’s eyes were a stunning amber brown—they reminded her of the sunset.

The cold steel of the blade touched her throat, right where the trachea lay.

“I’m losing my patience. I would so love to kill you, Graeca, but you’d be too great a loss. You will come with me to the theater,” he said again. His words made it clear he would accept no refusal.

Haydee remained silent, and he took it as a sign of agreement.

⸻

And so, Haydee found herself seated in the grand theater. A tragedy was being performed, and Geta, beside her, watched in silence. From time to time, he glanced at the Graeca’s features—she was incredibly beautiful, far too much to be just a servant or concubine.

Soon the celebrations for the Quinquatria in honor of Minerva would take place. As tradition dictated, no blood was to be shed on the first day, but in the following four, Geta would host games at the Colosseum—a smile spread across his face at the thought.

The emperor wasn’t the least bit interested in the show. He would’ve rather had a drink and perhaps bedded one of his concubines—but he couldn’t. Not since she had arrived. The others no longer tempted him the same way. In his damned head, she kept appearing like a nervous tic.

Strangely, he wanted to earn her trust and then make her want to be touched by him. He would savor the moment when it finally came.

At the end of the play, Haydee applauded with the audience, a smile lighting up her face—and Geta felt his breath catch in his throat.

Her smile was the most beautiful he had ever seen. Damn Cupid.

⸻

Back at the palace, Geta returned to his duties while she was confined to her rooms.

Haydee thanked the gods for the chance to wander the gardens freely, though a frightened servant followed her closely, never giving her much space.

She was delighted when she spotted a few sunflowers in a quiet corner of the garden. She touched their petals gently and smiled.

A youthful memory came to her—carefree days spent in the large sunflower field near her beloved villa, with her younger brother chasing her. Those were good days.

She sighed when the servant reminded her it was time to return, as the sun was setting.

Haydee walked back inside with an air of boredom. The servant seemed relieved.

She wondered why there was so much fuss over her and asked.

The servant replied, “The emperor ordered me to keep an eye on you.”

What?! Was she a child?

That bastard, that filthy tyrant—not only did he keep her trapped like a rat, but he also had her watched? Was he afraid she might escape?

Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong. She could escape.

She took refuge in the emperor’s study and lost herself among the scrolls, where she came across several verses by Virgil.

“Arma virumque cano…”—I sing of arms and the man.

Haydee let herself be carried away by the Latin poet’s verses, fascinated by Roman culture. Her father had taught her to read and write, being a skilled orator himself—he had taught her everything he knew.

Night fell, and the ginger-haired emperor was nowhere to be seen.

She dined alone in her chambers, in silence. But suddenly, angry shouts and cries echoed through the corridors.

The sound of sandals slapping against marble floors didn’t herald good news.

A furious Geta burst into the room, his face red and the veins in his neck bulging.

The leather segmentata he wore was dusty and scratched all over.

In a fit of rage, Geta unstrapped his armor, which hit the floor with a thud, then tore off his tunic, throwing everything to the ground.

A servant brought water and towels.

Haydee noticed a gash on the emperor’s arm as he growled at the servant to leave. He had no choice but to obey.

“My brother—damn him and his damned hunting trips,” Geta growled.

He collapsed onto a curule seat, decorated with ivory and silk.

He groaned in pain—a bad move had caused him to fall from his horse. His arm throbbed like boiling lava, but at least it wasn’t broken.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

Hi guys here chapter three, I hope you like it, sooner I will give the other chapter, just to remind everyone my first language is not English ,I’m sorry for eventual mistakes!

Guys be ready because something will happen in the future chapters, things will go more complicated and more difficult, from chapter Six , the chapters will be more longer I think.

I hope you like it!❤️