#flea-bee watches the finale: a summary

[kitmon]

Let's Dance! | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Chaperoning the middle school dance isn't what most would consider a weekend well spent and Eddie is inclined to agree. That is, until he formally meets you.

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things, 2022) x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags: fluff, like the fluffiest fluff that has ever existed, vice president!reader, swearing (I genuinely don't even know if that's actually true, just assume that with all of my writing comes swearing), cringe? ok, some of what the reader does could be considered cringe but I DON'T CARE, IF IT'S CRINGE THEN I LOVE CRINGE, written out dance scenes (writing a lot of movement is hard, guys), that should be it, there's definitely no hard warnings for this, it is just pure, unadulterated fluff

Author’s Note: This idea came to me while I was listening to David Bowie's "Let's Dance" and maladaptive daydreaming hard. And it's been rattling around in my head for months and I'm glad that it's finally finished and it's way better than I could have ever hoped! @queenimmadolla did such an amazing job beta reading (she always does) and this is as much her work as it is mine and I would really love it if you could go send her some love because Tumblr's being mean to her right now and she could really use it. This is probably one of my favorite fics I've written and I really hope that you guys enjoy it as much as I do. I think that's all I have to say, as always, happy reading!

With your hands clasped in front of you, your hips sway to the beat of whatever mainstream, upbeat pop song the DJ was playing—the pristine white skirt of your dress shifting like the branches of a willow tree, caressed by gentle gusts of wind—you can’t help but admire your hard work; streamers and tinsel flow down from the ceiling, framing the slow-to-twirl disco ball that you stubbornly bartered for at a flea market in Indianapolis, and the glittery sign you painstakingly crafted by hand even though it took you all night and you’ve been finding flecks of glitter in your tissues every time you’ve sneezed for the past two days. Totally worth it, you think with a pleased smile.

You still remember your Snow Ball (though, arguably, it wasn’t all that long ago); December 15, 1980. You’d been stuffed into a poofy, absolutely ridiculous gown that you adored with all of your heart, dancing to the Bee Gees with Pat Rafferty, a foot-and-a-half of space between your bodies as you stepped, stiffly, from side to side. The scene had looked just like this, right down to the plastic flowers you arranged in the center of each table and, even though it’s entirely trivial, you remember that night being one of the best you’ve ever had. It was the sole reason you begged Principal Higgins to let you join the planning committee amongst the middle school staff and PTA. And now, here it is: all blue and white and shiny, having come to fruition.

Your smile softens as you lose yourself in the memory of that night but it isn’t long before you’re jolted out of the past when you catch a large, clumsy movement from the corner of your eye, followed by the sound of someone tripping and nearly falling. Your head whips around to find a man—definitely not a boy considering he stands at least a whole foot above the rest of the attendees—with his ankle caught around one of the tinsel cords. As you watch him struggle, you realize that you recognize him. It’s kind of impossible not to; the messy nest of hair, the randomly spaced tattoos along his exposed forearms. The only thing you don’t recognize is his attire, it’s still definitely… him. His lean torso is sporting a wrinkled dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the slouchy pinstripe pants he’s wearing are assuredly a size or two too big on him. It’s a far cry from his usual harsh leather and denim.

He’s hopping a bit, trying to untangle himself and you figure you better step in before he falls and crashes into the concessions.

“Here! Just—Let me,” you insist, chuckling as you step closer and crouch down to unwind the ribbon from around his shoes, finding a mangled knot. Jeez, how did he manage to do all this just by tripping? 

You manage to undo the binding and he steps free with a little bounce, stumbling a couple of steps. He clears his throat as you stand and pat your hands over your skirt, “Sorry about that, can barely see anything a foot ahead of me in here.”

“It’s okay,” you assure, giggling at the red hue that paints his cheeks, noticeable even in the dim light. “Can I help you with something?” 

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he shifts his weight a bit, looking over his shoulder and licking his lips before continuing, “I’m supposed to be chaperoning, or something like that.”

“Oh!” You didn’t know any other high schoolers were chaperoning tonight—because why would they?—but it’s not like you’re going to refuse the help. “Well, you’re in the right place.”

Before he can properly respond, you shove your open palm towards the center of you both and introduce yourself with a confident flow of words. He’s a little taken aback by how quick and concise you are with your actions.

“Eddie,” he says as he accepts your smaller hand into his own, intrigued with how shockingly cold your fingers are.

Your handshake is a firm one and he takes a step back once you release his hand and clasp yours together, suddenly aware of just how in your space he’d been. You watch with an amused smile as he purses his lips, nodding his head and surveying the small array of finger foods.

“Soooo,” he drawls, lips still comically pursed, “what exactly do we do for the next three hours?”

“Well,” you sigh, “we basically just watch the concessions and stuff; make sure the punch isn't getting spiked or whatever happens in movies. Though, I highly doubt any one of these kids managed to get their hands on a bottle of booze.”

Eddie seems to get the gist of the job, looking out over the sea of children.

“Oh, we also have to make sure no kids are getting too handsy behind the bleachers—Jenny! Ryan!” you shout, having caught sight of the two eighth graders kissing a little too aggressively for their weight class. “I see you two!”

You jut your finger out and as the clap of your voice reaches them they scramble away from each other and hold their arms at their sides like they’ve been caught with their grimy mitts in the cookie jar.

“Got it,” he says, eyeing the eighth graders with a sideways glance.

You huff and look back towards Eddie, eyes wide and features soft as you ask, “How’d you get roped into this?”

He dips his head and stares at you from below his brow.

“No offense!” you’re quick to defend. “It just… doesn’t seem like your kinda scene. I’ve seen you around school, you know. You wear those band tees and the vest and, well, your hair. . .” You chuckle and mimic ruffling your fingers through your own mane.

“What d'you mean?” he starts, voice laced with sarcasm, “Chaperoning a middle school dance is my idea of a perfect Saturday!”

You cock your head and send him an unimpressed stare, blinking your eyes with a heavy slowness.

“Okay, fine, you caught me. I don’t actually like watching a bunch of preteens awkwardly shuffle to crappy pop music on the weekend. I made this stupid deal with Higgins so that I could start a club.” His arms are crossed over his chest as he stares down, face shrouded with his wild hair as he watches his toes nudge at the legs of the table.

“What kind of club?” you ask, angling your head to try and catch his eye.

Your question raises some suspicion in his mind, almost hesitant at your interest and he shakes his head before answering.

“A D&D club. You know D&D?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. You shake your head slowly with an apologetic look over your face as you bite your lip and it’s clear that was the answer he’d been expecting from you but he isn’t upset, just a little disappointed.

“Well, it’s like a tabletop roleplay ga—actually, it doesn’t matter, all you need to know is that I came to Principal Higgins with it and he shot it down, as soon as he saw me walk in.”

That makes your brows furrow and your lower lip jut out as an unpleasant emotion settles in your stomach. That’s definitely something you’d have to bring up with your cohort of student council members later.

“He said, and I quote, the only way he’d let my ‘band of hooligans congregate’ is if I showed that I was ‘committed to the community,’ or something like that, which means… chaperoning the middle school dance.” He finishes and you nod your head in understanding, feeling slightly sympathetic towards his cause; it's a bit unfair that he has to go through all this trouble just to start a club when you were able to start up the Photography Club with no questions asked.

“And you?” He questions, causing your head to perk up and your eyes to widen, “What are you in for?” 

You smile and respond with a cheeky tilt of your head, “I’m actually here of my own free will, if you can believe it.”

“Ohhhh,” he draws out, faux-interest candying his voice before it drops down to a playful dullness, “you’re right, I can’t believe it.”

“Hey!” A smile is consuming your face even as you realize you have to defend yourself against his teasing. “Some people actually like to give back to the community. Plus, it’s a part of my Vice Presidential duties; to show I care about stupid things like the middle school Snow Ball.”

You draw your stare down towards your toes and share a shy smile with yourself as you toy with your fingers. Eddie smiles down at you for a moment, his hands stationed along his hips before his gaze drifts to the scene ahead of him, taking in the neat decorations and the hordes of prepubescent children that jabber amongst themselves and it’s clear the awkward shuffling of feet on the dance floor is here to stay. Despite that part of it being unbearably hard to watch, the rest is quite impressive.

“You sure do know how to plan a party, I’ll give you that much. Looks way better than my Snow Ball.” 

That causes your head to snap up and an entirely dumbfounded look to paint your face.

“You went to the Snow Ball?” you ask in disbelief. 

You know better than to judge a book by its cover but it seems so out of place for him. You’ve heard all of the stories and the rumors; that he’s a shut-in who dedicates the weekends to his cult-leading responsibilities. You’ve never thought to believe them, even for a second. It just felt so thoughtless and cruel and a genuine waste of your time to be gossiping behind peoples’ backs just because you didn't understand them. It was beyond lame. But you’d see him at parties, all broody and intimidating in the corner with a rusty metal lunch box he’d pop open and not-so-discreetly demonstrate his stock. He never danced, never talked to anyone unless it was to discuss prices, and he never smiled, not unless he was flipping through his wad for the night and counting his bills.

“Mmhm,” he smiles, almost proud for dispelling any preconceived notions, “got all dolled up in a monkey suit and everything. Even managed to work up the courage to ask Andrews to dance; she did not seem too impressed, I can tell you that.”

“Paula Andrews?” Again, the disbelief laces your tone but this time for good reason. Paula Andrews was vile, not for her looks or anything like that—she was actually ridiculously gorgeous—but for her nasty attitude. Anyone with a cowardly bone in their body would turn tail and run at the sight of her for fear of being ridiculed for even breathing in her direction. Even now, she was catty and prissy and mean.

“Yup,” he sighs like he’s already predicted your criticism and agrees with all of it.

“Ugh!” You visibly recoil, squinching your nose and wrinkling your lip. “Why would you ever want to dance with Paula Andrews? She’s… evil,” you shudder. “She once put gum in my hair because I wouldn’t let her cheat off of my science quiz.”

“I dunno,” he chuckles before simmering down, his voice becoming uncharacteristically hushed as he twists his rings up and down his finger. “Because she was pretty… and popular.”

You can't really fault him for that; everyone either wanted Paula Andrews or wanted to be Paula Andrews.

“What’d that witch do?” you ask tentatively like you’re afraid of the answer.

“Oh, nothing original,” he reminisces, “called me a freak and cackled that witch laugh of hers before stalking off with her flock of flying monkeys.”

You snort and move to cover your mouth with your hand, giggling behind it, “She does kind of laugh like a hag, doesn’t she?”

He laughs with you until you both calm to huffs and gentle smiles.

“Well if it’s any consolation,” you begin, “I would have danced with you.”

He looks you in the eye for a moment before dropping his gaze and sucking his lips in slightly towards his teeth, nodding with a pleasant grin on his lips.

The conversation merges into a comfortable silence as the both of you assume your chaperoning chores, Eddie picking at the charcuterie platter, exclusively the buttery crackers and tiny cubes of American cheese, tossing the morsels into his mouth while you survey the room, both with the intention of monitoring any misbehavior and gauging the room’s energy. Your findings are rather disappointing; the dance floor is empty! Not a ghost town, by any means, a few couples took to dancing but the walls are much more saturated with middle schoolers than the actual space meant for dancing. 

You watch as the boys chat amongst themselves, throwing a few fleeting glances over their shoulders towards where the girls are cliqued up every once in a while. It's obvious they want something to happen but lack the confidence to be the ones to start it. Why not give them that extra little push?

“Do you want to dance?” you hurriedly blurt out, twisting to face Eddie beside you. His eyes are glassy and saucer-ish as he stares at you, mouth stuffed full of crackers and cheese as he addresses you. He twists his head over his shoulder only to find the spot behind him empty, pointing to himself and humming a muddled question. 

“Duh!” you giggle. “Who else would I be talking to?”

He swallows his mouthful with some difficulty and begins stammering for a response.

“I don’t, um, really think that’s a good idea,” he laughs with a nervous tinge.

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” 

You’re already winding your fingers around his wrist and leading him to the dance floor, weaving past and around the few brave couples that were dispersed about the court.

He’s babbling the whole way, noncommittally digging his heels into the ground and leaning away to slow you and when you’ve found your spot on the floor, turning to face him, he leans forward and whispers to you, “I can’t dance.” 

His words are panicked as his eyes flit around you, hyper-aware of everyone’s stare on the two of you. He’s less so worried about his reputation as much as he is yours; you’re a sweet girl, people like you, like you enough to have voted for you and he’s… him. And in this town, being him or anywhere near him is social suicide.

But his warning does hardly anything to stop you. You can't dance either but you keep your head held high and your back straight as you feign confidence to encourage him.

“You’re in a band, right?” It was an odd question for the situation but he knits his brows and nods anyway. “You like music, you go to concerts. What do you do in those situations?”

He thinks about it for a moment, turning his head to survey his memory but stops himself when he reaches a conclusion, not thinking it a good idea but you seem entirely oblivious as you hearten him with an eye-squinting smile.

He shakes his head, taking in a large breath before huffing it out. The calm, collected act is disrupted by his whiplash energy shift as he starts violently moshing, headbanging, flicking his hair all over the place while he jumps and kicks around. The sudden burst makes you jump in your spot and blink your eyes at him. You watch for a second or two, lips ticking up at the corners at his very… passionate expression and as much as you’d like to keep watching him bounce around, you figure you should start with something a little more… pedestrian-safe.

You cautiously reach your hand out, a little afraid to approach him in fear of getting taken out by a stray limb or a particularly aggressive clump of hair but you manage to touch your fingers over his shoulder without injury, halting him. He slows his movements to a controlled bouncing of the toes, breath panting, hair wild, and shirt wrinkled—well—more wrinkled than it had been.

“Maybe not like that,” you cringe with a bunched nose and lopsided twist of your lips. “Try this instead.”

You trail your hand that was over his shoulder down his arm to take his hand into yours, scooping the other one from his side to guide the both of them to your waist, coaxing them to mold there. He looks a little afraid, eyes owlish as his tongue sprints out over his chapped lips too many times in a single moment. 

“And I'll put my hands over here,” you narrate, placing your forearms over his shoulders as you link your fingers together behind his neck. You begin shuffling your feet, your white mary janes clicking against the lacquered gymnasium hardwood as you foster some movement. 

“See, it’s not that hard.” Almost like you’ve jinxed it, as the words exit your mouth he steps right over your toes, and your face twists with a wince you do your best to suppress.

“Sorry, “ he winces with you, his eyebrows bunching with an apologetic look.

“It’s okay!” You’re quick to reassure him, a laugh and a smile embossing your words. “Just—look at me; when you look down you only end up tripping yourself up.” You release your fingers and bring one of your hands from around his neck to cradle his jaw in your grasp and angle his face upwards so that he’s gazing at you with those large, glazed cow eyes. You smile when you capture his rich chocolatey stare. “There, much better.”

The two of you sway glacially, Eddie relaxing under your touch after meeting your eyes, the shy lilt of his lips making a warmth bloom in your chest. You stay like this for a while, remaining committed to your designated square where the two of you can rock from side to side without disruption before you attempt to perform something a little more difficult. You slide your hand down over his shoulder and along the cotton of his shirt until it's grasped in his own, twirling yourself and gracelessly switching your feet before stumbling back into his chest with an uninhibited chortle, head thrown back as you laugh at yourself. He’s laughing too, his eyes trained on your ruched nose and crooked smile as you press your forehead against his chest. 

As the song builds in energy you separate your hands from his chest and step away, starting to clumsily dance. It’s a gentler sort of moshing, he thinks as he watches you hop in place and shake your head, completely uncoordinated but entirely adorable. His posture slouches to the side as he watches you move, wholly mesmerized.

“Come on!” you laugh, breaking him out of his trance, taking his hands and moving them to simulate dancing.

He smiles before he's splitting from you and doing his own goofy thing, illustrating a botched and lumberly take on The Twist as he shakes his mane of wild hair this way and that. 

The two of you are one of four couples on the dance floor and the army of children that trace the edge of it and surround you throw their estranged glances your way and could you really blame them for it? You had two high school seniors—one the predicted Valedictorian of her graduating class and the other the school pothead and resident freak—tearing up the dance floor of the eighth grade Snow Ball. But as the chatter of your embarrassing antics grows louder, a few brave souls make their way to the dance floor to join you and Eddie, hopping and shaking and twirling like unhinged maniacs, but they were giggling and tittering and having fun and that’s all that really mattered. 

As you dance with Will Byers, holding his small hands in yours as you twist and twirl him, Eddie smiles to himself and stands with his hands on his hips, admiring the precious sight. As he watches, a particularly rowdy couple crashes into him and sends him flying towards you.

Just as he collides with you and knocks you a bit off balance, the previous song fades into a brief silence, a slower, calmer, more romantic song following; "How Deep is Your Love" by the Bee Gees. 

“I’m sorry!” he’s quick to remedy, stabilizing you by holding your waist.

You chuckle, clearly high off of the endorphins that come with exercise, “It’s okay—”

“Are you hurt? Did I step on your foot again?” He’s rambling now and chasing each worried sentence with another as he’s examining you for any hidden injuries that could come with being bumped and stumbling three steps.

“Eddie!” You raise your voice to grab his attention, that same laugh twining your words at his ridiculous worry as you place your hand over his bicep.  “I’m okay! Promise. Scouts Honor,” you say sucking your lower lip in and holding up your first three fingers.

“Okay, good,” he sighs, relaxing into a smile, “Good.”

Will looks between the both of you and smiles with a glint of understanding in his eyes.

“Hey,” he touches your arm to grab your attention, “I’m gonna get some punch and sit down, you really wore me out with that last song.”

You smile down at him and ruffle his hair, “Okay, Little Byers, you let me know if you're up for another one, you’re probably the best dance partner I’ve had all night.”

Will flashes a toothy grin and exits, weaving his way past warm bodies towards the abandoned snack table. 

“I cannot believe you just said that.” Eddie reclaims your focus.

Your brows furrow as an anxiety of misspeaking clouds your features, “What?”

“And to think I thought, for even a second, that we shared something special, dancing like idiots,” he says with a smirk, the sarcasm now dripping from his words.

“Oh, shut up,” you scoff, landing a punch to his shoulder.

“You wanna give me another shot at redemption?” he offers with a smirk, reaching his open palm out to beckon you towards him.

You smile, an air of bashfulness consuming your actions as you stare down at the floor before taking his hand and assuming the same position as before: your hands twined together, behind his head, fingers slithering under his hair as you play with the scraggly strands at the nape of his neck, winding and unwinding them around your digits.

“So,” you start, “how d’you feel about chaperoning now?”

“Mmm,” he hums, looking out at an unseen point in the distance to ponder on it, “still on the fence.”

You gape at him, “We just danced like crazy! You were laughing like a madman!”

“Well,” he laughs, “is chaperoning always like this?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know—fun, exciting, metal?”

You giggle as you stare down at your feet, lifting your head to send him a suddenly heavy look in your eyes, the rest of your expression at once sober.

“When you have the right partner.”

There’s a silence as he takes a moment to ruminate on your words before concluding, “Alright, tell you what: I’ll chaperone every dance if you're there.”

He looks down at you with fond eyes and you glow under his gaze, dipping your head to hide away from his abruptly intimidating stare and lay your temple against his chest. You can hear the rhythmic thumping of his heart against his rib cage and sigh at the comforting noise.

“That’s a deal, Munson.”

The air is empty and silent, a calm, welcome quiet that permeates after all of the kids have left and gone home, likely recounting the events of the night with their friends or family. You and Eddie, on the other hand, are working to tidy the place; you're climbing onto chairs and tables to swipe paper streamers and tinsel ribbons from where they’re taped to the ceiling and pillars, and Eddie sweeps up fallen snacks and any glitter that has trailed along the floor. You hum David Bowie to yourself as you crumple the paper and the plastic into your hands and toss it into the bin. 

You do the best you can with only two pairs of hands and figure what you’ve accomplished is substantial for the night as you walk towards the bleachers, plopping yourself onto one of the benches and leaning back against the one behind you to rest your head in your folded arms. Eddie trudges towards where you sit, after tossing the broom into the corner, and slumps into the space next to you, propping his elbows along the same bench you rest your head on.

He slants his head to look down at your weary body and lets a tender smile pull at his lips and dimple his cheeks.

“You have a fun time, kid?” he appeals, luring you out of your burrow.

You nod into your arms and hum, turning your head so your face is revealed to him as you peel your eyes open and offer him a sleepy smile. You reach a groggy hand out and place it over his.

“Thank you for dancing with me.” It comes out hushed and a little raspy.

He takes a better hold of your hand, flipping his and wrapping his fingers around yours to rub his thumb over your knuckles and the soft joints of your fingers, the skin radiating a healthy warmth.

“It was my pleasure,” he smiles, before teasing, “Gave me a hell of a workout.” 

You giggle at his joke before righting yourself and stretching your arms out in front of you like a cat, releasing his hand as you do it and scrunching your face as the tension releases from your body. When you finish, you stand, taking his hand back in your hold and encouraging him up with a ginger tug.

“C’mon, time to clock out.”

He complies and stands with some effort, creaky joints groaning as he places his free hand on his knee and lifts himself. As you walk to the double doors and click off the remaining lights you don't feel the need to let go of his hand, even if it makes locking up the gymnasium a little bit harder.

Taglist:

@guessthestrangers

@dadsbongos

@lunatictardis

[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 6: The Blood You Bleed Is The Blood You Owe

Chapter Six.

Woken up like an animal, I'm all ready for the healing, My mind's lost with nightmares streaming, Woken up, kicking, screaming, Oh, take me out of this place I'm in, Oh, break me out of this shell-like case I'm in, Underneath this skin, there's a human, Buried deep within there's a human, And despite everything I'm still human, But I think I'm dying here

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 5,864

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of violence, cursing, mention of breaking the law but nothing too serious, blood/mentions of injuries.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

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Chapter Six: The Blood You Bleed Is The Blood You Owe

You sat on one of the small armchairs in the Byers’ living room, leg bouncing and only half listening as Mike explained the concept of the acrobat and the flea — the same one you and Mr. Clarke had described during Will’s Wake — to the rest of the group.

Hopper’s eyes were darting between yourself and the small girl sitting in front of the coffee table, her shoulders hunched slightly, as if she were ready to flee at the first sign of danger. On the other hand, you were much more interested in biting the skin around your nail, knowing that you’d regret your decision in the morning when the area would boast a sore hangnail.

The Upside Down, Eleven had called it. Here, but not really here. And if you guys were the acrobat, that meant the monster — and somehow — Will was the flea. It meant Barb was the flea.

The good news was that Eleven was certain she could speak to Will and Barb, despite them being trapped in the Upside Down.

Everyone stood around the kitchen table, watching as Eleven tried her hardest to connect with the place, but despite the flickering lights above you, Eleven’s voice cracked as she explained that she couldn’t find them.

Once the girl had excused herself to the bathroom with tears lining her eyes, the boys explained what they knew about Eleven’s powers.

“Whenever she uses her powers, she gets weak.”

“The more energy she uses, the more tired she gets.”

“Like, she flipped the van earlier-”

“-It was awesome.”

“But she’s drained-”

“-Like a bad battery.”

“Well, how…How do we make her better?”

Mike shrugged, his eyes darting toward you as if you could be of any help at all, “We don’t. We just have to wait and try again.”

“Well, how long?”

Eleven appeared from the bathroom silently, only alerting you all to her presence when she finally spoke. She explained that she entered the Upside Down before, but she’d always been in water of some sort.

“A sensory deprivation tank?” You asked her, watching as she struggled to find the right words to explain whatever shit the guys at the lab had made her do.

Nodding, Eleven’s eyes turned, watching you carefully, “Yes. Like a bath.”

“How the hell do we get one of those?” Jonathan asked, pacing behind his mother who was currently brushing her hands through her unwashed hair.

“We don’t. We make one.”

Dustin had gotten off the phone with Mr. Clarke after only a few minutes, guilt-tripping the teacher into explaining how to build a homemade sensory deprivation tank at 10p.m. on a Saturday evening. You had to give it to the kid, he could bullshit his way in, and out, of most things.

“Do you still have that kiddie pool we bobbed for apples in?”

Joyce turned towards Jonathan, shrugging slightly, “I think so. Yeah.”

“Good. Then we just need salt. Lots of it.”

“How much is lots?”

Peering over Dustin’s shoulder, you watched as the boy slowly tried to calculate the solution. Placing a hand on his shoulder, casting the boy’s direction toward you, you sighed, “Average kiddie pool? About 1,500 pounds.”

“Well, where are we gonna get that much salt?” Nancy questioned, already feeling exhausted with the back and forth, the ‘can you, can’t you’ of the situation.

“The school,” you turned your attention towards Hopper, the man’s eyes already boring into you from across the table, “I mean, they have it for snow days, right? They grit the roads every December.”

Sending you a small smile, Hopper nodded, “Let's go. Boys, you and Joyce grab the pool and we’ll meet you at the middle school.”

You sat in the classroom feeling a little more than useless as the others prepared the pool in the gymnasium. Joyce was wrapping up a pair of science goggles with duct tape as you watched the girl nervously look around and you’d guessed she’d never been in a classroom before.

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” When she turned, silently questioning you with her large brown eyes, you clarified, “You don’t have to go back there. I know it probably feels like you have to, but we’re not those bad men and you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Placing her small hand over yours, she sent you a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Nancy and I… We found our way there. Only once, but… that was more than enough. It’s okay to be scared, and it’s okay to not do this. We can always try and find another way.”

“You’ve been there? To the Upside Down?” The girl’s eyebrows pulled together as her hand clasped around yours instead.

Shrugging, you tried your best to not shake off her grip and instead allowed her to cradle your sweaty palm, “On accident. We… There was a tree, and we crawled into… You know what? It’s not important. I just wanted you to know that you have a choice in this, and nobody is gonna be angry if-”

“I can do this,” her voice was quiet but sturdy. Unwavering. “I want to do this.”

“This will keep it dark for you,” Joyce handed Eleven the goggles, unknowingly interrupting your conversation, “just like in your bathtub.”

Clearing your throat, you pushed yourself up from the too-small seat, feeling mildly uncomfortable, as if the young girl had looked right into your soul, “I’m gonna go see how everyone's getting on. I’ll meet you down there.”

Joyce’s dark, doe-like eyes followed you as you left the room, lips puckered as she watched with the concern of a mother. Something was off about you tonight, and it seemed so much more than everything that had happened this past week. She had seen the concerned looks Hopper had sent your way, the way the boys had spoken as they exited Hopper’s cruiser earlier, your name whispered on their tongue, and the fact you’d avoided eye contact with almost everyone since joining them in Joyce’s house. She’d also noticed the blood splatter on your sleeve, but declined to ask you about it so far, her thoughts circling back to her son instead.

Heading through the cafeteria, you grabbed a carton of eggs from the large fridge, handing them over to Dustin as you joined them in the gymnasium.

“Oh, I’m not hungry-”

“It’s to see if the water is salty enough, dumbass,” Lucas rolled his eyes as Dustin’s cheeks flushed.

“The salt increases the density of the water. So if the egg sinks, add more salt. Eleven needs to float.”

You were all silent as the girl blindly stepped into the pool with the help of Joyce and Hopper and as she laid down, you couldn’t help but watch as her — or rather, Nancy’s — peach-colored dress spread out around her, the fabric softly moving in the barely there ripples.

Almost immediately, the lights above flashed, flickering before going out completely. You watched with bated breath as Eleven slowed her breathing, her body relaxing as if she were no longer in the room. And, you guessed, she wasn’t.

The silence was deafening as you heard the girl mumble a name. Your eyes connected with Nancy’s across the pool and you willed yourself to not cry. She had found Barb.

The lights fluttered once more, and you could hear Eleven inhale deeply, as if whatever had seen her had shocked her. Or rather… scared her. Nancy tried to speak to the girl, but Eleven’s soft, wobbling voice told you everything you needed to know.

Gone.

As Eleven began to shout, the words echoing around the empty gymnasium, Joyce and Hopper grabbed her hands, the former’s reassuring coos settling the girl.

“Castle Byers…”

Eleven had done it. She had found Will, and he was alive even if just barely.

Somehow, the boy had found his old hideout in the Upside Down and managed to stay safe and if it wasn’t for the sound of his weakened voice on the radio, you might not have believed it.

After Joyce had cradled a weeping Eleven, she was eventually helped out of the pool and wrapped in a towel, the boys all crowding her on the bleachers like a band of protective brothers as she laid her head on Mike’s shoulder, exhausted.

Following Hopper outside, your words were wobbling at best, “Hop, you can’t go on your own.”

“You’re sure as shit not coming with me. Get back inside and stay with the others.”

“You don’t know what that place is like-”

“And you do?” He questioned, his tone leaving no space for niceties, and it was only once he saw your chin wobble that he realized what he’d said. His voice grew softer but remained desperate, “Listen, we can talk about all of this when I get back. But right now, I need to find Will.”

Less than a second later, Joyce and Jonathan burst through the door, the former already wearing her jacket. Squeezing his eyes closed, Hopper swore under his breath,

“He’s my son, Hop. My son. I’m going.”

You stood side by side with Jonathan, watching as the tires on Hopper’s truck screeched out of the parking lot, Joyce in the passenger seat. A cold, solid weight settled on your chest, threatening to cut your breathing off completely. You were almost certain you wouldn’t see either of them again.

“They’re going to get themselves killed,” you grumbled as you followed the eldest Byers sibling back through the door, “They’re going to walk into those woods with no idea of what’s out there. Not really.”

“They’re walking in there like bait,” a small voice said from the other side of the hallway, drawing your attention to her. Nancy sat with her knees tucked under her chin, back against the large mural dedicated to the Hawkins Tigers, and looking just as exasperated as the rest of you. “That thing is still in there, and we can’t just sit here and let it get them, too. We can’t.”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” you mumbled, brows knitting together as your eyes roamed over the painting of the tiger.

Nancy’s deep blue eyes watched you as you began to pace, the clogs in your brain working hard enough that she was almost certain smoke would soon steam out of your ears, “What do you mean?”

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you eyed them — sat side by side — from the other side of the wall, “It’s dangerous and stupid, and I mean… Shit, it might not even work-”

Your name fell from Jonathan’s mouth, a desperate plea to stop second-guessing yourself and just tell him. To finally speak the words that were clawing their way up your throat, but Nancy remained silent, almost ready to agree to whatever dumbass plan you’d conjured up if it meant helping Joyce and Hopper and saving Will too.

This monster had taken Barb and for that, you both wanted revenge.

“Instead of going back out there, we lure it elsewhere. Somewhere far enough away from the woods that Hopper and Joyce have a shot at finding Will. We are the bait.”

Nodding, Nancy looked towards Jonathan, fully prepared to do this with, or without his help, “I wanna finish what we started. I want to kill it.”

Jonathan's dark stare flickered between you and Nancy, his usually stoic face now lined with certitude, “We’ve gotta go back to the station.”

“And what happens if you get caught? Hopper’s not exactly here to get you out of trouble.”

“I won’t get caught. Listen, it’ll be easy, alright? I’ll get the keys to Hopper’s office and you’ll get the supplies. We’ll be in and out in minutes.”

“What if you can’t get the keys?”

Rolling your eyes, you were already half out of Jonathan’s car, “There’s a reason they all know me by first name here. I’ll get them. Now, c’mon. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Despite sharing an unsure glance, the two followed, allowing you to enter the station first to distract the on-duty officer.

“Hey there, Paul.”

The man jumped, feet leaving the desk they were resting on as he sat up straight and spun around in his chair, and you had to try your best to stifle a laugh. Once it was apparent you weren’t the Chief coming in to do a nighttime check or worse, Flo coming in to berate him for not filing his paperwork correctly — he really didn’t care much for Robert’s tall tale about a small girl robbing the Best Buy, and all for Eggo waffles, none the less — his forehead creased, annoyed simply by your presence.

“Hop isn’t working tonight. If you-”

“I’m not here to see Hop,” you sighed, returning his glare, “I came by to give a witness statement”

Paul watched you for a moment, skepticism clear in his eyes before he seemingly caught on, “The Byers kid fight? Heard he caught Callahan pretty good. I’m surprised though, he doesn’t look like a fighter.”

Sending him a sarcastic grin, you made your way toward the desk, looking down at his radio, “Hey, I love this… channel.”

Cranking up the volume — only mildly put off that it was in fact playing a talk show rather than any actual music — the voices booming through the small speaker was enough to cause the officer to jolt in surprise, scrambling for the radio on one side of the desk as you grabbed the small key ring from the other side. Looking up, you saw Jonathan’s face as he hid around the corner and sent him a minute nod of the head before returning your attention to the man’s desk.

“Hey, what game are you playing?”

“Leave that alone!” Ditching the radio once the volume was returned to normal, he scrambled for his cards that you spread onto the desk, collecting them up quickly as you discreetly threw the keys through the small gap where Flo usually sat.

Once Jonathan and Nancy had silently crept past, you grabbed the discarded cigarette that the officer had ditched in an attempt to gather his cards — pocketing the man’s lighter — and inhaled deeply as he glared at you.

“Well, Paul. It’s been real. See you later.”

Bamboozled, the man watched as you trotted toward the exit, “Wait, I thought you were here to give a statement-”

Stopping to peer back through the same gap you’d thrown the keys through, you shrugged, “Yeah, I’ll come back tomorrow. I don’t wanna be a bother.”

Once outside, you peered through the window by the man’s desk, waiting for any sign of the others as you continued to puff on the stolen cigarette. A shock of brown hair caught your attention, and you quickly banged on the window, uncaring as to whether you would send the man into a second possible cardiac arrest of the evening.

“Goodnight, Paul. Don’t work too hard.”

The man returned your wave, albeit slower and much more dubiously, his actions slow as he watched you warily. But it had given enough of a distraction that Jonathan and Nancy were able to sneak out, a box of contraband in one set of arms, a fire extinguisher in another.

Nobody spoke until you were all in Jonathan’s Ford and far enough away from the police station to deem yourselves safe.

“How the hell did you know that would work?” Nancy questioned, turning in her seat to watch you with wide eyed.

“She got arrested a few years ago. Caught shoplifting at the 7/11 off Cornwallis.” Jonathan smirked, his dark eyes finding your glare in the rear-view mirror.

Scoffing, you folded your arms over your chest and turned your attention to the window, watching as the outside whizzed by, “I wasn’t arrested, I was escorted off the premises. And I wasn’t even shoplifting. That time, at least.”

Nancy’s mouth opened, gaping like a fish. Sure, she’d heard rumors… But Barb was always the first person to dispel them, waving off the gossip as if it was nothing more than fodder.

You’d been thirteen at the time — not much older than the kids that were currently situated at the middle school — and if you didn’t find something for dinner, then you wouldn’t be eating. And after already missing breakfast that morning, your stomach had been berating you all day.

But you weren’t lying. Technically, you hadn’t been stealing. At that exact moment, anyway.

Jonathan pulled into the driveway, killing the engine and hopping out of the vehicle. Time was of the essence, and if you wanted to keep Joyce and Hopper alive, you needed to set everything up quickly.

Placing a gas canister next to the box Jonathan had brought in, the three of you shared a look. You were really doing this. You were really going to try and lure that monster back out of the woods, or the wall, or wherever it was hiding now.

Nancy and Jonathan got started on screwing the bulbs back into the Christmas lights — the only real indicator you had that the monster was near — as you began to sort through the box.

Bear trap to one side, bullets to another, you grabbed the baseball bat that Nancy had brought and eyed it for a moment,

“Hey, Jonathan? Do you have any nails? A hammer, too?”

The boy stopped, colored light bulb in his palm as he stared at you, “For what?”

Standing, you threw the bat between your hands gently, “You ever watch that film, ‘Escape From New York?’ I have an idea…”

The gun had been loaded, the bear trap set and gasoline poured along the carpet, and you had finished hammering the nails into the baseball bat ala Snake Plissken style.

“Have you got the lighter?” Jonathan questioned, looking around the room at the mess you’d all made. God, was his mom gonna be pissed. The carpet was going to smell of gasoline for months. And that was if it didn’t set the whole house on fire.

Patting your pockets, you glared as you came up empty-handed, “It probably fell out in the car. I’ll be right back.”

Jonathan tossed you his keys before you slipped away. Despite being more than aware of Nancy’s relationship with Steve — even if that may, or may not be over right now — you couldn’t help but feel the palpable tension between Jonathan and the girl. And whilst you really didn’t care either way, you didn’t appreciate feeling like a third wheel between two people that you knew longer individually.

Leaning against the side of the car, you let out a long, wearied sigh. This week, hell, this day had felt like it had gone on forever. Only this morning you were curled up in your bed, trying to pretend that monsters weren’t real, and now here you were, preparing to fight one. Preparing to risk your life in an attempt to save Will’s, Hopper’s, and Joyce’s. Shrugging your jacket off and leaving it on the floor by your feet, you inexplicably felt too hot all of a sudden, uncaring of the chilly autumn air that blew through the surrounding trees and left a path of goosebumps along your exposed skin.

Running your hands over your face in an attempt to stop them from shaking, your peaceful few moments alone were interrupted by the sound of an engine way too smooth to belong to anyone you knew.

The car’s headlights blinded you momentarily, and even once the engine was killed you could only see brightly colored spots whenever you blinked.

Peering into the darkness once your vision had returned to normal, you couldn’t believe your eyes. “God, what the hell are you doing here, Harrington?”

The boy slammed his door shut, unfazed by the way the sound echoed into the darkness, or the way you flinched, eyes darting away from him and toward the treeline,

“Me? What am I… It doesn’t matter what I’m doing here. What are you doing here? Where’s Jonathan?”

Poking his chest with your finger, you glared up at him, “I swear to God, if you’re here for round two, I might just help him kick your ass this time.”

The boy held his hands up — a silent white flag — as he shook his head, ignoring your pressing finger, “I’m not, I swear. I just… Look, I really need to see Byers. You were right, I-”

“-Then come back in the morning. He’s busy.”

“With what?” His words came out a little too desperate as he watched you rip open Jonathan’s car door, hunting for the lighter.

Once you had fished it out from between the car seats, you quietly closed the door and began to make your way up the gravel drive, a sharp glare sent Steve’s way as he began to follow you,

“Listen, Harrington. He doesn’t want to see you. Not right now, at least. The best thing you can do is to go home.”

“But-”

“Go home, Steve,” you huffed, quickly ducking back inside the house and leaving the perplexed boy to contemplate your lame excuse.

Shutting the door behind you and sharing a look with Jonathan who had let you back in, you turned your attention toward Nancy, “We have a problem. Your boyfriends here.”

“What? No, he can’t be here right now.”

Handing the lighter to Jonathan, you moved further into the room, inspecting the damage, “Yeah, well… Hopefully he’s got enough sense to-”

A flurry of knocks interrupted your words, and you found yourself almost choking on the annoyance that was Steve Harrington. Considering you’d managed to spend the majority of your school career avoiding the guy and his meathead friends, this week had really made up for it. You’d do almost anything to go back a few weeks and avoid this whole situation altogether.

As Nancy made her way towards the door — something you weren’t sure was the best idea considering Jonathan and Steve’s earlier fight — you noticed the white bandage that was wrapped around Jonathan’s hand, the boy toying with a loose strand of the fabric.

Silently, you took his hand into yours, eyebrows pinched together. He shrugged, only half paying attention, almost too mindful of Steve’s pleas from the door, “Bait, remember?”

Steve had pushed his way past Nancy, stopping to look around the room. His eyes were wide, confusion evident on his face as his eyes darted between you and Jonathan, and the accumulation of weapons spread across the small coffee table.

“What is…What the…”

“You need to get out of here,” Jonathan pushed the boy backward, “Listen to me. I’m not asking.”

But Steve had begun his descent down the rabbit hole, his tunnel vision stopping him from listening to what the boy was saying, “What is that smell? Is that… Is that gasoline?”

“Steve, get out!” The click of Nancy’s revolver was enough to separate the boys, Jonathan backing up and almost knocking you over as you stared at the girl wide-eyed, much her like boyfriend currently was.

“Wait. What? What is going on?” He shouted, eyes darting between the three of you.

“You have five seconds to get out of here.”

“Nance-” you tried to intervene, eyes stuck on the gun in her grip. You might not have believed that Nancy would hurt Steve, at least, not until the whole cinema graffiti debacle.

“Okay, is this a joke? Stop. Put the gun down,” Steve’s hands were held out in front of him once more as his brain began to re-circuit. Nancy Wheeler, of all people, was holding a gun up to him. It was almost a shame he didn’t see that she was doing this for his safety, and instead, he panicked.

The lights above you flickered, and you finally managed to peel your eyes away from the weapon, despite the girl now counting down and Steve’s incessant begging, “Nancy…”

“Nancy, the lights!” Jonathan shouted, finally causing the girl to lower her gun as she spun on the spot, looking above at the flickering lights.

“It’s here.”

“Wait, what's here?” Steve blabbered, his mouth moving faster than his brain ever could as he tried to work out what the hell he’d walked into.

Jonathan picked up the bat as you all looked around, Steve continuing to ask questions that nobody could quite answer.

Jonathan and Nancy circled around each other, backs pressed together and eyes wide as you froze to the spot. Eyes drawing upward, you spotted the first crack in the ceiling, “Guys… Up there-”

Nancy began unloading the bullets into the hole, the same slimy substance that had coated you both after you’d crawled into the tree was now spreading along the ceiling of the Byers’ home, totally unaffected by the girl's shots.

Grabbing the girl around the waist, Jonathan easily maneuvered her out of the way, ushering her into the hallway as you followed her, hand gripping Joyce’s ax as the boy grabbed Steve by the hand to drag him along too.

Slamming the door to Will’s room shut, your heart felt like it was about to pound its way through your ribs by sheer force alone, and just for a second, you felt guilty for the shock you’d given Paul earlier at the Sheriff’s station.

Somehow, you could still hear Steve’s shouts over the monster’s screeching.

“Shut up!” Nancy and Jonathan’s voice blended into one, and finally, the boy paid heed to some advice as the four of you turned toward the door, listening out for any sign of the monster creeping closer.

Its footsteps were loud along the hallway, and you couldn’t help but feel like a mouse, waiting inside its hole, being lulled into a false sense of security once you couldn’t hear the cat outside anymore.

Eyes focused on the small, yellow yo-yo, you waited with bated breath for it to move. That was part of the plan, after all.

Once the yo-yo moved, you’d light that motherfucker up. Except, the yo-yo didn’t move and instead, you were left with silence as the lights flickered once more before coming back on.

“Did you hear anything?” Nancy asked, lowering her gun slightly.

Flicking the lighter closed, Jonathan made his way closer to the door, “No…”

“It isn’t gone,” you whispered, eyes focused on the closed door in front of you, silently pleading for it to remain closed.

Jonathan turned to watch you carefully, his hand over the door handle, “The lights-”

“It’s not gone. It’s just…”

“Just what?” Nancy questioned, her gun finally pointing toward the floor.

Shaking your head, your eyes darted between the two, completely ignoring the way Steve worried his hands through his hair, “I don’t know, okay! It’s a predator, right? Nancy, in those woods, it wasn’t just trying to track us. It knew where we were… Where I was, the whole time. It’s not looking for us… It’s playing with its food.”

You all crept toward the living room, hands wrapped so tightly around your weapon that you felt the stretched skin across your knuckles ache, your sweaty palm holding onto the ax for dear life as you searched around the room.

Hearing the boy muttering to himself, you turned your attention toward Steve as the boy really lost it, rushing toward the landline, “This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy!”

Nancy ripped the Byers’ phone from Steve’s grip, throwing it to the floor as Steve swiveled toward her, chest heaving, “What are you do- What are you doing? Are you insane!”

“It’s going to come back, so you need to leave. Right now.”

As if the weight of the evening had finally hit him, Steve made his exit swiftly. Barely paying attention to the slamming of the door, you gripped the ax tighter and continued to look around, body straightening as the lights began to flicker, disorientating you before eventually turning off completely.

It was back.

A loud growl caused you to spin on the spot, the large creature stood tall behind Jonathan, yours and Nancy’s joint shouts of his name not quite preparing him for being knocked to the floor, the bat rolling out of his hand and away from you all as he tried his best to keep the creature's claws away from his sternum, the drool dripping over his face as he gasped for air.

Steve dashed toward his car, tripping over the gravel and fallen leaves and eventually dropping his car keys like some bad horror movie cliche. Unlocking his door, he turned to see the lights flash, the flickering Christmas lights felt much less cheerful than before.

His eyes fell to the floor as he leaned against his open door, looking for what had tripped him. And there, strewn across the driveway and half dragged by his own foot, was your abandoned jacket, a splatter of blood on the sleeve that he hadn’t noticed before.

He heard the gun go off, again and again, and Nancy’s voice sounded so distant as if his head was being held underwater and despite being close in vicinity, he was unable to understand her, the blood in his ears crashing in waves too loudly to distinguish any actual words.

And then he heard it. A bloodcurdling, gut-wrenching scream.

And he was off.

“Jonathan!” You yelled, panting as you watched Nancy unload bullet after bullet into the monster, finally casting its attention away from the downed boy and toward her.

Your body felt too heavy as if your bones had been replaced with steel rods, your feet dipped in cement, gluing you to the spot.

It felt like an out-of-body experience. Like you were witnessing everything that was happening, but you weren’t really in the room. Mouth agape and eyes like saucers, you watched as the bullets barely slowed the thing down.

It wasn’t until you heard the dejected, empty click of the gun’s barrel that you were finally able to unstick yourself. Your body moved before your brain had realized, arms pulling back as you swung with all of your might, the ax colliding with the monster's back and lodging into it, tearing the skin as its blood oozed, a loud, horrific screech falling from the mouth of the monster as it turned, swiping you away as if you were nothing more than a fly, buzzing around him on a warm summer’s eve.

A sharp scream pierced your ears, the sound physically hurting you and it took a moment to realize that the scream had fallen from your lips. Colliding with the wall on the other side of the room, the wind knocked out of you was the least of your problems.

The monster hovered over you, and despite not having eyes, it felt like it could see right into your own. Lifting a large, clawed arm, the monster released a horrendous roar, only to be stopped mid-swing as a bat swung into the back of its head, knocking it off balance as it collapsed to the floor, briefly stunned.

The flashing lights mixed with the pounding of your head, leaving you to barely keep up with the scene in front of you.

The nailed bat swung again and again, the sickening sound etched in your memory as it connected with skin. It twisted in the boy’s hand before he released another strong swing that knocked it backward and into the bear trap.

You wondered if Steve had ever been on the school’s baseball team.

Nancy pulled you up and into the safety of the hallway, alerting Jonathan to throw the lighter down, watching as the monster went up in a blaze of glory. Once the fire was out, Nancy assisted you back toward the living room, watching as the lights flickered, following it outside.

“Where’s it going?” Nancy asked, brows pulled together as she left you leaning on the door frame.

Jonathan’s words barely registered in your mind as you hunched over, the pain wracking your body. A clammy hand gripped the door frame as you tried to suck in a deep breath, seemingly coming up short every time, the pain that was encompassing you, forcing it right back out in small gasps.

You felt woozy, as if your body was filled with jello instead of actual muscle and bones and it felt consistently harder to keep your eyes from fluttering shut.

“Holy shit, is she okay?”

Glancing toward you, Nancy did a double take as she saw you wobble, one arm held tight against your abdomen, and it was then that she saw it.

“We need to get her to a hospital-”

Nancy’s words died on the tip of her tongue as she lunged forward in an attempt to stop your body from hitting the hard wooden porch as your legs gave out. Jonathan quickly assisted, taking you from her and lowering you slowly, letting you rest against the wall, “Hey, listen, I just… I need to see it. I need to see how bad it is.”

Tears fell from your eyes as Jonathan sucked in a sharp breath, his dark eyes tinged red as he tried to force back his own tears. The blood had stained your bare forearm, cascading down, the beginnings of a puddle gathering on the floor, the waistband of your jeans soaked a few shades darker, and your top left with three large gashes that had cut into your abdomen.

You tried to tell him that it wasn’t a big deal, that despite your crying, there was absolutely no need for him to be. He wasn’t the one led in a pool of their own blood, favorite jeans ruined and only fit for the trash. But as the adrenaline depleted from your veins, you could barely utter a word, a pained gasp released in their place. The voices around you felt too far away like you were slowly slipping from Jonathan’s grasp, your body still there, but your mind… your soul no longer fully present.

The pain had slowly ebbed away, and despite the strong hand now holding down what seemed to be a couch cushion to your abdomen, you felt only numbness. You just felt so tired, as if the week-long sleep deprivation was finally catching up on you, nipping at your heels and threatening to pull you under, to drown you in it.

You were cold… so cold, and it took you a moment to remember your forsaken jacket left outside on the driveway, the blood from the agent hunting Eleven earlier in the day still splattered across the sleeve. Was this how he felt as he laid in a pool of his own blood, head caved in from the metal pole that you’d held in a death grip? Did he know he was dying, or was he just… gone?

Did she feel this way?

Maybe that’s the way life went. Karma was supposed to be a bitch, right? Or maybe, this was just how it worked.

You violently take a life, then you violently give a life.

[sneepity-snoop-snorpity-sneep]

finally watched the finale of Rebels

GUYS THEY KILLED KANAN ARE YOU KIDDING ME I KNEW THAT SOMEBODY WAS GONNA DIE BUT I WAS NOT EXPECTING KANAN TO BE THE FIRST TO GO.

and then Hera added him to her kalikori- cue tears

Pryce needs to die

Rukh needs to go

I like how much of an art nerd Thrawn is, but he also gotta go

magic wolves 

THATS A BIG WOLF 

oh shit the empires got some old dude escavating the temple

holy FUCK the temple has a magic time portal HOW

old dude is starting to remind me of some of my art history professors-i’d actually like this guy if he wasn’t working for the empire.

HOLY FUCK AHSOKA!!!!! SHE LIVES!!!! HALLELUJAH MAGIC TIME PORTALS!!!!

are you kidding me you’re making me watch kanan’s death twice (poor Ezra)

palpatine get your grimy little paws away from my children

oh YES they’re bringing in all the guys! Ketsu’s here, Hondo’s here, the clone’s are here EVERYBODY’S HERE IT’S A REBEL PARTY empire SO going down

zeb and kallus are in the same room omg 

but please don’t die we already lost one half of an OTP (kanera )my poor heart can’t take another hit

ryder’s a traitor???

oh nvm it was a ruse

idc how well-trained or badass of a soldier you are- you can’t take giant, horse-sized magic wolves. suffer, Pryce.

*thrawn bombs the city* and this is why I don’t like this guy

Ezra nooooooo

they’re calling a what and not a who?? what’s the what??

Gregor nooooooooooo!!!

rukh needs to go 

‘ATTABOY ZEB YOU GET THAT SONUVABITCH (woah, electrocution, harsh)

*squints at palpatine* you look in suspiciously good health

oh you absolute evil fuck Ezra don’t listen to him

D O N T L I S T E N I T S A L I E

phew he didn’t do the thing (poor Ezra...again)

*palpatine goes back to looking creepy* I fucking knew it

aw yiss shields up bitch

PURRGILS. PURRGILS ARE THE WHAT. ALMIGHTY SPACE WHALES I SALUTE THEE

yessss get thrawn outta here

WAIT EZRA NOOOOOOOO ASJGILSJFLSS

Ezra’s message

 *ugly crying*

V I C T O R Y

KANERA BABY (where are his lekku???)

AHSOKA (that woman is officially the Gandalf of Star Wars)

BEAUTIFUL FAMILY MURAL

EZRA LIVES???

KALLUZEB CONFIRMED

*ugly crying with background pterodactyl screeching*

[kell-be-belle]

A Moment of Your Time

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo​

Prompt: Vanilla/Missionary

Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: Mature 

Content Warnings: None

Summary:  While traveling on the Path, certain needs tend to fall to the wayside. When Jaskier and Geralt finally work up the courage to ask for some alone time, things don't go exactly as one would expect, but needs are met all the same.

Ao3

The fact that Ciri was looking up at them with those wide, innocuous eyes was what really made Geralt feel as though he were trapped in some kind of waking a nightmare. He had attempted to dissuade Jaskier; assure him that this was wholly necessary and that the two of them could contain themselves until they arrived at Kaer Morhen. Initially, they had agreed upon the matter, but with their destination still off by weeks of hard travel, the resolve wore thinner with each passing day. No, Jaskier had insisted, this was something that had to be done. With the distraction of their situation effectively satiated, they would be better equipped to see themselves safely home for the winter. It was a logic that was difficult to argue with and Geralt was hard pressed to agree, but that did not make the situation any less… mortifying.     

“Ciri,” Jaskier began, clearing his throat into the curved shape of his fist. “Geralt and I have been doing some talking and there is, uh… there is something that the two of us must, uh… m-must do. Well, I suppose we don't well and truly have to, I mean we are capable of self restraint, b-but it would honestly be a great relief to us both.” 

Geralt could not believe this was happening. He could not believe that he was allowing himself to sit complacently by and watch it all unfold. Blushing was not something Geralt was physically capable of doing, but if it were he was sure his face would be as alarmingly red as the wild beet stew they had eaten for dinner last night. Ciri looked up at them with those doe-like eyes, her head quizzically tilted to one side. The very picture of innocence.  

Sweet Melitile, they were really doing it. 

Jaskier continued, his hands fluttering restlessly about him like a pair of escaped birds, “You see, Ciri, when, uh… when adults are in love they need, err- oh, how do I…. Adults who are in love need time. Alone. Yes, time alone. To reaffirm to each other that they love each other. And while Geralt and I love each other most ardently, it has been, um… well, quite some time since we’ve reminded each other in this particular fashion. Three weeks and two days, but who’s counting.” The bark of his laughter bordered on hysterical.  

If the Earth could have opened wide and swallowed him whole, Geralt desperately wished it would at that moment. He was not opposed to spontaneous combustion, either. Honestly, anything so that he didn’t have to witness the way Ciri furrowed her pale brows. Watch the way her gaze flickered between the pair of them. 

“Are… are you guys asking me to give you alone time so you can… have sex?”

Geralt immediately answered with a harsh ‘no’ promptly at the same moment that Jaskier answered with a resigned ‘yes’. Geralt whirled on Jaskier, astounded that he would admit such a thing to a young girl so freely. 

“What?” He snapped upon seeing Geralt’s scandalized expression. “She clearly knows what she’s talking about and I am not going to disrespect her by pretending she doesn’t…. So, in answer to your question Ciri, yes. Geralt and I are asking to have some alone time so that we may have sex.” 

Geralt had wished for his spontaneous demise before, but he now called upon every demon, deity, and flea-bitten magic goat to make it so.  

For several moments, Ciri looked silently between them, the corners of her mouth drawn back in a display of disgust. Just when Geralt thought the shame would eat him alive, she grumbled, “Gross.” and planted her palms into the dirt beneath her, pushing herself to her feet. “You two are almost as bad as Grandmother and Eist.” 

Geralt and Jaskier watched aimlessly as she bustled about their little camp and began to gather provisions. She loaded her satchel with half a loaf of bread and some hard cheese. She then proceeded to rummage through Geralt’s pack and procure his battered copy of the bestiary as well as some parchment and a quill from Jaskier’s bag. Geralt could hear Jaskier swallow thickly as he noticed it was his most favorite quill clutched in her little fist, but he dared not to say a word.    

After she had finished her raid, Ciri whirled back on the two of them with a look of resigned determination, “I am going to be down by the stream. I will be back in exactly one hour. If I come back and find any,” She swallowed as if resisting the urge to gag. “Evidence then I swear I will leave you both here.” She hefted the satchel over her shoulder and turned in the direction of the aforementioned stream. “And no noise! I want to hear nothing more than the rustle of leaves and birdsong!” 

Bewildered by the smoothness at which their request was granted, Geralt and Jaskier stared aimlessly at the empty space Ciri had occupied for several moments. Jaskier at last broke the silence with a breathless affirmation, “That worked.” He huffed a little laugh and pushed a hand through his hair, “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

Geralt is still so dumbfounded by the success of the exchange that he is caught off guard as the front of his tunic is snatched in the remarkably strong grasp of Jaskier’s slender hands. Geralt is entirely pliant, swept helplessly away in the current of Jaskier’s movements. One moment he is being shoved bodily towards the patch of flattened earth where their bedrolls lay in their customary fashion of side by side. The next, he is blinking up in the pale patches of sky that peek between the thinning canopy of the trees surrounding them. His hips are pinned into the straw of the mattress by the bracket of Jaskier’s muscular thighs.    

Jaskier brings their mouths together in a fervent clash, all clacking teeth and pressing tongues. It knocks the breath from Geralt and leaves him gasping into Jaskier’s mouth. There are stars bursting in the darkness behind his eyelids by the time Jaskier releases him. 

“Melitele’s sweet, merciful tits,” Jaskier groans as he withdraws, swiping a tongue along the freshly swollen curve of his bottom lip. “I needed this so badly.” He rolls his hips gingerly against Geralt’s and he can already feel the hard curve of his cock pressing against the inner seam of his trousers. The roguish grin that splits across his mouth is positively devastating. “See how much I’ve been in want of you, darling? You’ve got me half hard already just on the sweet taste of your mouth.” His lithe musician’s fingers are already engaged in a heated battle with the fastenings of Geralt’s tunic. “How long has it been, my love? Weeks, months, centuries?” 

Geralt hisses as his flushed skin is exposed to the chilled forest air, “As I recall, it’s been three weeks and two days.”  

Jaskier leans over him and nips vindictively in the hollow beneath Geralt’s ear knowing full well that it would drive him mad with wanting. “Now, now don’t be a smartass. Three weeks, three months, three years, my point is it has been far too long. I’ve nearly forgotten what it feels like to get railed by your massive dick and I am in desperate need of a thorough reminder.” 

Geralt chuckles, “There is still a lot of walking left to do. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Jaskier growled and nipped again at the sensitive spot. Their lack of contact in recent weeks had left Geralt feeling raw and overly sensitive like an exposed nerve. A keen swelled in the back of his throat and he trapped it behind the clench of his teeth. “I will be bitching the rest of the way to Kaer Morhen no matter what and I think we would both rather it be from a thorough dicking than dissatisfaction.”  

Arousal spiked inside Geralt with a dizzying ferocity; hitting him like a second glass of wine swallowed down too quickly. The edges of him feel blurred, like his thoughts and his movements have fallen out of sync. He can feel himself reacting, feel the tightening in his trousers as his cock swells. His mind is struggling to catch up, delayed by the processing of all the new stimuli. The damp smell of the earth beneath him, the weight of Jaskier atop him, the sting of the fresh bite below his ear and the hot breath panting against the shell. All of it buzzes in his skull like a hive of disturbed bees and he struggles not to be overwhelmed. 

Geralt’s heart thumps hard in his chest, teetering precariously on the line between thrilling and maddening.

Jaskier grinds his hips down in a sinuous roll. The friction created by his weight and the drag of their thick winter clothing sets Geralt alight. Heat simmers under his skin like water just on the edge of boiling. Instinctively, his body arches up into the pressure, seeking more of that delicious friction. “An hour is plenty of time.” Jaskier breathes against his jaw. Geralt can feel the impish curve of his grin. “With your stamina, you could fuck me at least twice. Three times if we’re efficient about it.”  

While the thought of fucking Jaskier senseless still registers somewhere in Geralt’s mind as something he very much wants to do, it is scattered in the throng of other things. Honestly, Geralt hadn’t expected any of this was going to work. He had been fully prepared to spend the evening as he had been, with a frustrating ache in his balls. It was not something he was unused to. Before Jaskier, he went without more often than not. Waking up with Jaskier’s morning wood prodding into his backside admittedly made things slightly more difficult, but Geralt would ultimately survive. The unexpected shift in plans partnered with Jaskier’s enthusiasm, while welcome, made him feel overwhelmed.

There was heat in stomach and coursing through his veins and the drag of his trousers on his cock, the bracket of Jaskier’s hips caging him in. The scent of the earth and the musk of arousal and Jaskier’s sweet almond oil. Heat. Scent. Birds fluttering through the trees. Heat. Jaskier. The sting of the bite in the hollow of his ear. Heat. 

Geralt was so disoriented by the maelstrom of his own thoughts that he hadn’t registered the sound of his name. Jaskier had said it three times before it reached him through the din and he blinked up at the bard with wild, blown out eyes. Jaskier looked down at him worriedly, melding the curve of his palm against Geralt’s jaw. It cupped his face flawlessly as if that were the only purpose it was ever meant to serve. “Is something the matter? You have this look on your face.” 

Maybe it was because he was used to compromising or perhaps it was because Jaskier looked so pretty with his flushed cheeks and mused hair, but Geralt clenched his jaw and shook his head. “N-no, nothing.” Which was about as wholly unconvincing as he could be. It didn’t take Jaskier’s shrewdness to know something was amiss.      

“It’s not nothing. You know better by now, dear heart. Your feelings are important to me.” The tempered scrape of Jaskier’s calloused thumb against his cheek mollified Geralt like a child soothed by a lullaby. It quieted the din of his thoughts to the point that he could hear over them once more.  

With gentle pressure Jaskier tipped Geralt’s face, prompting him to meet his gaze, “Talk to me.” 

Faced with the boundless blue of Jaskier’s eyes Geralt felt his resolve promptly melt away like the last of winter’s frost with the first ray of spring sunshine. Yes, he did know better. In all the time they had known one another, Jaskier had never once made Geralt feel as though he were invalid; that his feelings were anything other than the most precious of treasures. 

Geralt worked his jaw, swiped a tongue across his kiss swollen lips as he took a moment to form words, “Sorry, it… it was just a bit much all at once.”

Jaskier clucked his tongue. Brushed a loose strand of white hair behind Geralt’s ear. “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Geralt’s forehead and the soft huff of his breath in his hair makes Geralt’s stomach flutter as if filled with butterflies. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not feeling up to it. Despite my lamenting, I won’t actually die without sex for a couple more weeks. Or ever if that was what you wanted.” 

Geralt chuckled, “No, definitely not that.” And Jaskier chuckled, too. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Believe me, I’m just as frustrated as you, it’s just…” He trailed off and Jaskier waited with the patience of a saint. Caressing Geralt’s cheek and pressing tender, encouraging kisses into his hair. “I just… I know we don’t have much time, but I want to try and take it slow. Enjoy it. I… I’ve missed you.”  

The fondness in Jaskier’s gaze made a warmth pool in Geralt’s chest; filled him with an effervescence like a goblet brimming with honeyed mead. “And I you.” He leans down to take Geralt’s lips once more. It is just as passionate, just as wanting, but he takes his time to savor it. He sucks Geralt’s tongue, traces the edges of his teeth. The fringe of his ridiculous bangs tickle pleasantly against Geralt’s forehead like the brush of a feather.

When Jaskier pulls away once more, the light from the sun shines around him in a halo and Geralt thinks him something dazzling and otherworldly. “It is as I said, isn’t it? Sex is just another way to show the person you love just how much you love them. And I love you, Geralt. Truly,” He punctuates with a kiss to the Geralt’s forehead, “wholly,” then one to the apple of each cheek, “unconditionally.” and at last his lips. An hour wasn’t much time, but they would be sure to make the most of it.   

[all1e23]

Heart & Soul [Pt.22]

Epilogue: Stardust & Fairytales

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: It’s been two years and Bucky’s just as lovesick as ever.

Warnings: Pure fluff. Like so much fluff you will probably die from the sweetness.

A/N:  Search for heart & Soul HCs for HCs and drabbles if you want extra bits with these two. ***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!*

Bucky relaxed the moment he walked through the front door to his home, relief filled him. The smell of Chocolate, cinnamon, and cayenne saturated every inch of the home and he adored it. He dropped his keys into the glass bowl that now sat in the foyer, on a little table by the front door, and hung his new coat on the hook next to several others.

Never did get that old one back.

Y/n looked much better in it than he ever did.

The house was quiet and most of the lights were off, all but the hall light and what seemed to be the light from their bedroom upstairs. He pulled his shoulder holster off, checked the safety on his gun, and pulled his badge off his belt. His badge was dropped off next to his key as he slowly made his way towards the kitchen. He’s been thinking about those vanilla bean sugar cookies all damn day. Bucky hung his holster in the hall closet and slipped his gun into the safe at the top. After what happened with Brock, she had trouble being around guns which is why his gun safe resides in the hall closet and not their bedroom.

It was getting easier as more time passed and the memory of that day started to blur.  

Bucky set his eyes on the cookie jar and made his way around the counter to snatch one. There was always some type of cookie laying around lately, Tony said it was something Omegas did, and he would catch on eventually.  Whatever that meant. Right as he was about to grab several cookies he heard a shuffling above him.

"Alpha?" Y/n called from their bedroom, a bit of worry filling her voice.

Treats would have to wait.

It's been two years since they bonded, two amazingly blissful years, and Bucky still preened every time she said his title. He was no fool. He knew the years she spent avoiding Alphas and in the past how it only fell from her lips by force or out of fear. He was well aware of what it meant for her to willing call him hers. What it meant for her to lovingly call him Alpha and there will never come a time when he took it for granted, for the rest of his days.

And, oh. It had to be the prettiest sound he could ever hear.

"It's just me Omega," Bucky called up towards their bedroom to quell her fears, keep those dark thoughts from brewing. 

 Y/n still got scared even despite knowing Brock was dead and Pierce was behind bars for the rest of his pathetic life. Bucky had Tony develop them an alarm system and Natasha took over showing her how to defend herself. Natasha told him she could teach Y/n how to kill someone without having to enter a room or ever being seen. Bucky wasn't overly fond of that idea, but he did trust Natasha to show her how to break the arm of an Alpha twice her size.

After Nat bragged about her training abilities Bucky took Y/n back down to Lightning Round but this time she laid him out flat in under ten seconds. If he was a weaker Alpha, he would have been embarrassed. It honest to Gods had him so turned on he nearly tossed her over his shoulder and dragged her cute little ass home. 

He begged her pin him down to the bed later that night. 

Despite her training and the peace of mind that came with Brock being dead, Bucky knew it would take longer than two years to block out all those memories, to squash all of those fears. He's got time though. He's got the rest of his life to spend rewriting every bit of damage Brock did to her, replacing them with sweet memories and he had every intention of washing away every single thing that haunted her.

Bucky slowly climbed the stairs towards the master bedroom they now share. They moved out of his studio and into a new three-story brownstone, down the street from Steve and Tony right after Bucky got out of the hospital. Tony had insisted it was a bonding present and Y/n nearly fainted when she saw it. It was almost as big as theirs and had to cost more than what was an acceptable gift. Even for Tony Stark-Rogers. 

Y/n tried to argue it was too much, but Tony told her, Zip it. I like to take care of my family and you and Barnes are family.

It was a huge change from the days he would come home to a cold empty studio, eat dinner with Steve or Sam and then go to bed alone. This was nothing like that darkness. It was warm and bright and pictures line the walls in nearly every room.  She took her time picking out each and every photo and for a time he used it as an excuse to take several hundred photos together and a few hundred more of just her. There may or may not be close to ten framed photos on his desk at the station. He’s not even sorry. He won’t apologize for being desperately in love with her.

Pieces of antique furniture they picked out together are scattered throughout the three stories. It took a while to find everything she wanted, but Bucky didn’t mind at all. He liked following her around flea markets, stores, and estate sales as she tried to find the right pieces for each room. He’d give her the world if he could so a few months shopping for couches and tables was nothing.  Antique hooks in the entryway hold her bright blue scarf along with his jacket and he's never been happier to have throw pillows on his couch. It still blew him away that this was all his and he didn't just mean the house. Bucky never thought he would have her, that she would be his and shit if it doesn't make him feel lighter, happy.

The only one upset over the move was Sam. The spare bedroom often has him taking up residency and neither Y/n or Bucky mind. 

Bucky finally made it to their bedroom and smiled at the sight of his Omega sitting on the end of their new canopy bed. She really wanted something that looked like it was pulled out of a fairytale and if he was being honest, he can't tell her no when she leans in and pouts at him like that. He can’t tell her no ever but especially when she pouts. They ended up with one of those huge four-poster canopy beds and she covered it in some see-through fabric and twinkly lights. 

So, every night was a starry one, Bucky.

She was so excited by the idea he didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t need the lights.  She’s the only starry night he needs 

There his star sat, in the middle of all that lace hanging around her, perched on the edge of their bed. She was all dressed up in that little black number he loved, the one with the lacey back and shorter than normal skirt. He watched as she gracefully slipped on her heels failing to notice he had made his way up the stairs.

It's simple and domestic. He adored how normal it was.

"Hi, beautiful." He rumbled into the quiet of their room.

She looked up at him and beamed in response.  

“Hey, you.”

He caught a whiff of something sweet that wasn't her and he was immediately on alert, glancing around their bedroom for the source of the smell. "Are you cookin' somethin’ sweet, doll? We are supposed to meet Steve and Tony for dinner in less than an hour.”

Bucky strode towards the bed and grabbed her hands, gently pulling her up and into his arms. It probably should bother him how much he needed to have his hands on her, but he couldn’t help himself. He spent too many days holding back from feeling her soft skin under his hands, so he wasn't about to be frugal with his affection now.

They've got too much lost time to make up for.

"No, I'm not cooking and yes I remember. It's on the calendar in the kitchen and in our phones." 

Because yeah they were those mates. The ones with a synced calendar. Y/n giggled at the tickle of his beard against her neck as he kissed along her jaw and down her neck towards the silvery lines that marked her as his.

Forever.

In this life and the next. He was certain of that.

"We are going to be late if you don't stop. My sweet Alpha."

Buky was too busy running his nose along her scent gland and gently nipping at his mark to hear her giggles. He took a deep breath of her scent and stilled, slowly pulling back to meet her eyes. She was the source of the strange smell. Who the hell had been in his house scenting his Omega? Fear started to build in the back of his head, but he quickly pushed it away. She was there in his arms and okay, she would have told him if something was wrong.

Still… Something was off. 

"Omega, why do you smell different? Sweeter? Maybe- maybe spicy? It smells like..." He nuzzled her neck again, taking in the scent one more time, and there it was, faintly hiding within her scent. 

"Like Red Hots?”

Y/n laughed at her Alphas confusion, fondly carding her fingers through his soft locks. 

"I guess when the time comes, I'll be the one explaining the birds and the bees to our little one." He furrowed his brows and tilted his head to the side, utterly lost. At least, he looked adorable like that. He’ll get it eventually. Y/n smirked at his confusion and kissed his cheek, detangling herself from his arms, fighting his arms off as he tried to pull her back against him. 

"We better go. You know Steve hates it when we're late for our reservations." 

Bucky watched as she strolled out the room and frowned. He had no fuckin’ clue what she was going on about. They don’t have a little one and none of their friends had kids yet, though Nat and Clint were talking about adopting.

What the hell…

"Hold up a damn minute!" He shouted, chasing after her. 

"Mrs. Barnes... Our little one?!" He scooped her up in his arms before she could reach the stairs, attacking her face and neck with kisses, earning loud giggles from his wife.

She sighed happily and wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her nose along his, kissing his lips softly before confirming but Bucky all ready figured out. 

 "Yes, Alpha. Ours. Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"I've been ready since the moment we met, 'Mega. You better call Tony because we aren't going anywhere tonight."

Bucky carried her back into their bedroom and kicked the door closed behind him, Y/n threw her head back and laughed. Just wait till he found out that Tony and Steve were the first to know. It wasn’t her fault they caught her at the drug store! Bucky was right. Tony really was a nosy Omega. Bucky gently sat her down on the end of the bed and she bent down to undo her heels, but Bucky caught her hand before she could.  

“Nu-huh, babygirl.” She shivered when she saw the deep red consuming the cool blue of his eyes. 

 “Leave the heels on.”  

"Whatever you want James.” She purred softly.

Bucky grinned and pulled his shirt over his head, leaving the scaring to his shoulder completely visible. Even with the months of healing and weeks spent in the hospital he still had some trouble moving his shoulder at times and the scars from multiple surgeries to repair the damage will never go away. She knew he had a hard time accepting the way he looks now, but to her? It's absolutely beautiful. Just like the rest of him. She leaned up placing feather-light kisses on the scars on his shoulder and the ones spreading onto his chest, the ones that saved his life. It wouldn’t have changed anything if he lost his arm that day. Nothing could ever change the way she felt about him.  Y/n looked up at him and smiles brightly in only the way she can.

"I love you, Buck."

There was no holding back, no worry or fear to admit how deeply she loved him because he always returned her affection ten-fold. 

"I love you, Y/n"

Now, this. This was perfectly perfect. Their own little fairytale and nothing else could ever be sweeter.

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