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covetyou · 10 months

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baubles

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: ball fucking, ball sucking, balls, wall to wall all ball, BIV (ball in vagina), sex toys (the balldo [link to website] is real and it has haunted my dreams for 6 months - pic in this ask), there's some PIV too I guess. word count: too many and they're all balls 4.4k summary: Santa Joel fucks you with his balls. That's it.

A/N: I am NOT sorry. Not now, not ever. And, yes, I watched the instructional video on how to put it on, purely for Research Purposes. We don't talk about how long I've spent thinking about balls.

Happy Ball-idays, don't say I never got you anythin' nice.

...

Santa Joel-y, slip your ballsack right into me, oh gee.

I've been a fuckin' good girl,

Santa Joel-y, so stuff 'em up my chimney tonight.

...

It was your first Christmas in Texas and your first Christmas in a place that felt unseasonably warm for the time of year. That's what you tell yourself every night as you strip off completely before slinking into bed, at least.

Except, this night is different.

It's Christmas Eve.

And someone is in your house. You're sure of it.

A click of a button and you're on your feet, creeping to your bedroom door to listen out for the intruder. You almost didn't hear it, too preoccupied to be on the lookout for burglars on Christmas Eve.

There's a tell tale rustle, the stomp of feet. Whoever it is, they're not even trying to be quiet. You'd respect the brazenness of it all if someone hadn't broken into your damn house. You toy with calling the cops, maybe a neighbor, but you know it'll be too late by the time anyone gets here to do anything, so you make the stupid decision to head downstairs and confront the intruder alone.

Wrapping your flimsy bath robe around yourself, you grab the nearest makeshift weapon you can find (a broken umbrella you still hadn't thrown away) and click the door open, slinking out into the hallway and down the stairs.

If he hears you before you get down the stairs, he doesn't let on. But there, right in front of your Christmas tree is the unmistakable figure of a man. A big man. He's tall, and broad, and his silhouette is wrapped in something fluffy, making it look like there's a giant teddy bear standing in your living room.

You flick the light on, startling him, making him drop a heavy bag undoubtedly filled with your things onto the floor with a heavy thud.

"Oh, shit."

A single ornament rolls out of the bag and across the floor. You both stand frozen and silent, watching it move until it knocks against your bare toes. Only when it's stopped do you drag your eyes back up to look at the man who broke into your house.

Your umbrella clatters to the floor.

"What the...?"

The man before you is dressed as Santa, hat and all.

Only this man was not as old as you would expect for someone claiming to be Santa Claus. His beard is patchy, the scruff around his chin only speckled with gray. He has lines around his eyes, crinkled divots in his skin from so many years of laughter. The red coat pulled around his form is unbelted, falling open at the middle to reveal a white vest and the soft swell of his belly.

"What the fuck are you doin' in my house?" you yell.

"Shh, quit your fuckin' hollerin'."

He takes a step toward you and you back into the wall, trying to keep your distance from the very Texan man who had broken into your house dressed as Santa on Christmas Eve.

And that's when you see behind him, to the glittering lights of your Christmas tree, and the branches covered in ornaments. Ornaments that did not belong to you. You'd bought the thing on sale at the grocery store just a week ago. When you put it up and plugged it in, grateful for the existence of pre-lit trees, you settled on the fact you wouldn't decorate it this year. Even so, it was beautiful as it was, and you enjoyed the soft glow of the lights in the evenings as you wound down after work. Now, that soft glow was accompanied by the twinkling reflections of the many ornaments hanging on it.

"Did you... did you decorate my tree?"

He looks at you like you're mad, and maybe you are. Maybe you came so hard on your vibrator upstairs that you passed out, and this is all a dream. A very vivid dream where you can smell the warm oaky scent of the man in front of you and feel the heat of him as he crowds you against the wall.

"What else do you think I've been doin'?" he says, as if it should be entirely obvious that he's been here decorating your tree all along.

"I don't know, maybe stealing my shit?"

He, once again, looks at you like you're stupid and gestures to his suit, red and velvety, draped around his body. It looks good on him, and does nothing to help the thick syrupy feeling still coursing through your veins. Having a man like him break into your house felt like one of lifes great injustices, but having him break in when you were mid-jerk off was purely inhumane. Other than point to the door and tell him to get out, there was nothing you could do but gape at him and hope he didn't notice you curl your toes as he looked at you.

He takes a step closer, heavy boot falling with a thud in front of you, and shrugs. "If you don't want it, I'll take it back."

Up this close, the smell of him goes straight to your head, your body seemingly ready and rearing to go at the slightest hint of something masculine in your presence. Your tongue suddenly feels too big and clumsy so, not trusting a single word that would come out of your mouth, you shake your head. You would actually, really, very much like the decorations to stay and the man who put them there.

Texas always felt hot to you, but something about this room was now super heating. You're keenly aware of the stickiness pooling between your thighs, and even more aware of the visible sheen of sweat on your head and the warmth in your cheeks. If he looked closely, he'd even be able to see glistening on your fingers, making you look glitter coated in the twinkle of the Christmas lights. You shift, trying to mask the buzzing in your veins at his eyes as they drag down your body.

You hadn't noticed the silky tie of your robe slowly loosen as you wiggled and fidgeted. You were too warm to notice when the fabric parted, gaping over your chest and giving him a perfect view of your tits. You were too busy staring into his deep brown eyes to notice him raise his hand.

You did, however, feel the moment his finger stroked a slow trail down the swell of your breast, puckering your nipple and making a shudder run through your spine.

"You're all unwrapped, darlin'," he whispers, just as you remember to breathe again. "S'gettin' a bit warm in here, huh?"

He absentmindedly discards his hat as his finger traces down your body, flicking the light back off behind you once his hat hits the floor. You know where he, and this, is heading, and you're not keen to stop it any time soon.

When his fingers stroke across your mound, you gasp. Your vibrator had made you sensitive, but you'd never had chance to finish the job, and now here he was threatening you with a good time. He cups you, completely engulfing your pussy in his broad hand, and slides it between your legs.

By now it's no secret you're already wet, your upper thighs already sticky with it. His fingers slide through with ease, the quirk of his eyebrow visible now his hat has been thrown to the side.

"Here I was thinkin' you were on the nice list. But this little thing right here tells me you're naughty as they come, darlin'. What you been doin' to yourself all alone up there in the dark?"

You're staring at him opened mouthed as he works is thick fingers over you, dragging slick over your already sensitive clit. You'd been moments away from coming when the noise from downstairs pulled you out of it, and now here he was working you back up and quickly.

"It's my house," you stutter. "Can do what I want." And right now you want to collapse into a heap on the floor with his fingers between your legs.

"That you can. You wanna go back up there and finish yourself off?"

Logically, you know your pre-orgasm desperation is clouding your judgement, that you should take him up on his offer to leave and put a stop to this, but there's something too enticing about him. You don't want to stop.

"Or do you maybe want a hand with your... Little problem?"

"Yeah," you're nodding, eyes so heavy now you want them to snap shut, but you can't resist looking at him in the glow of your Christmas lights. Red really suits him, and you swear you can see his cheeks get rosy in the dim lighting.

"S'good. Got some little problems here myself. But, seein' as you're already halfway there, seems only fair to get me to your level before we start anythin', don't you think?"

Biting your lip, you nod, taking a step closer to him. Tentatively, you reach out a hand and caress the front of his pants. They feel velvety soft, and you have no fucking clue how he doesn't look as sweaty as you feel.

"That's right. You feel that?"

You feel something grow beneath your palm. Big, thick, and heavy. You look down in stunned silence, seeing only the odd shadows cast by the Christmas tree lights sparkling over the front of his pants.

"Get on your knees and close your eyes."

You obey, wanting very much to stay on the nice list now that you know exactly what you want for Christmas. His belt jingles as he undoes the buckle, pulling it from his waist and discarding it on top of his bag. He can't resist giving his dick a quick squeeze over the fabric of his pants at the sight of your bare chest heaving in the twinkling light, before unzipping them and letting them fall down to his ankles. The fabric is so loose he can step out of them, easily tugging his booted feet from the legs.

It doesn't go unnoticed that you spend the entire time eyes closed, listening attentively, and gently rocking your hips, discreetly humping the air in a desperate attempt to find any kind of relief.

"Tsk, got an impatient one on our hands."

The same hand he'd been stroking your pussy with wraps around his cock, slowly dragging his sticky fingers up and down his rapidly hardening length. He wishes he'd told you to strip, or left the light on so he could see you more clearly, but something about your skin under the sparkling lights and the shadows cast between your legs is making him harder more quickly than ever. When his dick twitches in his hand at your deep sigh, he finally stops staring and speaks.

"Open your eyes."

You snap them open, eager to see what he has for you, and your eyes immediately turn the size of dinner plates.

His cock gorgeous, and even in the grip of his large hand it looks big. He's long, thick with a slight upward curve and a smattering of salt and pepper hair at the base. You're fairly certain he trims it, keeping it well groomed and flush to his skin, making his cock appear even larger as it juts out infront of him.

But, despite the gloriousness of this mans cock, what you can't get over are his balls. They're heavy, and full, and getting tighter and tighter as his cock hardens under your gaze. You flick your eyes up to his face and he has a knowing smirk pulling at his lips.

"Fuck," you say as you look back down at it, at them, and let out a shaky breath.

His whole body shakes with a laugh, jingling his bells, as you take in his length. Hand never leaving his cock, his gentle strokes become firmer, and he's guiding the tip toward your face a moment later.

"What should I call you?" you ask, realizing you don't even know his name yet, just as his tip touches to your lips. Exhilarating as it was to fuck a man who had broke into your house, you still wanted to know his name, and not even to press charges - you wanted to know what to scream when you came.

"Santa works just fine."

Pulling back, you scoff, "You want me to call you Santa Claus?"

"Fuck no! Do I look like a Claus to you? S'Joel."

"Santa Joel?"

"Fuck yeah darlin', now open up."

You stick out your tongue, waiting for his cock to slide along the spit slicked muscle. He drags his tip across it, letting you lick at his head before you capture his cock in your mouth, sucking it in and flicking your tongue lightly on his frenulum. The salty sweet taste of him makes you crave more, so you draw him further into your mouth, sliding up and down his cock as he stares down at you with an open mouth.

Dragging your hands up his bare thighs, you grab the base of his cock with one, steadying him as you suck. You tickle the other across his balls, looking up at him as he pulls in a sharp breath, before grabbing them and massaging them. His balls feel entirely smooth to the touch, and you have an irresistible urge to put them in your mouth.

Dragging your lips back from his cock, you lick broadly up the length of it again and again until you're dragging your tongue across his ballsack, slowly trailing up his cock to his tip, watching him all the while. Then you kiss his balls, humming in satisfaction as you finally press your lips to the soft skin.

The sight of you on your knees, making out with his balls is sending him stupid, and all he can do is stare down at you with a look of deep concentration on his face. If he's not careful, he's going to blow his load early, coming in your hand before he even gets to fuck you.

He watches you lightly drag your teeth over his delicate ball skin. He swears he sees your eyes flicker with something deserving of the naughty list when you hear his intake of breath, but he's too preoccupied by your tongue lathing across them to take much notice. You take it in turns with them, sucking each ball into your mouth as you slowly pump his cock in your fist, before releasing and working on the other. By the time you've had enough, his cock is dripping, smearing pre-cum over your hand as you jerk him.

Licking the drippy mess off of your hand, you look up at him, savouring the taste of his cum in your mouth.

"Please tell me you want to fuck me," you say, biting down on your swollen lips. You don't know what you'll do if he says no now, you know going back upstairs to your vibrator just won't cut it, even if you now have the fantasy of kissing Santa's balls to get off to.

"You kiddin' me, darlin'? Get up here."

Relief and desperation wash through you, and you climb off your aching knees, letting your robe fall from your arms.

"Couch?" you say, keeping a firm grip on his cock as you stroke up his chest. He pulls you toward him, holding the back of your neck as he kisses you, tasting his cum and balls on your tongue. His lips are impossibly soft, just like his balls, a stark contrast to the scratch of his beard.

Moving to the couch, you bend over, wiggling your bare ass for him. He chuckles, stepping closer to you and marvelling at the lights dancing over your jiggling backside. He shucks off his own coat now, leaving him in just his vest and boots, and hones in on the peek of your pussy from between your legs.

Sliding his length up and down your slit he groans, gripping your hip in his massive hand just as he notches at your entrance.

"Well, shit, that's nice," he says, sliding his tip into you.

You're inclined to agree - it had been a long time since anyone other than yourself had fucked you, and the red hot feeling of his hard cock in you felt better than you remembered. He rocks his hips a little, drenching his cock in you bit by bit until he's fully sheathed inside your eager pussy. The solid beat of your heart throbs through your veins and straight to your core, making you clench around him as he begins to fuck you.

"You're gonna yank my dick clean off if you keep that up."

"Can't help it," you moan, "Feels so good." You let your eyes close, succumbing to the slow, steady, pleasure building in you.

Snapping his hips more firmly, he bottoms out in you over and over, pushing deep inside you with each thrust. You can feel his wet balls slap against you, rhythmically whacking into your clit, but it's not enough. You're so desperate to come you lick your fingers and reach between your legs, swiping your digits over your clit. His balls instead slap against your fingers and you can't resist trying to stroke them again.

The noises you're making are going straight to Joel's dick, and he knows he's going to blow his snowy load way before he's ready if you don't stop, so he pulls away from you. You protest as his cock slides out of you, leaving you empty and still desperate to come.

"Got a present for you," he pants from behind you.

"The ornaments?"

"Yeah. Got some real pretty baubles for you, darlin'. You'll like 'em. I promise."

He goes to his bag, long forgotten on the floor, and bends over it. You watch his soft ass and the swing of his dick and balls as he rummages around inside the sack, pulling out two things before standing up. When he doesn't immediately turn back around, clearly playing with his own cock, you start to worry that you're not satisfying him. But then he rounds on you and you see his cock and balls glisten wetly in the twinkling Christmas lights just as he throws a bottle at you. Lube.

Catching him opening another box, you gasp and draw your hand to your chest in mock shock.

"Is that not my present to open?" you say coyly, now trickling lube over your own pussy. You don't need it, but whatever he has in mind clearly calls for it.

"Good things come to those who wait."

"I'm still waiting for the coming part."

He shoots you a admonishing look and you raise your hands in surrender, before snaking one back down to keep rubbing at your clit. You're about to go mad if you don't come soon, your clit is so sensitive, a firm nub between your legs now, and your pussy so puffy from so much stimulation. It's a wonder you have any blood left in your brain at all.

The object in the box is revealed, and you can do nothing but gape at it as Santa Joel proudly holds it up with a hand on his hip.

It looks like a torpedo cockring hybrid, and you have no fucking clue what it is.

"Get yourself comfy, gotta strap myself in."

Laying back on your couch - for all its flaws, an armless couch certainly had its benefits - you spread your legs and watch him with curiousity. You still can't work out what it is.

"What is -"

And then he stretches the silicone underneath his balls, pushing each ball into the cage with his thumbs before letting go. Oh.

Oh. "Oh."

You sit in stunned silence. He's turned his balls into a dick or, more accurately, a dildo. With the length of it and the girth of his balls, you can only imagine what it's going to feel like.

"If you don't fuck me with that in the next two seconds I'm gonna scream."

With the contraption strapped around his balls, pulling them down and taught, crouches over you, pushing your legs back so your pussy is pointing skyward like a sloppy wet landing pad for his balls.

He dunks the tip of the dildo into your pussy. It's cold and unfamiliar, not like the velvety warmth of his dick that stands straight ahead of you, taunting you with its glistening tip. If you could fold yourself in a pretzel you would, just to suck the head of his cock back into your mouth.

He pushes down, squatting over you with bare legs, sheathing the entire dildo into you. Another push and you feel the swell of his balls as they pop past your entrance and nestle themselves inside of you.

You gasp. The feeling is wholly unfamiliar, but still you feel yourself soaking him, slicking up his balls as they sit in your pussy.

"That hurtin'?"

"No. No, it's just I- I've never had someone's balls in me before."

"A first ball fuckin' for this little pussy," he says affectionately, stroking a thumb over your lips as they wrap themselves around his balls. His cock is protruding out of you now, like you're wearing a life like strap, and you really wish you could reach to taste where his tip threatens to drip onto you. Suddenly you understand the boys back in highschool and their failed attempts to suck their own dicks.

"They feel so big inside," you moan as he begins to gently shift above you. He pops out of you once, and pushes back in, and you throw your head back onto the soft sofa woth a moan. You have never felt anything like this. "Joel, please don't stop. Please keep fucking me with your balls."

"You got it darlin'," his voice is soft, in awe of you as you take his balls and the toy deep inside you. You feel incredible, and the wet slip of your walls on his ball skin shoots straight down his dick, and for a moment he thinks he's accidentally came too early. A quick look from your face, contorting with the fullness in your pussy, down to where his dick sticks outward, tells him otherwise. Thank fuck. He knows he has to get you off quickly. You were soaking his dick not too long ago, and before that his fingers, and before that your own sheets upstairs. You were ready, and he was nothing if not a giving man.

His thumb finds your clit, slippery from lube and your own slick, and he circles it, applying a firm pressure as he moves.

"Oh my god, that's it," you plead, opening your eyes to look at where he plays with you, balls still sunk deep.

You spur him on, rocking your hips as much as you can with your legs back, fucking yourself on his balls as he strokes your clit. You feel your pussy tense, little spasms warning you of what's to come, and you hold on tight to your own legs.

"That's it darlin'. Come on my balls. Squeeze 'em."

"F-fuuuck."

The swipe of his thumb sends you over, and you come hard on his balls with your head back and eyes squeezed shut. Your legs shake and you know he can feel how you twitch and spasm around his balls, drenching them as he dunks them in you, shallowly thrusting them as you tighten and grip him hard.

He's holding your legs back for you, looking you in the eye as he bends forward over your limp body when you open your eyes. The feral look on his face tells you he hasn't come yet, and you're desperate to see when he does.

"You been so nice I'm gonna give you an extra present. You ready?"

"Please Santa Joel, I've been so good this year," you say with a soft smirk.

He soon wipes the smirk off your face when he fucks down into you harder, practically bouncing off your ass as he slots his swollen balls into your pussy. They feel so big and heavy inside you, and even strapped down and pulled tight by the toy, you feel his balls tighten and try to draw up closer to his cock as he gets closer to coming.

"Come on me. Please. Come on me," you beg, staring between his cock and his face. Pre-cum had been steadily dripping onto you, splattering your belly, but you were hungry for more.

His fingers grip around his flushed head, stroking easily over the slicked surface. Pushing his balls deep, he bounces gently, loving the feel of his sensitive ball skin inside of your soaked hole.

"Here it comes, darlin'. Oh shit."

"Yeah, come on me. Come all over me Joel."

"Shit. Fuck."

You watch his slit as it seems to wink at you before ropes of come spurt out of the tip, shooting across your chest and neck, spattering your face and even your hair with his cum.

"Yes, yes, thank you," your eyes have snapped shut. You can feel the warm trickle of cum by your eyebrow, and you're not keen to feel the sting of semen in your eye.

For a little while he looks at you, fucked out by his balls and laying boneless on your couch. With a soft pop he pulls out of you, leaving you feeling empty without his balls in you. Your legs flop down and you listen to his deep breaths.

"Nothin' like a ballgasm," he pants.

Nothing like being ballfucked, you think, but the words are heavy in your mouth and you do nothing but moan, mumbling some nonsense.

"Mm... balls. They... mm. Yeah. Good."

"Too fucked out, huh?" he laughs, before swiping the cum from near your eye. "Make a Christmas wish," and he slips the finger into your waiting mouth.

He slides his finger from your mouth and you murmur a thank you as you make your wish, sighing and letting yourself relax completely for a moment.

When you tentatively open your eyes, wary of any errant drops of cum, he's gone, disappeared as soon as he'd arrived. You didn't hear the door, the window, anything. You certainly didn't hear him get dressed.

Feeling stupid, and like maybe it was all just a dream, you rush to the window. You don't expect to see anything, the man feeling too magical to have been real. But, there he is, walking down the street bare assed, his pants slung over his shoulder and his balls still swinging strapped into the toy.

No, you don't think you'll be forgetting your first Christmas in Texas any time soon at all.

next part

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #coveted fics #big bawl jawl #never forget the balls #fic: dress up joel

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

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Hello! May I please request Indiana Jones x fem!Reader and the comfort prompt 13. Getting or giving a long hug when one of you walks through the door?

Sure thing!

You're expecting to come home to an empty house, so when you hear the clink of a glass in the kitchen, you freeze in the doorway. Your stomach twists with panic. Has someone broken in? Did you leave your window open and did a racoon or a squirrel get in?

You cautiously lower your bag to the floor, and your keys to the side table by the front door before quietly pushing the door shut behind you. You glance around nervously. What the hell can you do? There's an umbrella in the stand, but that's not going to make much of an impact; there's a large, heavy vase by the stairs, but it's too awkward to lift and carry. If it is a burglar, the vase won't exactly get one over on them.

Shit, what the hell could you do? Indy had kept a gun in the bedside table when he stayed over, but he'd taken it with him on his latest excursion to Guatemala. Hell, what on Earth are you going to—?

"Are you just going to stand there, sweetheart?"

Your heart leaps into your throat at the sound of his voice. You charge down the hall, throwing your arms around Indiana Jones. His chuckle grows louder as he wraps his arms around your in turn.

"Missed me?" He adds.

"More than you could possibly imagine...But you scared the hell out of me," You scold, leaning back and socking him in the shoulder. It doesn't dim his mirth. He just reaches out, cupping your jaw and tipping your head toward his.

"I missed you, too."

"Did you?"

"Course I did," He nudges the tip of his nose against yours. Your eyelids flutter as his lips brush yours. And then—

"Didn't have anyone down there to help me with my laundry."

You scoff, reeling away from Indiana and making to turn away. You don't get far before Indiana is drawing you back in for a warm kiss. You hook your hands in his collar, lips pulling into a smile as he curls you into his chest.

"You're an ass, Jones," You mumble.

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

#Indiana Jones x Reader #Indiana Jones x You #Indiana Jones/Reader #Indiana Jones/You #Indiana Jones fic #Indiana Jones imagine #asks #replies #comfort prompts

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inbarfink · 8 months

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#cardcaptor sakura #cardcaptorr #card captor sakura #ccs #sakura kinomoto #cardcaptors #kero #ccsakura #anime and manga #anime #tumblr polls #i love polls #poll time #my polls #fandom polls #polls

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perseephoneee · 9 months

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meeting santa Claus. With Klaus from Academy Umbrella

meeting santa klaus (klaus hargreeves x reader) {ficmas 2023}

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 9 of ficmas!

a/n: i forgot how much i missed writing for my baby boy. my favorite klaus (sorry mikaelson).

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

Much like everyone else in the world, you lived under the assumption that Santa Claus was a larger man with a long beard, rosy cheeks, and a jolly troupe of reindeer. While the reindeer part is correct, the rest of it is horribly wrong and something that will haunt you for years to come.

You discovered the truth of the universe when a long banging, followed by much swearing, could be heard in your living room. It was Christmas Eve, but you had been alone since your roommates had gone home for the holidays. You were spending the day alone, not wanting to deal with family politics this year. This is why hearing any sounds was very alarming at this moment. Afraid of a burglar in your house, you held your phone in one hand with the finger over the 911 button and a plunger in the other. You had no great weapons and felt that at least you could whack someone with the toilet plunger. You tip-toed down your stairs, your heart beating erratically as you looked down over your banister into your living room. Someone dressed in a loose-fitting red suit was cursing in your living room as they struggled to get some stuff out of a sack. You snuck into the living room, plunger above your head, and were entirely ready to attack when the burglar looked up with wide eyes at your weapon. You both started screaming.

“What are you doing in my house?” you yelped, jumping back as the intruder sat up.

“Is that a plunger?” he asked, voice confused. On closer inspection, he was a skinny man with thin facial hair and kind blue eyes. He looked a bit eclectic, and he was dressed like Santa.

“My house, why are you here?”

“Funny story, actually,” he drawled hands on his hips. He was wearing Chuck Taylors. You had never seen someone dressed as Santa wearing Converse. “I am…Santa.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, seriously, I’m Santa! Santa ‘Klaus’ to be exact,” he raised his hands in front of him as if in surrender. You pocked your phone but kept your plunger weapon up.

“And I’m Krampus,” you deadpanned, not believing him.

“Technically, my name is just Klaus, and my brother is Santa,” he laughed, eyeing your plunger with a small degree of fear. “In my family, one of us inherits the role of being Santa every generation. However, he decided he wanted a break this year, and I had to deal with it. I’m not first born or a favorite of daddy dearest, so it shouldn’t be my post at all.”

You listened to his story with wide eyes and a level of confusion.

“Anyway, here I am, being Santa Klaus for everyone this Christmas, and I have to say, I have no idea how my brother, Luther, does it. He’s a huge guy, and I fell down that chimney. Also, I’m exhausted and could use a drink. Got any tequila?”

“I’m sorry?” You were wondering if you were still dreaming.

“Tequila? I swore off the drugs a while ago, but I still consider drinking okay.”

“Prove it,” you huffed. “Prove you’re Santa.”

“Oh heavens,” Klaus threw a hand over his face. He looked around, exasperated, before flicking his hand. Suddenly, all the decorations in your room were floating, and the lights flickered in a rhythmic pattern. You fell back into one of the armchairs in the living room, mouth open like a fish as Klaus set everything back to normal. Oh, you had to be still dreaming. This couldn’t be happening. You had a clinically insane Santa Claus, sorry ‘Klaus,’ in your living room, and you were armed with only a plunger. A candy cane was waved in front of your face. You looked up to see Klaus before you, apologetic as he handed you the candy. You noticed tattoos running up his hands and arms—a tattooed Santa Klaus. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Y/N. I hate scaring people.”

“How do you know my name?” you whispered.

“I’m Santa; I know everything,” he winked. You unfurled your candy cane and stuck it in your mouth, brain trying to catch up with everything happening.

“Okay, you’re Santa. Santa is real. Santa is not one guy but a bunch of guys. Santa likes tequila.”

“Luther hates tequila. I just like to rebel across the system,” Klaus smiles. It takes you a moment to notice that his Santa costume is red leather lace-up pants, a red robe, and a classic red hat that barely fits on his dark hair.

“Punk rock, Santa,” you mutter, taking a bite from your candy. “How is, uh, being Santa?”

“Oh, it’s going terribly,” Klaus sighed, collapsing to the floor before you. His hand was thrown over his eyes like an old Greek statue. You said nothing about his state of dramatics. “I’m so behind. I don’t understand how this has ever been done in one night.”

“Do you use magic?”

“Of course,” he rolled over, his head propped up on his hand. Suddenly, an idea came to him, and he rolled towards you. You jumped back as his hands landed on the armrests of your chair, trapping you in. He smelled like a mojito– minty but also alcoholic. Mojitos were your favorite drinks. “You should help me!”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re by yourself, armed with a plunger. I’m in need of assistance, and I’m lonely,” Klaus was infectious with how he smiled at you. He was like an excitable puppy. “We can help each other! Make Christmas memories.”

“Why would I be helpful?” you ask.

“Because you’re a helpful person,” Klaus says, matter of fact. “You organize the homeless drive every Sunday, don’t you?” You would ask how he knows that but decide it’s likely magic, and that asking would leave you with more questions. Instead, you nod, confirming his question. “You have a big heart; you’re perfect for this job.”

“I’m…human,” you mutter meekly. Klaus grabs your face between his hands, effectively shushing you.

“Me too! Mostly. Darling, you’re perfect.”

You decide that arguing with the fake Santa that wandered into your house wouldn’t be fruitful. Plus, you had no plans for Christmas except reading a good book and drinking mimosas. You ask if you can get dressed, but Klaus assures you that what you wear is fine. Of course, you wear a robe with pajama pants and smiley-face slippers. You and Klaus left out the front door since the chimney sounded like a bad idea. You guffaw at the sight of reindeer in your suburban street with a cherry wood sleigh. Klaus skips over like an excitable child and gives loving pats to all the reindeer. He shows you the proper way to pet them, and you giggle as Dancer and Blitzen lick your hand and try to steal part of your candy cane. Klaus lends a hand, and you climb into the sleigh. It’s so quiet outside that you’re shocked your neighbors aren’t hearing the commotion. You’re even more shocked when they don’t hear your screech as you take off into the air. Klaus grabs your hand in comfort, and you realize you like his presence. He’s mental, but he’s kind and somehow makes you feel completely safe when you should be losing your mind.

What Klaus has in enthusiasm, you make up for in organizational skills. He gives you a magic skull key to help sneak into people’s houses (it feels illegal), and together, you double productivity as you drop off presents. You even steal a few cookies and some baklava from a Ukrainian home as you go. The kids were asleep on the floor as you snuck by to drop off your presents, and you were afraid they’d hear you as you moaned around the taste of the dessert. You stole some extra for Klaus, who reacted like you.

You went to so many different countries you had never been to before, and the smile on your face was permanent as you soared across the skies with the real-life Santa. You wondered how you were chosen for such a treat, and you still wondered it as Klaus finally brought you back to your home at five a.m. on Christmas day.

“Why me?” you asked, turning to Klaus in the sleigh as he eased the reindeer to a stop. He looked at you, confused. “Out of everyone that could’ve helped you tonight, you chose me. I just…don’t know why. I’m not special.”

“Oh, but you are; you’re so special,” Klaus grabbed your hands, running his fingers over your knuckles. “And I just like you. You’re kind. I could tell from your aura the second you tried to kill me with your plunger.” You chuckled a bit at that.

“Thank you for choosing me,” you whispered. You kissed Klaus’ cheek, exited the sleigh, and bound into your house. You watched from your doorway as he became nothing more than a beam of light on the horizon. Climbing up your stairs, exhaustion finally crept into your bones, and you passed out immediately in bed.

When you woke up and blearily descended your stairs, you were startled to find a present under the tree. You were even more pleasantly surprised when you unwrapped it and found one of the reindeer bells and a note from Klaus:

Call me. Even Santas use telephones.

#klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #tua #the umbrella academy imagine #tua imagine #umbrella academy imagine #my writing #ficmas 2023 #12 days of ficmas

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sepicriting · 10 months

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yandere selection poll

―for your most favorite yandere concepts to come.

notes: as a little thank-you for bringing the yandere twins intro to 200 notes and getting me to 30 followers, you get to vote on which yandere concept i should work on next from a list of ideas i've got brewing! the winner of this poll will guarantee an early release, but please do note that just because other concepts didn't win does not mean that they're no longer going to be published! some of these concepts aren't fully fleshed out either, and are subject to change whenever i find it necessary.

A Yandere Princess, whose every action and word is judged by all. She then meets you, darling reader, who looks past her status as a princess and doesn't bat an eye for any mistake she commits. She, who holds the weight of her people on her shoulders, is willing to drop and set aside everything for you.

A Yandere Milf who moves in next door with her children as a recently-widowed, single mother. To cope with her loss, she runs a small garden out front, causing her to frequently have brief interactions with you whenever you leave your home. Over time she takes a liking to you, finding little similarities that connect you to her husband, and she invites you for family dinners. And after numerous times spent with you, she concludes in her mind that you are not her husband, but definitely should be her lover.

A Yandere Nurse who feels a little perverted for the feelings he's beginning to harbor towards the hospital's most recent patient ― you. He constantly can't quite look you in the eye out of guilt for his unprofessional attitude and treatment. You notice that he's especially skittish whenever he tends to you, but you quickly come to realize that he's the only nurse who consistently comes when you call for someone. He hopes that by intentionally causing your sickness to worsen, you'd come to rely on him for a long time.

A Yandere Tattoo Artist who is quite promiscuous with everyone, showing off much of his skin until you decide to come to his shop. He can't trust himself to hold back from hitting on you, especially when you go under the pain of his needle. He keeps his excitement down whenever he sees your first session, and makes sure you somehow always bump into him when you go out. After all, he's wondering if you'll drop by his shop anytime soon.

Yandere Zombie Boyfriend whose dying wish was to spend forever with you and it became true, coming back from the dead to unintentionally scare you out of your wits when you mistake him for a burglar. While it was quite nice that he loves you beyond death, his inability to talk and his mobility need to be worked on again...

Yandere Trickster God who enjoys playing what he thinks are silly pranks on you, pranks that effectively destroy your day and perhaps ruin your life. You've always thought that you've had an unlucky streak, even if initially you didn't believe in superstitions. But really, every day seems to be going wrong in some capacity ― thunderstorms pour when you leave without an umbrella, your house keys mysteriously go missing when you arrive at your front door in the dead of night, your online deliveries never seem to arrive, etc. ― little inconveniences pile up to prevent you from enjoying something nice, essentially. It wasn't until you came across an abandoned shrine and prayed to whatever god is out there to give you a breather did the happenings stop, and an oddly charming, ethereal asshole comes into your life to physically cause your frustrations.

#sepicriting #sepiposting #yandere poll #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere post #yandere

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miqojak · 5 months

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B A S I C S

(Much of this - and more - can be found on her carrd!)

Name: J'kesri Denma - Goes by Jak, her tribal name is known to maybe a total of 3 people? And only one of them is allowed use of it in private.

Nicknames: 'The Dragon', Jackal (the name she went by as a thief on the streets of Ul'dah), Ember (former), Empress Ember (former), Little Robin

Age: 27ish, give or take a year - she's not sure exactly. I've been aging her...once each real life year since 2019 (when I said she was 22ish, give or take some), but she's always just had a sort of estimate on her age.

Nameday: She has no idea!

( I do like to think that she's a Scorpio in our real world Western Zodiac - which I don't know how to translate to Eorzean dates - and a Dragon, like me, in the Eastern zodiac.)

Race: Miqo'te, Seeker of the Sun

Gender: Female

Orientation: I'd say she's over all Graysexual, maybe some degree of Demi or Sapiosexual? The perfect storm has to happen for her to want any sort of intimate relationship... even friendship is hard to manage (she very genuinely seeks out intelligent/clever people to have around her), but a true relationship that's 'romantic' or sexual? Well, the perfect combination of events accidentally happened once. But gender has never really entered into it? She just so happens to have attracted and ended up with men in RP! She was/is poly as well, but has agreed to be monosexual with her current partner!

Profession: Restaurant Manager/Owner, Jazz Club Owner/Manager, Tattoo Artist (by appointment, not widely known)

Not publicly known: Criminal (it's a broad umbrella, but her activities outside of the Yakuza are often no less devious than within), Yakuza leadership (Wakagashira/second in command, current acting head of the family while the Oyabun is on indefinite hiatus), Cat burglar! She's very Selena Kyle - her goal is to do more burglary around Ul'dah to screw over the wealthy elite...and maybe actually do some good for people like her, barely scraping by in the gutters, forgotten by society.

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Black/Orange - most often slicked back and partially braided, partially tied into a tight ponytail. When relaxed/at home she may opt not to do all the work to tame her hair to look more 'coiffed' as she does in public, and it is about shoulder length, and quite curly!

Eyes: Gold/Green

Skin: Olive/light brown, gold undertones

Tattoos/scars:

-Scars: One small slash at each cheek, one across the bridge of her nose. Levin/lightning scarring in bursts at both shoulders and biceps. A long, ragged scar spanning the length of her back, from the inside of the left side of her neck, to the top of her right buttock.

-Tattoos: Black dragon that winds up the right half of her body. Jackal on her left forearm. 3 Phoenix down feathers on her right wrist. A watercolor robin tattooed just under her left breast, along her ribs.

F A M I L Y

Parents: Deceased, slain by Garlemald in Gyr Abania

Siblings: The only one left alive is her twin brother, J'vynia/Vynnie, @miqo-vynnie, who no longer plays...and she kinda wrote Vynnie out of her life after some things she saw as huge betrayals. She talks shit, but she's been off-kilter ever since he left her life! They had a very Yin/Yang dynamic... where Jak was actually more of the Yang/masculine side of things that's very active... and now missing that more passive and down to earth aspect of Yin? She's been really out of control for a long time. Luckily, the lover she never expected to have has done a good job of grounding her.

Grandparents: Unknown.

In-laws and Other: None.

Pets: She doesn't do pets. As much as I like animals... Jak grew up tribal and sees animals as food, and find the concept of a beast in her home dirty and a waste of resources and time. (And one more thing she could get attached to and lose!) Fun fact: She doesn't like any sort of large bird, and they're one of the few things that actively frighten her! This includes things like Griffons, and Chocobos... those big, yellow birds have murder in their eyes... better to eat them, before they eat you.

S K I L L S

Abilities: Keen eyesight and incredibly sensitive hearing; can play piano by ear; martial arts; prefers (non-lethal) poisoned throwing knives/staying at range; when equipped with her DRK soul crystal, her skillset vastly expands - altering her fighting style entirely, and emboldening her with the knowledge that she can now both inflict - and sustain - more damage in close combat.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Diligent/honest - often too honest. She takes even her positive qualities to extremes, and works out too hard, spends too much time trying to excel as a Wakagashira in the Yakuza who is a woman... and she sets extremely high goals for herself and others...which leads into her negative traits.

Most Negative Trait: Judgemental/applies high standards to others. She has a twisted set of standards that makes sense to her, and likely not to many others, most of these rooted in years of trauma - but her high goals were intended to be a good thing. Even for others...she simply pushes both herself, and others (especially if she LIKES you) too hard, more often than not. She believes in constantly bettering oneself, and... she's a creature of extremes. It's hard for her to know when it's too much/she's asking too much...of anyone, to include herself.

L I K E S

Colors: Gold/white, red/black

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Moko only, these days, to relax now and then.

Drugs: Former somnus addict - she's worked hard to beat this addiction...and continues to, because addiction is a lifelong curse even once you're clean! But she doesn't like anyone or anything having control over her - and an addiction controls your life more than any other person could! (Plus it's a way that other people COULD control you, in her mind. All the more reason to have dropped the habit.)

Alcohol: She used to be a bit of an alcoholic, on top of a drug addict - she's had a lot of impetus and encouragement to get her shit together...and has! She drinks recreationally/to relax, but takes it easier these days... you're easier to take advantage of, and more likely to say or do things you shouldn't, when drunk...and she likes to be in control!

Been Arrested: Not yet! She's run from the Blades in Ul'dah more than once...but it's not a crime if you don't get caught, right??

Tagged by: @chadhunkler ! Sorry it took me a bit to find the spoons, but thank you for thinking of me! I do love to do little things like this...and should do this for my Male Miqo and my kitsune to better flesh them out, honestly...

Tagging - some people in my notifs, and anyone who hasn't done it/wants to! @uldahstreetrat, @lightyouarelikes (for whoever you want to do it for), @wpip-raham, @xmimiteh, @twelvesblades (if you want to do it!), @briar-ffxiv , @shieldandarrow , @captainqster

(I'm trying to fight the uphill battle against my depressive apathy/malaise... I know deep down I want to be active and meet people and RP and take part in things!! So thanks for tagging me and interacting, folks!)

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #ffxiv roleplay #ff14 rp #ffxiv oc #oc info #have some old art too

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fanficrocks · 4 months

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A friend in need.

An Inspector Morse fan fic. Also on AO3.

@chrumblr-whumblr - written for May whump prompt list (#26. Wiping away tears)

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A callout at 7 pm on a Saturday! While callouts at outlandish hours were no rarity for a detective sergeant in the Thames Valley CID, this took the cake in Robbie Lewis’ mind. Too early to hand off to the night shift, but late enough to ensure their Saturday evening (and to be honest, their entire weekend) was shot. No wonder Val and the kids had shared venomous glares when the phone rang.

Ten minutes later, his irritation had given way to concern when he could not raise his governor DCI Morse on the phone. Unable to wait any longer, he decided to drive over to Morse’s house and pick him up en route to the crime scene, which of course had to be at the other end of town. After asking the desk sergeant to continue trying Morse’s number, he set off hoping the DCI would be waiting for him when he got there.

To his surprise, Morse’s house was dark and the Jaguar nowhere to be seen. Could Morse have forgotten that they were on call? That was very unlike the man whose mind truly resembled a steel trap far more than anything more mundanely human. And reasons aside, just where was he? Lewis rapidly ran through a mental list of places was likely to visit on a weekend evening… With no operatic performances or even major choir recitals scheduled, it was a very short list - a handful of local pubs, the residence of Dr Max Debryn, and that of Morse’s sister Joyce. And the second was easily eliminated as the ME had received the same callout and would have informed the desk sergeant had Morse been with him.

It took Lewis some 20 minutes to get to Joyce’s house, having stopped at 3 pubs along the way to check if Morse was at any of those. Pulling up outside the neat semi, he was relieved to see the red Jaguar parked in front of the house although his guv’s familiar figure was nowhere to be seen against the brightly lit, uncurtained windows. Perhaps Morse was deeper inside the house.

His relief evaporated though when there was no answer to his ring at the doorbell, nor to his repeated knocking and calling. Was the man unwell? Or had he been attacked by a burglar and was lying unconscious somewhere?

Finding that the front door yielded when he turned the knob, he stopped only to grab a golf umbrella from the hall hatstand as an impromptu weapon before rushing in and continuing to call out to Morse. Despite the continued silence, his instincts insisted that the house was not empty… it just did not have the physical and emotional stillness characteristic of dwellings entirely devoid of human presence.

Calming himself sufficiently to search methodically, he went deeper into the house, eliminating one downstairs room after another before doing the same with the first floor. He was running out of options for places to search as he walked back down the stairs, when he noticed a faint line of light in the wall opposite the foot of the stairwell. Closer inspection revealed a tight-fitting door covered entirely in the same wallpaper as the rest of the wall, rendering it practically invisible unless one knew it was there, or unless the light was angled just right to shine on the latch.

Listening silently at the door, he realised there were vague, muffled sounds emanating from the other side. Locating the latch, he quietly opened the door, glad that it did not squeak, and stepped onto the top landing of a flight of stairs leading into the basement level. Silently descending the stairs, he found himself in a study-cum-playroom, now littered with packing boxes, tape, and mostly cleared shelves of books and music. Amidst this chaos, sat Morse - cross-legged on the floor with a partially filled box beside him, head buried in his hands as his shoulders shook with half-suppressed sobs.

Shock combined with a feeling of having trespassed unforgivably held Lewis silent for a minute. But he was constitutionally incapable of walking away from a fellow human being in such distress, least of all one he had worked with for half a dozen years now, and had come to not just respect, but also developed an affection for - at least as far as that curmudgeon allowed.

Quickly crossing the floor, he knelt down beside Morse and gently placed a hand on his guv’s shoulder. There was no response for a moment before he felt the older man stiffen slightly. Half expecting his hand to be pushed away, he nonetheless stayed where he was and waited, letting the single point of physical contact do the talking for him. After what felt like an eternity but was likely no longer than two or three minutes, Morse raised his head. Gazing into those tear-drenched blue eyes, Lewis felt suckerpunched. Whatever could have hit his guv so hard?

“Sir…”

“They left this behind - all of Marilyn’s photos as a baby and a little girl. Moved away to Australia and left this with all the other stuff needing sorting. As though they have already forgotten her.”

The rights and wrongs of Morse’s conclusions could wait, thought Lewis. The more important thing now was to coax him out of the basement if possible. The man was shaking as much from cold as emotion, and would do better in a warmer spot.

Taking heart from Morse’s uncharacteristic docility, he tightened the hand on his guv’s shoulder until it was unmistakably a supportive squeeze, then gently wiped away the overflowing tears from the luminous blue eyes. As he saw awareness return to those eyes, he pressed his handkerchief into Morse’s hand, and with a final squeeze of his shoulder, stood up and moved away a little.

Thinking to give Morse a little privacy to recover his composure, he started leafing through the books left in the bookcase, sorting them into neat piles by topic. Until he chanced upon further photo albums mixed among the books. His job required him to regularly nose into the private lives of murder victims in the quest for justice, but this - now - felt unforgivable. Joyce and her family were victims, but they no longer needed justice now; they needed their privacy protected so they could come to terms with the tragedy of Marilyn’s suicide and rebuild their lives.

Gathering the albums in one arm, he turned back towards Morse. His guv looked a little more composed, but no less wretched; and Robbie was not sure how he could broach the callout they were supposed to be answering any moment now. Just then, Morse turned back to the album he had placed at the top of the box he had been packing, and picked it up again.

“How can they forget so soon? Move on so easily like she… just wasn’t?”

“Why do you think that, Sir?”

“What else can I think when they left this album behind? The one with all her photos as a baby and a little girl? Shouldn’t this have been the one thing they would keep close?”

“It could have been an oversight, Sir. After everything they have been through over the last few months, I would not expect them to be fully organised, would you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was looking through the bookcase… I hope you don’t consider it an intrusion… just trying to give you some space. Anyway, there are several other albums left here - see.”

As Morse took the proffered albums and started flipping through them, Lewis took a better look around the room and the partially packed boxes. Sure enough, the one Morse had been working on before his emotions got the better of him was labelled “Ship to Joyce in Australia” while others were labelled “library donation”, “charity shop”, and “discard”. Seeing that many of the latter boxes were full, Lewis started closing them up ready to tape down and sorting them into neat stacks. A deep sigh had him turning back towards Morse a few minutes later.

“You are right, Lewis. They must have been even more disturbed than I had thought. These albums - they include photographs from their engagement and wedding, and both of Joyce’s pregnancies. They would not have left those behind… not if they were in a normal frame of mind, I suppose.”

“Losing a child… well, that is every parent’s worst nightmare, isn’t it? Against every law of nature. Can’t expect normal after that.”

“A parent’s worst nightmare. Is that how you see it, Lewis?”

“Dunno how it can be anything else. Every time we come across a case involving kids, all I can think of is that in another world, it could have been my lass or lad.”

“And do you hug them when you get home after such cases?”

“Always. And I hope they will continue to let me.”

Morse stacked the albums neatly - the one he had been looking at, and the others Lewis had handed him - before placing them in the box he had been packing and starting to tape it down. As he snapped off the last of the tape and stuck it down neatly, he sensed Lewis come around to stand next to him. Before he could stoop to move the now sealed box, the younger man reached for it.

“Allow me, Sir. Can’t have you throwing your back out, not with this callout we need to get to as soon as we can.”

“Don’t fuss, Lewis!”

But as they turned off the light and closed the basement door, then locked up preparatory to leaving, Morse briefly placed a hand on his long-suffering sergeant’s shoulder in silent thanks. He then led the way to the Jaguar, instructing Lewis to leave his car and brief him as they drove together to the crime scene.

#fanfics #fanfiction #inspector morse #itv endeavour #endeavour morse #robbie lewis #emotional hurt/comfort

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brethilach · 2 months

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Interests/Fandoms (what I primarily post about):

The Hobbit

Lord of the Rings

The Silmarillion

Baldur's Gate 3

Dungeon Meshi

Elden Ring

Hellboy

Occasionally I'll share things I feel are important, ramble about personal things, or reblog random crap I find funny as well.

if you want to see JUST my art and writing, this is my side blog: @brethilach-maeron

I play Lord of the Rings Online! These are my current characters:

Chervill (they/them) - a level 8 Hobbit Burglar on Crickhollow

Hylli (he/him) - a level 7 Dwarf Champion on Crickhollow

Rosebay (she/they) - a level 8 Hobbit Hunter on Landroval

I'll eventually be making other characters in different worlds as well! Feel free to send a friend request, and if you want to make a Fellowship or RP, just let me know!

I don't have a DNI because I believe they're redundant at best and actively attract the people you want to avoid at worst (but I will still respect yours if you have one). If you make me uncomfortable or upset, I'll just ignore it, or block you if I feel like it's necessary. But that usually won't happen unless you're just a bigot or otherwise personally triggering to me (which usually includes things that fall under the "pro-ship" umbrella). I don't care what people do in their own space on their own time (as long as it's not harmful to others), I just don't want to see it. That's all.

On that note, I tag everything that I post (and if I forget for some reason, please tell me!) - if you don't like certain ships, or don't like seeing anything romantic whatsoever, just block those tags and you'll never see it

If we're mutuals or otherwise interact a lot, please feel free to DM or tag me in whatever you want! I also love to receive comments and asks (if you have a drawing request, I'm open to that too!). Everything is fine to reblog as well - if I don't want someone to reblog or comment on a post, I'll simply just turn off reblogs and comments.

Any of my headcanons and story ideas are also entirely open to use unless I say otherwise! I share them BECAUSE I want people to use them! I just ask that you send me the link if you make fanfic, art, etc - I want to see it!!

Post Divider Credit (x) GIF Credit (x)

#pinned post #my post #personal

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oneshots-heaven · 2 years

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Dustin's Friend — Eddie Munson

While you were off to college, your little brother made a new friend at school, or rather, befriended an old face that you'd almost forgotten about and suddenly, you want to undo the past.

Warning: fluff with a mixture of sweet spice Word count: 7.5k Eddie Munson x Henderson!Reader

Hawkins was a dead town, at least it was to you. While growing there had its good sides, there wasn’t much to keep you there once you finished high school.

You knew from an early age that the only good way to leave this town was going to college, however, your options were limited as college was turning more and more expensive by the years. Your divorced parents didn’t have the money to fund you all the way through college, let alone through the first years, so you tried your hardest in school to land a scholarship and worked throughout the last school years.

In the end, it all worked out—to your luck.

You ended up finishing high school, landing a prestigious scholarship and a spot at your top choice college that was just far enough to start somewhere new, yet close enough to come home easily. Because one thing you did underestimate was how much you missed your family while being away.

Hawkins may made you feel stuck, but it was still your home and the place where all your loved ones were. Being away felt good most of the times, nevertheless, you loved coming home. And today didn’t feel any different as you stopped the old, beat-up car from your grandparents in front of your childhood home.

You were a day early, originally having planned to arrive tomorrow evening, at most, but the college parties weren’t fun enough to keep you there over the weekend. Besides, it would calm your mother’s conscience to know that you were there early for your babysitter duties as she was gone for two weeks for her yearly ‘Away from the kids’ trip.

Opening the trunk, you pulled out your packed up bag, throwing it over your shoulder as you slammed the trunk shut again and went ahead to the door. From afar, you could hear panicked, loud voices in the house, causing you to frown. What was going on, a burglar? There was nothing of big worth in that house, it would be senseless.

Turning the key in the door, you made your entrance well known by dropping your bag. A burglar in Hawkins couldn’t be dangerous, only idiotic. The voices immediately died down, the house becoming deadly silent. In your dorm, you had a heavy flashlight right at your bedside. The only thing that the hallway offered to defend yourself with was an umbrella. At least, better than nothing, you thought.

Holding it in front of you, ready to strike down whatever come at you, you walked further down the hallway. A thundering sound came rushing down the stairs, about to come right around the corner, you held the umbrella up high, until you screamed, and someone screamed back louder.

“Y/N!”

You stopped yourself last second from smashing down the umbrella at the person attacking you, realizing that they weren’t, in fact, attacking you. Blinking confused, you brushed your hair out of your face. “Dustin, what the hell!”

“What were you doing?” he instead questioned, eyeing the umbrella in your hand.

Letting out a deep sigh, you put away the umbrella, “I heard people yelling from outside. Thought maybe there’s a burglar in the house.”

Dustin raised a brow. “And you thought an umbrella is the right choice of weapon, then?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” you exclaimed, feeling dumbfounded. “What was the yelling about?”

“We were just playing a game.”

You squinted your eyes. “We?”

Your little brother shrugged, obviously turning the conversation elsewhere. “Good to see you back.” he said, right on his heels to run back up the stairs.

“Dustin,” you called after him.

You definitely did not miss this. Being your little brother’s babysitter was an ungrateful job, especially if your brother was anything like Dustin Henderson, a rebellious tween with too much imagination and even wilder friends.

You didn’t care what your brother was doing. He was clever enough to know what better not to do, but not clever enough to not do stupid things. So, you hasted after him, knocking on his door before a second later intruding. “Dustin, I asked who—" you stopped mid-sentence, glancing into the big eyes of Dustin’s childhood friends as well as some faces you hadn’t seen before.

“Y/N!” he groaned. “I told you we were playing a game. You weren’t even supposed to be here until tomorrow—”

“Excuse me,” someone said behind, tapping your shoulder. As you turned around, you made enough space for the person to squeeze right past you into Dustin’s room. You stared at the familiar dark-haired head, who walked ever so casually into the room before letting themselves fall into their former seat.

“Munson?”

Eddie Munson glanced up, eyes widening at your sight. “Y/N.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked him. Out of all people in Hawkins, he was one of the last persons you ever expected to turn up at your house.

“You guys know each other?” Mike Wheeler, one of Dustin’s friends, chirped in. Your eyes wandered from Eddie to Mike over to Dustin who looked split between being angry and weirded out, right back to Eddie who looked flabbergasted.

“Yeah, we do,” you replied. “We went to high school together.”

One of the rather unknown friends chuckled. “Eddie does still go to high school.”

His voice quieted down the second his gaze met Eddie’s, which was now a fine line between ice-cold and highly embarrassed. Everything quieted down after that, leaving silence that was just as much awkward.

“Sorry, I’ll leave you to it.” you mumbled, feeling sorry for accidentally causing a scene, and pulled the door shut. However, seeing Eddie Munson, the known misfit from your school year, sitting in your little brother’s bedroom confused the hell out of you.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The evening came quicker than expected. The warm yellow light dimmed the kitchen where you had sat down to go over the last lecture. Upstairs, the boys couldn’t manage to keep their voices down enough to let you concentrate in the room next door, so the kitchen it was.

The staircase creaked as someone walked down there. The footsteps became lighter, almost inaudible as if they stopped, until Eddie Munson appeared in the doorframe to the kitchen. You glanced up from your studies, your mouth feeling numb, unable to form any words.

It had been a while since you last saw him, it must have been over two years. Maybe graduation day, but if you remembered back and thought about his friend’s remark earlier, you knew that he hadn’t been there. Back then, you had believed it was because he disliked the majority of your school year and not because he didn’t graduate.

“Hey,” he said, quietly, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” you replied.

He drummed against the wooden frame, the metal of his rings resounding against it. “I’m sorry if this came off as weird. You know, seeing me hang out with your little brother. I didn’t—” he stopped, breathing in, shaking his head as if he was confused about what he meant to say.

Furrowing your brows, you looked at him equally confused as you opened your mouth to argue, but Eddie was quick to continue to say, “Look, I get it if you want me to stop hanging out with him, and the others.”

“Why would I?” you questioned, earnestly as you closed your book and fully turned around in the chair to look at him. “You guys are playing board games. How bad can it be? You’re not selling drugs anymore, are you?”

Eddie’s mouth fell open. “How do you?”

“Everyone knew,” you interrupted him, shrugging. “Or maybe not everyone, but people who paid attention knew.”

As if he’d got caught red-handed, he straightened up. “I don’t. I mean, no, I do. But only to the right people and only good stuff. I don’t sell or give it to the boys, I would never.”

You smiled at his reaction, all sudden Eddie came across as rather shy, a trait that you would’ve never use to describe him with. If anything, he was loud, vibrant, and simply just there, impossible to mistake, impossible to overlook. “Didn’t think you would,” you made clear.

He nodded, lips pressed tight. His gaze wandering from your eyes up to your hair, analyzing every part of you. It let you question if you looked anything different than what you used to back in high school, if you came across different now versus back then. Somehow, you hoped you did.

“Um, Eddie, that’s not the bathroom. That’s the kitchen, and that is my sister. What are doing you here?”

Eddie turned around at the sound of Dustin’s voice, who stood behind him, watching the innocent talk between him and you. He said he wanted to go to the bathroom, which the house had one upstairs, and instead came down to talk to you? There was a lot to read into that situation, but you decided not to. This was confusing enough already, there was no need to make it any worse.

“He just asked for some more toilette paper,” you answered for him, toning your voice down as a rush of excitement still creeped up on you.

Eddie made a face, looking from you to Dustin, before nodding, “Yeah. Couldn’t find any, my bad.”

Fortunately, Dustin didn’t question the odd answer as he probably didn’t want to dig any further into that business. Instead, Eddie silently followed him back up to his room, not daring a glance back at you as he left the room.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Coming home to Hawkins after being away for a while felt different every time you came back. As weird as it sounded, you could feel it in the air. Growing up here, it always had been a dead end, but ever since Will Byers and other kids around town went missing, there was something electrifying in the air. You, as much as many other people in Hawkins, could not explain that sensation, all you could do was telling the kids to watch out while hanging out outside and carry on with life.

Time felt strange here, as if it was rushing past everyone and yet not passing at all. Seeing Eddie Munson after so long was one of those occasions. Somehow, it felt like a day ago since you walked past each other in the school hallway but looking at him closely proved you otherwise. He had his wavy hair grown out, his body now graced dark inked tattoos, and he was no longer at eye level with you.

You slammed on the brakes, snapping out of your trance, barely avoiding running over some kids running across the street. Heat shot in your cheeks, breathing heavy. Why were you thinking about Eddie? Why had you been thinking about him since last seeing him?

It was the whole point of this ridiculous charade. He crept up in your mind, haunted your thoughts, even though he and you wouldn’t be considered friends. Not even anything close to it. You barely knew each other. All you were was former schoolmates, who crossed hallways and sat in the same classes. And all you truly knew about him were the things whispered through those exact hallways, things that could be far from the truth.

None of this made the tingling in your fingertips when you thought about him reasonable enough. This was absurd, absolute nonsense, and yet you felt defied by yourself. He was in your head, disarming every try of yours to deny it. Once you left town and went back to college again, it would be different. There would be other things than Eddie Munson haunting your thoughts.

You parked the car in the driveway before you grabbed the groceries that you’d just bought from the passenger seat and fumbled with your keys to open up the door. Dustin was gone somewhere around town with his friends, he had left you a message on the kitchen table before leaving. It was an unspoken rule between him and you—as long as he would come home before dawn, you didn’t mind where he went. Although he did lots of things that potentially could get him in trouble, you dared to hope that he was clever enough to avoid it.

The divorce of your parents had turned you into a third parental figure for Dustin, and perhaps the only one he truly respected. Despite getting on each other’s nerve’s half of the time, you got along greatly even though the contact had become less due to the distance.

Sometimes, only sometimes, you found yourself sitting alone in your dorm and missing the old days when you were still in high school and had to pick up your brother and his friends on the way home. Where you cooked for Dustin and yourself when your mother was at work for too long and had movies nights together. Where you hung out with your girlfriends on the school ground, secretly checking out the boys in the parking lot. Where you felt the most you, the most at home, the most fulfilled.

Being away at college wasn’t the problem, you knew that. You loved it there. The true problem was that you missed the carefree version of yourself.

You were preparing dinner for the evening as the doorbell rang. Dustin had a key, he’d use it if he was coming home, so it had to be someone else. Putting the oven mitts aside, you went to the front door and opened it up to see a familiar face standing in front of it. “Munson,” you said, your voice sounding unsure.

It’d been a few days since your last encounter and yet again, you didn’t expect him at your house.

“Henderson,” he nodded, mimicking your usage of his last name only. It instantly made you question when was the last time you ever called him by his first name? Hardly ever, you believed. He’s been Munson or ‘The Freak’ for as long as you could remember. That’s what everyone called him and what you ended up calling him, too.

He held up a book in his hands. “I lent this from Dustin the other day and wanted to bring it back.”

Your eyes wandered from the book in his hand, which he handed over to you, back to him. “Thanks,” you mumbled. “He’s not here right now, but I’ll tell him.”

Nerve-racking silence took over you, neither spoke a word, neither moved from their spot. Inside your head, the thoughts kept spinning, creating a chaotic mess, but none of it could actually help to relieve this tension.

“I guess, I’ll go—”

“Do you want to come in?”

His head shot up, gazes meeting as his lightened up in surprise. While stepping aside, you made enough space for him to accept the invitation if he wanted to. For a brief moment, there was hesitation that made you regret ever saying it. He had no reason to stay, Dustin wasn’t here and you two weren’t friends. It didn’t made sense for you to spend any time together, yet deep down, if you were really honest with yourself, you wanted to.

Fully expecting him to deny and turn his back on you, Eddie was there to surprise you as he had been doing since seeing him again. Instead, he stepped inside.

Your mind went blank. What now? You’d just invited himself inside, without any further thought on why you did it or what happens after. Talk, Y/N, talk.

“I’m making lasagna,” you said, instantly wanting to facepalm yourself. Such unnecessary information. “Let’s talk in the kitchen?”

Your voice sounded small, making it more sound like a question, rather than a suggestion. Eddie thankfully didn’t pressure it, replying a short ‘sure’ as he followed you down the hallway to the kitchen. You heard his footsteps behind you, causing a slow building shiver to run from the nap of your neck down your back. Every fiber of your being felt suddenly hyperaware of his presence.

“So, how’s life? How have you been?”

Another stupid question that made you curse yourself in your head as you took a look at the lasagna in the oven before glancing back at him. Just like a few days ago, Eddie stopped in the large doorframe, leaning against it, eyes meeting yours. Your question didn’t seem to spark much enjoyment in his face. By now, every word you said felt like the wrong choice.

Eddie shrugged. “Not much to tell. I haven’t changed, I’m the same guy as always, just still stuck in high school.”

“How’s that not much to tell? For the longest, I believed that you did graduate with us and just happened to not attend to prom, or graduation, or the afterparty.” you replied, the words bubbling out of your mouth. Why the sudden were you acting all nervous?

You couldn’t dare to look at him, this entire conversation was backfiring on the worst level imaginable, however, just as you were about to look away, he answered, “Skipping prom sounds like me, but I would’ve turned up for at least the afterparty, don’t you think?”

Your mouth quirked to a small smile. This conversation may not go entirely sour, but let’s not get any hopes up too early. “You’re right. Maybe even graduation, just so, you know, you can finally get the paper that releases you from the hell hole that is school.”

Eddie looked at you pointedly, crossing his arms. “You calling school a hell hole? Never thought I would hear that.”

“Why, do you not believe that I didn’t enjoy high school?” you argued, leaning back against the kitchen counter, standing almost opposite to him.

“Hardly,” he admitted, still at eye level with you.

You scoffed. “What makes you think that?”

“You’ve never made the impression to me that you didn’t like being there. It looked like you were having a good time with your friends, that, I don’t know, you even enjoyed sitting in class learning new stuff. You were the exact opposite of me, someone who most definitely didn’t—doesn’t—like high school.”

Mouth ajar, you looked at him as he leaned his head back against the doorframe while yours got trapped to process the fact that Eddie Munson had paid more attention to you in high school than one might think. If you were being honest, you didn’t even think that he knew who you were. Neither your circle of friends, nor your interest were aligned that he could know much about you. However, the way he talked about you made it sound like he did.

“Well, I did like having a good time with my friends, or learning new stuff, but on graduation day, I was still happy that it was all over. High school was a confusing time and I thought college as a new chapter in my life would change many things.” you explained, realizing with every word that you had never spoken about this before.

“Did it change?”

You broke off the eye contact, shaking your head. “No, not really. It’s different. But it doesn’t replace or make the memories from here better. I miss Hawkins sometimes, I even miss going to school. A bit pathetic, don’t you think? It’s only been two years.”

Eddie played with the rings on his fingers, replying, “No, I don’t think it’s pathetic. Don’t they say something along the lines, ‘You are where you live’?”

You chuckled lightly. “Not exactly, but something like that, yeah.”

In fear of this now actually well-going conversation dying, you hastily added, “So, what about you? How’s school now?”

He breathed out, it almost sounded like a deep sigh, “I wish I was done by now, but it’s not too bad.”

“Sure, because you’re friends with my brother now.”

“That’s a whole other conversation,” he mumbled.

You arched a brow, meeting his gaze. “And what is this conversation about now?”

“Not about Dustin,” he said, his voice sounding much more assured.

Something about the way he said it struck you, made you stay frozen in place, only capable of starring at him. You were glad that your hands had the surface of the kitchen counters to hold onto, because your heart was beating in a fierce, overwhelming speed that caused you to feel nauseous. What would you say to that? What could you say to that?

Before your brain could go down a further spiral, Eddie pulled you right back into reality by saying, “Y/N, I’m no cook, but I’m pretty sure that you’re burning your lasagna.”

“What?” you blinked, the wires in your brain not fully connected yet until realization of the smell hit you. “Oh, shit, shit, shit!”

Eddie backed off away from the oven as you turned down the heat and put on the mitts to get out the casserole dish. The cheese on top had said its goodbyes, having been burned very, very dark brown, but you refused to admit you had let it burn while being distracted by Eddie Munson—although it was the embarrassing truth.

Your burned lasagna appeared like a metaphorical example of your state of mind.

Defeated, you laid the oven mitts aside, chuckling lightly, “It’s not that bad. Still eatable.”

There was a genuine smile on Eddie’s face when you glanced sideways to look at him. “I’m sure it still tastes good,” he assured you, and somehow those words felt like a short-breath relief to you, as if his words were saying that nothing about this situation was embarrassing.

“I can get you a plate—”

The interrupting chaos outside the house door was audible enough to alarm you what was about to come. “Dustin’s here,” you instead continued to say, a tone too panic for own liking. There was no true reason to panic about, and still, you couldn’t help but think about how Dustin would react when he comes home and sees Eddie and you standing in the kitchen together, yet again.

He took the hint, turning to the backdoor of the house. “I’ll better get going, but thanks for the offer.” he said. “I’ll see you around.”

You heard the keys turn in the entrance door as Eddie walked out the backdoor, replying, “Yes. I mean, I guess I will.”

Seconds later, Dustin’s cheerful voice filled the void Eddie left.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You were miserable, down right, tragically, hopelessly miserable. At this point, it became pathetic to turn so many thoughts to something that wasn’t real. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as it was, if you gave in and admitted to yourself that there was a desire to spend more time with Eddie, an instant attraction from the day you saw him again. It was a lingering hunger that you had to still, but instead you ignored it until you felt like dying.

You told yourself that it was for the better, there was no point in spending more time with Eddie Munson. Doing so would only end up turning into a dangerous threat to your heart and you didn’t need that, all you needed was time and an empty head to concentrate on your studies. Boyfriend, or much less, guys who robbed girls their senses, were pure distractions.

Maybe you should’ve taken theatre as a side course in college, as you were clowning yourself with this act. With each day passing, with each time you saw Eddie bring Dustin home from school, with each laughter you heard from Dustin’s room, you soured in envy.

Friday night was the breaking point.

You laid on the couch in the living room, the book you were reading held up above your head, ready to drop on your face any second. Dustin had his friends over, all huddled up in his room, shutting you out by every chance. Apparently, they were discussing something ‘serious’ that was ‘none of your business’. You, on the other hand, tried to drown your head in the heavy lecture that was Dune by Frank Herbert, wishing that the complexity of the science fiction novel would numb any other thought.

That try rather failed, but at least the rainstorm outside was soothing.

“I will ask her,” you heard Dustin’s voice from upstairs. “No, don’t!” another voice argued.

You closed the book, putting it on the couch table as Dustin came into the living room. “Hey Y/N, do you mind driving Max and Lucas home? They can’t go on their bikes in this weather.”

Max had followed him behind, so did Lucas. “You don’t have to, Y/N.” Max immediately said, her eyes looking sad as her gaze met the one of Lucas’. Oh no, young heartbreak was bittersweet and obvious.

“No, I’ll drive you. Your parents would kill me if I let you out on your bikes.” you replied, getting up from the couch. You could see the heaviness in Max’s face. You were sure she might curse you in her head as right now, she would probably rather drive through the storming rain instead of spending any moment longer near Lucas. However, none of the two argued with you and silently put on their shoes.

You threw on a sweater before you grabbed the car keys and turned to Dustin’s friends. “Ready?” you questioned, getting a nod as answer, so you opened up the door and yelled, “Ok, let’s run!”

Your laziness was your luck to escape the rain as you rarely ever locked your car when you were home. A remote car key would be the dream, but your car was far too old for that. Lucas got right in the backseat, while Max stopped in her tracks and purposely choose the passenger seat. Each of you was almost drenched to their bones, hair’s sticking to your wet faces.

“Definitely not riding the bikes,” you mumbled, starting the car.

Neither Max, nor Lucas spoke a word, neither to each other, nor to you. The only thing playing was your Tears For Fear tape, to which you tapped along to on the steering wheel. The Sinclair’s house wasn’t all too far from yours. Relief washed over everyone as you came to a stop in front of the house, Lucas tapping your shoulders from behind. “Thanks Y/N, see you.”

“You’re welcome, bye Lucas.”

The door flew open, closing just as quick, as he dashed off to safety underneath the covered house entrance. Max, beside you, loosened up. Crazy how time sometimes ran. Last time you were home, you had had the feeling that something was going on between Lucas and Max. The way they looked at each other and subconsciously trying to touch each other by the slightest bit at any chance said a lot. None of that was there anymore, they rather behaved as if they were ice and fire, unable to touch.

“Sorry,” you said, not sure what for, before saying, “I don’t know where you live, Max. Can you direct me?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, wrapped in other thoughts.

The rain fell onto on the car roof, against every window, as Max quietly directed you to the outskirts of Hawkins. It tingled in your fingers to say something to her, like a big sister would do, even if you weren’t hers. You knew she lost her older brother last year, and maybe she didn’t want to hear any advice, but your mouth opened sooner than you could stop yourself. “Whatever it is, give it time. Time for it to better, to change, to heal. You know… time will tell.”

You felt her gaze on you, turning for a brief moment to meet it. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say, to say anything at all.

“Thank you.” she breathed, her mouth twitching to the tiniest smile, and pointed to a trailer at the beginning of the Forest Hills trailer park. “I live right there.”

You stopped the car right in front of it. “There you go,” you said. As the storm drew lightening in the sky, you turned to Max, half joking, “You better run.”

A chuckle escaped her mouth, and it calmed your mind that she and her little heart would survive the night. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

“Anytime.” You watched Max open up the passenger door and running, just like Lucas did, with fast steps to the trailer. You waited until her mother opened up the door and she escaped into the warmth of their home, before you were about to drive off to return home yourself. And just in that moment, it struck you.

On the porch right opposite to the Mayfield’s trailer, he stood, watching the rain plastered down the ground. Your hand on the gearshift held in, feet stayed on the brake. Eddie blew the last smoke of his cigarette, before throwing the end away onto the wet grass. Hands pushed into the pockets, he held in, too.

For once in the last few days, you didn’t think—at all. You pulled the handbrake, turned off the car and out you were, sprinting the few meters through the rain until you reached the covered porch to eyes-widened Eddie. “What are you doing here?” he asked, in disbelief. His eyes wandered from your stringy, wet hair that was sticking to your face, down to where your now completely drenched clothes were clenching to your body.

You could feel your heart hammering against your ribcage in confused excitement. Every inch of your body that he eyed so closely felt hot. “Hi,” you said instead of answering his question, somehow grinning like an idiot.

His concerned expression shifted to an equally idiotic grin. “Hi crazy,” he replied softly, looking down at you. “Let’s talk inside, ok? You need to get somewhere warm.”

He stepped forward and opened up the door of the trailer for you. There was no hesitation, unlike at the beginning of the week. Quickly, you rushed into the welcoming warmth, followed closely by him as he closed the door behind. Waterdrops fell from your clothes, making a mess on the floor of the open living room-kitchen area.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, looking around in search of a dishtowel. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

At least, it was the truth, even if it was embarrassingly so.

“Don’t be sorry,” Eddie said, truly, as his eyes flickered over your body. “How about I get you a towel to dry off, and maybe some dry clothes, too. You’re soaked to your bones, Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

“Y/N is just fine.”

He sighed, closing his eyes for a second while trying to keep himself contained, but the incoming, quiet chuckle was hard to suppress. So, he rather turned his back on you and walked down the trailer to the other room, where you suspected his room was. “Dad jokes, really? That’s your level of jokes?”

You shrugged, calling out, “Some say it’s charming.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” he called back as you followed him into the room.

Eddie, who had just grabbed a towel from the stack of fresh ones, whipped around, bumping straight into you. “You’ve followed me.” he, for whatever reason, stated.

The towel in his hands was the only thing, besides your clothes, that kept your bodies separated right now. “I’m sorry,” you hushed, feeling stuck in place. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop apologizing all the time.” he interrupted you. Either of you ignored the way how close you were standing, neither were doing anything to change that.

“Sorry—”

“Y/N,”

Hearing your name out of his mouth made your head snap upwards. “It’s a bad habit, I’m—nope, I am not sorry. Oh my, this is awful. Just forget what I’ve said. I just feel bad for leaving water puddles all over your home!”

Eddie’s mouth quirked slowly into a smile as he tugged the towel in his hands forward against your body. “Here, dry yourself off. I’ll get some clean clothes of mine if that’s fine.”

You nodded with a smile and accepted the towel, starting off to pat-dry your hair, as he turned back around to his closet, rummaging through the piles of shirts. As you tried to dry off most of your clothes, your curiosity let your eyes wander through Eddie’s room, and it somehow made you frown, yet smile. His personality was written all over the small-spaced room. Posters of his musical heroes hung on almost every free surface of the walls, multiple amps for his guitars stood in the crowded corners alongside various tapes laying around everywhere you looked.

It was rare to see Eddie in a surrounding where he truly fit in, and although he had always managed to make every surrounding his mighty ground, this room was where he shined. Right here, he appeared like the guy you knew—confident, kind, impossible to overlook.

“I’ve got no clue if these will fit, but here’s a sweatshirt and some joggers.”

In his hands was a bundle of rather messy folded, dark clothes. They may did not fit, but it didn’t matter, they were warm und although they were fresh, the clothes smelled like him already. You exchanged the towel for the clothes, his hands meeting yours for a brief moment, gliding over each other’s.

“I’ll let you change,” he mumbled, already moving on his way to leave the room for you alone.

“No,” it escaped your mouth quicker than your brain could think about the aftermath. Eddie stopped in his tracks, not saying a word, and instead nodded. “Just close the door and turn around.”

As told, he turned his back to you and pushed the door shut, as you pulled the wet sweater over your head, leaving you in the skimpy shirt you wore underneath, and grabbed Eddie’s dry one to put on before you stripped off the rest of your wet clothes. You watched him standing straight as a candle in front of you, back still turned on you, as the sound of your jeans zipper tore the silence. The movement of his hands—how he balled them together to fists and immediately releasing them again—caught your eye.

What was the cause of it? The fact that you just showed up at his home, being an annoying guest that he didn’t invite, or the fact that maybe either of you wished that he would or could turn around right now?

Pushing any of those thoughts away, you pulled your legs through Eddie’s joggers. They didn’t fit properly, just as he had suspected, but it still worked out. It was definitely better than the drenched clothes that would have surely sooner or later given you a nasty cold. “You can turn back around,” you told him, folding your own clothes together.

“No, stop, give them to me. I can hang them in the bathroom to dry.”

The corners of your mouth twitched upwards. “Thanks Eddie.”

There was something in the way he looked at you when you said his name. It wasn’t startlement. No, for that, his eyes glistered too much, his mouth was the tiniest bit ajar, proving his speechlessness. He huffed, glancing down to your clothes in his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

As he looked back up, he said, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say my name.”

Your first instinct was to further ask what he meant by that, but then it hit you. He was right, it really had been the first time you said his name—his own name, not his last name or one of the stupid nicknames he was given in high school.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve used it much sooner.”

His eyes had a sad, yet unworried haze to them. “Don’t worry about it. You can say it from now on.” He instead told you as he opened up the door of his room to hang up your clothes in the bathroom next door. Coming back into the room, he added, “And besides, what did I tell you about apologizing so much?”

“You know, it is a bad habit of mine, but sometimes, I feel like I have to.”

The frown on his face made him look older, and the unworried haze was replaced by confusion written all over him. “Why, why’d you ever feel like that?”

Shrugging, you wrapped your hands around yourself. You didn’t mean to say it like it was a big deal because it wasn’t, at least not for others. But the way Eddie asked questions proved how much he was listening to you, something people rarely ever did. It made you not wanting to lie to him. He deserved nothing but the truth, although it felt scary to stand opposite to Eddie, someone you never truly had much contact with, and talk about why your world felt miserable and confusing, sometimes.

“Because I was one of those people who just ran with the crowd. People started calling you stupid nicknames, casting you as an outsider, and I just did the same as everyone else. I called you those names too. For God’s sake, I did not even once call you by your own name until today, and I am sorry for that. You didn’t deserve being called those shitty names, you didn’t deserve any treatment you’d received, but I was too sucked up in the popular high school bubble to do better than that.”

You pressed your lips together, heart’s heavy in your chest. “I don’t like the fact that I didn’t do better back then, and I feel ashamed, now, to have the audacity to stand here and interrupt your night when I don’t even know if you’d like to talk to me.”

“I do like talking to you,” he said, calmly, which made you just now noticed how wary your own voice had become. “Or you know, otherwise I would have probably let you drown in the storm.”

You let out a small-sounding chuckle that sounded much more like a sobbing snort. “Stop making jokes about this.”

Eddie grinned as he let himself fall onto his bed before he propped himself up on his elbows to meet your gaze. “Why not?” he asked, but you struggled to answer when your attention was drawn to someplace else. His shirt had ridden up, revealing a short, tamed trail of hairs going up to his belly button. Heat shot in your cheeks, eventually through your entire body, in embarrassment of the incoming inappropriate thoughts that caused your brain to riot.

You turned your gaze away. “Because it isn’t funny. I meant it. I am sorry for what I’ve called you and how I’ve treated to you along the others. It wasn’t okay, and I don’t feel good not having at least once apologized for that.”

Realizing the seriousness of your words, he pushed himself more upwards, sitting in front of you on the bed. His curly dark hair fell into his face, framing the soft curves of it. “I appreciate your apology, but you’ve got nothing to feel bad about. Yeah, most people from our year were absolut shitheads who enjoyed taking the piss out of me, but I let them. Why bother to correct people who don’t care?“ he said, the tone of his voice dropping. “You were never one of the those people. In my eyes, you were one of the only considerable people I’ve encountered.“

You frowned, standing awkwardly in the middle of his room, mumbling, “We’ve rarely ever talked. How can you think of me as considerable?“

“I’ve seen you with other people. How you cared about them.“

His words lured a smile onto your lips. You recked your chin in a playful, arrogant manner. “Makes it sound like you’ve paid more attention to me than I thought.“

“I probably did.“ he admitted, without hesitation, causing your breath hitch in suspension. You brought your eyes to his, gaze sweeping over the tenderness of his face. Your heartbeat was run its own race. “I was pretty damn in love with you for, like, an eternity. Until you left.“

And there the race stopped. Your heart, the tiresome racer, collapsed on its knees as it begged for the sweet, sweet release it had longed for days. The spark that his words ignited in it made your heart believe that he was looking for that release too, perhaps just for an eternity longer than you did.

Your legs were the first limbs that reacted until your entire body followed and the surroundings faded into a surreal time lapse feeling. The emptiness you felt was gone the minute you placed your legs on either side as you straddled his hips. Your arms looping around his neck, as if you’d done it a million times before. His hands sliding carefully, with wariness, on the sides of your waist, as if he was checking first if this was real until he hooked his arms fully around you, pulling you flush against his chest. A place where you suddenly felt like you belonged.

The racer was on its feet again, breathless, but ready to run the very last mile between your mouth and his—just to win it all, to free itself from all the torture.

You leaned forward, slowly, because no matter how confidently you walked up on him, this was where it got truly scary. He had been in love with you. It ran through your mind over and over again. You would never be able to forget this. This would drive you insane til the end of your days. “Can I kiss you, please?“ he whispered, his voice darker as it rasps against your lips.

There was no way of return.

“Please,“ you begged him, and it was a wish he would fulfill for you on any God given day. His soft lips bumped against yours, gentle and careful at first, before the storm hit you both. It robbed your every breath, making you gasp into the kiss as you longed for more. Your fingers ran through his thick hair, his arms pulled you even further against him until there was no space between you left. Eddie kissed you hard, everything began to blur. You wanted nothing more than this.

He had been in love with you.

Eddie nipped on your lower lip, dragging it slightly open before slipping his tongue into your mouth, his warmth envelops yours. Your heart ached bittersweetly as you felt his wet lips kissing their way along your jaw, near your pulse, sucking on the soft flesh of your neck. Recking your chin upwards, you stretched your neck, inviting him to invade any space you could give him—addicted to his firm touch. You’d been starved for too long, you craved any second longer of his touch.

You let out a breathless whimper, moaning fully as he bit gently into your skin. His warm palms found their way to your hips, guiding you to grind against him, both of you aching for some sort of release.

You’d stumbled around campus, looking for a bigger reason to exist, deprived of motivation and longing, until you had laid your eyes on Eddie Munson again. And in his kiss, you somehow found the answer you were looking for.

“Eddie,“ you mumbled, voice catching in the back of your throat.

He pulled back, eyes sparkling darkly as your gaze met. One hand cupped your check gently, the other holding you firmly flushed against him, not daring to let go of you. “Yes, doll?“ he hummed.

You smiled at the nickname he had given you, knowing you would regret your next words. “I have to go back,“ you breathed, brushing the few strands of hair that fell into in his view aside. You could admire him for hours, you were sure. “I drove Lucas and Max home. I don’t want Dustin to worry that something happened to me.“

His chest heaved as the hand on your cheek trailed down your body. “As much as I like your brother, right now, he’s ruining my dream high school moment.“

Raising a brow, you nudge his upper arm. “Your dream high school moment?“

Eddie leaned forward, humming, “Hmm, dreamed of this all my life.“

“Never had taken you for a romantic,“ you hummed back against his lips, ready to steal another kiss.

“I’ll prove to you how romantic I can be, if you let me.“

You found yourself nodding, repeatedly, feeling warmth bundling up in your stomach as you saw him smiling brightly before granting your wish and kissing you again.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Hectic fiddling with the keys, you opened up the front door of your family’s house to escape the still on-going rainstorm, brushing the hoodie from your head. Your heart hadn’t fully recovered yet as a voice snapped you back into reality.

“There you are! Where the hell have you been, Y/N? I was ready to call Steve to look for you.“

You glanced into the worried face of your younger brother who looked so much alike your father in his very moment of care. His expression, however, shifted to a frown, head turning more upwards as he inspected the clothes you were wearing—oh, shit.

“Are those Eddie’s clothes?!“

I hope you enjoyed reading this!! As always, I would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

#Eddie Munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #Eddie Munson Fanfiction #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson ff #stranger things ff #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things oneshot #Eddie Munson imagine

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volpe-kitsune-red · 5 months

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Our first time meeting...again <3

A short fic of my yandere OC, Nova!

gn!reader

tw. stalking, general yandere behaviour

Your shift was almost over. The smell of coffee and warm croissants that filled the cafe would have been comforting to anyone, but after 8 hours of running around and listening to your coworker complain about her husband who once again, forgot to pick up their son at school, it long lost it's effects on you.

The relief of the tiring part of the day being over was quickly washed away by the rain that started pouring down a minute into your walk back home. You started sprinting, mumbling curses to yourself. Your apartment wasn't extremely far, it usually took you no more than 20 minutes to reach it, and at this pace, you could cut that time by half...but it wouldn't save you from getting your clothes completely drenched in dirty rainwater by the time you entered the building.

As the intensity of the rain only seemed to rise, you decided to take refuge under the first bus stop you found on your path. You would wait there until the rain quieted down a bit or stopped altogether, being home as soon as possible wasn't worth the hustle and embarrassment of running down your city's streets.

"Hi there! You seem troubled, do you perhaps need some help?" A masculine voice right next to your ear startled you, you quickly turned around, accidentally butting heads with the stranger who didn't seem as fazed by it as you. "Ow!" You yelped, as you instinctively put a hand to your forehead. For a moment you were surprised to see a tall black man next to you, not the natural human type of black, but something more akin to the night sky, his ears were unnaturally long, and...why did he lack any white in his eyes?! But then you blinked and all those uncanny features disappeared, in front of you was a man with tan skin, dyed purple hair, and nothing wrong with his eyes, you could even say they were of a surprisingly pretty blue color.

"You could take a picture if you want." The man's suggestion took you back to reality. "Huh? What? Why would I want that?" The man looked at you with an adoring gaze and a cheeky smile before chuckling. "Sorry, it's just that you were staring at me so intently, I figured it would help with your analysis. Am I a 10 or do I need improvement?" His bold statement took you by surprise, causing you to blush a bit in embarrassment. "No no, sorry. I didn't mean to, I was just-" You didn't have any valid excuses, and even if you did, you wouldn't have been able to use them as the man cut you off in the middle of your sentence. "It's fine, it's fine! I was just joking...and I really don't mind. I actually came up to you to ask if you needed help to get back to the apartment since you don't have an umbrella." If you were just a bit more naive or reckless, you would have thought this guy was such an angel for wanting to help a random stranger in need out of the goodness of his heart, but your parents' lessons and personal experiences on 'stranger danger' were ingrained in your head. What did this guy really want, and how did he know you were going home and not waiting for the bus or something, that's what a normal person would think if they saw you sitting there.

"No thank you, it's alright. I'm actually waiting for the bus, my apartment is way too far to reach on foot." You don't need a possible burglar to know where you live. He stared at you with a raised eyebrow but then a realization must have hit him. "Oh, you must not recognize me, I actually live a floor below you. We crossed each other on the stairs last week...and yesterday." No matter how much you think about it, you can't recall ever seeing him which is weird, a guy like him is difficult not to notice. Then you remembered something: one of your neighbors had recently moved out, so he must be the new resident. Your ex-neighbor didn't even say goodbye to anyone and just left one night, which was weird because they had even invited you out to a party once, doesn't mean you were friends but at least close enough to expect some kind of departure notice. "If that's true, then can you tell me the building's address?" "Of course, it's ####### #####" And that was good enough to convince you.

You two took your time walking back together, making small talk and getting to know each other, even exchanging phone numbers. "This way you can just call me next time you end up stranded somewhere!" Said Nova, that was his name. He was such a nice guy, you thought, you almost felt bad for initially identifying him as a creep.

You wouldn't be worrying as much about the rudeness of your initial prejudice towards him if you knew the true reason behind your neighbor's sudden disappearance. If you knew it wasn't a coincidence that you found each other on that street at such a convenient time.

Maybe if you had rejected him ever since your first meeting it would have saved you from what was to come...just maybe. But I wouldn't be so hopeful if I were you.

#yandere #yandere blog #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #tw yandere #yandere male #soft yandere #nova oc

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getjackdhu · 5 months

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The Mods I Use

General Recommanded Mods:

Human Lifespan For All Supernaturals (I use the one where vampires still have their ‘normal’ lifespan

Tiny Textures Replacement (Removes all annoying ZZZ, VVV, 101s, the woohoo hearts, etc)

Annoyances disabler Break Into House Mod Have Sim Arrested Mod Alverdine’s Umbrella & Parasol Replacements Alverdine’s Towel & Umbrella Replacements Alverdine’s Taxi Defaults, which you see would fit the world Mummy, Plantsim, Mermaid power mods No Changing Into Martial Arts, nor Career outfits

For Future Era

ITF Taxi Default

CAS, Map View, Build Buy Music Replacements:

Apocalyptic Music Lo-Fi Music

For Present/Near Future Era:

UI & CAS Replacements:

Gray UI Golden UI Black UI

Cozier, Warmer CAS Replacement 2 Downtown Vibe CAS Replacements 9 CAS Replacements

CAS, Map View, Build Buy Music Replacements:

Plumbob Del Mar Fashion Music Lo-Fi Music

For 1900s Era:

Vehicles:

Black Cab Yellow Cab Police Cruiser

1950s TV Channels Defaults

CAS, Map View, Build Buy Music Replacements:

Plumbob Del Mar Potato Ballad's Soundtrack Redux (Part 1 & Part 2)

UI & CAS Replacements:

Gray UI Golden UI Black UI Gothic CAS Room 8 CAS Replacements

For medieval/historical and 1800s era legacies:

TSM Music Replacement Medieval UI replacement Medieval CAS Room Gothic CAS Room mspoodle’s Medieval Defaults 1-4 Footstool Replacement Medieval Baby Blanket Replacements Nraas Traffic to disable routing by car Ladyatir’s Water Taxi Replacement More/Less Opportunities, No Answer Phone, Auto Smartphone Functional Fireplaces With Cauldron Ani’s Mods (hunting, woodcutter’s tree, whittling, deck of cards, bucket of water, dig for treasure, also since you’re here get Ani’s Job Board as well)

- Not placing any electronics (no burglar alarms either!!) until the 1900s

Besides these mods and default replacements, I also use almost all fixes from the Performance & Bug Fix Guide, as well as most of the Enhanced Vanilla Gameplay, and Enhanced Vanilla Graphics, all three provided by Anime_Boom.

#sims 3 #sims 3 gameplay #sims 3 legacy #the sims 3 #ts3 #thesims3

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un-holly-chaos · 7 months

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Here it is!! (Under the cut)

I'm going to post the thing Here(on this blog), full chapters as soon as they're written folks! Until someone gives me a better idea or the book is finished xD

Chapter One

There is a point, Holly thinks, when you must accept that you are bad at everything, and that this is how your life will go. Every day you will wake up, and put a new attempt into the world, and watch with bright, hopeful eyes, as it falls apart in front of you. She has gotten very good at this, and is quite accustomed to the routine.

She put her amulet in the amulet-slot on the door of the massive, square marble building, in this otherwise empty-for-miles grassy field. The door didn’t respond, and it made her irritable. She had been walking through this ridiculously empty field for hours and hours and it had been loudly raining, and her magic umbrella kept disappearing and water would come splashing all over her head and be cold while doing so. And the door was ignoring her. She tried the amulet again, and instead of opening the door, her umbrella spell flickered again, and she got rained on some more. A gem fell out of her amulet when she removed it from the door. She held in the screams.

As she was putting the gem back into the amulet, the door was manually opened by the handle on the inside, and she was let in. The person who had been so kind as to operate the mechanics of this contraption for her, was Trudy. Trudy was decent at everything, and often let Holly in when the door ignored her.

“We need to put the handle on both sides of the door.” Holly announced. The lively bar room took no notice.Trudy shuffled awkwardly for a moment, then opened her mouth. “See, I told Baringer about that, like you asked,”

“And?” Holly glared at her.

“Well, yes. And he said we can’t put a handle on the outside of the door, because the raccoon would get in, and… you know. He just really doesn’t want a repeat of that incident.”

“Well then maybe Baringer should put up a raccoon ward like I suggested and we could have a double-sided door handle!”

“Yes, but that costs, and he has other priorities, and you’re glaring at me again, and honestly argue with him yourself next time? And I’m going to go finish my game now. Bye.” And Trudy waved and walked off to a table with people and cards, and sat there. Holly wanted to keep arguing, but she was tired, so instead she found her way to the bar. This took some doing, as it was crowded, and crowds made the bar restless, so they kept wheeling it around the room. She collapsed onto a stool, and the bartender approached her. “Randy,” she said, “I need a Dry Wine.” He didn’t say anything, but looked at her sodden robes, nodded, and stepped off to grab a bottle and glass. He returned, “We only have apple left.”

“I don’t care what flavor it is, I just want to not squelch in my boots anymore.”

He poured her a glass and set it on the bar. “So… Why don’t you just try an umbrella spell?”

“Randy,” she said patiently, “if one more person questions me tonight, I will summon every raccoon in this damn meadow, and I will caffeinate them.”

“Okay.” He said, and stood there. “So, I’m not asking, but don’t you normally struggle to summon things?”

“I struggle with all spells, now shut up and leave me alone.” She wished she could get a potion that would make the people around her tactful and perceptive. She drank the Dry Wine, which wooshed quite a lot of water out of her hair and clothes, and left her bedraggled, but dry. She sighed. Footsteps suddenly separated from the crowd, and stopped behind her. She ignored them, hoping they would go away. They sat down next to her, and belonged to her boss, Danrius.

“Hi Holly,” he said

“Danrius,” she begrudged

“Where’d you uh, put the burglar?”

”I couldn’t catch him.”

”Cool, cool. What do you mean you couldn't catch him? Cause like, call me cuckoo, but I did give you this assignment, of a non-magical burglar, and I teleported you there, to where he was, with my personal office portal, and you had your amulet and everything, and you just… didn’t catch him? I’m just making sure I understand this correctly…”

”Yes, Danrius, that’s- he got away from me.” She rubbed her face.

”Okaaaaayyy, how’d he do that? You’ve got the magic cage spell right? Did you try casting that on him?”

”Yeah, but it didn’t work and he ran, and the magic bolo spell broke on contact, and the running-through-mollasses spell just made a puddle on the ground, and then I had an asthma attack and my inhaler was empty. I filled it up at the pharmacy on my way back.” She stared dejectedly at the empty glass in front of her. There was a long pause, as this information trickled into Danrius’s brain.

”You had an asthma attack?”

”From running after him, yes.”

”Right, ok. See, this is the kind of thing I’m talking about; you don’t even think to cast a flying spell on yourself to save the trouble. Or like, use a floating disc, that’s a classic move. Look Holly, as much as I like you, I’m kind of having an issue, and if you can help me with it that’d be great, but there’s a point where I can’t put more money into an employee than I get out. You have, kind of, not brought in a single bounty this month, and there’s this guy who interviewed with me yesterday, who’s pretty powerful looking. He conjured a whole rainstorm, and it’s still going from yesterday, and as the guy who directs the hiring and maintaining of the wizards here-“

”The manager.”

”Right. As the manager, it’s my job to uh, keep people who can, y’know, consistently cast spells. It’s the main point in the job description on the application.”

”Yeah, but I can do that though, I cast spells all the time!”

”For sure, for sure. But the spell, working, is kind of the point, and if I recall correctly, last two times you brought someone in, you had one tied up in physical ropes, and the other in a pair of, how’d you put it, ‘borrowed?’ Handcuffs? And I just feel like those are pretty non-magical solutions to magical problems, and I’ve been ignoring it for a while, but there’s this guy, Theobold the Thunderous, and he shoots lightning out of his fingers.”

”Are you…? Dan look, if I get the job done, does it really need to be with magic? It just feels like semantics,”

”Somatics, Holly, and no, not really, but, he shoots lightning out of his fingers, and it’s still raining. Look, I’m not happy about this either, but I can’t afford another add-on to the payroll, so as much as it pains me to say ths, I’m gonna have to let you go. We’ve had good times working together, and I know you’ve been putting a lot of hours in, so I’ll give you a few days to say goodbye. As long as you turn in your room key tomorrow, cause I told Theobold he could be moved in by the weekend. Big thanks Holly, I appreciate it!” He stood, slapped her shoulder, and flashed his teeth professionally. Then before she could collect her words, he stepped back into the crowd and was gone.

In two hours, she would collapse face down on her bed. In fifteen hours she would be standing outside the front door, in the still-drizzling rain, trying to summon raccoons. For now she just waved Randy over and asked for a potion of inebriation while she still got free bar. It looked and tasted like rice-milk, and was fully indistinguishable from the real thing, except for its attribute of getting you quite high or drunk, depending on the day. There are more specific potions out there, but they’re more expensive, so naturally, they weren’t here. She fought around the large ice cubes for several minutes before thinking to take them out and depressedly watch them melt on a napkin. She got the next one without ice.

A good while later, she gave up trying to remember the speak-with-marsupial spell, and got up. A headrush became very noticable. It didn’t go away. She compromised, and simply willed herself in the direction of the elevators. Her body successfully took her that way, rather clumsily, but she arrived. It was a magic elevator. The kind with no walls, and a levitator platform. She stepped in, and looked up trepidatiously. The long tunnel swayed above her like a willowy tree trunk that she was somehow inside of. She felt like a bug. She put her amulet in the slot on the pedestal to make it go up. Nothing happened. She realized she forgot to actually do the spell, and tried again, with magic this time. The elevator pad slowly began to rise. She breathed a sigh of relief, and contemplated whether life would be easier beneath the bark of a tree. Her conclusion was interrupted when the pad stopped at the next floor. That was the problem with this elevator, it stopped at every floor, and you had to magic it into going again, every time. She never got it to work every time. The whole place was like that, what with doors with no handles, and elevators with no automation. Wizards were wholly pretentious, she decided. She put her amulet in again, with magic. Nothing happened. She blinked slowly, praying to the god of small mammals (raccoons were still on the mind) that this place would one day go down in wonderfully warm, dry flames. A person swam into her awareness by entering the elevator, and magicking it to go up with their own amulet. She went back to picturing herself as a bug. She wasn’t sure what kind of bug lived in trees, but if she imagined it in first person instead of third person it wouldn’t matter; except she got hung up on how many legs she would have as an unspecified tree bug.

She realized she wouldn’t notice when she arrived to her floor with her eyes closed, so she set aside her insectoid ponderings, and focused. She had no memory of how many floors she’d passed, so she checked the rune stone on the side of the pedestal. It had all the floor numbers in descending order, and each one would light up as the pad stopped there. There were only three left until hers. The person there with her got off of the elevator. She amuleted the pad, with magic.

It took her all of three excruciating minutes to get the pad going again, and then only a few tries at the next stop. She finally reached her floor, and climbed off the pad with great relief. When she felt steady again after what felt like an hour, but was definitely not more than a minute or two, she counted the doors down the long hall till she got to her room, and rediscovered the wonders of old, beat-up mattresses.

Fourteen hours later, here she was, standing in the drizzle attempting to summon raccoons, an hour late on her day’s schedule. It had taken her over an hour to pack, despite only having a duffel bag and her amulet. Said amulet steamed. She wasn’t typically a vengeful person, or very wrathful actually, but ever since she had set foot into that horrible, grand, elegant, fake-marble bounty-wizard-hub, she had been having problems with it. Everything was magic powered, but nothing was automated, so she got stuck everywhere, and hated it. She fiddled with the gem, trying to adjust the rubber band so she could try the summon again. The spells were always worse when the gem got loose, she figured it was something about keeping the etching connected like a sort of circuit. Raccoons were tree animals too, so she didn’t know why they were even here, but Baringer hated them, and they kept setting everything on fire whenever they got inside, thus the one-sided door handle.

She cast the spell again. Her amulet sparked, and after a moment the grass rustled. A small face, familiar with the allure of arson, and well acquainted with the improved flavor of stolen foods, appeared. It was only one raccoon, but it would have to do. She put amulet in door-slot, and focused her magic very poignantly. It opened. She ushered the little creature in, and closed the door behind it, walking away. The grey sky hung heavy, and the pale grass scratched against her robes, but she was an unemployed woman, and couldn’t muster anything resolute to think about it.

After a few hours the sun came out, and she felt a bit better. She wondered about the success of her raccoon, and was in a faintly good mood when she arrived at the nearest inn that night. She booked a room and slept uneventfully.

The next day she entered an actual city, and wandered about a bit. At one point she found an abandoned silk scarf on the sidewalk. It was red with nice geometric designs, so she tied it onto her belt. She bought a pastry from a gluten-free bakery, and felt optimistic about it. The pastry was dry, flavorless, and over-priced, but it was so rare she had pastries she could eat, that she didn’t mind. She decided she would refill her water bottle and find a new place to work. Who knows, maybe a flier would advertise a cool new job she’d be really good at, like taking care of lizards. She found a public drinking fountain, and gratefully filled up her water bottle. As she turned to face the city street, bustling with people and new opportunities, a damp newspaper found its way to her face, and stuck. She peeled it off, debating if it could be considered horror-enough to be the last straw. She decided to read it before she decided.

Half of it was smeared by being damp, but in the middle of the page was an advertisement looking for “Fresh Wizard College Graduates, Looking For Their First Job!” She’d graduated two years ago, and had lost three jobs since then, but she was qualified, and that was what they were really asking. “This is serendipity. This one’s gonna work, I’m gonna get this job, and not fail miserably!” she lied, to no one in particular. She felt confidence rushing through her, along with the paper pulp rubbing off on her fingers. She dutifully took the paper to the bin, and bought a new copy of the same one so she could read the address listed. It was 154th Kennings Ln, just off of Side St. She began her purposeful meander, in hopes of finding a directory board. Or one of those bus stops with the maps on them.

#Holly Kingsley #chapter one #wizard #writing #please be kind #i'm insecure and this is my fun hobby to not stress about #tyyy <3 #my novel attempts

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eirian-houpe · 9 months

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If You Will Be My Queen

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Belle, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Grace | Paige (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: Holiday Fic Exchange, Rumbelle Secret Santa (Once Upon a Time), Solstice, Winter, Storybrooke, The Enchanted Forest, The Dark Castle (Once Upon a Time) Summary:

Belle decides that it is past time that Rumplestiltskin should decorate for Midwinter, and celebrate the seasons, now that they have Gideon to share it with, but an important item from the past is missing, and Belle will not rest until it is found. Not that it is truly missing. Rumplestiltskin knows where it is, but has locked it away, beyond all retrieval. Or has he…?

A Winter RSS gift for @chippedcupwrites - thank you for the prompts. It was fun to write this, even if some parts of it did take me by surprise :) (i.e. the characters took charge of the story. Of course that /never/ happens, right?).

Read on AO3

If You Will Be My Queen

The unmistakable sounds of a robbery in progress stopped Gold in his tracks, his hand frozen, outstretched, half way toward the door of the pawn shop with the key extended from his fingers.

The sign on the shop door read closed, and while he was by now quite used to the residents of Storybrooke completely ignoring the missive, this blatant disregard for his authority over his own property riled his temper beyond boiling. But for having promised Belle he would limit the use of his magic, he would have stopped the intruder’s heart from a distance without a second thought, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt them by physical means.

Enhanced, he thought to himself as a swirl of dark purple smoke surrounded him, and transported him the few inches to the other side of the door, by a small touch of magic.

Without a sound, he reached out with his right hand toward the umbrella stand that was the resting place of his cane. He no longer needed it, of course, and hadn’t for many years, but he kept it there, right by the door, as a kind of memento to a time long passed, when he was a man that made too many wrong choices.

He wasn’t that man any more.

As stealthily as he could, not wanting to alert the intruder of his presence, and in the back of his mind knowing that he should call Sheriff Swan, or her deputy - though he still couldn’t bring himself to think of the man that way - he crossed the shop floor toward the back room, still separated after all the years with the curtain that was hanging in the doorway. He wondered idly if that would ever change.

With one hand he reached out to finger the edge of the fabric, hefting the cane with the other, ready to strike out; to defend his property. His things. And then, he struck.

Springing forward like a deranged Jack-in-the-Box he crossed the threshold into the back room, where boxes were strewn hither and yon, and a small figure crouched over one of them, he raised the cane higher, ready to bring it down, halted only in the last breath by a shrill, alarmed cry.

“Rumple!”

“Belle,” he breathed and all but dropped the cane to the floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

The question came out as a breathless rush, an entire, horrible scenario flashing before his eyes.

“What am I doing,” she retorted, standing up and turning to face him, pointing at the grounded cane. “What are you? You could have caved my head in with that thing. What’s going on?”

“Where’s Gideon?” he asked at the same time.

“Oh no,” her voice barely withheld a bitter laugh, “You don’t sidestep the question like that. What were you thinking, Rumple?”

“What was I supposed to think? You said you were going to be home. With Gideon,” he added the last two words as a sentence all of their own. “I thought someone had broken in and was burglarizing me–”

“I was.” Belle interrupted, and Rumple blinked. If he wasn’t so shaken he might have made a joke about Belle burglarizing the shop, and possibly defused the storm he could feel brewing. As it was, he didn’t say anything, just waited. She obviously had more to say. “Then I thought about decorating for winter and–”

“No,” he said flatly, but Belle shook her head.

“So I went up in the loft to see if I could find the decorations, and–”

“No,” he said again, even more adamantly, feeling his already bubbling temper threatening to spill over again.

“--when I couldn’t find them, I figured they were probably here so–”

“Belle,” he snapped her name, “we are not decorating for winter.”

She blinked at him, her expression half way between shock and outrage, and that was fair he supposed. He hadn’t spoken to her like that since… well he couldn’t remember the last time. Maybe not since the dark castle. At least she wasn’t talking about winter decorations any more.

His stomach roiled when he thought about it; the cold, the abandonment, the hurt… the loss. Winter was nothing to be celebrated.

“Rumplestitskin,” she said softly, but when he looked at her he could see she had a fire in her eyes of the kind that he couldn’t often extinguish, even when, like now, he wanted to the most. “We are decorating for winter,” he opened his mouth to protest again, but closed it as if he were some kind of Dionaea Muscipula as she continued, “and we are inviting our friends to our home to help us celebrate.”

He spluttered, fuming and helpless with it. How dare she presume - because he knew she would have presumed to invite said friends already - to force the Midwinter Solstice upon him! In the face of his speechlessness, Belle smoothed down her skirt, cocked an eyebrow and completely unapologetically, demanded, “Now, you are going to help me unpack these boxes and find the winter decorations, or the chances are I’m going to end up inadvertently damaging your things, or touching something I’m not supposed to.”

“Like winter decorations,” he muttered, not truly intending for her to hear him, but of course she did.

“Rumple!” she warned, pointing an unyielding finger like some kind of magic wand at the stack of boxes that were piled like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

“Fine,” he protested, though it was far from it. “Have it your way. But we are not–”

“Rumple,” she growled softly, and took his hand to pull him closer to the offending shadows that threatened to pull him back into the past, and she took down a box to place it on the workbench, and deftly pulled it open to reveal the maelstrom of memories within.

“What on Earth is all this?” Belle asked, flummoxed as the Dark One placed the last of the boxes squarely into her unsuspecting arms.

“Trinkets,” he giggled impishly. “Baubles, sparklies… evergreens.” Her frown deepened, as he added, “and bedding… for the upstairs bedrooms.”

“Guests?” she blinked at him. “We’re expecting guests?”

“Of course we’re expecting guests,” he scoffed, and as if it explained everything, added, “It’s Midwinter. Keep up!”

“Mid–” she broke off as soon as she had started, because no sooner had he confirmed that guests were coming, than he turned and began to stride toward the exit of the great hall. She trotted after him, trying to obey his instruction to keep up, at least until she had her answers. “But Rumplestiltskin, you’ve never–”

He turned on her, and wagged a finger, almost playfully side to side in admonition. “Never, dearie, is a very long time. Far longer than you have in any case.” Then, sing song he continued, “I on the other hand–”

“Who?” she asked, her curiosity too extensive to contain.

“--don’t interrupt,” Rumplestiltskin answered, “Now where was I? Ah yes… I on the other hand–”

“Who are we expecting?” she interrupted again.

“How rude,” he sulked, and then conceded. “A friend.”

“A friend?” she repeated in a slightly questioning tone, managing to contain the rest of what she had been thinking. Did the Dark One truly have any real friends?”

“That’s what I said,” he answered irritably. “Do you have a problem with your HEARING?”

He leaned closer to almost shout the question into her ear, and she flinched, jumping almost several feet backwards, before, as he turned to continue his striding, this time toward the castle doors, she began to hurry to catch up to him.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she called after him. “Where are you going?”

As she reached his side, and struggled to match him stride for stride she caught him muttering to himself, and certainly not the answer to her question - simply a bunch of numbers - measurements she realized as she listened more closely, and allowed herself to be lulled by them until the incongruency slapped her squarely in the face as she heard the list of tasks that were now falling from his lips.

“Sweep the floors, lay the fires, as well as the one in the great hall, make the beds, draw the water, and of course prepare the food and beverages–”

“Where are you going?” she asked again, and once again he stopped in his tracks.

“To see a man about a tree,” he answered, then demanded, “Why are you still here?”

“You’re going to ask a man to fell you a tree for Midwinter?” she asked, incredulity in her voice. “Why don’t you just…” she imitated his usual flourish, and then snapped her fingers at the end.

Rumplestiltskin made a face as shocked as when her father had called him a beast all those many months - over a year at least - before.

“My dear Belle,” he began as the expression faded. “There are some taboos that even the Dark One himself will not break, and using magic to acquire a Winter Tree is one of them. Why the price! The price alone…” he broke off muttering to himself for a moment before he blinked at her as if noticing her for the first time. “Are you still here?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me who is coming; how many or… anything. I don’t have nearly enough ingredients to make Holiday dishes for anyone let alone–”

“You’ll find everything you need in the kitchen, dearie.” he answered, slipping into a thick brogue. “And be sure to include plenty of sweeties.”

“Sweeties,” she mouthed, asking herself - not for the first time since this whole exchange had started - whether Rumplestiltskin had finally lost his senses.

“And tea… and spiced wine… hot apple cider…” he began ticking off items on his fingers, “and roasted turkey… a juicy ham…”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” she cut in.

Rumplestiltskin frowned.

“Well,” he considered, “I think we can do without the pears, but a partridge, if you’ve a mind, of course.”

Belle shook her head, and asked with heavy irony, “Anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered in all seriousness, “Though when I get back with the tree, I’ll be needing you to help with the trimming of it, of course. Must always be balance in the trimming of the Yuletide Boughs, and you and I’ll be spinning silver for some time, I feel.”

He stopped then, and frowned, “Still here? Run along now, dearie. Work to do…”

She was about to open her mouth to answer him, when the world around her dissolved into purple smoke.

“Belle, you’ve enough baubles, and ribbons, and Yule candles to decorate the entire house three times over. Enough,” Rumple said softly as Belle tore through yet another box that had been tucked away, forgotten in the back corner of the back corner of the back room.

“No,” she growled. “It has to be here somewhere, and I intend to find it.”

“It isn’t here,” he implored with his tone for her to stop looking, but she read him an entirely different way; the right way of course, as well he might have known.

She rounded on him angrily, “What did you do with it?”

“Belle, I–”

“No, Rumple,” she held up her hands, “Tell me. Where is it?”

There was silence between them then. A silence so thick with unresolved tension that it was almost choking him to imagine it. Thicker even than the time in the Underworld when he’d had to tell her she was pregnant with his child; their son Gideon, now returned to them of course, but…

“Belle…” he faltered again.

“Tell me!” she demanded, her face shifting between the ugliness of anger and despair, back and forth with each breath.

“There are… some things…” he began haltingly, “some things so dangerous, so painful, and so powerful that even I dare not include in the Dark Curse; to bring them here to Storybrooke,” he reached for her hands to draw them away from the box he knew contained nothing but irrelevant minutiae. Relics of the lives of people long gone.

“So… where is it?”

“The Vault,” he said softly, “Back at the Dark Castle.”

“Still in the Enchanted Forest?” she said, and her face creased with disbelief and deeper despair. “You mean we can’t–”

“I… I didn’t say that, Belle,” he promised softly, “It’s just…” He sighed, and closed his eyes, unable to look at the hurt, and the tears gathering in hers. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. Keep anything from you come to that Belle, but… when I thought–” His voice cracked.

“Rumple, I’m here.” He felt her take his hands; felt how solid they were, how warm against the sudden chill, as if the approaching midwinter night had sapped him of his vitality. She grounded him. She gave him light and life.

“If I could,” he whispered, leaning his forehead to hers, “If I even thought I could, I would try to reach across realms and bring it to you, but… I don’t think I can. The hold it has over me is just too strong.”

“You can,” she told him. “I know you can.”

He shook his head, still against hers, until she pulled back and pinned him with the wild, deep, ocean blue of her gaze that bared his soul.

“It doesn’t matter how far away it is; how deeply buried, nor how tightly warded it is,” she told him. “We made it together, and I won’t let you keep it from us now. Not like this. Not out of fear.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

Belle stood with her hands on her hips staring - no glaring - at Rumplestiltskin after the most preposterous suggestion had left his lips, a basket of golden garland that he had spun and woven into the most beautiful of Winter decor for the Dark Castle’s Midwinter Tree stood like a chasm between them.

“Quite possibly,” he answered, an impish grin on his face that faded to a half teasing sneer. “But I’m also right. You can do it. You and only you.”

“But…” she half turned, pointing behind her toward the door, as though to some imaginary person. “Rumplestiltskin, no…” she turned again, to face him. “I’ve heard the tales, everyone has. How using magic will darken a person’s soul and…”

She trailed off as he made a soft tutting sound while at the same time shaking his head and appearing to examine his clawed fingers.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint a little girl now,” he looked up, an almost innocent pout on his face, “would you?”

“No!” she said flatly. “I won’t let you manipulate me like that.” But in truth his words had touched her heart. As much to remind herself as Rumplestiltskin she said, “No. Dark. Magic.”

“Assume… assume… assume,” he sang softly.

“What are you talking about?” she snapped.

“It’s just a garland,” he answered. “It’s not as if I’m asking you to murder all the puppies and kittens in the enchanted forest.”

“Dark magic–”

“Not the same.” he tipped his head from side to side as he spoke his words in the same sing-song tone. “Quite different… alternative… not dark magic.”

“Rumplestiltskin–”

“Light magic.” He said the words slowly, as though they were somehow foreign on his tongue, but Belle couldn’t have been happier to hear them.

“Light magic?” she repeated, just to be sure she had heard him correctly.

“Yes, yes,” he brushed the words off this time as though they were a dusting of snow on his shoulders. “That’s what I said. Back to hard of hearing are we?”

“Don’t you see, Rumple,” she didn’t think what she was saying and shortened the words, blushing when he turned a scowl her way. Still she pressed on. “This is it.”

“It?” his frown deepened into confusion. “It what?”

“This proves it,” she hardly heard his question. “That you’re the one that will use…”

“...use the powers of the Dark One for good,” he chanted at the same time as she. “That old chestnut. No.” He moved toward her then, to stand almost toe to toe. “You, dearie. You must be the one to wield the Solstice magic. You and no other… and poof the golden garland shall be silver.”

She jumped as he emphasized the sound, then turned and frowned at him as he began to move behind her, catching her to stillness as she asked, “What…?” and licked her lips as he moved closer still behind her, “What must I do?”

“Little,” he purred, moving with her toward the pile of gold, “Pick it up,” She reached down to take one end of the golden garland into her palms. It was cold, and she shivered; again she shivered as Rumplestiltskin moved closer. The front of him pressed against her back, hot… muscled… solid.

“Hold it,” he murmured against the side of her face, “caress it… run it through your fingers…”

She felt herself grow warmer and warmer still with every word and every breath that ghosted against her cheek. She closed her eyes, and leaned against him. She felt his arms surround her, his fingers at her wrists, his talons scratching gently at her skin as he guided her to slowly feed the cold, golden garland through her hands. His words never stopped, but she lost awareness of them; knew only the strength and the heat of him… and the rhythmic motion of the braid that played through her hands.

A flash brighter than the brightest star shone through even her closed eyes. She opened them and watched in a strange, detached fascination as the gold became silver in her hands, flowing like a molten river of moonlight from one hand to the other, to spill over into the basket on the ground at her feet.

The light faded. The moment was gone, and Belle laughed.

“Hmmm,” Rumplestiltskin purred against her cheek, teasing. “Seems like my little cherub is happy about something.”

“Oh, Rumple,” she giggled, turning about in his arms and laying the flat of her palms against his chest. “How did I do that?”

“Magic, dearie,” he answered gravely, “A magic all of your own, but then… I told you, there had to be balance on the Winter Tree.”

He snapped his fingers then, and the silver garland found a life of its own, whirling around to fly from where they stood and nestle itself around the tree, a perfect compliment to the gold already twinkling among the evergreen, and not a moment too soon.

A polite cough sounded from the doorway to the great hall, and both turned, Rumplestiltskin starting almost guiltily away from her, leaving her feeling strangely abandoned… bereft, but there wasn’t a moment to wallow in the feeling, and her joy soon returned to see Rumplestiltskin’s portal jumping friend - and yes, she realized in that moment, he was Rumple’s friend - standing in the doorway, hat in one hand, and the pale hand of his sweet young daughter held in the other.

“May we…?” Jefferson asked politely, though he raised an eyebrow at Belle, deepening her blush.

“Of course, m’boy,” Rumplestiltskin answered, already part way across the great hall toward the pair. “Come in and warm yourself by the fire. You must be perished.” Then half turning as he swooped and caught the wide eyed Grace up in his arms, he suggested, “How about some hot apple cider, Belle, to chase away the chill before dinner.”

Laughter drew Belle back to the main room of the house, and to the merriment well underway. Snow and David, Emma and Killian, Ruby, Archie, Granny, Leroy and the boys, everyone had accepted the invitation, and showed up with sweet dishes, and savory treats, as well as copious quantities of wine, mead, fine whiskey and rum, all to celebrate the day of the year when at last the light overcame the dark.

It seemed fitting, in the aftermath of everything that had happened in Storybrooke, and that they could come together at Rumple’s house - no… at the home she shared with Rumple and their son - made her feel accepted at last, and she hoped Rumple would feel the same.

“There you are,” even as she thought of him, as though she had conjured him from the air itself, Gold cozied up behind her, surrounding her in a warm embrace, “I was about to send the sheriff out to look for you.”

Belle looked over in the direction of Rumple’s nod to watch as Emma stumbled mid step, safely caught by Killian, who made some kind of ribald joke about how she couldn’t hold her liquor.

Belle chuckled. “I’m not sure she’s fit for duty right now.”

“As it should be,” Rumple answered, snuggling her closer. “Where’d you go?”

“To check on Gideon.” She leaned against him, nuzzling softly at his chin, and her eyes drifted to the tree that stood in pride of place in the corner of the room. It was magnificent, though as she looked on it, it still drew a pang of disappointment deep into Belle’s heart to see only red ribbon, white lights and golden garland adorning the tree.

She couldn’t fault Rumple for trying, but as hard as he had tried, the vault refused to release the silver twin to his magical summons.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Rumple tightened his arms around her and said softly, “Belle, I’m sorry I couldn’t…”

He trailed off and she followed the direction of his gaze. Across the room, Jefferson, resplendent in his finest, foppish attire, handed a small pouch to Grace, and gave her a gentle push their way, offering a wry salute, and a genuine smile of delight as he caught them looking his way.

“Papa said I should bring this to you, and tell you Winter Blessings, Uncle Rumple, and Miss Belle.”

“Why, thank you, Grace,” Rumple answered, and glanced back across to where Jefferson had been moments ago. When she, too, looked, the man was nowhere to be seen, and Grace, too, seemed to have vanished.

“I wonder what…?” Belle said, and took the pouch from Rumple’s fingers, beginning to work at the knot. She couldn’t help but laugh when she opened it, and took out what was inside.

“Mistletoe,” she said, and playfully turned in Rumple’s arms to hold it over the top of both of them.

“Mistletoe.” Rumple chuckled then. “Trust Jefferson. Remember that time when–”

Belle waggled the sprig once more over the top of his head. “Mister Gold, the tradition is that one should kiss beneath the mistletoe, not reminisce.”

“Kissing and much more, if you go back far enough,” he teased. “Thinking of a sibling for Gideon already?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she answered, blushing fiercely.

“Gladly, Missus Gold,” he said.

His lips met hers, softly and full of all the love they ever had held for one another, gathered into a single moment. She felt the pulse of magic as soon as it began. Not just True Love, but a love that also held the blessing of the season. Solstice blessings - the turning of the wheel of the year in all present.

In an instant, gone was the somber suit that Rumple wore, to be replaced by a magnificent outfit of deep green and gold, and on his head a crown of oak leaves, adorned with silver, snow-tipped acorns, and as she caught sight of herself in the window, mirrored by the dark night outside, Belle saw that her dress was now a beautiful robe in silvery blue, with silver and white edging.

“Rumple,” she gasped softly, and stepped back to take in the full sight of him. “How did you do that?”

“Not me, my love,” he murmured, flicking his eyes up to the mistletoe still held in her hand. “But I seem to remember that once I told you one must always have balance at the turning of the seasons.”

“Well, you truly look like The Winter King,” she told him softly, frowning as he shook his head, and with a snap of his fingers, offered to her a delicate filigree crown with shining diamonds, and icy white moonstones woven within.

“Only if you will be my queen,” he said.

“I will,” she breathed, and lowered her head to receive the crown from him.

Joyous applause sounded from around them, as their guests each raised a glass to toast the longest night, and the returning of the light, and all were suddenly bathed in the brightness of an echoing flash, and then by waves of gold and silver, as the firelight reflected off the gold and magical silver garland entwined, and adorning the Sacred Winter Tree.

#RSS #Rumbelle secret santa 2023 #holiday fic #winter #solstice #storybrooke #the enchanted forest #the dark castle

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