#pretending to be human ✗ polaroid

[rodolfoparras]

not to be crazy but reader being crazy obsessed over dragon!price. maybe reader's a hybrid, or maybe he's just a human; but it doesn't matter, not when all he cares about is john, john, john, john. a reader who's so obsessed price, no matter what he does or say, cannot seem to get rid of you. in the peripherals of his vision he is haunted by you, whether you are actually there or not, you have infested his mind just as much as he's infested yours.

a reader who's so obsessed he'll go up against creatures much stronger and older than he is, against creatures with teeth and claws and magic that hums in their veins - but that magic and claws and teeth are all usually against a man who's sole purpose is to live for another man, for a man who you're so deeply and dearly enamored with. their size and strength and whatever mystical, non-human features are all useless against you, whose veins scream for violence and blood, who scream at you to get rid of anyone that so much as breathes your john's way.

and price isn't sure whether to be impressed or disturbed by the amount of heads that arrive packaged onto his desk, the dismembered limbs he throws out with distaste on his tongue. it boggles his mind whenever he finds out you've gotten rid of yet another hybrid, how someone like you - either a human man or a weaker hybrid of sorts - have managed to become the personification of death itself.

he's more exasperated when he somehow finds out you've been stalking him, finds the collection of polaroids of him stored away somewhere, finds a shrine just for him, than he is frightened. he's never had anyone be so obsessed with him the way you are in all his years of living, and despite himself, with every corpse or limb found, with every sickly love letter finding itself on his desk, with stolen clothes finding itself in your bedroom or laundry, with the little bloodied gifts you leave him, it has his draconic instincts purring at a potential mate.

Cw: 18+, dragon!Price, dragon! male reader obsessiveness, stalking, scent kink, masturbation, voyarism, exhibitionism, briefly Nikolai x Price, brief mention & depiction of dismemberment, yandere!reader, yandere!Price

It all started with a small act of kindness. You were getting scolded by a superior for something you’d done- had almost gotten kicked out of your squad because of that, when suddenly Price had swooped in and uttered a little white lie “he didn’t mean it, I’ll keep him in check don’t worry about it general” and got you out of trouble in a matter of seconds

Truth be told Price forgot all about you after that encounter but you couldn’t forget about him. You spent every waking moment learning about him who he was - a dragon hybrid and a captain- what he’d done- fought in wars and served everything from kings to generals - learned all about who he keeps in his inner circle - it had once been his mate now it’s mostly his squad and oh his mate -she was absolutely beautiful- a dragon hybrid just like him. They’d been together for years until she’d gotten killed.

That’s at least what you had read in one of the many journal he keeps in his room. You had snuck in one day when he left for a mission with the intentions to just look around but you had ended up with your clothes on the floor and fucking one of his pillows just because it smelled like him, - soap and cologne still embedded into the pristine white fabric, and still carrying the imprint from where his head once had been. So of course you folded the pillow right in the middle and slid your cock inside of it, losing yourself in its tight and warm grip, pretending it was the stand offish dragon captain you were fucking before spilling ropes of cum all over the sheets.

Then it came to the over protectiveness. You really wouldn’t call it that. You just wanted to make sure he was alright. So what if you watched him through the cracks of his office door while he held conversations with Nikolai? And what if you stayed as his lips crashed onto the Russians, while your hand slipped down your pants and what if you snuck into Price’s room the morning after and buried your face in his underwear just so you know that Nikolai didn’t take it any further?

But Price knew- could feel your eyes on him as he lined Nikolai’s cockhead up with his entrance. Price knew -could hear your growl and the way your hand stroked your cock as he bounced on Nikolai’s cock. Price knew- and he enjoyed it, tipped over the edge at the sheer thought of it, vision turning blurry and ears ringing as he slumped into the other man’s embrace.

So it wasn’t to any surprise when he discovered the Polaroids you kept of him, stashed under your mattress but poking out enough for him to get a glimpse. He had come to your room to talk about your recent behavior. Things had started to get out of hand. He didn’t really care that you watched his every step. What he did care about were the soldiers that had mysteriously gone missing, soldiers he’d gotten into minor arguments with prior to the incident, but eventually popped back up in his office or rather his desk- body completely dismembered and limbs neatly wrapped, reminding him of a Christmas Day in hell and Price was sure he knew who was behind it

There were plenty of Polaroids, so much so they made up an entire album.

Some were rather innocent in nature, snapshots of him while he was smoking a cigar or talking with Kate or any member of 141 . The photographs were blurry - unfocused almost as if you’d accidentally taken them but he knew that wasn’t the case. Some were a bit more suggestive: a close up shot of his ass while he was maneuvering the shooting range or a shot of his scantily clad lower half as he held a training session with the team. He could only imagine what you did with those,

But there were more polaroids, snapshots of him while he’s clearly asleep, blissfully unaware of what’s happening. Going by the murky surroundings, the pictures must’ve been taken whenever the two of you were out on a mission together and shared a tent.

Some were close up shots of his face, cheeks dusted in pink and hair in disarray, completely unaware of what’s happening. Other Polaroids were blurry shots of his body, silver of skin peaking through the clothes he’s wearing, probably a direct cause from all the tossing and turning he’d done in his sleep. Despite the nature of them, they were rather innocent, reminding you of causal snapshots someone would take of their lover.

But something about that had heat creeping up his cheek, blood pooling straight to his dick.

He could imagine you sprawled out on your bed, or seated in his office chair, one hand holding a Polaroid; probably a snapshot of him smoking a cigar, while the other hand was stroking your cock.

Disgusting he thinks as his hand shakily unbuckles his jeans, doesn’t even bother to take a seat.

How could he allow anyone as sick as you into his team? He thinks, hand grasping his dick, that’s already hard and weeping.

He should report you for misconduct and get you kicked out of the army, he thinks, thumb swiping over his tip, smearing around the pre that had been collecting there as grunts and groans escapes his lips

All thoughts escape his head as he sets a steady pace with his hand, stroking root to tip while his free hand fondles his ball sack.

“Fuck!” He grunts out, eyes fluttering shut, head tipping back as he fucks into his own hand.

“John?”

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - mentions of kidnapping, controlling behavior, lyla is both Miguel's number stan and number one hater, and blood.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Hey, show a little faith. Have I ever steered you wrong before?” LYLA whispered, hovering just above your shoulder. You paid her a skeptical look, and she sighed, rolling her eyes. “Okay, whatever, but you know who programmed me! You cannot believe Miguel would be able to give me this shining sense of humor.”

That point, you couldn’t argue – even if you still had your reservations. With a deep, faltering breath, you slipped through the barely cracked door and into Miguel’s shell of a bedroom. It was dark, save for the faint red glow emanating from some half-finished electronic weapon he’d been revising and adjusting for as long as you’d known him, and of course, Miguel was still asleep. It looked like he’d made a half-hearted attempt to pull one of his thin sheets over himself before collapsing face-down on the center of his bed – which was, in all fairness, probably exactly what happened. You’d learned his routine, by now, knew that he’d likely only sleep for another three hours or so before dragging himself out of bed and back to his surveillance room. This might’ve been the first time you’d actually seen him in bed, rather than hunched over one of his many consoles or laid across a bench in one of the lesser-used hallways, having given into his exhaustion before he could make it anywhere more private. You didn’t like it. It reminded you too much of waking up in the middle of the night to Miguel looming over you, silently leering as you pretended not to notice him, even if there was a world of difference between what he’d done to you and what you dreamed of doing to him.

You stepped over the threshold, then paused. “Why am I here again?”

“Blackmail.” Miguel had mentioned off-handedly that LYLA couldn’t feel human emotions, just imitate them, but you could’ve sworn you heard a note of pure zeal in her voice. “You get the picture, I spread it around, and we both benefit.” Your phone buzzed, and you fished it out of your pocket. It was practically a brick (being locked inside Miguel’s spider-fortress meant you were blocked from contacting anyone outside of that fortress, apparently), but you still liked to keep it nearby. In the futile hope that you’d be able to call someone, anyone if you did ever make it out of Miguel’s reach, one day. “He still hasn’t gotten over the 2099-Burger. You’ve seen it, right? That was some of my best work, you should’ve seen—”

You shushed her, and LYLA flickered out of sight before reappearing on the foot of the bed, a polaroid camera now hanging from her neck. Slowly, carefully, you moved forward, only to pause when you actually reached Miguel. He wasn’t wearing anything, because he never wore anything aside from his nanotech and maybe a threadbare pair of sweatpants, if you caught him after a shower. It’d been too long since his last haircut. It was already splitting at the ends, fighting against his half-hearted efforts to comb it back and falling over his face, distorting part of his (relatively) peaceful expression. Even unconscious, he was frowning, but the dark circles under his eyes were less pronounced, his lips contorted into something that was more of a pout than his usual scowl. No wonder LYLA wanted a picture. There had to be more than a few Spider-People who’d want proof that their irritable leader could be something other than angry.

Half stalling for time, half trying to talk that better taste off of your tongue, you turned to LYLA. “Remind me why you can’t just take you own pictures, again?”

“Some of us are just a bunch of flashing light. Hot flashing lights, but y’know, lights.” She held up her miniature camera, and you looked away before the flash could blind you. “C’mon, you can’t say you don’t want to get back at him.”

Right. Getting back at him. This was supposed to be your way of getting back him. He kidnapped you, tore you away from your loved ones, locked you in a case of glass and metal, and you were going to help his AI assistant take a picture of him sleeping. The perfect revenge.

Digging your teeth into the inside of your cheek, you raised your phone, but before you could take LYLA’s picture and retreat back to your own room to sulk, an alarm you hadn’t set went off at full volume. You cursed under your breath, stabbing blindly at the screen in a panicked effort to shut it up before Miguel woke up, but an arm lashed out from Miguel’s heap before you could, catching you by the waist and dragging you into his chest just as the alarm mysteriously when silent. You clenched your eyes shut, bracing yourself for his claws embedded in your skin, for a growled threat, but nothing ever came.

You forced yourself to open your eyes and found that, despite everything, Miguel was still unconscious. You heard a camera shutter behind you – LYLA, her grin too smug not to be genuine. No doubt, you’d be able to see her handiwork on every screen she had access to by tomorrow morning - meaning, of course, every screen in Nueva York. “I thought you said you couldn’t—”

“He’s a deep sleeper. Very reactive, though – did I forget to mention that?” There was a pause, a wink. “Oopsies.”

You grit your grit your teeth. “Are you at least going to make him let me go?”

“Ah – flashing lights, remember?” Again, she flickered, reappearing an inch or so away from your face. “I’ll see you in the morning, lovebirds!”

You opened your mouth, but she was gone before you had the chance to protest. Still, you squirmed against Miguel’s vice-like hold, attempting to shove at his arm only for another to wrap around his midriff, only for him to pin you that much more tightly to his chest. There was a low, heavy grunt, then his nose nudging against the side of your throat, his lips ghosting over your skin. Slowly, instinctually, his fangs pushed into the curve of your neck, drawing out a pained whimper, a thin trail of blood. His teeth lodged in your throat, his body wrapped around yours, he settled against you, his breathing falling back into a steady rhythm. Making sure you’d stay where you were until he woke up – whether that was in one hour or eight.

It was all you could do to take a deep breath, close your eyes, and hope LYLA would lead you to a swifter death, next time.

[xoxoavenger]

Out Of The Woods

pairing: Derek Hale x Fem!Reader

summary: When you started crying, baby, I did too But when the sun came up, I was looking at you

word count: 2536

warnings: car crash, hospital visit, major character injury

1989 masterlist main masterlist

"So," Y/N's laying on Derek's couch, which is so much better than the one he had in the loft he had before he had moved away. "How long are you staying?" She had just helped him unpack his new house, and he was laying on the other side of the couch, their legs intertwined in the middle. She pretended that this was normal, but everyone already knew that Derek and Y/N had never been normal.

"For good." He had moved back because Cora didn't need him anymore and practically forced him back to Beacon Hills when more people kept leaving. Except the one girl that didn't know what was good for her; she's the reason Cora was so adamant and the reason Derek even agreed.

"At least this is better than your loft." That very girl tells him, bringing up her drink to her lips and smiling.

"Yeah," He gives a dry chuckle, and she just sighs.

"You didn't bring any pictures." She whispers looking around the small townhouse. He had brought few decorations, but the lack of pictures made it feel like a hotel room.

"I don't really have any." He tells her, taking a drink of his beer.

"That's so depressing." She rolls her eyes, sitting up. He frowns, which is just his usual face, honestly. What confuses her is when he stands, walking around. She stands as well, about to ask what he's looking for when he picks something up and walks back to her, holding it up with a small smile.

It's a camera.

"What are you doing?" She asks, heart filling with an unnamed emotion as he held the polaroid camera out, facing them.

"Decorating." He tells her, then closes his eyes and smiles. She's caught off guard when the flash goes off, and she instantly groans as she imagines how awful it's gonna look.

"Take another one!" She grabs his bicep and pulls, but he just shakes his head and holds the developing picture above his head so she can't grab it.

"I like this one." He tells her simply, but she just shakes her head as she reaches for it.

"You can't even see it!" She cries, reaching again but to no avail.

"Neither can you!" He tells her with a laugh, one that makes her momentarily forget what she had been fighting about. When she lets go of him, he brings the photo down. It's light contrast, barely developed, but when she looks at it, she actually thinks it's cute. She doesn't look completely insane like she had previously thought. Instead, she's halfway smiling as her turning blurs her body a little bit, creating an effect she likes.

"That's actually really nice." She tells him, and he just smiles.

"If only I had a frame." He tells her, moving to prop it on an end table near the hallway.

~

"I can't believe this is what it takes for everyone to get back together." Y/N mutters as she follows Derek through the trees behind his house. He doesn't say anything in return, which is fine because she's now breathing heavy from running for so long and so fast.

"Hold on," He stops running so quickly that when she tries to slow down she slides in the dirt. She pops up slowly and quietly, waiting for him to tell her what was going on. "They're in front of us." He whispers, looking up. This is a new threat they're fighting, some kind of vampire and witch pack that confuses the shit out of Stiles, even if he refuses to admit it.

"Where do we go?" Y/N asks, the racing of her heart now due to her being terrified. It's beating so fast and so violently it hurts, and she almost throws up until Derek grabs her hand.

"We can't outrun them." Even with Derek's super human abilities, the only way he'd be able to make it out himself would be if he chose his other form, which would leave Y/N behind. She can't run nearly as fast, or for as long.

"We should split up." She tells him. The look she gets as he snaps his head toward her makes her feel sick once more.

"Absolutely not." He grabs her wrist and pulls her along, dodging trees and branches. "We need a car."

She trips a couple times, and Derek catches her all but once. The last time she trips, they're close to a road, but the roots are still thick. As she goes down, her hand slips from Derek's grasp. A low branch cuts her neck, deeper than a scratch but not deep enough to bee too much of a problem. The problem comes when she falls and is unable to catch herself, her free hand twisting underneath her as the hand that Derek had been grabbing falls after her face hits the ground.

She's jarred for a second, her head feeling fuzzy. It comes to a point a couple seconds later when the world comes back into focus and the pain centers on her temple, right where she hit the hard root.

"Shit," Derek is freaking out now, because as if their natural scent and crashing through the woods wasn't enough, the fresh blood that's been spilled from not only the scratch but also now her head is sure to send a beacon of their location.

He pulls her up, having to drag her along as she had the wind knocked out of her. He feels bad, but he knows they're barely surviving by the skin of their teeth. He wishes he could call someone to help, but they had left in such a rush that neither of them grabbed their phones before everyone had split off in pairs.

He makes it to the street, then skirts around the trees to make it back to his house. Half the cars that had been on the street were gone, and he can't help but be thankful that he had left the Camaro in Beacon Hills and brought it back to his house. It'd go much faster than his SUV. Luckily, by the time they make it over, Y/N can run and the pack is still in the woods.

"Camaro." He tells her. They sprint ahead.

~

"Oh my God." Y/N's sneaking through Derek's stuff under the guise of unpacking, and while he knows what she's doing he's decided to let it happen because he doesn't have that much anyway.

"What'd you find?" He turns and asks her, and then he sees what she's holding up.

"Who'd you get this for?" She whispers, heart breaking only slightly. It seems Derek may have come back to Beacon Hills for a woman.

The necklace she has in her hand is beautiful, one that must've been picked for someone special and well as cost a fortune. She loves it, and she can't bear to look at it because it's just so beautiful and thoughtful.

"Uh," Derek isn't quite sure what to say. He had been planning on giving it to her eventually, but not this soon. He wasn't quite sure how to give it to her yet. "You."

"What?" She looks up at him, eyes wide and a smile playing on her lips. "But this, this," She isn't sure what to say, so Derek moves around her to take it, putting it around her neck.

"Do you like it?" He's nervous in a way he's never been before, but the look on her face and beating of her heart tells him everything he needs to know.

A couple minutes later they're out in the living room, deciding what to watch, when she jumps up.

"Why do we have to watch something?" She asks, smiling.

"What are we supposed to do instead?" Derek questions, looking at her quizzically.

"Dancing." She smirks, taking her phone out and playing some random song. He lets her pull him up but stays frowning.

"There's no room to dance." He tells her, and she just sighs. She drops his hand and pushes the coffee table to the side. "Still not enough."

"How much room do you need?" She laughs loudly, and he joins in softly. The song is still playing, so he grabs her hand and brings her close.

They come together slowly, both his arms going around her back. She puts on hand on his shoulder and the other over his heart, which makes his heart race. He moves one hand to cover her's, and she lets her head rest on his chest.

The two comfortably sway, both completely enthralled in the moment with soaring hearts and heads in the clouds.

~

"The door won't open!" She whisper-yells, terrified of the pack that has to be closing in. She pulls hard, barely noticing the tears running down her cheeks.

"Hold on," Derek is patting his pockets, but they both know that what he's looking for isn't there.

The keys are in the house.

They race to the front door, Derek breaking the handle in favor of getting in quickly. He grabs the keys from the bowl by the front door, thanking God that he's kept a neat house, and the two run out without bothering to shut the door; the knob doesn't work anyway.

When she gets back to the Camaro, the doors are already unlocked. She throws herself inside, barely locking the doors when she sees the red eyes from the woods.

"Oh God," She mutters, frozen in shock. "Derek, drive!" She shouts, shaking. Derek starts the Camaro and backs out of the driveway, scraping the bottom of the car without a care. The sharp gasp she gives when the creature begins to run from the trees startles Derek, but he doesn't show it.

"How many are there?" He asks, looking behind them for a moment as he accelerates down the street. It's late, too late for anyone to be out. When the pack had invaded in the first place, they had been getting ready to sleep anyway, their friends staying the night. The McCall pack had planned a small reunion, everyone coming back for a long weekend, and of course the monster pack had decided that night to attack.

"At least two," She mutters as she looks out to see more and more monsters coming at them from the shadows in the woods. "Oh my God, there's more." She can't even breathe now, and Derek looks back at the road for a split second to make sure he won't hit anything before swiveling his head once more.

"It's fine." He mutters, stepping on the gas. It's why he insisted on the Camaro, for a quick getaway. He keeps his eyes on the road as he accelerates quickly, and she keeps her eyes on the quickly gaining vampires. Just as Derek twists to see how close they are, Y/N turns to see the problem.

"Derek!" She screams, clutching the door.

~

When she wakes, she feels ill. She goes to grab her water bottle, but when she doesn't feel her bedside table she opens her eyes.

This is not her room.

Her head begins to pound, focused in a line that goes from her forehead down her face, even her lip is burning. She brings a hand up, realizing she can only see out of one eye, and touches bandages where the pain is concentrated.

"Hey," Scott mutters, and she turns to see him. He's on her bad side, which she realizes is due to the fact that it's bandaged over.

"What," She whispers, not able to talk later.

"There was an accident."

"Derek!" She screams, clutching the door. She's pressed back against her seat, not watching as Derek swivels to see the couple of vampires in the road, his eyes widening.

"Shit!" He yells, pressing the brake as hard as he possibly can. For a moment, everything stops, and she feels almost like she's flying.

She becomes acutely aware of the fact that she's not wearing a seatbelt.

"What happened?" She asks, struggling to sit up. In her struggle, she realizes that her arm is in a cast. Scott helps her, and she groans a bit. She's sore everywhere, although no where is near as bad as her face is.

"The Multus Pack attacked two nights ago." Her eyebrows raise at 'two nights,' however she realizes that moving the right side of her face is the worst idea in the history of mankind, so she refrains from wincing. "We all split up, and you ended up with Derek in the Camaro."

"Where is he?" She had thought that if she was ever in this situation, Derek might be the one to be waiting for her. Clearly she was wrong.

"He's been too afraid to come to the hospital." Scott mutters, clearly upset over this. "We already cleaned the glass from his cuts, and he's fine. We tried telling him that you'd want to see him, but he won't listen."

She's silent as gravity fails her, sending her through the windshield before she can put her arm up to stop it. Her arm ends up underneath her body as she skids across the hood. She then falls to the ground, luckily not on her head. Although it seems her head has already taken the brunt of the damage, having broken the windshield and caused a piece of glass to slice open a gnarly cut across the front of her face.

When she's on the ground, all she can think is that this can't be real. She doesn't feel much pain, just a lot of throbbing. Warm liquid is coating her face rapidly, contrasting to the cool of the rest of her body.

"Y/N!"

"I'd like to go back to sleep." She's lying, but she turns anyway, away from Scott.

"Sure, yeah. I'll leave." He sounds slightly sad, but she can't bring herself to care.

Derek wasn't here. He clearly doesn't care.

~

She wakes up as the sun rises, which is fine. She barely slept the prior night anyway, and she still has at least a day left in this hellhole. She had been given twenty stitches down her face, matching the gnarly bruise on her temple and the scab on her neck from the branch. She had scrapes and bruises all around her body, and she couldn't stand to look at herself.

She hears a shuffling to her right and jumps, turning to see Derek.

They stare at each other in silence, both with wide eyes and ruffled hair. Neither speaks, or even tries to speak, just breathing together.

"Derek," She whispers, and the tears start. Not just hers, also his. She reaches over despite the pain and grabs ahold of him, pulling him up and hugging him close.

"I'm so sorry." He tells her, afraid of holding on too tight. She is not as scared, holding him so tight that her hands are gripping his shirt.

"It's not your fault." She tells him, but it's clear he doesn't believe her. He is shaking with tears and emotion, and she's not much better.

"I have to go." He tells her, and as much as it pains her, she lets him.

Because the next day, when the sun rises and she turns in bed, Derek is there.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @mcueveryday

[seven-stars-in-his-palm]

okay so a couple of days ago i saw this ask on @fellshish's blog about a need for a full 1941 discorporated aziraphale angst fic, realized i had an entire outline already in the hull, and... this happened:

a "what if crowley didn't miss in 1941" fic, including but not exclusive to the moment itself, the hours leading up to it, and the aftermath; a fanfiction (chapter 3/4)

summary:

It's Fell the Marvelous' awaited debut performance on the West End. He has his marksman, his turnips, and things appear to be going as planned—that is, until said marksman does the one thing he was supposed to avoid. Not missing. (or: the bullet catch goes wrong, and due to a tiny technicality, crowley's afraid aziraphale is gone for good. and crowley himself—for the first time in quite a while—is well and truly alone.)

warnings: full of blood, sweat, kissing while crying, blown up heads, prayers, nostalgic churches, polaroids, alcohol, and aziraphale being a discorporated bastard and bitching his way back to earth while a plot we should probably be focusing occurs as we ignore it entirely. and written extremely slowly. oxymoron but i couldnt get this out of my head fast enough and now you must endure it (should you choose to accept). i think i'm gonna be pretty proud of this though. excited!

(also thank @tforthetea for the inspiration because a conversation with them helped spark this the first time. all hail)

ao3 link for those who didn't check the title, and fic under the cut! :)

chapter 1: number thirteen

One of the things Crowley liked gloating about on occasion was that he was older than Death Itself.

He wasn’t technically wrong, per se. The humans think him mad, and the demons think him stupid, but he was still right. Human concepts, despite their hold on the population and overall importance, were non-existent before or even during the Beginning. The Four Horsemen and other ideas evolved right alongside the humans, so technically, Crowley was older than all of them. He rather liked having something to lord over War (in his head), during the few unfortunate meetings he would have with her. Famine was a non-issue, and Death could not touch him regardless of how much he didn’t like him. There were failsafes.

Now, however, actually being in the room that Aziraphale could potentially walk into and never come out of, Crowley would gladly take all of it back and pretend he never even thought about it at all.

The damned magician. Crowley never caught his name, but if he had, he would wrought him with the most annoyingly small curses that no one would ever believe to be true after today. Tonight wasn’t just about impressing the audience or even repaying that wine-filled debt, it was about them. Tonight, Crowley was to play the trusted stooge, and…shoot the angel. Point blank. In the face. And make it look real. And not discorporate him. And not get them fired. And—

There were a lot of things to consider, alright? To contrary belief, Crowley did, in fact, not think Death was silly or stupid. He’d also been there when It was born, you know. Crowley liked Abel. Watching It happen was, plainly, fucking terrifying. It brought up something new, and change was just as scary as Death. Ask anyone, and they’d tell you.

Crowley has been running that unfortunate meeting involuntarily through his head for the first ten or so minutes of waiting for the actual show to begin, while also listing out the terrible things he would do to the magician man had he ever held the opportunity again. He’d been sort of gunning (no pun intended) to stay backstage and avoid the riffraff, but been ushered out the dressing room the second he’d given his (admittingly harsh) two cents on the situation. Aziraphale said he wanted privacy before the big show, but Crowley knew he was just ticked. Aziraphale was an angel who thrived with a supportive devil over his shoulder.

So, Crowley is just milling around in the crowd as the Allied soldiers and their companions filter in. They come and go—a Lady even comes to check on him at point, mentioning odd vacant gazes and looking over shoulders paranoid-like, but he waves them off before they can pry. He really shouldn’t be so worried—even if Aziraphale…‘didn’t make it through the night’, he’d eventually be fine. As long as he discorporated a certain way, nothing too lethal—some deaths were harder to come back from others.

They’ve been discorporated before, of course. That was how Crowley knew this. Six millennia offered many opportunities for the event. But never, and it was never, at each other's hand. On paper, yeah, they killed each other on occasion, but truly…

Crowley shifts nervously, sending a glare at anyone who got a bit too close, but the brief discomforts aren’t enough to lift his spirits. There was one entity faffing about who refused to bugger off even with direct acknowledgements, though that might be because Crowley was imagining It. Or It really was here, and interested in the affairs of potential angel discorporation. Or a bomb was going to fall here and It was just beating the rush. The theories were far from endless.

Death appeared back there as soon as Crowley had been kicked out. He’s simply been dealing with it since then, and It probably wasn’t helping to lift his spirits. He shouldn’t be so antsy—both logic and mechanics deemed it so.

They’d be fine, Crowley repeats to himself near constantly, finding a proper seat in direct line of sight where Aziraphale will be standing. He readjusts his tie as the humans sit around him, creating a perfectly isolated bubble of red velvet seats. What did it matter that twelve humans died doing this before? They weren’t human. Death had no claim on them. It couldn’t take them even if It so desired.

Crowley scowls at the hooded figure standing near the entrance of the theater, cold scythe gleaming under the warm bulbs of the West End. Its just…standing there. Making no move to come closer, either. Odd.

Crowley sinks lower into his plush seat, as if trying to avoid Death’s gaze. But being one of two immovable objects on this Earth, It’s always on him. If Death had a goal, there would be no point in warding It away.

Seeing Death is a famous bad omen, and would send a chill down his spine had it been anywhere else. At this moment, however, Crowley is simply irritated. If It was looking for another soul in this theater, that was fine by him, let It take them, but It would not be ruining whatever this was. Humans were ever plentiful—there was only one angel deserving of Earth.

Before Crowley can decide whether or not he should be stupid and confront the omen in the room, the lights go dim. The crowd’s murmurs die down, and Crowley has no choice but to stay seated and watch the show. Aziraphale wouldn’t be coming on until the Ladies of Camelot had their first number, but Crowley could easily endure it. The gaze aimed straight at his head could be ignored.

World be damned if It took the angel’s enthusiasm. They’d be fine. Crowley just has to remember that.

-----

Things are, indeed, not going fine.

Crowley is meant to go up on stage any second now. Aziraphale has no inkwell in his gloved hand. No amount of snapping is removing said turnip from line of sight. He reads the pamphlet—then again, then again, then again, but there is no second option for apparently miracleless individuals.

Fucking. Hell.

Whatever false bravado Aziraphale is spewing is null and void compared to the should-be-non-existent nerves running through frantic hands and finding absolutely nothing useful. Crowley flips through the same two pages—give the stooge the bullet, poise, and shoot. The miracle would’ve ensure that the bullet would never leave the barrel. But now—now, well, he really regrets not considering a Plan B. Did they ever consider a Plan B? Apparently not.

Getting there is a blur. Aziraphale is essentially shoving the rifle into Crowley’s care, which is honestly becoming a worse idea by the second. He’s switching between the demon and the audience so quickly that Crowley can’t tell who he’s addressing. They’re deathly quiet, and Crowley would feel embarrassed if his heart that shouldn’t be there wasn’t pounding with too much blood in too little time. His mind is a soup. Muddled, feverish, and incredibly foul tasting. You wouldn’t want to drink it even if you were starving.

“I would ask you,” Aziraphale says loudly, cutting through the fog of utter mental mush, “to take this bullet, and load it into the rifle. Very carefully.”

Crowley nods belatedly, squeezing and turning parts of the gun to get the non-existent warmth running back through his fingers. He takes the bullet, and turns it round a few times while Aziraphale stares at him with excruciating anxiety. Is he stalling? Honestly, even Crowley wouldn’t be able to tell you.

“It's perfectly simple,” Aziraphale mutters softly, pushing the gun a bit closer. “Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear.”

Crowley can’t find himself to agree here. He’s staring at him, and that would usually get him to listen regardless of shades, but Death is boring into them like the harshest of theater critics. His skin is slick, almost clammy, threatening to let the gun slip and fire a stray bullet anywhere but its intended target. His back is sore, oddly enough. Irritating.

Crowley has questions, like he always does, but the time has long passed. What he wants to ask is ‘do I just squeeze that little bit there?’ pointing at (what looks like) to be the trigger—but then that would just make Crowley look incompetent, so he swallows it back and nodly lightly. He’s never fired a gun like Aziraphale seems to believe whole-heartedly, but he’s certainly watched it happen. He’s picked up enough of the motions to figure it out on his own.

That thought still doesn’t help when he’s being told to insert the bullet, though. Crowley fumbles through it, opening a mislaid hatch or two, but manages before Aziraphale could raise any alarms. He’s already stood back in position (when did that happen?) when Crowley raises the loaded rifle for all to see, proclaiming as such. He bites back the tremor threatening to appear—he wasn’t nervous. Excited, more like it. Excited to finally get an excuse to make a throw at the angel non-suspicious like.

That was all it was. Really.

Crowley turns the rifle one last time as Aziraphale spins more useless pageantry for the audience to woo at. They’re both grinning, but tightly and annoyingly false. It wasn’t the eyes that were the problem—what, do you think that demons ever got stage fright? Absurd!

It was just...well, there weren’t just humans in this audience. Crowley couldn’t forget the shadow looming at the end of the theater no matter how tight he grips the side of the weapon. But, just like Someone had laid out all that Time ago—Death could only perceive them.

It could not touch them.

It would not touch them.

It would not touch him, if he could help it.

The drums begin their incessant titter as Aziraphale finally turns to Crowley properly, blue cloak glimmering under the warm light of the stage before them. “A-are you ready, sir?”

Crowley would scoff at this if he could. Sir. Only humans ever addressed him that way; angels look down on him, demons sneer at him. Though he supposes this angel would be different—always throwing the curveballs, him.

“When you hear my signal,” the angel says, voice growing quieter, “shoot.”

Aziraphale removes his tophat, revealing preciously white curls. This pings something, the remaining traces of damned sense he’s got buried inside. Crowley isn’t sure what has possessed him—but he shakes his head. It’s all he can do. Don’t make me do it, he nearly warns out loud. Not if you know what’s good for you.

Aziraphale stills, but not before mouthing words that would be akin to an ashamed mumble if he were close enough. Trust me.

Trust me.

Satan, he got him there. That’s why Crowley was here, after all. Stooge. 100% Reliable Marksman.

Right.

Aziraphale isn’t nearly as good as Crowley at hiding his anxious gaze. “Ready?”

Oh, Heavens no. He never would be, but no better time than the present. Or something like that. He can’t recall where it came from.

“Aim…”

Crowley can’t ignore it anymore—he’s shaking. Extremely so, at that. It’s knocking around the air in his lungs very unkindly. It’s quite difficult to aim. His head is bobbing around in the scope.

Just about…

There it is.

Crowley waits—just like he’s done for the last…however long. A long time. His arms are starting to hurt, frankly. He rests his finger over the trigger to ease the trembling a tad.

And the magician remains silent.

Crowley ignores the sweat crawling down his neck. (Wasn’t it supposed to be freezing?) He waits some more—it’s not like one can forget where you are. Benefit of the doubt and such.

Nothing still. Nary a nod.

He’s been staring at him for a minute. The crowd hasn’t uttered a peep. Is Crowley just supposed to…do it? Did they talk about this? They must have. They talked about this. They talked about it, right? Yeah. Yeah, they must have—

"Fire!"

He startled him.

The reason why he listens is easy to explain. Aziraphale made Crowley flinch. A bit of a spook, really, not that bad of a fright. A sudden jolt—a tap on the shoulder, one that said ‘oh, look, you’ve got perfect aim already! Shoot!’

And he did.

What’s the first rule of approaching someone with a weapon again?

Right. Don’t fucking scare them.

The handle is warm. Slick, heavy, shaky. The scope aims with guilty target missing at the helm. A puff of smoke is spewing from the barrel. A thump, a sickening thump, deafening in the cricket silence of a post-trick world.

And Aziraphale…is on the floor.

(Where else would he be, really?)

There, obviously. On the floor. With a blown-up head. Bleeding like blessed Heaven. Bleeding like bloody Heaven, while Crowley has to take in the sight and smell the blessed thing.

It fits. They fit. Like a perfect crown on a decapitated head.

God, his head’s just gone, isn’t it?

A noise cuts through the thick silence like a stubbornly determined knife. Far away, above it all, there it rings. It’s muffled, soft, and almost awkward in the way it cuts through the air. A camera click. A reluctant, malicious camera click.

And that was just the perfect way to say it, no? He blew his brains out. Crowley blew his angel’s fucking brains out with a fucking gun that he’s never fucking held before.

Trust me.

Well. That, no doubt, was Aziraphale’s fault—it’d be a funny old world if angels and demons went around trusting one another.

-----

hgh. hope that was decent. chapter two coming as soon as it can because im invested now :))

[evansbby]

Idk why but i saw a kitten video on tiktok and it got me thinking of omega finding a small kitten on college campus🥺🥺she was looking for his mommy but there was no sign of anyone🥺she didn’t have the heart to leave him without a mommy🥺🥺 and when he saw her he came to her meowing for her to save him🥺n it’s almost broke her heart🥺 so she took him with her 🥺she was soooo nervous on how to tell steve🥺 she was thinking of keeping him away from steve for a while but she definitely would get caught on the same day🥺

Oh bestie you literally extracted this from my brain bc I was LITERALLY thinking this bc I’m obsessed with Steve x omega and I always think of cute scenarios to put them in 😭😭

I can imagine Steve coming home and being met with a cute little kitten sitting in the middle of his bed. And he’s like “what the FUCK is this?😤” and omega’s like, “I couldn’t leave him all by himself, he doesn’t seem to have a mommy! And once he saw me, he kept following me🥺” and Steve’s like, “Only pussies have cats for pets! Why couldn’t you have rescued a puppy?” And then makes it a point to ignore the kitten and declares he hates cats and although he gives omega permission to keep it, he claims he will not help raise the kitten! 😭😭😭 and omega names the kitten a totally human name like “Greg” and Greg the kitten is sooo playful and guess what?? He seems to love Steve 😭😭 like he’s always following Steve around and meowing at him and rubbing against Steve’s leg and following Steve to the bathroom 🥺🥺 and Steve’s like “Get the fuck away from me, asshole! Omega, get this thing away from me! Control your pet or I’ll throw it out😡”

But Greg remains 😩😭 and he’s such a cute little kitty, so small and fluffy and adventurous! He plays with Steve Jr 😩😩 like he rolls around with Steve Jr and everything! And makes ferocious little noises and acts all tough — kind of like Steve! And Steve claims to hate Greg but then when no one’s looking, he feeds Greg leftover chicken bones😩 all like, “You gotta get your protein in, little guy. You need to be strong for when I kick you out and you become a street cat.” And then omega walks in on him while he’s doing this and Steve coughs and pretends he wasn’t just talking to Greg 😭😭 and then once Steve finds Greg cuddled up in one of his expensive sweaters 🥺 and he wraps the little guy up and let’s him chill in the closet bc Greg likes small spaces! And before you know it, Steve and Greg are always hanging out! Like Steve will be playing video games or watching TV and he’ll have Greg accompanying him on the couch! 🥹😩 and omega thinks it’s sooo cute and she takes a pic of them with her Polaroid camera!

Guys idk if this is canon but it’s SO CUTE OMFG like I can’t deal!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 BESTIE ANON I LOVE THIS ASK SM

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #29] 'Daddy'

warnings: polaroid taking, titty compliments <3, teasing, 'daddy' but not seriously lol, busan invite!!! yaaaaay!!!

a/n: last update for 2nite cos next week will be busan hehe

wc: 8k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

A soft smile rests on your lips as you wake up; the heat of Jeongguk's body keeping you warm beneath your duvet. His arm is looped over your waist, and while there's nothing inherently romantic about it, you find yourself indulging in how lovely it feels. Safe. Snug. Stable.

He eventually stirs a little later than you, squeezing you closer while his legs stretch out a little bit, and nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. Groans.

"Morning," he says, voice gravelly, throat a little parched from the dry winter air. Your humidifier had run out of water in the night, but neither of you had been woken by the small beep that would have told you so.

Your hand drops to rest over his, and he doesn't really think much of it as he spreads his fingers for yours to sink between. It's nice, the way his body just sort of accepts yours in any capacity; the same way yours does for him. You wouldn't say you're holding hands (even if you are). Would just say you're connected. Fostering a feeling of togetherness (even if you aren't).

"Morning," you hum gently, voice also a little croaky.

Jeongguk always thinks you sound cute like this. Likes your morning voice.

You like his, too. It's a little deeper than usual. Breathy. It's just 'cause the air has dried out his throat overnight, and his vocal cords can't vibrate at their full capacity. There's logic to his lethargic-sounding voice, but you ignore it all, 'cause you like the excuse of him just being sexy.

And yet despite the attraction that comes with a husky voice, the overwhelming adoration that irritates your heart as it bubbles through your veins comes in the form of intimacy.

Jeongguk's voice sounds like this because he slept in your bed.

He sounds like this, because he feels safe enough around you to let down any and all guards.

Sure, you're no longer hunter gathers from prehistoric times, and sleeping doesn't hold the same weight as it would have done for your ancestors. There are locks on your doors in one of the safest nations in the world. To sleep doesn't mean to risk death - and yet the cautionary tales of humanity run within your veins. You're only alive because one night, thousands of years ago, someone stayed awake throughout the night to ensure their family's safety.

Falling asleep together? Well, it only confirms one thing: you're a safety zone for one another.

Or maybe not. Guess you'll never truly know.

It's all very sickening, how sweetly you think of one another. Would never admit to it. Both as bad as one another in that regard. Made for one another, some may say.

"You stayed," you say, as if Jeongguk would ever leave.

"You know I always stay," he mumbles. He's been in your bed enough times for you to know this. Why you'd ever think he'd do otherwise is beyond him. "Plus I like your shampoo. Wanna use it."

His sleepy eyes are still shut. He's only entertaining this conversation 'cause he enjoys entertaining you.

"Show up without warning, claim my bed as your own, and now you're after a shower, too?" You affectionately scold him. He squeezes you a little tighter.

"What's mine is yours, remember?" he says, echoing a statement from the night before, lips brushing against your neck so subtly that you wonder if he even realises.

He does.

"We're not married," you tell him, to which he just shrugs. Holds you even tighter, still.

"We could be."

"Would you make me sign a prenup?"

"No."

"Okay," you airily agree. It's all facetious, and carries no weight. Is just fun to joke about from time to time. Something you've done for a while, now. Will always pretend like it repulses you. "We can get married. I'll rinse you in the divorce, though."

He pouts against your skin. Huffs. "That's not fair, B."

He'd never do that to you.

"Then don't marry me," you tease, as if it's even an option. "Problem solved."

Jeongguk doesn't like this scenario.

Also doesn't like that he's started joking about marriage, 'cause he knows it's only because his brain is doing that stupid little thing it likes to do whenever he has a crush.

See, Jeongguk is bad at the whole casual thing. Made a marriage pact with Hayun before he'd even fucked her. Fancied a friend in high school and ended up studying the same optional classes as her 'cause she told him that he should. It's why he was late applying for uni. Didn't have the right set of subjects studied to be accepted onto his course, so had to take a couple extra exams.

So now he's joking with you about getting married, 'cause he's accidentally thought about it a couple of times, and doesn't wanna be the only one of you thinking about it.

It's not like they were big dreams - just little daydreams, small snippets of a 'what if' . You hardly even feature in the daydreams. Apart from that one where he imagined you both walking into a reception room after the nuptials to a crowd of your friends cheering - but, like, everyone has silly little thoughts like that! Or at least, that's what he likes to tell himself.

He's been speaking with Yoongi a lot lately about wedding plans. Decides that's what's corrupted him. He's still young. Still single. He's not ready for any of that. Not in the slightest.

"Wouldn't wanna marry you anyways," he says. "You're so not my type."

"Gguk," you deadpan. "I can feel your boner digging into my ass."

It's not a lie. It's also not because of you, you know this. Know that morning is a particularly... hard time for him.

"It's morning," he pouts. "Not my fault. I'd get a boner even if I was hugging... I don't know. A pillow. Or Jimin."

"You'd get a boner for Jimin? Does mean a threesome-"

"No," he mumbles quickly, his sleepy voice making him sound so sweet and tepid, despite the burning heat beneath his ribs. "Shush, baby. No threesome."

Baby .

A term of endearment reserved for only the most intimate of endeavours, Jeongguk has never called you it outside of sex. He knows this. You know this.

Neither of you mention it.

You simply just pretend like he never said it; like your heart isn't beating so fast you're scared it might stop.

The rule of no pet names was put in place by you; ignored by him.

Disco Ball? Fine. Whatever.

Byeol? Excusable.

B? Well, it kinda makes sense.

But baby ? God, it gets you all sorts of fucked up.

You're able to ignore the way it makes you feel, usually. Too distracted by his lips, or the need to keep yourself from coming undone. Like this, when you're being kept warm by his body, but his touches are as innocent as his voice is sleepy, it's different.

For the first time in a long time, you feel a little bit scared. He's so good with your fears, but they still exist. You've just been holding a pillow over your eyes for a few months.

The pillow is gone now; just you, him, and the cinematic-scale fears your harbour in your heart.

"A threesome would be good for you," you say, not really believing it. "You're wasted on just one girl."

He squeezes you a little tighter, for the billionth time within a fifteen-minute window. "No, I'm not."

It's lovely to indulge in such a declaration.

It means nothing, in the grand schemes of things - just that Jeongguk thinks you're worthy of his body - and yet it feels a little weightier than it really should do. It's almost as if there are rocks tied to his words, but they're disguised in pretty satin scarves, wrapped up and hidden away, only felt when they get tied to you and drag you down. Head in the clouds, feet on the ground typa shit. The kinda feeling that makes you wanna write poetry, but you haven't written anything of any substance since Seokjin.

There's a quiet sadness to the way that your broken heart always seems to spill onto pages of notebooks, but the things you really want to shout about? The things that make you smile? They never make it onto the pages of your journals.

You keep these feelings all bottled up. Wax sealed. A daisy dried into the imprint. Just for you. Yours, all yours. No one can steal them that way. They're safe.

Like you are right now; Jeongguk holding you in such a way that lets you know you'll never be truly alone, as long as he's in your life.

You're grateful.

And it terrifies you.

You know that Jeongguk is withholding something that will only hurt you.

Have done since he showed up at your place after the last Dionysus night.

Should you rip it like a band-aid, or apply pressure to stop the bleeding? It's not a choice you wanna have to make.

Yet you know you need to.

Quietly, you muster up your courage. Untangle your fingers from his. Remain in your little spoon position, but busy your hands with picking off flakes of glitter from your forearm.

"You gonna tell me what happened?" you ask, a little apprehensive of the answer you could get.

Jeongguk's grip on you doesn't ease. He keeps you close, for fear of you wanting to leave. He won't stop you, if you do, but he wants you to know that he wouldn't like that. Wants you close, even if his past actions might push you away.

He sighs. Inhales. Loves the scent of your shampoo. Your sheets. You . Your smell , his brain corrects. Loves the way you smell. Not you. God no. Fuck. No. Not at all-

"Hm?" You encourage a response, knowing that Jeongguk is probably letting his thoughts get away from him.

When things get intimate, Jeongguk's thoughts tend to go awry. He voices the most unhinged shit he thinks of, just because he can. Says stuff he'd never dream of saying otherwise.

Contrarily, in moments of vulnerability (though his thoughts are very much still awry) he stays silent. It's a curious contradiction, but one you've grown used to. You don't mind it. Understand it. Understand him.

Eventually, he speaks up. "You really wanna know?"

Sitting, you twist your body to face his. Back against your bedroom wall, you pull your legs up to your chest. "Mhhm."

Your body language says 'absolutely not', and Jeongguk knows this. Sits up too. Lets your duvet pool around his impossibly slim waist, abs on show, and the freckle on his ribs that you adore so much says 'hello'. A teeny tiny tummy roll (thanks to how awfully he's been eating during exam season) reminds you that he's still human. Still lovely, regardless. Lovely, and warm, and a little forlorn in his gaze.

It doesn't linger on you. Drops to his fingers, which twiddle in his lap. He shakes his head, hair waving ever so delicately around his pretty features. His lips part. Words try to come out. Silence prevails.

"I already know," you say quietly, to which his eyes find you again. You're looking down, now. He hates this. Hates that it's his actions that have caused it. "I mean, I don't know know. I just know something happened with Hayun."

"How?" he asks quietly. He's not rude, nor confrontational. Just curious.

You shrug. "Intuition?"

Got a shit-bag ex who taught me all the warning signs, your brain corrects you.

He seems to accept this answer, so you don't elaborate.

He's quite forthcoming, when he admits to the truth. States it plainly, just like he did with Jimin.

"She kissed me."

"When?" You ask, wanting a timeline. Thinks it might help you understand his thought process if you know the steps that led him to your apartment that night. "Where?"

He battles with his mind for a moment, but his heart wins. Honesty is owed.

"Um, like, outside. The courtyard area-"

"New years," you say quietly, not to interrupt, just to connect dots in your own head. It's embarrassing, the way shame drowns you out. It's like you're spluttering for air, but in reality, you're stoic. Not moving a muscle.

"New years," he echoes. Hates this.Wishes the conversation would just stop. Knows it can't. "We were talking and-"

"I don't need the ins and outs," you interrupt, suddenly changing your mind.

Now that he's giving you specifics, it's just making you feel worse.

That's the most confusing part, you think. You've been feeling fine about things - and yet now, seeing his guilt? Makes you feel like maybe you should feel awful, too.

Jeongguk looks down. Purses his lips. "I know. I just don't want you getting the wrong impression."

"My impression is that you kissed Hayun and then came and fucked me," you sigh, bitterly disappointed. It's exactly what you've been assuming ever since that night, but the confirmation still stings.

"No, see, that is the wrong impression, B," Jeongguk stresses. You're so casual and flippant about things, but Jeongguk knows it was anything but. "It wasn't as linear as that. I know it sounds shitty-"

"It does."

"-But it really wasn't like that at all."

It doesn't matter.

You feel like a cheap consolation prize, regardless. Sort of like Jeongguk only came to you because Hayun decided she didn't want him after all.

It's stupid really. Your pride is getting in the way of things. Your disdain for Hayun? Even more so.

If he explained the what, the when, the why, the who, the how, you'd know that Jeongguk really didn't mean to make so many bad decisions. The only good decision that night, he thinks, was coming to see you - but even that, he managed to fuck right up.

The thing that pushed Jeongguk to leave Dionysus that night?

Wasn't Hayun. Wasn't Danbi rightfully giving him a piece of her mind. Wasn't any of that.

It was a choice that he had made earlier in the night.

Sick of his eyes searching for you in the crowd and always drawing blanks, Jeongguk had gone searching for you. Yeonjun had no clue where you were at this point, and had suggested maybe you'd already left.

You hadn't. Were just in the girls bathroom with Danbi, and some college girls who were in awe of the glitter (so naturally, you were turning them into glitter girlies too, free of charge).

Nonethewiser, Jeongguk tried his luck dipping from the club and heading to the next street over to where the arcade was. Less than a minute walk. Again, you were nowhere to be found - but the machine you had been at was currently free of punters.

Sure, maybe he spent a little too long trying to win the My Melody plushie, but he was drunk , and it felt important . He almost gave up after he got the Cinnamoroll, but couldn't. Had convictions. Was determined. Was gonna get your stupid, adorable plushie no matter what.

And he did.

Of course he did.

He's Jeongguk. There's nothing he can't do, when his heart's really in it.

Looked for you upon his return. Didn't realise you were still in the bathrooms, this time consoling a girl who had just seen her boyfriend kissing one of her friends. Classic, really. A little liquor and so many men seem to think that cheating is okay. Will cry about it being a mistake, but you know damn well the mistake is getting caught in the act, not the act itself.

His final port of call had been the staff room. Tossed the plushie down on the sofa. Sighed. Lamented the way things had changed since you'd last been together in Dionysus. Knew it was all his fault. Wondered if it was really worth it.

If Hayun was worth it.

He knows the answer, now. Had to experience it to really be sure, but he already knew. Deep down, he always has done.

But she'd entered the staff room when he was all sad and doe-eyed over you, and convinced herself that maybe it was her making him feel this way. Invited him to get some air. He'd needed a friend. Had lied to himself so well about the nature of the relationship that she was only ever a friend, he had seemed to think maybe she was. Maybe it'd be good to talk with her.

Lessons have been learned. Mistakes made. Decisions done.

"Should have told you first, I know," he says quietly, eyes on his hands. Looks up at you. Wishes you would look at him. "I'm sorry, Byeol. I'm sorry, and if I could re-do the events of that night, I would - butI I can't, so. This is where we're at. Fucked up, then I fucked you. Kinda poetic, in a way."

You snort out a disapproving laugh. "Yeah, if you were a teenager on tumblr in 2014."

"Not even gonna pretend to know what that is," he says, genuinely clueless to what a tumblr is, and why 2014 is relevant. "But B, we both know I didn't come here that night with the intention of fucking you, I never... Look, I'm sorry that I let it happen. All I can do is promise you that it won't happen again."

Men have promised they'd move mountains for you before. You'll believe it when you see it.

"What won't happen again?" you ask, a little petulantly. "You fucking me, or you kissing Hayun?"

Being childish right now will do no one any favours.

Will make you feel vindicated for a split second, mind you.

"Well..." Jeongguk begins, but stops himself from finishing.

He means Hayun.

Is done with it. Done with her.

Hates what's become of your friendship since her return. The loss of your closeness aches more than the residual pining feelings for her have ached in the last year. The way he once felt about her is not representative of who he is now.

"Well?"

"Well, kissing is intimate," Jeongguk says with a curt sense of authority. He's speaking your opinions as if they're universal truths.

"It is," you agree.

"I don't really think it's appropriate to be intimate with a girl my best friend hates."

"Hate is a strong word," you say, hiding a smile.

"I think it's just the right strength, here."

You know what Jeongguk is saying. He's speaking in tongues, but you're well acquainted with his. It's easy to decipher.

Yet you're an insolent little brat when you want to be, and so you twist his words. Not to be malicious, just to get confirmation.

"Hayun told me she was your best friend," you tell him. "And I'm pretty sure she hates me, so... you're saying we shouldn't kiss?"

"You rarely ever let me kiss you anyways, B," Jeongguk reminds you with a fond smile. Thinks he'd settle with never kissing you again if it meant he still got to banter with you. "But no, you idiot. Hayun says a lot of shit. You shouldn't listen to her. You're my best friend."

He's heard it with his own ears. Had always shrugged her mean comments off. Hasn't been able to shake the way he heard her speak about you. Tried, for a while. Just ended up making him feel like a shitty friend.

You deserve people in your corner. If Danbi was acting like besties with someone who had been cruel about you, he'd be pissed off. Thinks she had every right to criticise him in the way she had on that evening.

Despite being at his little party last night, Danbi had barely spoken to him.

Had looked at his neck. Raised her brows. Asked, "Well, are you being nice to her? I sure hope you are. And I sure hope those are from her, otherwise you're in for a world of pain, my friend," and then walked away before Jeongguk could even reply.

Danbi scares him.

Is pretty sure she scares Tae, too, but he seems to get off on that. To each their own, and all that.

"B, I don't wanna fight with you," he says, holding out his hand.

For reasons you can't, or simply won't, explain, you accept it. Toy with his fingers as your hands rest on top of your duvet. Trace his knuckles. Admire his tattoos. Relish in the serenity of him.

"Don't wanna fight, either," you sigh. Glance up at him, only to realise he's looking at you with such crestfallen need for forgiveness that it feels like the only thing you can do. "And, hey, maybe it was good. Me being mad at you gave me a little push in the right direction."

"Oh?" Jeongguk questions. His skin feels all hot. Prickly. He doesn't like it. "How so?"

You think nothing of it as you admit to the date you had last night. Jeongguk asks for his name. Nods when you tell him it. Asks for specifics. His career path - "sounds boring" ; his hobbies - "meh" ; his charms - "I have a dimple, too. See? Look, and I get dimples when I smile like this, too!"

As you're explaining the night before, Jeongguk is hunting for one of his shirts amongst your clothes. Says he wants to get a drink from the convenience store.

In reality, he just doesn't wanna have to look you in the eyes, just in case they sparkle for Seojoon.

"You're too competitive for your own good, Gguk," you laugh. "I'm not gonna ditch you for another guy. Unlike some of us , I'll keep my best friend around even if I do fall disastrously in love."

"Okay, one - I kept you around!" He protests, rummaging through the clothes on your desk chair for one of his shirts. There's definitely one in the pile. You're sure of it. "Two - who said anything about love ? I wasn't! Are you going to be in love?!"

Jeongguk can never really hide his emotions. He tries. Really hard. Always fails. His competitive edge is showing now in a way that it never has done before. He really is feeling threatened by Seojoon.

He's stupid, you think. You're not gonna ditch him. Would miss him too much.

Sure, you'll need to iron out the nature of your sleepovers, but that'll just be a small change - and fuck ! You've only been on one date. Hardly falling in love, are you?

"No!" You laugh. "Christ, Gguk. It's only been one date."

"But there's gonna be more?" He asks, still rummaging. Has already found a shirt. Just doesn't wanna face you right now. "You're gonna see him again?"

"Well maybe," you admit. "I don't know yet. He hasn't asked."

Jeongguk pretends like he isn't satisfied with that answer.

Again, he fails to compel this narrative. The little hum he chirps gives him away.

But then he's thinking about the reason you went on that stupid date in the first place, and wants to explain himself again. Really wants you to know how shitty he feels about it.

"About the Hayun stuff," Jeongguk begins, glancing over to you, but you just shake your head.

"Why waste your time explaining it away?" You ask with a small shrug and eyes so sincere Jeongguk thinks you could end world wars. Eyes he thinks he'd go to war for .

Silly thoughts, for a silly boy, who's engaging in silly conversations that makes his heart feel anything but silly.

It feels serious. Stern. Secure in his understanding of his feelings, but too scared to do anything about them. Especially now.

"I don't love your choices," you continue, not trying to be critical, but wanting him to understand why you aren't lingering on the situation. "But we learn from our bad decisions, no? We make mistakes so that in future we can make things right."

"It doesn't mean I shouldn't feel bad about it," he says quietly, eyes down.

"Well, what will beating yourself up about it do? Will just make you feel crappy - and like, don't get me wrong, I think you deserve to feel shitty for fucking me without telling me-"

"I do."

"But I'm not hung up on it," you stress. Really, you're not. "You feeling bad about it will make me feel like I should feel bad about it."

If Jeongguk was elated about his choices, enthusing about Hayun, then yes - you'd feel awful.

Thing is, his distress is written all over his pouty little face. There's nothing about even kissing her that he seems to enjoy. Not anymore.

Or at least, even if he liked it in the moment, the aftermath seems to have catapulted him into a near-permanent state of disgust. That's enough to make you feel alright about things.

"Okay," you sigh when you see his frown hasn't eased up. "Tell me one thing: do you still want her?"

The way Jeongguk recoils with a crease between his brows almost instantly says it all.

"Christ, B. No. Obviously not"

Cherry on top.

"Well, I mean she can have you," you tease, pleased to be smiling through such a conversation. Progress has been made.

"I don't want her," he insists, and it really does boost your ego.

"Should have thought about that then, shouldn't you?" You smirk with a raised brow.

Jeongguk throws his shirt at you. Whines. "Cut me some slack, B. I said I'm sorry."

The conversation dissolves into nothingness - Jeongguk asking you what you want from the shop, and you asking him what he wants to watch on Netflix when he gets back. Will only be gone for a few minutes, but it'll give you a chance to breathe and process the morning's revelations.

He slips on a pair of your jeans - mom cut, and shrugs when he looks in the mirror. Thinks they don't look too bad. A bit baggy, and loose on his hips thanks to your curves, but nothing that a belt can't solve. For a quick run to the shop? They're fine. Will do the job. Saves him from wearing sweats again, and given his near-constant state of boner this morning, sweats are not a wise idea.

The waistband of his Calvins peek out from the top of the jeans, framing his hips like they're a work of art deserving a place in the Louvre.

You sort of think they are. Think he's got a body that deserves to be admired. Worshipped. Appreciated. Know that you're more than capable of doing all of those things.

"Take a picture," he smirks, when he catches you looking.

You're unashamed.

Sure, your cheeks blush a little bit, but you just keep drinking in the sight of him. So often his body is shrouded in darkness when your hands are running over it - but you can see him, now. See the ridges of his abs, and the way they move ever so gently as he exerts a little energy.

Nodding towards the shelf just behind him, where your old polaroid sits prettily amongst some other tat, you smirk right back. "Gimmie it and I will."

You expect shyness - and get shyness, Jeongguk's smile a little scrunched as a soft giggle escapes his lips - but you don't expect for him to actually reach over for it.

"How do you work this thi- oh!" He exclaims as he presses down on the button that extends the lens.

It's not a proper polaroid, just an old instax that has seen better days, but it does the job well enough for you not to trade it in.

Honestly, you rarely use it these days. Maybe once a year, if you're lucky. You've no idea if it has any film in it - but as Jeongguk points it towards you, not bothering to adjust the exposure settings ('cause he doesn't realise it's needed) and presses down on the shutter button, it's confirmed that there is, indeed, still film in it.

"Oh, shit," he laughs, as if he wasn't the one who very deliberately took a photo.

He's not that stupid. He knows how cameras work. The mechanical whir as the photograph pushes itself out of the slot is nostalgic; a reminder of times that were simple.

He shakes the polaroid a little as he passes the camera over to you, looking at the empty photograph with a small pout.

"Takes a couple of minutes," you explain. "Put it on my desk, let it develop."

He does as he's told, believing you without hesitation. You've honestly no idea what you're supposed to do while they process.

Shake it - no! Don't shake it. Keep it out of the light. No! Give it light! No put it in the light for a minute only.

Everything you've ever been told about polaroids has been contradictory, and you enjoy the chaos too much to actually figure things out.

Holding the polaroid camera to your eye, you're smiling as Jeongguk decides to pose like an absolute tool. Muscles tensed, arms up in swan position, he looks like he's trying to compete for a place in Men's Health magazine.

"You're so stupid," you murmur affectionately.

"Stupid hot ," he corrects.

"Mmm," you hum as you press down on the shutter button, a flash lighting up your room. "Like a real-life Calvin Klein model."

He pings the top of his briefs against his skin with a teasing wiggle of his brows.

"Careful, or you'll speak it into existence," he assures you. "And then everyone will want me."

"So?" You laugh. "Am I supposed to feel threatened?"

Jeongguk's met many girls in his lifetime. Watched many on screen, and seen just as many in magazines. Gorgeous women. Beautiful women. The kind of women he'd be lucky to have - and yet, if were to be honest about his feelings for once in his damn life, he'd say 'no' .

No Hollywood star could ever compare to his star.

Instead, he deflects.

"Threatened? Huh," he smirks. Shakes his head to the side, like a dog with an itch. He's quite puppy-like, when you think about it. All doe-eyed and charming. Exquisitely cuddly and notoriously boisterous. Cute - and yet that smirk of his? The toned muscles of his chest? Sin . "You jealous?"

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. "I'm not the jealous type."

Jeongguk presses his lips together, still smiling. Nods. Eyes sparkling, his tongue toys with his lip ring a little, the freckle beneath his bottom lip on full display.

Shakes his head. "I think that's a lie."

Oh, how insufferably right he is - but you're not gonna give him the satisfaction, even if you're both well aware of it.

"I've never been jealous in my life," you say with a small giggle as Jeongguk prowls towards the bed. You lift the polaroid to your eye, and press down on the shutter button once more.

He doesn't imagine it's a great angle.

He's wrong.

"No?" He flirts, taking the camera from your hands as he gets himself between your legs.

He's sitting on his knees, with his thighs hooked beneath your legs. The hand that isn't holding your camera - the tattooed one - pushes the shirt you're wearing up a little. Reveals your underwear, and the bottom of your cute little tummy. There's a softness to you that he likes. Gets him hard .

"Shame," he shrugs. "I get jealous."

"I could tell," you assure him, as if your heart isn't beating a mile a minute. Something about Jeongguk like this - half-dressed, Calvins, body on show just for you - really gets you all hot and bothered.

The tips of his fingers stroke your skin, until they meet the top of your lace underwear. His thumb dips. Presses down on your clit, the thin piece of material the only obstruction.

You gasp, because of course you do, and Jeongguk feels vindicated. Thinks he'll never need to be jealous, 'cause no one is ever gonna make you feel like he does. Knows that he'll try his goddamn hardest to keep things as they are right now, 'cause he's had a taste of what it could feel like to lose you.

He doesn't want that - and yet he feels the need to preserve things as they are, just in case. Knows that Seojoon exists, and doesn't like the prospect of what that could mean for the future.

He raises the camera to his eye. Looks down at you.

"Chess?" He asks, giving you the option of an 'out' that only the two of you understand.

"You finally gonna teach me how to play?" You banter back, knowing that he wasn't asking you to play. He's checking consent before he presses on the shutter button.

It will produce just a single image. One for you to keep; proof that once upon a time, Jeon Jeongguk had touched you so indecently angels would weep. The sins you commit with him feel like heaven on earth, so how could they blame you? You're sure when you reach the pearly gates, they'll understand - though heaven wouldn't really be worth it, you think. Not when you've already experienced Nirvana with him.

"Not if you don't want me to," he says, his intentions thinly veiled as he lowers the camera to look at you.

There's innocence in his dark eyes; an elixir you just want to bottle up to preserve for a rainy day. His thumb is still pressed against your most intimate of areas, languid in its subtle movements, just to remind he's there. Willing. Wanting. Waiting.

"So chess, or no chess?"

He's too far away for your hands to reach him properly, so you simply tap beneath his hand to encourage the camera further up, indicating that he should realign it with his sight.

"No chess."

Slow as he makes sure he's got the perfect angle, Jeongguk presses deeper against you. Has you humming in anticipation of more substantial touches.

The camera flashes, a mechanical buzz accompanying your bated breaths. He can't have captured much, you think, knowing the camera well. Will likely just be his hand, probably, and the part of you it was taking ownership of.

The photo begins to slide out of the slot at the top of the camera, but Jeongguk's hands are full. He nips the edge with his teeth. Pulls it out. Keeps it there. Realigns the camera. Lets go of your pussy to push your shirt up your stomach.

"Up," he instructs, teeth gritted thanks to the polaroid, letting you take over the removal of your shirt. Your body is bare, save for the pair of underwear he's been toying with, your chest now his to play with - but he doesn't. Not really. Just holds one of your tits in his firm grip. Tells you to hold the other one. You comply. The camera flashes again.

He spits the polaroid between his teeth to the side. It's developing now. He doesn't dare look at it. Another, arguably worse one is printing out anyways. Again, his teeth nip at the edge and pull it out.

"You'll use all the film," you say softly, a fondness to the way you're scolding him. He discards the polaroid between his teeth, a smile on his pretty lips.

"I'll buy you more," he says as his hand strokes up your chest and sinks to where your bird should be. "Still missing a necklace."

Oh, on the contrary, you think.

"Shame."

Camera still by his eye, Jeongguk lines up the perfect shot: the top of your chest, collarbones sparkling in your bedroom light, his hand wrapped around the base of your throat. Careful not to include your face, he thinks it's a shame. Would have quite liked your pouty lips as part of the picture, too.

He squeezes his hand as the camera flashes.

Pulling the polaroid out with his fingers this time, he shakes it gently. Finds the other photos scattered around your body and tosses them in a neat pile beside your bed.

"Gimmie," you say, scrunching your hands out in a bid to retrieve the camera. There's no protest. He sort of wants you to take pictures of him, too.

Wants evidence that you once wanted him as badly as he seems to want you.

"Where do you want me?" He asks, a little shy now the camera is back on him.

Aligning focus, you hold out your hand, and let the tips of your fingers trail down the ridges of his torso. Jeongguk glances down to watch your hand, so focused on your dainty touches that he barely even notices the flash going off.

"Only two shots left," you say quite contently as you perch the camera on your bedside table, the polaroid still printing. You'll check it later. "Should save them for something important."

He raises a brow. Looks genuinely confused. "Your tits are important."

With a laugh, you shake your head, hair tangling against your pillow. Cupping your tits for a little support (and warmth) you simply say, "not if you're an ass guy."

Jeongguk's whole entire face scrunches up, to the point where his lip ring does the thing, but you can't focus on it. He looks too cute. Stroking the tops of your thighs adoringly, Jeongguk sighs.

"Look, I'm not saying I'm not an ass guy anymore, but, like - shit , B."

He reaches up to rest his hands over yours, but you slide yours out so that his are making direct contact with your tits. Putting your hands back on top of his, you encourage him to squeeze them, which earns you a whine from his prettily pouted lips.

"Love your tits. Absolutely corrupted me, they have."

"I know," you say smugly. "You're welcome."

"I'm not thanking you," he laughs, rolling your nipples between his fingers. The arching of your back gets his cock throbbing. You're so easy to work up. So is he, though. "Ruined me."

He loves your laugh, but loves it catching in your throat as he spanks the soft flesh of your chest even more so.

He doesn't let the sting linger; soothes your skin immediately. Mutters to himself, with a shake of his head. "Absolutely ruined."

"Careful," you tease. "Or I'll start thinking you're a tit guy."

"I'll eat your ass just to prove I'm not," he banters back - but then you twist beneath him. Get on your front. Ass up for him, just how he likes.

"Alright, then," you challenge.

"B," he husks, gripping onto your ass with one hand and stroking down your arched back with the other. Poised so that you can see the mirror across the room, there's something sordid about watching Jeongguk like this.

Desire becomes him. There's nothing about his mind, body nor soul that doesn't want you in this moment, and it's written all over his skin. He has to have you. Will simply die if he can't.

"Yeah?" You reply sweetly, and he just knows you're gonna be in one of those moods - a mood he loves, but a mood he knows is no good for the way you make his heart beat these days.

"Behave yourself," he husks. "We both know we shouldn't."

It hasn't been discussed, but he's got a point. You know you should be practising a little more self-restraint.

"I won't tell if you don't."

His grip gets tighter. Jiggles your soft flesh a little. Gets him gritting his teeth. Cursing.

Your body jolts forward as he spanks you, just once. It's so satisfying.

"Shouldn't play with your food before you eat it," you smirk, knowing just the way to wind him up.

Yeah, Jeongguk thinks to himself. You're definitely one of those moods.

It's the bratty type. The 'wind him up just because it's fun' type - but two can play at that game.

"Want me to eat it, huh?" He husks.

"Mhmm," you whine a little as he massages your skin.

His hands are strong, but his determination to not let your brattiness win? Oh, even more so.

"God, you're filthy for me, aren't you baby?" He husks. Knows how much baby gets you. Uses it deliberately.

"Mhmm," is all you can whine in anticipation of something, anything, to relieve the ache in your pussy. Have been horny all week, but unable to act upon it without thinking about him - and you were mad at him. Didn't wanna be thinking about him at all, let alone as you came.

"My pretty little slut, aren't you?" He praises, fingers toying with your lace underwear. The slickness of your pussy seeps through the fabric. Gets him all wet and dirty, just how he likes it. "Cunt just begging to be fucked, but it's your ass you want eaten."

"Koo," you whine .

He's rarely ever mean in bed, but it always gets you even hornier than usual when he is. It's the juxtaposition, you think. A man as kind and charming as Jeongguk should not be as unhinged as you know he truly is.

"What have I told you about calling me that?" He laughs. "Don't fuckin' do it."

It's not that he doesn't like it. In fact, it's quite the opposite. He likes it too much.

"Why not?" You ask, because again, it's one of those moods - so Jeongguk decides that if you wanna fuck with him, he's gonna fuck with you instead.

"'Cause you're gonna address me properly, aren't you, baby?" He says, thankful you aren't looking at him, 'cause a smile is tugging at his lips.

He's got a plan. Doesn't know if you'll play along. Hopes you will. Knows that there's no way you'll fuck him if it goes right - and that's sort of what he's hoping for. The pair of you simply have no self-control, so he's trying to create some.

"What am I gonna call you?" You whine as he rubs over your panties with his long fingers.

"What do you think, baby?" he teases. "Use that pretty little head of yours, baby girl."

God. You're gonna die.

"Koo," you whine, because of course you do. There's only one name that compliments baby girl - and you don't wanna say it.

What you do want? Right now? Is for Jeongguk to fuck you so hard it makes you booking the entire day off worth it.

"Uh, uh, baby," he says as he holds your cunt. Absolutely takes ownership of it. Gets you all whimpery and whiney - and when he starts being nice? Oh, fuck . You're done for. Death imminent. "Use that pretty, perfect brain of yours. You're so smart, aren't you? You know what to call me."

Jeongguk would be lying if he said his cock wasn't throbbing. Your mom jeans - the ones that were baggy - appear tight now, thanks to his hardness.

You take a second. Assess how much dignity you stand to lose from 'addressing him properly', and decide you're too horny to care.

"You think I'm smart, Daddy?"

Glorious , Jeongguk thinks. Not the name. Just that he managed to get you to say it, and mean it. His power knows no bounds. This is fucking fantastic .

"There you go, baby girl," he praises, pushing your panties to the side so that he can get a good look at just how messy you are. He thinks he'll die almost immediately. "So smart. You like being smart for me, don't you?"

You can't believe you're gonna say it again. And yet -

"Yes, Daddy," you nod into your pillows, 'cause the anticipation of Jeongguk doing something - anything - to your pussy right now is simply too much.

" Too smart, almost. I'm gonna have to fuck you so hard you can't think straight," he tells you. Smirks to himself. His breathy laugh echoes around the room. "Gonna be a dumb slut on my cock, aren't you?"

"Fuck," you moan, not willing to subject yourself to another 'daddy' - but Jeongguk pushes his luck.

"Who?" he insists. "Who you gonna be fucking?"

You roll your eyes, not that he can see it. Can't believe you're doing this. Can't believe you kinda like it, either. "You, Daddy."

"Hmm," Jeongguk hums with great satisfaction, giving you a very gentle but curt spank, before rolling back down beside you.

You're confused. Worried .

And then Jeongguk is chuckling to himself. "That was easier than I thought."

You sit up instantly.

Mouth ajar, you turn your head judgmentally, reaching a conclusion that is gonna earn Jeongguk the bluest balls he's ever had. You'll make sure of it.

"What?!"

"What?" He smirks right back.

"That was easy? " You question, still confused, but also aware that despite the raging boner he has, a fuck is not what he's after.

Maybe he wants to be blue balled.

Weirdo.

"Yeah," he smirks, then fucking giggles to himself. "I got you calling me Daddy . God, you're so willing to do anything for my cock, B. It's so cute."

His smile prevails as he giggles, finding much amusement in playing you at your own bratty game.

"Oh my God," you wail. "I fucking hate you! You know I hate 'Daddy'."

"And yet you'll do it for my cock," he laughs even harder, now. "Oh, it's adorable. Really really sweet."

"I'm ending our friendship."

"No you aren't," he tells you, reaching for your wrist to pull you back down into your sheets with him - and for reasons you (again) don't care to explain, you just let him.

"I am," you assure him, even though you're kinda now snuggling into him.

"Don't disobey your daddy, baby," he jokes.

"I'll send him to an early grave if he isn't careful," you warn, but it only cracks him up even more.

"So you admit it?" he teases. "I am your Daddy?"

"Oh my God!"

"I'm your God, too? Wow, you really are being kind today-"

He's interrupted by your dainty hands covering his mouth. "Shut your face."

Jeongguk just laughs. Knows he'll probably just make it up to you with a quick fuck, if you let him.

The cursed thing about it all?

You probably will let him.

'Cause even though you hate Daddy, and you hate feeling embarrassed, and you hate not understanding your feelings, you do understand that nothing feels quite as calm as the aftermath of time spent in bed with Jeongguk.

It's the orgasms, you tell yourself. He makes you calm when he makes you cum. There's probably a science behind it. You're not gonna google it, 'cause you don't wanna be proven wrong.

"Put a shirt on," you huff. "You're paying for the snacks this time. You owe me, like, I don't know. Three weeks worth of snacks for that little stunt."

And so when Jeongguk returns from the shop a little while later, you're pleased to see he really did buy enough snacks to last at least a month, if not longer.

"Was meaning to ask you," Jeongguk says as he unpacks one of the bags while you scroll through the Netflix home page. "When are you next in work?"

You're yet to tell him you booked the day off because of his exam. Now Wednesday, you have Thursdays off as usual. The Friday shift pattern changes most weeks depending on who needs it off, but this week, you've managed to get it off, too. Saturday will be your first shift.

"Well," Jeongguk says. "I missed a bunch of family events 'cause I was studying all the time. I'm probably gonna head over to Busan this evening just to show my face for a night or two. Keep mum happy."

"That's cute," you smile. "She'll appreciate it, I'm sure."

He nods. Knows she will. Feels bad for being a bit of a shitty son in the last few weeks.

"I know things have been a bit mad with Tae's shows, and just... Well, everything," Jeongguk staggers his words, a little unsure of himself. For once, he fears your rejection.

"Mhmm," you agree. "Been crazy."

"Yeah," he nods. "Sea air helps, though. You wanna come with?"

"To Busan?" you clarify.

For some reason, it feels like your heart is in your throat. You might throw it up entirely.

"To Busan," he reinforces. Turns to face you. "With me. Busan. You wanna come?"

"Do you want me to come?" You ask, not wanting to be a charity case 'cause he feels bad about the whole 'Daddy' thing.

Jeongguk doesn't feel bad about the 'Daddy' thing in the slightest. He genuinely just wants you to come with him.

"I'll get bored on the drive if I'm alone," he shrugs. "Plus mum keeps asking why I don't have a girlfriend yet and if I introduce her to someone as repulsive as you, maybe she'll stop insisti-

"Oh fuck you," you laugh. "Mothers love me."

"Yeah, sure they do," he teases, knowing full well his mum will think you're the greatest thing he's brought home since his first-grade report card.

"I'll prove you wrong," you say, not that you have to. Jeongguk is just winding you up. "Your mum is gonna like me more than she likes you."

"So you're gonna come with?"

You bite down on your bottom lip. Ignore the conventions of a relationship that are looming over the pair of you both. Nod.

"Yeah. I'll come with."

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

[starstruck-flames]

Please… don’t remind me. - Geto Suguru

A fluttering, pleasant memory… and a harsh, bitter reality. The call of a man long lost brings me to you, and you can’t say no, can you? Let me pretend for just a moment that you could be happy.

No… please don’t reignite that memory within me.

Content includes: Implied stalking? Somewhat, he finds where you live. POV from Fem!reader. Possible/implied non con, called off engagement.

Authors note: Hello gamers, it’s been a while huh? Warning for spoilers that are approximately discussed in season 2 of JJK. (I read the manga and now I’m waiting for all of season 2 so my partner will sit down and watch it with me!)

Song for your mood?

Times in the inner circle of Jujutsu sorcery was incredible, it felt like being in an entirely different planet than any other human being.

And ironically enough?

It was the largest curse you’d ever had to carry the burden of.

Growing up in a larger family, having the privilege of learning from your very birth… it’s a prestigious place to be. Even as a child, you knew this. It was hard, and you grew in every single way possible. As a woman? It was almost as if you had to work twice as hard to prove yourself.

Especially in the shadow of your at the time fiancé.

Suguru had always been a kind man, he was never the one you had to prove yourself to. In fact he had welcomed the engagement with open arms when it was announced to you both as teenagers. It almost felt like a classical romance story, he had never touched without asking. Never yelled, never even furrowed his eyebrows at you. He had been perfect, a daydream of a short lived relationship.

Then Riko Amanai happened.

Did you blame her? Not at all. No one was to blame, it had been a gut wrenching process to digest as your former fiancé explained everything to you in a new light. In a new, devastating way that made both of your lips curl ever so slightly in response to what had been aired out.

“Join me,” He stated calmly, no expression. Not even that smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I trust you, we’ve known each other for a decade now. Even before our engagement, I know how vital you could be.”

A pause.

A long pause.

“…” A glance away from his eyes as you consider everything. The danger, the fact you will always… always be avoiding either of your families. The fact that this could be a new start.

A normal woman.

No fight for power, your problems could now become meaningless.

And that…

That made your chest feel lighter.

He hadn’t taken your answer with anger, you had told him should the time come? You would return, for him. However? You wished to become a phantom, to slink away into a new life that could perhaps grant you some happiness. True peace, perhaps.

He gave you a real smile, one last time before wishing you luck with this new chapter.

And then you were both gone.

Unlike Suguru, you moved away. Far, far away. Out into the countryside. It was peaceful and quiet, religious, yes but it was a town full of the elderly. They took a liking to your politeness, something you’d learned to turn on masterfully with your family. You took up a simple life, working from home and gardening on weekends.

And this year was no different.

And you hadn’t even been told of what happened to Suguru.

~ ~ ~

Kenjaku had been feeling a memory from Suguru’s body, a familiar scent that awakened a thought into a new entity. He knew it was important, as it sent a shiver up Suguru’s spine. It drove him crazy sometimes, fleeting reminders of your memory would make the body he’d taken feel all fluttery and strange. Unsure if it was a positive or a negative emotion… he decided to investigate in the small amount of Suguru’s belongings he had kept.

Rifling through the small box, (he always kept mementos of his victims lives) his hands accidentally cut themselves against a small polaroid photo. The body flinches, but his face doesn’t react.

Picking up the photo… he can feel what’s left of the man react to what is a photo of the two of you as teens, sitting together.

“Oh.”

~ ~ ~

The spring had settled into your village quickly, the late morning sun basking your features as you smile softly. Small wrinkles forming under your eyes as your mundane life continued to give you such small pleasures. The small garden around your property beginning to bloom with colour as your bare feet pad against the wooden flooring.

The screen door left open as the scent of herbal tea wafts through the home.

Meanwhile the town below your home, at the base of the little hill that sprawled across the country side had felt shrouded in darkness in comparison. The older folks mumbling amongst themselves that they couldn’t help but feel something was going to happen. Simply superstition, that’s what you would have probably told them.

Suguru Geto holds a thin sheet of paper between his finger tips. Eyes roaming past the cosy town and its wary people to see your home, or at least what the information he’s tracked down to be your home.

His geta clicks softly against the aged stone stairs that will lead him to you. Expression blank as even Kenjaku feels a strange sense of… anxiety. It’s only because he wants this feeling to end.

No matter the cost.

He can’t help but chuckle as he sees the open screen doors, reckoning you’d grown too comfortable thinking no one would ever find you. Or perhaps you’d have thought yourself too clever to be tracked down?

The smell of herbal tea briefly hits his nose, and that’s it.

That’s you.

He openly lets himself onto your property, careful of the intricately planted flowers blooming around his feet but not quite careful enough to bother with another route.

The home feels like what he had expected. Stepping up onto the wood panels your bare feet had just recently sprinted from to ensure you had that same tea he could sense before him. Willingly walking through the open doors, he sees the colour of your hair. Nothing had changed, only the very slight aging of your features. It made you look more mature from what small memory Kenjaku had access to.

He watches quietly at the grip on the tea pot in your hand strengthens for just a moment. Wide eyes taking in his vision. Almost as if he were a holy figure, though…

Suguru perhaps certainly thought himself as one.

“…I…” Comes a quiet stammer as you slowly approach, placing down the teapot gently. “it’s been-“

“About ten years.” He answers without much thought, he could feel the core of the soul he’d hijacked quake with the memory.

You falter for a moment, not even questioning his features. His new aura, the scars across his forehead.

You can’t help but fall for the fact your ex fiancé now stands before him, willingly throwing yourself against his chest. He almost falls, surprised by your reaction but feigns a delighted expression as he wraps his arms around you. It would almost be sweet, almost.

“…I’ve missed you.” He said quietly, as he feels your body move just a little bit slower.

You take a step back, regaining your composure as eyes run up his body. Almost like your judging his attire, but then.

Your eyes fixate on his forehead.

It’s like watching the gears turn in your pretty little head, like your logical side is very slowly pulling back your emotions. It’s fascinating really.

“…Why are you here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asks, feeling the core of his body try to resist the dark urges Kenjaku forces upon it. Feeling the soul fail to control any remaining sense of self.

“I need you.”

[cayenneexe]

Even, Even More Charbee Prompt Rambles

I want to find myself but your anger won’t let me

Charlie is 24 and competing in the Olympics but is terrified. She made it to the finals and the last dive will determine the gold. She tries to hype herself with her usual ritual by listening to her favorite Smiths tape but she’s still stressed.

Memo comes and hugs her and say good luck but sees that she’s stressed and tries to calm her down. He gives her something. It was supposed to be an anniversary gift but the two broke up and Charlie was busy with training.

Charlie opens it and finds a small white towel that says in gold stitching:

“If found: Return to Queen Bee”

Seeing her nickname made her smile but the nostalgia makes her tear up. The public started calling her that because of the yellow and black swimming cap she wears. Only a few people in her life knows why she chose those colors.

Charlie thanks Memo but he says there’s more. She unfolds the towel and finds a waterproof copy of the polaroid she had with Bee. Charlie hasn’t been home in five years and hasn’t seen that photo in years.

Memo confesses that he knows that Charlie never liked him as much as Charlie liked Bee. Charlie tries to deny it but Memo knows that she loves him more than Memo will ever be loved. Charlie apologizes but Memo is understanding, saying he’s dating a girl he met at a coffee shop. Charlie is still hopeful that Bee will return or that he might be watching her compete. So Memo encourages her to pretend that he is and win for him and even if she loses, the bot will still be proud of her. Charlie hugs and cries with Memo before she calls to the board.

As she walks, she looks at the photo, kisses it before folding it and hiding it in her cap, muttering…

“Bee, if you’re watching, this is for you.”

Meanwhile in New York, Arcee, Kris and Mirage are watching the Summer Olympics at the warehouse while Noah repairs the two.

Optimus and Bee arrive, looking curious. Kris explains what the Olympics are and Arcee and Mirage are already invested, saying that high diving is coming up next which Bee rushes to watch. He remembers the tapes of Charlie diving and was curious on the work of professionals. Optimus follows and joins the watch, impressed by the humans’ talents while Bee is excited to see people perform the same sport Charlie did but pauses when he hears that Charlene “Queen Bee” Watson will dive next for the gold.

Bee recognizes her, admiring how much she changed and is proud that she’s doing it again. Mirage and Arcee cheer for Charlie, saying that she has been doing very good for the past few competitions. Mirage also teases Bee that she might be a contender for bee-themed nicknames while Bee watched with bated breath and full attention, smiling with pride when she dives. When the judges gives her all 10s, he’s up on his feet, playing loud celebratory songs when it’s announced that she won gold

Everyone in the room looks at him weirdly (except Optimus with knowing look on his faceplate) but the yellow Camaro doesn’t care.

Bee doesn’t hide his loving looks when Charlie poses with her medal and holding flowers with the same hand holding a polaroid of him and her seven years ago. Bee tries to whisper Charlie, imagining he could hear his buzzing through the tv, mumbling that he’s proud of her.

He only snaps out of his daze when Noah teases that he has a crush on Charlie which Mirage joins in just before Bee tackles Mirage into a playful wrestling match. Noah warns Bee that he just fixed Mirage’s paint job and Kris cheers Mirage on, completely forgetting the tv, while Arcee and Optimus just watch amused.

and if Optimus is looking for the fastest route to California, that’s no one else’s business

After everything, his scout deserves it

[svtskneecaps]

qsmp ghost investigator au dump

here is everything i spitballed into my sibling's texts. apparently their discord was "thriving on it". i'll divide this into categories and attempt to format it as reader friendly as possible. god almighty i hope the keep reading below this paragraph works

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

there's a main investigative squad formed by roier, cellbit, fic, pac, and tubbo

roier is in charge of their social media accounts

mike is their former college roommate who they constantly bring up and declare has died, except every time he comes up the way he died was different. he's actually a really successful movie producer (or something) so one time they do a live stream for a milestone celebration and in the last ten seconds mike comes flying out of the left side with ghost stage makeup and tackles pac off the side of the screen and they never address this publicly. any time someone asks what happened to pac they answer "who's pac" including pac

cellbit gets extremely disappointed when the perp isn't supernatural

roier is thrilled when the perp isn't supernatural because the peter parker in him loves taking the piss on a billionaire publicly

fit has photographic memory (à la canon screenshots)

pac is extremely good at breaking and entering

cellbit is an old fashioned polaroid kind of guy bc digital cameras don't capture ghost evidence as clearly

roier swears by digital photos bc he likes photoshop (he carries rolls of film with him in case cellbit runs out)

fit has an auto shop. tubbo and ramón work in this auto shop. this is a headache for everyone involved but at least the auto shop was already a thin disguise for experimenting with homemade pyrotechnics so things exploding isn't a big deal

whenever the team has to do a distraction, the only two options are 1) manipulation 2) explosion

when they get caught in a bad spot, pac plays on sympathy, roier plays dumb, tubbo plays along, cellbit pretends to belong, and fit uno reverses

they commissioned jaiden for their logo. she also beta reads the scripts

richarlyson works for mike. sometimes he joins the investigation crew as a cameraman on loan. fans have learned to recognize when richas is behind the camera because the camera doesn't shake when the monster of the week appears because homeboy does not fear death. cellbit knows mike will end his bloodline if anything happens to richas (and would probably end his OWN bloodline) so he tends to be double stressed when richas is behind the camera

the team has a house, courtesy of mike, because god knows a ghost hunter's salary probably can't pay for one

bagi belongs to a "rival" investigation group. she and cellbit talk MAD shit every time they're in the same room. they are also both incredibly fucking smart and often end up working together to crack the tough cases while continuing to smack talk each other

bad is also in the rival investigative group. he is very clearly a demon. this is never commented on.

skeppy is a ghost except bad is the only one who can see him. anyone who calls skeppy imaginary is shouted down by bagi. bagi also believes skeppy is imaginary

tina is the safety net / brawn for bagi's team. she trains in hand to ghost hand combat with etoiles because she is Not Human and can punch ghosts. bagi does not know this and she just thinks tina's super cool and super talented and super badass. tina definitely thinks bagi has realized she is Not Human but they haven't like had a conversation about it but bagi's super smart sooooo

dapper is the "guy in the chair" for the rival investigation team. bad tends to ask a question into a radio (or seemingly to thin air) and immediately get the answer via text. sometimes cellbit will wonder something aloud about various ghost types or signs ("they heard scratching in the attic, so that could be caused by--") and almost immediately get cut off by bad's text tone as bad reads aloud dapper listing off three paranormal options as well as potential structural problems and rodents having an extremely fun night, at which point bad cuts himself off with "LANGUAGE" or "OUT OF POCKET"

the main team thinks dapper is just short until they realize that no, dapper is actually like 14. bad's like WHY DO YOU THINK THEY STAY IN THE VAN???

baghera makes and posts music and consults for bagi's team. cellbit is scared of her and also desperately wishes he could poach her for his own team but she only answers jaiden's calls

pomme has a ghost gun. it was a gift from etoiles. she accidentally took foolish's head off with it one time. his head grew back and that was how they learned he was Not Made of Meat. this was not particularly surprising, because bad is still her part time dad. it still scared the crap out of pomme the first time it happened because the ghost gun SHOULD only work on ghosts but foolish is in a weird enough state of undead that he qualified.

foolish was thrilled to have a spare head, hence "the first time"

vegetta is a famous architect. he calls foolish to ask which paranormal team he should consult on whether a property is haunted, because vegetta trusts his partner of unspecific relationship's judgement, considering foolish is Not Human. foolish's answer usually depends on how spiteful he feels towards tina and bad at the time of the call

bonus, i really want maximus involved in one team or the other but since he hasn't interacted with bagi yet i can't decide his role or anything concrete. but just know that's in my brain.

EPISODES (in no particular order:

foolish summons bad during a sleepover with tina and then thinks it'll be funny to summon paranormal investigators (bad also thinks it's funny). they decide to play a game of "can the investigators figure out who's the immortal". it is revealed to the audience in the end of the ""episode"" once all the investigators have left that all three of them are immortal. bad and foolish devolve into yet another argument over which one of them won based on a win condition they somehow came up with and agreed on without ever consulting each other. tina was actually the winner. roll credits.

NEXT:

quackity owns a casino. he hires the team to look into some demonic activity his patrons have been reporting. he spends the entire investigation and episode demanding they find the demon and exorcise the demon and generally shittalking the demon. they spend the entire episode questioning more and more how quackity's casino stays in business as everything they learn about it and him does not inspire confidence. it is revealed that ironmouse is the demon and is also singlehandedly keeping the casino in business because she fucking loves gambling. quackity immediately changes his tune.

NEXT:

antoine calls the team because he's KINDA worried by the latitude and longitude he keeps finding on the walls at the company he works at, written in what looks suspiciously like blood. unbeknownst to them, bagi's team was ALSO contacted, by baghera. they eventually discover the recipient of the messages is etoiles. after an incident at his previous employment he is half ghost and can now fight ghosts. the messages were from an entity that attacks things when it gets bored and it may as well fight etoiles because etoiles is the only one who has beat it so far. they meet in various back alleys and restaurant parking lots to go at it and get drinks afterward. the entity has no idea how to speak any modern languages but Fighting is Universal.

NEXT:

pierre is a wine baron and claims there's a unicorn who watches over his family's vineyard. it's been part of the brand since inception and it's taken mostly as propaganda and old legend until people start actually catching glimpses of a unicorn around the vineyard and the rumor starts to spread until roier "investigative journalist and old money hater" drags the team to go on a tour of the production line in hopes of blowing the case wide open. fit, pac, and tubbo are in charge of distractions while cellbit and roier sneak away to explore the vineyard and track the unicorn.

the unicorn is pierre. roier ends up finding this hilarious and while his journalistic spirit cannot allow him to NOT expose that the unicorn is fake, he ends up calling it "a white horse with a taped-on horn" instead of the face of the company in a fursuit. pierre sends the team wine periodically as thanks and also because roier still has a picture of him in a unicorn costume in the woods.

fit and pac do a wine tasting together.

NEXT:

wilbur contacts them because ghost slime has taken up residence in the guest bathroom and while his daughter insists slime is part of the family, phil is coming with his son (chayanne) to stay with them for a festival or something and wilbur doesn't feel like getting roasted by the middle schooler who is his brother because the bathroom smells like algae and wet dog so he needs the team to babysit slime until phil leaves town. slime spends the entire time going through windows and walls with no warning and scaring the piss out of everyone. one time he was in the cabinet when cellbit was going in to make his midnight coffee and his scream sent everyone in the house into emergency mode. roier would have FULLY put slime through the wall if slime were corporeal. lucky for slime, and their wall, slime is not.

NEXT:

jaiden works at an escape room and her boss reaches out to the team because he is FED UP with some paranormal entity that keeps drawing on walls and moving shit around and throwing things and tripping him and he wants it GONE. jaiden is extremely fond of bobby and bobby is extremely fond of HER, so she reaches out to the team and asks them to NOT do that and just pretend or something. so the team goes in and pretends to investigate and stuff. roier and bobby feud in the background. by the end of the episode they're besties.

the episode concludes, shockingly, with the boss and bobby gaining grudging respect for each other. somehow. the boss threatens to reveal bobby's existence to the internet at large as a publicity stunt every time bobby trips him in the hallway but never actually does. bobby stops throwing things at him (as much). the themeing of the rooms shift so the drawings and moving objects fit in. the boss is mariana.

from this episode on bobby periodically appears in the team's house, because it's my au and i make the ghost rules

END OF SEASON:

the end season villain is a guy who ran the biggest corporation in the world who died under mysterious circumstances. the corporation has a duck mascot for no reason in particular hahahaha. they're a company like nesquick or aquafina or amazon or something yknow REAL assholes.

the team is contracted by the billionaire's nephew (forever) who took over the business when he died and is extremely overwhelmed by 1) running a business on this scale and 2) all the paranormal bs happening in his office (which is where the former CEO died). he also happens to be cellbit's ex. this is highly awkward.

because i hate billionaires but like forever, let's say forever was contacted by the villain solely because the CEO does NOT want any of his immediate underlings to get the company and thus only reveals his blood relation to forever IN HIS WILL. except forever is A Good Dude and is trying to grasp the full scope of the company's corruption and dismantle the shitty practices while still keeping the employees paid, despite his only business experience being his current position of running a boardwalk/beach. this ends up being the cause of the paranormal activity: the CEO is panicking now that forever is trying to 'ruin his company'.

the episode ends with the CEO briefly succeeding in possessing forever, and the combined forces of the ghost teams bring him back and send the CEO to hell.

somehow the billionaire is involved in or mentioned during previous episodes.

[witchthewriter]

𝕾𝖍𝖎𝖕 𝖋𝖔𝖗 @pandorasdead.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑺𝒐𝒂𝒑! 𝑶𝒓 … 𝑱𝒐��𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑻𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒉. I think he'd be the exact partner that you're looking for. Or rather, who you're meant for - but you don't know it. That's definitely how your relationship would unfold - both unaware that the feelings are so intense, trying to pretend it's nothing. But really if anything happened to you, Soap would go out of his mind.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

You said you wanted someone tall, and hun you are 5'3 - everyone is tall compared to you <3 But I headcanon that Johnny is around 6 foot. In the original game he was listed as 6'2. So we can say that is his height <3

So he would definitely use that to his advantage. Placing things on high cupboards and dangling things just out of your reach. He's a menace.

When he's deployed, he carries around a polaroid of you, with a note taped to the back that says, "I love you Johnny, come back to me."

Wearing each other's clothes; this literally goes both ways. When Soap forgets to do laundry, he'll literally wear one of your tops. Once you were about to leave the house and found him laying on the couch with a tight pink shirt on (it made his chest look pretty amazing)

His love language is physical touch, words of affirmation and ... physical touch. This man is an absolute sook when he comes back to you. Wherever you go, he goes. The first two days back, he'll just pick you up and ask where you need to go, and carry you.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Lay All Your Love On Me by ABBA (and there are awesome covers by various artists as well!)

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Being on the brink of admitting their feelings for each other but then getting interrupted.

Malewife x Girlboss aka Barbie and Ken

You Confessed Your Love When Thinking He Was Unconscious

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Love In Denial

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

That you want to better yourself - you aren't stagnant. You're continuously growing and it makes him want to do it as well. And it isn't just a physical thing; it's growing emotionally and mentally. Becoming wiser and more compassionate.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

GAZ! Gaz would be your best friend without a doubt. Constantly teasing both you and Soap. It was actually him spurring Soap on to actually act on his feelings. But funnily enough, it was you who spoke up first.

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

It's so hard because ... there's barely any feminine characters but I think you're a mix of Rudy, Price and Soap. Rudy seems to be the most ... quiet? Sensitive? Price knows what to do, he's ready for what comes next. And Soap brings such a lightheartedness that everyone relies on.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

A completely black cat, who some in the witch community would call a familiar because he seems connected to you somehow. It was pure luck how you found him.

A stray that walked past you, stopped and sat right in front of you at the airport carpark. You had just seen Johnny off as he flew back to base, and then here this little guy was, following you.

He had no collar, when you took him to the vets, he had no chip or record. So you decided to keep him. Because what are the odds that a cat actually wants to be around a human?

(Oh and Johnny didn't mind one bit. He always got upset that you had to live by yourself. He was glad you had company! He isn't one of those types of people who hates cats.)

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈! The only man on this show who shows an ounce of kindness, loyalty, devotion and protectiveness rather than possessiveness. He's well-rounded and has a good head on his shoulders. The other men are too harsh for you, too cruel. I don't think you could be with someone who is violent - towards others.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Made your heart drop to the floor the very first time you saw him. His brown curls, tanned skin, and kind smile made you swoon. (Little did you know, he was staring at you the entire time)

I just know this man loves to boogie - from his training, Harwin has very good foot work. And rhythm is a big part of handling a sword and going through the motions - so when it's time to dance during feasts, eyes are always on the two of you

Likes to take you out at night and lay down on a soft patch of grass (his cloak already laid out for you), so you can watch the stars together. The first night you did this, there was a shooting star.

Can communicate just by the look in your eyes. Harwin is getting better at it, but sometimes his face is just too obvious.

When he realised he was in love with you - that was it for him. No one else could compare. So he asked his father for the family ring and kept it in his pocket until the right moment arose.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Golden Years by David Bowie

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

"Hey can I have a…" (You) x "Yes. Whatever it is. Yes." (Harwin)

Moral/Emotional Support

You Fell First, But They Fall Harder

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Everyone Can See It But The Two Of You

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

How thoughtful you are; you observe so much around you and notice more than others. (That could actually make you a big player in the 'game').

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Laena; I think she would bring out the wild, untamed version of you and you would help her ... wisen up. You two would laugh a lot together though; arms linked and sitting together whenever you can.

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

A mixture of Rhaenys, Harwin, and Rhaena. Rhaenys - wisdom, knowledge, patience, intuition. Harwin - kindness, compassion, devotion. Rhaena - youthfulness, observant, loyal.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

Whether you're a Targaryen, a Velaryon or a Dragonseed - it does not matter. Because you bonded with a dragon. The one and only Silverwing, who was once the mount of the Good Queen Alysanne.

[inkykeiji]

*sighs* oh to be high school sweethearts w angsty touya…(omg not in a weird way lol)

wait actually i cannot see it. he would probably get you pregnant n then leave/disappear…

HAHAHAHA yes the closest you’d get to high school sweethearts with him would be being his extremely intense high school fling. you do drugs and hang out illegally on rooftops and stay out all night knotted between the bars of old playgrounds and go to metal shows and raves together where you share joints or shove ecstasy tablets from one tongue onto another—all through airy exhilarated giggles and sweltering breaths—and it’s fun, it’s an adventure, it’s a wild fucking ride, full of ups and downs, twists and turns: laughing so hard your face is streaked with tears and your cheeks and stomach hurt for a full day afterward; screaming matches where he tugs at his hair and sinks dirty fingernails into your biceps and leaves ugly webbed craters in drywall, knuckles oozing scarlet and coated in a fine white dust; bad trips where you cling to each other beneath the steady spray of a shower head, curled into tiny, tangled balls on the floor of the tub, and cry and cry and cry and cry, pretending that the heaving backs and shuddering ribs and fragmented gasps are merely from the acid, that the salty dewdrops you sop up with messy, spit-slicked kisses and trembling tongues is merely shower water, rolling down cheeks and necks, dripping off jaws and pooling in the dips of collarbones.

but it was never a dull moment with him.

and then he leaves, without a trace or a single word of goodbye, and you’re left with nothing but your memories and a few keepsakes—a couple of polaroids, blurred faces and heavy grain; crumpled subway tickets that read 3am; beaded friendship bracelets strung together when you were so high you barely remember making them; and maybe, just maybe, a tiny human growing inside your womb. a small little seed he planted, now rooted within you, that he never knew about, that he’ll never know about.

[coveredinsweetpea]

Reader x Eddie, taking Polaroid pictures of each other and with each other while they are doing it (maybe even walking in on Eddie touching himself while looking at such pictures of y/n and then they do it and take more pics to do it to themselves with for when the other one isn't around cause they are working or something) basically a lot of filth but I think its kinda really cute and damn sexy

OK I need to start by apologizing because this probably is nowhere near as filthy as you wanted it to be, BUT if you've known me before my Eddie days, you know I'm OBSESSED with taking nudes, so I promise I will come back to this and bring out the filth as well!!!! (SMUT-ish) 2k

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, sex (p in v), exhibitionism, nudes, masturbating, humiliation (kinda?), Eddie trying to be mean but it actually just cute, two idiots in love, mentions shitty relationships with parents and smoking, and yeah, I think this is it? it's a chill one, I'm sorry!!!

-

Your thighs burned as you rolled on Eddie’s cock, his hands cupping your breasts as he stared up at you in awe, getting closer and closer to his second orgasm of the night. You had your eyes closed and your lips sucked between your teeth as you enjoyed the moment, only realizing Eddie’s grip on your body tightened when he raised his voice.

“Where’s your camera?” he panted.

“My- camera?”

“Polaroids” Eddie continued, but you still frowned in confusion.

“The ones we took at the Metallica concert? What!?”

“Just, give it to me”

In complete disbelief, you climbed off his dick and sighed at the sudden emptiness between your legs as you tiptoed your way to your dresser. The second you touched the camera, you realized what he had in mind. 

“Do you wanna-?” you began questioning and turned to see Eddie grinning widely at you.

“You’re cute when you’re slow like that”

“Oh shut up!” you scoffed and ran to the foot of the bed. “I get a dick pic for this” you laughed as you snapped a picture of him, sitting on top of your fluffy pillows and pink blankets, hair a mess, lipstick all over his face and cock hard, resting against his abdomen. “I’ll keep this one in my lunch box” 

“I have a different idea for my lunch box,” he added.

“Yeah? What do you have in mind?”

“Oh, no, I don’t know what pictures I want, I know I don’t want them inside my lunch box”

“Eddie!” you gasped and jumped on top of the bed, swatting him and throwing yourself against his chest, “Don’t you dare”

“Don’t piss me off, sweetheart, and I won't,” he laughed. Eddie snatched the camera from you and returned to his spot. “Get back on my cock”

“I’m scared now,” you giggled.

“You should be, I’m getting so many ideas!” he chuckled and just when you gasped, he snapped another picture. 

“Eddie!”

“I’ll take more if you don’t shut up and climb back on my dick”

Not that you allowed him to win, but you let him think he did. You threw one of your legs over his without a word and guided his tip at your entrance, before lowering yourself on his cock. Eddie took a deep breath and rolled his eyes in pleasure as you moaned, and just when you saw him too lost in the moment, you snatched the camera from him, covered your breasts with your free hand and took another picture, from the side.

“This can go on your lunch box”

-

“Why are we visiting your mom again?” Eddie whined, his fingers intertwined with yours as you guided him through the office building. “I thought you hated her”

“I do” you nodded and tugged him closer. “But my grandma said something about being decent human beings and being the bigger person and… I don’t know, I didn’t really listen. Point is, I’m doing this for my grandparents. We’ll go in, I’ll introduce you, she’ll try to make small talk, I’ll pretend I’m not annoyed, and then we’re done”

“This is what you stuffed me into this ridiculous suit for?” Eddie cried, “I thought she was buying us dinner at least”

“Can you stop being a child?”

“I can try…”

And as always, your mother was running late. Her assistant mentioned something about a meeting that could not have been postponed, about how your mother was really sorry and that she’d be there as soon as possible, but after 10 minutes of waiting, you and Eddie were ready to leave.

“Y/n, if we  leave now, do we have to come back another day?”

“Yeah, poss-”

“Then, no. We’re waiting”

“I’m bored” you whined and leaned against his shoulder, “Unbore me”

“Oh, those sweet, magic words” Eddie smiled, shaking his head. Confused, you looked up, and saw him pull out your camera from his suit jacket.

“Eddie, no!” you warned and pointed a finger at him. But it was too late.

Eddie grabbed your hand and pulled you from the lobby, into the elevator, and randomly chose one of the many levels of the building. 

“Thank god you didn’t get us stuck inside this elevator”

“Nah, that’s not fun enough”

You didn’t even question it, instead stumbled after him out of the elevator. He was running around aimlessly, neither of you knowing where you actually were, but he never slowed down, not until he reached a small balcony.

Without giving you chance to say anything, Eddie opened the door and ushered you outside, “Take those off”

“You’re insane if you think I’ll-”

“You told me to unbore you, that’s what I’m doing”

“Not like this!”

“I’ll let you peg me”

You instantly stopped complaining. “What do you want me to take off?��

Your flowery shirt and elegant cardigan flew off of you, lucky to have come off with all buttons still intact. Eddie’s hungry mouth instantly found your nipples, and he sucked and bit into your sensitive skin as you giggled and played with his little ponytail - a look you didn’t hate. But it was only a matter of time until someone would pass through the hallway, and so Eddie didn’t let things escalate too much or he wouldn't have been able to leave that balcony for another 15 minutes.

“Lean back” he ordered and while normally you’d have complained about the height, you arched your back over the edge and let your head fall.

As you stood there, almost trembling in the wind, Eddie grabbed one of your hands to get you to cover one of your breasts as he placed his palm over the other one, and snapped a picture. 

“Hurry, hurry!” he said as soon as he pushed the button and pulled you away from the edge. 

He threw your bra and your shirt at you, and jumped to cover you, pretending to light up a cigarette as he waved at one of the employees that walked through the hallway. With your heart in your throat you remained glued to his back, breathing heavily until he turned and let you know it was safe to come out.

“You idiot!” you snapped and hit him with the cardigan you had borrowed from Nancy, “You couldn’t have told me sooner someone is coming?”

“No one saw you!”

“Eddie!”

“Doll, put your clothes on”

Sighing heavily, you did so, and together you left the balcony.

-

“Close your eyes” Eddie said enthusiastically as soon as you took all your clothes off and remained in your underwear. 

“Do you have a surprise for me?” you cheered.

“Yes, sweetheart, I do”

“Am I gonna like it?”

“You’re gonna adore it” he licked his lips and reminded you to close your eyes.

Without being able to contain your smile, you closed your eyes and tried to listen to what he was doing. You heard him walk around the room, heard him shuffle through one of his drawers, and then heard the sound of something metallic being pulled out of a paper bag. Bracelets? you thought and then became convinced of it when Eddie grabbed your wrists. But it only took a couple of seconds for realization to hit, as you soon felt the pair of handcuffs being fastened around your wrists.

“Where did you get these?” you beamed, and tested them a bit. Sturdy, looked like the real deal.

“I stole them” Eddie answered nonchalantly and tugged at the chain between the cuffs. It made you stumble forward, which prompted him to chuckle proudly, “Don’t you love them?”

“Yes!” you nodded and pushed yourself up to kiss his lips, “Are you gonna tie me to your bed?”

“I am, later”

You remained still as Eddie wrapped his arms around you, only to undo your bra, and force it up your arms. Due to the cuffs on your hands, he couldn’t take the bra off of you, but considering he was taller than you and still wearing his boots, when the tugged the bra and the chain as high up as he could, you had to push yourself up on your tiptoes to keep up.

“God, Eddie, stop!” you whined, trying to wiggle your hands out of his hold but he was keeping them too tightly in place. All your struggling did was make your breasts move from side to side which made Eddie grin widely as he showed no shame while staring down at your naked chest.

“Ask nicely”

“No!”

“No?” he laughed and backed away to climb on top of his bed.

You tried to follow, but he kept you from doing so, and now he towered over you, smiling even prouder than before. “Ask me nicely, sweetheart, or I’ll think of worse things to do to you”

“You’re enjoying this!”

“Of course I fucking am, look at you all whiney and upset. You’re adorable”

“Let me go!” you cried, but your amusement was too loud to not be heard too. And on top of it all, a familiar buzz started building up between your legs and the last thing you wanted was for Eddie to find out.

“All the things I could do to you, sweetheart”

“Eddie, please!”

“Please, what?”

“Please, let go of my hands!”

He thought about it for a while, and then sighed, “But I like you being all helpless like this”

“My hands are tied, I’m helpless anyway” you tried and then studied his reaction to see if you managed to get to him. 

“I love this too much, I think I’m gonna keep you tied up for a while”

“I’ll do whatever you want!”

“You always do whatever I want anyway” Eddie said.

“I do, and look how you repay me. You’re so mean sometimes”

“Don’t look at me like that” Eddie shook his head, “You love it”

“I love you”

“And you love it when I’m mean to you”

“If I say yes, will you let go of my hands?”

“Yes”

“Then yes” you breathed out, “I love it!”

“That’s my girl” Eddie beamed proudly and dropped your hands.

But he wasn’t done. You thought he was going to kiss you, but he grabbed your hips and threw you on the bed. In the blink of an eye, he pulled out the camera and snapped a picture. When he was done, he threw it to the side and returned all his attention back to you.

“What am I gonna do with you, doll, hm?”

“Whatever you want?” you smiled.

-

It had been a long week. School, work, Eddie’s campaign and your promise to help Nancy with the newspaper - it had been horrible. It was now Friday and you couldn’t contain your enthusiasm as you rushed down the streets of Hawkins on your way to Eddie’s house. You weren’t supposed to see each other until Saturday afternoon, so your palms were sweaty with excitement as you imagined the look on his face when you’d burst into his room one day early. 

Carefully, you took out the key he had given you and made your way inside the house. His uncle wasn’t there so it was easy for you to get to his room, where you softly knocked on his door, “Eddie?”

“Y/n?” you heard his voice, weak and out of breath.

You blinked in confusion but still pushed the door open, only to see Eddie naked on his bed, legs spread wide open, cock in hand as probably every single one of the polaroids you had taken had been laid out around him on the covers.

“Eddie?” you struggled to not burst into laughter.

“I can explain” he jumped, “It’s not what-”

“You’re masturbating to our nudes, what’s there to explain?” you teased and walked over to him.

“You were supposed to be at Nancy’s”

“I was, but we were done early and I wanted to surprise you”

“Are you mad?” Eddie cringed, ready to start apologizing. 

“Mad? No! Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know… I just thought-”

“I think it’s kinda hot” you said sitting down beside him.

Eddie studied your expression for a second and took a deep breath, “We need more, though”

“We can always take more, but do we need more?”

“Yes” Eddie sighed and gathered the pictures to show you, “I can’t see your ass in any of them, we’ve got none of me eating you out, none of your pussy, but tons of my dick, not to mention the amount that are either too dark or too blurry”

“Let’s get to work then”

[pa1kaa-toto]

My GOTG OC

soooooo… first of all, good any time of the current day, and here I come to introduce you to one of my many OCs, Lyu.

Full Name: Lyubov Balkirev Age: 28 Gender: Female Sexuality: Straight, Demi-AroAce

Attribute: She has a pair of white retractable wings with some dark spots and a tail of the same colors (usually hides the tail, occasionally shows it, like, it can change the size of her tail and wings).

Example:

Likes: The smell of air after rain, listening to music, fruits, photography. Dislikes: does not like injustice and being treated as a foolish person.

Abilities: Flying and running very fast, Atmokinesis and can fly carrying people on her back (as long as they are not TOO heavy), advanced animal communication, versatility in combat and mental resistance.

(For Atmokinesis, she usually has to concentrate all her energy and when she finishes using that power she ends up exhausted)

Weaknesses: High emotional sensitivity, excessive caution, need of lonelines (given her ambivert nature, Lya may need periods of solitude to recharge her emotional energy. During these times, she may be less effective in group situations). Items she has most of the time: A voice recorder, her smartphone, headphones and a polaroid camera. Defense item: A scythe.

She was born on a distant planet called Garmoni, inhabited by people with human characteristics but with bird wings and other characteristics. Specifically she was born in a continent very close to the south pole of the planet, that's why her hair color and feathers and there she grew up normally like any other child, but her parents gave her a lot of freedom, they let her go to run errands alone and that was a mistake, because one day people from another planet kidnapped her and sold her on the black market; but she managed to escape.

After 12 years she was in Contraxia when she met Kraglin in a bar, it was not the best encounter of all but they got to know each other until he introduced her to the crew he belonged to, including Yondu; She did not get along very well with Yondu but in the end she got along with him. She wanted to spend more time with both of them, so she decided to show Yondu her skills and try to convince him to join her to his crew. In the end she managed to convince him and she was part of his crew for quite a while.

After a looong time, when the most of the crew revealed themselves against Yondu she knew it was best to pretend to be on Taserface's side. She helped Yondu get rid of the others. When Yondu died she was devastated for a while until she got over it with difficulty. In the end she stayed with Kraglin, with the Guardians of the Galaxy and there she met Ember (credits to @thirteens-lucky-tardis and thanks for your permission to create an oc that has a relation with your oc) and Lya couldn't believe that she met another individual with wings, they got to know each other and shared a lot of things to finally become friends.

P.D: I based the character on the snow owl

[nytehavyn-circle]

RaDean "Dean" Harriman

FC: Can Yaman Sexuality: Heterosexual but bi-curious Species: Human Height: 6'2" Age: Late 30's Occupation: Photographer

Dean was born into a life of struggle. His parents lived a meager life, but always managed to put food on the table, sometimes at the detriment of other bills.

His mother died of cancer when he was 10. It horrified him for the rest of his life because whenever someone mentions cancer, he has to talk himself down from a possible panic attack. That said, he is caring and kind to cancer patients or people with family and/or friends of loved ones. Because he's went through it.

Along with his other photography, he takes amazingly beautiful and sometimes heart-wrenching pictures of cancer patients. These particular pictures, he sells them to cancer wards, medical magazines, etc. He gives back that particular money to help cancer research and to St. Jude's especially.

His father tried to raise Dean correctly. He loved his son, but he struggled with alcohol constantly after his wife died, and quite often found himself falling asleep in his recliner after hitting the bottom of one. Dean's father never went to bars, just liquor stores, because he didn't want to leave Dean all alone. He tried. He desperately tried. Dean couldn't be bitter and hateful toward his father, because he saw the struggle. His father died when Dean was in his 20s.

Before all of this, before his mother's death, Dean became fascinated with photography. He started taking pictures of almost everything; anything that looked special, or 'cool', or interesting, Dean was there to snap a photo. At first, he was using his parent's Polaroid camera. Then, on his 11th birthday, he was gifted with a digital camera. He was excited because it meant higher-quality pictures. He continued to take pictures of almost everything, sometimes distance pictures of people. Yet, he had a modicum of decency. Before he took close-ups of people, he'd always ask permission but told them to continue doing what they were doing before he bothered them, telling them to pretend he wasn't there. Then he'd find the Perfect Moment™. He didn't always know what it would be, but he'd recognize it when it happened. Sometimes he'd wait for hours before finally snapping a photo.

He became better and better at finding the Perfect Moment™ for pictures. Even with intimate objects, he'd manage to find that moment.

He managed to start selling his pictures to major magazines like National Geographic, Science, Popular Mechanics, and Entertainment Weekly. He became an international name in the world of photography because he didn't photograph just one type of theme, he took pictures of everything; from a picture of a crack in the sidewalk to pictures of war. He became a multiple-award winner for photography, which led to corporate entities hiring him to take specific photographs. He was paid handsomely for his work.

All of this provided Dean with enough money to live comfortably, beyond his previous means, to pay his bills, keep food on the table, upgrade to a bigger apartment, and upgrade his equipment. Now, he lives a life of luxury.

Dean is non-monogamous. He's afraid of commitment. He rarely opens up with his emotions. He's been in a couple of relationships that turned abusive and toxic, with himself as the victim. It was enough for him to swear off actual relationships because he didn't believe they worked out. He believed people in relationships were fooling themselves and each other.

He participates in one-night stands, threesomes, multiple dating partners, and sometimes he makes the mistake of setting up dates at the same time on the same day. Which has led to some not-so-surprising moments. If he hears the word "love," he panics and ghosts the person.

But he has managed to make some friends and have them become friends with benefits. That's the height of his emotional commitment. But even the few friends he has don't know much, because he never opens up. He has built a wall around him out of tempered steel which is six inches thick, which would take a pair of metal clippers, a jackhammer, an ice pick, and a blowtorch to even crack it open.

No one has ever stuck around long enough to try to break through. They give up before they've even gotten started. It would take the patience of a saint to break through his barrier.

The only people who know the most about him are the higher-ups at NyteHavyn Castle. And that's about it.

Dean is a decent sort overall and a romantic, but he has difficulty showing his romantic side to anybody because he doesn't want to be seen as weak. He wants to believe in love, but he's scared to. If and when he feels himself becoming emotionally attached to someone, he will distance himself, pushing down his emotions into the holes left in his heart from before. The truth of the matter is that Dean doesn't believe he deserves love or is worthy of it.

But how he would find so much joy to have someone or someones, actually love him for him, who have the patience to break through. He has yet to find those people.

He's easygoing, and snarky, but hides his kind nature. However, he can be manipulative and calculating. He hates himself, but no one knows. He hates being vulnerable because he believes this also makes him weak.

Does anyone out there have the patience, the desire to find a way through Dean's defenses? Doubtful, and Dean is losing hope.

[the11tailedwrites]

Day 9: Polaroid

Character(s): Shiro-4, Cayde-6 (mentioned), Andal Brask (mentioned), Lord Saladin

Shiro-4 discovers an old picture he, Andal and Cayde took with a pre-golden age camera they had found, Saladin is there to pick up the pieces when Shiro breaks.

It had been months. Months since The Guardian returned to the Vanguard with Cayde-6’s corpse. Shiro-4 had been trying to pretend that it didn’t hurt. It seemed…easier somehow. He was good, he was fine. Everything was fine.

Until he found the picture.

The pre-golden age camera they had found on a mission still worked. Cayde had laughed about how its durability was a perfect symbol for humanity. It was his idea to take a picture of all three of them with it. The film had poor quality at first and they had all been disappointed. Then their faces began to appear, slow at first, but it was there. Cayde had laughed once the film fully developed. All three of them, grinning, no care in the world and their ghosts hovering at their shoulder, posing for the camera with their guardians.

Shiro gripped the picture tight. This wasn’t the real original one, only a copy. Cayde had the real one. He had had it with him when he died. He always carried it around with him.

Shiro sobbed and fell to his knees, clutching the picture tight against his chest. He sobbed and wailed as months long worth of tears and pain spilled out. He couldn’t breathe, his eyes were too blurry with tears and he swore his wails were so loud they would alert anyone nearby that something was wrong. He couldn’t stop. He wanted to stop. Somebody please, help. He wanted to stop.

“Shiro?! Shiro are you alright?” cried a familiar voice.

Shiro blinked fiercely until his tear filled eyes were clear enough to see Lord Saladin, on his knees, face knitted in concern. The wolves, ever at his side, cocked their heads at him, letting out soft worried whines.

“I-I’m so-sorry,” sobbed Shiro, “Ma-make it it st-stop!”

Saladin gently lifted up Shiro’s face as the wolves trotted over and plopped down beside Shiro, laying their heads on his lap. Saladin pulled Shiro into a fierce hug.

“Just cry, Shiro,” mumbled Saladin, right by his ear, “You have ignored how you felt about Cayde’s death for too long. Just let it out,”

And Shiro did. He sobbed and wailed in Saladin’s arms, comforted by the Iron Lord and by the wolves always at his side. Eventually, he wore himself out and fell asleep and so Saladin picked him up and carried him into the temple, his wolves trotting at his heels. Suzume floated out from where she had been hiding.

“Thank you for alerting me,” said Saladin

“I’ve never seen him like that before,” whispered Suzume, hovering over her guardian, “I’ll admit, it scared me at first,”

“He likes to keep things bundled up, huh?” said Saladin

“You have no idea,” muttered Suzume

Saladin placed Shiro on his bed and the wolves wasted no time hoping up and laying down on top of him. Saladin smiled softly. It seemed the wolves were very worried for one of their pack mates.

“Keep an eye on him, yeah?” he said to one of the wolves

He lifted his head and barked in understanding before laying his head back down on Shiro’s chest. Suzume flew back into her guardian’s light as Saladin left the room.

[chopper-witch]

1979

Eddie Munson x afab!reader

Warnings: mentions of (but no description) torture, being shot, birth, pregnancy, death, and human experimentation. Overuse of the word “smile”. I’m sorry for making Eddie sad.

Wordcount: 11k ish but worth it (I hope)

Reader note: gender-neutral pronouns used, but mentions of you being pregnant and having a daughter. Use of “mother” and related terms as well. If someone has gender neutral terms for mom/dad they would like to tell me about I would appreciate it. Reader is also explicitly mentioned to be a part of some sort of experiment at Hawkins Lab and taken in by Dr. Owens, but no mention of precisely what that experiment was. No physical description except for one mention of hair, but it’s just hair - not type or length or color.

Summary: Just over 10 years ago, you vanished without explanation, right as Vecna began to enact his plan. Now everyone has moved on from Hawkins, built lives away from that nightmare. Except for Eddie, who can’t because moving on means moving on from you. He’s slowly become bitter, hating the world around him. Until he is shown there is a reason to love it again.

Authors Note: this is a modified version of a possible ending to my Dani California fic that I “threw out” pretty early on (I tend to write the start and finish and then figure out everything else and modify the end as I go). Upon seeing this fic by @thefreakymunson and noticing people liked the reverse, I decided to alter it as a reader insert one shot. I’m really bad at one-shots.

Eddie hates how he isn’t able to move on.

Everyone else left, got the hell out the second the last of them, Erica, graduated and have only come back once or twice. No more visits during summer or winter or spring break. No more visits during the holidays or for birthdays. No more yearly reunions at the Wheeler’s or Steve’s. They put the nightmare called Vecna as far away as they could.

Eddie just couldn’t do it. He pretends it’s because he can’t. Financially or whatever. 

But the reality is he can’t move on because then that would mean moving on from you.

He hates how never got a good explanation for why you vanished sometime on Saturday, though he didn’t know that at first because he hadn’t planned to see you until Saturday night and didn’t get to see you Friday because you were working. He never got a good explanation for why nothing was gone or out of place. Your car was still parked in the lot of the complex, the door was locked, your wallet was still on the counter where you always left it, and your keys still were still hanging on the hook by the door. Your boots were missing, alongside your jacket and what you were likely wearing that day. The teddy bear he won you at the Fourth of July festival last year and a polaroid of him you keep in your wallet were the only two things that seemed weird to be missing. 

But it was as if you vanished. 

He never got a good explanation for how you ended up in Nevada, apparently. 

What he did get was some girl he never fucking met, Mike, who he is close to strangling half the time, and both Byers, only one of whom he met, in his room while he was healing from a fucking demonic bat attack telling him that you had died after the military or something invaded the secret lab you had been in with this girl he never met. 

Oh, and your father? The one whom you said adopted you after you got out of a bad situation (which you refused to speak about)? Apparently, one of the doctors in charge of this secret lab superpowered girl was in.

As if the situation could get any more confusing, right?

But to not worry, because they also didn’t see you die, so you could be alive. 

And, of course, he lost his mind at that. Why didn’t they go back in? If this super-powered girl was close enough to you for you to also end up in some basement lab in the middle of the desert, then why didn’t she try to save you?

Then when he was able to go home, living with Steve, of all people, since his trailer was kind of ruined regardless of their day-saving and Wayne decided maybe it was time to find somewhere new, and Steve’s parents also decided to just ditch Hawkins more permanently without actually giving up their much cheaper residence, the agent who had practically interrogated him at the hospital multiple times showed up with a box. 

Just a simple cardboard box. 

“What is this?” He remembers asking cautiously. 

“They’re dead. Confirmed it. This is what we were able to bring back.”

That’s all she said. Not your name, not how you died, just “they’re dead”. 

“Not a body?” His voice had cracked. He was suspicious enough to wonder, no matter how much his gut twisted. 

“With the number of gunshot wounds they had, there wasn’t much of a body left to bring back.”

There wasn’t much of a body to bring back.

And she had just left him there on Steve’s doorstep holding a box of whatever they could bring back of you. 

He had opened it right there in the open doorway. 

On top was a teddy bear. The one he had been searching for months now. The only you cheekily called your ‘Teddie Bear’ (“T plus Eddie. Teddie. Get it?”), and whenever you weren’t with him, you slept with it cuddled in your arms. Hell, even sometimes with him, you still fell asleep with it cuddled in your arms. 

But it was no longer golden brown and fuzzy and kind of misshapen. There were tears and holes all throughout it, spots of dark brown where blood must have once been, stuffing missing. And it was wearing your necklace. The dog tag one with a series of letters and numbers he never could decode that you wore every day that you added the guitar pick to when he made you a matching one. 

With his breath held to stop him from crying, he went lower in the box. 

Your jacket. The jacket you wear nearly every day. The one he loved to tease you about because it was a faded army green military style jacket instead of the black leather like a true freak wears. 

But it was also decorated in holes and stained with blood. He held it up and saw it was barely a jacket anymore. 

The last thing was a small note placed on top of an envelope. He reached for the message. 

‘This letter was supposed to get to you soon after they left. It didn’t for obvious reasons and was accidentally kept’. 

He hates how Steve had found him hours later, still in the doorway, hunched over without any tears left. 

He hates how Steve held him and then went and called everyone when he thought Eddie was asleep. How he broke the news that you were confirmed dead with such little emotion. 

Yeah, he barely knew you, but that doesn’t change the fact that you still died.  

Eddie hates the letter you left him. 

It barely makes any fucking sense, and when he tried to beg El for more information, she admitted she didn’t really know much. It was a separate program held at the same lab. There was no interaction. She only knew you were also in the Hawkins Lab because Dr. Brenner, that man in charge of her experimentation, had told her you were, and that’s why you were also in Nevada. And then you had explained that when Henry - Vecna tried to escape - it made it possible for you to as well. 

Which is apparently why Hawkins Middle got a very odd new student in the middle of the school year in ‘79. 

He hates how the letter is basically a goodbye like you knew you wouldn’t make it back. How it somehow intertwines the truth within its apologies and farewells and practical breakup message. 

He hates that he’ll never actually get to know the truth. Pieces of it he knew before and knows now. Like he knew you were adopted but didn’t know it was the only doctor left in charge of the program after everyone else was killed that adopted you. That you had actually escaped, and he had to choose between killing you and bringing you back and instead fought to have you live a normal life. 

But what was the experiment? Not psionic powers, clearly. But something worth killing a kid over and then kidnapping them years later. Or coercing them. He still isn’t clear how willing you were to leave. 

Eddie hates how they had to bury a fucking jacket. 

Eddie hates how at the funeral, everyone seemed to act like they all knew something he didn’t. The letter barely made any fucking sense, after all. So maybe they did. 

Absolutely hates how the only person who stuck around with him as he struggled to keep his shit together after was Steve. Even Dustin could barely look him in the eye.

Steve tried to explain later. It had nothing to do with knowing something after Eddie had accused them all in a fit of frustration one day. Despite everything, all the risks, everyone made it except you. That guilt ate them differently, especially since most didn’t even know you. Many didn’t know what to do or how to feel. 

The only one who may be suffering more from guilt was El. Who Eddie thought was incredibly suspicious. But really, she just kept wondering if she could have stopped some of the bullets, reached out for you somehow. 

What he hates most is how your mother - not mother - was there. Your father - captor? - was also confirmed dead, but what was left of him was apparently buried in an old family plot out of state. But he doesn’t hate that she came. She raised you for five years. He hates that when he pressed her for something, anything about the past, she simply told him she didn’t know. That she was left mostly in the dark about what happened in that lab. And that what she knew of you was only that her husband was told to kill you or bring you back, and instead, he fought for a normal life. So she ended up with a terrified young teen in her home whom she raised, cared for, and loved like they were hers. 

But surely she must know more? 

So he hates how she must be lying. 

He doesn’t hate any of his bandmates for moving on. Corroded Coffin fell apart pretty fast after the ‘unprecedented earthquake’. Gareth’s family moved away. Jeff’s family stayed, but only so he could finish school. Grant was due to graduate in the spring, just like him, and as soon as he did, he chose to go to college. 

He just hates that they have no idea. The cards he gets during holidays from the others always include notes about he should come to visit. How nice New York or Chicago or some random town in Florida or California or Washington is this time of year. How their house is always open, no questions asked. It’s annoying, frustrating, but he appreciates it.

The ones from his school friends are just reminders that some people have no idea. Smiling wishes and cheerful reminders that it was just some freak disaster that was able to be kind of fixed. You died. They knew that. But they didn’t know how or why. They, like everyone else, were just told it had been due to the earthquake. 

Eddie hates how he hears your voice and sees your smile and spots the way you stand, of all things. Strangers will come in, and they will just have something that is just so like you, and it breaks his heart. 

For the first few years, he would hear someone with a similar voice and hope it may be you, only to look and see someone he has never met. 

(Hawkins got a lot larger after everything was cleaned up because although the gates only partially opened and were able to be shut, lots of people moved out because of everything that kept happening, leaving lots of cheap housing available to people who just no longer wanted to live in cities or suburbs.)

Eddie hates how it has been ten years, and he is still in Hawkins, still working as a mechanic, and still cuddles a poorly stitched teddy bear every night like someone who can’t get rid of their baby blanket.

He hates how he can’t listen to half the music he used to love because he reminds him of you. He hates that he had to shove most of his clothes in a box and store them away and borrow clothes from Steve fucking Harrington for a while because you had worn almost everything of his before. 

He hates how he stares at the shitty ring he got you that he knows you would have just loved. How he never got the run like hell off that stage finally to you and ask you to marry him because fuck it. Who cares about being kind of young? He’s known it was you since you quietly thanked him back in 8th grade after he helped you pick up everything that spilled out of your backpack after some kid purposefully knocked into you a week into your being in Hawkins Middle. He hadn’t heard you speak a single word before then and at most only saw you look up to see the board. 

He hates that the photo your mother - or experimenter’s wife, he supposes - took when you convinced him to go with you to Snowball is fading. You both look so out of place in slightly more formal clothes, but it’s still his favorite because it’s the first photo he has with you. 

He wishes he knew you never went to any school dance before because you used to go to sleep in a locked room no larger than his bathroom and were never provided such an opportunity. He would have been less stubborn about it, less of an asshole the whole night. Maybe he would have taken up on your ask to dance instead of letting you get taken by some guy who only ended up making fun of you later because you still struggled to speak in public and could barely make eye contact. 

He wishes he knew about your life before you met. More than just “it was hard”. He poured his trauma out to you, and you couldn’t do the same? He doesn’t hate you for not doing so. In fact, he hates himself that you weren’t comfortable being honest. 

He hates that your clothes are all still tucked beneath his bed in an airtight container he never opens. He’s too scared to. They could lose their scent if he does. And he doesn’t want to lose any part of you. Your favorite comic, though, comics, Uncanny X-Men #129 - #138, sit on one of his bedside tables. The one that would be yours, on the right side of the bed. He hasn’t touched them beyond taking them from your place and moving them there. But he spent every year since they came out watching you read them nearly every day. So he looks at them every day.

“What’s so great about Jean Grey and her Phoenix persona?” He asked one day. 

“I just… I feel like I relate. It sounds silly, I know.”  

He hates that he still doesn’t fully get it but does at least appreciate that it doesn’t sound quite as silly anymore. He never felt it was ridiculous to be relating to an X-Men character. He understood that. It was the way you would linger on her change, her persona, her eventual sacrifice. Like that was what you related to. 

Like that was what you planned to do, now that he thinks back. 

He kind of hates that he began calling you Phoenix at the time and never stopped. You never seemed to dislike it, but he wonders if maybe he did something wrong by clearly poking fun at what was some sort of comfort for you.

And he really hates how empty his apartment still looks. 

Despite all his attempts, he hasn’t drawn in years, and everything you ever made is tucked away in a different box that he can’t even look at. They aren’t decorating his walls as they should be. The painting you did for his 18th that wouldn’t fit well anywhere in his trailer would be perfect above his bed, but he just leaves it in the closet, carefully wrapped and boxed up. 

Band posters are tucked away somewhere too. 

It’s devoid of you. But it’s also devoid of him. 

Eddie hates how he still gets looks from people who remember ten years ago. Hawkins has changed dramatically over the past decade, but those that stayed and keep staying still look at him with worry. 

Jason Carver went to jail for assault and attempted murder and murder for the shit he did to Lucas (and Max, and they just connected him to the rest of them because he was already going to jail). Yet, he, who never even spent a day in police custody (except a few times in his teen years) and was immediately taken off the suspect list as soon as the super secret government people could, would sometimes be side-eyed like he might start stabbing someone for fun in the middle of the road. 

He is tempted to stab some customers occasionally. But that’s just how working is. 

Eddie also hates how he lost a bet and has to close the garage by himself on a Friday. It’s a stupid thing to hate in comparison, but he hates it nonetheless. He rather be at home. Rather be just sleeping off the day.

It’s nearing 11 PM, and he’s almost done. A few more things to do, and then he can lock up and leave and thankfully take tomorrow off. 

Of course, those assholes placed a nice pile of grease on tools that shouldn’t be quite that greasy. So he sighs and gets to work on wiping the table and tools down. 

He’s not even done with the second wrench, the first on the floor next to him, when a voice calls out to him over the music. It’s loud, blasting out Black Hole Sun from the only station that will occasionally play rock and metal. It also plays the newer genres like grunge, which he likes, and alternative, which he is still unsure about.

You’d tell him they're just natural derivatives of one another, so he should stop being so uptight about it. 

“Excuse me?” 

That voice. 

It sounds just like yours. 

Eddie just keeps wiping down the tools that need to be cleared. He has been through this game enough times. He can’t keep doing it. He can’t keep putting himself through the cycle of hope and pain. 

“We’re closed. If you need something, come back tomorrow.”

There’s a pause. 

Eddie assumes whomever it is has walked away. The music is too loud to really tell. 

Then there is a pause, the host quickly reminding everyone that the last song was Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden. 

“And up next —”

“I don’t think this can wait until tomorrow, Eds."

Eddie stills. 

Eds. 

No one calls him Eds. 

A few have tried, but he put an end to it because it isn’t the same as how those letters fall off your lips. It has never had the same love, the same bite when it needs to. 

He turns. 

There stands you.

Under the shitty lights of the garage, hands tucked in your pockets, is you standing in front of him for the first time in over ten years. 

The wrench in his hand falls to the ground.

You’re skinnier than he remembers you being, face gaunt and eyes sunk. Your hair is drastically different, too. The clothes you are wearing don’t look quite right on you either, a little too big and not quite your style. Definitely ‘90s, though. 

It’s your eyes that give you away. 

He has stared into those eyes enough to know exactly what they look like under any circumstance.

He whispers out your name. Partially in hope, partially in fear. Maybe he has finally fucking lost it. Maybe he is just seeing your ghost wandering around instead of just pretending it’s you when he falls asleep or when he needs to tell someone a really bad joke. 

You give a little half-wave, hand still in your pocket. “Hi.” 

Eddie is running to you and pulling you into a hug, spinning you around before you can even notice him moving. He’s transferring dirt and grime all over you, but you don’t care. You can’t find it in yourself to. The last time you saw him was 7:37 AM on March 22, 1986, when he left for school, and it is now 11:01 PM on June 9, 1996. 

It’s been over ten years.

He sets you down and just holds your face for a moment, grease smearing all over. 

But you let him. Let him squeeze your cheek and run a thumb along your chin just to make sure it really is you standing in front of him, even though you can feel the slick of oil and grease wetting your face. Let him dig his fingers near your jaw and up into your hairline. Just to ensure you are real and not some hallucination. 

Your hands gently rest on his shoulders as he does so. You know he’s real. It took you a whole month to even convince yourself to even come here. But touching him is still terrifying. Like if you touch him wrong, he’ll walk away. He’ll realize that you’ve changed and that he has as well and he can’t be with you. That he isn’t compatible with you anymore.

He kisses you. 

You let him, despite the splotches of dirt and grime covering his lips.

He tastes like cigarettes and beer and weed and that cinnamon gum he likes. Only oil and grease have been added. It’s familiar, even if it is new too. 

It’s all the kisses he left along your forehead and cheeks long before and after you began dating, leaving a lingering of his scent.

It’s the soft first kiss that led to his panic run when your father opened the door, even though he wasn’t mad. Just wondering why a flower pot had knocked over. 

It’s making out at Lover’s Lake high as hell and giggling into each other’s lips like it’s the funniest shit in the world.

It’s the last kiss you gave him before you left, not knowing it would be your last for so long, pressed to his lips with a promise to see him Saturday. 

It’s home. 

It’s him.

But you’re different.  Something is different about you, and he hates it. It’s your mouth, your tongue and your weird lemon chapstick he always thought was ridiculous but was also always distinctly you, but nothing else about you tastes right. 

He can’t taste all the kisses you have peppered him with or the first kiss he ever had that was with you or the make-out sessions at Lover’s Lake or the way your lips would kiss away his tears when he got overly frustrated or sad or the last kiss you ever gave him that he replays over and over and over in his head every night wondering if something went wrong at that moment that he was too him to realize.

He pulls away fast, too fast, only to yank you hard against him again and cry. A body-shuddering, face-weeping cry.

And you do too. You just cry. 

And cry. 

And cry. 

And cry. 

Hands are gripping the other's so tight, confirming the other is real. Eddie especially is practically digging his hands into your skin and muscles so hard he’s squeezing your bones and organs. You don’t care. He could snap you in half, stab you, do anything, and you wouldn’t care. He’s here in your arms again. 

Neither of you knows how long you’re crying for, you just know both of your shirts are soaked by the time either of you has the ability to speak again. 

“You’re alive,” he barely musters out, voice broken from the tears. “You’re fucking alive, and your hair is…”

You chuckle through the tears you still have left. “Yeah. Though you’re one to talk. It’s… short.” 

That wasn’t a change he wanted to make. But it just got to be too much. You were the one who encouraged him to grow it in the first place, too. 

He rubs the back of his head nervously. “Yeah. Look bad?”

“No.” You smile, fingers threading through some of the short curls. “Looks amazing.” 

His head leans into your familiar touch. Touch he has only dreamed of, felt like a ghost along his scalp. Nothing like the real thing. 

“We had a funeral,” he says, interrupting the silence that had fallen. “We… you were dead. They said you were shot.” 

“I know. I know. I am so sorry. I have so much to explain. I was shot but not shot to death.” Your eyes land on the scarring on his cheeks. “And you…” 

Your fingers ghost over the healed scars on his face, trailing along and down to his neck. 

“I know.” Eddie grabs your hand to stop you. “They’re… ugly.”

“Hot. I was going to say hot. Rugged. Handsome.” Your eyes return to his. His stupid, baby cow-like brown eyes that you fell in love with that are full of tears and love and hurt right now. “But what happened?” 

“Nearly got killed by some demonic bats. Henderson and Harrington, though.” He chuckles. “They saved my ass.” 

You tilt your head. “Steve Harrington?”

“Yeah. Steve Harrington.”

“I’ll have to thank them.” Your hands drop, and his follow. It feels silly, stupid even, to be holding hands and facing each other like this again. It feels childish almost. 

But you like it. 

Eddie fucking loves it. 

“Finish closing. Because we have a lot to talk about.” 

Eddie looks over his shoulder at what is left to do. Not that he even cares at this point. He could have everything left and it wouldn’t even matter. 

“Fuck that. My girlfriend just came back from the dead. I’m leaving now.” 

Sitting on his couch with his left thigh flush to your right, what Eddie discovers he hates the most is how he is staring at a kid with eyes and hair identical to his and a smile brighter than yours, which he didn’t think was possible. He hates how he can no longer be excited about your return and is no longer full of questions about how you escaped. He hates how he can barely listen to your explanation about being shot and some army person taking you, and that guy whom he thought was your (adopted) father but was actually some scientist doctor to some secret black site and torturing you guys and… 

“Where is she?” 

You knew he wouldn’t be able to listen after whatever point you told him that he had a kid. So you practically led with it, knowing the idea that you had been pregnant and didn’t know would be a lot easier to swallow than CIA black sites and torture and the background of the experiments before you guys met. 

“Safe. Healthy. Surprisingly well-adjusted and happy, all things considered.” You reach up to play with his hair. It’s so short now. “You can see her tomorrow if you’d like.” 

“And she’s 10?” 

You pull your hand away from the black waves beginning to form on his head. “Nearly.” 

He hates that. He hates that a lot. 

“I missed 10 years…” 

You reach down to his hands, resting your left on top of his left and leaning further into him. He stares at the way your hand is covering his as he grips this photo of the daughter made of both of you. Made of you and him. 

“10 years were stolen from you. It’s not your fault.” 

He dryly laughs and grips the photo tighter. It bends - distorting the photo of the smiling girl. 

“I still missed them, though.” 

You can’t disagree with that. Whether through his own fault or not, he still missed 10 years of her life. 

“What’s her name?” 

“Veronica Andrea. They wouldn’t let me use your last name for her when she was born, but we got it changed last year.” You press a quick kiss to his shoulder, even if it is on his oil and grease-stained skin. “Call her Ronnie.” 

He likes that. No. He loves that. Veronica to sound normal, Ronnie as a nickname. And Andrea for his mom. 

“Why now, Phoenix?” He finally asks. “Why not 10 years ago?” 

Your hand moves from his to his forearm, fingers dragging along his skin like you used to whenever he was overwhelmed. A way to ground him. “You really haven’t been listening, have you?” 

Eddie glances over at you and offers an apologetic smile. “Is it really that obvious?”

“It’s fine. I get it. I’ll explain it all again when you are less distracted.”

“Can I see her now?” 

He isn’t a big fan of the way you sit up and entirely withdraw your touch. 

“No. She’s… she’s not in Hawkins. We’re going to need to drive a few hours.” You pause and sigh nervously. “A few states. So we should leave after we’ve slept.” 

“A few states?” 

Yeah. He fucking hates that too. 

He hates how scared he is to sleep beside you for the first time in ten years. He hates how you are right there, feet away, and he can’t do anything but freeze. He hates that he ignores your sly offer of showering together, and he hates that he won’t let you touch him beyond his face and hands. 

He lets you shower first, setting out some of your old clothes. His, technically, but you stole them so many times over that he considers them yours. The second he opens that airtight box, his eyes well up because it still smells of you.

He hates that he is so afraid all of a sudden. Afraid to lose you again, mostly. That you’ll see the rest of his scars and decide he’s not attractive enough anymore. That coming back after all this time wasn’t worth it. 

“Since when have you worn both a shirt and pants to bed?” You ask as the exits the bathroom. “It’s always a shirt and boxers or sweats and no shirt. Are you already that old?” 

“Just more comfortable like this,” he mumbles, sitting down on the left side of the bed where he always sleeps, even after 10 years. 

You’re close to the center, knees tucked up as you wait. But he stays facing away from you, sitting as far to the edge without falling off as he can. 

“No, you aren’t.” You shift to your knees, trying to reach out to him. “Eds…” 

He flinches away from your touch. 

Your heart drops. 

He’s frightened and rightfully so. 

But fuck, it took you a month to convince yourself to come here. You aren’t letting him shut down and shy away.

So with no hesitation, you pull off your own shirt and kick off your pants and yank the covers off. 

“Eds, look at me.” 

He grips the bed beneath him. He’s too frightened to turn around. 

“Eddie.” 

He closes his eyes. He can’t do it. He can’t lose you now. 

“Edward Joseph Munson. Look at me right now.” 

He does. Because when you pull out his legal name - full legal name at that - he knows you aren’t messing around.

And he can’t help but gasp. 

There is scarring everywhere on you. 

He hates that you’re scarred as well. You explain each kind. Gunshot wounds that were purposefully treated poorly, scars from various torture types, a slightly jagged line where the daughter he never met came into this world. 

“They practically just ripped her out. I was pretty numb and barely conscious, though.” 

His fingers touch each one, and you watch as his entire face morphs into a sadness you have never seen.

And afterward, he reluctantly pulls off his shirt and sweatpants. 

The bats got most of his torso, a good portion of his left thigh, and the right side of his neck up to his face. He’s had 10 years of healing to get them in a better state, however, rather than the continuous disruption of the healing for yours. Still, the scars take up feet of his skin and still look painful.

“You’re okay. I’m okay. It’s going to be okay.” 

“How are you so calm?” He asks shakily, head buried into your shoulder.

“I’m not.” You finally admit it to him. Outside you’re still, but inside you are trembling greater than any earthquake. “But I’ve spent years hiding parts of myself from you. From everyone. Hiding my fear comes naturally to me at this point.” 

“Talk about being a phoenix, Phoenix,” he jokes. 

There he is. There’s your Eddie.

You pull him down onto the bed with you then, foreheads touching. 

He continues to gaze into your eyes like you’re both teens high on Lover’s Lake again. Only this time, there are no giggles shared because something is just too funny. Only light touches along each other’s scars occasionally and silence. 

He hates driving from Indiana to Wisconsin in the middle of the fucking night. 

He just couldn’t wait. 

You begged him to wait until the morning as he suddenly stood up and started getting dressed, to drive when you’ve both had some sleep so you can properly explain things to him and guide him there. But he didn’t want to wait, so as you were falling asleep, you told him to wake you when you hit the border to Wisconsin on 94 (after mumbling some other directions about Chicago because you knew he could get there). 

He does listen when you tell him you will not be buying him cigarettes when he stops to get gas because he knows you hate that shit and you are literally on the way to take him to meet his fucking kid. And he appreciates the way you reach across and press your hand into his forearm for as long as you can until you fall back asleep when he gets jittery. 

(He buys cigarettes anyway when you are asleep the second time he has to stop). 

(You throw them out the window when he isn’t looking when you spot them in the cupholder a few hours later). 

He listens again when you guide him through miles and miles and miles of land in Wisconsin until he reaches a city larger than Hawkins but still relatively small along a series of lakes. Far north, too. Therefore cold most of the year. 

Which, considering how often you complain when his cold hands touch any part of you, is surprising.

“Here,” you eventually tell him, pointing out a house amongst a neighborhood full of them. 

An actual house.

“Here?” 

Eddie is skeptical. A normal-looking two-story suburban house with a yard and a porch and a vibrant blue door and matching garage is where you’ve been hiding? 

“I know. Point is to look normal. Like anybody and everybody else. Just park here.”

So he does, pulling his truck up along the curb in front of your house. 

Your house. 

Yours. 

He’s just a stranger here. 

Just a stranger in this new life you’ve built.

He doesn’t get out when you do. 

He just sits, gripping the steering wheel, staring at the blue door and faded green shutters and kind of dirty off-white paint and yard with a bike in the middle that you frustratedly pick up and lean against the porch. And god, the house has a porch that looks weathered but stable and has flower pots on it and is screened-in and actual furniture instead of a worn-out couch that should have been tossed a decade ago. 

It’s all he ever wanted for any kid he imagined and then some and he isn’t even part of it. 

“Hey. Eddie. Are you coming or not?” You shout when you reach the said porch, breaking him from his reverie. 

Fuck. He shouldn’t be so scared. But he is, and he hates it. 

He gets out with a heavy exhale and makes his way toward you. His heart beats louder with every step, hands shaking so hard he has to grab his jeans to keep them steady. 

You reach out and press your hand to his chest when he reaches you, trying to calm his shaking. “It’s going to be okay, Eddie.” 

“What if she hates me?” Eddie asks, voice quivering. “Because I wasn’t here?” 

“She knows it isn’t your fault.” 

“And if I don’t live up to her expectations? I’ve changed.” He backs up from you, panic setting fully in. “I’m not who you remember and definitely not who you’ve romanticized in your stories to her, Phoenix. I’m just some guy who couldn’t move on from a town that wanted him dead and fucking ran from almost every fight he was in and is frankly a shitty person and a—”

“Eddie. Hey, Eddie.” He freezes his pacing and looks at you again. You, who is leaning up against the entrance of the opened porch door, hands tucked in pockets as you try to comfort him with your smile. The smile you didn’t even show him until over a month into knowing him. Your smile is so hard to pull from you, so seeing it like this - leaning up against your home to comfort him hits his heart differently. “She just wants to meet you finally. No matter what that means, okay? You can’t possibly disappoint her. Not after everything. Trust me.”

“But what if —”

“We will figure it out then. Okay? No matter what if.” 

Just as you promised him. You’ll always figure it out with him. You promised him that so many times.

He nods. 

You turn, pushing the screen door further open, so Eddie has time to grab it while you go and unlock the front door. 

The first thing that greets him is not a kid, however. It’s a dog that weaves its way around your legs and straight to him, nudging its very wet snout into his hand.

“Quicks, inside.”

Before Eddie can even fully process the feeling of a wet, cold dog nose on his hand, the dog is retreating back through the door.

“You have a dog?” He asks, confused. The dog is trotting off far into the house before Eddie can take a good look at it. 

It’s not that you hated dogs or cats, but you just never seemed fond of the idea of owning either. 

You shrug as you finally step inside, gesturing for Eddie to follow. “Yeah. Hard to say no to your eyes, especially when they do the baby-cow thing.”

His heart drops a little at that. She must really have his eyes then.

But curiosity pulls him back. “Named… Quicks?”

“Named Quicksilver. Who Ronnie tried to nickname Quickie. But I, uh, shut that down pretty fast.” 

Eddie smiles. Yeah. That’s his kid.

He shuffles all the way in so you can shut the door. 

It looks so normal. A room to the left filled with what looks to be an office of some kind, a room to the right that looks to be part of just one big room on that side of the house. He steps on something as he moves to continue looking, and a soft snap causes both of you to freeze. 

While you just look down, kicking his foot out of the way, Eddie can’t help but worry he broke something important. What a great way to introduce himself to his kid. 

“I keep telling her to stop leaving her pencils everywhere,” you mutter, picking up the now cracked dark blue alongside the handful of others. “They keep snapping because they keep getting stepped on.” 

It’s so parently. Has such an adult kick to it. He smiles at that. He kind of hates that he missed watching you change into that person, however. Ten years ago, you would have chucked a fucking baseball at his head for saying something stupid. Now you’re groaning in frustration as you gather up colored pencils and tell him to take off his boots. 

“So, where is she?” He nervously asks as he follows you past the stairs and through a narrow hallway. 

The hallway is covered in paintings and drawings instead of portraits like he’s seen at others’ houses. He knows some are yours for certain - knows your style - but others he can’t quite tell who they were done by.

“She has lacrosse practice right now,” you explain as you both enter the kitchen. Eddie can’t help but scrunch his nose. “I know. An athlete. She plays hockey too. But she’ll be back in a few minutes. It’s actually a good thing we got here when she was gone. Gives you time to breathe since you look like you’re about to pass out.” 

Yeah. He is. 

“Please tell me she isn’t just an athlete.” 

You smile at that. Of all the things. “She’s also an artist if you couldn’t tell by the colored pencil fiasco. And she does play guitar. I think the sports thing is gonna get kicked soon. Mostly because she is gonna get kicked from them soon.” You pick up another few colored pencils from the counter and table, grumbling to yourself as you do so. “Hold on.” 

You disappear into what Eddie assumes is the basement, leaving him to look around. 

This definitely isn’t the way he would decorate a house. Nor would he think you would, either. But he could see your dad, that doctor, whoever, doing something like this. It’s just too clean, even though it is clearly lived in. Too pale blue and pale yellow too. 

He can’t help but wander up to the fridge - the only place he’s seen actual photos so far. 

On the fridge are a handful of photos. Mostly of Ronnie. 

Mostly of Ronnie alone.

None of you and her when she’s a baby or a toddler or a young kid. Just alone. And with strange backgrounds. Just plain cement or what looks like military bases. If she is with people, it’s people he doesn’t recognize. Or she is with other kids. Except a few with that agent who handed him the box of your stuff. Those he does recognize.

Of course she knew.

But not even any with your dad, really. 

The ones with you and your dad look recent. Look like they could have been taken on the same day as the one you handed to him. 

And the few with the dog - a whippet, if Eddie remembers his breeds correctly. A gray whippet that, of course, was named Quicksilver. Because what else would a kid name a fast, silver dog? 

Who, in a holiday photo, has been shoved into the ugliest Christmas sweater he thinks he has ever seen. But Ronnie is smiling as she leans next to the patiently sitting pup, who somehow doesn’t look distressed, considering the situation he has been shoved in to.

Eddie feels the wet nose against his hand again. 

“You must really love Ronnie, huh?” Quicks’ ears perk up. “Oh. Ronnie. You know her name. Well, you must really fucking love her then.” 

“You have no idea.”

Eddie looks up. You’re holding a portfolio binder in your arms - a large one - and shutting the door behind you with your foot. 

“He’s actually normally at practice with her. Just sits there, but still. Don’t know what he’s doing at home. He’s only here when she’s going somewhere he can’t be - which is school, really. Must’ve been worried about me.” You pause as you stop in front of Eddie. “Well, Ronnie was probably worried about me, so he got worried and wanted to wait.” 

“What did you tell her you were doing?”

“I said I had a doctor’s appointment. I’ve had to go well out of town for a few, so it isn’t unbelievable. But she gets the gut feelings like I do. She had to know something was different.” 

Eddie smiles. “Like parent like kid?”

You smile back. Such a simple thing for him to say, and your heart is skipping beats over it. “Something like that.” 

“Why do all of these look so recent?” Eddie asks, nodding towards the fridge. “Like the ones with you?” 

“Like I tried to explain, we’ve only been really living normal lives for like a year. The rest of the time, it’s been… well, for her, strange. But almost no more strange than what any military kid goes through. But for me.” You pause, and a sad, soft laugh leaves your lips. “And my dad, it’s been pretty fucking awful.”

Eddie doesn’t like the way your voice cracks at the end. More than that. He hates it.  

Before he can ask more, however, you are thrusting the portfolio towards him. 

“Here. Some of her art.” 

He takes the portfolio from you. He’s seen enough of yours to know how meticulously you like to preserve certain pieces; how much care you put into placing them into archival protectors and sealing them shut (in ways that can be opened, of course). 

“Some of my favorites she didn’t want hanging up anywhere.” 

Eddie flips it open. It opens to a landscape. One he is quite familiar with. 

Well, at least he is in his mind. 

If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was some elaborate painting of some foreign, forested place in the mountains with a castle nestled within. Maybe a painting of some old fairytale. 

But he does know better. It’s Rivendell. 

The tiny illustrated label card in Elvish helps. 

He can feel his heart swelling with love. She’s a goddamn nerd. Not just a comic book nerd, as evident by a gray whippet named Quicksilver, but a full-blown nerd.

“She’s amazing.” 

“She had a lot of time to kill. Like I used to.”

Eddie tears his eyes away from the landscape he only ever fantasized of to find your eyes staring far off, despite them being right on him. 

“What… what exactly happened to her? And you?” 

Your focus returns to him, but it is still hazy. He can tell your mind is still somewhere else. Scratch that. Some time else. 

“Do you think you could sit and listen to me for a few hours later tonight? I will explain everything. Beginning to end. You just need to listen.” 

“I’ll try.” 

You nod and head to the fridge.

He keeps going through the stack of drawings, one by one. Renditions of DnD monsters or characters, landscapes (both real and fantasy), portraits of you, of ‘grandpa’, that damn dog, and even one of him that he pauses on.

It’s from the polaroid of him you kept in your wallet. Your wallet was there in your apartment. This photo wasn’t. 

It was on you. With you this whole time. 

And your daughter took it and drew him from it in uncanny detail.

From a polaroid no more than a few inches by a few inches, she drew a nearly foot-and-a-half by two-foot portrait in full color. He wants to be impressed, but he also can’t help but think back to all the times you drew things from almost nothing. He showed you a photo of his mother once, the only one he had, and a week later, you handed him a painting of her and him when he was maybe five, despite him never showing you a photo of him that young. You had just muttered out that you guessed. 

He’s starting to wonder what precisely those experiments were. He was told they weren’t psychic in any way, nothing like what Eleven went through, but what you created for him and what he is staring at requires some degree of psychic powers to achieve. To know a moment you were never in takes knowledge only a psychic would be able to obtain.

He is so absorbed in thought and wonder that he misses the sound of the front door opening, even when the distinct and loud thunk of Ronnie’s duffel bag can be heard seconds later.

It’s your voice that breaks him from his trance.

“How was practice, princess?” 

Eddie looks up from the drawing of him. 

From the shadows of the hall races the girl from the photo. 

Only real.

“It was good!” 

She stops dead in her tracks. Normally she’d be leaping to her spot at the counter, chugging the drink you or grandpa set out for her. The one she hates but you both insist is good for her. But instead, she just stares at the man leaning against the counter. 

The photo didn’t do her justice. 

Her hair is braided back, but lacrosse has brought some of the curls and frizz to the forefront, wild dark brown tufts of hair sticking out in strange directions. Wide, brown eyes are staring right back at Eddie as if he is looking at a mirror. 

“Hard to say no to your eyes, especially when they do the baby-cow thing.”

Yeah. He’s inclined to agree even if they are technically his eyes. They are hard to say no to. And she isn’t asking anything of you.

She shares so much more with you, Eddie acknowledges, but if you simply showed up with her on his doorstep, he would know. He would know that she was his without a singular doubt in his mind. There is no mistaking his own eyes, his own hair. 

“She broke a girl’s nose. On accident, of course,” Sam adds, shuffling around Ronnie so he can head outside before the realization really hits. 

“Was it Kelly’s?” When your daughter doesn’t respond to tell you all about the nose she broke, you turn to see what’s going on. 

And you smile. 

Then, without holding back, she runs right to him and practically jumps onto him. She’s stared at that polaroid enough to know exactly what he looks like, even with his short hair. 

Eddie is stunned as her arms fling around him. The first real hug he got in nearly five years was last night and from you. The second is right here, right now. Given to him by his daughter. 

His.

His daughter.

He relaxes into her grip. He loves the feeling of this kid’s arms around him, squeezing him half to death. His kid’s arms around him. He could get used to this. 

“Mommy said she was gonna bring us home one day. But she brought you home instead.” 

His arms finally wrap around her, squeezing her just as tightly back. 

It’s a strange feeling. One he only occasionally dreamed of years ago. One that would sometimes come to him when the would see parents with their kids at work or in the store, and he couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like if you had made it back and made it back alive. He wasn’t even sure you would even really want kids despite you saying so, given your even stronger reservation than him to bring up your childhood. 

But it builds in his chest and heart first; slowly pouring out from there. It reaches his throat next, and his breath catches hard. A hiccup escapes his mouth. Tears are the next thing to come, falling faster than they did last night.

Fuck if he doesn’t love the feeling of crying, though. 

“Yeah,” he chokes out, already borderline blubbering. “I’m here. ‘M here, princess.” 

Ronnie doesn’t wait for him to cry it out. She doesn’t even cry. No. She leans back in his grip and immediately begins to talk faster than he ever has. 

Eddie just keeps crying, brows stitching together in confusion and shock as she does. 

She just doesn’t stop. Ceaselessly beginning to talk about everything and anything she can and slowly pulling out of the hug, but moving her right hand into his left as she does so. Even tugs a little like she might start bringing him somewhere.

He lets her. 

He’d let her do anything she wants. She’s already got him wrapped around her finger. 

“Ronnie, sweetheart,” you interrupt, and both of them turn to you. You’re smiling, happy as hell, but you know Eddie. And know how he is when he’s overwhelmed. Sure, he’s crying because he’s happy, but you can see the tremble of his system overloading. “How about you go get changed? He’ll still be here when you aren’t covered in grass and sweat.” 

“But mom, he—”

“Veronica.”

“Mom, I have —”

“Veronica Andrea Munson. Go change.” 

“I will be right back. Quicks, come on.” 

Seems she too knows the threat of a full name from you.

She leaves with one last squeeze, the dog sticking close to her side.

Eddie is stiller than a statue as she goes because at least statues vibrate with the air and ground beneath them. He seems to be completely out of time and space. Eyes distant just as yours were earlier.  

You reach out to him, hand barely grazing along the non-scared side of his face. “Eddie? Are you okay?” 

“I love you,” he blurts out. “I love you. And I love her. She’s so amazing. I know it already. I just wish I was here and I —”

“I wish so too. I wish we were never apart. But that wasn’t up to either of us.” You grip his shoulders tight. He lets out a heavy breath, and his body relaxes. “I sometimes think about that day. Think about what would have happened if I hadn’t left. But I know I would have just been forced to leave instead of going voluntarily.” You press your forehead to his. “And you’re here now, yeah? She’s going to go get changed, and then you can listen to everything she has to say. Because it is… a lot. And she will not stop until she has said her peace.” 

A lot is an understatement. He didn’t think anyone could talk so much for so long, and he was a DM for 6 years. 

It begins with her dragging him to her room. 

Which feels like someone took his room and let an Easter Bunny vomit all over it. The walls are a pastel green, a color he would never even think of painting a wall, but covered in band posters and drawings and photos. Her sheets are pale purple and pink and if it wasn’t his kid’s room, he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop the teasing about the color palette - completed by pale yellow curtains. There’s even a baby blue guitar hung up on the wall, out of reach from danger but low enough for Ronnie to still grab. 

But if Ronnie sees his face of concern over her color choices, she ignores it and just drags him right to her bed so she can talk and show him all sorts of things.

He hangs onto every word, despite half of them not even making sense (which leads to a lot of ‘it will make sense later’s from you. A lot.). 

She also divulges some… strange secrets, which have him raising his eyebrows. Like her admitting her birth certificate says she was born in Hawkins despite her never even having crossed into Indiana. 

She shows off even more drawings and a trophy her hockey team won during the winter and her ‘best new player’ award and everything under the sun she can think of to show him in her room, including a tour of the band posters. Which he knows, of course, but listening to her explain Nirvana in disturbingly accurate detail and alongside her favorite songs is worth it.

“Mom said you play guitar too?” She eventually asks, grabbing her guitar from its spot. 

Eddie looks down at the pale blue guitar she is holding. Then he glances to you, where you sit in some beanbag chair in the corner of the room, petting the dog. 

“Yeah. I used to. I… I don’t really anymore.”

“Oh. Well, why not?”

"The last time I did it I almost got killed by demonic bats in an alternate dimension,” doesn’t seem like the best response. “Also, my guitar still fell victim to the quake there was, and I couldn’t bring myself to buy a new one.”

“Just didn’t have the time.” 

“You should have plenty of time now, then!” She gleefully responds. “And I can help you remember anything you may have forgotten.

After that, she plays him some songs she’s learned. 

Then she goes right back to talking.

She talks until dinner, through dinner, after dinner, during everything she does, up until she is almost too tired to do so. At which point you had put a stop to it, telling her she could finish all her storytelling for the next day. That it is time to shower and time to go to bed. 

At which point she throws the most dramatic fit. Not a screaming and crying fit. But she groans and sighs and acts like you’ve sent her to her death and even turns to him for backup. Her eyes doing the baby-cow thing. 

Which has him grinning and also feeling very, very weak. Day one, and she already wants dad to play good cop. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you whisper. 

He knows your threat is true. It doesn’t even need to be complete. 

“I’ll be here in the morning, princess,” he chooses to respond. “You can finish all your stories then. And I will even share some of my own.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

She keeps her arms crossed as she considers his proposal. “Okay. But you also have to tell me a bedtime story.” 

“I think we have a deal, princess.”

Your dad comes in first to say goodnight and tuck her in. Quicksilver is already curled up at her feet, a teddy bear near identical to the one he won you eleven years ago clutched in her arms. This one is not covered in blood stains and hand-stitched together after being shot, however. 

Then you come in and wish her a goodnight, telling her to enjoy the story dad’s going to tell her. 

Dad.

Yeah. Eddie’s heart flutters at you calling him dad. 

“Don’t take too long. She needs to sleep,” you whisper on your way out, pausing to give him a quick peck. 

“Will do, mama.” 

You pause, trying to hold back your grin. 

Eddie then enters his daughter’s room to see her patting a spot by her head, already half-asleep. He takes her silent direction and sits down, feeling his heart beat out of time as she leans to rest her head on his stomach. 

“You comfortable there?”

He can feel her smile on his skin, which warms him more than just seeing it. 

“Very.”

“Any requests, princess?” 

“No.”

That surprises him. For spending hours talking and demanding, it’s weird seeing her so subdued suddenly. His eyes catch a far too familiar bottle of pills as they flick around for inspiration. He’s seen those on your bedside the entire time he’s known you and questions about them were always left unanswered. 

Must be about those experiments or something. 

“How about I tell you all about…”

By the time he is finished, only a half hour later, which is extremely short for him, he is surprised to find Ronnie not quite asleep. Getting there - evident by her breathing and loosening grip, but not quite there.

“You’re much better at storytelling than mommy,” Ronnie mumbles. 

Eddie tilts his head to look down at his sleepy daughter, hand gently running along the braid it’s been put back in to. Just like you always told him to do for sleep. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Mommy is kinda boring.”

Eddie smiles. “Don’t tell them that.”

“They know. Apologizes for it. Says they wish they were like you.” 

“Well, I’m here now to tell you all the stories you want.”

“‘Nother tomorrow?”

“Another every night, princess.” 

He presses a kiss to her forehead. Quick and gentle, and over top her bangs, but still, a kiss nonetheless. The first kiss he has ever given his daughter in her nearly ten years of life. 

He can’t stop the swell of sadness that fills his chest when he realizes that, and he hates it. Nearly ten years of her life went without him. He would have been here, after a mini heart attack anyway, if he had known. 

Before he can break into tears, he gently moves her head to rest on her pillow rather than his chest and stands up. His legs carry him quickly to the door. He needs to get out before he starts sobbing again.

“Daddy?”

He freezes. “Yes, princess?”

“You did’n’ say night.” 

“Oh.”

Ten years without a proper goodnight from him, too. Ten years. Like that doesn’t make his heart hurt more. 

“’S okay. You didn’t know. Goes like this.”

Eddie hates the conversation you have with him after Ronnie has fallen asleep. The hours of explaining Hawkins Lab, the capture in Nevada, the torture, how they found out you were pregnant before you knew and used it against you, used Ronnie against you. He only found relief in knowing that she was left out of it all. She was still raised as normally as possible. They still let you have her and hold her and tell her stories and do normal parent things. But there was always this looming threat and this thought that you were speaking to her in code or that the stories had a double meaning and weeks when you would ‘be leaving to do something for work’. 

And other terrible, terrible things. Things she has no idea about and hopefully never will. 

He wonders why she never shuts up then, though, if she was raised in such a situation. It isn’t entirely genetic. 

“Because they encouraged her. Hoping something would spill out. And now I have a child I have to pick up from school at least once a week because the CIA thought it would be a wonderful fucking idea to let her never shut the fuck up and teach her an attitude at the same time. And you, my dear.” You poke his chest. “You provided her with the perfect genetic blueprint to do so.” 

He doesn’t love that she was basically raised by some of the scummiest people on the face of the earth. But he does appreciate that his child is more chaotic than him. And that you, sweet, nearly failed freshman English because it had a public speaking component you, now suffer through dealing with her. 

He takes you up on the offer to shower together. He is hesitant about having sex, but he so badly wants to hold you, feel you again. You can tell, and without a single word assure him you too just want to feel him again. 

So he gets under the warm water with you. Where he gets to really, truly look at you in all your scarred glory and you get to do the same to him. He can’t stop himself from touching the worst of the scars - the places where wounds were forced to not heal - and you simply let him. 

Eddie’s touch is better than any other. 

“Can you… can you wash my hair?” He nervously stutters out.

“Turn.” 

He does.

He loves the feeling of your fingers gently massaging his scalp. He missed little things like this. The things that weren’t big or overly romantic or sexual. Just your fingers running through his hair with this near scentless shampoo is something he missed more than any sexual act he could possibly think of. 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until you ask if he’s okay. 

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Just… just really, really missed you. And this. Your touch. You know?”

“Yeah.” You press a kiss to his shoulder. “I do.” 

He loves being able to wash you as well once you finish him. Gently running along your curves and planes. He may have done so not long ago, but that felt different. Methodical. The water and soap allows his fingers to glide over your skin however he pleases, digging into some spots and ghosting over others. He has missed this too. 

“I’ve missed your touch too, Eds,” you mutter out when you stop his hand on the c-section scar. “And I wish I had you with me.”

He mimics your earlier action, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I wish you had me with you too.”

After the shower, you tell him to put his clothes in the laundry basket as you should have a few things that fit. 

“These should fit. Unless you’ve suddenly grown or shrunk an insane amount.”

He takes the clothes from you - a fading shirt, new sweatpants and boxers - and cannot stop the heavy feeling in his chest. 

“These will work.” He looks back to you. “Keeping someone else around?”

It’s half a joke, half not. He wants to be lighthearted in the event you have seen anyone else in your time apart. It would be reasonable, understandable. Being alone is hard. Still, he doesn’t really want to know.

“No.” You shift your weight back and forth. “I got them for if… when I finally got the courage to find you and speak to you.”

Eddie nods and rubs the worn Nirvana shirt between his fingers. Ronnie really, really likes Nirvana, he mentally scoffs. She’s not even ten. 

A sniff alerts him back to you.

To you, already bordering sobbing on the bed.

“Phoenix. Hey. What’s wrong?”

“I just…” You play with the fraying bottom of your robe. “I was just so worried that I would come to you and you would be moved on. I wouldn’t have blamed you, and it’s what I would want you to do. But it still terrified me. Because I had spent years hoping, praying to anything that might exist that I could see you again one day and hug and kiss you and if you had moved on and I had just come back with a fucking kid and either ruined your new life or got rejected… either way…”

“Move on? From you? From the person who I shared everything with? From the person I loved first and last?” Eddie brushes his thumb along your cheek, brushing away a tear that has fallen. “Never. I could never.” 

“If I was really dead, I hope you could.” 

“Maybe. But receiving your jacket and no real answers wasn’t good enough. Couldn’t move on from that.” 

You hum, leaning further into his touch. 

Eddie loves crawling into bed with you for the first time in ten years and actually feeling comfortable with it. He loves the way you snuggle into his chest and press a kiss to his clavicle. 

The way you whisper goodnight to him, assure him you’ll still be here when the sun comes up, still fit so perfectly with him. The way he falls asleep so easily for the first time since that night, dozing off with only minimal panic in his brain.

Eddie loves the way the morning light filters into the bedroom. It hits your face just right, highlighting your cheeks and nose and lips and all the things he has been missing.

The sun is also filtering onto Ronnie, who he didn’t notice coming in last night. The braid is almost entirely ruined - her hair being naturally unruly like his, despite it being taken care of better than his ever was. She apparently sleeps with her mouth slightly agape, like you swear he does (and even have picture proof of, but Eddie still denies it).

“You’re staring.”

He looks back to you to see your eyes now open, lips pulled into the tiniest of smiles.

“Can you blame me?” 

You shake your head. “No. I’ve stared a few times in the night too.” 

His thumb runs along your cheek. “I think that was the first time I actually slept through the night in a long time.”

“I still haven’t made it.” You adjust your head to be closer to Eddie without waking Ronnie. “But I’ll get there.” 

“I could get used to this.”

That draws a soft laugh from you. “You better. I don’t plan on letting you go.” 

Eddie smiles. He doesn’t plan on letting you go either. “But we’re not actually going to stay in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin, right?” 

“Sh.” You close your eyes and pause. “Too early to think about that. But where would you want to go?” 

“California seems nice. New York even.” 

You reopen your eyes. The morning sun has moved just enough for it to hit them just right, their color sparkling in the golden sun. “California or New York, huh?” 

“Yeah. But I’ll go anywhere with you, Phoenix. And Ronnie. But the dog…” 

You roll your eyes. “California or New York sounds good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You stretch over the child sleeping between you two and press a kiss to his lips. “Mm. Morning breathe.”

His lips stay just barely pressed against yours. “You love it, don’t deny it.”

“I do.” 

And you kiss him again. 

Ronnie shifts in what you think is her sleep until she is literally shoving you and Eddie apart. 

“Gross,” she sleepily mutters. “Didn’t want him just so you could smooch him over me.” 

You laugh at her comment. “You jealous, princess? Cause I got plenty of smooches left for you.” 

She tries to shield her face before your lips can reach her cheeks, but it’s too late. You’ve already begun assaulting her with pecks all over. 

“Eddie, babe, you gotta help me out here!” 

He just stares. With the goofiest and happiest grin you’ve ever seen him have, he just stares. 

And though he’s already said it many times over the past day and some odd hours to both of you, he says it again. 

“I love you. Both of you.” 

You pause your attack and smile. 

He means it wholeheartedly. He loves you and Ronnie and another thousand things he could spend days listing off. 

So many things that maybe hating life while stuck in Hawkins for ten years was worth it. 

No, not maybe. 

Definitely. 

Final note: Ack, anyway. Not sure how I feel about this.