#and you start to see as the pieces start to pull together in brief lives that they do care about each other

[onehundredandeleventropicalfish]

never gonna stop thinking about the fact that desire is the only one of dream's siblings who has never ignored him when he's asked for help

[peachsukii]

Blast Off

『♡』  fem!reader  x bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ aged to 21 | friends to lovers ꒱ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist 

summary: your favorite metal band is in town, the same one you used to listen to with bakugo back in high school, and you decide to go to the show together! after a long week, a night out in Shibuya is exactly what you need. tags & warnings: brief violence, cursing | friends to lovers, pining, protective bakugo, fluff, first kiss a/n: bakugo would be such a fun person to go to a show with when he’s the one interested! otherwise he’d rather stay home lol ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 1,714 ꒱

“Yo, you ready yet, dumbass?” Bakugo shouts from your living room, impatiently tapping his foot as he’s waiting for you to finish touching up your makeup in the bathroom.

“Just a sec, Kat!” you call back as you’re leaning over the sink, cleaning up the corner of your eyeliner with a wet cloth.

“Y’don’t even need makeup, dammit!” he retorts, a backhanded compliment to get your ass moving. “Ya probably won’t even -,”

His words die in his throat as you emerge from the hallway and enter the living room.

Woah. She looks fuckin' gorgeous.

You catch him staring as you’re clipping in a pair of earrings. “What? Too much?”

He scoffs as he sneakily checks you out a second time. “Nah, you look great.”

You smile and wink at him. “Thanks, Kat. Right back at ya.”

“If some slimy fucker creeps on you, I’ll punch his lights out.”

You can’t help but snort as his comment.

The outfit you chose to wear fit the scene of the band you were seeing, one of your favorite metal bands that you two would listen to back in high school. It wasn’t too over the top, at least you didn’t think so. An all black ensemble - a thin long sleeve mesh top under your band t-shirt, tucked lazily into a pleather mini-skirt and a pair of tinted sheer tights hugging your legs. Your hair was pulled into a ponytail, a few stray pieces of hair framing your face alongside your bangs.

Bakugo wasn’t as dressed up as you were, donning a simple grey t-shirt, a pair of black skinny jeans with rips in the thighs and black boots. A stack of his favorite bracelets hung on his wrist and a pair of black studs adorned his ears.

“Figure out where you wanna eat?” you ask as you’re looking for your boots in the hallway closet.

“The curry place by the station. We can hop on the train into the city afterwards.”

Boots in hand, you return to the living in room and plop next to him on the couch.

“Those things could squash a damn kid,” Bakugo jokes, pointing to the platforms of your boots as you’re lacing them on your feet.

“They’re literally the same kind you wear on patrol!”

“And you’re still shorter than me with those fuckers on.”

You punch him in the arm, maybe a little too hard, to be playful. “I don’t need to be your height to kick your ass!”

“Ow, shit! Watch it, those hands are fuckin’ deadly!” he scolds, rubbing the reddening mark on his bicep.

“My bad,” you chuckle, patting him on the shoulder as an apology. “Let’s get outta here.”

-

“Hand it over,” Bakugo orders as you pick up the check from the table, flexing his palm toward you.

“Huh? I told you -,” you start to remind him until he cuts you off mid-explanation.

“Just ‘cause I heard ya doesn’t mean shit. Give it.” He snatches the paper and booklet with one hand while fishing his wallet out of his pocket with the other. “Stop bein’ a brat and let me pay for your damn dinner.”

“I’m not being a brat! I was just trying to treat you to dinner for once,” you say defensively.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I let you buy the tickets.”

Bakugo consistently paid whenever the two of you would grab food. It didn’t matter what it was - coffee before work, snacks from the convenience store, lunch outings, dinners in the city - he’d shove you aside and take your card, or be the one to order so you don’t have the chance to hand your card over. The few times you did get to pay for him, he immediately sent you the money back. It’s been a consistent staple in your friendship since Junior year of high school.

While leaving the curry shop, you see the train approaching at the station.

“Shit, Kat. That’s the train we need to catch to make it on time!” you utter in a panic as you grab his wrist. “C’mon!”

_

You arrive at the venue an hour before the show starts, giving you both enough time to get inside, grab drinks and find a perfect spot as planned.

Once inside, the two of you make your way over to the bar while the crowd was light.

“Are you at least gonna let me buy you a drink?” You tease, elbowing Bakugo in the arm.

He sighs dramatically, the tell-tale sign that he’s no longer going to fight you on it. “You’re lucky I’m feelin’ generous.”

Beers in hand, you both head to the general admission area of the venue and situate yourselves near the back - not too squished between loads of people but close enough to see the stage.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” you beam, leaning against him as a token of thanks.

He throws an arm over your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. “Of course. Woulda been mad if ya didn’t ask me to come see the band we had on repeat together through all those study sessions and sparring matches.”

The lights begin to dim and the crowd cheers as the band takes the stage. He lets you take a step back and shift next to him, but keeps his arm around your shoulder. The two of you cheer in unison and hold up your beers for the band as they set up for their first song.

_

The show has been a goddamn blast! The two of you have been singing and dancing together the whole time, screaming every single lyric. Bakugo loves watching you throw your hands up and yell along with the crowd, having the time of your life and not letting anyone get in your way. It’s infectious - his grin not wavering the entire show.

“We have one more song for the night!” The lead singer announces into the mic. “It’s a special one - thanks for coming out!”

The song they begin to play is one of their slower numbers, one that you know Bakugo adored. You watched as his eyes lit up under the spotlights, taking in the moment as the band progressed through the song. You loop your arm with his, rocking back and forth in unison with the rest of the crowd.

Bakugo removes his arm from your hold to spin you around to face him, pulling you close and holding you to his chest. He gently sways with you in his arms as you embrace him, mimicking a slow dance. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming in his chest alongside the subtle vibrations of him humming to the song. Your eyes flutter closed, absorbing every ounce of love in this moment between the two of you. His hold encased you in a sense of security that you didn’t find with anyone else.

Once the song ends, the band is saying their goodbyes to the crowd as he releases his hold on you.

“I didn’t think they were gonna play that tonight,” you say, smiling up at him. “Guess we gotta buy t-shirts now!”

Bakugo laughs, shaking his head. “Matching ones?”

“It’s either that or we buy one and I constantly steal it from you.”

We?

Bakugo smirked at the suggestion.

“You steal my shit all the time, ya brat,” he teases, pinching your cheek. “I’ll buy two. Which one do y’want?”

“You pick, you have better taste than I do. I’m gonna run to the bathroom before we head out,” you say as you pat him on the shoulder before skipping off to the bathroom. He heads over to the merch table to stand in line for your t-shirts.

It’s been a good 20 minutes since you wandered off. Bakugo meanders over to the bathrooms, the t-shirts he bought for you both draped over his shoulder. He’s poking around, searching for you in the crowd as he spots your ponytail in a sea of others.

You’re talking with some guy that he doesn’t recognize. The guy slithers into your personal bubble as Bakugo stalks up behind you.

“C’mon doll, you’re fine as hell. Don't you -"

"Beat it, jackass. She's obviously not interested," Bakugo interrupts, stepping to your side.

He scoffs and takes a step back from you. "And who the hell are you?"

"Her boyfriend. Now fuck off."

Your cheeks flare at his comment - did he mean that? Or was that just to get this guy off your back?

You turn to leave as the guy slaps your ass - hard. "Have fun with this loser."

Bakugo doesn't even have time to react before your fist crashes into this guy's jaw, clocking him so hard that he stumbles to the floor. The commotion causes one of the security guards to scurry in your direction, beckoning for you to come over to him.

"Shit, we gotta go!" you yell, interlocking your fingers with Bakugo's as you bolt through the crowd and away from the guard before getting caught.

The two of you manage to escape, rushing out of the venue's exit door and into the busy Shibuya streets. You don't stop running until you round a corner and duck into an alley way, hiding from any potential security that could have tailed you and letting go of his hand.

Out of breath, you lean on to the wall and wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

"S-shit, sorry Kat, didn't mean to thrash you around like that."

He takes a second before deciding to box you up against the wall with his frame, catching you off guard. "I'm not complain'."

"Boyfriend, huh? Was that your way of asking me out?" you joke, pulling at the collar of his t-shirt.

Bakugo snickers as he's shutting his eyes, lowering his face to level with your own before your lips meet. The kiss is brief, but enough to get his point across.

"I bought matching band shirts with ya, who the fuck else would I do that shit with?"

You giggle, pulling him back in for another kiss - longer and sweeter than the previous one.

This isn't where you thought the night would end, but you're over the moon.

bakugo just couldn't resist confessing after watching you beat some dude's ass in one punch ;)

Divider by : @/saradika

[expirednukacola]

ORANGE COLORED SKY 🏜️ || The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

𐚁⊹₊ ⋆☆

AHHHH! The first chapter is getting so much love and attention! I can’t believe it- This is making me cry! I love you all so, so much! SUMMARY: After two hundred years of some much needed beauty sleep, reader wakes up and realizes she has been given a second chance at life.. only to look like a piece of scorched summer sausage.

TW: GORE + GHOUL CANNIBALISM? + A BRIEF MENTION OF A “BIG IRON” 🔫

og gif made by: @lousolversons

“Don’t they know it’s the end of the world..”

“..‘Cause you don’t love me anymore.”

As your limp body fell to the brown, dead grass beneath you, you look up at that disgusting orange sky with such hatred and contempt before — Darkness. Nothing but darkness shrouded your senses alongside Death’s eery, cold chill.. At least death provided some relief for your decrepit, burnt body.

You finally felt.. free. Free from life’s fleshy binding that attached you to the mortal plane. Free from life’s troubling trails and tribulations that would’ve dragged like heavy chains on your body until the weight of them became too much. Free from pain, free from suffering, free from fear — Free from the horrible world itself.

…Until some asshole decided to turn the damn lights back on.

You woke up with a loud gasp and almost immediately, the pain of hunger and thirst was overwhelmingly evident in your facial expression. “Fuck- W- Water..” Like a zombie who was ran over by an 18 wheeler, you stood up on your little “Bambi” legs and looked around the wasteland that surrounded you. Nothing but patches of dead grass, cracked and crumbled dirt, and the occasional tumbleweed was all that you could see — Besides the dilapidated remains of Mr. Shit-Stain’s house.

“..How the hell is this thing still standin’?” You rasped out as you fumbled towards the tumbledown remnants of the house, the P.O.S. glass shard still sticking out of your leg like an annoying family member that never wanted to leave when it’s Christmas- or any holiday for that matter. Carefully stepping over the pieces of glass, you cautiously entered the house through the large broken windows and looked around what used to be a living room. Some things were still standing, like the couch, the television (minus the ginormous crack its screen had), and one of the most rinky dink coffee tables you have ever fuckin’ seen. “..Pretty sure ‘Bobby’ picked that shit out-”

You cut yourself off by letting out a much needed laugh and after a few minutes of laughing and snickering like a hippie high on mary jane, you staggered on over to the kitchen.. and that’s when you saw your saving grace- THE FRIDGE! Somehow, that piece of metal was the only thing unscathed from that damn blast! You thanked the heavens for this one of a kind gift that you most definitely deserved and you opened it to find-!

…A shit ton of mold and one dead and pretty large roach. “…After all I’ve fuckin’ gone through, I am gifted THIS?! THIS IS WHAT I GET?!” After kicking the fridge door shut, you went to pinch the bridge of your nose only to find out that you no longer had one. That’s when you finally looked down at your hand and your arm. With your heart now starting to collide with your ribcage, you quickly inspected both of your arms and then both of your legs, noticing how one of your arms was more skeletal than the rest of your limbs. “No, no, no, no..!”

You quickly ran around the decayed bits and pieces of the house until you finally found what used to be a bathroom. Immediately gazing into the shattered mirror, you saw how your once beautiful and youthful face had now become twisted, corrupt — grotesque, if you will. On one side of your face, it resembled shattered porcelain and your eye was milky white.. the other side was just a burning memory of what you used to be.

After a few minutes of pulling yourself together, and pulling that damn piece of glass out of your leg, you finally ventured out of the house and back to the “wild, wild west” of Lost Angeles (see what I did there?), and began your little adventure to find something to eat and at least a pond to drink out of. As you hobbled around the wastelands of an already wasteland-like city, you finally stumbled upon the rotting “corpse” of someone who looked just like you. He had the same red, fleshy blotches all over his face and his entire body, and his nose was missing as well. You guessed it was some type of peculiarity people like you shared.. well goddamn-

But something else about him struck a tender little chord in your hungered state.. His chest cavity was busted wide open, like the doors of a Golden Corral on a Sunday afternoon. Your mouth started to salivate, your stomach started to rumble, an animalistic growl spewed from your vocal cords.. and you ran as fast as your legs could, despite your leg that was still in its healing process. Once you were right next to the decaying and rotting body, you quickly dropped down to your knees and began to feast.

Dark, thick blood covered your hands, your chin, and those sweet lips of yours as you stuffed your mouth with that man’s flesh and what remained of his organs that once nestled underneath his ribcage. The only thing that was left whole was his heart.. his delicious, succulent heart. Slowly, you lifted his blackened heart out from his body and began to suck the little bit of blood that dripped out from the aorta, lapping it up as if it were the best water you have ever drank.

“Oh, sweet heavens above!” -were the first words you have uttered in a hot minute when you finally had your hunger satisfied — your thirst quenched by your newfound animalistic appetite for flesh and blood. “..Fuck- Thanks for your help, sir.” As you stood up and wiped your bloodied hands on your top, you heard the familiar sound of a gun getting cocked.. Well shit-

“Hold it right there, missy.” That voice.. That southern twang.. That teeny tiny lisp that’s barely noticeable unless you really listen.. You quickly whipped your head around, but instead of seeing your beloved cowpoke with those sweet dimples you love oh-so much, you saw someone who merely looked like him. You let out an audible gulp and reached your skeletal hand out towards the creature’s face, but he stepped back in response.

“..Cooper?”

“..Y/N?”

Your vision slowly began to fade in and out and the one to catch your collapsing body was that sweet, tender man you knew and fell so deeply in love with before The End. “I got you, missy.. I got you.” Were the last words you heard before you finally gave into the darkness once more. The Ghoul cradle you close and tight to his chest — Oh, how he craved feeling your comforting warmth against his own once more. How he yearned to hear your sweet, gentle voice again. How he ached to gaze into those kind eyes of yours; those pools of life that he had to be careful with because he didn’t want to drown in them.

Now, he’s finally got you safe in his arms..

..Or does he?

———————

I apologize for this chapter being shorter than the first one so consider this chapter 1.5! I was a little busy today with some personal stuff but you all asked so kindly and I hope you all liked this one as much as the first one!

TAG LIST: @lexiway121 @onyxclown @hellolettuce444 @leo4242564 @minaxcarter @a-case-of-attachment @hiddenworld666 @looneylooomis @sunnexaltation @coolrobloxkid28 @enaelyork @foggyturtleknightangel @ghcstvibess @haleymaccosplay @classaysstuff

[weirdkpopgirl]

Forever | Jaemin Imagine #13

Title: Forever

Genre: Tooth-rotting fluff ><

Warnings: light making out

Word Count: ~1k

Author's Note: Yet another story of mine that was inspired by my admiration for Jaemin. Trust me, I've liked a lot of k-pop guys. But for some reason, Jaemin stands out the most to me. Maybe because he's my ideal type. But every time I see him, I find something that makes my heart beat faster. I wonder if that's what falling in love feels like? Anyway, hope you guys like this. Thank you for reading ^ ^

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The Totoro lamp on the accent table next to the television cast a soft glow that warmed the living room of your once lonely apartment. Cozied up at the edge of the gray loveseat, you sat with your knees pulled close to your chest, allowing your thoughts to wander as they often did past 10 p.m. However, those thoughts were interrupted by the light padding sound of slippers against the wooden floor panels. Soon after, the couch cushion next to you sank under added weight. 

Then you felt the arms of your beloved wrap his arms snugly around your waist, and his warm lips planted a lingering kiss on your cheek without wasting another second. “Missed you,” he whispered, his voice slightly tickling your ear.

The corners of your lips curled into a fond smile, and you turned into his embrace so you could face the sweet man properly. You nestled comfortably between his legs, letting your hand naturally find its way to the back of his neck while your other hand brushed against the left side of his face. 

“I missed you too, Nana,” you murmured, tenderly caressing his cheek. He leaned into your touch instantly, savoring it.

The simple action was enough to stir a flurry of emotions within you. In the brief moments of silence that passed, you studied your handsome boyfriend as if searching for any changes that might have occurred in the three weeks you had been apart. Other than his white-blond hair having grown longer so quickly after cutting it, you didn’t find any significant changes. Jaemin’s big beautiful eyes were as captivating as ever, complemented by his flirtatiously long eyelashes. His dark eyebrows were still perfectly arched, framing his expressive eyes, and his soft pink lips retained their subtle, endearing pout.

A small sigh from you couldn’t be suppressed, the sight of him having the same effect on you as always. Although, deep down you knew his kind-hearted personality made him even more attractive in your eyes. 

“What’s on your mind, princess?” Jaemin asked in his dreamy deep voice that carried a mellowness at night. His eyes held a curiosity to them, and he didn’t need to say anything for you to know he was referring to your earlier distraction.

You hesitated for a second, before responding. “I was just thinking about relationships.”

Checking Jaemin’s reaction before continuing, you saw that his attention remained fully captured on you. The way he listened intently made your heart flutter so easily, a feeling you couldn’t quite explain.

“You know, I was watching YouTube before bed the other day,” you began to explain. “And I came across a few shorts about couples talking about how the first year is supposed to be the honeymoon phase, and then they start arguing a lot in the second year and often break up.”

Jaemin nodded, a gentle smile tugging on his lips. “I see. What’s your take on that, love?”

Although you had the answer to his question in your head, it took a moment for you to piece it together.  “Hm, I don’t think there really should be a honeymoon phase. I mean, that’s not really the case for us.”

Almost instinctively, you glanced down at the diamond ring on your finger, its facets catching the light perfectly. A few days before Jaemin had to leave for Taipei with the Dreamies, he surprised you with a simple yet intimate proposal. 

“Sure, we’ve both had to work on some things,” you continued, fixing your gaze on him once more. “But even after two years together, you still make me feel like a giddy teenager with a huge crush.”

Jaemin chuckled, his laughter causing a blush to tinge your cheeks. You knew how silly your words sounded, but they reflected your true feelings. However, it was rare for you to verbally express this to him. Before any doubts about being this honest could creep in, Jaemin’s hand moved to lovingly brush a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“I feel exactly the same as you. Every day I discover something new I love about you, and every kiss we share feels just as special as our first,” he said sincerely.

A part of you sensed he said the last sentence as an excuse to kiss you, and sure enough, he leaned in to plant one on your lips shortly after. Even though you lost count of how many times Jaemin has kissed you, you could agree that all of them were cherishable.

Pulling away, you scrunched your nose slightly with a hint of skepticism in your voice. “Are we being too cheesy?”

If anyone had walked in and witnessed this, you were certain that they would cringe at hearing all the sweet, sappy things exchanged between the two of you. You could practically hear the fake gagging noises from his members.

“I’d like to think of it more as us being extra romantic,” Jaemin replied, wearing a playful smile that you secretly swooned over.

The conversation naturally faded into the background, as you lost yourselves in each other’s embrace once more. His lips moved against yours slowly, tenderly, without ever making you fear that he’d pull away anytime soon. One hand held your back securely, while the other gently cupped your face. Your fingers lightly ran through his light-colored strands as you melted into his touch.

“Gosh, I just want to marry you already,” Jaemin exhaled, a hint of sulkiness in his tone.

Despite his words causing you to blush profusely again, you relaxed into his arms and appreciated this quiet moment surrounded by love and warmth. Maybe you guys were pretty cheesy. But that didn’t make your feelings for each other any less real.

Being in love with Jaemin was a feeling you hoped would last forever.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

previous masterlist -> current masterlist

[anemptypuddingcup]

Back in one piece.

NO PUN INTENDED, I DIDN’T REALIZE THIS UNTIL I STARTED EDITING-

a smut short w Law

Contains: Heavy misuse of devil fruit. A mean little prank from Law. Teasing. Slight degradation? Slight voyeurism?? Soft sex (somewhat). A few cervix kisses. Apology & aftercare from Law.

A heavy yawn leaves your lips as you sit up from your shared bed, your hands rubbing the grogginess from your eyes before you sigh sleepily. Looking over, you see that Law isn’t in bed with you and you whimper as you yearned for his affection. Apparently your loneliness was short lived as you felt Law’s large hand squeeze and grope on your ass.

You blink blankly before looking around. Law was nowhere in the room…so how could you feel his large yet rough hand against your skin? You then felt your legs bent up against the couch- but how?

You were in your bedroom resting in your bed. So how could your legs be…

You quickly pull your blankets back and your eyes widens as you see your legs nowhere to be found in the bed. You scream loudly out of shock and realize that it was obviously Law’s doing. Sighing and crawling out of bed, you drag yourself along the carpet floors as you crawl out of your shared bedroom and into the living room.

“LAWWWWW-“ You yell out to him push the door open, your eyes glaring up and meeting with his. He sat there like a king on his throne as he held your legs on his lap, his hand caressing your ass like it was his prized treasure which it was. He chuckles as he watched you crawl and and flop against the carpet, your arms already seemingly tired from pulling your body around.

“Good morning pretty.” He says nonchalantly, a little chuckle leaving his lip as he watched you pant.

Your upper body lies there helplessly and whine out as you sit up on your elbows, glaring at Law before sighing out heavily from exhaustion.

“YOU GODDAMN IDIOT- GIMME BACK MY LOWER HALF! I CAN’T WALK LIKE THIS YOU ASSHOLE!”

A slap to your ass causes you to mewl out as you watched the fat of your ass jiggle against his lap. He then softly kneads the doughy flesh in his hand and gives you a mischievous smirk.

“Filthy words. Don’t feel bad, I just want to borrow your lower half for a little while~” He says to you.

“Can’t you just borrow me instead of cuttin’ me in half!?” You asked, giving him an irritated look the more he toyed with your ass. “Mmh…Nah.” He sighed out.

Your upper body lies there on the living room floor as you watched Laws slowly grind your hips against his briefs, rubbing your cunt up against his erection. A heavy exhale leaves you and you bit your lower lip from the sudden pleasure. You grew noisy as he rutted up into your clothed slit, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as precum began to soak a spot in his briefs

“I’m stimulating your slutty pussy aren’t I? Your thighs are trembling against mine~” Law snickers to you teasing you while you lie there against the floor, watching him handle the lower half of your body. You grit your teeth and whine out as you struggled to sit up and he giggles at your struggle. “So cute when you wriggle for me like that, like a little worm.” He sighs, gripping the fat of your thigh.

“P-Please Law! S-Stop teasing me and put me back together!~” You whined, begging for him to piece your body back together. Law begins sliding your panties off your hips, a sticky string of slick still connected to the fabric of your panties. He pulls his briefs down slightly, pulling his hard cock out and rubbing it against your sticky slit. A gasp leaves your lips and your brows furrowed from the pleasure.

“F-Fuck~ L-Law please!~” You gasp out to him, watching him from the floor as he lifted your hips up from his lap and against his cock

“Shh Shh~ Just lay there like my good little girl and take my dick in your cute an’ tight pussy~” He says to you, looking down at you with his golden eyes.

You pout to him but he doesn’t give any pity.

“Watch how I fuck your pussy, at least you’re getting a good view down there on the carpet.” He tells you, sliding his tip along your sticky slit. Your legs trembled against his hips while you hissed out, shuddering as you were ready for him to fuck you.

Law slowly inserts his cock into your sticky cunt, stretching you open while a moan spills from your lips. His tip kissed your cervix lovingly. “Mmh~” You whined as you watched him fuck into your pussy, sitting there in front of you and rubbing it in your face while his tongue trails across his lips.

“Such a pretty face you’re making. I love it when you look so needy and desperate. You really need your body back together that badly?” Law asks you, sighing heavily as he felt you tighten around his length.

“Mmgh!~ M-Mmh!~” It grew quite hard for you to speak while you watched him fuck your pussy. It was just something about the about watching him fuck you at that angle, lying there helpless and unable to hold on to him for comfort and pleasure while he fucked you.

“P-Please!~ W-Want it back t-together!~” You moan out, whining as you bit your lip harder from the pleasure, your face scrunching up as he hit deeper. “Hush hush~ I’ll put it back together soon.” He whispers out before flipping your hips around, a gasp leaving you as you felt him shove his cock deeper into your sweet cunt. His cock kisses your g-spot and you whimper out before tightening around his length.

Law bites his lip before groaning out heavily, enjoying the feeling of your walls wrapped tight around his cock. “So tight~ Your pussy feels so good baby girl~” He groans, sitting up a bit from the couch and pulling your hips back farther against his. “L-Law~ P-Please~” You whine out, once again begging him to put you back together. He sighs before chuckling and turns your hips back around on his cock.

He holds his right hand out while his left hand continues to bounce your ass on his cock.

“Room.” He yells out, a thin film spreading throughout the living room while he continues to thrust up into you. “S-Shambles!~” He gasps out to you. He throws your panties up above your lower half and teleports your upper half, connecting your body back together. You grasp his shoulders tightly and mewl out as he fucks up into your cunt, his hands spreading you open a bit more and shoving his length up deeper into you.

I honestly don’t remember if he needed room for shambles or not.

You gasp out lovingly, your eyes looking deep into Law’s golden ones as he pleases you. “Y-You asshole~ M-Mmh~” You moan out, laying your head up against his shoulder. “If you don’t want me to do it again, keep moaning for me.” He whispers into your ear, a little chuckle along after. You huff heavily and mewl out for him as you felt his tatted hands grip your hips tighter, his breathing growing heavier as he moves your hips a bit faster.

“Mmh~ Fuck your pussy is sucking me in baby~ You’re close to squirting aren’t you?” He continues whispering into your ear. You tremble against him and nod, arching your back from his touch. “M-Mhm!~ Y-Yes I am T-Traffy~” You whine out, closing your eyes as you felt him kiss your cervix once again.

He lifts his legs up onto the couch before lying down onto the soft couch cushions below, his hips still thrusting up into you while he lies there. You moan out and lay down against his body, your breasts pressing up on his chest while he moves your hips along his length. He watches your face twist and contort from the pleasure while you whimper out against his skin.

“Mmgh~ O-Oh goddd~ L-Law~” You gasp out, your hands holding on to him tightly as you felt your orgasm growing closer. Law smirks before pressing a smooch to your lips, your mewls making him grow a bit more feral as he began to thrust up into you a bit harder. “Admit it, you liked it when you were watching me fuck you~” He says, one of his hands trailing up and along your back. You shivered as you felt his hand slide along your soft skin and you breathe out shakily.

“Mmgh~ H-Hah~ I-I did~ I-I really d-diddd~” You admit, your mind growing cloudy as Law’s thrusting began melting your mind. He feels your pussy cling tightly to his cock, a groan leaving him as you sucked him in wonderfully. Your pussy kept him in and your warm walls only made the pleasure of him fucking into you even more better. Law’s face begins to scrunch up as he felt himself growing close as well, his gasps growing a bit louder as he pulled your body so close to his.

He embraced you as an apology and he offered his caring affecting in return along with his thick length sinking in and out of your soaking cunt. “Mmgh~ T-Traffy!~ I-I’m so close!~” You moan out loudly, burying your face into his shoulder. Law throws his head back against the cushions, his cock beginning to twitch within your walls as he felt himself ready to cum. “F-Fuck~ Cum on my dick baby~“ He mewls out, feeling you beginning to move your hips on your own.

He cups your face before pulling your lips into his, giving you a sloppy kiss while his tongue did all of the work. Your eyes grew half lidded and you wrapped your arms around him, mewling into the kiss. Pulling back you whine out as you begin to move your hips a little faster on his cock.

You slowly sit up and bounce yourself on his cock, holding your breasts as you felt yourself ready to burst. You gasp out heavily as your eyes began to flutter, his cock continuously slamming against your cervix and making you whine out. “Ah! Ah! T-Traffyy!~” You mewl out his name as you were right on the edge, your orgasm nearly reaching its peak while you stared down at him. Law grips your thighs and pulls you down on his length a bit more, making you gasp out heavily before you place your hands against his wrists.

“Come on baby, come on and cum~” He demanded, enjoying the view of you bouncing on his cock. Your toes begin to curl and your cunt tightens more around his length, you gasped out as you were finally ready to cum. “Mmgh! Ah! I-I’m cumming!~ L-Law I-I’m cumming!~” You let out a lengthy gasp and your grip on his wrists tightens as you finally cum on his cock, squirting and making a sticky mess out onto his lower abdomen.

Law shivered as he watched you cum onto him, the warmth of your essence against his tanned skin making him shudder with delight while he was also at his peak. “F-Fuck~ C-Cumming- Oh fuck m’cumming!“ He pulls you close against his body and holds on to you tightly, grunting as he felt himself spurting his cum deep inside of you. He coats your walls in his thick and sticky seed while he shudders against you, sighing out heavily as his nails scratched along the soft skin of your back.

You whimper out softly as his warmth filled you up, some of it almost spilling out of you and onto his thighs. “Mmh…T-Traffy…” You say softly, laying against his body and breathing heavily as you slowly recovered from your orgasm. Law gives you a loving kiss, his slightly-chapped lips pressed against your softer ones with delight. “Ahh~ S-So good…” He whispers followed by a deep inhale.

You pout to him and give him a soft smack on the face. “You meanie, I didn’t like you teasin’ me like that…” You say, huffing heavily before turning your head away. He chuckles. “Why not? I honestly think you looked cute split in half like that. I thought you would’ve liked the prank.” He sighs, laying his head against his hand. You frown at his words and lay your head up against his chest.

He looks down at you and blinks slowly, giving you his signature snarky smirk.

“Hold me…” You whisper to him softly. He obeys, holding your soft and pretty body in his arms. “I’m sorry. I’ll definitely do it again but I’m sorry sweetie.” He says in a snarky tone to you. You sighed and shrugged it off, it couldn’t be helped with your idiot little surgeon.

[ickypuppi3]

once again thinking about billy being good with the younger kids—

nancy calling steve up because her mom and dad made last minute dinner reservations and nancy and jonathan have tickets for this movie and this is the last night it’s showing and please steve, holly loves you! and she can hear steve pull the phone away a bit and it sounds like he’s talking to someone and then he says—

“it’s just— billy’s here.”

and nancy’s stumped for a second. because—

“billy hargrove?”

and before either of them can say anything holly’s all billy billy billy! i wanna see billy he’s the best! he does swimming and- and- and now i can do swimming!

and nancy is, once again, stumped because. really? billy? and she can hear murmuring over the phone for a minute more before steve says that they’ll be round in ten and the line goes dead and nancy’s standing there thinking, like- what? but also knowing that her mom would be happy for billy to look after holly because… well. anyway.

she turns to jonathan and he’s like so? and nancy nods and he grins and then she’s like yeah. billy’s coming too i guess and jonathan’s like yeah i guess that makes sense, he’s good with the kids, mom’s always saying and nancy’s like oh neat everyone’s joined the billy hargrove fan club suddenly but she concedes because they get to go to the movie etc.

ten minutes later the doorbell rings and it’s a weird sort of sight, steve and billy standing on her doorstep with an unnatural distance between them, like they’d moved apart the second before the door opened.

they say their hello’s and nancy invites the two of them in, tells them about dinner and bedtimes and then billy says something and suddenly there’s a blur of pink as holly runs full pelt around the corner and all but jumps at him, she’s talking non stop and tugging at billy to go upstairs and see her room because she needs to introduce him to her bears and show him her dolls and dolls house and—

nancy is, well you know it. and steve is looking sort of weirdly proud, a smile on his face as he looks at billy that feels private, like it’s something nancy isn’t supposed to see and she coughs. gets steve out of his little daze and her, steve and jonathan chat for a bit while billy gets the full tour until jonathan says about the time. nancy hovers by the door as they’re leaving and steve just smiles and says—

“we’re gonna be fine, nance. promise.”

cut to the movie finishing, it’s late and nancy makes sure to be quiet as she unlocks the door. she checks the living room but there’s no one in there. she goes upstairs and can see the light under holly’s door so she goes in quietly and is utterly thrown by what she sees. feels like she’s stepped into some sort of alternate universe, which isn’t really out of the realm of possibility, because—

holly’s in bed, fast asleep with billy sat up against some pillows to her left. there’s an open book in his lap and a steve harrington sound asleep to his left. steve’s face is hidden, sort of turned into billy as he lays on his side. the hand not tucked under him is entangled with billy’s and billy’s looking down at him when nancy clears her throat quietly.

she can see the brief panic when billy looks up, can see the way billy goes to move his hand but steve just frowns in his sleep and clutches tighter. billy’s face goes a little pink but she can also see him rubbing his thumb across steve’s knuckles, absentmindedly, naturally, like he does it all the time and—

oh.

nancy starts to put a few pieces of the puzzle together. a little late, maybe, but still ..

anyway. billy wakes steve up and they make their way downstairs, nancy’s slightly in awe at the way billy closes holly’s door silently and walks softly so as to not wake her up, considering it’s billy, and when steve and billy are leaving nancy stops billy for a moment with a hand on his arm, notices he looks panicked again so she just says a quick—

“thank you.”

and billy shrugs, says “‘s fine. she’s a good kid.”

and nancy’s like “yeah .. she really likes you. you’re, uh, you’re good with her, billy.”

and billy shifts around looking incredibly awkward, pink flush back on his face so nancy blurts it out—

“would you— you know if i—”

“you want me to babysit again?”

“mom will pay. obviously. i just— holly likes you. i think i might actually like you now.”

and billy laughs, suddenly. grins. it’s familiar, nancy’s seen this billy a thousand times. he says something about nancy paying for his company and risky business and nancy crosses her arms and rolls her eyes and huffs but it’s sort of fond, now.

now she feels like she understands him a little better.

now she’s seen the way steve and him look at one another when they know the other one isn’t watching.

“you need me, steve’s got my number.” billy says.

nancy nods and billy gives her a little salute, pops a cigarette in his mouth as he walks toward steve’s car.

nancy waves as the engine starts and she goes back inside, goes to her room and thinks about everything that happened in the past however many hours. the next morning holly is, of course, talking about billy non stop over breakfast and nancy has to agree, has to admit that he is one hell of a babysitter, which—

weird, considering. unexpected but, well— sweet. how holly talks about him, anyway.

[0anonnymouslyours0]

spencer's hands are SO hot and veiny, i want to bite them.

the other day i was thinking about having sex for the first time with s2 spencer, and both being so nervous, specially him, so you basically BEG for his hands, saying something like "your hand, please, i want your hand" grabbing his hand and guiding him so he can put his fingers deep inside you, and him being like "😲 you, uhm, you like my hands?"

idk im just a whore for his hands and s2 spencer

warnings; fingering , kissing , references to handjob/blowjob at end , inexperienced spencer

spencer and you had been dating for 6 months now. when you started dating, you knew he wasn't very experienced, but it had been half a year, and all you had done was kiss.

you knew he was attracted to you. after particularly heated kisses he'd always back away, the bulge in his pants obvious, and then leave muttering about having to take care of something.

you knw you were ready, and from a brief conversation you'd had with him, you knew he was too. so when he messaged you, after he'd been away for a couple days, telling you he would be home in the evening you decided to put a plan in motion.

you searched your wardrobe for the most.. revealing piece of clothing you could find, settling on a little black dress, which fit you perfectly. you bit your lip as you pulled out the only pair of mildly seductive panties you own, a light pink lacy set, you were sure he'd appreciate.

candles were lit, sheets were changed, perfume was sprayed and finally a knock sounded at the door.

fixing your dress nervously, you approached the door, opening it to reveal a disheveled spencer. his tie was crooked, and his usual slick back hair was all over the place. somehow, he still managed to look put together.

"hey." he said smiling, and stepping in to wrap you in a hug.

he stood back, eyes running up and down your body. your cheeks flushed red as you watched him, happy to see your efforts were noticed.

"you look.. very nice." he said, swallowing nervously. his hand reached up to pull at his collar, trying but failing to loosen it.

you step forward, swatting his hand away so you can take off his tie, you hold it in your hands, placing a kiss to his neck as you back away. spencer inhales sharply, eyebrows furrowing.

"do you, um.. want to sit down?" spencer said, placing his case on the hallway table.

"yes." you said, nodding and guiding him into the candlelight living room.

his eyes widened as he walked into the room, taking in the decorations you'd put up.

"wow.. is it our anniversary? wait no, that was a couple weeks ago.." spencer questions.

"no, i just wanted to have a nice night. with you."

you take his hand, guiding him down to the couch. you knew spencer was awkward, but right now he looked straight up uncomfortable. he positioned himself on one end of the couch, taking off his shoes and shuffling about.

"something wrong?" you ask, watching his body language.

"no, nothing at all.."

"are you sure?" you ask, rising an eyebrow at his obvious lie.

"you just look really nice, and i'm not sure why. i'm obviously not super experienced with the whole... dating thing and you know. but is there something you- uh want?" his eyes dart around the room, attempting to look anywhere but you.

you chuckle at his rambling, leaning forward a bit to get closer to him.

"well, i've been thinking.. maybe its time that we go a little." you pause, searching for the right word. "further."

spencers eyes widen, and he nods eagerly. you laugh at his reaction, as you crawl across the couch and onto his lap. his hands are held in the air, eyes watching you as you move into him.

"here." you instruct, placing his hands on your hips. you squirm slightly, until your in a comfortable position straddling him. a small smirk appears on your face, as you feel a small bulge poking into your thigh, a result of your movements.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean to uhh-" spencer says, referring to his little problem. spencer moves to get up, trying to cover himself when you stop him, grabbing his arms and locking your thighs around his. a gasp leaves his lips, as you roll your hips ever so slightly against his.

"jesus-" he mumbles, as you continue your movements.

you lean forward, pausing your grinding briefly, to kiss him. you reach your hands up to cup his cheeks, pulling his face in closer. his hand squeezes your waist, on instinct, and you moan into his mouth. shook covers your body, as you break the kiss, taking in spencers surprised expression. your eyes flit down to his hands noticing, and not for the first time, the veins that you run along them, which you find unexplainably attractive. his eyes follow yours, and he moves his hand from your waist, reaching up to cup your cheek, like you had done before.

he watches as your eyelids flutter at the notion, and you smile softly. to your surprise, spencers thumb moves to press on your bottom lip softly. you part your lips, allowing his thumb to slip through them. your tongues circles around it, sucking slightly. spencer watches you carefully, now painfully aware of the erection thats prodding against your panties, covered by your skirt. he pulls his hand away from you, not missing the soft whine that falls from your lips. you reach out grabbing at his hand and pulling it down to your skirt, flipping it up to reveal your panties.

spencer groans at the sight, and your cheeks heat at his reaction.

"spencer.. can you- touch me?"

"with my hand..?" he questions, a confused expression on his face.

"please, i want your hands."

you pull your panties to the side, grabbing his hand and guiding it down towards your clit. spencers eyes are focused, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, as you begin to guide his finger to circle your clit. you take your hand back, and spencer continues the motion. a moan falls from your lips, your head lolling back slightly.

"now just.." you reach to guide his hand down to your entrance.

his brows raise, as if to confirm what your asking, and you nod. his finger slips into your entrance, and your eyes roll back into your head at the feeling, a loud moan leaving your mouth. spencers mouth parts in shock at your reaction.

"you, uhm, like my hands?" he asks, and you nod quickly, affirming his thoughts.

"deeper, please spence." you gasp out.

spencer follows your command, moving his finger in and out of you.

"just rub on my clit, with your thumb.." you say, a moan leaving your mouth when he does so.

"i'm so close- god spencer."

you rest your head against his shoulder as you begin to feel yourself come undone. your thighs shake, moans leaving you as you come. spencers almost transfixed by the sight, hips rutting up against yours without control.

your panting slightly, lifting your head off his shoulder to kiss him.

"thank you."

"your, uhm, welcome?" he says, unsure what to say.

he gasps, as your hand comes down to his thigh, trailing to the bulge.

"your turn?" you say, tilting your head.

[vbecker10]

How Could this not Fit?!

Laundry Day (Loki x fem reader Y/N)

Loads of Fun (Bucky x fem reader Y/N)

Pairing: Loki x female reader - Loki POV

Summary: You (Loki) and Y/N are living together in the Avengers Tower and she has asked you to help her with the laundry. You agree and when she sees you use your magic to put away the clothing, she makes a bet with you which you simply can't resist. After a brief, albeit intense battle with the fitted sheet, you realize she has cheated to win the wager and you absolutely cannot allow that.

Warnings: ... um nothing really, alluding to sex but not much other than Loki having a literal fight with a fitted sheet

A/N: this is the companion piece to Laundry Day, you can read either one first. They just tell two different point of views for the same event... enjoy 💚

You put the basket of clean laundry down on the floor at the foot of the bed. "There, laundry is all done," you say to Y/N triumphantly.

She laughs as she dumps the laundry basket she is holding onto the mattress. "Not quite, my prince," she says and your smile fades as hers gets wider. "You have to put everything away-"

You wave one hand towards the clothing and the other towards the tall dresser and closet. A green glow extends from your fingers and in an instant, everything is folded and back in the correct spot.

"Without your magic," she finishes her sentence just as the last drawer closes. She crosses her arms and shakes her head.

"What?" you ask with a laugh. You step around the laundry basket on the ground and put your arms around her waist.

"That's cheating," she replies, lightly smacking your chest.

"No its not," you counter, pulling her closer to you. "I was just saving time so we can do other, more interesting things."

"No," she laughs. "You used your magic because you have no idea how to put the laundry away. Just like you didn't know how to wash the laundry or clean the bathroom or vacuum-" she starts to rattle off all the things you rely on magic for.

You put your hand on your cheek and lean down to kiss her. Your other hand rests on her back, keeping her close to you. She grips the back of your shirt but she only remains silent until you break the kiss.

"Or cook or take out the garbage or-" she continues where she left off.

"Ok," you put your hand over her mouth and she stops. "I admit, I use my magic to help me with things I don't know how to do. I appreciate you teaching me these things but I still insist magic is not cheating. If you knew how complex some of my spells are you would know they take more effort than simply doing the task," you try to convince her. She rolls her eyes at you, your hand still over her mouth and your arm around her.

You let out a sudden laugh when Y/N licks the palm of your hand and you pull it away. "Did you really just do that?" you ask her in surprise.

She smiles and nods, "You never complained when I licked you in other places."

"Well I much prefer those other places to my hand," you tell her. Before she can respond, you pick her up and toss her gently onto the mattress. On her back, she tries to move towards the headboard and you grab her by her ankles, pulling her back towards you.

"Wait," she giggles, placing her hand on your chest as you climb on top of her. You look down at her questioningly. "The bed doesn't have sheets," she says and you look at the mattress.

You look at the laundry basket and wave your hand towards the sheets but she stops you. "No magic," she says from under you. You look back at her. "I'll make a bet with you," she offers and you smirk.

"I'm listening," you say, feeling intrigued.

Well, this all seems simple enough, you think as you stuff the last pillow back in its case. You toss all four of them onto your dresser so you have space to work on the bed. How hard could this possibly be, you question as you find the fitted sheet. You are confident you will win this bet as easily as you had won the last four Y/N had proposed.

You grab one corner of the fitted sheet, knowing that needs to go on first, and tuck the top right corner in then bottom right corner. Nearly there, you think to yourself. I don't understand why she complains about doing- your thought is cut short.

Much to your surprise, the sheet is too short to make it to the bottom left corner, it goes tight before you even get close. You pull a bit harder, hoping it will stretch but the first two corners suddenly spring free.

You groan and begin again, this time with the bottom left corner. You make sure it is tucked in but not too much in case that was your issue. You carefully move to the right side of the bed but you pause your movements when you realize can't make it to the opposite corner.

You let go of the sheet and it springs back together into a pile in the middle of the bed. "Who designed this ridiculous type of bedding?" you ask aloud as you run your fingers through your hair in frustration.

You stare at the pile for a moment but you are determined to win. Shaking your head, you pick up the sheet again but you have lost the corner. "Do not test me," you mumble to the sheet as you feel along the edge until you find a corner but now you are unsure if it is the top or a side.

You get it mostly laid flat and begin to work on the right side but this time it is too long from corner to corner. "Gods!" you exclaim, "I must have this wretched thing on sideways now."

You turn it the other way, at least you think you do but it appears to be fighting back as if it doesn't want you to win the bet either. There must be a way to do this, you think growing impatient. Y/N had only given you half an hour to compete this task and you were quickly running out of time. You do not like losing bets, especially one with Y/N. You wanted to claim your prize.

You begin again, starting at the top left corner, tucking it under the mattress carefully. You walk to the foot of the left side and get the corner into position. You move to the right corner slowly.

"How could this not fit?!" you yell as the sheet pulls free from your hand and snaps back so fast it pulls the side you already fixed completely out from around the mattress.

You rip the sheet off the bed and roll into angrily into a ball before throwing it back on the mattress.

You cross your arms and look down at the offending sheet. After a moment you say, "I will not be defeated by a piece of fabric. I am a God."

You grab one end of the sheet, determined to make one last attempt to get it into the bed and notice a small tag on the inside. Your eyebrow raises as you read it. 'Top Right Corner' is printed in small black text. "That would have been helpful at the beginning," you grumble out loud. You shake your head and bring that corner to its rightful place but you pause when you notice a second tag next to it.

"Full," you say when you see the size listed above the washing directions. You lower the sheet confused, "We don't have a full... we have a queen bed."

How could Y/N have given you the wrong size sheets? You can't imagine she washed the wrong ones by accident, you wouldn't have even owned this size. She must have planned this in advance, to ensure she would win the bet. You throw the sheet onto the bed and leave your room.

You walk quickly down the hall, determined to find out if your precious Y/N truly had cheated or if it was some sort of mistake. It seemed unlikely that she gave you the wrong sheets by accident and a part of you was hoping it was on purpose. If she cheated, she owed you your prize as well as a punishment, you think with a smirk. You very much enjoy finding new ways to punish her and she clearly enjoys it as well.

"Y/N," you say in a serious tone when you enter the kitchen. She looks at you nervously and your suspensions are confirmed as she backs away slightly. "You cheated," you state, still walking towards her. You ignore Stark and the others, Y/N is your sole focus.

"No, I was just..." she tries to explain. Her words die as you keep your eyes locked with hers.

"You... cheated," you say slowly, backing her into the counter by the sink.

"I mean, only a little," she smiles up at you and you fight to hold back a smile of your own. "And I only did it to make sure you didn't use your magic," she quickly adds.

"Um, I think we should go... literally anywhere else," you hear the captain say as you grip her waist with both hands. You press your body to hers, keeping her caught between yourself and the counter.

"Don't worry, we're leaving," you reply to him, keeping your eyes on her as you let a smirk cross your lips. She bites her lip and you pick her up, throwing her over your shoulder with ease. She gasps and you wonder what other sounds you can pull from her tonight. You wrap one arm around the back of her legs to keep her from slipping off as you turn to leave the kitchen.

You pause as you pass the counter and pick up her water bottle. "You'll need to keep hydrated, it's going to be a very long night, love," you assure her as you head towards your room.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚

@soubi001 @michelleleewise @harlequin-hangout @ace-of-gay @xorpsbane @mochie85 @sheris532 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @kkdvkyya @animnerd @peaches1958 @peachyjinx @theaudacitytowrite @lokiandbuckysdoll @winterfrostlovetriangle @high-functioning-lokipath @winniewings @pics-and-fanfics @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lulubelle814 @crimson25 @goblingirlsarah @janineb86 @chantsdemarins @foxherder @tonystank8 @alexakeyloveloki

[the-one-who-lambs]

"Propose," for @bamsara

HI YOUR DOODLES INSPIRED ME HERE'S A POETRY ATTACK. rambling below the cut.

At first, the death waltz is a misstep.

A sickening skeletal crack, a shape of an invisible scythe.

Sincerity is too kind a lie, but His sacrosanct

Protection (you think)

Lets you rise once more.

Death cannot keep you, but you would let Him

If he welcomes you.

You only believe what He thinks you should know.

The flames engulf you after the smoke does,

But your soul has nearly shed its corpse when you see them.

You stand in the vast chain-bound sanctuary and breathe

Fully (your lungs don’t remember being choked).

It is the first of a fitful of

Scorn and surprises and bone fingertips pressed against your skin.

He helps you to your feet.

Your heart should not beat here. In the infiniteness of your bosom it awakens.

The very semblance of the jagged-bare flesh

Encircling your neck is an intimacy in itself.

The blissful torment of the swordsman’s blade

Releases (so close to peril)

And He is already in your periphery.

Call it duty. Call it love.

Choose it as the last decision you’ll ever make.

Fate’s a tarot pull. You draw your card with eyes sealed shut.

You are a disgraced, depraved approximation of a person.

The chill of his embrace is warmer than the hands

That build the bonfire. It is in the name of

Someone (you shan’t say who)

And in the ashes of your grief your reflection

Stares back with three eyes.

The temptation to burn yourself seeps out,

Ichor-like. You don’t die tonight, not yet.

A careful drip of poison. The aftertaste of iron

In your mouth: communion seeping into your own goblet.

A moonshine moment of annihilation, however brief

Before (infectious, echoing, comforting)

You bleed out. You hope you die today.

He hopes you die today. It’s an

Ambrosial veil between you.

You slip beneath it with a sweet hello.

It’s never quite intentional until

The myths surrounding Him fall away.

The secrets you keep are shared, kept safe

Until (your reunion, this time, was not quite an accident)

They are intertwined: you are inescapably

Lonely and in your separate spheres

You vie for dominance. It’s a furious, bloodsoaked rendezvous.

It was always He who waited, but you’ll be patient.

He feels you in every dream. You

Stop time with your voices.

It’s His frustration melting away

With your kisses (you’re not there yet)

And makes Him yours, in freedom,

Dependent on nothing nobody you himself

The fetters are invisible but you hear them

Rattling every time your heart beats.

Your breath need not return anymore so you

Relearn to dodge the aim of an arrow, the pierce of a blade.

Living is foul, a promise half-hidden,

Desperate. (It lingers on your tongue.)

Death bound you together. You know how to die.

You have to remind yourself that heaven lays barren.

It will not hold you

Should Death keep you apart.

Get appreciated idiot /pos /lh

So, this was inspired by this post, which was super wholesome and sweet, but I couldn't write this without infusing it with the urgency and anxiety and sense of danger that looms over The Rehabilitation of Death. Bits and pieces of references to your AU are sprinkled in throughout. I hope you (and my readers and your readers as well) enjoy picking apart the themes here!

I actually wrote this live on stream last night! I made sure none of my friends were streaming before I started because I didn't want to miss anyone if someone was already live, but then you started streaming like 10 minutes later and I was like FUCK now I wanna watch you. But after a couple of hours on my new extra-hard CotL save (OUCH), I switched to writing and just... hoped you wouldn't pop in because I wanted this to be a surprise. For most of the writing part of the stream this poem was titled "IF SARA STOPS STREAMING SEND ME A WARNING."

Anyway, we don't usually get to talk more than a couple times per week because we both have Shit To Do, but you are SO FUN to be around and I am so so glad I met you!! Your friendship is a blessing and your creativity is a gift.

Also posted to AO3 as onethirdofimpossible here!

[autismcatboy]

i hear the sunspot is a story about being human first, disabled second and a bl third. it doesnt flow like a bl and has very brief moments of romance because its not intended to be read/watched a romance.

the mangaka did not write it as a BL because she herself wasnt even familiar with it as a genre until after she started publishing. she was writing a story that just happens to also feature queer romance.

the live drama is not going to end with them getting together. its an adaption of just one series within the story and even at the most current series, they only barely got together.

the story is not unrealistic in how it handles communication (or lack thereof). its a lot easier to judge characters (and people in real life) when you think you have all the pieces, but the reality is we know very little about how others truly feel and when you have a lot going on and pulling you in different directions, its hard to know it yourself.

continued below the cut, spoiler free.

taichi and kohei are busy adults. between work/school, family and personal health, they dont have a lot of free time. many people dont have ways to contact friends they made in school because usually, you just see each other and dont think about exchanging contact information until later.

exchanging contact information is a bigger step to take in japan compared to places like the us. taichi uses a flip phone until hes pushed to get a smartphone after it breaks. data plans are expensive and many are selective about when and how they use them, and chatting apps like line are usually the main form of communication method. many people in the us dont like to give out their number or social media (which is also a feature of line) to people they know, like coworkers or classmates.

theres some pretty big assumptions about japanese culture and what its like to be a young adult by fans watching the drama that, in my opinion, just arent realistic. you're thinking like a bl fan and not like what people actually do in real life.

i hear the sunspot is a story about navigating the awkward, the hardships, fumbling and coming to terms with the things we may not like about ourselves. this isnt just about being disabled. able bodied, fully healthy people have things they dont like, push off and ignore. we see this in taichi, and how he continues to push that hes happy, nothing is wrong, he's just a big goofball and doesn't have anything below the surface and a lot of you have fallen for it.

relationships rarely go "we met, we fell in love, and now we are together and everything is perfect with only mild and entertaining drama." in fact id say they almost never do. people get scared to get close to other people, people dont think about if their feelings are romantic love or not when theyve never considered they might be gay. people get busy and distract themselves from addressing the things theyre not ready to look at and understand. all of these things happen much more often and often subconsciously, too.

people are mean and bullheaded when they feel like their comfort zone is threatened. people *run* when they feel like their status quo might change and they dont know what that will look like.

its easy to say someone is being ridiculous when you dont have their full story or dont stop to consider their circumstances. will it be different from how you'd react? absolutely. you lived a different life and had different experiences shape who you are.

but its equally as ridiculous to assume you know exactly how you'd react better than someone in their situation. no one is perfect, and definitely not 20 something year olds figuring out how to be adults after tough moments completely changed their childhoods. your early 20s, especially, is about thinking youre an adult and realizing just how little you know about adulthood. its easy to look back on when i was taichi and kohei's ages and say "oh there is a /lot/ that i fucked up with and couldve done better".

i hear the sunspot is about being human. the mistakes, the drama, the pain and the laughter. it happens to also have a gay love story but its not written to *be* a gay love story or even to be any love story in the first place.

if youre not willing to wait, and consider all the troubles that come before and during their relationship, this is not the story for you. save yourself the time, its got a long way to go. maybe come back in a few more years and see if the story resonates differently.

theyre not going to dive right into a relationship when they still barely know themselves.

[disasterbuck]

Hiii 💕💕💕

For the prompts: “did you eat today?”

-❤️🪐

bestIEEEEEEEEE omg I had no idea this fic was gonna turn out like this but I LOVE IT so THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE PROMPT!!!! I really hope you like it too 🥰

did you eat today?

At the sound of a door opening and closing, Eddie stretched and rubbed at his eyes. He must've fallen asleep on the couch without realising it, as the room had grown dark around him. Pushing himself up, he turned around to see Buck toeing off his shoes beside the door.

"Hey," Buck said softly, smiling at him. "I just wanted to make sure you two were doing okay."

"Thanks," Eddie murmured, something warm unfurling in his chest.

Raising an eyebrow questioningly, Buck gestured at the light switch. Eddie nodded and Buck flicked it on.

"How's Chris?" Buck asked.

With a start, Eddie tensed and looked down the hallway. "I think he's okay, but I haven't checked on him in a while. I fell asleep," he explained, taking a step in the direction of his son's room.

But then Buck's hand was on his shoulder, holding him back.

"I'll check on him," Buck said, his head tilting to one side as he studied Eddie's face. "You look like you could use a break. Did you eat today?"

What a stupid question, Eddie thought to himself, a moment before realising he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd eaten anything. The morning had been a blur of stressing about Christopher and calling Bobby to say he wouldn't be able to come in to work, and then the rest of the day had been spent taking care of his son and making sure he got enough fluids into his system.

"Does coffee count?" Eddie asked with a wry grin.

Unimpressed, Buck gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Go have some water. I'll check on Chris and then whip up something for dinner."

Eddie watched him disappear down the hall to Christopher's room before sighing and making his way to the kitchen, turning lights on as he went. Obediently he got himself a glass of water, downing it almost in one go and then grimacing as his stomach rumbled hungrily.

Putting the empty glass down on the bench, he then followed the faint murmur of voices to Christopher's room and paused in the doorway with a smile.

Buck was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand smoothing hair back from Christopher's face while the boy had his eyes closed. Without his glasses Chris looked a lot younger and Eddie felt a brief pang of nostalgia for all the years that had come and gone already.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Buck said quietly. "Your dad's done a good job of looking after you today, huh?"

"He always does," Chris mumbled sleepily.

Shifting forward, Buck brushed his lips against Chris' forehead – Eddie felt something settle in his soul, like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place.

"I love you. I'm gonna go make some dinner and maybe get you some soup or something. Does that sound good?" Getting a nod in response, Buck stood up and headed for the door, grinning when he saw Eddie. The two of them went back to the kitchen together and Buck immediately began pulling things out of cupboards so he could get started on dinner.

"You had some water?" he asked as Eddie pulled out a chair to sit down.

"Yeah."

Buck nodded approvingly and then asked, "Hey, do you have any instant soup?"

Eddie gestured to where he thought there might be some and Buck set to work rummaging through the cupboard. He made a small sound of triumph a moment later, holding up a single serve chicken noodle soup packet.

Eddie's eyes followed him as he moved around the kitchen like he belonged there, prepping the soup for Christopher and getting things together for their dinner as well. He didn't need to ask where anything was or if he was allowed to do this; he already knew.

Because he'd been practically living here for such a long time already. He was part of their family. Eddie trusted Christopher with him completely and had done for years. He was Eddie's best friend and closest confidante. The two of them were practically inseparable – demonstrated by the way they couldn't even go a day without seeing each other before Buck was letting himself in with his key to say hi.

Scraping his chair back across the floor, Eddie stood and made his way around the table to where Buck was scattering bocconcini onto two pizza bases. Buck glanced up automatically with a smile.

"Could you stop for a second?" Eddie asked, heart in his throat as he put a hand on Buck's arm.

"Are you okay?" Buck asked, his smile turning into a concerned frown as he brushed off his fingers and gave Eddie his full attention.

"Yeah," Eddie said, and despite his racing pulse his voice was strong. Sure. "I am."

Slipping his hands into Buck's food-stained ones, Eddie sank down onto one knee and revelled in the choked gasp that left Buck's mouth and the way his eyes went wider than he'd ever seen them before.

"Buck … Evan," Eddie said softly, smiling as he saw tears welling up in Buck's eyes. "Will you marry me?"

Speechless, Buck opened and shut his mouth in an impression of a fish as he searched for something to say. When Eddie raised an eyebrow he choked out, "Are you having a stroke? We're not… I mean, we haven't even…"

"I know what I'm asking," Eddie said steadily, giving a small nod of reassurance. "I want you in my life, Buck. Forever. I'm just sorry it's taken me so long to see what's right in front of me."

Blinking rapidly to keep his tears at bay, Buck squeezed Eddie's hands tightly. "Yes," he whispered, then cleared his throat and repeated louder, "Yes! Absolutely. A thousand times yes."

And then he was pulling Eddie up and into his arms, crushing their chests together in the most soul-healing hug of all time. Eddie let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and buried his face in Buck's shoulder, lips pressed to warm skin.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, clinging to each other silently, until at last they drew back and looked into each others eyes. Buck's were still wet, and two tear tracks ran down his cheeks.

"I hope it goes without saying," Eddie murmured, lifting his hands to Buck's face and gently wiping his tears away with his thumbs. "That I love you."

"Yeah," Buck said with a grin, another tear getting caught in his eyelashes. "But it doesn't hurt to hear it. And Eddie, I love you too."

Leaning in so that their lips were almost touching, Eddie whispered, "I know you do," and then kissed him.

-

Tags 💕

@dluoser @taketheplanspinitsideways @loudenthusiastic @wallywise @mxrcjqckspnchqsc

@i-am-married-to-my-fandom @therosesaredying @stillfuckingtired @classtrialguru @speggle

@awesome-igi @natnuszsstuff @olliesrants @crazyfangirlallert @delirium1995

@brah3280 @meanceclosetohell @anythingeverythingallofthetime @izzysbeans @jesuiscenseedormir

@darkrose6578 @veronae-buddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @loveyouanyway @inell

@spicyrottingbrains @gnoeltop @idealuk @donationwayne @lemotmo

@smilingbuckley @realpersonwithrealfeelings @superlock-in-the-tardis @mjthe14thdoctor @strxwbereee

@idontknowwhatimdoing777 @ashleigh2658

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed 💕

[imaginesheaven]

National Anthem – F!Reader x Price (x little bit Valeria)

Summary: After Graves’ betrayal another villain appears on the screen for the Task Force. They are nothing like all the others before.

This is kind of inspired by the song National Anthem by Lana Del Rey. I wrote all of this down, but I’m actually not sure what to do with it, so enjoy this little piece of pure braindump. I’m also not sure if I like this at all, so I would really appreciate to know what you think about it :)

Warnings: MDNI – sexual talk; swearing; angst; mentions of death

Length: 2.7 k

“Laswell, you look like you could use a drink”, Price sits down at the bar handing her a glass full of the best whiskey. “Thank you, John, but alcohol isn’t going to get rid our problems this time”, Kate takes a sip of her drink.

Her words make the whole Task Force kind of uncomfortable. Laswell is usually convinced that they can manage everything that the world throws at them, but this time she does have her doubts.

“At first, I thought we only have a usual Russian problem, but it turns out to be way bigger and more than just that”, she gets out two pictures from her jacket pocket to put them upside down onto the table, “There is no room to fail this time.” John exchanges a brief glance with his team, “Hit us, Kate.” As if there would be ever room to fail in their field of work.

“Alejandro contacted me a few hours ago fuming. Valeria got bailed out of jail with an amount of money we all only can dream about. I did a lot of digging to find out what the hell is going on. A woman paid the money to get Valeria back to her El Sin Nombre cartel. It was the same person, who overtook the Shadow Company after Graves’ got killed. This woman is going to be a big problem gathering herself the best army”, Laswell pushes one of the pictures towards John.

The Captain can feel his heart stop for a second as he turns the picture around just to find a very familiar face looking back at him. A thick coldness starts to spread in his chest; doom setting slowly in.

“Price?”, Gaz asks quite concerned about John’s silence. The Captain keeps staring as the seconds tick by. “Fuck”, it’s the only thing he says and hands the picture to Gaz. John literally prayed years ago to never see your oh so beautiful face ever again. His heart can’t get over the fact that you are still looking the same. The way you glance at the camera with a winning smirk makes his knees weak. You know that you were observed from afar and you did not give a single fuck about it.

“You know her?”, Kate can’t explain otherwise his reaction. Price nods his head in agreement, “(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). Met her once years ago. We had a mission together, but never saw her again after that.” He really hopes none of them can see through his lie. It was way more than just a mission. It was way more complicated than that.

Even after all this time John feels everything like it has been just yesterday. The way your hands have been roaming over his chest. So fucking close to him. Skin on skin. The way you felt amazing underneath him. As well as the way you broke his heart into thousand pieces. If there would be ever a regret he has to live through, it would be you.

Price doesn’t tell them a single thing about it. He will not go through every detail of his biggest mistake with his entire team. That’s something only between you and him for the rest of his life.

“So, she is military?”, Gaz asks as Soap hands the picture to Ghost. Neither of them can’t deny that you are absolutely breathtaking as much as you are deadly probably.

“Yes, (Y/N) worked for a special forces team in the American military. There is nothing much to know since almost everything is classified. Only a handful or so have the security rank to gather that information. The team included five members with the call signs X-1 to X-5, which sounds very nice, right? X-1 means Executer-1, so they called them actually Killer-1 to Killer-5. She is one of the best”, Laswell answers and pulls another picture out of her jacket.

John already knows that the picture will be you in your impressive completely black Executer-gear. He hates and loves this one so much. “No, Kate. (Y/N) is the best”, Price doesn’t say those words very lightly, but they are the truth. If you are going to be their enemy, it will be a fucking war.

“She took over the Shadow Company and the El Sin Nombre cartel? For what? What is her goal?”, Gaz can’t make the connections yet. Kate let’s out a deep sigh and turns around the last picture, “I think she is going for this man.”

The Captain shakes his head, “Makarov? (Y/N) is going for the big kill. If she can gather Russians, the Shadow Company and the El Sin Nombre cartel around her, we are all doomed. With that (Y/N) can take over every army and if that happens, she will go back to America getting her final revenge.”

“What do you know, John?”, Kate is almost kind of mad that she isn’t fully in the picture apparently like Price himself. “(Y/N) made a decision the military didn’t want to see. X-2 to X-5 were supposed to execute her. The members were named after their ranks, so (Y/N) was Executer 1 – the best of them. She killed every single one of her former teammates. The American Government classified everything to keep people from talking. (Y/N) escaped in the end, but all of that were rumors years ago. Everyone who told them got silenced. The military didn’t want to acknowledge her existence anymore. So, who really knows if that’s real or not”, Price knows exactly that everything he just told was real.

Neither of them dares to interrupt the silence thinking about the worst that could happen. Someone as power-driven and skilled as you will bring hell over those who did you wrong. What they don’t know is that you are halfway through your plan to conquer the world like you want it to.

A few hours earlier…

“Ah, Valeria. Nice to meet you in person finally. (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). At your service”, you give the soldier your best smile to greet her properly. She raises one of her eyebrows still unsure about your intentions, “Why did you pay for my freedom?”

You mention towards the waiting car, “Let’s talk in the car. It’s way cooler in their and it would be only fair to bring you back to your cartel.” Valeria follows your invitation, “If you try to do something stupid I will kill you.” You can’t help yourself but laugh as you get in the car after her, “I really don’t doubt that for a second.”

“So, what’s the deal, hermosa?”, Valeria asks after taking a sip of the cool drink you gave her. You lean forward smiling knowing exactly how to expose your cleavage and use your body to get what you want. Valeria’s eyes follow just like you planned.

“Mi vida, I want your El Sin Nombre cartel to work with my Shadow Company. I am working towards a goal that is very important to me”, you explain to her leaving out a few important details. Valeria doesn’t ask but you could see the question in her eyes.

“Graves got … detained by me. His former soldiers are under my wings now. And well, there is no nice way to tell you this, but your people are also mine”, you keep on smiling knowing exactly she will understand the hidden threat.

“So, the rumors are true that you are gathering an army. They warned me about you, hermosa. Take my men if you need to. You paid for my freedom”, Valeria knows when she is in a situation without options. She is in your hands without any chance of an escape, better playing along for now.

“I’m really glad you took that so well. Graves wasn’t really cooperating”, you lean back taking a sip of your own drink. Valeria knows how to pick her fights and you are much more powerful than she thought.

“Well, the Gringo didn’t know how to handle dangerous women. Especially when they are as breathtaking as you are, mi vida”, Valeria holds up her glass to clink hers with yours. She can’t help herself but be enchanted by you.

You have already wrapped Graves around your little finger with your sex appeal until you took what was his. Now Valeria, next one will be Makarov. And you are pretty sure he will not resist you just like the others. Your plan is going wonderful. Now comes the fun part…

The ringing of his phone snaps Price out of his deep focus on working out a plan to bring you down before you can raise hell. No matter how many options his brain goes through it will never be good enough to keep up with your next steps.

“Captain Price”, he is only paying half attention to the caller on the other side of the line. “Hi, John”, your sweet voice rings in his ears over and over again. Price is not a man to get shocked easily, but right now his mind is absolutely blank. There are literally not words to form a proper sentence.

“Oh, I wish I could see your face right now. Happy to hear that I’m still alive?”, you can’t help yourself to let a heartfelt laugh, which brings John’s heartrate into a very dangerous zone. “Why are you calling?”, he tries to keep calm, but everything in him turns slowly into panic mode. It’s unusual for him. Only you can make him feel this way.

“Oi, don’t you know anymore how small talk works, muppet? How are you doing? What have you been up to the last decade? We really need to work on your manners, handsome”, you didn’t mean to sound it seductively, still you are not mad about it. You don’t have to be in the same room with John to know that you are still going under his skin with so much ease.

“John, humor me for a second. How have you been? Tell me a bit about your little Task Force”, your voice could play on repeat for eternity and John would still not get enough of it. In this moment he hated you so much for all the love he still has for you in his heart. But the two of you are a shadow of the past.

“You haven’t changed, so I’m pretty sure you know already everything about my team”, John will not give in. Not this time. “Yeah, but it would have been nice to hear it from you. Do you really think your Task Force is good enough to keep up with me? Are they ready to do whatever it needs to take down the devil herself?”, you have been watching him and his team for a while now; tracking their success as a team and still they will never be as good as you are.

“What happened to you? This isn’t you, (Y/N)”, John’s voice is only a whisper over the line. You don’t want to admit it, but you actually missed how sweet your name sounds when it comes over his lips. “Betrayal. So much betrayal that I finally found solace in power and revenge”, you reply replaying in your head what happened long ago.

“You killed innocent people… Children…”, John remembers how you stood right in front of him; trying to explain everything, but he wouldn’t hear a word about it. He knows now that you made the right decision back then. His younger self didn’t know it.

“You draw the line wherever you need it, Captain! Isn’t that something you like to tell your team? I did that, but what did I get for sacrificing so much? Nothing. The military sent my own team after me. You left me. I lost everything to save thousands of lives. But you know what? I will gain so much more for sacrificing those lives now. Revenge is best served cold”, once you get what you want, you will never have to defend yourself ever again, “John, we both know that villains are also human beings with a dramatic backstory. Just like the heroes.”

“You called just to tell me all of that?”, John can almost feel his heart bleeding; knowing he is part of the problem. He is one of the reasons you turned your back against humanity. “No, since we have quite the past together, I wanted to give you a change. I can be merciful, if I want to. You have 24 hours to find Makarov to stop me”, your voice transforms from being bitter to cheerful in a second.

“You already know where he is, eh?”, Price realizes that you are playing with him. You know exactly there would be no chance for him to win this battle. “Oh, of course. I would never go into a conversation like this without having plan beforehand, handsome. 24 hours, big boy. Time is ticking”, without a further word you end the call leaving John alone in a deafening silence. This is a fucking war neither John nor the Task Force can win.

Bonus:

“It’s over, (Y/N). Lay down your gun”, Price points his weapon at you as he makes his way towards you. A slight smile appears on your lips before you do what he says. Your little handgun compared to his gets put on the table right in front of you.

You can’t help yourself but admire how handsome he looks after all this time you have seen him. He is aging like a fine wine. For a moment you remember how young he had looked back when he still was a Lieutenant.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a sore loser”, you raise your hands so he can see them clearly. For once you are not a threat to him. Slowly you make your way around the table. He keeps his gun pointed at you, but still lets you come as close as possible. His eyes never leaving yours for a second.

“We all know it was your decision to lose. You had everything to bring hell upon us. So, why do you give up now?”, John’s finger ache to stroke your cheek softly; to feel your warmth against his skin once again. Your eyes bore into his; looking straight into his soul. “And we both know I can’t do anything against my weakness, John. You are still the only one I don’t want to hurt.”

Your words touch his soul; breathing back live into him. For a moment neither of you know what to say. Softly you push away his gun and he let it happen. The two of you are so damn close now almost breathing the same air.

“Do you still love me?”, John can hear the pain but also the hope in your voice. There is no need to deny the truth any longer. He can’t ignore anymore how his heart calls your name over and over again. How it has been doing that for the last few years.

“Yes, I always have and I always will…. I’m so sorry for everything”, he caresses your cheek with his hand and you lean into the touch; yearning for his attention for such a long time already. “It’s okay. I love you too, John…”, you reply letting your tears fall freely now.

“… But neither heroes nor villains get happy endings, handsome. Right person, wrong time. Maybe we will find each other in the next life again. Good bye, John”, you place a soft kiss on his lips. Both of you savoring this moment as long as possible.

A single shot rings through the silence, then a body hitting the ground. And that’s how this story ends.

[supertrxshwrites]

Bruises Part II

Pairing: Deadpool x Reader

TW//mentions and descriptions of blood, exposed entrails, knife through body parts, a bullet through the body part. open cavity. body gore.

He’s dug bullets out of his body before sometimes they’re healed over and other times they reject falling to the ground with a hollow chime. Not as cool as Wolverine, But this was just uncomfortable. He could feel the steel of the knife weigh in his gut.

After leaving Y/N’s place he peeled his suit off in the bathroom and went in with a much larger knife and some kitchen tongs.

he sat on the toilet, one leg propped up on the tub and the other stretched across the tile. He was sticky covered in blood that started to dry from seeping through his suit, old fluorescents lit up the bathroom with a green hue.

He took a few deep breaths before plunging the hunting knife into his stomach breaking the flesh revealing his entrails, blood painted the tile, pouring out of him like a faucet as he shoves the tongs in. There’s a loud squelch as he fishes for the knife, the pulsing of his heart louder a squish with each pump. For a minute he struggles its slippery it’s hard to look directly into your open body as it starts to heal so he’s really just digging around the cavity when he finally grasps it. He almost has it but it slips.

“Fuck!” He fumed as he kept healing he repeatedly had to gut himself like a fish after being caught.

he pulls his bloody glove off with his teeth the crimson smearing the side of his cheek and reaches in and rips it out throwing it into the sink with a loud clatter.

“Shit!” He huffs out of breath as he stands up and looks into the sink, his stomach healing closed.

The things we do for love.

He rinses off her knife and everything else he used and then he takes sometime to clean his blood from the floor,sink and counter. After a while he showers and collapses into his bed.

***

He finds himself at your door again.

He can’t stay away from you, all roads lead him there even when he’s on a job he’s thinking of you. His stupid idiot brain is being eaten by a parasite and it’s you. Every corner of his mind is being flooded and ravaged, torn apart and pieced together and destroyed again, and even when he’s had bullets go through his skull, or knives plunged through his heart and for a split second fear scurries through him and he thinks maybe this will kill me. He’s still thinking of you, your hair, your scent, the details of your face-

He takes a brief break from these rushing thoughts to knock on your door. Shortly after there you are in a T-shirt and baggy shorts with a trash bag in hand.

“Wade.” You say as you turn around waving him in as you go back to picking up broken glass from the floor.

He walks in and takes in the state of your living room. The fight from the previous night did a lot of damage. We did a lot of damage.

“Y/n-“ you cut him off before he can truly get a word in.

“Wade, what’s going on here? With us? Okay because we have one night stands, we have bloody fights, I go on dates with other people and we fight again and then…then you kiss me.” You drop the trash bag, the glass in its contents clinking together.

“You really kiss me and it’s confusing and I’m lost and angry and I can’t keep up and I can’t keep doing this” You speak a mile a minute as if the words were flying out of you. Wade stares at you from behind the mask and for once he’s silent.

The low hum of your AC breaking up the silence between you, he shifts a bit and you can hear glass crunch under his boots. 

“Y/N.” He strides over to you and you can hear his breath rattle and shake in his chest. He grabs your hand putting your knife in it. 

“I’m so serious right now that I don’t know what we have and I don’t know what this is, but all I know is that when I’m at the bottom of rock bottom and I think there’s nothing left you’re there and when I’m really at the end of my rope I mean really free fallin’ you’re there and when I see you on dates and making your way back home only for me to be waiting for you to fight because I’m an idiot who can’t express how he feels. You’re still my favorite mouse to chase and you’re there.”

(Stay tuned for part 3 I didn’t wanna make a super long post so yeah ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Tags: @marsyay78

[satoruin]

➢ fake it ‘til we make it

pairing: yoichi isagi x gn!reader

summary: your failed confession somehow leads to you fake dating your classmate, yoichi isagi. pre-blue lock

word count: 3.3K

notes from lee: for misha & tired bc i saw them live-blogging abt their bllk manga reading. also i feel so bad for rin, bc i claim he’s my #1 but i write a drabble and fic about his 2 enemies (sae and isagi), he’s gonna make me #3 enemy fr

You were so sure that he would have accepted your feelings. Your body is hot with embarrassment and the gaze of everyone in the hallway. You feel absolutely idiotic right now, bent over holding out a confession letter even after he’s left.

You stand up despite wanting to curl into a ball on the floor and reflexively brush yourself off. You’re in shock and know you can’t cry, not in front of all these people. But the whispers from those who had witnessed your failed confession reach your ears, and you think maybe you will cry in front of them.

You turn to leave, the bell will ring soon, but someone is calling your name loud enough for the hallway to turn their heads. “Hey! (Y/n)!” He’s out of breath and heaving, having run through the crowded hallway to reach you. The ravenette grasps your hands and declares loudly, “I love you! Please go out with me!”

You look down at your hands enveloped in his and then up to his expectant stare with wide eyes. You recognize him. He’s in your class, Yoichi Isagi. Was he really interested in you? He whispers to you, “I’m trying to help you out. Just say yes.”

With a gasp, you seem to put the puzzle pieces together. Isagi is helping you save face. You smile, albeit warily, and respond, “Thank you, Isagi. I’m really flattered that you made such a declaration. I can’t say I return your sentiments, but I’m willing to try.”

He beams, glad that you took his help. “After class, I’ll take you to my favorite place, so please wait for me!” He replies loudly, so everyone can hear once again. You’re still shocked and confused but nod fervently to play along in his scheme.

Isagi walks you to your shared class and pulls out your chair at your desk for you. He tilts his head and gives you a close-eyed smile before he heads to his seat behind yours. As soon as he’s seated, you have people swarming your desk, all asking about your very eventful morning. The bell rings and silences their questions. You give them a brief smile and a helpless shrug as the teacher walks in.

Lunch doesn’t come soon enough. Your classmates are starting to crowd your desk again. Isagi pushes through all of them, grabs your hand, and rushes out of the room with you in tow. You glance back to the door and see your classmates poking their heads out of the doorframe in an attempt to see where Isagi is taking you. He leads you to a staircase at the backside of the building, where only a few people are around.

He lets go of your hand and apologizes, “I’m so sorry. I grabbed your hand without thinking, but you looked uncomfortable earlier. Everyone asked about your morning, and they were going to just now, so I figured this would be better…” The soccer player looks away and blushes while reaching to scratch at his neck nervously.

You bite back a smile at how awkwardly adorable he is. “No, I appreciate it, and this morning too. It’s far less embarrassing since you ‘confessed’ to me,” doing the air quote gesture as you say confess. You don’t pay attention as Isagi turns away with a hand to his face to hide his growing blush. His confession may have been sudden, but it was undoubtedly genuine, not that you ever needed to know.

“Now I’m a little bit less of a loser,” you laugh at yourself before continuing, “You really don’t need to follow through with fake dating me. We can pretend to go on one date and then break up publicly.”

Oh. While Yoichi understood, he wanted to fake date you for just a little while. It would be the closest he would get to actually dating you. “It might be a little unrealistic if we break up so soon. After declaring my love for you, maybe 2 weeks is good? Plus, it will make that loser you confessed to look stupid for turning you down.” He can’t look at you in case you refuse his proposal. So he stabs the rolled omelets packed in his lunch.

“If you don’t mind, then I’m okay with that. I just don’t want to be a bother. I know the soccer team has some important games coming up.” You pick at your own lunch, now somehow nervous about him rejecting you after he had been the one to bring it up.

He wants to shout, you would never be a bother. But he composes himself, though hardly. “You should come to the games and practice. I think it would make it really seem like we’re dating.” Upon saying that, he realizes the many other things he’d like to do with you under the guise of dating. He stares blankly at his food as he imagines walking you home while he holds your hand.

You clap your hands, “We have to exchange numbers! Do you have your phone on you?” Isagi shakes his head. He had left his phone beyond to prioritize you and his lunch. You pull out your phone and open it to the contact before handing it over to him. “I’ll text you, so make sure you save my number.”

He enters his number and name before saving it. He hands it back, but he notices your frown. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I don’t think my boyfriend’s contact name should be just his name. Let me rename it.” You’re too focused to notice how he flushes at you calling him boyfriend. Yoichi waits as you tap your phone and then shove it in his face to show him. You’ve saved his name as ‘Yoi <3’, and he can see the text you’ve sent, ‘hi darling, it’s (y/n)! make sure you save my number’. He’s starting to wonder if you’re deliberately trying to kill him by being adorable.

“It’s almost time to go back, right?” Isagi asks you and stands before offering you a hand to get up. He smiles brightly down at you, and the thought crosses your mind that maybe you won’t mind fake dating him.

It’s been maybe two weeks since you started ‘dating’ Yoichi, and you can say that it’s actually pretty fun. You wait for him after your club is done, or he’ll wait for you when he finishes early; his teammates tease him either way. He walks you to the train station and texts you for homework between the jokes he sends.

Today Isagi has another soccer game that places the team closer to Nationals. Even though he was the one that mentioned that you should come at the beginning of the fake dating, he always tells you that you can go home on the days that he has games.

But over the two weeks of watching his practice and the occasional game, you’ve come to like watching his games. You know nothing about soccer, but he answers your questions, taking time to explain everything and anything you want to know.

You don’t shout for him like the first time you came to one of his games (he ran head-on into one of his teammates and got subbed out soon after), and instead, just watch from the cold metal bleachers. Even during the halftime break, you let Yoichi be so he can focus on winning the game. You know he wants to take the team to Nationals. It’s been a frequent topic of discussion over text and after games when he walks you to the station, so you know just how important every game leading up to it is.

You wait for another 45 minutes as the second half plays out. The score has been tied and stays that way for most of the remaining half. You recognize the different strategies Isagi had pointed out during his practice, the triangle formation as he passes to his teammates and makes a run towards the goal. Seeing the ball rolls into the 18-yard box, you move to the edge of your seat. It’s the most promising chance you’ve seen during this second half as Isagi’s teammate notices the run Yoichi made and passes. Almost effortlessly, he’s able to score. The opposing goalkeeper’s vision is blocked by his defenders allowing Yoichi to shoot the ball right into the top corner.

You cheer, and immediately Yoichi’s head whips around to find you. He smiles and waves with both hands over his head before his teammates clamor around him. The team celebrates the goal and resets to fend off the opposing team as the clock ticks down. You’re not overly anxious about the game itself, but you’re itching for it to end so you can go down and congratulate Yoichi on his game-winning goal.

The referee signals the additional time in the match, and you make your way down the bleachers to reach Yoichi as soon as the game is called. The final whistle blows, and your school’s team rushes the field to celebrate being a win closer to Nationals.

You wait on the sideline for him, not in any hurry to break him away from the team. But he finds you, well, he’s been pushed over by his teammates. He’s sweaty, flushed, and heaving, but still, he has the energy to smile widely at you.

You mirror his smile, aware of the many eyes on you. “I think you’re teaching has been paying off because I can tell you did really good! Congrats on the goal too.”

His teammates ‘ooh’ at your words and make kissy sounds around you. Soon Yoichi is being pushed again so that he’s mere inches away from you as the surrounding members of the soccer team start to chant ‘kiss’. Yoichi tries to tell them off, making excuses that he’s sweaty and it would make for a bad first kiss between you two. The team is relentless though, and the few inches that had been granted before are taken away.

You’re pushed into him with no room to push away. Yoichi’s jersey is sticky with sweat, and his hair sticks to his forehead. He whispers a sorry before he places a hand on your face and kisses you.

His teammates go wild at the display of affection and finally break away to yell about Yoichi getting some. Little do they know there was no kiss.

Yoichi places his forehead on yours, noses almost touching, and sighs like he actually did kiss you. He moves the thumb that impeded your kiss to where his other fingers rest on your face. He whispers, “Sorry. I have to go, but wait for me, and I’ll walk you to the station.” He backs away and goes toward the bench to listen to his coach.

You stand, flustered, as you bring your hand to where Yoichi’s hand has been and feel how hot your cheeks are. But more than anything, you’re wishing he hadn’t put his thumb on your lips.

True to his word, Yoichi walks you to the train station like he always does. He carries your bag and offers up his warm-up jacket since it’s dark, ever the gentleman. It’s a bit awkward on the walk to the station, neither of you wants to address the almost-kiss that happened.

But that doesn’t matter when you reach the train station. “I think we should ‘break up’.” He does air quotes around break up, much like you had when talking about his confession. “It’s been 2 weeks now. I think everyone’s forgotten what happened.”

Oh. This is why he didn’t kiss you.

You feel your stomach sink, but if this is what he wanted then you’d do it. “Oh! I didn’t realize it’d been 2 weeks already. If that’s what you want then sure we can end our pretend relationship.”

He doesn’t say anything, but hands you your bag. Before you grab it, you move to take off his jacket. “You can just give it to me tomorrow.” You stare at him, but he can’t meet your gaze. He stretches his arm further so you can take your bag, clearly, he wants to leave.

“Ok.” You take your bag and as soon as he can feel that you have it, he turns and leaves. Your relationship was fake, so why did it hurt so bad when he asked to break up?

You go home, in his jacket, and wait for a text that never comes. Normally, Yoichi texts to make sure you’ve made it home but the screen doesn’t light up no matter how much you stare at it.

Yoichi’s jacket is draped over your desk chair, the sight of it makes you frown. There are lots of questions you have about what happened and why it happened the way it did, but it wasn’t real which somehow makes it so much worse.

You throw the jacket in the wash, so you can return it tomorrow. You check your phone again, but of course, there’s nothing.

Similarly, Yoichi stares at his phone, thumb hovering over the send button. The text he wants to send is a normal one, something he wouldn’t hesitate to send just yesterday.

The worst thing he thinks about him breaking up with you was the time and space you once occupied in the name of keeping up appearances would be void. Just a few hours later and he’s already missing you.

But Yoichi knew that continuing to fake date you was selfish of him. He’s not selfish, even on the field, but he wants to be. But he doesn’t want to keep you from pursuing someone you genuinely liked, that’s not fair. (Even though he hopes it would be him.)

Though the way you seemed surprised when he told you it had been two weeks, the way you had said ‘if that’s what you want’, even hesitating just slightly to take your bag from him, it meant something, right?

He groans and tosses his phone aside, trying to distract himself from overthinking the situation. He did not need to give himself false hopes and delusions that you were upset over this like he was.

It’s the first time in two weeks that nobody greets you at the front gate. Yoichi is usually at the school early for morning practice and even when the team doesn’t he still arrives early to walk you to the shoe locker.

He’s not in his seat when you enter, so you leave a plastic bag with his folded jacket inside on top of his desk. He comes in unusually late, apologizing to the teacher several times and explaining there had been morning practice.

Some small optimistic part of you wants to think that maybe he would have walked you to the shoe locker had his practice not run late, but realistically you know he’s probably ready to run away like he had at the train station yesterday.

You put your head down on the desk and don’t pay attention to the lecturing of the teacher.

You thought that habits took 30 days to form, so why did 2 stupid weeks affect you this much? It’s been 3 days of school now and you find yourself at every turn looking for Isagi.

When it's time for lunch you instinctively look back to find him so you can have lunch together, but he’s already out the door. You try to suppress the automatic urge you have to find Isagi any time there’s a second of free time in your schedule. But still, you somehow find yourself at the metal bleachers of the soccer field once again.

Once you fully register the automatic decisions your body has made you try to leave. It was awkward enough that Isagi made it a fairly obvious point to avoid you. The metal creaks every time you move, but you try moving slowly to avoid detection.

Luck is not on your side as their coach calls for a water break and the whole team turns to face the bleacher you are currently trying to leave. They all recognize you, after your ‘kiss’ they’d be stupid not to, and so they shout their greetings and call out Isagi for making you wait through the practice.

You sit back down and wave, there’s no way you can leave now. And you don’t want to cause Isagi trouble by having his teammates grill him on a nonexistent relationship. So you wait.

The sun begins to set and practice ends. You wait for Yoichi, so things don’t seem amiss to his teammates. He walks with you wordlessly to the train station like it’s a habit for him too. And you end up at the same spot you did just 4 days ago when he decided to ‘break up’ with you.

You want to apologize for making him walk you to the station, but the way he looks in the blazing orange light seems to make your mouth say all the words your mind is thinking. “I miss you. I miss your texts and greeting you in the morning. I miss eating lunch together. I miss being your friend.” As soon as you say it, you know friend is not the right word, but what is?

“I’m sorry, (Y/n), but I can’t be friends with you.” He leaves the ‘I want to be so much more’ unsaid.

You immediately jump to question him, “Why? Do you not feel this gaping hole of emptiness too?”

“What?” His eyebrows furrow in either shock or confusion, he certainly couldn’t say.

“I’m constantly feeling like I need you by my side. I look for you every single moment of spare time. I want to be close to you, I want to see you, I want to read your texts, and send you homework answers. I want you, Yoichi.” You take a staggered breath in and your heart beats loud in your ears. Oh, you know what word to use now. “Yoichi, I want you to be my boyfriend, for real this time.”

He stays silent longer than you would like, but you stay hopeful. Looking back at your fake relationship there was no way he didn’t reciprocate. All the things he had suggested in the name of appearances was proof enough for you.

“Really?” Is the only thing he asks. You nod vigorously now that you’ve figured out your feelings. A smile starts to make its way into his face, but he brings up a hand to cover it along with the growing blush. He squats and pumps his fist as he shouts, “Yes!”

You’re a bit shocked at his sudden reaction, but happy he’s reacting in such a positive manner. He stands back up again and places his hand on your shoulders. “Do you know how long I’ve liked you? I mean, god, (Y/n), this is-” He can’t even finish his sentence because he’s laughing and resting his head on your shoulder.

You brush your hand over the back of his head, smoothing over the hair. He holds onto the hand as his head snaps up. He looks at you with a soft expression, one you’re sure he did while you fake dated.

“Can I kiss you?” He gives you a lopsided smile before adding, “For real this time.” No doubt teasing you for earlier.

You roll your eyes and grab the collar of his jacket, pulling him close for you to whisper on his lips, “Kiss me.” And he does.

The next day he walks into school with your hand in his.

[monpalace]

Twi talking about his reader with Time and time putting together that his friend settled down and had kids and such. Upon first meeting Twi’s s/o he isn’t sure because she’s so nice and welcoming not like the woman who he knew that fought her way into her position until Twi says something absurd which leads to her ranting and eventually yanking at Twi’s ear challenging him that Time is like “ah yes this is definitely a descendent of hers” has been heavy on my mind lately.

time and twi being related is so integral to my sanity its insane.

time seeing pieces of the future, his impact, the impact of those around him, and his response to it all is also just as important.

(imagining a one-on-one grandfather-grandson time-traveling trip together because what are the rest of the chain gonna be doing except for looking like🧍🏼)

"Why don't you tell me about your version of her? It's only fair since I've given you my share."

Time isn't sure how they started talking of you, but he's glad to hear you made something of yourself a few centuries down the line, even if he wasn't hearing it from your words as he would've liked.

There's an unsure look on Twilight's face before he quips back with "d'ya want the good ones, or the bad ones?" Uncertainty quickly turns into adoration. "Dream girl ain't got a shortage of either."

(If Time were younger, he'd certainly gag at the nickname. It was cute though, and after Twilight had explained his reasoning for calling you that, it added onto the level of sweetness.)

Idk why I started this off like it was a fic. Anyways.

After arriving in Ordon (or wherever else you two decided to live), Time would be a little more than conflicted because?? You literally kissed Twilight's cheek and gave him the most dreamy smile??? You are not your ancestor????? But he also doesn't want to call or think of Twilight as a liar????????

(To be entirely truthful, he doesn't think Twilight has a lying bone in his body.)

After being invited inside, Time is further confused by Twilight's telling of you. You offered him clean clothes, to bandage his scrapes and bruises, and asked him what he wanted to eat since it was nearing the time you usually started dinner.

Time doesn't even think his version of you knew how to cook.

Since the dinner table only seats two (for now. Twilight is always talking about how he's gonna build a bigger one for the future), you, Time, and Twilight are settling yourselves around the living room or whatever they were called back then.

"Shame Malon ain't here, huh Old Man?"

You elbow Twilight hard enough to almost make him drop him plate while hissing "don't be rude," and that's when Time finally starts to see the similarities between his you and Twilight's you.

"What? 'm not the only one that calls him old man! Everyone does! He said we could call 'em that to!"

"Oh, so it's your job to point out the obvious now? What if he was insecure about his age?"

"He ain't!"

The second thing that makes him reason that you really hadn't changed in over a hundred years is when you kick Twilight for pulling your feet into his lap while the plates were still present.

You said it was a hygiene thing, Twilight joked that it was because your feet were ugly.

There's a knot on Twilight's head now.

Totally unrelated but just had the brief image of Time laying in bed with Malon once they hit his timeline and he's just telling her all about his time staying with you and Twilight to try and convince her about moving the whole having kids things to now instead of later.

Also imagining him finding you in his timeline and just gossiping, asking if you've found anyone special to settle down with.

(Time looks like he gives and gets good gossip. He looks like he knows exactly what to say/do to get the good stuff because of everything from Majora's Mask.)

ANYWAYS.

Time sees a lot more of his you in Twilight's you the day after. Whether you work alongside Twilight or somewhere in the city (or not at all), he's able to see everything in your mannerisms.

(You asked if he wanted to do the equivalent of a ride-along while you were out and he's never said yes to something so quickly— except when Malon asked him out. Y'all are def talking about stupid shit Twilight's done.)

From how you haggle prices down, to how you drive away people who had less than innocent intentions (from yourself and others. He'd have a field day retelling how you verbally bullied a man for trying to steal from an older woman), it all just screamed his you.

As soon as he gets to his timeline he's showing up at your front door to catch up, trust and believe 🤞🏽

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 18

First - Previous - Masterlist

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 13.5k

warnings: slight angst, MAJOR fluff, semi-suggestive themes, swearing, medical descriptions, mentions of death/violence/slight gore

A.N.: wE MADE IT TO THE FINAL CHAPTER OF CRUEL SUMMER. A BIG thank you to @fracturedarkness @inarinine @reysorigins and everyone else who has been here from the beginning to see this monster come to a close.

Eddie’s never felt so awful in all his life.     

To say that every single part of his body hurts would be an understatement, simply because what he is feeling is beyond pain.

Almost like he’s transcended it, skipped over the feeling in leaps and bounds, and come to settle in the quiet limbo of something he cannot quite place.    

His head is pounding, he can’t help but get the sense that his ribs have been smashed and splintered into oblivion, and he’s burning all over like he’s been injected with liquid fire, slowly making its way through his veins and central nervous system.   

The pounding, aching, burning of his insides, however, is nothing to say about the state of his skin, if he even has any left – he’d dreamt he’d lay there helplessly while every inch of his body was peeled back and stripped away, leaving him a bloody mess of muscles, tendons, and sinew – flayed is the word that comes to mind.

He feels more like the anatomical suggestion of Eddie Munson, rather than the real thing, and if he were to look in the mirror, he is half afraid he would not recognize the gory visage staring back at him.  

Worse than any of that, however, is the heaviness in his chest. He can’t seem to catch his breath, can barely even take a breath, almost as if someone were sitting on him, bearing down with all their weight in an effort to smother him.     

He feels bad in a way that cannot be so simply explained, but if he had to describe it, and he’s not entirely sure he can, Eddie would say that he feels like he’s died.

Like he’s been chewed up, spat out, and forced back into the shape of something only vaguely human… but it’s not entirely unbearable, because those arduous expanses of agony are regularly punctuated with intermittent moments of feeling almost okay.     

More than okay. For as awful as he feels, Eddie actually feels pretty great.     

In those brief intervals, he finds that he can just about catch his breath, and laying there, breathing deep, his head goes fat and heavy, and his body gets all tingly and warm in an exceedingly lazy way.     

It’s like a really good high… or maybe more like the empty seconds of absolutely nothing in the wake of a super intense orgasm, when his body is blown out of focus, fuzzy and shapeless before his brain kickstarts into working action again.    

It gives him the strangest sensation of simultaneously floating and sinking as if his body has suddenly taken on the consistency of wet sand, and if he tries to sit up, he’ll break apart into a hundred pieces and melt away with the tide.  

Maybe he is dead, and this is just what dead feels like. If that’s the case, then it’s not so bad, being dead.    

Regardless of the state of his being, he’s awake now and growing restless and laying there for an indiscernible amount of eternity has started to give him a cramp in his leg, so he moves.   

Eddie breathes deeply as he stirs, chasing the apparent high of death and filling his lungs without realizing that he’s standing on the other side of the border of that lovely little limbo of fat heads and buzzing limbs. As a result, he feels every inch of the pull of fresh stitches across his body and the scream of his expanding ribs, creaking and groaning like the hull of a splintering ship.    

Suddenly, dead is not as much fun as it was before, and all he feels is pain.

Pain like fire in your veins, like salt in the wound, like the pull of hundreds of tiny teeth eating him alive – and if he’s being eaten alive, that certainly must mean he’s not dead... right?  

Then again, maybe not, because didn’t he already go through all that? Isn’t that what killed him in the first place?  

Eddie’s lungs spasm as he struggles to fill them and he chokes, breaking into a violent fit of coughing and seizing that lights up another dozen different points of pain in his body that he didn’t know existed.

It’s just about unbearable for half a second before he crosses the threshold and is once again swaddled in the blanket of that wonderfully conflicting sensation of cold and warm, easing his cramping muscles, opening his lungs, and numbing the pain with a dreamy sigh.    

And there he goes feeling great again, floating along the high orgasmic nothing until suddenly there is something.    

A hand on his forehead, knuckles gently gracing his cheek. A straw guided to his lips, urging him to drink deep the gathering gloom.

He does as he’s told because, in his state, Eddie can only obey – the soothing rush of water eases the tight rawness of his throat and floods his mouth with the stale tang of blood.     

With it comes the cool rush of relief, he sinks back into the pillowy softness of the bed with a stuttering sigh and goes back to being dead again.   

Good. He’s happier that way – only his heart is pumping blood now, breathing life back into him and stirring his heavy limbs with pins and needles. There is sweat beading on his brow from the exertion of the previous moment, and now that he is awake, there is no stopping the world from rushing back in.   

Oh well, death was good while it lasted.  

Eddie gradually becomes aware of the sounds of the room, the gentle mechanical beep and whir of machinery — a soft chirping playing along with the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He fists his hands in the sheets and very slowly crickets his legs feeling the pull of skin on skin, coarse hairs snarling against each other and snagging.      

He’s lying in a bed somewhere, and wherever that somewhere happens to be, he’s got no pants on, which in and of itself is a mighty sobering realization.     

Slowly, carefully, Eddie dares to open his eyes. They roll heavily in his sockets like billiard balls as he does his best to take in his surroundings beyond the dark fluorescent bulbs and water-stained ceiling tiles waiting to greet him.    

There's not much to see in the dimly lit room. It’s all blurry shapes and shadows melting together, the odd burst of muted color from a flashing light, though it occurs to him that that could very well be a result of his own physical state.    

His eyes, chief among all his other currently muted senses, aren’t working so well.   

Eddie blinks sluggishly and waits for his vision to adjust against the dark and the sandpaper of his lids … and waits... and waits... and waits... and feels an odd pang of confusion stirring in his midsection as he fails to recognize his surroundings.   

He wracks his brain in an attempt to make sense of the room and its furnishings, but trying to muster any coherent thought is currently an effort in trudging through wet cement.

Eventually, something clicks over and there are shapes, images, and sensations all slowly coming together to paint an almost familiar picture of a cold black sky and a perpetual crimson lightning storm illuminating the trees and the bizarro version of his neighborhood, and he realizes it’s got a name, this terrible place...     

The Upsidedown.   

The thought of it is enough to send Eddie’s heart into gentle palpitations, because he may not know where he is now, but he remembers that place all too well.

Back there, he was hurt, he was scared, he was dying, and yet here he finds himself, lying in a bed staring at the monochrome grays and sickly greens of the room’s pallet.  

He’s not there, he's back on the other side, the right side of the world, as if there ought to be such a thing, and something is telling him over and over that he’s safe.

He’s not certain he believes it, but he doesn’t have the fortitude to disagree right at the moment, so he doesn’t fight it. He's too tired to keep fighting... 

Fluorescent lights creep in from the distant hallway to hurt his eyes and set his brain throbbing lazily in his skull. He hears the not-so-distant monitor keeping careful beeping time with the throbbing of his heartbeat, feels the scratchy, clinical bedsheets clinging to his skin, and eventually, one word manages to make it through the soupy mire of his thoughts and to the front of his mind: hospital.    

Hawkins General, Eddie might have realized if his brain was not sloshing so thickly in his skull with all the consistency of oatmeal.   

So, if he’s on the right side of the world, and if he’s in the hospital, it probably means that he’s not dead, and that there is a very good chance that the gently euphoric feeling he’s currently experiencing is just drugs.     

Awesome.    

The atmosphere is sharp with a stark, clinical air – the tang of medicinal balms and ointments fills his nose and burns his throat and only thinly masks the acrid, metallic smell of something like copper and meat, lingering heavily on the back of his tongue. Eddie doesn’t need the use of his faculties to recognize that the odor is blood.    

His blood.

He may be lost in the reeds of everything else, but he remembers the blood, spurting, gushing, spilling out of him with every panicked beat of his heart, faster than he can put pressure on the wound to try and stop it.    

No, not him, he was just lying there bleeding, you were the one doing all the work – you and your babysitter’s knowledge of basic first aid, way in over your head, doing anything and everything you could to try and save his life.   

Eddie supposes you must have succeeded in that endeavor, considering where he currently finds himself. Thankfully, all your blood sweat, and tears — so much blood and so many, many tears — didn’t go to waste, and there you went, just saving him again and again like it paid your goddamn bills.    

But how could he expect anything else?    

All along the way, in the boathouse, in the woods, in the field, in the quiet of his bedroom, and even back there, in that terrible place, you’d promised him again and again that he was going to be okay, and the thing about you – that funny little thing that he has loved from the start – is that you always keep your promises, for better or worse.    

Somehow, you got his ass up off of the pavement and out of that cold, dark place, and by some twist of fate, Eddie is alive.    

Whether or not he is going to thank you for that is, however, still up in the air.    

He gradually becomes aware of the press of fingers on the inside of his wrist and realizes with a sluggish start that he’s not alone in this room.

It would be frightening if he had the fortitude to feel anything but the effect of whatever it is they are steadily pumping into his veins, but all it does is make him sluggishly curious.      

Turning his head is almost impossible. Beyond the strange sensation of some kind of thick brace keeping his shoulders squared and his head facing strictly forward, Eddie’s neck is unbearably tight – even the most subtle of movements stretches the torn muscles there in a terribly uncomfortable way.    

It’s not quite pain, thanks to the brace and the drugs, but he has to move his shoulders to even make an attempt at turning his head, and to move his shoulders, he’s got to twist at the waist.

All that does is pull at the tenderness over his midsection and belly, where there is evidently nothing in place to stop him from making that sort of movement, nothing but the bright burst of agony that lights up along his ribs, warning him sharply to stop what he’s doing with a very strong hint of “or else.”    

Or else what?   

Or else hundreds of sharp little teeth will keep digging into him, rending his flesh, eating and eating and eating and tearing him into little, tiny pieces until there’s nothing left—    

Eddie inhales sharply as he turns and tenses his muscles against the pain it causes, which only sends him around and around in a vicious cycle of pain and tensing and gasping against the pain.  

This is all starting to feel like the worst idea he’s ever had, and “or else” is suddenly ringing in his ears loud and clear.

He silently begs himself to lie still and go back to being dead again, but with the lingering effect of that weird floating feeling he’s still dealing with – thanks again to the drugs – now that he’s started moving, he can’t stop.

So, he turns and turns and turns, hurting the whole way, and just as he expects his head to turn all the way around to the other side and snap his neck, he finds you sitting there.    

You’re positively divine, sitting tucked into a chair far removed from his bedside with one leg pulled up to your chest and looking about as rough as he currently feels, in your own hospital gown with your own bruises and your own bandages.    

It might have just been the drugs, but Eddie thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, sitting there looking like you’d gone through hell and traffic just to make sure you’d be here to meet him when he woke up.

And because you’re just so wonderful, part of him thinks that maybe you had.     

It makes his chest swell with something indiscernible from guilt and pride, and it hurts so bad, but he can’t help the dopey smile from spreading across his face — God his face hurts, too — one of those Stupid Cupid hearts in his eyes smiles you’ve always managed to pull out of him, from the very beginning.  

It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time, and it leaves him feeling like he’s dreaming – he’s got to be, because how else would either of you be here, after everything that happened?  

He doesn’t really care – he’s never been so happy to see anyone in his stupid, goddamn life.   

Then, just as he’s about to try and say your name, a monolith of shadow slides across his vision, blocking you from view and startling Eddie with enough force that he hears the sound of his heart monitor spiking.    

He recoils away from the shadow as best he can and feels all those points of pain go hot again. Through the fog of his drug-addled mind, Eddie forgets where he is. He can no longer discern what is real and what is merely a panicked hallucination, and suddenly, the room goes dark as he is thrust back into the Upsidedown.

Hundreds of little leathery bodies are crawling over every inch of the trailer, spilling out of the ceiling in his bedroom, flapping wings and slashing claws and teeth teeth teeth, blocking out the light, swarming him – swarming you, wrenching you out of his grasp and snatching you away from him.    

Eddie opens his mouth in an attempt at making some kind of a sound – maybe even a scream – but his throat is packed with cotton and no amount of exerting effort brings anything but sharp, sticky pain jumping up from his esophagus.

That copper flavor is flecking up at the back of his throat again, and in place of your name, a panicked whimper bubbles up from his throat like blood and spills past his lips to dribble down over his chin. He imagines it slopping down his front in a thick, crimson tide, staining his bandages and the hospital gown, pooling thickly in his lap.

Eddie shifts in the bed, frantically trying to push up and get away from the blood, to get away from the shadow and the bats and the Upsidedown, but his limbs have gone numb and heavy, and he can barely move.   

That horrible sound comes up out of him again, louder this time, and some part of his subconscious thinks that it must be his best attempt at a pained cry after having his throat cut – he imagines his vocal cords, severed and useless, failing to scream as the monsters descend and swallow him whole.  

In his panic, Eddie is only vaguely aware of a flurry of frantic sounds and movements breaking out around him as he sinks further and further into the dark. It’s all shrill monitors beeping and gruff voices admonishing him for existing, Hawkins closing in on him to finally stamp him out for good and rid themselves of their boogeyman.    

He is drowning, powerless to resist the crushing pressure on his shoulders, forcing him back down into the sucking pull of the bed like quicksand, and for half a terrifying moment, he is dreaming again in his waking death.   

He remembers you were holding him in the dark, and something else was there with you, something he could not see, trying to take him from you. At the time, Eddie hadn’t had the presence of mind to be afraid of it, considering how warm and loving it seemed as it peeled back your fingers and gently worked to coax him away with all the right words, promises of relief from the pain and rest eternal.

He realizes now that it had been true death calling him home, and that he may have been inclined to follow it down into the dark if it had not been for you.   

He remembers now that you called his name, and he fought like hell to stay awake, stay alive, stay a little longer in your arms, simply because you’d asked him not to go – if there is one thing that has always been true, it's that Eddie would do anything for you, including but apparently not limited to dying and coming back from the grave.   

“Eddie. Look at me, Eddie.” a voice he knows better than anything in this world says gently, a hand plunging down into the dark to seize him and pull him up, “It’s okay – you’re okay,”    

That’s what you’d told him back in the other place where he’d lay dying, and it had been easy to delude himself into believing you then. Laying here now, living, it’s not such a stretch to do the same, especially as the familiar press of fingers scrabble across the back of his hand and squeeze as tightly as they dare over his knuckles, swathed in bandages as they are.    

“I'm here, Eds. I’m right here.”    

He hadn’t been aware of the way he’d been trying again and again to say your name, to make the sound eke out of his throat until you answered him.   

Blindly, Eddie grips your hand and tries to make himself breathe as you tell him again and again what he’s not sure he’d really known until that very moment.   

He’s okay. He’s safe. He’s alive.   

When he finally feels calm enough to open his eyes again, he is almost relieved to find that the monolith of shadow separating you from him is not some terrible force from beyond. The room is the same grey-green as it was moments ago, and there are no bats or otherworldly wizards hell-bent on destroying the world.   

There is only you and the night nurse.    

A titan of a woman who Eddie thinks he knows, if only vaguely through fleeting moments of lucidity, taking vitals, scribbling on charts, and muttering nasty, damning things to the patient she thinks cannot hear her speak.   

Eddie’s nurse does not like him. That much he can tell from the way she manhandles him as she futzes around and pushes him back into the bed when he tries to sit up again — more of a Hulk Hogan than a Florence Nightingale type.

He wonders stupidly if he’d actually done anything to earn that opinion or if it is just one of those residual feelings left over from a run-in with the deplorable Al Munson.  

The world may never know.       

Regardless, Eddie gives himself as much of a cursory looking over as he can manage without moving when she turns her back and is relieved to find that he is not slicked down with blood the way he’d imagined, and that you are still holding his hand as tightly as you dare from your chair at the side of his bed.   

Thank God for that.  

He'll have to wait for the nurse to leave before checking on the state of his vocal cords – he doesn’t dare make a sound until she’s gone on the off chance that she takes some bizarre offense to it and decides to do something nasty.  

There’s a long moment more of checking vitals, checking charts, checking checking checking, all the while you speak soothing, inaudible niceties to Eddie in a way that feels almost absent-minded, like you’ve been doing it for so long that it has become second nature.

He wonders, not for the first time, just how long he’s been lying there in that bed.   

Then, the night nurse says something Eddie can’t make out and something you don’t seem to hear, he’s not entirely sure who she is even speaking to, and when neither of you responds, she turns sharply on her heel and thrusts a thick finger at you – the object of her tirade – speaking again through that garbled filter of dialogue, like something half submerged in water.  

She’s clearly angry about something – possibly just your proximity to that no-good Munson boy – somehow Eddie can’t help but get the sense that this is just her natural state.

It takes him what feels like a very long time to untangle her string of snarling words through the sluggish processor of his mind.   

“...so if I come back in twenty minutes and you’re still here, there’s gonna be hell to pay,” She warns you. 

Eddie would be filled with a righteous indignation on your behalf if he wasn’t so busy fighting the way he is still sinking down into the drowning-deep of his mattress as a result of the nurse’s aggressive shoving.    

Distantly, you turn a sheepish gaze down to your fidgeting fingers and submit to the authoritative disdain of her gravelly tone.     

“Yes, Nurse,” you mumble, and when the monolith of a woman turns her back, you stick your tongue out at her in an act of juvenile defiance.   

Eddie holds his breath as she lumbers past him with the great, squeaking steps of sensible rubber-soled shoes moving across polished linoleum, and in the half minute it takes her to reach the door, his lungs have already begun to burn.

Thankfully, with her work seemingly done for the time being, the nurse vacates the room, taking all of the tension of the previous moment with her.    

“Good,” Eddie exhales once he is sure the coast is clear, “Got you all to m’self,”    

His vocal cords are thankfully more or less intact, but talking is no easier than anything else he has attempted to do over the last several waking minutes.

Jesus Fuck, talking hurts worse than his lack of skin or his broken ribs or his pounding head, but he’s never been the kind of person who knows when to quit, and he’s not about to start getting wise now. 

Eddie’s not even entirely sure he’d said anything halfway intelligible until your head snaps back over to him and your eyes go bright and wide.    

“Hey!” you gasp quietly, gliding forward to close any gap of distance left between you and reaching out with both hands to curl all ten of your fingers around the hand you’re already holding, “Hey … hi, Eddie,”   

Your voice is thick with emotion — relief, maybe? — and it sends a pang of something sharp lancing through Eddie’s chest.

His vision has not fully cleared just yet, and as a result, you’re little more than the fuzzy impression of his girlfriend, perched at his bedside. He can’t help but feel that were he able to see you, your eyes would be bright and brimming with tears.    

He knows he shouldn’t, but he’s already talking again before he can stop himself.     

“Aww… don’t be sad, Sweetness.”     

The words come slowly, slurring together into one long stream of dialogue that sends the metallic tang of old blood flecking up over the back of his tongue as he tries to remember how to do this very basic human function.     

You shake your head and quickly dismiss the notion.   

“I’m not.” You assure him, “I’m not sad. I’m happy. I’m so, so happy.”   

It takes some work, but Eddie manages to give you his closest approximation to a nod, braced as he is.    

“Tha’s good.”    

You sniffle, despite your previous insistence, and clear your throat before speaking again.   

“How are you? How do you feel, Baby?”    

Damn right, I'm your baby... is what he would have said if he had any sort of control over his responses, maybe to save you from having to know the true state of his being, but without his higher faculties, all Eddie can do is be honest with you.  

“Mmmmbad.”     

You make a quiet, distressed sound in the back of your throat and hesitate before speaking again. 

“Oh... should I...? Do you want me to call the nurse back?”  

Absolutely fucking not.  

Eddie thinks he hears you say something about Wayne that he absolutely intends to address, but all thoughts of his uncle or anyone else he might have been eager to see before that moment are cast to oblivion as he tests the waters of shaking his head and feels his brain slosh back and forth in his skull when he does.   

All he has thoughts for are you, and the gentle point of contact where he realizes he can feel the faint fluttering of your heart, beating in his hand. 

“Jus’ gimme some sugar, Sugar,” he says.  

You breathe a sigh of laughter through your nose that sounds somewhere almost halfway contented, and Eddie feels his heart throb behind his ragged, broken ribs when you press a kiss to the back of his hand.   

Oh, yes, that’s what he’s been waiting for — the really good shit. He makes a pleased sound of thanks in the hollow of his throat and tries to lift your hand and bring it to rest against his chest, the way he likes to do, but he’s hardly got the strength left to curl his fingers around yours.  

His blinking is growing gradually more sluggish and with every passing moment, it’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open.   

“Poor Eddie,” You hum somewhere to the right of him, lacing your fingers with his as you turn your head to press your cheek to his marred flesh.  

You ask him a question that he doesn’t quite catch, only the tail end of the sound reaches him and it’s too faint to understand, but, all the same, Eddie nods.

It’s an instinctual reaction that he gets a little more than lost in, the drunken up and down of his head going on forever and ever, lulling him into a stupor that has his eyes sliding shut for good this time.   

Christ, he's suddenly so tired, or perhaps more accurately, he is so… fucking… high.    

Somehow, despite his ruined state, he hears the next question you posit.    

“…how’s that morphine drip?”     

Oh, Morphine, huh? The good good shit.     

It takes Eddie a very long time to answer, long enough that even he begins to wonder if he’s fallen asleep, particularly with the way his head rocks back into the pillow.     

“So… good.” He slurs.     

Eddie hears the musical lilt of your gentle laughter somewhere in the room, but the sound is floating around like a summer breeze, and he can’t decide where he thinks you are anymore, despite the way he can feel you turn his hand over to begin tracing the lines in his palm.     

He doesn’t hear what you are saying until you prompt him again with a gentle murmur of his name.    

“...you okay?” You ask him, sounding suddenly very far away.  

“…m’sleepy…” Eddie sighs, fading fast, already dreaming ...drifting.   

“…try to stay with me, Eddie… just a little longer,” You murmur, a gentle request that gradually grows frantic, panicked – crimson lightning flashes overhead illuminating the terrible dark of that place as Eddie’s body goes slack, eyes falling open, clouded and unseeing as you shake him ferociously.    

“No - NO! Don’t go, Eddie – stay with me!” You scream. 

The sound startles him into waking, out of the memory of the place that had killed him and back into the muted grey-green hospital room, heart monitor beeping steadily in a gentle contrast to how he can feel the muscle beating itself senseless against his ribs – somehow a little less tender than they had been a moment ago.   

Adrenaline stings him down to the very tips of his fingers and toes, and he is suddenly wide awake.    

Eddie can’t tell how long it’s been since he dozed, the room is just the same as it had been moments before, but that’s not a solid indicator of anything.   

His palm is empty when he flexes his fingers and curls them shut – hadn't you been holding his hand before?

The sudden lack of your touch is startling, and Eddie goes looking for you without realizing how he is about to meet the consequences of trying to move like that.  

At some point during his dozing, someone evidently went and removed his neck brace, and in the absence of it, he suddenly has full range of movement where he didn’t before. It’s a learning curve he did not expect to have to tackle, and Eddie grits his teeth against the tenderness in his neck as he turns a tad too sharply toward the place at his bedside where he’d last seen you.

Something pops, there is a momentary tightness, but Eddie’s head does not go rolling off his shoulders, so he doesn’t give himself the time to worry about that, not with you sitting there at his bedside.    

Thankfully, you’re not gone as he had feared, though you have also not been spared the evident changes that have taken place in the room in the mere seconds it's been since he last closed his eyes.   

You’re out of the hospital gown you’d been wearing before, and dressed in an old, oversized t-shirt – the kind that grandmas wear to the beach, with the exaggerated drawing of a super curvy body on the front, big cartoon tits spilling out of an itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny yellow polka-dot – great, now I'm gonna have that song stuck in my head.    

Your hair is wet and neatly slicked back out of your face, and even with his newly retained faculties, Eddie can’t help but feel slightly disappointed at the notion that you showered without him, he would have really liked to join you.      

Unhelpfully, his subconscious drums up a host of images, bombarding Eddie with what he knows you look like standing beneath the rush of hot, steaming water, with hands wandering across the expanse of your bare body – his and yours.    

It makes something stir halfheartedly in the pit of his stomach, and Eddie silently chastises himself for having such a thought – Get your mind out of the gutter, Munson. Not the time, or the place.

Still, a guy can dream, can't he?

Evidently not, as the sentiment is lost, taking the image of your unexpected nudity with it as he realizes he has no idea how long it’s been since last he was awake to see you sitting in that same spot.    

Under any other circumstance, losing time like that might be ever so slightly jarring, but once again Eddie doesn’t care about it, because he’s just so incandescently happy that you’re still here.   

You haven’t noticed his attention just yet, you’re far too entrenched in whatever it is you’ve got perched in your lap.    

It takes him half a moment too long to realize it’s a book, and that you’re reading aloud to him. It makes his chest swell, and he can’t tell if it hurts a little less than last time, or if the pain is sharper – Eddie doesn’t presently have the faculties to decide how he feels just yet as he settles back into the pillow and watches you pour over the text.       

“If he had simply imagined the Elder Folk, he could go back to the caves, and sleep, and never give a thought to the mysterious sword again.” You narrate in an even, unhurried voice, “But he knew he would think about it. And Ruadh, who would never be free unless he, Coll, killed the Wolf King with the sword that was never cast.”   

The gentle, steady rhythm of your reading is soothing, almost enough to lull him back to sleep, but he fights with what little strength he has to keep his eyes open between sluggish blinks.

He watches your lips move and feels the first tickle of a cough stirring deep in the hollow of his chest cavity. Eddie does his best to stifle it.    

“Slowly, he walked back to the tarn, where the caracle still waited, and paddled back to the opposite shore. He no longer felt afraid of the open moor – more desolate than ever now in the blinding snow – just weary and indifferent. The first gray of dawn began to lighten the night sky as he clumped up to the mouth of the cave near the waterfall…”    

Eddie tries to clear his throat as subtly as he can in an attempt to diminish the pesky cough, which has since crawled up into his throat.

He hates to interrupt your flow, but his efforts to banish the cough only pulls at his stitches and forces him to draw a sharp intake of breath, which he promptly chokes on.  

Your eyes flit up, ending your gentle narration and the moment with it. Just like that, Eddie Munson exists again, a hacking and coughing image of the person who has been disrupting the flow of your life for years now.    

If it bothers you – if it has ever bothered you – you make no show of it.    

Your brows pinch and you twist in your seat to pour from the plastic water pitcher Eddie hadn’t seen sitting on the tabletop just beyond his field of vision.    

He accepts the cup when you offer it, foregoing the bendy straw in favor of gulping greedily at the cool water.

The plastic edge bites into the cracked and tender flesh of his chapped lips, but he remains undeterred by the sensation and the way it dribbles out from the corners of his mouth and over his chin, leaking down into the bandages that have since replaced his neck brace.

The wetness is a cooling balm against his raw skin as it saturates the thick gauze and cotton.      

“Hey,” you say gently, taking the empty cup when he’s done and setting it back on the still-hidden bedside table.    

“Hey yourself,” he croaks, slightly dismayed to find that the state of his vocal cords has not improved since last he tried his hand at talking.    

The light is an unknowably cold and muted fluorescent hue spilling in from the drawn curtains of the room’s inner windows and under the crack in the door. With the blinds drawn, there is no telling what time of day it is, let alone what time of year.

If it weren’t for the lingering battered state of your being, the yellow-green bruise ringing your left eye and the half-healed stitches splitting your brow from the blow Jason Carver dealt you back on the rocky shores of Lover’s Lake, it could be Christmastime for all Eddie knows about how long he’s been in and out.    

Mostly out.    

“You were talking in your sleep,” You tell him.   

“Was I?” Eddie mumbles, for lack of anything better to say rather than out of genuine curiosity.    

You nod.   

“What were you dreaming about?”   

He's not sure he's ready to tell, considering he is fairly certain it was not a dream, but a memory you’d been listening to him talk through.

Eddie might lie and say he didn't remember if it weren’t for the way your scream is still echoing in his subconscious. He can’t imagine what must have happened for you to make a sound like that.

Like the hollow crack of Chrissy’s bones twisting up out of shape or the emptiness that hung in the air between him and Wayne after the accident when he asked when he could see his mother again, the way you’d screamed back on the other side of the world is going to haunt Eddie for the rest of his life, and he hopes he never has to hear something so terrible ever again.   

“Eddie?” You say, drawing him back out from the cloying mire of his thoughts.   

“I was dreaming about you…” He says, and it’s not a lie, despite the quick decision he makes to spare you the gory details for his own sake as much as yours, and shrugs as best as he can manage – it hurts. “...Naked in the shower…”    

You snort undaintily but beyond that, remain wholly unaffected by the answer – a genuine Eddie Munson response.    

“Good dream.”    

“Sure,” Eddie mumbles, feeling strangely shot through with holes, “… what time is it?”   

He squints against the unpleasant throbbing of his frontal lobe in the too-little light and watches as you fold his tattered copy of Ann Turnbull’s The Wolf King neatly in your lap with the kind of reverence a well-loved book deserves – he wonders if that means you’ve been back to the trailer.    

Then, you check your wrist reflexively for the watch that isn’t there, and your face pinches briefly into a mask of annoyance as you twist again in your seat, looking for the clock on the wall.

You stare at it for what feels like a very long time before finally twisting back around.   

“Half past two.” You yawn, stretching your arms above your head until it causes your body to seize in little micro-spasms.    

Eddie opens his mouth to ask if that was an AM or PM deal, but you slump back down into your seat and turn your gaze up to look at him with hazy, wistful eyes that turn him suddenly shy and shut him up before he can work himself up to it.

You’re so pretty, even battered and bruised as you are, dressed in something he imagines you rifled out of a lost and found box, it makes his tongue go fat and clumsy in his mouth.    

“You should go back to sleep,” You tell him, sleepily folding your hands over the guard rail at his bedside and resting your chin atop them.     

Not a chance in hell, he wants to tell you, not with what is lurking in his subconscious – tragically not you, naked in the shower – but he’s too busy noticing how exhausted you suddenly look to think about that anymore.     

You look about as much as he feels – bone tired, right down to the marrow, like after everything you’ve been through, no amount of sleep is ever going to make you feel normal again.   

“When’s the last time you slept, Sweetheart?” Eddie asks you softly as he watches your eyes droop.   

You shake your head.   

“I’m okay.” You breathe out dreamily.    

He would point out that that wasn’t what he asked you, but the notion is smothered by the creeping realization that if he sends you off to catch a few hours of sleep somewhere, it would mean sending you away because he's not about to let you sleep upright in a chair. Some recessed part of Eddie's mind is still deeply worried that the second he takes his eyes off of you, you’re going to disappear.

Eddie will keep you as near as he possibly can if he has any say in it – he'd bring you up into this bed if he thought that was an option.

Still, you’ve taken such good care of him that he can’t help but try and return the favor.     

“You look tired.” He tells you, and you roll your shoulders in a good-natured shrug.   

“I am tired.”    

“Then you should go and get some sleep.”    

You wrinkle your nose in that specific way he loves so much and breathe a burst of soft and airy laughter through your nose.  

“But I don’t want to stop looking at you,” you whine, which is almost funny considering how your eyes have already slid shut.    

The feeling is mutual, and even after all the time he’s loved you, it’s still so weird how you’ve got that uncanny ability to read his mind in little moments like this.   

Eddie winces as his brows jump up toward his hairline, where the fresh stitches in his forehead happily remind him of their presence.  

His reaction is not lost on you as your eyes flit open again in time to regard him sleepily.    

“… that one looks like it hurts…” You hum, reaching out to brush your fingers oh-so-gently across the stitches in Eddie’s forehead, “You know, you were pretty out of it last time we talked… are you feeling any better?”   

Eddie scoffs in a “funny you should ask” sort of way. 

“Not really. I kind of feel like I died,”    

The statement is enough to banish all traces of drowsy whimsy from your features and, suddenly, you’re wide awake. Of course, he’d only said it in a fatalistic attempt at twisting the truth for some kind of wry humor – something like trying to claw his way back to feeling normal – but your reaction has him regretting it instantly.

You stare at him, wide-eyed and with the faintest hint of something Eddie might almost call fear, brows tweaking up and inching toward one another to form the beginnings of the deep crease of worry he knows so well.

You don’t respond, not right away, despite the strange sound that stirs in the hollow of your throat, something that might have been an attempt at a laugh if it hadn’t fallen flat on its face.

The ambiguity of that sound paired with the look you’re giving him leaves a sinking feeling in the pit of Eddie’s stomach, and he watches carefully as you sit up straight, chewing the inside of your lip like you’re trying to decide whether or not to tell him something.

He has to muster his courage to work himself up to ask you what's on your mind, though some minuscule part of him is already fairly sure he knows what’s got you spooked.  

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks cautiously. 

You worry your lower lip and hesitate, long enough that Eddie is starting to get nervous.  

“Well,” You start after a very long moment, dropping your voice to a nearly inaudible tenor, “You gave it your best shot.”    

Eddie feels himself go hot, then cold, and hot again, and suddenly he feels like he’s swaying in his seat. He grips the sheets for stability and swallows hard against the cobwebs blooming in his throat.    

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks, despite his better judgment, because deep down he knows exactly what you mean.   

“...You stopped breathing, Eds…” you tell him, and he’s not sure he would have heard you had the room not been so quiet.   

Despite how unsurprised he is to hear it, the news is sobering, like a sucker punch to the gut and suddenly, Eddie can hear you screaming again, echoing out from somewhere in the furthest reaches of his subconscious.  

He stopped breathing. Which is to say he died.  

Right there in your arms, if he had to guess, just like in his dream.   

Boy, he hates being right all the time.    

Eddie barely hears a word of your explanation as you wade cautiously into the tide-pool of events that happened after he lost consciousness.

He lost a lot of blood – that much he already knows – but as you explain it, he’s got Steve to thank for his return ticket from the river Styx. 

He supposes it makes sense that Harrington would know CPR; man is about as close to being a Boy Scout as you can get without wearing the uniform. Steve got him breathing again – he certainly broke a few of Eddie’s ribs in the process, but he got him breathing all the same, and at the end of the day, that’s all that really matters.

He guesses in some sense of karmic justice that he and Steve are even now, the burden of saving his life has been sloughed off of his unwilling shoulders, the scales are balanced, and all is right in the world.  

Or so it ought to be, somehow, Eddie can’t seem to bring himself around to that line of thinking.    

“After that, you were in surgery,” you explain, adopting a droning sort of monotony to your tone like you’re reciting something deeply uninteresting that you’d spent hours and hours memorizing, “...and we were all just waiting around to see what would happen… for a minute there we didn’t know if you were gonna make it – you were…” You pause as your voice hitches and threatens to break, “It was – God, Eddie – it was so scary. I was so scared you weren’t gonna…”  

Weren’t gonna survive?

Well, it's like you said, he went and gave it his best shot, didn't he? Eddie suppresses a shudder as he is bathed in the memory of lying there in your arms, gripped in fear for his own impending death … he’d been so afraid of dying… 

You do your best to perk up then, sniffling and blinking back any sort of wetness attempting to collect at the corners of your lashes.  

“Well, it doesn’t matter…” You say, shoulders jumping in feigned nonchalance.  

Eddie has to bite his tongue to keep from shouting.  

“It does matter,” he says instantly, a little too loud for the confines of the room.  

Eddie rethinks his tone when he sees how his timbre causes you to flinch, but he won’t apologize. He’d come so close to losing this, losing you and the quiet comfort of just sharing your space, and he can’t stand hearing how hard you are trying to seem like his near-death hasn’t affected you, like it’s just one of those things.  

For what ... for his sake? He’s the one who died, he doesn’t need you protecting him from that. 

Still, he supposes that this is entirely new territory for both of you, and you’re only trying to do what you think is best – what happened to him happened to you too. He can’t forget that. 

Eddie reaches for your hand so that you will know he isn’t angry, and you give it to him so quickly that the room rings out with a hard clap of dry skin on skin. 

“It matters to me, Sweetheart.” He whispers, and you nod. 

“You’re right...” You say softly, “It does matter... it matters that you almost died. And it matters that I thought I was going to lose you again – after I just got you back?" You make an indignant sound that presents itself as something a lot closer to a sob than a scoff, "How is that fair? I didn't know how I was going to live with that... I didn’t want to live with it, without you... and I don’t care if it’s selfish to say, but I'm so glad I don’t have to... I'm so glad you came back to me...”  

As if he even had a choice – you’d told him once that given a choice between him and anything else, you would always choose him, and Eddie suddenly can’t stop thinking about how relieved he is to see you, how sitting here together feels strangely so much like that moment he’d whipped open the door back in Rick’s boathouse and, against all odds, found you – beautiful, wonderful, inimitable you – standing there … because you chose him, you always choose him, so of course he would choose you, without question. 

How’d you find me? He’d tried to ask you then, stumbling and stammering and choking on his own inexorable relief … what was it you said to him?  

Eddie has to clear his throat to try and keep his voice from wavering, and even then, there is the faintest hint of a lilt when he speaks.   

“Heard you calling,” He says in a clipped tone, “Came running.”    

It doesn’t have nearly the same effect coming from him – you’ve always been so much cooler than he is – but even with his failed attempt at being a smooth talker, it still garners the best response possible. 

You laugh – a high, watery thing that wrenches itself out of you with enough force to startle you and make you laugh all over again. Even Eddie feels its effects, biting the inside of his lip to try and keep himself from smiling too wide because of a faint and lingering memory of how that had hurt the last time he’d tried to smile at you.

You sit there, giggling and sniffling and wiping your eyes, and it makes his insides ache.  

It feels like it’s been years since he’s seen that smile.   

It takes some time for you to compose yourself, caught in the throes of exhaustive giggles as you are, though once you finally manage to calm down, you stick Eddie to the spot with a pointed look of feigned annoyance. The effect is more or less lost with how you can’t keep a straight face, grinning at him the way you are.  

“You keep using my lines like that and I’m gonna have to start charging you, Munson,” You tease.  

“Put it on my tab,” He says, reaching for you with both hands so that he might pull you close and hug you tight. 

The motion is stopped short with a harsh jerk and a deafening clank that rings loudly through the room, drawing his attention to the polished silver cuff fastened to his forgotten wrist.   

The sight of the angry gleaming metal keeping him firmly tethered to the guard rail furthest from you causes Eddie to break into a cold sweat.  

He's handcuffed to the goddamn bed.   

“…And then there’s that…” You mutter.    

He gives you an incredulous, bleary-eyed look and feels himself go hot, then cold.

Somehow Eddie had thought they would be done with this, that he’d already been through the worst of it – out of the frying pan and into the fire, so to speak,  running from the police only to find himself swamped in the rushing tide of all this paranormal otherworldly bullshit –  but when has he ever been lucky enough to be let off the hook for something like that?

Chrissy is still dead, after all.

Suddenly, he feels like he could be sick. It doesn’t seem fair that he should have endured everything he did on the other side only to come back to find all the problems of the real world waiting in the wings. 

“Hey,” You say then, drawing his attention back and doing your best to quiet the rushing tide of his mind working itself into a tizzy with worry, “One thing at a time, okay? Right now, let's just focus on getting better, and then we’ll worry about the rest of it…”   

Eddie nods, and despite the shackles, he tries again to reach for you, attempting to pick up where he left off despite how this latest development has rattled him – his movement is jerked short again with another one of those hard, metallic clangs, and Eddie’s sudden and violent need to touch you is only amplified by his hampered movement.  

Desperation wells dangerously in his chest, and Eddie curls his fingers into fists to stop himself from trying for you for a third time.   

“What about you, though?” He rasps, desperate to think about anything beyond the fact that after all is said and done, he’s still probably going to go down for Chrissy’s murder. 

He can’t think about that, he can’t think about her, so he forces himself to think about what is right in front of him.  

You furrow your brow. 

“What about me?” 

“I mean are you okay? Last time I saw you, you were…” He trails off as he is assaulted with the image of his own trembling hands slick with blood down in the dark.

Yours or his, he can’t be sure, but Eddie shuts his eyes against it and grits his teeth. 

He gets the faintest hint that he’s slipping again, sinking back into the bed and headed straight for the wrong side of the world, the dark and the dank and the perpetual lightning storm. 

Before the world can close in on him, however, you snatch him back with a gentle hand closing around his fingers. 

“I’m okay.” You tell him with a quiet assurance, “Everybody’s okay. A little worse for wear, but everybody’s breathing… and that’s what counts, right?”     

Normally, Eddie might have said something dismissive about that – fuck everybody else – but that wouldn’t be fair of him, not after all the work Steve and Dustin and the others put in to pull his ass out of the fire, but he’s too busy trying to compartmentalize everything to think about anything beyond what is currently right in front of him – you. And you’re telling him that everything is alright, so he supposes that’s good enough for him, at least for now.  

“Right…” Eddie hums, clinging to the warm sense of calm radiating out from you and bleeding into him from your point of blessed contact, “Okay... good.”    

He fidgets with his fingers, gently tucked into the palms of your hands, and can’t help but notice that something feels off.

It's not a sense of something wrong so much as a lack of weight, and a cursory inspection reveals to Eddie with a sickening start that his rings are missing. He doesn’t know why, but it sends a sharp pang of grief stabbing through his chest, and suddenly, his eyes are growing frustratingly wet and blurry.   

He tries in vain to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He can feel you watching him, and he begins to wonder with no small amount of embarrassment whether he’s really about to start crying over something so trivial as his rings.

It’s not like they were special, like a family heirloom or a physical holdover from some cherished instance, they were just something that had caught his eye in a pawn shop a few years ago. He doesn’t know why he’s getting so upset over their loss, except that they were his, and he doesn’t have a lot of things that are expressly his. 

He suddenly feels like that flayed Eddie-shaped thing again, like he’s been stripped away, picked clean down to the bone, and ravaged over by scavengers – it’s not enough that he only went and fucking died, the world is not going to be satisfied until it takes everything from him, his van, Sweetheart, you – even those goddamn rings.  

It’s not fair. It’s just not fucking fair.  

And it’s not the rings so much as how he’s been teetering on the edge of this precipice for days – the rings, Eddie supposes, are just his breaking point.  

Which is fucking stupid, if you ask him.  

And then, as if you could read his thoughts and were privy to the idle distress bubbling up in Eddie’s chest, you rock backward in your seat and fish a wadded-up bundle of damp tissues from a hidden pocket at your hip.  

“Here,” You say. 

He watches as you carefully unwrap the bundle in the palm of your hand and reveal the jumble of burnished silver there.

A pig’s head, a skull, and an iron cross, not lost or stolen but safely tucked away, and Eddie chokes on the sound that rises in his throat – something caught halfway between a laugh and a sigh of unabashed relief.    

“Where did you –?” he starts to ask but cuts himself off with a slow, uneven breath.   

Calm down, Munson. Just calm the fuck down, will you?   

“I took them when they put you in the ambulance,” You admit, “They were all full of blood, and I didn’t want you to have to see them like that… so I cleaned them off and held on to them until I could give them back to you,”  

What you don’t say, however, is why you really took them – not for safekeeping, but for souvenirs, so you would have something of his on the off chance that Eddie didn’t pull through.  

It’s a sobering thought that settles in the pit of his stomach like a stone – he can’t even be mad about that, for as morbid as it is, because he would have wanted you to have them. He would have wanted you to have anything you wanted to keep him close in case he couldn’t find his way back to you, he only hates that there was ever a moment that you thought you needed something like that.  

Eddie watches you staring at the jumble of rings sitting in your hand, staring without really seeing them, he thinks, and then you tilt your head over to press your shoulder to your ear and give him a wry look. 

“Your piggy friend gave me the worst trouble, there. All those wrinkles…? Took me about an hour to get him clean – I guess that’s why they call it being pig-headed...”    

Eddie startles himself then with a burst of watery laughter, almost a mirror image of the way you’d laughed before, and you bite the inside of your lip to try and stifle the way you’re giggling right along with him as he reaches out to trace the cold silver lines of his beloved trinkets with trembling, reverent fingers.  

You catch his hand with feline grace and, one by one, slide the rings back into place over his battered fingers. Once they are settled snugly where they belong, you give him an easy, contented smile. 

“There.” You tell him, “Now you’re perfect,”  

Eddie hums out his thanks because it’s all he can do to keep himself level with the emotion welling up inside of him over that gentle act of reverence. He’s not going to break down into a blubbering mess of sloppy tears over it, but the danger is ever present, so Eddie cautions himself to tread carefully.   

He wants to tell you he loves you, but he’s fairly certain he’s exhausted the phrase over the last… eventually he’s going to stop trying to drum up some random interval of time, he doesn’t know what day it is, and he doesn’t know how long it’s been since you all stood together in the kitchenette of his trailer and made your own individual suicide plans.  

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he told you… maybe he ought to say it, just to cover all his bases… 

“What’s the matter?” You ask him suddenly.  

“Nothing…” He says quickly, and it’s the truth, despite the way he can tell you don’t believe him.  

You love him, just like you’d told him back in the woods and in every meaningless little gesture since the day you’d met, he might argue. He can’t believe he ever doubted that for a second.    

You love him, and he loves you. Circle of life.     

The sound rumbles thickly in the hollow of Eddie’s chest as he does his best to hum through the ravenous need welling up in him.

He feels like he is fraying at the seams, and in the event that he comes apart, goes scattering to the wind and every corner of this room, you’re the only thing that is going to be able to hold him together.

He needs you so badly, in his arms, at his side – the familiar press of your body stretched out along his and the gentle thrumming of your heart, beating in tandem with his is the only cure for what ails him, always has been, always will be.  

For the sake of his own self-preservation, he sighs out a throaty chuckle and shakes his head as much as he dares. The wound in his neck does not thank him for it.  

“What’s the matter, Eds?” you ask again. 

“It’s stupid.”  

“Tell me anyway.”  

He hesitates, and presses his lips into a tight, flat line in the hopes that what he’s about to say isn’t too cheesy, too much to ask. 

“I just… I reeaallly wish I wasn’t handcuffed to this bed…” he hums, stretching the word comfortably and feeling like something only vaguely Eddie Munson shaped, “Could really use a cuddle right about now…”  

The corners of your lips curl ever so slightly, and you stick him to the spot with wry, hooded eyes.  

“That so?” You hum.   

Eddie nods, glancing up from his rings to gaze at you through his lashes. He feels the distance between you in the marrow of his bones, a deep and wretched aching propped up by the hospital bed and the handcuffs and his injuries and everything he knows he shouldn’t ask for right here and now, in this place. 

“You’re so far away,” He admits, feeling frighteningly vulnerable, “Feels like if I don’t reach out and touch you, you’re gonna disappear,”  

You pull a face that is more sympathetic than anything else he might have normally expected.   

“I’m right here, Eddie.” you insist, curling your hands around his and pressing a chaste kiss to the ridge of his battered knuckles – it makes the lump in his throat swell, “I’m right here.”  

“Yeah…” he hums, sniffs, then hums again, “... yeah…”  

Dark eyes flit back down to the dull burnished silver of his rings, glinting under the dimmed florescents, and Eddie feels the heat of your gaze on the side of his face more intensely than the press of your fingertips. He knows the look you’re giving him, the same one you always adopt when he gets vulnerable, shares something unsavory about his childhood or a hard lesson he’d been forced to learn in some scandalizing way.

He pictures the deep crease of concern that forms between your brows, tweaking up at the inner corners, and imagines smoothing it away with the pad of his thumb. He thinks about all the ways he’s hurt you and wishes he could take everything back, every harsh word, every clumsy faux pas.  

If wishes were horses, or whatever that dumb saying is…  

The sound of your movement draws his attention, and when he looks up again, you’re twisted around to glance over your shoulder. Eddie follows your gaze and stares at the empty glass set into the wooden door.

Beyond, there is the gentle din of activity, the shadow of movement muffled by the swing hinge barrier – freedom, just out of reach and held at bay by the clutch of stupid, silver handcuffs.  

When you turn back around to face him, you’ve got a mischievous glint in your eye instead of that strained, melancholy look he’d expected to see, and it stirs his chest with a familiar giddy feeling. 

“Okay, so,” you begin, “I’ve got a pretty stupid idea if you’re up for it.” 

Intrigue breathes a bit of levity into Eddie’s bloodstream, and he tilts his head as far over to the side as he can go before he begins to feel the tightness in the muscles there – it’s not very far.  

“I love your stupid ideas.” He says, face splitting up into a smirk as you lean forward over your knees and drop your voice to a low, rumbling timbre.  

“If you promise to behave yourself…” You begin slowly, and Eddie feels the stitches in his forehead bite at him again when his eyebrows jump.

Suddenly, the air is thick with possibility, and he tilts forward to meet you, hanging on your every word, “...I’ll climb up into that bed with you and give you a cuddle. How’s that for a stupid idea?” 

He’s nodding before you can even finish speaking and already doing his best to shift over and make room for you on the creaky twin mattress. 

“The nurse isn’t gonna like that,” He tells you as he fidgets with all his tubes – IVs, monitors, oxygen, he’s really more machine than man right now – gathering and adjusting and moving them out of the way so that you can be cleared for landing without bringing Nurse Ratched running by accidentally ripping the IV out of his arm. 

“Fuck the nurse,” you say with no small amount of indignation as you fiddle with something at your side.  

There is the hard metallic sound of something clicking into place and you sit up again, bracing your hands on the bizarrely curved arms of your chair that suddenly and strangely look a lot like wheels.  

Eddie pays no mind to the apparent Avante Guard construction of the hospital furniture and is practically giddy as he admonishes you for such course language. He loves it when you curse.  

“D’you kiss your mother with that mouth?” He taunts, pushing the boundaries of the unbearable stiffness in his midsection by sitting as far forward as he dares. 

You give him another one of those wry looks and push up from your chair to bend over the side of the bed and meet him in the middle. 

“Nope, just you.” 

And then you close the gap and seal your lips against his in a firm press – which, he’s not going to lie, definitely hurts – but leaves Eddie grinning like a loon and more than a little lightheaded when you pull away with a loud, wet smack.  

His eyes slip shut dreamily and he hums contentedly, licking his lips in search of the sweet, sweet honey of your taste.  

“Hmnurse?” Eddie slurs, half drunk on your affection, “Could use a little more of that medicine, if y’don’t mind...”  

Somewhere to his right, you snort out a breathy laugh and mumble something about “fucking the nurse, alright,”. Eddie opens his mouth to tell you not to tempt him because he’s supposed to be behaving himself – it would be so, so easy for you to swing those pretty legs of yours over his waist and straddle him right here on the bed, he’s got no pants on, after all – and pries his eyes open just in time to see you taking a measured step away from your chair – scratch that, wheelchair.  

The words die on his tongue.  

You’re in a wheelchair … what the hell are you doing in a– Eddie’s heart seizes with momentary panic as the rest of it comes rushing back to hit him like a brick to the face.  

He remembers the van. The gut-wrenching terror that clawed at him as he stood frozen, listening over the radio as it rolled down the embankment with you inside, pumping liquid fire in his veins as he made the jaunt out to the road and pulled you out of the deathtrap he’d sent you to, turning his fingers to stone and as he’d fumbled with his belt to tie a tourniquet around your leg.  

He sent you out to the van … he did that to you.  

“Oh, God…” Eddie rasps, suddenly breathless “Oh, Christ, Sweetheart…”  

You seize his hand before he can get any further down the path of blaming himself for something that he might have been able to see was arguably out of his control, had he been able to see anything from behind the spots splashed across his vision.  

Blessedly, you bring him back to Earth by squeezing his hand until he feels his metacarpals creak. He zeroes in on the pain and makes himself look at you.   

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you tell him. “They just don’t want me putting pressure on it until the stitches can heal… anyway, you ought to see the other guy,”  

It doesn’t make him feel any better because Eddie saw the other guy — it was the crushed and mangled carcass of the van, bent impossibly out of shape, windows blown out on all sides. He’s the reason you were there in the first place – this is all his fault.  

And now you’re just gonna climb up into the bed like it’s no big deal? You were right, this is a stupid idea. 

Only you don’t seem to care about any sort of mobility issues you may or may not have as you brace your hands on the guardrail and slowly — so, so carefully — ease up onto the mattress.  

Eddie watches you tentatively shift your weight, favoring your good leg and working carefully to avoid putting any sort of pressure on the bad one. The moist pink tip of your tongue pokes its way out from the corner of your mouth, your face scrunched in careful concentration as you move, and once you’re satisfied, you lift up and over with no small amount of effort and knock his knee with your hip as you come down to land and crawl up to meet him.

The mattress sags beneath your combined weight, and Eddie reaches for you, despite the hard clang of the handcuff reminding him of his predicament. Locked rubber wheels creak as you crawl up to meet him, slotting yourself in where you belong, tucked in at his side in the crook of his arm and perfectly beneath his chin. 

“How’s that?” You ask, turning your face up toward him in search of guidance. 

Not great, but he’ll never tell.   

“Fine,” Eddie says immediately, despite the way even the slightest hint of pressure from your body pressed against him causes his ribs to creak painfully – whether it’s because of the uncanny ability you’ve always had to see clear through his bullshit, or just the face he’s making, you clearly don’t believe him. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, pushing up in an attempt to take some of the pressure of your weight off him, “I can move over… here, I’ll just–” 

He does his best to stifle the sharp intake of breath he has to take when you twist over onto your side and make the final adjustments to try and settle in comfortably against him. He lays a firm, free hand on you to hold you still and pull you snugly against him, and you immediately cease your fidgeting.  

“It’s fine, just like that, Sweetheart. You’re perfect.”  

You breathe in sharply, still giving him that tight, concerned look and searching his face for any hint of a lie. When you evidently come up empty, you breathe out a measured sigh and nod, and the room settles with you.  

Once all the little points of pain in Eddie’s body have stopped throbbing, he does his best to relax and takes his time looking you over.

He indulges himself in staring down the length of your body, at the oversized novelty t-shirt laying draped over the suggestion of your form and the barest hint of your shorts hidden carefully beneath its hem, at the stretch of your legs crooked neatly forward toward his beneath the blankets, and Eddie finds his ogling interrupted as he gets stuck staring at the bandage wrapped tightly around the meat of your upper thigh.

He tries not to think about the deep, ugly wound lurking beneath the cotton, or how he had been so certain he could see the ghoulish white of bone peering back at him from the split in your flesh as he fought with clumsy fingers to pull his belt tight.  

“Does it hurt?” Eddie asks, reaching out impulsively to trace the fraying edge of the bandage with the edge of his nail.   

“Some.” You say idly, shoulder jumping as you turn your eyes up on him, “What about you?” 

He gazes back at you and feels his heart throb behind his sore ribs – you could have been asking about any number of his injuries, as extensive as they are, but rather than asking for specificity, he just nods.  

“Some.” he says softly, “Better now that you’re here.” 

Your brows creep toward one another and suddenly your eyes are bright and brimming.   

He reaches up with his free hand to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear and cup your cheek so that he might be prepared to catch any stray tears that are likely to fall.

The position is awkward, to say the least, but you dutifully lean into the touch.  

“That’s cheesy,” you sniff, and before Eddie can open his mouth to say something witty in response, you turn your face in to hide in the crook of his neck and breathe out a shuddering sigh that sends goosebumps crawling across the expanse of his body. 

“Don't ever scare me like that again,” you whisper, saying it like it’s a secret that is only safe to share in such proximity. 

“I won’t, Sweet Girl,” Eddie tells you, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“You promise?” You ask, turning big wet eyes up at him and sounding painfully girlish. 

He does his best to give you one of his winning smiles and clicks his tongue at you for ever doubting it.  

“‘Course I do. Cross my heart and hope to–” 

You don’t let him finish.  

All Eddie manages is another one of those breathless bleats of laughter as you push up and kiss him again, harder this time. He leans into it, tilting forward to grind his forehead against yours (which hurts, because he forgot about those damn stitches again) and relishing the way he can feel every inch of you when you twist your body to curl your arms around his neck.

Eddie wishes he could hold you as tightly as he needs to, wrap you up in his arms, and squeeze until he feels your ribs creak and forces the air out of your lungs, but he’ll just have to settle for one arm.  

One is better than none, he supposes.       

The kissing subsides all too soon, giving over to needy little pecks you leave over every inch of his skin that you can reach, over and over and over until even the microsecond it takes to pull back before going in for another is too much distance. For a long moment, it’s all either of you can do but sit there with the sides of your noses pressed together, breathing in tandem, promising to never let the other go again.  

Eventually, it starts to hurt, laying like that, so you make an exception to the promises of the previous moment and shift down to accommodate something a little more bearable, with your ear pressed to the hollow of Eddie’s chest, and your hand resting comfortably over the space where his heart thrums gently beneath aching ribs.  

“Say something, Eddie.” You hum after a while. 

“Okay... what do you want me to say?” 

You shake your head.  

“Anything. I just want to hear your voice.”  

Eddie tilts his head down until he can press his lips to the crown of your skull and resists the urge to tease you about that. It’s just a little too touching to poke fun at.  

“You want me to tell you a story?” He murmurs into your hair, and you nod against him, “Alrighty – pass me the book, will you? Let the master show you how it’s done.”  

You shift over to fetch the tattered paperback from where you’d left it in your chair, holding on to Eddie by the wrist as you lean away, as if to tell him you’re not going far.

Once it passes between hands and you’re tucked safely back into place, he flips through the pages of a book he’s read so many times he practically has it memorized and clears his throat dramatically before he begins reading.

He has to adjust his tone early on into his narration as the damage to his throat will not allow for extended use of his favored Dungeon Master voice, but he soon falls into a familiar rhythm that feels enough like getting back to enough of a normal that Eddie almost forgets the circumstances under which he is laying there at you side, reading to you like he has done so many times before – you could be back home, lying in his bedroom, listening to the ambient sounds of the trailer park for all either of you knew. 

You make short comments here and there, like you always do, and he shushes you, like he always does, but after nearly an hour of flipping pages and struggling to keep characters separate with individual voices, Eddie can't help but notice that it’s been some time since your last snarky comment about a character’s name or motivations.    

“Still with me, Sweetheart?” Eddie calls, closing the book to gently card his fingers through the lingering dampness of your hair. 

The angle at which your head is pressed against his chest makes it difficult to see much of your features, just the slope of your brow shadowing your gently fluttering lashes, the line of your nose, and the faintest pout of your lips.

Gripped in a sudden, sneaking suspicion, Eddie holds his breath and watches you for any subtle sign of movement, and after a moment, he groks the gentle up and down of your deep and measured breathing. 

In and out. In and out – fast asleep, as you should be.  

He hums contentedly and settles back against the pillows, happy to rest his weakening voice and aching back, and just feel your heart beating against him as he curls his free arm around you.  

It’s right that you’re sleeping at this ungodly hour where only ghosts and lovers are awake to whisper back and forth to one another.  

How you must have worried yourself sick over him, watching him closely to make sure he was still breathing, comforting him during a nightmare, waiting for him to come back to you.

Eddie knows he ought to be sleeping too, just like you told him.

Maybe if he drifted off he could find you somewhere in dreamland and tell you everything he is too tired to say now, but all he can do is gaze fondly at you and follow the measured tide of your REM cycle, gradually being lulled to sleep by the rise and fall of your breathing.   

Suddenly, the world is not so complicated, and the future is not so uncertain. With you, asleep in his arms, Eddie can even believe that everything will be okay, and in time, everything might even go back to normal… well, maybe not normal – after everything that’s happened, nothing is going to be normal ever again.  

Still, right now, this moment pressed against one another in the gentle quiet of the muted green-grey room, is enough. Eddie tilts his head down until his cheek finds the top of your head, and he sighs, feeling the hard grind of your skulls knocking against one another.  

He nods to himself and relishes in the stinging itch of your stitches shaking hand with his, your bandages exchanging pleasantries. What a pair you make, vanquishing your own dragons and laying down your lives for one another like something out of an epic tale.

In another life, they would write stories about you, the Maiden and her Fool, and their journey to the end of the Earth. All the foes fought and vanquished, detailing every drop of blood spilled in the combined effort of laying down their lives for one another – your lives – hurdling toward a hard-won victory and everything else that led you to this moment, to the harmony of quiet breathing and thrumming life support machines, swaddled in a loving more intense than either of you has ever felt.  

And then, just as the long, gnarled fingers of sleep begin to creep up and wrap their fingers around Eddie’s consciousness, he feels that same old instinct rising in him – the powerfully aching need that will not be beaten back no matter how hard he fights.  

He fills his lungs deeply, carefully, and breathes out one last sigh of contented consciousness.  

“I love you, Sweetheart.” he mumbles. 

You stir briefly against him, nuzzling deeper into his chest before settling and humming out an incoherent response. 

“...love you too, Eds...”