#anyway. ivy sleeves

[logansdoll]

ivy, l. howlett (3)

you and Scott go after Rogue and Wolverine... but when you return, a familiar face shows up on your doorstep.

CW: canon typical violence, gore, guns, mutation, profanity, innuendos, mature themes, mentions of sex, y/n is very poison ivy-esque, jean grey exists but is not present, etc.

"You look around. I'll check the ticket agent," you told Scott, heading toward the booth.

He gave you a stiff nod, quietly glancing around for any sign of Magneto's disciples.

It didn't come as a surprise when Rogue ran away the next day—and it came as an even less of one when Logan went off after her, despite the professor's instructions.

So you and Scott set off to Grand Central Station in search of the two before they could be taken hostage.

Of course, Scott was less than happy to be there.

Just another mess of Logan's for him to clean up...

'Big baby...'

You were quick to explain the situation once you finally made it to the front of the line.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but I need to know if you've seen a young girl pass through here?" you asked, sincerely. 

You just wanted Rogue to be safe.

Scott could get pissy about Logan stealing his bike or going against direction, but at the end of the day she was the priority.

And you weren't going to stop until you found her.

Lord knows you were just like her about ten years ago.

"She's about seventeen. Uh, my height. Has brown hair, and she—"

A loud growl suddenly rumbled from behind, and you turned around, only to be grabbed by the neck and hoisted up by a huge, hairy, blonde man whose nails needed serious trimming.

"Sabretooth... I take it?" you rasped, your hands coming up to grab at his in an attempt to pull him off.

But he let out a roar, roughly pulling you closer, his hot breath fanning over your face.

"Scream for me," he snarled.

Looking past him, you saw Scott storming over, about to help, when a yellow skinned man hanging off the ceiling suddenly stuck out his long tongue, whipping Scott's glasses of his face and forcing him to burn a gigantic hole into the roof.

Using the seeds in your pocket, you shot out a gigantic stalk of bamboo, ramming him through a wall and into the next room, sending rubble flying everywhere.

Dropping to the ground, you let out a gasp of relief, clutching your throat.

'This is day two... I get choked again... someone's dying.'

"You said he wanted me," Logan glared, aggressively grabbing his jacket.

"I made a terrible mistake," Xavier admitted, thoroughly disappointed in himself. "His helmet was somehow designed to block my telepathy. I couldn't see what he was after until it was too late."

Face taut, Logan stormed toward the exit of his room, shoving his arm through the sleeve.

"Where are you going?" you asked, brows furrowed.

"I'm gonna find her."

"How?" Xavier turned to him.

"The traditional way: look," he spat, striding out the the door.

Quickly, you turned to the professor, and he gave you a nod of approval, already aware of your question.

Though, if you were being honest, you would've done it anyway.

"Logan," you called, following him out the hall and down the steps. "You can't do this alone."

"Who's gonna help me? You?" he scoffed, eyes focused ahead as he started toward the exit. "So far you've all done a bang-up job."

"Then help us. Fight with us," you pressed on, closing in on him.

Suddenly, he stopped, turning around so fast you nearly crashed into his chest.

"Fight with you?" he growled, voice low and face only a few inches from yours. "What, join the team? Be an X-man?"

You stood firm despite his mockery, eyes searching his for what he truly felt.

Yet all you found was pain, guilt, and self-loathing.

He blamed himself for Rogue's kidnapping, and was lashing out from a place of hurt.

So you wouldn't take it personal.

"Who the hell do you think you are? You're a mutant. The whole world out there is full of people that hate and fear you. And you're wasting your time tryna protect them," he shook his head. "I got better things to do."

He walked off again, but suddenly stopped, turning to face you once more.

"Y'know, Magneto's right. There's a war coming," he stated. "Are you sure you're on the right side?"

"At least I've chosen a side."

The words slightly stung, and he gave you a look as he opened the door, only to be met by Senator Kelly.

The driving force of the Mutant Registration Program.

Only now he looked like shit, sweaty and clammy and out of breath.

"I'm looking... for Dr. (y/n) (l/n)," he panted, weakly.

Suddenly, his legs gave out, and he fell forward into Logan's arms, unconscious.

"Bring him to my lab. Quick," you ordered, turning around and heading for the lower levels.

'Never a dull moment...'

"Senator Kelly," Xavier started, leaning a little closer, "I'm Professor Charles Xavier."

The senator was laying on your operating table, hooked up to several machines in order to keep his condition stable.

Though it was truly anything but that.

"I was afraid if I went to a hospital, they would—" "Treat you like a mutant?"

The professor shook his head, reassuringly.

"We're not all what you think... not all of us."

"Tell it to the ones who did this to me."

Xavier sighed, wheeling his chair around to the tip of the table, where Kelly's head rested.

"Senator," the professor rested his hands against the man's temples. "I want you to relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

He took a moment, sifting through Kelly's memories to find out exactly what happened.

And when he did, it was evident on Charles's face that it did not bode well.

Quickly, he turned around, Logan following him down the hall where Scott and Ororo waited, while you stayed with the senator.

In the meeting...

"The machine emits radiation that triggers mutation in ordinary human beings," he started, the news thoroughly worrying him. "But the mutation is unnatural. (y/n)'s already deduced Kelly's body is rejecting it. His cells show signs of significant degeneration."

"What effect does radiation have on mutants?" Scott asked, turning to the professor.

"There appears to be none. But I fear it will seriously harm any normal person exposed to it," he answered.

"So what does Magneto want with Rogue?" Logan chimed from his spot against the wall.

Xavier hung his head, "I don't know."

That was all he needed to hear.

Logan didn't give a shit about some senator—Kelly made it abundantly clear he didn't give a shit about mutants—so he wasn't gonna sit around and play doctor for him.

One less human to worry about.

"Wait a second," Scott realized. "You said this machine draws energy from Magneto, and that it weakened him."

"Yes," the professor confirmed, slowly beginning to realize. "In fact, it nearly killed him."

Wait a minute...

'Oh, shit.'

"He's gonna transfer his power to Rogue, and use her to power the machine."

In the lab...

"Is somebody there?" Senator Kelly rasped, his hand weakly reaching out toward the darkness.

"Yes," you answered, quickly heading over. "I'm here."

The moment you arrived at his bedside, his cold, clammy hand grabbed your arm, frantically.

"Please don't leave me," he heaved, pleadingly. "Don't wanna be alone."

You looked down at him, eyes saddened by his sorry state.

His veins were dark and bulging painfully against his skin, and he was covered in an ungodly amount of sweat.

Or, at least, what you thought to be sweat.

Though you were quickly starting to realize that he was liquefying right before your eyes.

"All right," you nodded, softly.

Water was leaving him at a steady trickle, and you knew he had only a few minutes, if not moments, left to live.

"Do you hate normal people?" he suddenly asked, voice distant.

And for a man on his deathbed, you answered honestly.

"Sometimes..."

"Why?"

Now that took a little more thought.

"I guess... I'm afraid of them."

He smiled, reassuringly, "Well... I think you have one... less person to be afraid of."

And before you could respond, he gasped, suddenly choking on his own throat as it began to turn into water.

Your eyes shot wide, and you looked down at his hand, only to liquidize right in your grasp, splashing water everywhere.

Snapping your head back to him, you watched as the rest of his organs and bodily fluids devolved into water, until it all finally burst, leaving nothing of him to remain.

'Professor! Now!'

Quickly, you turned around, sprinting out the door and down the hall toward where they were having their meeting.

Once you made it to the door, you barged in, interrupting a Logan-Scott argument.

"Senator Kelly is dead," you stated, seriously.

"I am going to find her," Xavier turned to the rest of you, face taut.

All bets were off now—there was no holding back.

"Let's settle this."

[maybankswhore]

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄.

SUMMARY: you didn’t mean to fall in love with jj maybank. you knew how it would end. and yet his charming smile and blonde hair blinded you from the ugly truth and now you were engaged to rafe cameron , and stuck with jj’s love in your soul.

WARNINGS: arranged marriages , mutual pining , reader with daddy issues & mild language.

PAIRINGS: rafe cameron x reader + jj maybank x reader.

“ oh i can’t , stop you putting roots in my dreamland. my house of stone your ivy grows , and now i’m covered in you. ”

“I’m JJ.”

You had remembered the first time you had met him like it was yesterday. You could close your eyes and feel the cool breeze on your skin and hear the waves crashing against one another. Your stomach still fluttered the exact same way , the skin of your cheeks turning a similar shade of red as you pictured the way he had stood in front of you. Cut of jean shorts , a old and tattered Coors Lite t–shirt with the sleeves torn off.

He had a boyish grin on his face when he approached. Smelling of stale weed and spearmint— a scent that had become your favorite mix.

You were reluctant. You tried brushing him off , giving short answers. You weren’t even supposed to be on the cut anyway. Sarah had convinced you to sneak out with her , something that was unusual for you. Just by the look of him made your heart pitter patter in a way that just felt . . . wrong. JJ Maybank was nothing but trouble for you and you knew that. But you couldn’t fight him off. You couldn’t shake the feeling of him away , the desire to know him and the girlish bubble of warmth that encased you that night was hard for you to ignore.

That night was only the beginning. You had found yourself sneaking out more often. Your father started to annoy you more , and every time he’d try and talk to you about what was to happen in six months , the quicker you tried to avoid it.

Life with JJ was different. It was different but good. He was adventurous , always helping push you to do things you wouldn’t have normally done. The way he saw the world , how he lived it , brought a sense of longing to you. His eyes were like the ticket to freedom and it was easy to forget with him.

Falling in love with him just happened. It was silly and cliche to think that it was love at first sight. You felt childish thinking that way but every time you replayed that night in your head , something in your chest just knew. It knew that JJ was the boy that you had always dreamed about. The boy all girls wished to find , to love.

It was the fourth month when things got harder. Your father had plans. Big ones. And the closer it got to your eighteenth birthday , the faster he tried to push the process.

“You know the Cameron’s are a great deal around here.” Said your father during a Sunday dinner. “Wards boy would take care of you.”

It had been so silent , you could hear a hair pin drop. Everyone’s eyes were on you , awaiting to here your answer. Your heart was beating so loud , you were afraid it’d beat out of your chest and fall out on the dinner table. Your fork scraped against the expensive china with distaste.

“Well?”

“I’m not—” you opened your mouth to protest but you just didn’t know how. You were so used to being the best girl for him. Always done up to look pretty at his business dinners. Making the best grades so he could boast about you and make his ego inflated. That is what you were taught and that is what you were to do. “I mean , can’t we wait a little bit longer?”

“Rafe isn’t going to wait around for a wife forever , Y/N.” He told you sternly. “You’ve known about this since you were sixteen. Your mother and I need this. You need this. You won’t have to want for nothing in your life.”

God , your stomach had been so sick. You tossed and turned all night , soaking your pillow with tears. There was this ache in your chest you couldn’t shake. A dull pain that lingered throughout the day. None of it was sitting right with you. And the inability to change it.

Another month went by and Midsummers had came. The day left a dry socket in your mouth. JJ had promised to be there , kissing you goodbye the night before and telling you he’d find a way to sneak in at least one dance.

You should’ve told him then.

This big secret , this big lie , hung over your head like a bad dream. You just thought that you could ignore it. That it’d go away. You wanted to tell him. You knew you needed to break it off with him— but you were selfish. You were selfish and just a girl in love with a boy you couldn’t have.

What were you to do?

It came as a surprise when Rafe had cornered you. A sly smirk on his face as he approached you cowering away in the corner with a bad stomachache. “Well don’t you look gorgeous.”

You could only force a smile so big. Swallowing the harsh lump in your throat as you muttered a small: “Thank you,” in return.

“I’m sure you know what our parents have been talking about all summer.” Rafe hummed at you. His eyes drinking you in. You shifted uncomfortable under his gaze and your eyes refused to meet his. “I’m a man of my word , Y/N. And I never let my father down.”

You grimaced. “I’m aware.”

Rafe had leaned in so close that his breath fanned at this skin of your ear. You bit back the need to push him away and only hid the expression of disdain.

“I know your little secret with that dirty Pogue. . .” his words were icey. The tone of his voice caused a sinking feeling in your stomach and a swirl of panic within you. “I don’t like to share what’s mine and I don’t plan to start. You tell him or I will.”

And with that Rafe had backed up and left you alone to rush into the bathroom in tears , with nothing but overwhelming hopelessness. You weren’t his. You never would be.

Not when JJ Maybank had already implanted himself inside of you , tangling up with your soul so tightly that it was hard to breathe without him.

When the time came to finally tell him. He had already knew. Word got out and Kiara had gotten to him first.

He stood in front of you on the beach. The very same beach , the very same spot that he had first met you.

You bounced over to him ready to see him. You had missed him. But the smile on your face fell when you were met with a teary eyed JJ.

“You’re marrying him?”

The look on your face said it all. You stammered out something that resembled a response but all it sounded like was blubbering. A humorous , dry laugh escaped JJ’s throat as he looked away from you. Hands tugging at his hair. “No fuckin’ way.”

“JJ please— you don’t— you don’t understand.” You tried reasoning. A lump already forming in your throat as you tried to find some way to ease the situation.

“How long have you been seein’ him?” JJ fired the question at you. His emotions on fire as he shifted between anger and hurt and most of all— betrayal. “What the fuck was this?” He motioned between the two of you. “Was I just a stupid fuckin’ game? Something to piss off daddy?”

His words were like knives. You shook your head at him quickly. “JJ no! Of course not. I love you. I haven’t been seeing him— I haven’t!”

“Yet your marrying him!” JJ shouted. “I gotta say , Y/N. You really got me good. I thought. . .” the crack in his voice only made you cry harder. “I thought you were different.”

“I didn’t have a say! I didn’t have a choice!” Your own voice scared you. It was loud , raw. Your eyes chased his pacing body around the beach desperately. “I tried talking my father out of it. He’s had this arrangement in the books for years and I didn’t know until before I met you. Before everything changed for me. I—”

“Then why? Why did you keep coming around? Why did you keep seeing me if you knew. . .” JJ felt like a pussy. He was so angry. So mad at the world and the circumstances. His friends told him not to go and fall in love with you. They told him to leave you alone. But he was too hard headed and infatuated to listen. You had made him feel things he never even considered feeling before— he loved you without even knowing what love was.

“I tried JJ.” You reasoned. “I tried staying away but I just couldn’t. I—” you shook your head as you tried to find anything you could to make it better but you knew there was nothing. “I love you so much.” You told him breathlessly. “And I hate that I wasn’t honest with you but I just thought I could change it. That it wasn’t real.”

JJ couldn’t stand anymore. He feel to his knees , dropping onto to the sand as he felt that organ in his chest slowly come to a stop. Everything was happening so fast. He had just got you and before he knew it , you were leaving. JJ didn’t know if he could recover from this. He fell for you too hard , too fast. “I can’t watch you marry him. I just can’t. Not when. . .” he sighed deeply and looked up at you. Eyes glazed and sad. “Not when I’m the one you should be with.”

You kneeled down in front of him. Sniffling a bit as you tried calming down. You reached out to touch his face softly and JJ let out another cry , absentmindedly leaning into the palm of your hand. “I am so sorry , JJ. I’m just so sorry.”

JJ was quiet for a minute. His eyes were screwed shut hoping that when he opened them again , everything would just be a bad dream. Though it wasn’t. And he was met with your sad eyes looking back at him with regret.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit.” JJ scoffed. “There’s always a choice.”

You shook your head at him gently. Bursting with everything but what you wanted. Happiness. JJ gave you all of that and yet , you weren’t allowed it. It wasn’t fair. Nothing in this life had seemed fair. “I tried. I begged and begged him not to make me do this but he won’t listen to me. He only cares about money.”

“We could runaway.” JJ said suddenly.

The thought was immediate. Everything swirling in his mind as to how to make it happen. It wasn’t ideal but it was a solution. The only solution.

“JJ—”

“I’ve got some money saved up. We could take the boat and leave. Just you and me.”

“You love it here.” You told him softly. “Your friends are. . . your life.”

“I won’t love it anymore without you.” JJ argued. “Even if you did marry him , I’d leave. I couldn’t stand the thought of it. I can’t—” JJ shook his head and swallowed harshly. He brought a hand up behind your neck and brought your face closer to his. His forehead rested against yours as his eyes fluttered closed. “Please just. . . leave. Leave with me.”

You weren’t sure how this would go. There were so many uncertainties. So many people would be hurt. You’d be leaving behind the only life you ever knew for a boy you had met on the beach. But picturing life with Rafe Cameron wasn’t the way you wanted to spend the rest of your days on this island. Just the thought made you feel sick.

So before you could think it , your mouth opened and your heart spoke before your head got the chance to argue.

“Okay. I’ll go with you.”

part two?

[heavyhitterheaux]

I Miss You

First Babies of Private Garden Fic

Synopsis: You and your triplets miss your favorite person, so you decide to do something about it

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

Requested by a beautiful anon 💖

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Waking up to a dark room, indicating that it was still the middle of the night and hearing sniffles, you reached over and turned on the bedside lamp to see Axel crying and upset sitting next to you. Ivy and Autumn were still sound asleep on the other side of you opposite of where Axel was.

“Bubs? What's going on? Did you have a bad dream?” You asked as you slid him onto your lap once you sat up, but all he did was cry harder.

“Come on baby, you have to tell me what's wrong so I can help you.” You said trying to comfort him as you rubbed his back.

“I miss daddy. I wanna see daddy.”

Your heart broke seeing how upset he was, but you completely understood. Jack had been on tour for a few weeks and you had to get used to the new normal of not being with him all the time since you now had three little ones to take care of. The both of you had been going back and forth on whether to take them on tour, and you both decided that they were too young and you would wait until they were older.

“Can we call him?” Axel asked with a hopeful look on his face, but it immediately left when you shook your head no.

“It's the middle of the night, bubs. Daddy’s probably sleeping like we're supposed to be doing right now.”

“But…” His bottom lip started to quiver, breaking your heart even more.

“Okay, tell you what? How about later on after we sleep, we go and see daddy?”

“Really?” Axel asked through sniffles and wiped his nose on his pajama top sleeve.

“Yes and I know he misses us too. But it's going to be a surprise so we can't tell him, okay?” You told Axel and he simply nodded. Since he definitely stole your phone and called him earlier.

“Now, let's try and get some sleep.” Axel nodded as he agreed with you and slid back under the comforter on Jack’s side of the bed as he hugged his pillow.

“This smells like daddy.”

You smiled to yourself as you watched him drift off back to sleep and instantly grabbed your phone to text Urban.

You- Call me when you wake up

Not even two minutes later, you got a response

Urby Baby- I'm awake now, you okay?

You- Sir, you should be sleeping

Urby Baby- I'll sleep later, anyway what do you need bestie?

You- I'm surprising Jack and bringing the triplets so your job is to keep him occupied until we get there

Urby Baby- You got it. Not a problem.

You- Axel woke up crying and upset and said he misses him 😢

Urby Baby- You sure he didn't mean me?

You- URBAN 🙄

Urby Baby- Just kidding! I'll see you later. What time should you be here?

You- In time for his show. I'm letting them sleep a little and then we'll start to get ready

Urby Baby- Sounds good. Text me if you need me.

You- Okay, goodnight and go to sleep NEOW

Urby Baby- For you to be barely 5 feet, you sure act like you run shit

You- Urban, I will jump through this phone this instant

Urby Baby- Violent as always. Anyway, night bestie.

Later on in the day, the four of you were on your way to see Jack when he cornered Urban, because you hadn't answered your phone all morning and he was now growing concerned.

“Urb, Y/N hasn't answered her phone except for when I sent a good morning text.”

“She's dealing with your three big ass headed children. I'm sure she's fine.”

“But she never goes this long without answering me and I can't even see her location.” He said while trying to check where you were.

“Will you calm down? I know she's fine and so are the babies. She's probably just a little busy. I mean they are three years old.”

“I guess you're right. I just…. I already don't like leaving her and them for long periods of time but she just about damn near threatened me to go on this tour because if it was left up to me, I would have stayed home.”

“Yep, sounds just like your wife.”

“HEY!”

“I was just saying!” Urban exclaimed while holding up his hands in defense while all Jack did was shake his head before attempting to call you again, except a text from you came through and he was finally able to let out a sigh of relief.

Wifey- Been busy all day, I'll facetime you later. Love you boo bear 😘💕

Jack- Now you know I worry about you and was starting to low key panic. Glad you're okay, love you too ♥️

The four of you were now at the arena, and Urban had met you at the gate in the back. He was immediately attacked by the triplets and they showed him the homemade gifts that they made for Jack.

Urban picked up Autumn as Ivy and Axel were walking beside you and led all of you backstage to where everyone was. Seeing all their uncles kept them occupied as they spotted them, but Axel quickly became uninterested when we walked back over to you and tapped your leg.

“Yes, baby?”

“Want daddy.”

“He's around him somewhere, bubs. He's probably getting ready right now and then we'll see him.”

Axel let out a huff being unsatisfied with your answer as Urban stifled a laugh.

“He might look like Jack, but definitely has your attitude.” Urban leaned over to whisper in your ear as you pinched him.

“OUCH!”

“Urban Wyatt….”

“Don't get mad at me for telling the truth.”

“Where is he anyway?”

“He was just in here before I walked out to get you so I'm not sure.” Urban answered as he shrugged his shoulders.

Just then Jack walked back in the room, eyes glued to his phone and suddenly your phone went off indicating that you had a text from him.

Baby Daddy- I'm about to go on soon and you haven't called me yet. If you don't love me anymore just say so 😔💔

He had obviously heard it, because he looked up confused and smiled when he spotted you. But before he could make his way over to you, Axel made a beeline towards him.

“DADDY!”

Hearing him exclaim startled Ivy and Autumn who then ran over to Jack too as he had picked up Axel and the girls were holding one leg each.

“Is this why mommy wasn't answering my calls?” He asked Axel and he simply nodded as he kissed his cheek.

“She said we couldn't tell you. I missed you daddy.”

“Me too!”

“I missed you the most!” Autumn said and both of her siblings made a face at her which made you and Jack laugh. Axel looked at her as if he wanted to fight her.

“Well I missed my wife and babies too. Have you three been good for mommy?” He asked as he made his way over to you and leaned down to kiss you with Axel trying to push you away from Jack.

“Axel!” Jack said as he turned to him, but all he did was smile as you laughed.

“I missed daddy, so I deserve a hug and kiss too.” You said and Axel just looked at you before holding Jack tighter.

“Mine.” Was all he whispered as you rolled your eyes. He was infamous for doing that.

“Hmm, I bet you did miss daddy. That video you sent me the other day was all the confirmation I needed.” Jack muttered so only you could hear as he sat down and you pinched him, just like you did Urban.

“OW!”

“Behave!”

“I am! Just wait till later. Anyway, my babies still didn't answer my question.’

“Yes! Now mommy help me please!” Autumn said as she was trying to hop up on the couch to sit next to Jack.

You helped her up and placed her next to Jack while Ivy was on the other side of him and Axel still had a death grip on him.

“Still think I don't love you?” You asked him responding to his text from earlier as you leaned over and put a hand in his curls.

“I know you do, I was just being dramatic.” He said as he shrugged and Axel had laid his head on his shoulder.

“Oh, so you admit that you are?”

“Hold on, wait. That was a trick question.”

“I can assure you, baby that it wasn't.”

Since Jack had two shows back to back in the same city, once the show was over, the two of you had just put the triplets to sleep in the hotel suite not too far from the venue as you two were on the couch flipping through channels since neither of you were tired.

“Baby…” Jack said as he leaned down to kiss you.

“Yes, smush?”

“Thank you for today. I needed it. You have no idea how much I missed you and our babies.”

“Of course. Axel woke up crying and said he missed you so I had to fix that. Like homeboy was BAWLING.”

“Not too much on my mans now. You used to always do the same thing when we had to be away from each other for an extended amount of time. It would be like three days before I had to leave and you would be crying.”

“I literally have not been away from your dumbass since I was fourteen. Excuse me if I have separation anxiety. I still do to a certain extent, but the triplets help keep me occupied. You mean the absolute world to me even though you know that. I just…” You trailed off as you started to get tears in your eyes and Jack quickly noticed.

“Babe? Why are you upset? Talk to me.”

“More often than not, I think about how I almost made you a widow and a single parent of three children. Like the thought never leaves my mind. Ten years with you wasn't enough. And to then be separated from you forever?”

“No amount of years will ever be enough. I love you in this lifetime and all the ones after that. You fought tooth and nail to come back to us and all of the doctors and nurses could see it. I knew when I first laid eyes on you that you were my soulmate.” Jack said as he lightly stroked your face and kissed away your tears.

“I love you and I will never get tired of saying it. And I'm always here to remind you of how important you are to me. We've shown each other how much we want this marriage to last. Being away from you for that month when everything had gone to shit, I just knew that I had lost you. I was literally waiting for the divorce papers.”

“That never crossed my mind. I wanted to make it work and we did just that. I love you more than anything and I'm so happy that I can still tell you that in person. I noticed your eyes literally light up every time I say it.” You giggled as you kissed his nose and he immediately turned a shade of bright red.

“And I can still make you blush.” You said while laughing harder.

“Baby, stopppppp.” Jack responded as he hid in your shoulder and you played in his curls.

It was quiet for a few minutes as both of you were watching the movie that Jack had decided on before you broke the silence.

“Hmm, did you forget?”

“Forget what?” Jack asked as he looked at you confused.

“How much I missed daddy. I think I need to show you. The movie can wait.” You responded as you hopped up from the couch and walked backwards to the bedroom as Jack smirked before running after you.

[monstrouslyobsessed]

love’s lethal bouquet

concept: in which the floral shop boss is in love with you—and isn’t a human. —momster

—a/n: well i havent posted in ages because of how bad my writers block was :( and i’m vvvvv iffy about this one. this is much more subtle and tamer than my usual too, but at least its something for the valentine’s day?

anyway, ima try and tackle a commission i owe next so please take care yall<3

—tw / tags: gn reader, implied drugging intention, implied teratophilia, implied exophilia, general yandere themes, sfw.

—featured character(s): the floral shop boss / plant monster (implied)

Valentine's Day proves to be one of the busiest days at the floral shop where you work. Breathing in the heady floral scents that permeate the store, you find yourself in continuous motion, assembling bouquets of pink roses, carnations, violets, and every red flower known to man into the van. With your back straining from the constant lifting, you absently listen to the gentle voice of your boss reassuring an irritated customer about their belated delivery—

and you wince.

Although you should be in a rush taking care of the deliveries, you tiptoe inside the back of the shop to avoid interrupting your boss—

But he merely hangs up the phone upon seeing your flustered face.

“S, sorry—” You begin.

He shakes his head with a gentle smile playing on his thinly bearded lips and says, “Don’t worry about it, love.”

The way he addresses you as ‘love’ used to bother you. It always seemed so…formal, old-fashioned, but coming from him—your boss—he somehow makes it work without needing to force the romantic undertone. Perhaps it is because he is on the older side and being a foreigner in this little town of yours.

The town lies deep within the trench of an endless forest, and you wonder how your boss had found his way here.

His arrival several years ago stirred many gossips about him, with him keeping his lips sealed about his past, but everyone slowly warmed up to him. His succulent blooms, never seen before even in the gardening magazines, certainly helped. Now, your boss is a familiar face among the townspeople, with very few not knowing who he is. And, of course, his handsome and charming demeanor won the hearts of many too.

“But I would’ve made the deliveries on time if I didn’t eat brea—” you try.

His piercing green eyes soften as you nervously fixing your rolled sleeves. You halt when he suddenly leans in.

“Boss—?” You rasp at the new weights on your shoulders, trying to pay no mind to the strange dark strains on his thick fingers.

The way he held you was almost…fond—

And he pushes you outside to the doorway. “Go finish the deliveries, won’t you?”

“Really?” You huff, trying to ignore the red tinge to your cheeks and the heavy thumping of your heart.

Your boss smiles that damnable handsome smile of his and pats you on your head, saying, “Get to it. The sooner you finish, the sooner I can give you your little Valentine’s Day bonuses for working so hard.”

While giving his employees gifts during holidays and special events is not new to your boss, you still perk up in eagerness and reward him with the biggest smile you can muster. As you dart away with a confident promise to complete the deliveries, he watches you scurry to the van, inhaling sharply,

“Soon.”

Your boss murmurs, rubbing his knuckle with his other hand—as if to hide the sudden green spot on it. Tiny vines emerge briefly, before he rubs them away and pivots back to his cash register where his impatient customers have started to queue. Flashing them with a dazzling smile to reassure frustrated customers with a wordless apology, your boss absently peers over to his office.

There, on his desk, is the special bouquet he prepared for you and only you.

Imagining you burying your face into the fragrant cluster of your favorite flowers, oblivious to the true intention of its purpose, the toxic drugging qualities meant to lure you into his arms—into his ivies and his binds of vines and creepers—had him biting back a shudder. Restraining himself before the antsy crowd, your boss rings up a customer with an invisible countdown ticking in his head.

A countdown to have you.

The blooms nearby writhe and shudder, with most dismissing it as mere breezes from the air conditioner.

It was not.

—end…?

[rachalixie]

what i’m looking for

you, quite literally, run into kim seungmin on your escape from an arranged marriage.

tags: strangers to lovers, hidden identity, she/her!reader

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

word count: 3.4k

you never thought you would be in a situation like this, running through the woods in poorly fitting clothes and shoes, branches snagging at your hair and arms as you wind your way through the forest searching for something, anything. and yet, here you are. cursed engagement ring hidden away in your satchel along with a pocket of gold coins and whatever stale pieces of food your handmaid was able to steal for you before you took your leave.

you’re surprised it took you until a week before your wedding to run away, but you were never one to back down from a challenge; you tried everything you could think of to call it off, but your parents wouldn’t budge. something about it being the best decision for the kingdom, or whatever - nevermind what you want. nevermind that your brother would become king and therefore you were simply a bargaining chip to be used for political power. nevermind the reputation of your betrothed, the reputation of his kingdom and how they treat women like you. nevermind that they’re sending you into a life of despair and discomfort. 

the cool dusk breeze beating against your face feels almost euphoric as you sprint, cautiously looking behind you to make sure you’re not being followed. surely someone had noticed your departure? but you made sure to cover your tracks well; the boots you’re wearing are several sizes too big, stuffed with cloth to ease the fit, and any tracker would dismiss them on their hunt for you. 

you’re abruptly sent down to the forest floor when a boy appears almost out of nowhere, tripping you and making you lose your footing. he tumbles down with you, taking the brunt of your fall, and annoyance pings within you when he groans at the impact. you’re scrambling off his lap as fast as you can, hands scrabbling at dried leaves on the ground that stick to your palms. 

“where did you come from?” you demand, watching him stand up with an indignant look on his face. his pouty lips are twisted into a frown and his hair is fluffed up from his fall. in any other situation you might think he was cute. “do you not watch where you’re going?”

“oh sorry, i’m not really used to people running through my property,” he says with a roll of his eyes, and a reprimand that you have to tamp down sits at the tip of your tongue. for all he knows, you’re a commoner; announcing that he should be aware of your royal status and that technically, you own this property probably isn’t the best move. he would turn you in faster than you can speak your own name, collecting whatever reward your father most likely posted in return for your safe delivery back to the palace. 

“your property?” you land on, feeling it a safe question. you look past his head and notice a tiny cottage a few yards away, ivy lining the bricks and a soft puff of smoke escaping from the chimney. 

“yes,” he drawls out, as if talking to a child. “the place where i reside. you know, sleep and eat. surely you know what that is?”

“of course i do,” you huff, crossing your arms. did you look homeless to him, or something? a terrible idea sparks in the back of your mind as he looks away from you and you notice the rapidly setting sun. it hits you that you had no plan, nowhere to go, nothing to eat and no shelter for the night.

“anyways. enjoy the rest of your. jog?” he says, voice lilting up at the end like he’s not sure whether or not to be suspicious of you. he turns to walk away and a flash of panic takes over your body.

“wait!” you lunge to grip at his sleeve, a display of impropriety that you usually wouldn’t let yourself indulge in with anyone other than your closest advisors. the material feels rough under your skin, as do the borrowed clothes hanging off of your shoulders. “do you have an extra room? or a mat on the floor? i can pay you, i just need somewhere to stay.”

“what, are you on the run or something?” a spark lights in his eyes, and your hair stands on end when you realize that he’s amused. as if he knows anything about you.

“or something,” you grit out, knowing that whatever sarcastic comment that you want to make probably won’t end up with him agreeing to let you in. despite his inarguably annoying personality, he has a house, and you need him right now. you can’t imagine that you’ll run into anyone else tonight, and sleeping on the forest floor does not seem safe. 

“how much?” he says, quirking an eyebrow up. you mentally cringe at the amount of money you have hidden away in your bag, 

“enough,” you squint your eyes at him, gauging him. he meets your gaze for an impressive amount of time before nodding his head towards the small building and starting his trek. 

“what’s your name?” you ask, following behind him, knowing but not caring that not offering yours first was rude. he looks back at you for a beat of time before shrugging. 

“kim seungmin. and you?”

you give him your name, grateful to your parents for the first time in a while. they kept your true name hidden from anyone outside of the palace, and their secrecy was annoying until this very moment. it would be nice to be called something other than princess for a while, you’re sure. 

he mouths your name, letting it sit on his tongue for a moment before grinning. 

“well then, welcome to my home. i’ll make up a cot for you in the living room, are you hungry?” he rambles as he lets you in, closing and locking the door behind you. the skeptic sarcastic you met outside seems to melt away to reveal slumped shoulders and tired eyes, unmasked by the comfort of his space. it warms you up along with the shelter of a roof, a reprieve from the biting cold of the outside. 

he doesn’t wait for your answer before walking off, leaving you to stand between the small kitchen and cozy looking living room. there’s small trinkets strewn around, soft mismatched couches with worn blankets and a rickety looking kitchen table surrounded by stools. he returns with a thin padded mattress and a pillow and he sets it down by the burning fireplace. it’s not the luxurious four post bed that you’re used to, but it’ll do.

“let me treat that for you,” he gestures at your knees, where small dots of blood seep through a tear in your trousers. there’s a small scrape you didn’t notice until now, the sting making itself known when you bend your leg just a bit to get a better look. 

“it’s just a scratch,” you protest, not wanting to bite off more than you can chew with him. you already owe him for letting you in, you don’t want to think about how fast your reserves will dwindle down if he does you any more favors.

“please, i insist,” he guides you to sit on one of the stools at the kitchen table before reaching into the cabinet next to him. “i’m an apothecary, and i know my way around basic medicine. it’s not a big deal.”

you nod stiffly and let him inspect the small wound, the breath leaving you when he drops to his knees in front of you to get a better look. he rolls up your pant leg and he cleans it with rapt attention, making sure not to press too hard, and applies a greenish looking salve onto it.

“there, all done,” he says, patting the bandage he had wrapped around it before letting the cloth of your trousers back down. 

“thank you,” you say, genuine in the way his returning smile is. you reach into your bag, fishing for the small bag of coins. “how much? i can pay you in advance for letting me stay, and for this.”

“keep it,” he says, voice even softer than it was before. “you can help me around the house. the weeding, or gathering wood for the fire. i don’t want your money, not when you probably need it more than i do. i make enough to get by.”

so you do. the first morning you stumble through the garden, side by side with him as he shows you which plants in his garden were herbs he could use for his medicines and which were leeching weeds that needed to be plucked before they took over the entire space. he disappears to town in the afternoon, delivering medicines and coming back with a pocket jingling with coins and a bag full of fresh pastries for the both of you. they taste better than anything you’ve eaten from the palace cooks, and you can’t help the way you moan around the cherry hand pie. you catch his eye and he meets it before you both dissolve into giggles, leaning into each other’s space on the same side of the table. 

he helps you wash your clothes that night, tutting at how you only have one pair. he lends you a pair of his, an old set that he doesn’t wear anymore. you lay at night and swipe the fabric between your fingers, smiling at the gesture even though he isn’t there to receive it.

his kindness shocks you, you’re not used to people doing things for you without the authority of the crown making them or them demanding something in return. it’s nice, knowing that there’s people in your kingdom that contain such compassion, especially for strangers. 

the next day he takes you deeper into the forest to pick berries, and the red and purple bursted splotches staining your fingertips for hours after. he feeds you some with his bare hand, swiping his thumb against the corner of your mouth when sweet juice escapes it. you bristle at the action and he laughs, and you have to hide your smile in your sleeve as you wipe the rest off yourself. you stay out until the sun begins to set, him busy teaching you about every type of plant the two of you come across on your stroll and you listening with rapt attention. his voice is soothing, words speeding up and slurring together a bit when he finds something particularly interesting that he wants to show you. he makes you feel almost like when you were a child studying with your tutors, quizzing you every now and then to test your retention, but the smile he rewards you with is better than anything they ever gave you. 

on the third day, he’s gone before you wake. he left a note on the table for you stating that he had to go to town for a medical emergency, and that there was bread and cheese in one of the cupboards for you to eat while he was away. you busy yourself with two knitting needles and a ball of thread you find in the living room, trying and failing to create a pattern of knots. he comes home as the sun is setting, the last rays making his hair a honeyed brown and his skin glow. your stomach clenches at the sight of him, the relief you’re feeling foreign to your body. 

he grins at the sight of you surrounded by unraveled strings and gently pries your hands from the needles where they had become clenched. he wordlessly shows you how to create simple weaves with the needles, and you have to ask him to show you twice because you’re too busy staring at his tongue poking from his lips to focus the first time around. you end up with a wobbly looking hat, some knots too bit and some too tight that create gaping holes in weird places, but he places it on his head and thanks you for it anyways.

“you have a lot of secrets,” he muses the next night, sipping tea with you by the fireplace. you almost lose your grip on the mug from his abruptness.

“i do?” you ask, not willing to give away information that he doesn’t already have. you had spent the day in companionship, trading back quips and sarcastic comments between meals. he taught you about the medicines he was making that day, explaining each ingredient and its properties as he cut them up and beat them into a paste. his comment was out of place, but it’s something you’ve come to expect from him; there’s no predictability to him past the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles and the way his face goes soft when he looks at you. 

“you pretend you’re a commoner, but your hands are free of callouses. your hair is full and healthy, you speak formally, you’re clearly well off. or at least, you were. what i don’t understand is why you decided to leave that behind.” his bottom lip is twisting between his teeth, not knowing whether he’s crossed a line with you.

“true,” you admit, wrapping your hands further around your tea and letting the warmth seep into your hands. it grounds you. “i didn’t think i had a choice. i wanted to make my own decisions, wanted to decide my own fate, not have someone do it for me. i felt suffocated, so i just. left. i don’t know what i was looking for, but i needed to get out.”

“have you found it?” he says, peering at you from above his mug as he takes a long sip. “what you’re looking for?”

“maybe,” you pause, looking into his eyes. they’re cocoa-dusted brown, the fire dancing across his pupils. he looks away after a moment, and you’re grateful for it. you wouldn’t want him to see the flush thats traveled up to your cheeks and ears. 

by the fifth day, you’re able to identify the uncomfortable feeling in your gut whenever he walks into a room. or looks at you. or breathes, really. 

you’re falling for him. 

you’re not in love with him, you’re not so deluded by his puppy-like charm and stupid smile and cute teeth and sparkly eyes that you’re calling it love. you can simply identify the feeling of free falling as clearly as it was laid out in the novels you used to sneak into your room to read by the candlelight before bed. 

it isn’t as difficult to look him in the eyes after you’ve identified it as you thought it would be. if anything, you’re even more drawn to his magnetism, your body moving towards his without your permission at any given time. while he’s preparing lunch, or chopping herbs, or telling you about his trip to town, you’re in his space. and the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to mind. in fact, he seems to gravitate towards you with the same intensity, or you hope so at least; it isn’t unrealistic that it’s your rose-colored vision making you see things that aren’t there. 

regardless, it brings something more dangerous to your attention: hope. the hope that maybe, this could be a life for you. that this temporary stop in your journey might become permanent. that you’re far enough from your home that no one will recognize you if you step into town, that you could spend the rest of your days with him in this cottage, eating pastries and knitting and picking berries. 

there was no need to tell him that now. you were fine with the way things were, you were still technically engaged, and you didn’t even know if you were ready for something like that. for the infinite time since you can remember, you’re cursing your sheltered upbringing for not teaching you how to live.

it’s on the sixth day that things go crumbling down.

he’s gone again, leaving you in comfortable silence broken up by birds chirping outside and the sound of leaves rustling past the windows. it’s domestic, the way he works during the morning and comes home a few hours later to you twiddling the knitting needles between your hands, a ball of yarn by your feet and a haphazard scarf forming under them. 

“your highness?” he says, and you hear a rustle of paper, him putting his mail down most likely.

“hmm?” you sound absentmindedly, still focused on the knitting you’re trying to painstakingly learn. it hits you a moment later what he said, and you drop the scarf and needles with a gasp. you look up to see your worst nightmare in the form of him holding up a missing persons poster, a drawn image of your face adorning the middle and your name plastered underneath. missing princess, it reads, complete with a reward for your safe return. you knew this would happen, you just didn’t think it would happen so soon. a day before your wedding. you thought you had more time. you were so close to your freedom, and you could feel it slipping through your fingers.

“shit,” you curse, hiding your face in your hands so you don’t have to take in the shocked look on his face. you feel all the blood in your head rushing south, leaving you lightheaded and overwhelmed.

“you’re the princess?” he clearly has no care for your distress in this moment as he stalks towards you, the poster crumpling in his hand when it curls into a fist. “i’ve been harboring the missing princess in my home?”

“yes?” you mumble into your fingers, letting the despair settle in your traitorous stomach. he lets out a sharp breath through his teeth and you flinch, thoughts swirling.

“do you know what would happen to me if anyone finds out i’ve been keeping you here? prison would be a paradise.” you hear his feet bringing him closer to you, each drop synchronizing with your heart beating in your throat.

“please,” you remove your hands, sniffling when a traitorous tear traces down your face. “don’t send me back. i’ll give you all the money i have, just don’t send me back there.”

“hey,” he soothes, anger melting into concern as he folds to his knees in front of you. “i won’t. i wouldn’t. i just- why didn’t you tell me?”

“i didn’t know if i could trust you, at first,” you stutter out, ignoring the way your heart clenches when his face falls. “and after…there wasn’t a good time.”

“why would you give all that up? a life of luxury, never needing to ask for anything, why would you leave that to spend your days here? don’t you want to marry some prince and live in your castle?”

“i don’t want some prince. i want you,” your voice is wobbly, vision clouded by the tears you won’t let fall, but your intention is clear.

“you can’t just-” he cuts himself off, taking in a sharp breath through his nose. “you can’t want me. i’m nobody.”

“you’re not,” you press, standing until you’re level with him. “don’t you understand? it’s you. you were what i was looking for all this time.”

“but,” he protests, running a hand through his hair, mussing it up from its careful placement. “why me?”

“you’re my home, seungmin. i’ve never felt more safe or more comfortable than i have within these walls.” desperate tears continue to sting at your eyes, and he reaches to wipe them away before he can help himself. your palms move to cup his hands to your face, keeping his warmth there. “you’re the only one who sees me as more than just something they can use, you see me. please don’t send me away.”

“would you be happy here?” he asks, voice trembling. he wants you to stay.

“i’ve been happier these past six days than i’ve been my entire life.”

he surges to kiss you, finally letting your lips touch after days of lingering glances, and it feels like coming home.

you didn’t know if you would go back to the palace, but you knew you had responsibilities that you couldn’t just ignore and that you had to deal with them soon. what you were completely sure of was that, despite the wishes of your family, you won’t marry at all if you aren’t marrying him. 

[fanonimus]

I bring you another dream I remember! Mostly.

The first one

Context: Sometimes I dream up random episodes about media I am obsessed with at the time with proper animation and dialogue and stuff.

So this is TimKon, which is less surprising bc I was reading Timkon fanfics before going to sleep.

The animation style is Teet Titans.

The dream is blurry, but I can fill in the gaps. Mostly.

There was no intro this time.

The scene opens with Dick, Bruce, and Damian talking to a nervous looking Tim Drake, who's in a white tux with golden accents. He looks nervous as Dick fits a golden flower crown on top of his black hair.

"You okay, chum?" Bruce asks.

"I'm nervous. What if he leaves before we can do this?" Tim asks, fiddling with the sleeve of his button up shirt. Damian batts his hand away, currently doing Tims makeup.

"Kon is a good man, Tim. You two are good for each other." Dick says.

"And Todd is armed with cryptonite bullets, if he does leave." Damian adds as he finishes off, closing the makeup kit.

"Damian!" All three say in unison, with disbelief. He just shruggs.

Fade to black, then to another room. Kon is admiring himself. He's wearing a black tuxedo with silver details. Jon is excitedly rambling off about all the fun stuff he and Damian will do after the ceremony. Clark is going over Conners confession or whatever while Lois fixes up his makeup.

"He's not going to come." Conner says, sounding dissapointed. Jon frowns.

"He's a bad man. He would surely ruin the whole thing." The boy says.

"I know, but he's still my bio dad, too." Conner says.

"It's Lex Luthor. I would be surprised if he did come." Clark sighs and patts Conners shoulder. "Focus on your husband, son, don't let Lex ruin this for you." Conner nodds, we fade to black.

Wedding music plays, we open to rose petals blowing in the wind. Conner and Tim smiling at each other as they walk down the aisle. Batfam, superfam, and all of their friends are there, cheering. Even some rouges were invited. (Harley vipes a tear in the background, while Ivy is the one contributing the petals. This was strangely specified.)

Jason Todd is the priest.

The ceremony goes on, when the doors open and Lex stepps in.

"I ob-" Before he can say anything, Jason pulls a gun on him.

"Sit down." Lex sitts down. Tim and Kon let out a small giggle.

They say their vows, and all I remember from that is the love in their words. It was warm and nice.

Anyways.

The only other thing I remember is the kiss scene. Tim pulls Conner in, and hey kiss, and then they break apart and touch foreheads, and they are laughing and crying while everyone is cheering, and Harley even lights up some fireworks.

There was also a speech Damian gave, and everyone cried. Damian talked about how he came to care about Tim and how the man helped him realize that his place in the family was his ever since he arrived. He also threatened Kon.

I think Jason and Stephanie also gave speeches, but I don't remember what they said.

This is it. Thank you for tuning in. This was a really nice dream.

Here I made some art for it:

[oatmilk-vampire]

Cannon-compliant, near future early 90s, enemies to friends back to enemies then to lovers angst and smut 11k word steddie fic.

Preview:

“Shouldn’t you usually ask for my license and registration?” Eddie delays, wondering if he’d be able to lure him away from the drugs.

“I already know who you are and that this van belongs to you. Please step out of the vehicle.” He repeats.

Eddie swallows. Unbelievable. He’s been selling for four years now and Steve’s the one to catch him? He wasn’t even in the act! He just re-upped his supply from Reefer Rick, which is even worse because now he has enough drugs for a small army.

Fuck it. He’s going to jail anyway.

His fight or flight kicks in and he’s running the moment his feet hit the dirt, leaving Steve behind to deal with his van full of paraphernalia.

He hasn’t had to run since that time in the Upside Down. He’s never been athletically fit, but he was always used to running from a threat.

Steve, on the other hand, has always been a star athlete.

Unfortunately for Eddie, Steve doesn’t stay with the van, instead he chases after him and, man, is he fast.

--

Or it's the early 90s and Steve is now a cop, and Eddie is still a drug dealer.

Based on the six stages of grief, all in (nearly) one night.

Or read it down below 👇

1.) Denial

Steve Harrington had gone through some shit in his teenage years. Hell, most of Hawkins went through some shit. High school politics weren’t anything compared to monsters and evil Russians and stopping numerous apocalypses all before you ever reached the legal drinking age.

Trying to figure out what he wanted do with his life shouldn’t have been that hard, but there he was getting the third degree from Daddy Dearest. Steve’s a failure, a letdown, a disgrace, a stain on the Harrington name. He’s heard it all before, but not with such animosity attached. His mother kept quiet, slowly shaking her head to show her disapproval. It should have hurt Steve; their reactions to his decision not to pursue college or take on the family business. But it didn’t.

In fact, it just made it all that much more easier.

Steve was always told he’d go to some Ivy League university in preparation of inheriting the Harrington family business, that is if he didn’t fuck it up before then. His dad’s words, not his.

But unlike Daddy Dearest, he’d seen some shit. He’d saved lives. He’d taken care of children more than he’d ever been taken care of himself. Even though Steve and Eddie were the oldest amongst their peers, they were still kids. Steve realizes that now. Nineteen and twenty are way too young to have to save a bunch of tweens and teens and the rest of town. There’s only one adult male he truly knows stepped in to help. Who did the work and risked his life.

So the decision was easy. He would follow in a different father-figure’s footsteps.

Instead of college and finance, he signs up for the Hawkins training academy.

He’d never been awesome at school, his grades just high enough to not get his ass whooped by his parents. But when he enrolled in the Hawkins training academy to become a officer, well, he excelled.

He had to wait until he was twenty-one, as were the minimum age requirements, so he worked Family Video with Robin for the remaining two years staying vigilant for any possible otherworldly threat, but alas none came and he was getting trained to protect and serve.

When he finally graduates twenty-four weeks later, he knows his place. He’s just a rookie. A baby officer. It feels nice to not have to be a leader anymore.

Another twenty-four weeks later, he graduates to his short sleeved uniform shirts and is finally allowed to ride alone.

He didn’t expect to fit in right away, but he also didn’t expect his fellow officers to bust his balls and haze him. He thought he escaped that life by avoiding college and the fraternities he once dreamed of.

Tomorrow will be the first day he rides alone. Today’s the last chance they have to truly get to him, and laugh the most at him.

“Where are my cuffs?” He throws the toy pair on the desk before him, placing his hands on his hips just after. It doesn’t have the same effect on men decades his senior as it does on the brats he once lovingly babysat.

“Maybe you should keep a better eye on your gear, rookie.” One officer laughs at him.

The other seems to take pity on him, if for only a moment.

“Oh, Harrington, there was a call. If you’re willing to clock back in you should take it.” He says, a genuine look in his eye.

“Yeah? What’s the address? I’ll head over now. What’s the call?” He momentarily forgets his woes, just happy they’re finally accepting him. Offering him his first real job.

Until the second officer throws the replacement cuffs at him, and with Steve’s reflexes he catches them. “You know that night club down by 69th? Yeah, I hear they’re looking for a new stripper.”

Steve feels himself visibly deflate, which only eggs the man on.

“All you’ll ever be is some rich kid pretty boy. You’ll get more use out of those than the real deal.”

A chorus of raucous laughter follows him out.

Steve groans and grumbles once he gets to his cruiser. He wouldn’t let them know how much they’re getting to him. He’s got to rise above and make Hopper proud. Who knows, with hard work he hopes that one day maybe he’ll even be the chief when Hop does decide to retire. Although, he has a feeling it’ll be a long time coming before that happens.

After Eddie recovered from nearly having his flesh ripped from his bones, he was proven innocent. He finally got his diploma and, as expected, didn’t go to college. He also never got around to making it big and leaving the shitty little town he calls home.

Instead he sticks around to continue his own father’s “business”.

Aka, still breaking the law and flying under the radar.

It’s not his fault he never got another chance at an audition in Cali. Record labels just weren’t willing to give him or Hawkins a chance after the shitstorm that hit in ‘86 and the years following.

So when he’s driving alone down a dark side road and he sees red and blue flashing lights, he knows he’s fucked. He’s gonna have to run, and he’ll have a warrant for his arrest because there’s no way he could hide the supply fast enough.

Then he sees Steve. His bad, Officer Harrington.

The moment Steve knocks on his window, Eddie rolls it down and immediately starts his bullshit, flirting and big friendly grins, hoping to distract him from asking if he can search the van. But to his misfortune, Steve rolls his eyes and asks Eddie to step out of the vehicle.

“Shouldn’t you usually ask for my license and registration?” Eddie delays, wondering if he’d be able to lure him away from the drugs.

“I already know who you are and that this van belongs to you. Please step out of the vehicle.” He repeats.

Eddie swallows. Unbelievable. He’s been selling for five years now and Steve’s the one to catch him? He wasn’t even in the act! He just re-upped his supply from Reefer Rick, which is even worse because now he has enough drugs for a small army.

Fuck it. He’s going to jail anyway.

His fight or flight kicks in and he’s running the moment his feet hit the dirt, leaving Steve behind to deal with his van full of paraphernalia.

He hasn’t had to run since that last time in the Upside Down. He’s never been athletically fit, but he was always used to running from a threat.

Steve, on the other hand, has always been a star athlete.

Unfortunately for Eddie, Steve doesn’t stay with the van, instead he chases after him and, man, is he fast.

Steve catches him almost right away, slamming them both to the ground in a pile of aching joints and soon to be bruised limbs.

Steve gives him enough slack to turn around just so they’re nose to nose while the officer straddles the drug dealer’s lap.

“Well, I see the donuts haven’t hindered you any.” Eddie grins because that’s all he can do to stop himself from crying at how unfair his life is.

Then he’s being pulled roughly to his feet. He waits to feel the telltale coolness of cuffs clamping around his wrists, but he doesn’t. At least, not the cold part.

His heart still hammers in his chest, but then he looks down and sees what Steve put on him.

Furry red cuffs. Meant for the bedroom, not the streets.

“Not a word.” Steve warns as Eddie’s eyes widen.

But Eddie laughs even as he trips over his own feet, mind already working over time with what he’s going to say.

“If you wanted me in cuffs so bad, you could have just asked, big boy. You didn’t have to become a cop to do it.”

“Shut up.”

Eddie stops laughing when he remembers the predicament that led to him being placed in the sex cuffs in the first place. He swallows as they near his still running van.

“You gonna stay right there or do I need to put you in my car?”

“I’ll stay.”

Steve takes his time with the search, careful hands uncovering each of the hiding spots.

At least he didn’t rip it apart like he could have.

“Find everything you’re looking for, officer?” Eddie surmises based on the grim expression of his ex-classmate and former crush.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t find anything.” Steve admits with a sigh, and if his hands weren’t currently full of every drug known to man Eddie imagines he’d probably pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Then you shouldn’t have checked. You didn’t have a warrant or consent.”

Steve fixes him with a look that tells Eddie he’s stupider than either of them thought. “But I had probable cause the moment you ran.”

Eddie groans. Of course. He always has to run. He always has to ruin everything for himself. He really is a fuckup.

“You realize I have to take you in now, right?”

“Or you could not?” Eddie tries, hearing how pathetic he sounds.

“Eddie.”

“Steve.” He begs, blinks back the way his eyes feel.

Steve sighs, putting the drugs down to scrub a hand down his face.

What is Steve supposed to do? This could be his big chance. His first solo arrest and a big one at that. He’s not even technically working right now! The hazing would have to stop now. He’d finally have respect. Especially because the entire station hates the Munson name and has a betting pool going for who will finally be the one to bring in Eddie for good.

Not that Steve cared about the betting pool, mind you. Although it couldn’t hurt to cushion his pockets more. Especially after his family officially cut him off after his big decision.

“Okay, look. I won’t bring you in right now.” He emphasizes, doesn’t want to give Eddie the impression that he’s letting him go. “But I will be in the morning.”

Eddie’s face falls, then brightens back up. “So, you’re letting me go for now. What’s that, say, ten hours?”

Steve can already see the gears turning in his head, so he’s quick to shake his head. “No. I said I wouldn’t bring you in yet, I didn’t say I was letting you go so you can evade arrest. You really want another charge?

Eddie deflates. “No. So what now? You just gonna keep me in your sex cuffs overnight? That’s really kinky, Steve. I thought you were more vanilla than that.”

Steve’s face burns but he holds his ground, unwilling to let Eddie overwhelm him like he always does when he gives him that look and smile.

“We’ll leave your van here on the side of the road, and you’ll ride home with me.”

“If you wanted a slumber party you could have just asked. Are you gonna braid my hair too?”

“Do you want me to bring you in tonight?”

“No. I’m just trying to lighten the mood, man. Jeez.” He looks over his van as he watches Steve carefully place the drugs back where he found them. “So what, you just leave this van full of evidence here unattended? What happens if someone robs me? Takes the drugs? What then, officer?” Eddie knows the chance of someone happening across his van and stealing from it is slim to none. He goes down this road because no one else does. No one other than Steve, apparently.

“As much as I don’t want these drugs on the streets—” He levels him with a look Wayne himself has given. “—If they’re not in your possession then I can’t necessarily arrest you for any drug charges, now can I?”

Is Steve serious?

It seems highly unprofessional, but he wouldn’t push his luck by pointing that out. Maybe Steve really does want to help him and this is the only way he knows how.

“Why don’t I just drive the van back to your house? You can keep my keys.” He offers.

“So you can sneak out while I sleep and hotwire it? I don’t think so.” He snorts at Eddie’s half-baked plan. Damn, he knows him too well.

“Fine. So we leave it. God forbid anyone take the drugs—at least I don’t let anyone OD on them.” He helpfully points out. “But if someone does, take them, what then?”

“Then we just had a sleepover. We’ve been over this.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at the cop. This is Steve. But is it the same Steve who helped save his life, who helped exonerate him? What a way to come full-circle.

“Okay,” Eddie finally gives in, what other option does he have? “I’m in.”

“Great. Hop in.”

To his surprise, he’s guided to Steve’s passenger seat rather than the back.

“You sure?” Eddie furrows his brows.

Steve raises his own. “Should I not be?”

Eddie stays silent. He would never hurt anyone, especially Steve, unprompted. But Eddie’s also skeptical.

“Are you gonna take these cuffs off?” He finally asks.

“Nope.” Steve smiles at him for the first time in years.

It makes Eddie’s chest ache.

2.) Anger

Steve is obviously being hazed by the other officers

They took his actual cuffs and left him with these because they didn’t expect him to make any actual arrests. It’s not his fault he’s “too pretty” to be a real officer and eventual chief, and that they think he’ll only ever be seen as a stripper cop. Oh but Steve will show them alright. Starting tomorrow when he brings in Hawkins most prevalent drug dealer.

Who also happens to be Steve’s once unrequited crush.

Steve was hoping to give Eddie one last night of freedom, and more selfishly, give him one last night of spending time with Eddie.

He’d only seen Eddie in passing since they both recovered from their injuries, and even less often this past year. Only ever if his T.O. decided to harass Eddie when he really was just minding his own business at the grocery store or gas station.

But now Eddie was here with him, and he was pissed.

Steve thought they’d come to an agreement but Eddie must have changed his mind because now they were having a screaming match in the middle of Steve’s kitchen and this was not how Steve wanted the night to go.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, what do you expect from me? I’m just trying to do my job!” Steve cries.

“I expect you to have my back, Steve! Like you did last time we were in a life or death situation, remember? Or did that Steve die in the Upside Down?” Eddie fires back.

He knows he’s being unnecessarily harsh. After all, Steve is technically the one in the right here given morals and you know, the law but Eddie is essentially a wild animal ensnared and desperate for escape. Excuse him for lashing out.

“Life or death? You want to talk life or death, Eddie? You’re the one who’s contributing to the start of an opioid epidemic! How would you feel if someone gets hooked so bad they OD or end up homeless?” Steve’s words pummel Eddie, agitating him more as he defends himself.

“I already told you I don’t let anyone OD!”

“How can you be so sure? Anything can happen, Eddie! This is stupid, this is irresponsible.”

Eddie gets in Steve’s face, and he imagines he’d be a whole lot more intimidating if it wasn’t for Steve’s stupid sex cuffs he’s still wearing. “And leaving a van full of drugs on the street where anyone can get them isn’t? Grow up, Steve. Why do you really have me here?”

Steve cowers back at that, suddenly turning away from Eddie but not before he catches sight of the tears welling in his eyes.

“Aw, come on, Steve.” Eddie tries, feeling his own eyes grow warm with tears. He’s already going to jail, he doesn’t need to feel bad about telling Steve how it is on top of everything else.

Steve doesn’t face him, doesn’t respond.

How could he? How could he explain that he’s alone? That all of the kids have grown and scattered across the country in pursuit of their own college adventures. That Nance is some bigshot reporter in Los Angeles. That Rob is traveling the world. She had wanted Steve to come with her, but when he decided to pursue law enforcement right here in Hawkins, she reached out to someone else. Who would have known Tammy Thompson’s singing voice would be so popular in different countries?

Steve’s happy for them. So fucking happy.

So maybe that’s why he’s so angry he could cry. Because the only person he has left isn’t his, won’t ever be his, especially now that Steve has specifically chosen a career that’s put him on the opposite side of the law than Eddie. It’s the one time since this entire journey of his that he’s truly regretted his decision to become an officer.

3.) Bargaining

“Remember when we saved the world?” Eddie’s eyes are wide, staring deep into Steve’s as he tries to make his case. “You didn’t give up on me then. We worked pretty well together! Why do you have to give up on me now?”

Steve sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s more difficult than that, Eddie. I haven’t given up on you. I just have to do this. It’s my job.”

“And selling is my job! I’m not hurting anyone.” Eddie cowers when Steve fixes him with a look.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so overzealous about contributing to the decline of humanity.

“I mean,” he continues, “it’s not like I like my job. It’s just the only one I can do. No one will hire me.”

Steve puts his hands on his hips and Eddie expects him to be chastised for something, but instead Steve only says—

“Your birthday’s coming up. Let me make you a cake. What flavor you want?”

Eddie blinks. Did he hear him correctly? Maybe he got a concussion from when Steve knocked him to the ground earlier. “Officer Harrington, offering to make me a cake? Are you gonna give me a show too?”

“Show? What—” Realization dawns on his face as he takes in Eddie’s cackle. “I’m not a stripper! Fuck you.”

“You wish.” Eddie snorts.

They’re left staring at each other uncomfortably long before Eddie sighs, drags a hand down his face. “Angel food. Out of character, right? I know.”

“I like devil’s food.”

“Really? Devil’s food? Huh.”

Steve nods. “I used to love red velvet.”

“Used to?”

“Can’t anymore. Maybe if I eat it already made, but I can’t deal with the mix anymore.”

Steve doesn’t explain, instead just leaving Eddie to sit there. He doesn’t know much about baking but he thinks he can take a wild guess.

“Blood. It looks like blood, doesn’t it?”

Steve nods, keeps his eyes trained down. Searching his hands for something that used to be there. “Especially the mixer. When it slings the mix around the sides of the bowl? It’s kind of funny how much it looks like blood.”

“Steve.”

“I try not to let it bother me. But it really shaped me, y’know? You don’t realize the things that’ll end up scarring you. I mean, shit, I gave up a stable and well-paying career where I don’t have to do anything more than sit at my desk and yell at some poor person.” He huffs, runs a hand down his face. “Instead I chose a job where I literally run into danger because apparently I didn’t get enough of that knocked into my head with each concussion.”

“You did it because you want to save people, Steve. It’s who you are.” Eddie briefly worries maybe Steve did choose the wrong career. A career that could put his life in danger, or traumatize him further. What if some bloodbath happens and Steve can’t handle it? Stranger things have happened in Hawkins. “Plus you don’t want to yell at some poor person.” He dips his chin, a grin spreading across his face. “You could always quit while you’re ahead, take your cushy office job. I’ll give up my…extracurricular activities and be the assistant you yell at all the time. I’ll know you don’t mean it.” He bargains, tone saccharine and joking but he couldn’t be more serious.

Steve tilts his head, seems to consider it. “While your rap sheet isn’t that long or bad, you still probably wouldn’t get hired.”

Eddie’s smile falls. “Ouch. You wouldn’t hire me?”

“I don’t know if I’d have that kind of power. Plus, I’d have to go get my degree before I could even think about begging my father for the position.”

Eddie frowns. Even if he didn’t want Steve to be an officer of the law, he didn’t want him to waste away in four more years of school only to have to defeat the final boss that is Mr. Harrington himself.

“What if I told you I can turn in some powerful names?” Eddie switches gears. If Steve’s meant to be the do-gooder officer, then he can at least be a do-gooder drug dealer.

Steve narrows his eyes in intrigue, “Like who?”

“Like Kline?” Eddie offers up, voice high.

Steve rolls his eyes. “He’s not the mayor anymore.”

“But he still buys! More so now that he’s hit rock bottom.” When Steve doesn’t respond Eddie sighs. “Okay, how about Principal Higgins? You can’t tell me Hawkins PD wants our youth going to school under that.” He hopes this works. “I can get you all of the important people, the ones who influence today’s youth.” Eddie doesn’t know of much, but maybe he can find out more from Reefer Rick.

Steve’s expression changes. Bingo. “How long has Higgins been buying? Does he use on school property?”

“I’ve personally known since ‘84. Keeps little blue bottles right there in his desk drawer.”

“And they’re not prescription?”

“Unless Reefer Rick got a medical degree and didn’t tell me—”

Steve nods. “Okay, I can work with that. But, Eddie, he’ll just flip on you. Higgins. Rick. Anyone will. They’d get the deal. The disgraced former mayor and Higgins are small fish. Typically we want the big one.”

“You think I’m the big one? I’m flattered, really.” Eddie puts his hand to his chest and flutters his lashes. “Okay, how about Charlie Greene? He’s one of the biggest drug kingpins in Oregon. Weed, coke, heroin, speed, K—if he can’t grow it or cook it himself he imports it.”

This catches Steve’s attention. “Tell me more.”

“He’s got a whole fleet of produce trucks he uses to transport. Farris Farms. Last I saw, there were kilos and kilos of pot wrapped up to look like carrots. I do know of at least two of the guys by name. CJ and Toby.”

Steve visibly brightens, looks a good ten years younger. He pulls out his little pocket notebook and pen. “Last names?”

Eddie winces, “Sorry, I don’t know everything. Didn’t think to ask while I was doing something I shouldn’t have.”

Steve frowns, and Eddie feels like a kicked puppy. Or like he’s the one who kicked the puppy. “Uh huh. And how do you have that connection?”

“Because Al Munson tricked me into stealing their supply to pay them back for something he also stole from them.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah. Believe it or not that was the first time I’d had guns pointed at me. It was also the first time I got arrested, but I hadn’t actually been arrested for anything they could keep me on. I tried to stop a cop from bleeding out and he vouched for me after he was out of surgery. That’s just about the only time a good deed worked out for me.”

Steve worries his lip just long enough for Eddie to worry it would bleed.

Steve puts his notebook and pen back away in his little uniform pocket, a blue uniform that looks pretty damn good on him. “I’m making you that cake.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Mm hmm. Come on, you can come sit in the kitchen with me.”

After he’s settled in and watching Steve collect the necessary ingredients he speaks, “You saved my life, Steve. I never forgot that. Felt like maybe you did.” Eddie clears his throat, wishes it didn’t sound so hoarse.

Steve barely glances at him before finishing measuring out some sugar. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. About that night. How close you came to being another body caught in the crossfire.” Steve shudders. “I’m just happy we’re having this conversation.”

“You’re happy you have me in your sex cuffs in your kitchen while you bake me a cake? You’re into some weird stuff, man.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it, asshole.” But Steve smiles anyway.

Despite the distance between them these last few years, their playful back and forth banter is organic. Eddie appreciates that.

By the time Steve’s caught him up on all the hazing he’s suffered, Eddie’s laughing so hard he barely feels like any time has passed at all.

By the time the cake is out and cooling on a wire rack, Eddie is so taken by the fact that Steve actually seems to want to know about him, that he’s actually interested in him and his life, that Eddie might just find himself on his knees between Steve’s legs—if Steve wasn’t already in that exact position for Eddie.

“I should have known this is what gets you going,” Eddie pants as Steve takes more of him into his mouth, making up the difference with one hand while using his other to explore the expanse of Eddie’s tummy, his thighs, before finally caressing his balls. “I will let you arrest me anytime, big boy.” Eddie promises with a gasp.

Steve can feel Eddie trying not to buck up into his mouth, resisting the temptation to choke him with his cock as Steve moans his appreciation around him. Steve can’t blame him—he’s been teasing him nonstop since he managed to get his hands around Eddie’s handcuff belt buckle, being too gentle, too light, too fleeting when he knows Eddie wants more. Knows they both want more. It’s just serving to amp Eddie up; Steve hopes it’s enough to make up for how this will all end between them.

Steve pulls back to lick around the head of Eddie’s cock, not hiding any of the vulgar, wet noises that come along with it. He looks up at Eddie, who has thrown his head back. Steve moans around the head, speeding up his hand on the base of the shaft.

He pulls off with a lewd pop, forcing Eddie to keep his eyes trained down on him.

Steve thinks Eddie is a vision, he’s certain of it actually. With his hair drooping messily in front of his face, lips parted and a flush high on his cheeks, Steve would do nearly anything for him. Especially with his pale and tattooed chest dusted with an evident blush.

Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before slowly pumping Eddie again. “I don’t want to argue with you,” he says, “and I want you to take what you want.”

He takes Eddie’s hands from where they clench at his own bare thighs and pulls them to rest in his hair. When he can feel Eddie’s grip tensing in his hairspray-stiff waves, Steve puts his mouth back on him, taking him down as far as he can, hollowing his cheeks and sucking like his life depends on it.

Eddie holds him in place for a moment before letting Steve pull back and bob back forward in a quick rhythm.

They can both feel the saliva pooling in Steve’s mouth as he tries to take Eddie deeper and deeper with every pull, swallowing when he can feel Eddie closing in on, and eventually, hitting the back of his throat. He can feel the hands in his hair tightening to the point where he worries Eddie may be causing irreparable damage to his roots. It hurts—but it’s a dull ache, and a welcome one. This is what he wanted.

Steve chances another look up at Eddie with his cock as far down his throat as he can take it without needing to pull off, and he can see Eddie’s eyes trained on his—half-lidded, clouded with pleasure. He’s biting his bottom lip, in effort to not make noise, perhaps? No, that just won’t do, Steve thinks, as he swallows Eddie again, moaning around the hot, thick weight on his tongue.

He’s blessed with a string of sharp expletives from Eddie’s mouth, which would make Steve smile if his mouth wasn’t so full.

He swallows again. At this, he can feel Eddie fight back his climax as he holds on to Steve’s hair as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, and finally forces him down to take the rest of him down Steve’s throat.

Steve can feel Eddie come as he’s held there, unable to move or breathe. He could die like this, Steve thinks, and he’d probably be fine with it. It would make for a hell of a story, anyway.

Steve Harrington died doing what he loves: Eddie Munson.

When Eddie finally releases his hold on Steve’s hair, Steve pulls back quickly with a gasp, chest heaving as he catches his breath, but Eddie is already clumsily trying to use his limited range to haul him up for a hungry kiss. The kiss is wet as Eddie seems to be chasing the taste of himself in Steve’s mouth—as if there was anything there to taste with how far he came down his throat.

Steve feels like putty in Eddie’s hands; he doesn’t resist at all when Eddie flips their positions so that Steve’s the one sitting in the kitchen chair, and in another swift movement, twisted again so that his back is flush to Eddie’s front, his front pressed nearly in half against the table.

Eddie attempts to pin him there as he uses both hands to fumble with Steve’s zipper, pulling his jeans down just enough to expose his ass to the cool air.

He withdraws his hands and Steve can hear him spit into his hands before reaching around to grip Steve’s painfully hard cock in his fists.

The position is beyond awkward, with Eddie still being cuffed, but he’s nothing if not determined.

“Next time,” Eddie says, draping his body over Steve’s, looming over him like a warm shadow. He releases his grip in favor to dip a few fingers between the cleft of Steve’s ass, just feeling. “I’m going to fuck you, just like this. Bend you over the table next time you try to convince me you’re not the greatest man to ever live.

Steve groans—he can’t do much of anything else between the sensations around him; Eddie feels too good. Between barely touching him and his threatening promises, Steve is ready to come when Eddie wraps his hands around him once more, jerking him under the table with perfect rhythm. As soon as Eddie dips a finger to tease his small hole on the tip of his cock, that’s all he can handle: he comes hard, shooting across the tiled floor of his kitchen with Eddie’s name on his lips.

He shudders as Eddie pulls him up again, and he’s expecting a rough kiss—but instead, he just gets tenderness. Eddie kisses him sweetly, chastely, even tries his hardest to hold Steve to him, wanting nothing more than a warm embrace. Steve thinks maybe he could and should take off the sex cuffs.

Of all that they’ve just done together, this is what takes Steve’s breath away the most.

4.) Depression

Looking at Steve, Eddie becomes excruciatingly aware of the distance between them.

Steve had apparently retreated into himself. Losing whatever intimate atmosphere that surrounded them right after handing Eddie a glass of water.

In fact, there was so much distance between them that Steve is currently leaning against the opposite kitchen wall, as far from Eddie as possible. He tried not to let it bother him, but Eddie has never been God’s strongest soldier.

After staring at Steve’s profile for too long to count, Eddie speaks, tired of Steve avoiding his eyes.

“Hey, you know—I didn’t even get to properly hug you or anything, man. I mean, I haven’t seen you in forever and we didn’t even, I don’t know, commemorate it or something like that.” Eddie says with furrowed brows.

He sets the empty glass down on the table he held Steve against just minutes ago. “Steve?” Eddie takes a hesitant step forward.

“I…I kinda don’t think that’s a good idea right now, Eds.” Steve finally says, looking away from his floor and up at Eddie with an uncomfortable look in his eyes.

“What?” Eddie scoffs, a little too loud and a little too snappy considering the feelings swirling around inside of him. Maybe that’s exactly why he’s so loud and snappy. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Steve raises his brows, like he’s surprised Eddie isn’t happy with his opinion. “Whoa, you don’t have to be like that, you know. You know exactly why we shouldn’t. I mean I’m happy to see you again, don’t get me wrong, but these circumstances are horrible—” He holds a hand up to stop Eddie from speaking. “—and I’m well aware that it’s my own fault we’re in this situation. I either should have let you go or arrested you immediately, not… complicate things.”

Steve looks away from him again, no need to observe it when he can feel Eddie still staring holes into him.

He knows that if he looks up, he’ll see the hurt in his eyes, the hurt he can hear in his voice.

“You seriously don’t even wanna hug me? Not even a ‘hey, nice to see you, bro’ and a pat on the shoulder? Even after—I can’t believe you right now,” Eddie is really raising his voice now, “I have my dick down your throat, my hand around yours, it’s fine—but somehow hugging me is crossing a line?”

Eddie would basically be screaming right now if his voice wasn’t so choked up and full of suppressed feelings.

“Eddie—” Steve starts softly, but Eddie’s sudden outburst of anger takes him by surprise.

“No! Don’t even start with this crap, with you’re excuses and your, ‘Eddie, be reasonable about this,’ I fucking can’t take it, not from you. I don’t see you, properly see you, in years, I want a fucking hug, or just…something, anything, Steve!”

Steve hadn’t dared to look up during Eddie’s cry.

He didn’t want to hurt him. Why didn’t Eddie just understand that Steve couldn’t give him what he wanted, what he needed so desperately himself? He would make things worse. He just knows it. He already has.

When Eddie stops talking and the silence becomes unbearable, Steve finally looks up.

Eddie hadn’t moved, his back still to the counter, his knuckles white from clutching the surface.

Steve looks up at his face and sees tear tracks down Eddie’s cheek, head down, avoiding Steve’s gaze.

Immediately, Steve steps forward, closing the remaining distance between them and raises a hand towards Eddie’s red and dampened cheek, brushing a stray tear off with his thumb just in time before Eddie’s cuffed hand reaches his face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Eddie.” Against his better judgment, Steve closes his arms around him, pulling him close.

He feels Eddie’s chin wobble in the dent of his shoulder.

“I didn’t wanna hurt you. I really didn’t.” Steve starts, but Eddie cuts him off, pulling away to create enough space between them to look Steve in the eye.

“No, it’s fine, I just…” Eddie drifts off.

It’s not fine. Nothing about this night is fine. The first time he’s ever been able to be intimate with Steve, able to show some hint of how he really feels about him, and the memory will forever be tarnished by how this night will end. Of course it hadn’t began so good either.

Eddie spent the last hours of daylight scrubbing his uncle’s headstone clean from red graffiti which read awful and completely untrue things about him. Wayne was never a bad man; but the Munson name carries a reputation. After that, Eddie made the split-decision to pick up more than usual from Rick, not wanting to see him again until next week instead of their every-other-night dealings. Then flashing red and blue lights in his rearview mirror, and Steve in a blue uniform.

This night has been horrible. Steve was just about the only good thing about it.

Eddie might as well enjoy the time he has left.

5.) Acceptance

Eddie’s heart aches for reasons that are probably more psychological than physical, especially when Steve takes Eddie’s face into his hands, soothingly running his right thumb up and down his cheek. This time, however, Eddie gives into the touch.

He moves his head just enough for the next caring stroke to brush over his lower lip instead of Eddie’s cheek like Steve had intended.

Steve pauses, as if unsure what to do, but Eddie’s made his decision.

He kisses the tip of Steve’s thumb.

When Steve doesn’t react, Eddie takes it a step further, parting his lips to wrap around his fingertip.

Steve can feel the warmth and wetness of Eddie’s mouth on his skin; can feel arousal stir in his gut once more. He presses his thumb into Eddie’s mouth, watches the way Eddie sucks on the digit before his eyes fixate onto Eddie’s.

Once Eddie gets a good taste of his skin, he releases Steve’s thumb with a soft plop, only audible because the kitchen is so deadly quiet.

Steve looks startled for a second, as if waking from a dream he didn’t even realize he was having.

Eddie’s mind fills with dark thoughts and a further spiraling mood.

“Sorry man, that was really weird, sorry.” He hastily spits out, taking a step back out of whatever pocket dimension they’ve found themselves trapped in.

Before he realizes it, tears start spilling from his eyes again. God, what was wrong with him? He’s been through much worse than getting rejected by some guy.

Steve watched him closely, letting Eddie keep his small distance until the tears start back up. Now he steps forward, slowly nearing Eddie as he would a dangerous animal, prepared to be torn to shreds for his next move.

He cups Eddie’s chin and tilts it upwards until their eyes meet. “Please stop crying.”

Eddie isn’t sure if he can do that… But he can do this.

With a only a second of reaction time and a small moan he’ll deny until his dying breath, Eddie meets Steve’s lips in a desperate, wet kiss. One Steve instantly returns.

Their kiss, only their second kiss, increases in neediness and lust so fast that Eddie can’t hold back the noticeably louder moans that make Steve kiss him even harder.

Steve is sure that his heart will burst and his lungs will collapse but he just can’t let go of Eddie, can’t let this opportunity get away. He loves him.

He’s basically shoving Eddie against the counter now, rubbing his hips against the gasping and moaning mess of a man.

When the sharp pain in Eddie’s lower back from where the edge of the counter presses into him increases to unbearable amounts, he finally pulls off for air and looks into Steve’s wide, familiar eyes. He knows his own must be reflecting that look of want.

But instead of pushing Eddie away again or taking his pants off, Steve pulls Eddie close and holds him tight; like he’ll lose him if he lets go. In a way, he will and they both know that.

Eddie inhales the familiar scent of Steve’s shirt. He never got to see what brand of cologne Steve uses, but Eddie knows it’s the same one he wore back in ‘86; he’d wager it’s probably Calvin Klein’s Obsession for men.

Steve presses a kiss on Eddie’s forehead, over his messy and probably sweaty bangs but it doesn’t seem to bother him any because he starts kissing a line along Eddie’s neck, jaw and cheek until their foreheads are pressed together and his hands are back to cupping Eddie’s face.

“Bedroom?” Eddie asks, breathless.

“Yeah, lets do that.”

With that, Eddie takes Steve’s offered hand, still wearing the stupid sex cuffs so it’s a bit awkward as Steve drags him through the kitchen door and through the short hallway to his bedroom.

Once within a reasonable distance from Steve’s bed, Eddie is suddenly pushed onto the mattress.

It’s not that he’s particularly scared of being pushed, especially by Steve, but with his hands bound and unable to catch himself it startles him. Before he can voice his disapproval, Steve is crawling on top of him, his strong arms holding Eddie down as he covers his lips in needy kisses—as if Eddie even needed to be held down.

When Steve rocks his hips against Eddie in a desperate attempt to satisfy his already hardened dick, Eddie suddenly stops all movements as he uses both hands to push against Steve’s chest.

When Steve sees the unsure look on his face and feels the pressure on his chest, he distances himself. “Oh, shit, did you not want to—”

“No, um, it’s just… Well, what’s the game plan here, Harrington? I mean, are w—are you gonna fuck me?” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, adding a hasty—“Because I’d really like that.”

“Oh, yeah, Eds. I would really like that too.” Steve smiles before adding on—“But I look forward to you bending me over my own kitchen table some time.”

Eddie nods, wide-eyed. He can’t believe this is actually happening. Wayne is probably rolling over in his grave right now. Not because he’s against this way of life, despite being Catholic, but because he’d clocked Eddie’s crush years ago and Eddie had vehemently denied it to the point of blaring his music at an even more disrespectful volume than usual. He supposes he owes him an apology now.

Maybe Steve will take him to the cemetery to say it, and goodbye.

“But… Neither of us have done this before…right?” Eddie questions, wondering if instinct and common sense will just take over.

Steve bites his bottom lip, genuine concern in his eyes as he considers how exactly they’re meant to have sex. “Right, but I think if we go slow it’ll be okay. But only if you want it, though.”

“No, yeah, I trust you.” Eddie confirms with a nod.

“Okay. If you change your mind, you’ll tell me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I’m already inside?”

Eddie would roll his eyes if it wasn’t for knowing Steve is just trying to be a good person. “Yes, Steve.”

“Even if we’ve been doing it for a little bit and it could almost be done but you change your mind—”

“Yes, Steve, I understand! Just fuck me already!” Eddie exclaims, just about ready to get himself off when Steve kisses him so dirty that Eddie can’t help but moan into his mouth.

“Fuck, I didn’t know you could be like this.” Eddie admits, always envisioning Steve to be a missionary and vanilla man. A straight man too.

“Yeah, well, you’re in for a treat, baby.”

Before Eddie can make a smug remark, Steve starts to kiss his way down to Eddie’s neck as he uses his left hand to explore under his shirt and circle the only nipple Eddie has left, which forces a surprised moan out of him. He had lost quite a bit of sensitivity after the demobats damaged the nerves under his skin, but there’s something about Steve’s touch that lights a fire beneath his skin.

Steve sucks a mark into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie hopes it will be visible for days after even if it might put him on his cellmate’s radar. Eddie’s no bitch, but he also knows sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to to survive.

Steve slides his other hand under Eddie’s shirt, pulling it up and forcing them to break their contact in order to slip the shirt over Eddie’s head.

“Steve, can you please take off your damn sex cuffs? I mean, they’re great and all but—” he shakes his hands to show how the shirt had gotten tangled.

“Shit, yeah. Hold on…” Steve fumbles in his pants pocket before retrieving a little key, finally freeing Eddie’s wrists.

Eddie immediately rubs at them. They’re not exactly sore, but they are clammy and tender.

“You okay?” Steve asks, reaching for Eddie’s hands as he looks over them with a careful eye.

“They’re fine. Please just get me out of these jeans.” He begs, wiggling his hips.

Steve smirks and goes directly back to Eddie’s body, giving one particularly harsh bite on the lone nipple. He laughs when Eddie’s hips buck up and his hands bury themselves in Steve’s hair.

Steve’s desire to get Eddie naked is much stronger than teasing Eddie any longer, so he follows the request gladly and unbuckles Eddie’s belt, gently pulling the tight jeans down. After a hesitant look up to Eddie, who nods slightly, he pulls his boxers down too before discarding both onto the floor.

“Fuck.” Steve says breathlessly as he takes in Eddie’s completely nude body, his own arousal heightened as he gets to see Eddie in a way he’d never gotten to before.

He wastes no time in pulling off his uniform, which he both thanks and curses for Eddie being beneath him at this moment.

When he’s naked, Eddie just stares. Eyes wide, mouth agape. He hadn’t gotten a good view earlier, but now he gets to see… Well, he gets to see that Steve has once again been unfairly blessed with literally everything. He regrets never trying to be on any sports team that would warrant him to have to change and shower in the locker room with Steve.

But Eddie doesn’t have a whole lot of time to admire the muscles, the face, the beautifully curved dick and everything else that will forever accompany his dreams, though, because Steve fixes him with a smug smirk before speaking.

“Like what you see, Munson?” Before giving the still speechless Eddie another sloppy kiss.

When Steve pulls away for breath Eddie laughs, “I never thought I’d see the day where you take off my pants.”

“Really?” Steve grins, “I always kind of knew it was gonna happen. Or at least I had very strong hopes.”

“Fuck me!” Eddie exclaims, the new emotion of annoyance making itself known within him thanks to the knowledge that he and Steve could have done this so many years ago if only he wasn’t such a judging idiot.

They’d probably be having sex in their own apartment right now instead of this hookup before Steve takes him to jail, if only Eddie had pursued him sooner—or at all.

Before he can get too deep in his head, he carefully puts his hand around Steve’s dick.

He moves his hand down to the base and Steve notices he’s looking at the tip of his dick, where a little precome had gathered.

Pausing his movements, Eddie looks up at Steve with an almost hopeful look in his eyes. “Can I blow you?

A blush crosses Steve’s face, any cockiness long gone by Eddie’s words. “Yeah, sure.” Then he changes positions with Eddie so that his back is against his headboard, and Eddie is straddling Steve’s legs as he swallows him down with no hesitation.

Eddie gives it his all, like Steve expected he would, like Steve himself had done.

Steve watches Eddie through half-lidded eyes, in too much pleasure to stare with widened eyes but not wanting to miss a second as he watches Eddie.

Eddie’s confidence is only boosted by the look on Steve’s face, and the many noises Steve makes as he continuously takes more of Steve’s enormous cock into his mouth.

He wastes no time, pushing down as deep as he can go, moving up again and simultaneously cupping Steve’s balls with his left hand.

Steve’s half-closed eyes now shut completely as he thumps his head back against the wall with animalistic groan that would have made Eddie worry if he wasn’t so fucking turned on.

“Fuck, Eds, oh God, why are you so good at his?” Steve asks with his hand in Eddie’s hair, who slurps at and sucks Steve’s dick as if his life depended on it; in a way, Eddie thinks it might.

“Oh God, you need to stop though, Eds, if we want this to go any further, you really have to not make me come right now.” Steve urges, tugging at Eddie’s hair.

With a pop, Eddie pulls off and immediately crawls up to Steve, letting him taste his own dick in a dirty kiss.

Eddie’s own cock was aching to be touched now as he turns to lie down on the empty side of the bed to give Steve the opportunity to take care of him now; and Steve intended to.

He kisses Eddies belly, touching every inch of skin he can find, before startling Eddie into a moan with a wide lick across his balls.

While moving onto Eddie’s dick and taking the tip into his mouth, Steve fumbles around for his nightstand drawer, opening and closing it.

He sucks Eddie hard, before pulling away altogether to get a good look at his flushed face.

Steve looks at the condom he has in hand before meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Have you had something inside you before?”

“Yeah… Nothing compared to what you’re carrying but I’ve experimented here and there. Never had an actual dick up there, though.”

Steve nods, thinks to himself before reaching for his bottle of lotion, grateful it’s the unscented kind. “Okay, I’m gonna start slow. Tell me when to stop.”

Eddie nods, not pointing out Steve said when and not if.

Steve grabs one of the pillows Eddie isn’t lying on and helps Eddie to tuck it under his hips before lifting his legs up for easier access.

There’s something about the way Eddie looks at him, so trusting and open for him. It feels so intimate to Steve that he almost can’t stand it.

Steve tries to warm the lotion in hand, but Eddie still flinches when he slowly inserts one finger and it slips it in oh so easily, pushing past the rim and into Eddie’s warm body.

“More.” Eddie requests before Steve had even started moving.

Steve complies as he carefully pushes a second one in, feeling Eddie tighten. He studies his face carefully for any sign of discomfort or regret before he starts moving his fingers in a gentle but steady pace.

“We’re gonna need a third one.” Eddie says through a particularly loud moan as Steve thrusts his two fingers deep and hard into a spot that Eddie has only ever felt on his own self-fulfilled adventures.

So after a bit more lotion, Steve does push a third one in and Eddie melts under his touch.

Steve’s fingers were perfect for this, Eddie thinks as he floats away, not able to stop smiling even while Steve pounds his fingers into him. If this is how could three fingers can make him feel, he can not wait for the real thing.

“Steve, I’m ready.” He moans desperately.

Relieved, Steve smiles at Eddie as he pulls his cramping hand free to put on the condom. He isn’t even worried that Eddie has anything, he just hopes the lubrication it has with it will help Eddie with the stretch.

He looks at Eddie’s expectant face, his beautiful body and positions his throbbing cock at Eddie’s hole. With a deep groan, Steve slowly slides his aching cock into Eddies tight, hot ass.

Eddie screams out, though it ends on a keening mewl. With the stretch of his asshole, what feels like fire igniting throughout him, he can already tell he’ll be sore tomorrow.

“Fuck.” Eddie whispers, tears already threatening to spill down his face.

“Fuck.” Steve echoes him, his voice hoarse like he’d been the one who was screaming.

Steve slows himself once fully sheathed, doesn’t move a single inch. He runs a soothing hand over Eddie’s tummy. “You okay?”

Eddie blinks back his tears and nods his head. “‘M good, Steve, don’t stop, fuck. I’m good, I want—I want it. Want you.”

When Steve looks like he’s having doubts, Eddie closes his eyes. “Just don’t pull out, please.” He mumbles.

“You sure, sweetheart? I can get something else. Vaseline maybe—”

“No,” Eddie squeaks. Pushes back onto Steve. “Feels good, the pain.” He reaches up, fingers grazing the tanned muscles of Steve’s arm, over his chest and through the hair that rests there. He looks even hairier than the time on Lover’s Lake when he nearly drowned just before getting mauled by demobats. They survived for a reason, he concludes.

Eddie smiles. At Steve, to himself. “Want it hard,” he confesses breathily.

The tenderness of Steve’s hazel eyes makes him feel safe. Wanted. Makes him never want to be out of Steve’s sight, be without his attention.

Steve brings his own hand down to Eddie’s waist, squeezes him gently before snapping his hips roughly, suddenly, drawing those keening noises out from Eddie’s lips once more.

He pushes Eddie’s legs to his chest and holds them there, pulling out just to push into the deeper angle a second later, making Eddie let out a punched out noise as Steve hits his prostate head on.

Pleased with the reaction, Steve pulls out again and pushes back in, harder this time and as deep as he could go, watching Eddie’s face the whole time.

He isn’t disappointed. The little show Eddie seems to be subconsciously putting on only gets better with each thrust. His mouth opens in a gasp at each intrusion and his head settles further into the pillow beneath it.

With hands clenching the sheets, he whispers. “Yeah, just like that, Steve.”

“Oh, you like that?“ Steve teases even as he sweats more than he did when he was finding out if he passed the single most important exam of his life. “You want me to fuck you really hard tonight?”

Not waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question, he begins really fucking into Eddie now, pounding him into the mattress. He goes so hard, he worries it’ll be too much for Eddie, or for him.

But judging by the the sounds Eddie is making, he’s enjoying himself; if a little overwhelmed, crying out every time Steve buries his thick cock in him. Despite the tears streaming down his face, the wild grin on his face and painful looking erection shows Steve exactly how much he loves it.

When Steve changes the angle, spreading his legs a little, Eddie honest to God thinks he’s about to die. Die from being fucked by this incredible man. A cop, his brain reminds him. He supposes this is what they meant when they say “fuck the police”.

The mixture of pleasure and pain begins to be too much for him, and he knows an orgasm will be punched out of him very soon.

Steve seems to knows this too.

A deep sob escapes Eddie’s mouth when Steve thrusts into him particularly hard.

“Shhh, come on, Eds, I know you want to come with me inside you so deep. Because you’re so full right now, baby, and I can feel you clenching around me. So fucking tight. Do you like it like that, your dick untouched and me pushing into you while you moan so desperately? Come for me, baby. I missed you so much, Eds.”

And with that, Eddie utters a surprised sound as he comes all over their chests, making a bigger mess with each increasingly desperate thrust from Steve.

Through the haze of his orgasm, Eddie can feel Steve shaking and with one, two last pushes and a guttural almost painful groan, he closes his eyes and comes deep into Eddie, his whole body pressing Eddie into the mattress, filling the condom with his come.

They both secretly wish there hadn’t been one.

Eddie’s exhausted when he comes down from the headspace he’s occupied. His face buried deep into Steve’s pillow, drool threatening to leak out of the corner of his mouth, eyes half-closed and blurry to his surroundings. His untouched cock is as sensitive as his hole when Steve pulls out. It’s almost a relief, he had been so desperate to be smothered by the weight of Steve Harrington that he’s realized he can finally breath again.

But something in his mind short circuits as Steve moves off of him, getting back and away.

Eddie can hear him enter his bathroom, turn on the sink, but he can’t convince himself it’s okay.

Steve has left him.

But just as soon as Eddie is ready to cry for an entirely different reason, Steve is back in Eddie’s personal space with a cool and damp washcloth wiping gently over his skin. Pressing lightly in a slow wipe across his belly and ass. Steve is careful, knowing Eddie is tender and raw. That’s enough to make Eddie want to cry again.

When he finishes cleaning him up, Steve lies down beside Eddie, wrapping a protective arm around him.

They stay like that in silence for quite some time before Eddie comes back to himself and lets out a sort of laugh that doesn’t sound quite right to either of them.

Eddie says, “Okay, dude, all I wanted was a hug.”

Steve rolls his eyes and pushes Eddie a little before pulling him back in tighter than before. “One day, I wanna be fucked like that by you.” Steve says as if it were nothing, prompting Eddie to wiggle out of his hold to face him.

“Oh, we can arrange that. I believe they’re called conjugal visits?”

Steve gives him a look. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Eddie mirrors him. “Are you just figuring this out?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head at the ceiling. “Does it ever drive you crazy just how fast the night changes?”

Eddie follows Steve’s gaze to the popcorn ceiling. “That’d make a really good song lyric.”

“You’re right. It’d totally be pop.”

Eddie looks at the other, aghast. “No way, Harrington. It’d be metal, rock. At the very worst it’d be country. Not pop.”

Steve only grins. “Sure, Munson, whatever you say.”

Eddie says nothing as he watches Steve’s bedside clock show the new morning hour. They really did have a sleepover, a real one where no one actually sleeps. “You have to take me in now, don’t you?”

Steve leans over him to check the clock. 5:30. “I do.” Eddie would swear Steve actually sounds disappointed.

Eddie swallows the lump building in his throat. “That’s okay. You gave me one last night of freedom, and man was it an experience.”

Warmth blooms across Steve’s face and down his chest. “I wish I didn’t have to.” He admits with a sigh, pulling Eddie closer once more.

Eddie doesn’t indulge in the fantasies any longer. “It’s for the best. You said it yourself, the little fish will flip on me anyway. Best if I go willingly, right? Maybe work out some deal.”

Steve nods, but doesn’t say anything more.

As the minutes count down until they have to leave their little pocket dimension, Eddie begins to cry again.

He won’t admit he’s crying over Steve, instead he turns up the drama to hide his real feelings just as he always has. “I haven’t got to watch Graveyard Shift yet. Misery. Night of the Living Dead. Or fuckin’…Edward Scissorhands. Ghost. Beetlejuice. Heathers. Winona Ryder is pretty hot. So is Patrick Swayze. Sue me.”

Steve says nothing as Eddie rambles and bemoans all the movies he hasn’t seen yet, how many he’ll miss, he just wraps his arms around him tighter.

6.) Hope

2014.

Eddie’s hair was still the same length as it was when he began his sentence, keeping it trimmed through the years. His hair is now streaked with gray, looking more salt and pepper verses the dark brown he had in his youth. Even if his personal style is long since out of style, it’s still his style.

He pushes some of his hair out of his eyes when he sees a silver SUV pull in front of him.

He’s about to look behind him to see who else might be getting released when Steve rolls down the passenger window, smiling at him from the driver’s seat. “Need a ride?”

Eddie grins, jumping to his feet as he approaches the shiny silver vehicle. “Downgraded, huh?”

“Who needs a BMW in their forties?”

“You look like a soccer mom in this thing.” Eddie snickers as he climbs in and buckles up without being asked.

“That’s the thanks I get for picking your grimy ass up?” Steve shakes his head but still has that smile. He’s aged too, Eddie realizes.

Steve’s hair is shorter now, less big. No product. He’s got crow’s feet around his eyes, which are adorned by a really nice pair of browline glasses that suit him.

Eddie feels his heart skip a beat.

“Want to hear some music?” Steve asks suddenly. “I got a new CD in I think you might like.”

“Sure, yeah. Why not? Might as well see what the world’s been up to while I was away.” Eddie agrees with a nod; anything to distract him from how Steve has apparently aged like fine wine.

“Awesome.” Steve presses the play button, and Eddie sees it’s on track seven.

Goin’ out tonight, changes into something red

Her mother doesn’t like that kind of dress

Everything she never had she’s showin’ off

“Hey, Steve, what is this shit?” Eddie looks at him incredulously. He’s always known Steve had a shitty taste in music but this is a new low.

“Just listen.” He cranks it up.

Drivin’ too fast, moon is breakin’ through her hair

She’s headin’ for somethin’ that she won’t forget

Havin’ no regrets is all that she really wants

“Is this song about a girl losing her virginity?” Eddie almost laughs.

“Just listen!” Steve insists.

We’re only gettin’ older, baby

And I’ve been thinkin’ about it lately

Does it ever drive you crazy

Just how fast the night changes?

Eddie has such a visceral reaction to that last line that he can’t help but to listen more closely. “No! Seriously?”

“Seriously!” Steve exclaims, excited as he begins to drum the beat on the steering wheel, even going as far as singing along.

Everything that you’ve ever dreamed of

Disappearing when you wake up

But there’s nothing to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

It will never change me and you

Eddie shakes his head. “I can’t believe this.”

Chasing it tonight, doubts are runnin’ ‘round her head

He’s waitin’, hides behind a cigarette

Heart is beatin’ loud and she doesn’t want it to stop

“We could have had a hit song.” Steve supplies as he makes a right turn.

Movin’ too fast, moon is lightin’ up her skin

She’s fallin’, doesn’t even know it yet

Havin’ no regrets is all that she really wants

“This is insane.”

We’re only gettin’ older, baby

And I’ve been thinkin’ about it lately

Does it ever drive you crazy

Just how fast the night changes?

Everything that you’ve ever dreamed of

Disappearing when you wake up

But there’s nothing to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

It will never change me and you

“Steve, I can’t believe this.”

Goin’ out tonight, changes into something red

Her mother doesn’t like that kind of dress

Reminds her of the missin’ piece of innocence she lost

We’re only gettin’ older, baby

And I’ve been thinkin’ about it lately

Does it ever drive you crazy

Just how fast the night changes?

Everything that you’ve ever dreamed of

Disappearing when you wake up

But there’s nothing to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

It will never change, baby

It will never change, baby

It will never change me and you

As the song finally comes to an end, Steve turns off the radio awaiting Eddie’s review.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously?” Eddie asks, still in disbelief.

Steve nods his head with a grin. “Night Changes. Teens love One Direction, that’s the band.”

Eddie surprises even himself by playing it back, listening to the lyrics as Steve continues to finger drum and sing.

“They’re pop.” Eddie acknowledges.

“They sure are.”

Eddie catches a glimpse of himself in the side mirror, he turns to look back at Steve who catches his eye with a smile.

“So is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That even when the night changes, it’ll never change me and you.”

Fin.

-

Tags! @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @steddiecameraroll @goblinpoet I hope it was worth the wait <3 Sorry for the delay, like Stevie up here ^ I'm 22 and trying to figure out what I'm doing with my life so I spent the past week corresponding with... My college! Yeah, I got accepted into college, baby! I'm so worried I'm gonna fail out.

[sirianasims]

Chapter 36

Out Of The Woods

“Daddy, did you see how fast I was? Did you see me?”

“I saw you, you did so well! Ivy and I were cheering for you all the time.”

Hailey had placed second in her first track run. I worked as a coach for the track & field teams now, so Samuel had been sitting with Ivy as they watched Hailey run.

We went to the pier, all four of us together for once, and got ice cream. Hailey was excitedly telling Samuel all about her track times.

It made my heart swell, not so much because she seemed to have a talent for running, but because I hadn’t seen her so proud of herself before, and I was happy that Samuel was here to experience it too. I didn’t want him to miss too many of the girls’ milestones just because we were no longer together.

The girls ran off to try the ferris wheel and we were alone. Samuel awkwardly scooted over to where Hailey had been sitting. We never spent any time together these days. Ever since that uncomfortable Winterfest a year and a half ago, we had mostly kept it to administrative texts and taking turns picking up the girls from kindergarten.

Finally, Samuel cleared his throat.

“So, uh. You look… well.”

I couldn’t help but smile. I was sweaty and Ivy had wiped some ice cream on my sleeve, but I did feel better than I had in a long time.

“Thanks. You too. The beard suits you.”

We talked for a while, carefully sticking to safe subjects. I told him about Jessica getting into fashion design, how she was planning to move to Del Sol Valley with her boyfriend. Samuel updated me on Daria and Griffin who just found out they were expecting a baby.

Then, his expression turned serious.

“Do you ever… have you talked to Charlie?”

I realised that it was the first time either of us had spoken his name for almost two years.

“No. I wouldn’t pick up if he called, but he hasn’t tried.”

“He actually called me when he heard about the divorce. But we didn’t speak for long. I may have said that I would personally castrate him without anaesthesia if he ever contacted you again.”

“Samuel -”

“With a dull scalpel. I was pretty angry at the time, and he said some really cruel things, and… I just don’t know who he is anymore. I haven’t heard from him since.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to give him a hug, but I couldn’t imagine Samuel would ever want me to touch him again.

“Samuel, I’m really sorry that I screwed things up for everyone. Not just us, but you and Charlie too.”

Samuel sighed and attempted to smile.

“Hey, he wasn’t exactly blameless. He was supposed to be my brother. He should never have... anyways, you said you wanted to discuss the girls’ living arrangement? Are you not happy with the split?”

I was grateful for the change of subject.

“I am, but I’ve been asked to coach the track & field team for seniors as well. And I would like to accept, but it’s in the evenings and I’d need you to have the girls a bit more often. I know your schedule can be difficult, so I only want to do it if you can find the time.”

He looked relieved.

“Sure, we can figure something out. For a moment I wondered if you, you know… Found someone.”

“Oh, no. It’s nothing like that. I just figured I should be doing something worthwhile with my time now that the girls are getting older, instead of being stuck in the house all the time.”

“You do know that was always an option, right?”

“Sorry, Samuel, I don’t mean to sound like I was a prisoner. It was my own choice to stay at home, I know. And you did try to talk me out of it.”

“Maybe I should have tried harder.”

“Samuel, don’t. I doubt you could have convinced me back then. I was pretty out of reach, I think. You were right, there was nothing you could have said that would have made me listen.”

We were both quiet.

I wanted to ask him if he was seeing someone, ask why he cared if I was. But suddenly the girls were back and begged for more ice cream and the moment had passed.

beginning / previous / next

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Good wife

Part 2 of Princess

Sihtric x reader

Authors note: initially intended as a Part 2 of Princess, but can also be read as a stand alone fic. This is my attempt for a happy ending for my little princess and I think I managed pretty good 😉

And before you start asking, I know I am not following the poll 🙈. I was carried away by the impression that Part 2 of Princess will win anyway and continued writing even before the poll was over. The modern!Sihtric smut request will follow next week, I promise 😅

My biggest and warmest thanks to awesome @arcielee for agreeing to beta read this fic and for all your comments and suggestions! You are incredibly talented writer! The way you play with words and conjure incredibly vivid descriptions make me awe each time anew.

Warnings: 18+, angst (you probably have noticed by now, I simply can't without it🤨), forced marriage, abuse, domestic violence, smut, revenge, blood

Summary: you return to Winchester for your father's King Alfred's funeral just to discover that Sihtric hasn't kept his promise.

Word Count: 4,966

Princess

It's early morning, and the sun is poised to rise above the horizon as you move silently through the corridors of the still-sleeping palace. Your dress glides over the worn steps with a light hush being the only sound disturbing the peacefulness of the new day rising. Upon reaching the garden, you effortlessly locate your favourite secluded spot – a stone pew  in the far corner, partially concealed by an ivy-covered wall and a sprawling bird cherry flower bush. You recall how it bloomed exceptionally early in spring, its inimitably sweet fragrance making you almost dizzy. It’s a scent of your happier days, and you inhale deeply, hoping to infuse every cell of your being with its essence. 

You settle down, embracing the calmness of the moment. A few birds are singing a praise to the sun, its golden fingers slowly stretching to brush the world awake. A gentle breeze frolics in the branches of the trees, adding to the calm beauty of the morning. You're aware that this tranquillity is illusory, yet you cling to it, you need this moment of calmness and silence to gather your thoughts.

The King is dead. Your father, King Alfred, is dead. You still haven’t had a chance to grasp the whole gravity of it. Wessex now stands vulnerable as never before with Cnut and his army preparing to invade, Aethelred of Mercia dreaming about restoring Mercia’s glory and your husband Ethelwold secretly seeking to sever ties with Wessex and secure his claim to East Anglian throne. Politics. You hate politics. Nevertheless, you are not blind and you are definitely not obtuse; the shifts in power and allegiances are impossible to ignore. 

You feel anger slowly unfurling within you, making your cheeks blush. Your fingers impulsively shred into small pieces the flower you had just plucked. You can't change anything and your helplessness suffocates you. You're nobody, a mere toy bestowed upon your husband to secure an alliance. This is exactly how he treats you – as a doll that gets retrieved from its box to showcase during special events, to be mistreated and locked away thereafter. There is nothing even close to love or mutual respect in your marriage. You’re his property, and he delights in ascertaining himself of it, evidenced by the concealed bruises and scratches beneath your dress’s long sleeves and high collar. Coward as he is, he's avoided striking your face – possibly fearing that would cause scrutiny from others, perhaps even your father. You catch yourself thinking that this might change now, that your father is dead. Although you are not sure he would have interfered anyway.

Led by a silly sense of duty to your land and your father, you’ve endured five years of this arranged marriage with a man that revolted you in every aspect, bearing mistreatment and humiliation. And what had it brought? Nothing. Your brother is weak and dependent on the support of his ealdorman. Will he manage to assert himself as the king? You haven't seen him all those five years. He has changed a lot, grown up and matured, but will it be enough? At least he had braved to disobey your mother, aligning with Lord Uhtred. His words and the way he spoke justice, keeping up the pardon your father had given Uhtred on his deathbed, ignited a flicker of hope in you. First hesitant and insecure, he had managed to seize control over the gathered crowd, including the ealdormen, and even the queen, whose authority seemed to prevail from the very beginning. Your brother steps into daunting shoes, but his first step was promising, you rethink the events of the previous day.

Your heart quickens its pace, and a wave of embarrassment begins to rise from your neck, tinting your cheeks with an even more intense shade of red than the preceding anger as the memory you try to suppress emerges. 

He was there. You had seen him. Keeping himself in the shadows, leaning against an aged wagon with his hand resting on the shoulders of a young girl with plain features and dark hair, Sihtric watched in anticipation the scene transpiring before the palace entrance. Five years have passed since you appeared at his doorstep, head over heels in love with the handsome warrior, hoping for his feelings to mirror yours. 

The memory of that night when you willingly gave yourself to him remained untarnished; you have never regretted it. His tender, hesitant confession of love, the gentleness of his touch, the tenderness with which he had made love to you that night, and his eagerness and care to please and satisfy you, aware that it was to be your sole night together, were imprinted in your mind forever. You clung to these sweet memories with all your strength, them becoming your refuge, your shield against the day after and all the other days that followed, when your half-drunk newlywed husband flung you onto the bed, barking at you to disrobe. Undoing his breeches and letting them half down, he flipped you over to your belly, pulled you up to your knees, spread your legs, and placed his hard, dripping cock at your entrance.

“I will teach you now to be a good wife, princess. I am your husband, and you are to obey me. Do you understand? You are mine and only mine. Don’t you ever forget that,” he hissed, leaning closer to your ear, grabbing your hips with both hands and without any warning, forced himself into you in one single motion until the very end of his rigid length. 

You screamed out in pain, tears welling up in your eyes, to which he just started relentlessly thrusting into you, his groans of satisfaction echoing in your mind. Too drunk and consumed by chasing his own pleasure, he didn’t even notice you clutching a tiny pouch in your hand, blood reddening your fingers and your dress, as you squeezed it and hastily wiped your fingers against your thighs, faking the loss of your virginity. 

A chill crawls up your spine as these memories flood back. Why did you remember this? Wasn’t it torturous enough to witness Sihtric holding that young and pretty woman in his hands? He had promised to wait for you, a promise you never demanded, knowing how impossible and foolish it was. Yet, Sihtric’s earnest tone and self-assuredness as he made that promise, made you believe him. The notion that someone out there truly loved you, cared for you, recalled you and eagerly waited for you had become the light that guided you through your existence. It made the days bearable and warmed you when your husband's cruelty and neglect threatened to extinguish your will to live. 

Now the fragile and ridiculous illusion you had clung to for all these years lay shattered into thousand shards. You shouldn’t have come to Winchester. If only you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, you could have still preserved that naive dream. When Edward pronounced his verdict and the crowd erupted in cheers as he embraced Uhtred, you glimpsed the satisfied smile on Sihtric's lips. He playfully ruffled the girl's hair, and she nestled closer to him, her eyes gleaming with admiration. Unable to bear the sight, you turned abruptly, a heavy weight settling in your chest like a ballast stone, threatening to suffocate you. In that fleeting last moment, your eyes locked with Sihtric’s, surprise flickering across his face, followed by a glimmer of recognition before you managed to flee back into the palace. Your fairy tale had ended abruptly, leaving you with nothing more than bittersweet memories of that single night, when you felt genuinely loved, cherished, and valued. 

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, leaving a glistening trace behind them. All you can do is to hide your face in your hands, permitting yourself to cry out all the pent-up despair that accumulated over five years of abuse and humiliation. Your magical wand, capable of summoning light and dispelling darkness is gone, leaving you drowning into a bleak, frigid expanse of misery and hopelessness. 

The sun had already risen when sudden voices startle you from your melancholy. The palace has awakened to a new busy day, and you can clearly distinguish the voices of your mother and sister calling your name.

Of course, the feasting this evening! There will be a war council summoned by Edward to discuss how to deal with Cnut and his army, followed by a feast. Not that you anticipated it, but you obviously did not have much choice as your husband was invited to both and expected you to accompany him. Still taunted by the lingering thoughts and memories, you reluctantly rise from the pew  and head towards the palace, hastily wiping away your tears before anyone can see them.

---------------------------------

 It is quite late already when you finally manage to bring up enough composure to get dressed. You had complained about a heavy headache to your husband, hoping he would agree to leave you alone in the chambers.

“Don’t be foolish and dress yourself,” is the response you get as he leaves for the council, which is supposed to start earlier.

You slow down as you reach the staircase, pausing to survey the hall beneath you. You see your mother and sister engaged in a lively conversation, sitting at the high end of the long table. Strangely you find your husband discussing something with Aethelred  – your sister’s  spouse – whom you know he can’t bear and despises deeply for being Alfred’s puppy – as he loves to call him.

Vultures start circling a carrion, Edward needs to be cautious in choosing whom to trust. I must speak with him later, you think to yourself.

And then your gaze lands on him. Your fingers clutch the railing with a desperate grip as you steady yourself, feeling your legs tremble, threatening to buckle beneath you. 

At the far end of the hall, alongside Lord Uhtred, stands Sihtric. His hands envelop an ale mug, his gaze fixed downwards, hovering between the table and the floor, concern and seriousness in his expression. Your breathing fastens as you strive to regain your composure; your knuckles whiten as you continue to clutch the railing. And as much as you try, you can’t force yourself to look away. He is still so handsome. Everything about him makes your heart pound faster and your breath twitch – his tall and robust frame with his black, curly hair braided on the top, but falling to his shoulders in the back. His strong jawline, the scars tracing his forehead and right cheek, his muscular arms covered by the long sleeves of his leather jerking decorated with gold and silver armbands. 

You can still recall these strong arms holding you tightly against his chest, his fingers tenderly raking through your hair. The memory is so vivid in your mind that you almost moan in longing. A captivating mixture of confidence, calmness, and strength emanates from him with the same intensity as when you first met. There is not enough strength within you to descend to the hall and confront him in a dignified manner, there is only one escape for you – to turn back and run to your chambers. Even if it means enduring your disappointed husband’s wrath later, you prefer it a thousand times to the possibility that you would need to speak with Sihtric, now that you are aware he is no longer yours. With the last remnants of your willpower, you force yourself to let go of the railing and want to turn away, your eyes casting one final lingering glance at your former lover as Sihtric lifts his eyes, his gaze meeting yours.

You are frozen, trapped by an invisible spider web that is restraining all your movements, paralysed by the intensive gaze of his big, expressive eyes that are scanning you from head to heels. There is something in his eyes, a lingering mix of confusion, sadness, and some hint of anxiety. Why is he looking so at you? He must be happy; you remember the gleam of happiness he directed to the girl in his arms.

“My dear wife, I am so glad to see you’re feeling better and could join us,” you hear the voice of your husband and in this very moment his ever so repelling voice sounds like a salvation to you. He beams at you, arms stretched as though you were the love of his life, like he has been desperately waiting for. Slowly, you manage to shift your gaze toward him forcing a smile to appear on your lips. Descending the stairs, you extend your arms toward him until you’re by his side and he clasps your hands, lifting your palms to his lips for a kiss.

“What a perfect couple,” you smirk inwardly. You have never understood this masquerade. Why all this pretence to be the loving and caring husband, only to let all his fury on you behind the closed doors?

You can still feel Sihtric’s gaze on you, his eyes drilling into your back as he observes your happy reunion with your husband. You spend the whole evening meticulously avoiding Sihtric. You notice him trying to approach you several times, but you anticipate his every move by hurriedly engaging in conversations with your mother or tugging your sister’s arm, leading her to follow you into another part of the hall away from Sihtric. You accept all invitations to dance, fully aware this will earn you additional scorn from your husband later.

At some point you see Lord Uhtred rising from his seat and striding toward your brother. There is a short conversation between them; Uhtred bows his head respectfully and nods toward Sihtric to follow him. They both leave the hall, and a sigh of relief escapes you. This is finally over. Absentmindedly you wave away the young ealdorman advancing you with a request to dance and head out of the hall, casting a stealthy glance at your husband. He is drunk beyond imaginable. Sitting in his place of the most honoured guests next to your mother, he struggles to keep his eyes open. With his ale mug still in his hand, his face droops onto the plate before him. A knowing smile graces your lips. His love for ale has actually made the last years more bearable, as he was often too drunk in the evenings to force himself upon you or to be able to hurt you. You head to the garden, to the very same place you sneaked out this morning; this will always remain your happy place, even if this morning turned out more sorrowful than you had anticipated.

You lower yourself on the stone pew and breathe in the sweet, intoxicating smell of the flowers, your gaze marvelling at the intricate maze of ivy covering the back wall. Lost in your thoughts you almost jump at the sound of an all-too- familiar voice.

“Good evening, my lady,” Sihtric greets you, obstructing the only way out between the wall and the bird cherry flower bush. “I am sorry if I scared you,” he quickly adds, noticing your wide eyes and face losing its colour.

“Good evening, Sihtric,” you manage to mumble, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

The silence between you both hangs heavy in the air as nobody dares to speak, your gazes scanning each other with an awkward intensity. You rise from the pew and make a step toward Sihtric trying to side-track him. His hand reaches out, gets hold of yours and lets go of you instantly as if burned.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Your marriage seems to be very happy, my lady. I’m very glad to see it,” he murmurs, stepping closer, obliterating your attempt to escape. His breath is heavy and itching as his gaze locks with yours, an inexplicably sad and painful look in his eyes. His hand rises as if wanting to cup your jaw but lowers again, not daring to touch you, his uncertainty palpable. He is so close that you can feel his breath vibrating on your skin. His proximity suffocates you, his scent mingling with the aroma of the flowers, making your head spin with dizziness. In the moon's faint glow, his handsome face appears almost timeless, surreal. You are drawn to it, incapable of averting your eyes. His enigmatic, mismatched eyes scan your features full of awe and a hint of something that could be sweet longing, although you know it is not. 

You want to touch him, to caress his cheeks and let your fingers tangle in his dark hair, but instead you gather all your inner strength and utter, “Yes, indeed, as happy as yours I presume. Are you married to that lovely girl?”

“Married? Which girl?” Sihtric's genuine surprise momentarily throws you off, but in the next instant you discard your silly hopefulness. You can’t ignore what you saw. What does he want from you anyway?

“Sihtric, please, there is no need for pretence. Spare me the courtesy. I saw you yesterday before the palace. I don’t blame you. I understand. It’s been five long years. I never truly expected you to keep that promise,” your words tumble out in such a rush, you are surprised of yourself, “I just… I…” you can’t finish your saying, your voice breaking, tears welling up in your eyes. 

This is more than you can endure and with your face in your hands, you storm past him, pushing completely thunderstruck Sihtric aside. It’s unbearable. Your feelings for him are unaltered. You run. You thought you knew the garden as your own pocket, but in the weird moonlight everything looks different. You turn left and then right as you hope to be heading to the palace entrance just to find yourself facing the wall again. Tears roll down your cheeks obscuring your vision and making it even more difficult to navigate through the narrow passages as you feel yourself colliding with a muscular frame, strong arms enveloping your waist, pulling you against a broad chest. You can’t see anything, but the scent of the body you are pressed tightly against is so familiar that you have no doubts who is holding you.

“Let go of me!” you struggle against the firm embrace, “What do you want from me?” you shout, desperation evident in your voice as you can’t control yourself anymore.

“Please, calm down, my little princess. My love, just let me explain,” Sihtric’s voice is just a gentle flurry against the tempest of your ever-growing anger, but something in his tone makes you hold your breath, leading to a short pause in your frantic struggle against his embrace.

“What is there to explain? That you got tired of waiting? That you’re just a man …? That there is no hope anyway… I know, I understand… It was never meant to be…” your sobs become uncontrollable at this point, and you resume your futile attempts to break free from Sihtric’s hold, which gets only tighter in return.

“Please, listen to me. The girl you saw, it’s Uhtred’s daughter, Stiorra. She was terrified that Uhtred would be expelled again, forced to be an outlaw once more with no home, no hope and no man to follow him. I love her as my own child. I held her to assure that whatever happens I will never leave Uhtred. We are bound, we are brothers. And we were both just happy and relieved when Edward acknowledged Alfred’s pardon. That’s all. Since that night five years ago, there has never been another in my life. My little princess, my love, do you hear me? I love only you. Nothing will ever change that,” Sihtric’s voice remains a mere whisper against your ear as you let every word slowly sink into your consciousness. Can it be true? You want to believe him, you feel each and every cell in your body screaming in longing for his touch, telling you to cease your needless struggle and melt into his embrace if only for this one single short moment. It’s only your common sense that tries to object, whispering in the background that it does not matter. It will not change anything. You are bound to another forever. You can never be his. Why torture yourself and him? It’s time to let go. For his sake and for your own. You can’t live in a dream all your life. 

Sihtric’s embrace does not loosen, and your struggle gradually loses its intensity as you surrender to the burning need coursing through you. You let your body absorb the warmth, memorising this embrace for the future. One of his arms drifts from your waist to your hair, as his gentle caresses soothe you.

“Every single day and night, I’ve dreamed of holding you again,” Sihtric murmurs, his lips brushing your hair as your face rests on his chest, your tears soaking his fine leather armour.

“My silly little princess, I thought myself the happiest man alive when I saw you yesterday. But you wouldn’t even look at me. I thought you regretted our past, that you wanted nothing more to do with me. I simply couldn’t accept it just like that, I needed to hear it from you. Can’t you see what you do to me? I practically begged Uhtred to take me with him to that damned council,” Sihtric continues, his words lullabying all your fears and concerns. There is nothing else in this world for you, just the sweet sound of his voice, and you don’t care what the morning will bring. Tonight you want to be with him, you want to feel loved again, you want to be his.

 “Can you just take me away from here? Please, Sihtric,” you lift your head, and your pleading gaze meets Sihtric’s eyes.

“Princess, believe me, I don’t want to let go of you. But your husband is probably searching for you. Allow me to guide you to the entrance,” you hear his words, yet you sense desire consuming him, his arms refusing to let go, wrapping even tighter around you and pulling you closer. He can’t bear to let go of you, the same as you can’t let go of him.

“My husband is drunk and sleeps, his ugly face buried in the leftovers on his own plate,” you hiss with deep disgust in your voice, and Sihtric stiffens in astonishment as you grasp his hand and start pulling him towards the other end of the garden.

“Come with me. I’ll show you how I got out of the palace last time,” your voice is suddenly resolute and confident. Something has changed deep inside you. You have always silently let your life be predetermined by others, and have accepted your fate without questioning it. Except for that one single night, when for the first time you seized control and made a decision you never regretted. And now, you want to feel it again – the power to be able to choose, to make your own decisions. Good or bad, time will tell, but these will be your choices and you will atone for them. You are so sick of just watching life go by, of not partaking. It might have been easier to submit, blaming others for your suffering, but you can’t do it anymore. And with that thought, a surge of newfound power courses through you. 

You find the small concealed side door, trembling fingers gripping the handle; a squeak, and it yields. Your first step into the night feels like stepping into a new life, a fresh destiny. Sihtric follows you, his hand holding yours in a steady and tight grip, and you smile at him as you look back into his mismatched eyes. Once outside the palace walls, Sihtric leads you through the narrow town streets to the same tavern he stayed in previously. You climb the steps to his chamber, the doors close behind you and his hands and lips are upon you. His kisses, initially tender and soft, soon grow feverish and urgent. Desperate fingers rend at clothing, eager to get rid of layers that separate your heated bodies. 

As soon as the last piece of clothing has fallen to the ground, Sihtric grabs your thighs, pulling you up, and you follow his movement, wrapping your legs around his waist and letting him effortlessly carry you over to the bed. He sits down with you straddling him. 

Your lips trail down his jaw to his neck, so greedy, so hungry. Your fingers tangle in his braided hair, pulling hard on them as you allow yourself to immerse in the arousal, building up in your lower stomach and quickly taking you over. You lean back and your hips start moving against Sihtric’s body rubbing your clit against him, your pussy aching in anticipation. Holding you with one arm around your waist, Sihtric’s hand reaches down, and you feel his fingers rubbing at your clit, parting your folds, and sliding inside your soaked pussy.

“Gods, how wet you are,” he grunts against your skin, his already hard and leaking cock is the wordless confirmation that he burns with the same overwhelming desire as you. His lips travel around your breasts, covering them with wet open-mouthed kisses and sucking at your hard nipples.

“I need you. Now,” you moan, and your hand takes hold of his throbbing length, placing it at your wet entrance. A loud groan of relief and satisfaction escapes you both as you lower yourself on Sihtric’s cock, taking him in completely, to the very end of his shaft, instantly starting to move against it. 

His hands land on your buttocks, helping you to push yourself deeper against his pelvis, but allowing you to determine the pace of your movements, which grow faster with each thrust. A loud moan vibrates deep in Sihtric’s throat as your pussy clench around him and your thrusts get frenzied, almost hysterical, your climax building up unstoppably fast and intense.

“Oh my god, Sihtric! I am close … I …” your head snaps back and your nails dig into Sihtric’s flesh as you come with a loud scream, your body twitching and your walls spasming around his cock. 

His hands grab your waist and start moving you up and down, not letting you stop, his hips pushing up against you deeper, faster, just a few more thrusts and he follows you with a heavy moan, his breath panting. Your shivering body collapses against his and he wraps his arms around you, steadying, holding, caressing you. You remain in each other’s embrace, savouring the sweet aftermath of your peaks, before he gently lowers you on the bed next to him. His fingers trace the contours of your figure, and suddenly his eyes widen in astonishment as he notices the bruises of varying colour on your skin – some fading, faint, and pale, while others in intense shades of blue and violet.

“Gods, what is this?” he breathes, his voice quivering, “Who did this to you?” His hands cup your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze. There is no need for an answer; a pained growl escapes his lips as he pulls you into his embrace, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmurs, almost inaudibly, “I should never have let you go. I’ll kill that wretched bastard with my bare hands. Let them hang me for it, but you’re not going back to him.”

“I am not leaving this time,” you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair. “But that bastard is mine. Promise me.”

Sihtric lifts his head, gazing into your eyes, disbelief plainly written on his face, but the certainty in your gaze is unwavering.

“Whatever you wish, my little princess. As long as you are finally mine,” Sihtric whispers, a broad smile gracing his lips as he wonders silently what he's done to earn the favour of the gods, to have his wildest dream come true.

--------------------------------------

“Are you sure about this?” Sihtric cups your face with both hands, his eyes questioning yours.

“More than anything else,” you reply.

“He’s all yours, my love. Do you want me to stay?”

“No, this is between him and me,” you respond, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. Sihtric nods, steps aside, and heads toward the door, opening you the view on a man’s frame sprawled on the bed, his hands and legs tightly tied to the grid, a gag obstructing his mouth and muffling all sounds and attempts to scream. He looks at you with eyes widened in fear, struggling against the ropes with all his strength. His head starts shaking vehemently as he sees you drawing a dagger and walking slowly toward him. You lift your dress and climb the bed, straddling him.

“I will teach you now to be a good husband, my dear,” you murmur into his ear.

—----------------------------------------------- 

With a heavy breath, you shut the door behind you. Your eyes are wide, your hands smeared with blood, clutching bloodied dagger against your chest. Sihtric waits outside, and as you stagger towards him, your legs wobbly, he catches you in his arms. He doesn't utter a word, merely enfolding your trembling shoulders and pulling you close in a firm embrace.

 “Is he dead?” he finally inquires.

“He lives, but he’ll never be able to hurt anybody, the way he hurt me,” you reply with a quiver in your voice. “I must speak with my brother,” you add, wiping your hands on your dress.

“I am here with you. No matter what comes, we’ll face it together,” Sihtric leans in to kiss you and squeezes your hand encouragingly.

Princess

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Prompt: “It was all I had left of them.”

Song: Matilda – Harry Styles

For Reader x Tolya please?

Hold Onto Me - Tolya Yul Bataar

Content Warning: Discussions Of Loss. Not Beta/Proof Read.

You know there are more things to be precious about, that sentimentality is better reserved for things that will last, or on people. Which there are no guarantees about either, but energy is often better spent on those that are still here, you know that well enough. You cannot change what has happened but you can impact what is yet to come. You cannot save those you've already lost, but you can hold onto those you have found. You can help protect those who aren't yet gone.

But knowing something is true and living by that truth are not things that are intrinsically linked. You can know something is bad for you and keep it anyway. You can know something is good for you, but that doesn't make you innately drawn to it. People are inherently flawed in more ways than one, and this, the knowing and not living by that knowledge is simply one of those things. Because feelings almost always override knowledge, sense, and you're not an exception to that rule.

So when the pocket watch fell from your bag and the glass shattered and each tiny piece of the metal work scattered from one another, cascading across the floor in nothing more than spare parts, your heart felt like it gave up on itself.

You hadn't the time to collect the pieces, you reached for the floor and wrapped a hand around a single bronze hand when someone grabbed a fistful of your sleeve and was pulling you along.

Now you're staring at that same hand, all twisted in this beautiful intricacy that once built upon more piece to create this wild world within the watch, all ivy and wilderness. Now just one hand lain in your palm it would be hard to imagine the dynasty of artwork such a small watch contained. You'd only ever seen one anything like it before, this silver clasp that held a pattern of the suns movement, dial pressed into the centre, starts and constellations underneath the dials, you had mistaken it more than once for a compass, but it seemed to keep in track of the bells and you weren't sure how it did that, until you watched it get twisted by tired hands as the first bells of the day rang out. It took dedication to keep that invention working. This one, the one that had been yours, you don't think it ever worked, it was more of an idea than a tool, but when it was wound it would play small music notes, you knew it was supposed to tell you when to come home, but the home it had been designed to call you back to had not existed for a long time.

"Caught your breath?" comes Tolya's voice, coming to join you in your solitude. You shrug.

"Contemplating the futility of sentiment," you inform him.

He places a hand over his heart and winces. "You cannot mean that," he says, giving you a grin.

"To a degree," you say, holding the clock hand to the light. Tolya frowns at the small piece of metal.

"That looks like it belongs in your pocket watch," he says. You nod.

"It did," you say. “It was all I had left of them.” You fold your fingers around the hand, pushing it tightly into your palm, as if the act of holding it tight enough could make the metal a part of you. "It was... it was from my family, when I was younger I would wander farther than they liked, but after a while they realised trying to keep me in was never going to work, so instead they decided to let me explore, have my time and my adventure, but they needed a way to remind me to come home. When I got old enough the sound of the bells ringing got too far away in the distance I would travel, so my parents gave me this, my father tried to make a small clock that would remind me of time passing, it never worked, but the weight of it in my pocket, was always enough to remind me if I got lost in my wanderings, that people were waiting for me." You open your fist again to look at the small twisted metal. "I have no one calling me home anymore, so I suppose I no longer needed a reminder to go home, but it... it never worked as an object but it was fit for purpose and it was home, a reminder that I had one, where people were waiting for me, and I guess I have held onto it for so long," you catch your words on your inhale, feeling Tolya's eyes on you, listening so intently, "I was just hoping to find something to come home to again."

"What happened to it?" he asks, as if talking of it would make a difference, but sometimes people need an opportunity or an opening, or a half decent excuse to keep talking.

"When we were running," you explain, "it must've gotten loose and before I realised it hit the ground and it was in pieces and I barely got one bit off the floor before Tamar was pulling me along. I know she was saving my ass, I am not mad about it..." you sigh, "I am just... sad I guess."

"You can mourn an object too," he tells you, "especially something that holds so much love in it, it's like any other loss. You feel its absence."

"It just feels like a childish thing to be sad about," you say, "it wasn't worth anything, it was a few pieces of metal and a twisted mechanism from a music box, something I probably should have let go of a long time ago."

"Everyone has something," Tolya tells you, "something we keep not because it's practical, or because it's pretty, not because it has inherent value, but because of the narrative of the object, the stories it holds and the memories that lay within them. That was a piece of home, it's not childish to mourn that."

You tap your nail on the clock hand and try to take comfort in his words. "Thank you," you tell him after a while. "You're always so kind to me."

He smiles. "I treat you as you deserve to be treated," he says, "and it saddens me at the rarity of that."

You lean into him gently, allowing his presence to be your solace as you watch the sky, content in each others quiet.

You're helping Leoni with untangling the mess that was left of the supplies, she is explaining the topaz and amethyst gems in her hair, explaining the people they represent and you're listening, nodding along as she talks of her mother, and the woman who saved her as a child, it explains a lot about her. You have admired Leoni's sunny disposition more than once.

You look up as Tolya approaches and you offer him a smile. "Can I steal this one away from you?" Tolya asks Leoni. Leoni looks like she is pondering it for a moment.

"I don't know, Tolya," she teases, "you may have to fight me, think you've got what it takes?"

Tolya gives her a playful smirk. "I think I can hold my ground," he admits. Leoni nods and gives a wave of dismissal.

"Steal away," she instructs. Tolya gestures a direction and you follow him in it. You make it back to the stones you had been sat on when he found you in your sadness a few days before.

"Working too hard, forcing me to break?" you joke, taking your seat on the rock. It's colder than it was before, or maybe your detection of temperature has come back stronger as you let the waves of sadness slowly subside within you.

"I don't know what I am looking at," Tolya admits, "and I am not skilled in the mechanics of these sorts of things, and I am sure I did not find all the pieces, but," he pulls a small cloth from his pocket and unfolds it to reveal many parts of the pocket watch. He is right, you can tell by looking them over that cogs and mechanism pieces are missing, but amongst the pieces you can also see drum of the music box.

You reach for it, and amongst the shifted pieces you see the comb that strums the divots to make the noise. You pick it up and haphazardly try to coax the sound with dragging the teeth of the comb over the drum, and it's painful, and disjointed, but after a moment, it almost resembles the music you remember.

"The Flower Maiden?" Tolya asks, trying to pick out the tune. You laugh.

"The fact you can tell that is more a credit to you," you state, "but yes, it was a favourite of my mothers, she heard it on her travels, before she and my father settled." You twist the pieces of the watch around in your hands, short on words that could do the depth of your gratitude justice. "Thank you, Tolya, I cannot... thank you."

He smiles. "It's important to make room for grief and to make time for it. Mourning is something we have to learn to embrace. But I think you've accepted enough loss of late, and one less thing to make you feel that... it seemed like a small undertaking for such an important thing."

"You're always so kind to me Tolya," you say again, smiling through the tears that are welling in your eyes from the tightness in your chest, but for once it isn't all sad.

"I mean to make up for the rarity of it."

[bella-rose29]

Chapter 3 - The Honeymoon (part 1)

Nikolai’s perspective again!

Also the timelines from the books don’t exist in this because they get married about 6 months after the end of the war but the demon is already making itself known so oops

This is sort of a filler? It’s mostly just setting up the next chapter but I didn’t want it to get too long so I just split it up into two parts.

Hope you enjoy, and please let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Warnings: mentions of past trauma

Word count: 3.4k

Tag list: @kentucky-criedfricken​, @polli05927​, @kateswone, @historianthesecond​, @ell0ra-br3kk3r​

Nikolai was in trouble, and he knew it. He knew he should offer some sort of explanation as to why he had left Y/N by the lake, but he couldn’t, for all his wise remarks and witty comments, come up with anything believable that wasn’t the truth. He didn’t think he could tell her that either, and he hardly expected her to think he wasn’t lying when he said that there was a demon living inside of him and it possessed him every now and then when it got hungry. Her speech at breakfast had surprised him, but he had immediately known that she would be the perfect Queen for Ravka, even if they wouldn’t have the perfect marriage. 

Now he was sat at his desk, poring over documents (or trying to, he couldn’t focus on much other than that morning and how badly he’d messed this marriage up within the first 24 hours) and working out what needed to be done most urgently. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, knowing that if he didn’t leave this office soon he might fall asleep. 

A sudden peal of laughter came from outside and he snapped his head toward the tall windows behind him, trying to work out who it had come from. Getting up, he strode towards them, looking around at the Grand Palace gardens. Or what was left of them, anyway. They had been destroyed in the war, neglected and left to die as people fled the palace, but as Nikolai looked out at them now he was surprised to see patches of colour in the dead browns and blacks, his shock only increasing when he saw a figure in white and dark blue. Deciding he had done enough for the morning (especially since he had been awake all night), he headed down to the gardens, slinging on a jacket to fight off the morning chill. 

Reaching the metal ivy-covered gate that led into the gardens (that would need fixing soon, the hinges didn’t look strong enough to support a feather), Nikolai paused, realising she likely wouldn’t talk to him unless he had an excuse. He still didn’t think he would be able to tell her about that part of him, scared that she would think him abhorrent or disgusting or something in need of putting down, so he opted instead to watch what she was doing from a distance. Y/N was knelt on the ground, water circling around her as she worked, the sleeves of her white shirt pushed up to the elbows and her Tidemaker blue skirt pooled around her on the floor. Nikolai couldn’t really see what she was doing (he’d stopped too far away), but he could see the trowels and seed pots around her, and deduced that she was planting things. She looked at home like this, a small smile on her face as she worked, and Nikolai hoped that one day she would feel at home with him. He flushed at that thought, then told himself it was because he wanted them to make the best of this horrible situation, turn the arranged marriage into something more than just two people who appeared happy to the public and were actually happy in private, and nodded to himself, satisfied with his reasoning. She was digging up the dead plants, using the water to carry them into a rubbish heap she had formed, and he couldn’t help but wonder just how powerful his wife really was. She was glowing from the use of her abilities, and although he had no idea how long she had been at it, he could guess that it had been a while with how big the pile of weeds and dead plants was and how much of the beds were clear. She didn’t look tired at all. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that in the end, watching her from afar as she cleared up more beds and weeded the pathways, but eventually his legs started to ache from being stood up for so long and his stomach was grumbling in protest, so he reluctantly went back inside. He wondered if she was hungry yet, and decided he would sort out food for them both, since normally everybody ate lunch at different times. Nikolai didn’t make it that far, however, instead getting stopped by his Triumvirate in a corridor and shoved inside an empty room. 

“What, in the name of all the Saints, do you think you are doing?!”

Nikolai winced at Zoya’s harsh shout, taking a step back when a wind picked up around her. 

“Uh... what do you mean, exactly? I was just about to get something to eat and I thought that -” 

“No!” She frowned, pressing an exasperated hand to her forehead. “I mean why aren’t you packing?! You leave tomorrow morning and I can’t see any evidence that you have packed! At all!”

Nikolai stood there, blank expression on his face, while he tried to remember what he needed to pack for. He couldn’t remember any trips coming up, and he’d checked his diary that morning and the only thing in there was- oh. Oh. 

His honeymoon. 

“There you go, now that we are all on the same page,” a glare was sent in his direction, “we can start packing, since clearly you can’t do that on your own.”

He’d completely forgotten about the honeymoon. Saints, this was going to be difficult. He’d have to spend a week away with his wife, in the private residence that belonged to the crown just outside of Os Alta reserved specifically for occasions such as these, and try to convince everybody in the building that they were definitely on speaking terms and completely in love. 

The four of them spent the next few hours packing, well, three, since David really just sat in the corner scribbling notes and giving the occasional “Yes of course,” or “I’m sure you’re right,” when prompted by Genya. By the time the two women were satisfied, Nikolai was even more hungry than before, and before either of them could think of something else that he needed to shove into a chest that would not fit anything else in it, he left, claiming that if he ‘didn’t eat now, he wouldn’t make it to his honeymoon,’ and headed down for dinner. He supposed that they could have let some of the staff pack his things, but there were some more... delicate matters that needed to be taken care of, and he really didn’t want word getting out that the King of Ravka was taking chains and sedatives on his honeymoon. Saints knew what kind of stories people would come up with then. 

Y/N was already seated, and Nikolai tried smiling at her when he walked into the hall, but either she was ignoring him still or she noticed and neglected to offer one back, because her face was blank as he came up beside her. He sighed as he sat down (he seemed to be doing that a lot today), and wasted no time in tucking in to his dinner, stomach rumbling in appreciation. After he had a few mouthfuls down, he turned to Y/N and said “I hope you’re all packed for tomorrow. I’ve been told we need to leave just after breakfast.”

“I have.” Apparently he wouldn’t be getting much out of her conversation-wise. 

“Good. How have you been finding everything?” When she frowned and looked as though she would turn away he added a hasty “As Queen?” Her frown softened, and Nikolai internally let out a breath of relief. 

“It’s alright. There’s a lot more work to do than I thought there would be; I hadn’t realised just how ruined Ravka had become in the war.” She hesitated for a moment, uncertainty painted on her face as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Saints, I wish I was the one- he shook himself out of his thoughts, feeling a faint blush creep up his neck and onto his cheeks.

“I hope you don’t mind, but... well I thought I might replant the Royal gardens, since the plants were pretty much all dead, and then we could create jobs for farmers or gardeners whose land was destroyed in the war? It might be a stupid idea, but I just... I thought...” she gave up at the end, having shrunk in on herself slightly, and Nikolai didn’t know why but his heart sunk at the idea that she thought her plan was stupid, so he laid a careful hand on hers and told her what a good idea it was. 

“A lot of the people are upset that we can’t do much about their land for the time being while the nobles are being difficult about dividing up their land, so it would give them something to do and money to earn, but I’m just worried they’ll see it as us taking advantage, and we don’t have that much money left. We’ll have to be careful how we go about it, but I’m sure we can make it happen.” She nodded in agreement, a faint smile playing on her lips, and Nikolai smiled back, mostly because in this moment, this brief minute or so, she wasn’t (outwardly) mad at him, and they could be somewhat normal. Y/N glanced down at their hands, and Nikolai realised with a start that his was still resting on top of hers. He went to pull it away, to carry on eating, hoping that she would stop him, but she didn’t, and he felt a small tinge of disappointment. 

The rest of the meal passed in a blur of conversation with Genya and Zoya about the trip tomorrow, last minute arrangements that needed to take place before the King and Queen went on their honeymoon for a week and were unable to help with anything regarding ruling, because they would supposedly be having the time of their lives together. The Triumvirate would rule in their place. By the time the meal was over, Nikolai was so tired from the day spent packing and being shouted at by Zoya for not packing, and making decisions that he hoped wouldn’t backfire, he hardly needed the sedative to get him to sleep when his General came to chain him in for the night. 

“You could just tell her, you know.” Nikolai was startled out of his thoughts by Zoya’s voice; they’d both been working silently the last few minutes. 

“Tell who what?”

“Your new wife, dumbass. Tell her that you have a demon formed from one of the nichevo’ya living inside of you and every now and then it possesses you at night and goes to eat something.”

Nikolai stared at her, wondering if this was finally the moment that Zoya Nazyalensky had made a funny joke, but she looked deadly serious. 

“I mean it, Nikolai. You could just tell her. Then maybe when she eventually hears the rumours about us, she won’t believe it.” She shrugged. “I just think telling her now and working out how to live with it would be better than having to do damage control later on, and having her not talk to you at all. You’ve got tomorrow morning to think about it, and then the whole carriage ride to talk to her, just the two of you. You know that Tolya will be the only one close enough to the carriage to hear anything, and he already knows, so it’s the perfect time.”

He couldn’t deny her logic, but something inside him didn’t want Y/N to know just how monstrous he truly was. He wanted to keep that hidden for as long as possible, so that he could try and be normal with her. Unfortunately, he hadn’t accounted for the fact that she might be resistant to his charm, so he had his work cut out for him. 

When Zoya returned the next morning, Nikolai realised that he had actually slept quite well, hoping that meant there hadn’t been any kind of accident, which she confirmed by saying that he hadn’t left his room all night. He imagined she was probably quite glad for the lack of disturbances, especially given there were three in the last week alone. They really needed to find a cure. 

Breakfast was just as much of a blur as dinner the night before; people running around getting chests and boxes loaded onto the luggage carriage, readying horses, congratulating the newlyweds. He barely had time to say “Good morning” to Y/N, and found that he wanted to just talk to her, even if it was going to end in disaster. 

But when they were sat in the carriage, just the two of them, waving goodbye to the people gathered, Nikolai could not say a word. She looked beautiful (he didn’t think he’d ever seen her look bad these last few days), dressed in another deep blue dress with lighter embroidery not too dissimilar to her wedding dress, although the one she wore now was significantly more like a kefta and far less fancy. She was looking out the window at the scenery, and from his position opposite her he could watch her without being too obvious. 

Or so he thought, but when she turned to look at him instead and met his eyes immediately, she raised a brow, and he flushed at having been caught. He quickly went to look out of the other window, face still warm, and hoped that it wouldn’t be this awkward for the rest of the week. He thought he might die if it was. She sighed in what sounded like frustration, and his eyes darted over to look at her, to see what was wrong, and at the frown on her face he had to hold back one of his own. 

“Is everything alright?” He hoped she would think he was asking as King, not as her husband, because otherwise the two of them would never talk. 

“I suppose.” Alright. A start, if nothing else. They were silent for another few minutes, both looking out of opposite windows at the greenery they passed, jolting when the wheels of the carriage passed over bumps in the path. Nikolai started thinking of ways he could fix that, seeing mechanisms in his head and drawing plans up, storing the ideas away for when he had access to pen and paper. Hopefully he would have time to do more of that this week. 

The rest of the ride was uneventful, only a few passing comments made about things they saw on the way, and Nikolai was glad when they finally pulled to a stop and got out. He climbed down first, landing gently on the gravel drive, then held out a hand for Y/N to get down. He was grateful when she took it, and even more so when she kept her hand in his all the way up the driveway and in through the front doors. He knew it was just because the staff were watching, but he let himself believe for a little while that they were actually happy together. 

“Well,” he started, “I’ll show you to your rooms? Or would you like a tour first?” He had none of his usual tact, or charm, and he felt completely out of his depth for the first time in a while. She nodded, looking around the entryway with wide eyes, then realised he’d asked two questions. 

“A tour first, I think. I don’t want to get too lost straight away.” She linked her arm through his, and his heart skipped a beat. 

What was happening to him?

He led her through the corridors and rooms, noting what each one was for and providing some probably not very interesting facts about them, but when they went outside and entered the greenhouse, her eyes lit up. 

“Do you enjoy gardening?”

“Uh... yes, I do. How did you-”

“I saw you in the Royal gardens yesterday - through my office windows, I was taking a break - and you seem to be happier here, so I thought you might enjoy it?” He’d lied a little in the middle, but she didn’t need to know that he’d come down to the gardens to watch her. Especially when put like that in his mind it sounded really creepy. 

“I grew up on a farm in a small village. Because of my abilities I would help with the crops and flowers, so that we wouldn’t go hungry. I had extra tutoring with Baghra, too, and she helped me learn how to help grow plants and speed up the process.” Nikolai was surprised at that; he didn’t realise that gardening would come under Tidemaker abilities. 

“I don’t think I ever saw you when I went to the Little Palace, but you said that you trained with Zoya?” The question had maybe strayed too far into ‘asking as a husband’ territory, but he couldn’t help himself. She had mentioned it at their wedding banquet, and he’d been wondering about it ever since. 

“I did, but I still lived at home. The commute was small enough that I could do it every day, and I hated the idea of leaving my family and neighbours to fend for themselves in the summer heats and winter frosts. I was lucky to be powerful enough that the Darkling let me.” Her expression had darkened at the mention of his name, and Nikolai recalled the times when some of the Grisha he was friends with had been noticed by the Darkling. None of the memories were good. She said no more on the topic, so Nikolai changed the subject, asking her more about her plans for the Royal gardens back at the Grand Palace. 

They left the greenhouse an hour or so later, and walked around the gardens, stopping again when they came to the dock of the nearby lake. 

Nikolai decided to test the metaphorical waters between them, hopeful that the good mood they had been building over the last few hours would be strong enough to help him out. “You could go and lie in it now, if you wanted. I won’t leave you this time, I swear.” He sensed he’d taken it too far, however, when she stiffened next to him, and he hurried to remedy the mess he’d apparently made. “Or we could keep going? Sorry if that was... I know I still haven’t made up for the other night yet, but I truly am sorry.”

“If you were truly sorry you would tell me why you left,” she bit back, whipping her head round to glare at him. He didn’t know why she was quite so angry with him about it; he wasn’t stupid and he understood that it was completely wrong to leave your new bride all alone in the dark, even when leaving helped take her out of danger, but she was a Tidemaker, so she wouldn’t have drowned, and he’d been assured by his Triumvirate that she was extremely powerful and could most definitely take care of herself. He had hoped before leaving that she would be fine, and he would have the demon under control quickly and be back by the lake before she even knew he had left, but that hadn’t happened. He guessed that there was something more, something deeper, a past experience similar to the one two nights ago that had given her a reason to hate him so much for leaving, but he knew that he couldn’t outright ask her when he couldn’t give her his reason for leaving.  

“I... I will. I promise. Just... just not now. Not today, I’m sorry,” he replied, a sad smile on his face. Her glare softened a fraction, then came back harsher than before, and he knew that he’d lost her for today. She removed her arm from his, then cast him one last look before making her way back to the building behind them. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, turning back to the lake. He was apologising for his lack of an excuse, and he was apologising for whatever experience had hurt her in the past to make her so wary. He knew that when he got back to Os Alta he had to talk to Zoya, to see if she knew anything that might help. Until then, he just had to try and work this out, tread on thin ice and hope it didn’t crack and let the water swallow him up. 

Until then, all he could say was “I’m sorry” to the water in front of him. 

Chapter 4

[liminalpebble]

Blood in the Cut (Eddie Munson, One Shot)

MINORS DNI

A/N: Sorry y'all I've been going through some things so this is a big, fat, 4000 world, smutty cathartic scream of a one shot. Older Eddie Munson x POC she/her reader. Title is based on a song by K. Flay that's been bouncing around my head lately.

CW: Rough unprotected sex (consentual), violence (bar fight), racial slur towards reader from a bigot, allusions of past suicide attempt, mental illness, trauma, and wounds, blood play (sort of?)

Summary: For years now Eddie's put the traumatic year of 1986 behind him by living an uneventful life and running The Hideout. Now a gruff but good-hearted middle-aged Munson has hired you (a young lady with a sad past of your own) as a bartender. One night a brawl breaks out and you become collateral damage in the violence. Only then does the prickly Eddie open up all the way to comfort you.

Blood in the Cut

The place was a shithole, but goddamit, it had become your shithole. It was a godsend when you rolled into the little town of Hawkins. You felt crusty, cramped and drowsy from hours on the Greyhound, but you made it. 1000 miles from your hometown, from the overbearing family who branded you a failure early on for being born with the wrong genitalia but expected perfection nonetheless. 1000 miles from the psych ward you ended up in when the pressure became too much. You tried not to think about the past anymore. Scars are easy enough to cover with make up or long sleeves, and nobody cares about the career you broke yourself trying to get when you just wind up opening beer bottles and mopping floors for a living.

Well, Eddie cared, but he hid it well. If he didn't care, he wouldn't have given you a chance that day. You had walked right into his bar and gestured to the shabby “help wanted” sign, shyly offering him a dog-eared resume. He gave you a long, unnerving, inscrutable stare from those big dark eyes.

You fidgeted as he nonchalantly scanned the paper over the haze of his cigarette. As the silence became too awkward for you, you piped up. “Uh...sorry it's...um...crinkled. I didn't have anywhere to print new ones.”

His face cracked into an amused grin suddenly, and it shocked you how quickly the grizzled guy could go from intimidating to disarming once his dimples came out to play.

“You...um...you do realized that this isn't exactly a place requiring a resume, right?”, he said, a cocky, teasing tone to his lazy voice.

You finally let out an exhale, “Yeah...yeah. I mean. I figured. But I already had it with me so you know...It's a little quicker than chatting to tell you my credentials. And as you can probably already tell, small talk isn't something I'm great at.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded thoughtfully, “ Well, bartenders do have to chit chat a little generally, but you're in luck, because not many customers come around here to talk.” He gestured a lanky tattooed arm to the tattered, dark, dive bar, the drunks having their liquid breakfast, and the ramshackle stage, as if to sarcastically say, behold, my kingdom.

“But anyway...impressive degree. Ivy League shit. Guess you're a long way from home. So, if you don't mind me asking, what is a young bright-eyed bushy-tailed little scholar like you doing in a shit town like this?” As he asked, his perceptive eyes darted down to your long sleeves; a bit unexpected in the warm spring air. He had an idea of what your answer would be, and it softened his heart more than usual.

You shrugged. Any attempt at pretense just dissolved in his presence. This man possessed a perfect radar for bullshit. You could tell. And besides, you'd relinquished any pride you had left at the hospital. There was no face left to save. “Well...Mr...”

“Munson...and just call me Eddie. Everyone does,” he clarified, grinding his spent filter in the ashtray.

“Eddie...Well, Eddie, I'm $70,000 deep in student loan debt from this impressive and apparently useless degree, and another $10,000 as the cherry on top for landing in the psych ward because of how I almost killed myself making sure I got it. Or rather, I tried to save my parents from their sunk investment in me, because the co-signer doesn't have to repay loans when the borrower kicks the bucket...or so I've been told. I'm 1000 miles away from it because I can't deal with my family reminding me that I'm an expensive disappointment every day of my life. But mom still calls me to shame me about how much it cost them to keep me alive...so there's that. And uh...these are more words than I've spoken in the last 5 months to anyone...so...sorry if I'm rusty at saying anything nicely.

Finally, you took a breath. Eddie just stared for a moment (that same inscrutable evaluation), nodded pensively then stood up from the bar stool. He simply reached out a calloused hand full of rings to shake yours. With a little grin he said, “Welcome to The Hideout.”

And that was that. You were here for 40 hours and 5 days a week. You tried to get overtime but Eddie always refused to let you, explaining, “you're a recovering workaholic and I don't want a relapse on my hands.” He always said it matter-of-factly with a flat expression until he turned his head just slightly from you to relieve himself of the smirk crawling across his plush lips.

Working side-by-side with him so much meant you got to observe him. You got the idea that in his youth he was probably rebellious, squirrely and bombastic, but he was taciturn and guarded now. Something had clearly pummeled that youthful anarchy out of him. The thought of it broke your heart a little. These days he kept his head down and hid under that mop of wild brown-sugar-colored curls. When he slid by you in the small space of the bar you noticed the little silver coils running through the strands, here and there. Your boss was still squirrely though; always tapping his fingers or feet in time with the soundtrack. He always seemed primed to run.

When you got a chance to look at him (really look at him) you couldn't help but wonder if Eddie knew he was a damn fine-looking man. He lived above the bar, but never once had you seen him take anyone home with him, or leave with anyone. Running this place seemed to be his life. What a waste, you thought, considering that nobody got to see that beautiful, tattooed, body without any clothes.

On slow days you'd usually hang out quietly behind the bar; both reading, and occasionally breaking the silence to talk about your books, or about the music Eddie had chosen, or about art or movies or languages or history or science. He was a bright guy and you treasured those chances to flex your academic muscles. In fact, you wondered if he hired you just to have someone to talk to like this. Hawkins wasn't exactly crawling with intellectuals and forward thinkers. Most of the local truckers, factory workers, farmers, and deputies who stopped by the Hideout would narrow their eyes in suspicion or confusion when they clocked your dark hair and tan skin. If they seemed about to say something stupid, Eddie would always nip it in the bud, giving them a warning glare that told them in no uncertain terms, not to fuck with you. Eddie felt a slowly building swell of protective impulse for you. You seemed so young and small and soft, even thought he knew you were tougher than you seemed...in some ways, tougher than him.

Once, only once, did some pea-brained idiot dare to snap at you and call you a “camel jockey”. That was the day Eddie broke a beer bottle on the counter, pointed it to the guy's beefy neck and hauled him outside, muttering quietly that if he ever showed his face here again he would end up in an ambulance. After that, word spread quickly that no one talked shit about Eddie's mysterious new bartender if they valued their lives. That was the day you began to realize you were becoming truly smitten with this man; his humble decency and thoughtful nature and even the pain behind those big brown eyes...but...he was your boss. So you weeded the idea out as soon as it began to sprout. You settled on simply saying, “Thank you,” and giving a relieved exhale.

He nodded and said, “Don't mention it. Fucking idiots. My friend Lucas and his family had the same problems. It wasn't easy for them, being the only black family in this hick town. Jesus Christ. I hoped it had gotten a lot better than this. That's a shame...they should be ashamed. Shit. I'm ashamed!” You chuckled and assured him he had nothing to be ashamed of, but he was embarrassed by proxy anyway. It was so scorching hot when he defended you like that, getting rough around the edges with righteous anger and a willingness to fight dirty. It didn't make the crush any easier to kill.

Much like dandelions, crushes have a way of popping back up, but you stayed removed and kept your interpersonal walls at a height matching his, though you would occasionally enjoy a chat from open windows in warm lamplight. You really treasured those chats and glimpses, when both of you reached out carefully from your barricades. You couldn't know that Eddie lived for those moments just as much. He'd been alone for so long, and now this fascinating young lady walked right through his door like a godsend. He was grateful for this friendship, and he would never dare to hope for it to become more. What use would an incredible young lady like you have for grumpy old Eddie Munson?, he thought.

-------

It was a Saturday night, rowdy as hell. Some shitty local band had just closed their set and packed their van, and the audience was worked up. You and Eddie and taken turns hauling keg after keg of cheap beer from the basement as they were swiftly emptied. It was an annoying crowd, but Eddie was proud of how well you kept up and you were happy for how well business was booming for him tonight.

You two were in the homestretch, but your nerves were fraying after a long night of drunken idiots. Eddie put a little ditty on the sound system called “The Closing Time Song” with the charming refrain of “get the fuck out” as he did every night to playfully alert the clients that it was time to leave. Everyone was gone aside from two knuckleheads who began screaming at each other for no apparent reason while you had begun sweeping.

You both knew the drill for this; get them outside to mitigate property damage and make their little scuffle the concern of Hawkins' finest rather than yours. Eddie was afraid to let you handle this at first, but after a few times he realized you're a lot stronger and tougher than you looked. At this point you manhandled jerks out the door with ease as often as he did. You huffed and set your broom aside. Eddie was in the back counting out the till, so you stepped up, walking swiftly towards them, grateful that it was still just verbal.

As you moved to shove the big galoots out the door, they suddenly began throwing punches, not seeing you underfoot, you got an elbow and a smack right in the face. You yelled every expletive in every language you knew as you kicked them out the door and slammed it shut, locking it behind behind them. As you turned around and strode back to the bar, you realized the noise had summoned Eddie from the back. He looked at you wide-eyed and concerned.

Through the buzz of adrenaline you didn't realize how badly you were hurt until you held your sleeve to your face and it came away soaked with blood. “Fuck,” you hissed, grabbing a bar rag and holding it to your face. Suddenly, you felt like crying. You hadn't been able to cry in months, even though you wished you could let it out. It was like the physical hit, the blood, the adrenaline, the anger, unraveled the dissociation choke-holding your emotions. You were horrified and decided Eddie would not see you cry. He'd mostly seen you being smart and tough and you'd be damned if you let him see you weep like a child.

You muttered, “I'll gonna go clean this up and grab another vodka for the speed rack. I'll be right back.” You heard him call your name after you as you flew down the hallway and down into the basement storage room. You closed the door behind you, found the janitor sink between the stock shelves. You bled and sobbed into the stained square basin, wondering what the fuck your life had come to. You prayed to a god you didn't believe in that Eddie would keep his distance. When the minutes passed without interruption, you heaved a sigh of relief, bending more deeply at the waist and resting your arms on the ledge.

You didn't hear him coming. All you saw was big hand holding out a clean bar towel neatly wrapped around ice cubes as he said in a quiet deadpan, “We don't need another vodka in the speed rack.”

“Thanks,” you huffed, wiping away the tears and blood with the old towel then pressing the ice pack to your face.

Deflect. You thought, picking up one of the bottles of Ketel One and grimacing to your boss. “Well, really, nobody need this shit, Eddie. Jesus, can't even spring for one that doesn't come in a plastic bottle?”

Eddie shrugged. He was standing with his arms crossed, leaning beside the sink. “We obviously don't have the most discerning clientele. Come here. You're doing that wrong,” he snipped, pulling out two folding chairs to face each other and ordering, “Sit. Lean forward, not back. And let me check it.”

You gingerly took the pack off of your face and he touched it, feather-lightly, to inspect it. “Huh, well, it doesn't seem broken. Just a hell of a nosebleed and probably a nasty bruise for a few days.”

You nodded, returning the pack to your aching skin. “Sounds like your know your way around getting hit in the face.”

“Oh yeah,” he said with a chuckle as he prepped another fresh towel for you. “I was bully target number 1 most of my youth. 'Hunt the freak,' they called it. My punishment for being a weird loud ugly little gremlin who played DnD.”

You shook your head, too rattled to watch your words “Idiots. Ugly little gremlin! What the fuck. Eddie, you're gorgeous. Don't pretend you don't know that.”

Eddie smiled wider than you'd ever seen him smile. His cheeks turned bright pink. His dark eyes sparkled. “What? Do you have a concussion or something?”

Oh god. I shouldn't have said that...uh deflect. “Well shit...I hope not. My insurance is shit.”

“Hey!” Eddie whined in mock-offense, “it's the same insurance I have.”

“Yeah, and I can't help but notice you never go to the doctor either.”

They both chuckled awkwardly, and an even more pregnant silence settled until Eddie said, “you know, you're lucky. When I would cry after being beat up, you could see it all over my face, my eyes would be red and puffy and my face and neck would be all red like I just ran a marathon. You don't even look like you've been crying.”

You shrugged, “One up-side of darker skin...I don't get red. Blushing, bruises, crying...scars...none of it shows up as much. I can hide my feelings pretty well.”

Eddie gazed at you, eyes full of bittersweet compassion. “I wish you wouldn't though.” He reached his hands out to yours.

You looked down and noticed your sleeves were pushed up from your attempt to clean up the blood. Now the ruddy splotches decorated your arms and cuffs, and beneath them, the scars on your wrist were clearly exposed in the florescent lights. You rushed to pull the sleeves over your scars, but Eddies calloused fingers stopped you, as he ran them gently up and down the slightly darker, rougher skin running up your forearms. “Please. Please don't hide it. Not with me at least. I know the story, after all, and I don't judge you.”

Deflect. God, his face is so close. His pretty pretty face. “Ah...well...you can judge me for being an idiot tonight.”

Eddie averted his eyes, sat back and then stood up. He was hoping for a more intimate moment, but you just made it clear that he shouldn't, so he played along. “Yeah....totally. What the fuck were you thinking, huh?...All 5'2 of you gonna take on a couple of meat slabs like that?”

“Hey I'm 5'4, and don't tease me about being short. The hobbits saved Middle Earth, remember?”

He turned so suddenly that you almost ran directly into his chest and you dropped the ice pack. He caught it between you. You, once again, found you were close...so very close.

You forced out a chuckle, “Nice reflexes.”

He shrugged and said absentmindedly, “well...you know...guitarist.” But he hardly knew what he was saying. He was staring at your lips.

“Yeah,” you sighed out then pointed to the ice pack. “ I don't think I need that now. The bleeding stopped.”

Eddie said quietly, “Okay, just let me check.” He gently held your face in his hands again, looking around it for any cuts or swelling. There were a few small splotches, but none serious. Before long he realized he was no longer noticing the wounds, too wrapped up in the feeling of his hands cradling your soft tawny skin as his fingertips fanned teasingly into your dark hair. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing, as he tentatively stroked down the side of your face. “Does...does it hurt there?”

“No,” you said in a whisper.

“What about here?” he asked, quietly brushing hair from your temples.

“No,” you repeated.

His pointer finger ran lightly over the curve of your lips. The bottom one had a tiny cut where your teeth had grazed it. His eyes followed his finger as he asked even more quietly, “What about here?”. He took a step closer.

“No,” you repeated, mirroring his step in with your own.

“Good,” he said as he leaned in, closing the distance. Eddie kissed you with those plush delicious lips you wanted to taste for so long. He was shy at first, still cradling your face like you were made of fine china, but when you opened your mouth inviting him in, he pushed harder into you, smelling and tasting the coppery blood on your skin. Eddie's warm wet tongue met yours and explored, thirsty for you. When you pulled away you bit lightly on his lower lip before releasing him and he groaned in delight.

You looked up to meet his big sweet eyes with yours. With desperation in your voice, you confessed, “Eddie...I want you to touch me. I want it to hurt. I want to cry. I just want to feel something...let something, anything out.”

Eddie was breathing deeply. He was already growing hard and hot against you. Groaning, he said, “God, sweetheart, you don't know what you're asking for. Fuck...I want it. I want you.”

“Fight me,” you growled. And he grunted back as he lifted you onto a shelf, slotting his skinny hips between your plush thighs. He grabbed one of your wrists and licked up your inner forearm where your old scars and new blood mingled together under his hot, wet, tongue. You'd never let anyone touch you there before, and it was so intimate, so arousing, it made you limp in his arms. If this was a fight, he was already winning, and you couldn't have that.

You gripped your greedy hands into those gorgeous curls and tugged to see how he liked it. Judging by how loudly he groaned and the way his thick erection twitched against his jeans, he loved it.

You giggled. “Oh Eddie, you moan like a whore.”

He muttered, “Come on, you love it.” from where his mouth was now latched to your jugular vein, no doubt raising blossoms of blood under the tender skin. His harsh sucking and the light scratch of his teeth set off dynamite in your bloodstream

You whimpered and confessed, “Mmmm! I do. I fucking love it.”

He gripped your ass and growled into your ear, “Open wider for me, sweetheart...atta girl”. You obeyed. His arm snaked around you waist as he pulled you tight against his chest. He rubbed the cleft of your cunt over the seam of your jeans. You whimpered and melted, head lolling on his shoulder as you panted.

“These gotta go,” he said, hooking his fingers in your belt loops and grazing the button of your fly. “That okay, honey?”

You begged, “Yes...yes, Eddie. Jesus fucking Christ, yes. Do whatever you want with me.”

Eddie let out a surprised breathy chuckle and you felt it reverberate against you. “Fuck, baby, now who's moaning like a whore?” he teased, with a shit-eating grin.

You had no words, you were too rapt watching his clever hands easily undo your pants; hastily tearing away anything keeping his mouth from immediately tasting your pussy.

You shrieked at the sensation of his long tongue dancing around your wet velvety folds. After a few unhurried laps he came up for air with a gasp of awe. “God, you have the prettiest pussy,” he said, slowly teasing his fingertips along where your brown skin became a deeper, more saturated hue, like the center of a flower; rich and lovely and soft, like fine dark silk. Eddie slid a finger on either side of your clit, pinching and coaxing the little jewel to the surface. The rough callous against your most sensitive skin scratched a little, hurt a little, and the ache felt so good. He stared at where his fingers moved as if it were the eighth wonder of the world, then continued worshiping at it, like a shrine, saying his devoted prayers in mumbles as he consumed.

He sucked your clit, nestling it between his full lips, while two rough fingers moved in and out of you. You panted as he found a rhythm, demanding, “More....more please. Harder...”

Suddenly he withdrew his fingers and watched your confusion with amusement. He stared menacingly and stepped back, making a show of taking off his layers. His chains clattered against the concrete floor as he stripped for you until he was completely naked; unguarded. Despite the confident posture, his puppy eyes pleaded for approval in his vulnerability, and you were only too happy to give it to him.

You gasped out, “Jesus Eddie, you're incredible...you're so pretty. I've wanted you like this for so long.”

He came closer again and pressed an unexpectedly gentle kiss to your temple as his hands worked at your shirt and bra. He noticed your hands shaking; how nervous you were to be bare with him.

He kissed you under your ear then whispered into it. “I know you're scared, sweetheart, but you don't need to be. I want to see all of you. Let me see all of you, huh? You're so pretty.”

He stroked your now-bare shoulder. Eddie loved the hue of his pale skin against yours, the different flesh tones winding together, perfectly complimenting...meant to be.

You bit Eddie's earlobe and buried your greedy hand into his hair as you said, “I need it rough, Eddie, please. Don't be gentle.”

“Anything you want, baby. Anything,” he groaned out as he pushed into you, in one hard thrust.

Your breath caught for a moment as the ache volleyed through your body. You felt yourself crack open..shatter, finally shatter, finally release. You felt hot tears and hot arousal pulse through you in a cascade. Eddie met your eyes, concerned.

You nodded and smiled through the blood and tears “I'm fine. Eddie, I'm fine. I need this. I love this.”

Eddie loved it too. He felt a little guilty about how much he loved it, but that just made him even harder. He felt like a hungry animal gorging himself on your sweet broken body, licking at your tears and cuts as your tangled weight hit the shelf again and again. The clanging tempo built until you both came in a crescendo of shuttering, gripping, biting and grunting.

As you both caught your breath, slumped against each other, Eddie rubbed sweet little circles on your back and kissed your forehead. He pulled out gently and his eyes grew wide with shock and fear as he noticed blood mingled with his cum and your wetness.

He gasped in surprise and concern, “Oh, sweetheart...fuck...I...I didn't know or I would have been more careful with you....would...would have made it special. Shit..I...I'm so sorry.”

You grabbed his face, smiling broadly, drunk with afterglow and shaking your head, “Shhh shhh. No, no please don't apologize. I wanted it like this. Needed it like this. I had to let it all out. Thank you, Eddie....thank you.

You nuzzled into his chest and he held you tightly, kissing the top of your head protectively. He said quietly, “Okay, honey. But for now, we're gonna go upstairs and take a nice hot bath and curl up in bed together...that alright with you? I...I liked it like that too, but I want to take care of you after something like that. No hiding, got it?”

“Yeah...yeah I got it.”

“Good,” he said, smiling and kissing you. You noticed you'd left a little collection of bruises on Eddie, just as he left some wounds on you. Noticing your worried look, he held your face and met your eyes with a satisfied smile. “Hey...don't worry. I loved it. Now let's go play hospital.”

@hellfirenacht @fairyysoup @take-everything-you-can @sweetsigyn @elegantkoalapaper @veemoon @slutty-thevampireslayer @little-wormwood @leelei1980 @ladyofthestayingpower

[jellyfiishatr]

How about some Ivy pepper platonic headcannons? I bet it will such an adventure with her being the reader’s friend. Ifs like a little spice in their life >:))

a/n : absolutely!! Ivy is a personal fav because she reminds me of my bestest friend ever so it fits( •̀ᴗ•́ )و ̑̑

☆☆☆

content : fluff

content warning : Rocky , out of character(?)

Walking with ivy to and from school gossiping about something interesting that happened; before,during,and after classes

" oh my goodness, reader did you see what happened during lunch!? " ivy says in excitement

" no?? Oh my god did (so-and-so) fight? I was hearing about it the entire tike during my last class? " you say matching her energy

" yes! You wanna know why they fought? "

" Of course I do, you know I always do! "

Helping through relationship to relationship

(Ofcourse we know she isn't the problem, it's the fact that Viktor is too overprotective over her)

" readerrr!! " ivy says whining as she runs to you

" Ivyyy?? " you respond saying her name also, questioning why she's sobbing on your shoulder.

Sleeve now wet, you ask her why she's wetting your shirt with her tears.

" it happened again, " she says with sorrow.

Knowing what that meant you just gave her a hug and told her he wasn't sh*t anyways (he probably wasn't)

(maybe)

Talking about Freckle

While he's right there

He doesn't mind but you still find it a little odd

" he's a little ditzy and odd but I love him, " she says with a smitten look on her face.

" why don't you tell him that " you reply,

" NO its too early! " ivy screeches in your ear

(He's sat right there)

rocky

Hes just him

" reader! " Rocky shouts from across the room.

" no thank you " you say walking out the Cafe. You trying to look for Ivy but instead found him.

Getting dragged along runs(by accident)

Ivy is the type to only go for help when she really needs it

Which is alot of the time

She trusts you, and knows you have her back

" READER! " They all shout in-sync as you fall out the car, the sound of gunshots nearing you and the others

You "walk it off" the best you can, with a raging headache

" You okay reader? " ivy ran up to you and checked you out to see if you were hurt.

Of course you were so you said yes, but told her not to worry because there were bigger things to be worrying about.

" are you kidding me? " she says helping you up.

" you're something I worry about daily! " she exclaims, " in a good way of course. "

She puts you down in the seat quickly and hugs you, rocky ushering her to the front seat to drive

" Hurry hurry, you can be sappy later all you want! "

Sleepover!

You guys sneak out to go walking around, just to go out-and-about around town

You guys talk and sit in your favorite part in town, pass the lackadaisy to check in, and sit at the dock to look at the boats.

Gift giving!

Ivy is definitely a gift giver(along side being a physical touch kinda gal)

She loves making you trinkets, or getting you something special

[lollipencil]

In The Pale Moonlight: Part 4

Ok, I can't really think of any great full scenes right now for this one, so we're bouncing around the timeline this time around. @harleyification, let's do some introductions! Enjoy and be gentle

---

(Commissioner Gordon (Marc)) A faint drizzle dotted the figure on the GCPD rooftop. Commissioner Gordon stood next to the lit Bat-Signal, looking up at the shape it cast into the ever-present clouds. Sometimes, he swore he could see that light in his dreams.

The familar sound of an ever so slight rustle was his cue. "Batman, Poison Ivy's been acting up again near Ace Chemicals," Commissoner Gordon began as he turned to face his friend, "She's been-"

The Commissioner stared. Blinked as if to dispel what he saw. Standing next to Batman, carefully watching Robin as he cartwheeled about the rooftop, was a caped mummy only a head taller than Robin himself. "Commissioner?" Batman asked, as if he couldn't tell what the problem was. "Is that another kid?" Gordon hissed, pointing at the trick or treater. "This is Moon Knight," Batman introduced, "He and his brothers will be assisting us from now on." "There's more of them?!"

---

(Damian Wayne (Steven))

Damian was polishing one of his knifes when a knock came on his bedroom door. Silently he slipt the knife up his sleeve, ready to deploy at a moment's notice, and opened the door. One of Father's "children" was standing there, thankfully not Drake. Damian had not interacted much with this one, Spector he'd heard his name was. Although, curiosly, they had personally been introduced as "the Triplets".

"Hello Damian," he greeted, his accent and expression far different than before, "Do you have anything planned for today?" "Why do you ask?" Damian kept his guard up. "There's a travelling exhibit at the Gotham Museum of Antiquities," Spector elaborated, "It's on ancient weapons. I'm going, and thought I'd extend an invitation."

"Tt, Mother taught me of many cultures' weaponry." "Yeah, but have you ever held any of them?" Damian paused. Idly, his eyes drifted to the bracelet Spector was wearing.

Father had indicated to pay attention to it. It was light grey and white at their first meeting. It was blue and black now. "Tell you what," Spector continued, "If you promise not to verbally or physically attack anyone, and to not steal the weapons, I'll take you with me. If you're good, I'll pay for a few things from the gift shop."

There was something going on with Spector, and Father had clearly intended in Damian working it out himself. To prove his skills. Plus, he'd always wanted to hold a khopesh. "I concede to these terms."

---

(Zatanna Zatara (Everyone))

Out of everything Zatanna Zatara was expected at midnight, the Batman knocking on her hotel window was fairly low down on the list. She had been in Gotham a mere three hours. "And how can I help you?" she greeted with a smile anyway. The Bat seemed intimidated by Zatanna's peppiness. "Moon Knight and his brothers have been hit by a spell," he muttered.

The drive to the Batcave was...something. At least, the dim lights were easy to adjust to. "Ok," Zatanna clapped her hands, "So, where are they?" "Right this way," an elderly gentleman in a domino mask held a curtain open for her.

Slipping in, she quickly had to hold back a coo. There, curled around each other and mewling loudly, were three cats. The white one hissed at Zatanna's entrance, while the dark and light brown and white cat next to him chided him, and went back to grooming his brother's. The grey and black striped one simpily stared at her. "Oh, this is an easy fix," Zatanna waved to herself, "emoceb namuh niaga."

Between blinks, it took effect. But not in the way Zatanna expected. "That sucked," moaned the single human sitting before her, "Need anything else?" "I've done it wrong," Zatanna slowly admitted, "Let me just fix it-" "Nope, nothing to fix here," Moon Knight popped up to his feet, british accent replacing american, "Thank you so much, we're off to bed."

Nobody stopped him as he darted straight to the elevator. "Miss Zatara," the gentleman intercepted before she could follow them, "While I understand your concern, I can assure you that their condition is back to their usual." "...oh."

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

thundering crimson

Pairing: Vampire!Vyn x gn!Reader

Writing Genre: oneshot

Genres: vampires, historical au-ish?

Word count: ~1.4k

Warnings: mentions of death, discussion of vampirism, very light angst, possible time inaccuracies, maybe slightly ooc vyn, not deeply proofread

Notes: Here the fic is -- 2 1/2 months after I previewed it gfkfkfkf. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this fic -- it is meant to take place around 1871!

Read it on ao3!

for my Season of the Witch collab!

~~~

The soft click of your shoes echoed on the dark, damp cobblestone streets of Svart's frosty capital. The elegantly designed streetlamps cast a butterscotch haze over the fog winding down from the mountains. The chilled breeze carried the mist of the sea, but it was not unwelcome as it creeped under your coat and through your sleeves.

Soft neighing could be heard from behind you, prompting the edges of your dark grey frock coat to brush against your calf as you spun around to investigate. Two black stallions and a dashing coachman led a gold-decorated carriage. The mulberry curtains were tied to the side, and you made eye contact with the person inside.

Striking gold came and left as the carriage continued down the street, following in the direction of the historic district.

They must be returning for Allhallowtide, you concluded.

As you continued your night walk, you found yourself drawn to the sprawling virescent hues of the Lindersvik Gardens. Various colours stood out from the verdant landscape, creating a cascade of rainbow across the simple life.

Continuing down the ivy-laced pathway, you stumbled upon a figure sitting on the stone wall surrounding the elevated flower beds.

They were dressed in a double-breasted navy vest, paired with a white collared undershirt and matching navy trousers. A plain white jabot was tucked into their collar – pinned at the bottom of the neck with an emerald brooch. Silver hair fell delicately over pale brows and indigo. They wore glasses with golden frames, and they matched familiar golden eyes.

The person in the carriage…

It seemed that with your newfound thoughts, the figure visibly noticed your presence.

But, how did they get over here? I just saw their carriage riding toward the wealthy districts…

A soft smile rose on their face as you curiously walked closer.

"Hello." the man greeted you simply, his voice rich, measured, and smooth. "Lovely night isn't it?"

"Yes, it is… but aren't you cold?" you queried.

"Not in the slightest." he replied.

How unnatural. You thought, as you came and stood next to him.

He gracefully took your hand and placed a freezed kiss on its back.

"Vyn Richter, and you?"

After giving him your name, he asked you a peculiar question:

"Tell me, Mx. L/n, how do the undead experience emotion?"

A perplexed look blossomed on your face. "Why, Mr. Richter, this question is illogical. There is no such thing as the undead. Even so, how would they be created? It's not as if Shelley and Stoker's novels are real."

He simply hummed, and it seemed as though thousands of thoughts were shining behind his aurous eyes.

"You seem to have a well built mind. Thank you for answering my question, Y/n."

He pocketed a small leather object – most likely his sketchbook – before rising to walk away.

A certain want coarsed through your veins. A need to meet this eclectic man again.

"Will you be attending the Mass tomorrow?" you questioned.

A momentary chuckle before you received a response. "I am afraid that I am no longer able to attend."

"Why?"

"You will have to draw your own conclusions there, Mx. L/n."

And with that, he turned to walk out of the gardens and to the main street. You stood silently for a moment before leaving as well.

—

The hauntingly beautiful melodies of the Requiem Mass still danced throughout your head as you made your way back to your quaint apartment. Upon opening the door, you found three pine wreaths waiting for you. Tonight was All Hallow’s Eve, and you would be visiting the deceased members of your family at the Lannavaara churchyard.

Quickly exiting your residence after grabbing the wreaths, you began your walk to the graves.

Clouds littered the flaming skyline of sunset. Liquid gold lapped at the dusted shoreline and occasionally left trinkets from the deep. The streets were filled with the essence of humanity – diverse emotions scattered across every face you saw.

Tendrils of inky indigo had spread over the entire warm-coloured page as you entered the graveyard. You set a brisk pace for the southeastern corner, placed just anterior to the melancholic forest.

Three plots labeled with moss-covered grey stone stood before you. Your found family laid graciously to rest.

Artem Wing

Marius von Hagen

 Luke Pearce

Your beloved band of three, now spending their days in immortal peace. One a legislator, another a Count's son, and the last a detective. You – a violinist.

You had met Luke long before the others, hearing about an up-and-coming detective building himself up from nothing. You needed assistance in finding information about your sibling's suspected crimes, and he accepted the job with haste and enthusiasm. Together through many difficult years you delivered justice – and the innocent verdict was the cement pouring over your bond.

Artem and Marius came about 5 years later, when you were requested to play at an event for three noblemen. When your lengthy performance had come to an end, both men took an interest in dancing and conversing with you. One hoping for another friend, and the other seeing potential for a new artistic endeavor.

An uncanny breeze halted your reminiscence, prompting your eyes to unglaze and your body to reanimate. The sensation of someone behind you caused your mind to scream flight, but you were here to honor your fallen, and no being would stop you.

You placed a harder grip on the wreaths in your hand and took a step forward. A vibration went down your spine as the cold of an autumn's night began creeping in.

"You seem shivery, rose." a familiar, graceful voice spoke.

"Good evening, Mr. Richter." you replied, relaxing the slightest.

"Please, no need for honorifics." he wished, placing his fur lined coat over your shoulders.

Something about him seems different now – as if he is immersed in his element. you pondered.

"If you don't mind my asking, who are you here to see, Vyn?" you asked, while adorning your deceased in wrapped pine.

"A very old friend of mine." he responded, drifting just slightly further from you and towards a mausoleum decorated with a garland of tarnished gold.

He turned to look at you with an expression communicating both his hesitation and longing.

"Would you like to come with me?"

—

Upon closer inspection, this mausoleum most certainly belonged to an affluent family. It was well-kept and representative of wealth, though it somehow still managed to maintain a humble charm.

"Does this old friend of yours have a name?" you asked, attempting to make conversation.

"Yes, he does."

"Will you tell me?"

"You will have to have patience and find out for yourself."

A light huff exit your lips, prompting a little smile from the mysterious man.

Arriving at the entrance, Vyn pulled a golden key from his pocket and unlocked the dark metal french doors leading into the shadowy building. Your entering steps reverberated through the space, and a pair of golden eyes soon appeared next to you. With a snap of his fingers, the candles and sconces throughout the mausoleum were lit.

An incredulous gleam shone in your eyes, but the silver-haired man paid it no mind. Instead, he stepped forward to the third plaque on the main wall.

Hesitantly you walked to stand next to him. Vyn's face held a look of tender mourning, and you couldn't help but draw your eyes to what he was reading.

In Loving Memory of

Vilhelm Richard Albert de Haspran

1832 - 1859

Beloved Fürst, renowned psychiatrist, and adored visage of elegance

Questions flooded your mind, but you chose to ask the most important.

"This--this is you?" you queried softly.

"Yes, my rose." he spoke, turning gently to you and catching your gaze.

And with those words suddenly it all made sense. His unnatural feats, strange questions, and odd behavior all drove you to one conclusion.

"You are a vampire, Vyn."

"Yes, my rose." A repeated phrase became a statement of patience.

Silence bombarded the mausoleum – the mourning and merriment outside the doors falling away.

The hush was interrupted by his light gasp as you put your right arm through his left and placed a kiss on the back of his hand.

"I see you, and I am not afraid."

He tightly squeezed your hand and warmly replied, "Thank you."

[wanderingaldecaldo]

Poison Ivy and The Penguin

bodysuit mesh: @scumpatrol | hair & roses: @wingdeer

tattoos: comm | everything else: me

[click for better quality]

More after the cut because I am so fucking happy with how they both turned out. 😭😭😭

ETA: Whoops, hit post on accident but oh well, I'll reblog the hell out of it anyway.

I started working on these outfits back in August. I've been obsessed with the idea of Corpo!Val as Poison Ivy since almost her inception, and what better reason to make it happen than Halloween! For the bodysuit, I used Mel's base and used a custom microblend for the texture and found a green that looked perfect on her.

Then it was a matter of finding and recoloring the boots and sleeves, and the tattoo. The boots proved a learning opportunity as I either had to refit basically all of the mesh (they originally belonged to Evelyn) or I could use ArchiveXL to hide parts of her legs -- so ArchiveXL it was! I wasn't committed to the tattoo idea until fairly late in the whole process, but Katsigian was so helpful. They took my idea and turned it into something incredible, and it really is the proverbial icing.

For Mitch's Penguin costume, I was able to reuse the suit I'd already made for their corpo AU. I just to recolor and edit the shirt/vest mesh a touch. The top hat and closed umbrella are new assets imported into the game. The top hat I managed to make look good (enough) but the umbrella is a little bit of a mess, which is why you don't see it a whole lot. 😅 But that's okay, I'm super happy because before I started this journey, I'd never made a single prop, much less imported one into the game.

This is the biggest non-work, non-writing project I've finished in... well, I'm not sure tbh. It was a lot of fun, and I'm so proud of myself for getting it all done in time for the Moxtoberfest contest on the Lizzie's server.

And here is my submission for "Best Costume Award":