#so this song is about the mixed feelings she experienced

[risingode]

loml (loss of my life)

summary: in which ellie's only ever cried in front of you three times. yet the fourth is the most devastating of them all.

pairing: ellie williams x y/n

genre: angst

wc: 962

please comment or message letting me know your thoughts! it helps motivate me :)

once again inspired by taylor swfit :)

a/n: hello everyone! it has been quite a while since i have uploaded on here. i've had a lot of changes in my life since the last time i posted a writing of mine, primarily, i am now in my third (!!!) year of university. crazy to even think about tbh. anyways, i know i primarily write about jungkook from bts, but recently i was gifted a ps5 by my brother in law and the first game i bought was tlou part 2 remastered because i never quite got over the game, or more specifically, ellie williams lmaooooo. anyways pls enjoy this short little drabble, i am excited to get back into writing! and yes, i will keep writing for jungkook as well, i'm just mixing it up a bit!

Ellie Williams was an enigma to the world, and right now, her mystery is unfurling in the cruelest of ways. The room before you is a tapestry of shattered dreams, clothes scattered like discarded promises, each garment a silent witness to the betrayal unfolding before your eyes.

Your heart, once so full of trust and love, feels like it's disintegrating. A heart-shaped void appears on the floor beneath you, a grotesque reflection of the pain ripping through your chest. There, in the dim light, your fiancée lies entwined with another woman, their bodies a stark betrayal of the vows once promised to you.

It's almost absurd, the way a love that once made you feel invincible can crumble so easily, as if it was all a cruel joke. The sight is so surreal that you question its reality, your mind unable to reconcile the image before you with the life you thought you shared. Your feet are rooted to the ground, as if some invisible force has tethered you to this unbearable truth.

The diamond ring on your finger, once a symbol of unending love, now feels like a shackle, its weight a painful reminder of the promises that were so carelessly broken. You stand there, numb and hollow, the ache in your chest growing more insistent with every breath. 

Her voice is a faint murmur, drowned out by the protective haze your mind has wrapped around you, shielding you from the full weight of her betrayal. The woman who promised to stand by you for the rest of your life is now an almost surreal presence, a distant echo as the reality of the situation sinks in.

They scramble to untangle themselves from the bed—your bed. Clothes are hastily pulled on, and you feel a wave of nausea rise up, the bile surging before you can even hope to stop it. The force of the moment propels you into action, and you sprint through the house, your heart pounding with the realization that every corner holds a painful reminder of the life you built together.

The couch you assembled in your first apartment, the dishes you chose together, each one a piece of your shared dream, perfectly matching the white and royal blue of your kitchen. The kitchen where you cooked meals side by side, dancing to songs from artists you discovered together, 

“This one’s the song I want to walk down the aisle to,” you’d said, stirring the pasta as you both cooked together.

Ellie looked up from where she stood, buttering garlic bread. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling as you watched her. “Do you like it?”

Her eyes twinkled with that familiar warmth as she walked over to you, wrapping her arms around your waist. “I don’t care what song you walk down the aisle to,” her tender voice whispers into your ear, “as long as the person standing at the end of it is me.” 

The air is cold against your hot skin, a reminder of how real everything you just experienced was. You couldn’t seem to care, though, almost prying open the door to your poorly parked car. The silence of it deafening as you give yourself time to catch your breath, finally it was quiet. Still, the sounds of their shared moans and whimpers echoes in your mind. The silence doesn’t last long, a loud thump breaks you out of your dissociated trance. Your neck snaps towards your driver’s side window, Ellie’s tearful face is the sight you’re met with. You think back to all the times you’ve seen her cry before. You conclude it’s three. 

The first time was when she was drunk, confessing her feelings, afraid you didn’t feel the same. You had held her close, whispering reassurances. 

“Oh, Ellie, you’re silly to think I don’t like you too.”

The second was when you were rushed to the hospital after a fall at work. The memory is a blur of bright lights and pain, but Ellie’s tear-streaked face as she clung to you is vivid. 

“You scared me so bad, baby,” she had sobbed into your shoulder.

You had tried to lighten the moment, chuckling despite your discomfort. “I just have a mild concussion. The only thing I’m worried about is how I’m going to step back into that office without a bag over my head. I’m so embarrassed.” 

She pulls away to look at your pouting face, noticing a light purple bruise decorating your pretty eye. She frowns, leaning in to leave a kiss on it. “Shut up, you’re never leaving my side again.”

The third and only time you cried alongside her was the day she proposed, her hand shaking in your grasp as she got down on one knee. 

“You’re the love of my life, Y/N. I don’t care how many years pass, or how many hurdles we come across, I will always be there for you. I can’t imagine loving anyone as much as I love you, baby.” 

You’re choking on your tears, your hand feels almost numb at the tightening of her grip. You reach your empty hand up to your chest, willing your beating heart to still. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Now, in the cold car, you’re confronting the fourth time, a cruel twist of fate that you never anticipated would be this moment. You thought the tears would come on your wedding day, as you exchanged vows to love and cherish each other, for better or for worse. The irony makes you laugh, a broken, hollow sound, as you shift the car into reverse.

Ignoring the pleading sobs muffled by the glass, you drive away, each mile feeling like a mile further from the life you once knew and the promises that were so easily shattered.

[soamericn]

𝜗𝜚 𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐓𝐋𝐄

🐰ྀི₊˚⊹ ‘ truth, dare, spin bottles you know how to ball, i know aristotle. ‘

𝜗𝜚… previous chapter - next chapter

𝜗𝜚… summary , ( f!verstappen!y/n x lando norris ) y/n is the younger sister of world champion max verstappen and an author known for her young adult romance novels despite never being in a relationship herself. lando norris is a formula one driver and is secretly an old friend and a fan of her books since 2020.

𝜗𝜚… faceclaim , brooke flecca

𝜗𝜚… triggers , none I don't think (maybe some cursing)

𝜗𝜚… authors note , thank you so much for 100 followers!! new driver series coming out soon based on an album ( I'll be making a fic for a diff driver based on each song )

🐰ྀི₊˚⊹ masterlist

the drive there had been relatively calm. it wasn’t awkward though, y/n and lando had known each other for years, despite not talking for the past two . the conversation was laced with nostalgia as they reminisced on his rookie year, when she went to every race and he’d been convinced she was his “lucky charm”

the air outside was warm with a flowy cool breeze, australian autumns were always nice and provided a small comfort to the girl who’d appreciated the weather. 

the club they’d gone to, however, was packed and it felt suffocating. y/n was never the one for clubs, she liked people, she liked dancing and music. but putting them together with a mix of alcohol and drugs never was something she enjoyed. (her brother on the other hand was the opposite)

she’d hung back near the bar slowly sipping on a sprite. she never drank alcohol; it was a personal preference, she hated the feeling of being out of control. lando had picked up drinking since the last time they’d saw each other, he was partying his little heart out with their friends now. 

y/n hung back watching him with a sorta fondness in her eyes, the scene was beautiful to her, romanticizing the true happiness he was experiencing to ignore how claustrophobic she was feeling. and how she’d been picking at the skin around her nails and the pit in her stomach. 

lando seemed to almost hear her cry for help, as he left the dance floor and walked over to her. she assumed to order another drink since he’d only had one. “you alright?”

y/n nodded but her mouth spoke differently, forever honest. “I feel like i‘m suffocating a bit, if i’m honest.” she admitted cringing as soon as she said it.

lando understood, but she knew he would. he helped out his hand, “then shall we?”

she furrowed an eyebrow and with pursed lips her eyes flicked up and down to his hand and then back to him. “shall we what?”

“bail.” 

“you were having fun, I'm a grown woman. if I wanna leave, I will.” y/n reassured guilt filling up her throat.

lando shook his head with a small grin that he always seemed to adorn. “oh c’mon I invited you, I'm here to spend time with you anyway.”

hesitantly the dutch girl took his hand and they hurried out of the bar, met with fresh air at last and a chill of the night. it felt a bit silly but y/n thought about writing a book in this moment, she thought about how she’d described the scene, how the two old friends reconnecting would turn into something more. 

she knew it was only a fantasy, all her books were. picturesque moments painted carefully by her hands, nothing that’d happen in real life. especially to her. she’d been confident in herself but she’d come to terms on how unsuccessful her love life had been. she was twenty-three and hadn’t dated a single person, not one out of the eight billion people on this earth.

so she’d lost hope. lando shouldn’t give her hope, she knew no one would ever follow through with it. she had enough self respect to stop trying to chase false dreams. 

they’d been walking down the street of melbourne for a few minutes now in a comfortable silence though she’d been surprised lando managed to keep his mouth shut this long. the sky was clear, the stars brighter than she’d seen in a while, the streets were practically empty and the air smelt of saltwater. 

“where are you taking me?” y/n asked realizing they’d passed lando’s car a couple minutes back. 

lando looked at her, “do you not trust me?” 

she pretended to think about it for a moment before meeting his gaze which remained on her. “haven't seen you in two years, maybe you've changed.”

he really had. he’d changed so much but somehow not at all, “you definitely have.” lando seemed to backtrack in his mind as his words came out as an insult. “in a good way I mean, I’ve just missed you.”

he missed her. maybe it’d been her chronic loneliness talking but she hadn’t heard those words from anyone in years. she looked down at her feet, a small smile growing on her face. “I missed you too, a lot.” 

“why didn’t you call or text, I swear I would’ve thought you died if not for your instagram.” lando wasn’t mad or at least he didn’t sound it, still y/n was embarrassed there was no reason for her to fall off the face of earth like she did, maybe she was just destined to be lonely and needed to prove she could do it. maybe that didn’t need two years to prove, she’d been proving it for twenty-two years.

“I’m not mad, I’m just happy to see my idol again.” he bumped into her shoulder with a smirk.

y/n giggled looking at him unconvinced. “your idol?” 

lando nodded, “I'm your biggest fan, don't you know?”  

“mhm of course I knew, reading august in two days must’ve been a new record.” the day lando commented on her instagram post saying he’d pre-ordered her book, she’d gone to her records of past books. he’d bought every book she’d ever read. every single one. even the special edition covers she’d published. 

never had anyone done a gesture like that for her. sure it might’ve been just because he’d like to read, but y/n wanted to live in a bliss where he did it for her.

watching the view change in front of her as they continued down the street she recognized where they’d been walking to. the beach. once they’d reached the place where the concrete ended and sand started. they both took off their shoes, lando grabbed hers holding them for her. 

the sand was soft to the touch, the beach was empty now and spanned for miles. waves crashed down onto the sand in a nice pattern of noise. it was pitch black except the moon which provided a nice soft light into the water far out. the breeze felt stronger here, y/n crossed her arms struggling to provide warmth to her bare arms.

the pair had taken a seat on the slightly wet part of the sand closer to the water. “it’s beautiful out here.” she commented. “like some shit you’d see in a rom-com.” a genre she knew too much about. 

“is this the part where I tell you you’re the only girl I’ve taken here?” lando said looking at her she could hear the smirk in his voice. 

y/n let out a laugh. “is this the part where I act surprised because you’re known for being such a ‘player’?” 

“I’ll do the whole yawn and arm over shoulder thing if you want, make this really realistic.” lando took off his black hoodie revealing a matching black t-shirt underneath. “here by the way.” 

he handed her the hoodie, “oh I’m fine.” she very clearly was not. she wanted to tell him to stop her some kind of hope, to not make her fall for him as she was now. 

“you so are not, you’re shivering and it’s freaking me out.” y/n wasn’t sure if she should’ve said thank you or been offended by ‘freaking him out’. she took the hoodie, it was soft fabric and smelt of his cologne, which smelt expensive. 

she put the hoodie on, relieved by the warmth she suddenly felt. after a while of chatting and laughing about stupid things like they used to, y/n comfortably rested her head on his shoulder, eyes feeling the need to shut but they wouldn’t like she wanted to be conscious for every moment of this, knowing she’d miss his comfort as soon as it was gone. 

“do you have to wake up for your flight early tomorrow.” he asked, his voice soft and he cautiously started to run his fingers through her hair, until she’d relaxed more and he was more confident with his innocent touches.

“mhm.” she mumbled. 

he carefully brushed the few knots in her hair, “should I take you home then it's getting late.” 

everything in her body was telling her to stay no, to stay there, she never wanted to leave. but her mind spoke differently, she had a book signing tomorrow she couldn’t miss her flight nor could she be too tired. she replied again, more disappointed than before, “yeah probably.”

𝜗𝜚˖ ࣪₊˚ yourusername posted

liked by yourbestfriend, mclaren, oscarpiastri and 856,756 others

yourusername last night in aus was well spent 🫶

tagged | @landonorris

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user34 OH the lando & y/n girlies are screaming rn

yourbestfriend oh my god you finally went outside 🤯

landonorris gotta make sure she gets some vitamin c every once in awhile

user54 i just know twt is going crazy

landonorris hope to see you in japan 🙏🫣

yourusername we’ll see 🤭

maxverstappen as a redbull fan I hope

user89 we are all living for your active era rn

user21 all her f1 posts having lando in them is making me cry they’re everything to me

user54 I’m getting 2019 lando y/n flashbacks

your bsf 🫶 sent you a text!

𝜗𝜚 ˖ ࣪₊˚ yourusername posted a story

seen by maxverstappen, lilymhe, davidmalukas and 645,765 others

landonorris replied to your story

𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚ ⊹ landonorris posted

liked by maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri, yourusername and 972,342 others

landonorris another race done onto japan we go 😉 ( featuring special guest my celebrity crush )

tagged | @landonorris

view comments

yourusername omg I love when I see my fan pages in the wild 🤭

landonorris ok babe don’t push it 🥰

user53 babe?!!!

user76 they’re so in love it hurts

user32 getting his first podium of the season while she’s there she really is his lucky charm

user98 HIS LUCKY CHARM 😭😭

mclaren y/n should come to more races best race result so far nice job!

user43 even mclaren loves them 🙏

user58 their actually my faves

carlossainz I think I’m your idol actually 🤔

landonorris whatever helps you sleep at night

𝜗𝜚… tags , @whitcferrari @cedarbcws @c-losur3 @lclitaa @forurforeverwinter @stinkyjax @littlexscarletxwitch @spideybv28 @ijustgomessitupx

[thepersonnamedsam]

hello! i was hoping I could request something between gen z reader x the grid where she gets an anxiety attack or gets really anxious during press and how they would react or try to help her, could be due to something about the race or personal, love uuu<3

you’re gonna go far

pairing: the genz!driver x '23!grid

summary: social anxiety and social stuff don’t mix very well

word count: 2.3k

warnings: anxiety attack, angst, sexist comments

note: hiya!! yk i love your requests!! thank u <3

i have social anxiety myself, it’s written from my perspective - anxiety is experienced very different, pls remember that! and pls respect anyone who is experiencing anxiety or any mental disorder that is!

masterlist / taglist

We ain’t angry at you, love, you’re the greatest thing we‘ve lost.

The song blasted through her ears, tears started forming in her eyes. She missed home, so, so much. She felt guilty to leave all her friends and family at home to pursue her dreams. And this song, written by the brilliant Noah Kahan, just always made her cry and think about her hometown.

Well, maybe not always, mostly the days her anxiety sparks up - and today was one of those days. Usually media didn’t stress her out, but today was different. Her mood shifted and hyper sensitive, overstimulated and overwhelmed. And she usually had someone she trusted by her side at media, but not today. Today was just shit.

Paired with Lance, Kevin, Sergio and Niko, she just wished the day would be over. She was just glad that Daniel, Max, Oscar and Lewis would be after her, they would maybe wait for them to finish, so she could see them.

She was trying to help her calm down. Thinking about good possibilities and not bad ones. Not about how she would sit stiff and uncomfortable between Lance and Sergio. Or how she and Niko never really got along. Or how she couldn’t seek refuge in a known face. Or how she had to answer all the questions by herself and not have Max there to defend her and be her bodyguard. 

And she was doing it again.

What was she gonna do? Breath, just breath - that’s what she told herself. She was in desperate need for a break. She knew what she was getting herself into, but it was still so very much. She was glad that Hungary was the second last race before the summer pause. She would go home, maybe vacation a bit, but definitely head home and see her friends and family.

Her feet dragged her through the media pit against her will. She didn’t want to go there, she just wanted to curl up in her bed with a good book and some music. Her headphones still present on her head, at least she had her music.

She was so focused on the words of You’re gonna go far that she didn’t see Lance in her peripheral vision. He patted her on her back and she flinched as he passed her. He gave her a funny look as she just gave him a shy smile.

She sighed, she didn’t know how she could face this day. She wished she had Lewis or Max or Danny by her side, someone to lean on, someone who would protect her and help her out. But she was all alone in this world right now. That’s what she thought at least.

Sat next to her was Kevin and Sergio. Her leg was bouncing, her fingers couldn’t stop picking at her nails. Her breathing was fast. She knew that things would turn out bad pretty fast. She just knew it.

„So, the next question is for y/n. Seeing as you’re the only woman on the grid, do you feel intimidated by all of the men or do you actually like the challenge?“

Her mind raced. What? She wished for Max who would give a sassy comeback or for Lewis to out the comment as borderline sexist. Or just anyone to stand up for her at that moment, but no one did.

„Uh, thank you for your question. Uhm, I am not the only woman on the grid. There are lots of women working behind the scenes - mechanics, engineers, catering, strategists, everything. So, to answer your question, no, I don’t feel intimidated, because I know that I come from a powerful gender.“

Her answer was clip and clear, not even her voice was shaking, which she half expected to. But the interviewer grew visibly irritated.

„Can you go into it a bit more? Or could you please comment on the statement Christian Horner did? Here, I’ll refresh your mind: F1 is bringing in a young generation. It’s bringing in a lot of young girls because of all these great-looking young drivers.“

What had that to do with his question beforehand? Horner made that statement a longer time ago?

„Uhm yes, obviously we all know Christian by now, don’t we?“, she nervously laughed. „But uhm, he is obviously still wrong, like I originally commented when he first made that statement“ Her eyes were searching for something or someone familiar, but she couldn’t. Her vision occupied by interviewers and flashing cameras.

Her breath started to get faster, She tried to breath through her nose, not make it too obvious that she was having a moment. This would make headlines. Female driver gets anxiety attack whilst commenting on sexist statements.

Why wasn’t Lewis there? He knew what to do. He had caught her like this before - breathing rapid, fists clenched and fingers white. Eyes not focusing on anything particular and her chest heaving up and down from all her heavy breathing.

It was after she had found out that people were speculating about her - specifically that she had to sleep with her or any team principal to get her seat in F1. Her head was leaned against the wall, her knees pulled to her chest and her body was rocking back and forth.

„y/n, y/n, listen, look at me. Listen to me, can you please look at me, love?“, he pleaded. And when she finally did, Lewis let out a breath of relief. „Okay, look at me, darling, and follow my breathing, yes? It’s easy, you can do it, I believe in you.“

He grabbed her hands and put them to his own chest, so she could feel his breathing. Feel his calm heartbeat, even though he felt anything opposite calm. He looked her deep into her eyes and tried to reassure that everything was going to be alright.

„You’re gonna go far, y/n, listen to me, I know it, you’re gonna make it far.“

Her breathing had normalised and the tears stuck in her eyes, finally flowed down her cheeks. The soon turned into full on sobs and the older driver hugged the younger one. Embracing her and reassuring her, that none of the drivers would have believed the tabloids - they’ve seen her driving and know very well why she got offered her seat in F1.

She had thanked him about a thousand times and made him promise not to ever tell anyone. But if somebody else knew, maybe they could’ve helped her in this situation.

But luckily for y/n, this was all broadcast live, well, maybe not for her per se, because she knew about too many people were watching her lose herself on live television and her PR manager couldn’t just pull some magic strings to not have this air, but what she didn’t know was, that Seb was watching - her specifically.

And he did the only reasonable thing he could do, he called Lewis.

„Hey dude, what’s up? Haven’t heard from you in a long time. How’s retirement treating you?“ Lewis had a lot of questions for the German. The later laughed a bit, but turned serious pretty quickly. „Listen, I’m watching the pre-race interviews right now-“ Lewis interrupted him: „Yeah? I’m on next, you should definitely wait and see me on TV then.“

„Yeah that’s great Lew, but y/n is on right now. I think- no I’m pretty sure she’s having an anxiety attack on live television.“

Lewis was silent for a moment. „She is having what?“ - „An anxiety attack, you know what that is? It’s, uhm, when you get too overwhelmed and your psyche tells you that you’re experiencing immense fear at the moment and“, Lewis was tuning him out.

She was having an anxiety attack? Right now? During the pre-race interview? He had to help her.

„I’m on my way, thanks Seb“, and he hung up. He had to get there as fast as he could. Sprinting through the entire paddock to the media pin. On the way he almost crashed into Max, who was also making his way to the pin, Daniel by his side. The only looked at Lewis weird but soon we’re running with him, as he shouted: „It’s y/n!“

They arrived but no one wanted to let them in: „It’s not your turn yet, they’re still going. You have to wait until it’s your turn, you’ll be on in 10.“

„Listen, y/n, if you’re reacting this way to my question, you’re clearly not made for this sport, maybe you should go into something more ladylike, like horseback riding or tennis, at least you’d look pretty there.“

„And you’re clearly not made to interviews, asshole!“

All of them heard, the viewers heard, the drivers heard, the interviewers heard, but y/n was the only one who didn’t hear it.

Maybe you should go into something more ladylike, like horseback riding or tennis, at least you’d look pretty there. That was all she could hear. At least you’d look pretty there.

The other drives next to y/n didn’t know what to do. Their colleague was definitely having a though time, but they didn’t know how to help, they opted to just tilt their heads towards the floor and look just as uncomfortable as everyone in the room did - but no one stood up for her, expect Max.

„Maybe you should just fucking leave this pit before I will bash your disgusting face. Maybe you should scramble and flee. Maybe you should eat your on dick as you seem to like to put tiny and degrading things in your mouth. Maybe-“, Daniel stopped him, Max has said enough and made his point.

Lewis was already making his way up to her. Scooping her up and carrying her out of the pit.

At least you’d look pretty.

The sentence was going through her head like a loop, like a vinyl that’s broken and repeats all the worst parts. She felt like a broken record - cracked and well, broken.

„She‘s hyperventilating“, Danial pointed out. „Yeah no shit, sherlock.“ - „Max, let’s just focus on her right now, okay?“, the seven time world champion told the two time world champion. „Who’s garage is the nearest?“, Lewis asked into the round. „The Ferrari one is the first one on the grid“, Daniel said. „Let’s go then.“

Daniel led the way, fetching Lando on the way, she’d appreciate the support from the youngster. Even though he complained a lot to Danny.

„Don’t look, don’t look, we’re just passing through“, Daniel said as he tried to shield her and Lewis from all the cameras in the Ferrari garage. „What are you guys doing here?“, Carlos questioned, but as soon as he saw the crying mess in Lewis‘ arms he helped Daniel shield y/n. Carlos led them to Charles‘ side of the garage, as he had his closed off for anyone from the outside.

„What’s going on?“, a confused Charles asked the group now standing in his garage. „Charles, we need to go somewhere quiet, is that possible?“, Lewis asked the Ferrari driver. He nodded and led them to his drivers room, even though it was pretty tiny and probably wouldn’t fit all of them in it.

They set y/n on his sofa and Lewis was hovering in front of her. Lando sat on her right side, while Max was on her left. He took her hand in his, squeezing it, so she knew that he was there. „Hey y/n look at me. We’re in Charles‘ drivers room, in the Ferrari garage. Away from the media pit, okay? You’re safe with us now“, Lewis told her. „Breath with us.“

„In and out, just like that, darling, follow Lewis‘ breathing“, Daniel complimented y/n. „You’re doing great, shatje. So, so great. We’re all so proud of you.“

„You can let it all out, we won’t judge you“, Charles told her and just as he did, the dam broke. Her tears fell down onto her knees, she sobbed uncontrollably. She leaned her head on Landos shoulder and he pulled her close into his side. „You’re doing so well, love.“ - „Just keep breathing, don’t forget to breath“, Carlos told her. He was standing in the doorway with Charles, acting as bodyguards.

Danny walked around the room, trying to find something for y/n to drink out of. „Hey Charles, do you have some water or a bottle?“ The driver clad in red reacted fast and brought the Australian a tall glass of water. He brought y/n the glass and she had to stop crying to drink. Afterwards she got the hiccups. „There, there love, everything’s okay“, Lewis took her glass and patted her knee. „Remember what I told you? You’re gonna go far, okay? Don’t let that prick tell you otherwise.“

„At least you’d look pretty there.“

„Huh?“, the room asked, as she mumbled the sentence.

„At least you’d look pretty there. That’s what he said“, she looked up from her seat, to the room full of supporting people. „At least you’d look pretty.“

Max was so angry again, he could’ve killed that man, if it wasn’t for Daniel holding him back. „I am going to kill that man“, Max growled. y/n giggled: „Maxie, don’t, he doesn’t deserve death. He deserves to live a long, pitiful life.“

„We’re glad you’re laughing again, y/n“, Charles said. „Yes, very much so.“ Everyone agreed with Charles. „I love you guys, but how’d you even know that I was having a tough time?“, y/n asked confused. Lewis had to laugh: „Seb called me. Said he saw you on the TV all riled up and ready to cry and that I should already be on my way to help you, but I talked over him the whole time“ He scratched his neck and y/n laughed a loud belly laugh. „That’s so typical!“

°°°

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[murdrdocs]

inspo from hot to go!; post stanford tashi; fem!reader MDNI 18+ w/ TASHI DUNCAN

tashi is in a bar.

it's not just any bar, she knows this. she wouldn't even be seen in just any bar, but this bar is different. the demographic is different. the music is different. the drinks are more or less the same. this isn't just any bar and tashi likes that.

she came to this bar because she wanted to. because she wanted this. because she wanted to take some hot stranger back to her hotel room and get her brains fucked out. because she wanted to forget that she's just katarina's hitting partner, and not the one with the trophy.

she came dressed for the occasion. glitter along her lined hooded eyes. nude lipstick smeared over her lips. low rise jeans hugging her ass and a sparky top making her tits look phenomenal. she was going home with someone, she knew she was.

it took a while, lots of searching and a few drinks, but tashi finds her target.

you, dancing to every song as if you know it well. laughing and talking with people as if you know them well. she thinks you might be a regular, or at least this isn't your first time here. she doesn't think this is your first time doing anything like this in general. at first, the thought intimidates her. but tashi has never been one to back down from a challenge. she's never been one to become intimidated because someone knows more than her.

it takes a short while, tashi begins to think she missed the sweet spot, but she eventually approaches you.

and there's nothing to be worried about.

sure, she's a little worried that you might not be into her, but she was once told that she's everyone's type. so she stands tall in her heels, uncaring about her height for once, and she smiles at you.

and the two of you click. you're like fucking magnets, bodies pressed together, moving as one to whatever song playing throughout the bar. her head buried in the crook of your neck, your hands on her waist and hips, your perfumes rubbing together to create a unique mix that tashi never wants to forget.

at one point, you dip your hand to slide past the waistband of her jeans, resting right over her mound, and tashi fucking moans. you haven't even touched her yet, not really, but her celibacy streak has made her needy.

so needy that she's jumping at the first opportunity to be alone uncaring how desperate she may seem.

"are you hot, too? or is it just me?" you ask her, your voice right in her ear.

tashi nods immediately, quick to agree even if she's actually not that hot. nothing compared to summer training on a court. but she still nods because she knows what you want.

your hand slipped in hers, you leading the way out of the bar until you're both outside in the summer air, feeling the breeze against your skin when she has you pressed against a wall and her lips against yours.

she kisses you sloppily. it's probably the messiest kiss she's ever had, and it's all her doing.

she's the one slipping her tongue into your mouth, missing the cavern a couple of times.

she's the one knocking your teeth together.

she's the one moaning and groaning into your mouth while her hands, appreciative and curious, pull at your waist.

and then she's the one throwing the suggestion out there.

"i'll call a cab."

after a torturous twenty minutes where you and tashi try to be decent people who don't grope each other in the back of a cab, the two of you end up in tashi's hotel room and there's no more inhibitions.

she's stark naked on the bed with your bare body rubbing against hers from above. she lets you stick your fingers in her mouth and then in her cunt. she writhes and moans as you devour her in ways she's never experienced before.

her nails dig into the white sheets as she stares up at the ceiling, praying this would never end.

you're so earnest between her legs, telling her she tastes sweet and sounding like you mean it. like you actually are getting pleasure from having your head between her thighs and your tongue against her soaked cunt.

you keep calling her pretty, and tashi feels pretty.

when she's having another woman tweak her nipples and lift her legs in the air, she feels as pretty as she ever has.

she's so quick to return the favor, too. she wasn't just here to get fucked. she wanted to make you feel good.

her brown eyes big and kind as she watches you, one lithe hand slipping between your parted legs. when you take that first gasp, a sharp inhale at the feeling of tashi rubbing two tight circles into your clit, tashi echoes the sound. it's as if she's mirroring you, as if she's breathing with you.

and when the night's over, tashi gives you her number. well, it's like that night never ended, actually. when she’s on the road, you call often and let tashi listen to the way you fuck your cunt while pretending its her.

[sserajeans]

just for a moment

hanni pham x fem! reader

synopsis: you and your co-star are tasked to make a song for your web drama's soundtrack. your co-star happens to be a childhood friend whom you've had history with.

genre + others: lsrfm! reader, idol au, childhood friends to lovers, friends to lovers, fluff, second chance ish?

notes: not requested, PLS READ THE LYRICS IT'LL MATTER!!!!, how i look delaying yail update 😂😂, also yes another hsmtmts inspired oneshot, pics from @/wiotas

"what do we even fucking write about?"

"y/n..."

"sorry..."

how did you get here? glad you asked!

it's the year 2025, and a team of producers at hybe are on the works for a minor project: a web drama promoting support for the lgbtq+.

you've talked about how odd it was to your best friend, and groupmate, yunjin.

"probably good for publicity, girl. like 'make everyone know we're not homophobic!' kinda thing." was all she had to say about it, which was likely true anyways.

you were convinced the casting was done at random honestly, but it was obvious they wanted a mix of groups to garner more attention. and that landed you the lead role with, you guessed it, ms. hanni pham!

why you two when you each had members who fit the actress role better? well, that's where you thought the random part came to play.

filming wasn't much of an issue. you were comfortable with hanni, and you two worked well on and off screen, just as expected considering your history. the director even pointed out your "remarkable chemistry", but she didn't have to know why it was that way.

as a matter of fact, you guys were about to wrap up in a few days. it was a wild past couple of weeks, but it was nice to get to spend more time with hanni again.

i mean, don't get me wrong, it's not like you two cut each other off when you moved to korea, but the talking definitely decreased, and the filming made up for lost time!

now, on one of the last days of filming, your respective managers sat you two in a conference room together, and dropped the news that you'd have to compose a new song just for the web drama's soundtrack.

the task in itself didn't bother you at all, and you were sure it didn't bother hanni too. you two were experienced in songwriting and composing, your names on a couple of song credits to count, so this was actually much easier than acting.

the issue was that you had enough going on for certain... feelings to resurface.

you see, the plot of the web drama hit a little too close to home for you. i mean seriously, childhood friends with feelings for each other, but couldn't take things further due to complications, then having to work together acting in some play.

it sounded a lot like your story.

hell, they even had your character do swimming! the same sport you excelled in back in australia.

the only reason nothing has gotten too awkward on that note yet, was because of your other labelmates being there like boynextdoor's leehan, minji and danielle, even your fellow members kazuha and yunjin.

with them around, you got to reconnect with hanni, but with a couple safe boundaries! now that you two were tasked to work on something alone though? you were scared things were going to be different.

so that's what brought you two here, together, in the music room. hanni seated facing the table with a pen and paper, you on the floor with your guitar in hand.

you were strumming to any chord shape that could come to mind in hopes of finding a melody that you could build off of, and hanni was tapping the end of her pencil on her forehead for any word, lyric, or rhyme that could work.

nothing came.

so engrossed in your respective tasks, the two of you didn't notice a shadow behind the translucent door, so when a knock came, you levitated off the floor for a millisecond, and hanni let out a soft yelp.

"hey you two~"

huh yunjin.

"how are my besties doing!" she came in doing a little dance, first walking over to check on what hanni was writing before landing on the floor beside you.

"we're stuck." you muttered, head against the wall behind you.

"oh... i see." yunjin shrugged her eyebrows in confusion, because she had just came from peeking over at hanni's notebook and was 100% sure she had lines written down.

"well, let's see... you got the genre down that suits the two of you so there's that. romance obviously sells, so there's that too. maybe you guys should try... writing while in character?" yunjin did her best to help the two of you, as the mutual best friend and seasoned singer-songwriter. "or if there's an experience you guys have had before, that would definitely help. real raw emotion ya know?"

"anyways," the eldest huffed and got up from the floor, messing up your hair and hanni's before heading for the door to leave the room. "i gotta get going. you two don't come home too late okay?"

you and hanni nodded before resuming. after a couple minutes, you realized that maybe you two will have to be communicating more if it meant writing a song together.

"hey han, do you have anything written?" hanni froze for a second before turning around on her chair.

truth was she did. she wrote them down specifically as yunjin started telling you two to write based on experiences.

"i... uh... kind of? just a couple lines, i don't know how i feel about them though."

"can i take a look? might help a bit."

"oh yeah... sure..."

there was a hint of hesitance in her voice, but it'd look awfully suspicious if she scratched out lines right before you'd check.

"ah..." the initial reaction was surprise for you, and a million thoughts came racing through your head.

"yeah! it's nothing much... but i figured it was better than nothing...."

"no yeah! for sure! i'm kinda getting the vibe, wait here." you turned around and picked up your guitar from the floor and took a seat beside hanni. "uhm... okay let's try... this?"

you freestyled a riff on your guitar, allowing your fingers to move on its own to play what felt right. it resulted in one of the most simple yet enchanting melodies that seemed perfect for your song's intro.

"hey that sounds perfect! i love it!" hanni cheered and gave you a thumbs up. "okay so... since you're doing your little guitar intro, perhaps we have the first line written in your character's point of view?"

"sure... okay... uhm..." it took you a couple seconds to think of something, or to get in character on the spot. but then you remembered yunjin's advice.

an experience you guys have had before.

"uh... how's this..." you fiddled with your hands as hanni nodded along, telling you to go on with your suggestion. after about half a minute, you had a two-liner with some sort of melody that matched your guitar intro. "i fell in love with the only girl who knows what i'm about."

hanni froze for a second, which didn't go unnoticed by you, but continued nodding along as she wrote down the lines. "i like your voice in this genre."

"oh..." you looked up from your guitar and faced her side profile as she was still facing her notebook. you felt your face warm a little, but not too much for it to gain color. "that's a lot coming from you. i have your lee mujin service episode on loop."

hanni smiled, a sight you'd never get tired of seeing. "a fan, huh? which part's your favorite?" she turned to look at you, a smirk on her face to mask the flustered and proud version of herself having received praise for her work from you of all people.

she continued writing a line underneath yours, a sudden burst of inspiration coming over her.

"probably lucky."

of course it's the song about being in love with your best friend.

she chuckled at your answer. hanni wasn't dense, and she knew you weren't either.

okay maybe you were, just slightly, but you pick up on context clues.

but point is, she knew what that implied, and what everything that came between the two of you the past few weeks could've felt like for you.

but just as she was getting somewhere, her train of thought was interrupted by your "burst of epiphany", as one would call it.

"oh hey, hear this out. i think it sounds like chorus material." you tapped her shoulder and positioned your hands across the frets of your guitar. you sounded a lot happier, more energy than you did earlier in the day as you finally got a feel of what to write and play.

when we're underneath the lights, my heart's no longer broken, for a moment, just for a moment

in that moment, hanni's mind rushed with too many emotions. objectively, the melody was beautiful. your voice made it better, the guitar felt like it had a voice of its own, and the lyrics. god, the lyrics.

she knew for sure you felt what she felt.

the two of you stayed in that music room a couple more hours, discovering a new type of comfort in a person the other has always known. like reading a book you've had forever, and feeling a newfound joy in a character that has always been there.

by the end of the day, you and hanni seemed to have switched roles, your guitar in her hands, and her notebook in yours.

you were finishing up a final copy of the first half of the song along with chords in case you'd forget the sound. there was also a copy of the both of you singing on your respective voice note apps. (which, unbeknownst to you, would be on repeat for hanni later that night.)

"here we go." you sighed, it took a lot of effort trying to make handwriting like yours legible. you've always hated it. teachers back in elementary all throughout high school would always mark your papers low despite almost flawless answers, just for your handwriting.

"i've always liked your handwriting..." hanni muttered as she admired your written work, unknowingly smiling to herself.

"oh.. thanks. i've always hated it."

"i know." hanni looked up at you, observing the sheepish smile on your face. she knew all about why you hated it, and she understood, but to her, it was an art. a part of you. she thought, "that's why i like it."

there was partial truth into that. besides it being a funny add-on to hanni's compliment, it's always been her thing to love stuff about you that you hated, even if it was something as small as handwriting.

back when you two were together (or whatever that was you had back in australia before you left, neither of you stuck a label on it), she'd always talk long speeches about how your handwriting was an art. something so significantly you that you shouldn't change, and that even if you hated it, she'd love it twice as much in place of you.

as you two shared a couple more laughs, a notification popped up on both of your phones. yours first, then hanni's a second later.

a snort accidentally escaped your system as you read the texts. "sorry.. is it yunjin?"

hanni let out the loudest laugh before nodding and exchanging phones with you to read what the older sent to the other. it was the same message in different forms, panicking to get you home before chaewon freaked out and took it out on yunjin, then proceeding to fear minji and her "wrath".

despite laughing at your member's worry, the two of you stood up to pack up, which really didn't take much anyways. you slid your guitar in its case, hanni hid her notebook in her bag.

walking out of the room to the lobby together side by side was probably the most stomach-churning activity of the day. and you literally had to write a love song about each other with each other. but there was something in the way it felt when your hands touched.

as you reached the part of the building where you finally had to part ways, the two of you faced each other. both expecting something, but not quite sure with what they were expecting.

"i.. uh... it was nice to reconnect today." she started off, awfully awkward at it too.

"yeah... it was..." you smiled, hand reaching for the back of your neck to scratch. a nervous habit. "i'll let you know if i think of anything tonight."

"yeah, same here." hanni nodded back, though a pinch of disappointment evident on her face. maybe she was expecting more, or maybe it was too soon. "see you tomorrow?"

"yeah... see ya." you slowly turned around, head racing.

should you say something? should you save it for another time? would it make things awkward tomorrow?

screw it. live in the present, right?

"han... for the record, my heart does still stop when i see you."

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Gorgeous

(inspired by t. swift's song)

Harry knew the moment that Draco walked into the bar. He always knew, there was something about the way he carried himself; his magic hot and bright, burning its way up Harry's spine before he'd even actually seen him. He turned his head, craning his neck to get a glimpse of the other man.

"Malfoy must be here," Ron grumbled.

He glanced back at Ron, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that every time he shows up here, you tune out most of what anyone has to say," Seamus piped up.

Harry glared at him, "Shut it. I do not."

"You do," Lavender replied as she slid in next to Parvati across from Hermione. "And it's just so sad because he talks to everyone but you."

He frowned, he had tried to convince himself that it was just his imagination that Draco talked to everyone else and intentionally ignored him. But before he could say anything more, Draco was at their table, he said, "this is Clement," gesturing to the attractive man on his arm before sitting down next to Hermione and immediately striking up a conversation with her.

"It's because he likes you," Blaise said, leaning in closer so Harry could hear him over the noise.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Yeah, right." Draco came with a different date every week, he wasn't interested in Harry.

Blaise shrugged, "Suit yourself but I'm telling you, Potter, that boy's been obsessed with you for years."

Shoving Blaise's shoulder Harry tried to put it from his mind. But as the night wore on, Harry watched Draco talking to everyone in their friend group but him (just like he always did) and when Draco got up to go to the loo, Harry couldn't help but follow. Not wanting to be a perv, he waited outside.

When Draco emerged, he immediately jumped, hand over his heart, "Circe's tits, Potter! What are you doing?"

Instead of answering his question, Harry's inebriated brain supplied one of it's own, "Why won't you talk to me?"

"Excuse me?" Draco asked, looking around as though he thought someone was playing a trick on him.

"I mean, we were friends, right?" he asked, knowing that he sounded more than a little desperate and pathetic. "Like 8th year, we sorted out all of our shit, forgave each other, right?"

"Potter, what are you on about?"

"It's just," he sighed and stared at Draco, wondering if he looked at him hard enough if he'd be able to understand him, "you never talk to me. And you talk to everyone else."

"You should be flattered," Draco said before turning away.

Without thinking Harry reached out and grabbed his hand, giving him a gentle tug, "Wait," he said.

"Adam is waiting," Draco said, not looking up to meet Harry's eyes.

"I thought you said his name was Clement?" Harry murmured.

And before he could do anything else, Draco was pressing him back against the wall and kissing him.

Harry's arms instinctively wrapped around him, drawing him in closer as he kissed him back just as desperately.

"That's what you get for touching my hand in a dark hallway," Draco muttered, nipping at Harry's lips.

"I ought to grab your hand more often, then," Harry replied, tugging Draco's body flush against his own so he could kiss him again.

Draco kissed him back for a long, tension filled moment, body surging and pressing against Harry's before he pulled back, "I fucking hate you."

Harry blinked at him, feeling like he was experiencing whiplash, his brain moving too slow, unutterably confused by the mixed signals he was receiving from Draco's body and his words. "What-" he started, but then Draco was kissing him again.

"I hate your stupid face, and your stupid green eyes," he continued as his hands slid under his tshirt and Harry groaned. "I hate the way you grew into your stupid body; all muscled and handsome. You're so fucking gorgeous, of course I can't talk to you."

"Fuck," he hissed as Draco's nails scraped over his back and Harry flipped their positions, pinning Draco to the wall.

Draco groaned, body shuddering against Harry's as he tried to drag him impossibly closer. "And I hate the way you talk, all honest and earnest, and-" he broke off as Harry sucked hard at his neck. "And I hate that you aren't mine."

Harry pulled back far enough to look him in the eyes, "Draco, you can have me," he said.

"Stop," he whined, giving Harry a shove but immediately tugging him back in. "Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not," Harry assured him. "I want you too, in case that wasn't abundantly clear," he said, pressing forward against Draco's body to emphasize his point.

Draco shook his head, "But I want more than just sex with you. Just sex would never be enough."

"Great," Harry replied, kissing down his neck again and pausing to suck at the bruise he'd left forming on his pale skin.

"I'm serious, Potter," Draco growled, fisting a handful of his hair and pulling until Harry looked him in the eyes again.

"Call me Harry," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes, "I'm serious, Harry. I'm a possessive bastard and I will want to keep you forever."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Harry asked, feeling a little weak in the knees at the thought of being treasured and kept.

Narrowing his eyes he asked, "Are you being serious?"

"Yes," he said in exasperation, "Draco. I want you, too. I've been head over tits for you for ages."

"Really?" he asked, looking back and forth between Harry's eyes.

"Ask literally any of our friends," he said. "Yes. Really." He leaned in and gave him another soft, tentative kiss.

Draco shuddered and wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, "Take me home," he whispered.

"From here?"

Draco nodded, eyes closed.

He rubbed his nose over Draco's cheek, "What about-" he broke off trying to remember the bloke's name, "what's-his-name?"

"Who?" Draco asked, hands slipping under Harry's waistband and distracting him even further.

"Your date?" he prompted even as his fingers tangled in Draco's hair, turning his to the side to give himself better access to Draco's neck.

Draco whimpered, body arching against Harry's. He waved a hand, "I don't give a fuck. Take me home. Right now." Then softly, in Harry's ear, "Please," he all but moaned and Harry's self control snapped.

He apparated them right from there, straight into his bed, and suddenly Draco had absolutely no problem talking to him.

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

Read more of my fics inspired by songs, if you'd like

tagging the lovely @phoebe-delia since it's taylor swift and that is her jam <3

[janeeyrewannabe]

thinking about Simon and Patty's developing relationship

1049 words

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

I already know how Simon would act. He’s so intense in every aspect of his life. In his art, his work, his relationships with other people, his love wouldn’t be any different. His feelings for patty are a novel thing. Simon’s never been the relationship kind of guy, even a casual hookup is still too intimate. He keeps his heart under lock and key along with his thoughts and admiration, but with patty it’s different. The way she treats everything, especially him, with the utmost devotion makes him want to be better.

Being in prison was hard, reintegrating into the real world and becoming a functioning, contributing member of society was fucking worse. Fresh out of jail and experiencing a new kind of relationship, a loving one, was something else. He’s never had any kind of monogamous situation with anyone, even when he was younger it was girls he barely knew in dimly lit rooms or bathrooms who he never he interacted with outside of sex. The shift was tough at first, as he falls deeper and deeper in love he wants to crawl back into the hole he was in before, turn himself inside out, and walk away. It was really fucking hard to squash that instinct and bury it as deep as humanly possible, but he does it because he’s felt the warmth of patty’s embrace and her tenderly curious gaze and there is no way he's letting that go.

Even though patty is the inexperienced one, Simon feels like a virgin. It’s the small moments that make him think he's back at square one. Waking up in bed with patty when she's still asleep. Just watching her breathe, seeing her chest rise and fall in an almost inconceivable way. Her overgrown bangs sprawled out across her forehead, long enough to be peaking into her eyes. Little bags under her eyes, mouth open a little. He can feel her breath on his arm, he’s never been more grateful to hear someone snore. Or maybe he's driving around with patty in his truck, which he kinda never gave it back (patty kept it warm for him while he was away), holding her hand and answering her questions while listening to her demos. Picking her up from work and making out in the back seat. Sitting on her bed watching her write her songs while he smokes a cigarette. Letting him get the first listen and mixing it up together. she’s picked up a few things from him, not so shit at the drums anymore. The feeling in his chest that’s too powerful to brush off.

He’s never been so close to someone, physically and emotionally, it frightens him a little. Think of when he tells patty he's john q but times a billion. When they lay in bed together after sex it's the polar opposite of any other post coital experience he's ever had. The I love you that's left on their tongues like the aftertaste of a cigarette that lingers for hours. They chat about whatever, trivial shit, it's what unsaid that makes it really fucking special. The promise of the future tangled in between them, trickling into their minds with visions of moving in together, making music together, just existing together outside of the watchful eyes of everyone else. Loving and coveting uninhibitedly.

Patty is the same but also completely different. She doesn't really have a problem with the emotional intimacy. She bares her heart to him right off the bat, sharing her quirks and habits. It’s harder with her words, she can’t ever really find the right ones. Even if she does it’s hard to string them together in a way that truly represents how she feels. Her affection for Simon comes out in her music. The lyrics and the sound she envisions as she writes shows the love she holds for him. You can see it in her expression too when she performs, searching for his face in the tightly packed crowd. Staring him down and singing the notes that crawl into his ears and travel through his veins to his heart and down to his dick. She’s never had anyone treat her the way Simon treats her, like she's his equal.

Just experiencing Simon for two days brought her out of her shell, but being with him day after day completely transforms her. She feels grateful to Simon for this; the adoration isn't one sided, she's got it just as bad as he does. Everything reminds her of him. Sissy and Karen tells her she sounds like a broken record, it’s Simon, Simon, Simon 24/7. When she's on her lunch break walking around outside the plaza where she works, she strolls past some guy smoking a cigarette. She smiles wide and bright, it reminds her of Simon. Of when he comes back inside at night after smoking outside, she kicks him out because her dad won't stop sneezing every time he walks into her room, cold and reeking of smoke. Breathing him in as she wraps her arms around his dirty green jacket and muscular body. Or maybe she sees a lighter on the ground while waiting for the bus, or a cloud that looks like his haircut. She sees his beauty everywhere she goes.

It’s the physical intimacy that she struggles with at times though. At first it’s intimidating being with Simon, he might be unnerving to most but the man gets around. It makes her nervous to surrender herself completely in such an intimate way, especially to someone who has done this a million times with a million people. But it's the way that he never makes her feel less than for not knowing or being a little shy that helps her come out of her shell. Even if she’s not the most experienced she still has a few tricks up her sleeve. Simon can get the same way too. When it's hard and fast, easy peasy, he’s well versed in that department. When it's long and painstakingly slow with shuddered breaths and I love you’s tumbling into the air around them, he gets a little freaked out. Once he gets over it, it consumes him, he can't get close enough. Patty too. They're inextricably connected in every metaphysical way possible.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

i use the word love way too many times in this omfg. please bare with me this is literally the first thing i’ve ever written ever 😭 if u don't like it pls lie to me

[fanaura]

can you write an nsfw where there’s like this ‘mating ritual’ where when a two na’vi want to mate the male must earn his woman by being able to successfully catch her/hunt her down as she runs away and tries not to be caught? so in this nsfw neteyam is hunting his soon to be mate and there’s lots of teasing but eventually he catches her and they mate? love your writing x

STOP THAT IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA Y'ALL ARE JUST TOO CREATIVE FOR THIS WORLD OMG

yes ofc i can!! and tysm i appreciate it xx

pairing: neteyam x omaticayan!reader - aged up (23 + 22)

content warnings: sexual content, queues connecting, p-in-v, neteyam being an experienced boi caused he's older and KNOWS his way around the bedroom, slight breeding kink, this ritual is completely fan-made as far as I'm aware!! I'm only following from what this person has written.

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Your feet thudded on the soft dirt floor of the forest as you ran through it, dodging and weaving tree stumps and the smaller animals of your home. The faint smell of sweat hung in the air from the effort, the sound of Neteyam's breath expelling and inhaling in ease, his strong body staying close behind you.

You sped up as you ran past a bend in the path Neteyam had been chasing you through for the past 10 minutes, as a part of the People's mating ritual. It was very traditional and slightly outdated, but with everything you and Neteyam had been through in the war with the Sky People, you wanted to make a big fuss over the mating, to make it special.

Since the time of the First Songs, it was the option for a male and female about to mate to begin The Hunt; a mating ritual in which the female was to run from her partner, until they caught up to each other, where they then mate for life. Again, some would call it silly. But after Neteyam's fierce and horrific encounters with death throughout the war - all you wanted was something to commerate it.

He was gaining on you - drawing closer and closer as you got more tired, legs aching and heavy - anticipation also causing you to decelerate. Neteyam's warrior frame stayed steady compared to your singer's body. While some females chose the path of warriors, healers, hunters, you chose to sing. Singing the words of Eywa was honourable, and made you feel closer to her and the People, but it didn't bless you with the powerful musculature others had developed. It made you feel so guilty during the War, when you had to stay back and sit around worriedly in missions because it was more dangerous for you than useful. You were a liability.

The thoughts were a useless spiral, so you shook them away, right as Neteyam reached you and wrapped his arms around your waist and tackled you to the dirt ground.

"Nete-YAM!" you squealed as you tumbled and he began tickling you.

"Stop!" you breathe-screamed in between giggles.

"What was that? Keep going?" He said, relentless. One of his large hands held both of yours together as he kept going.

"Neteyam! You skxawng!" You screamed again, abs hurting as you panted.

He was also smiling, but he let go of your hands and rose, so he was on his knees as he pulled you up as well. The grin had now softened, his eyes boring into your very soul, every thought, every movement, every heartbeat.

In an unexplained unison, you both reach behind for your queues, eyes still focused on each other with bated breath.

"My Yawne," my beloved, he mumured so quietly you almost couldn't hear him. You both brought the tips of your braids together and watched as they made Tsaheylu.

"Neteyam," you breathed out the air you had been holding in your lungs, and he gasped, eyes fluttering. He groaned and put his head down on the crook of your neck, heaving.

The swell of everything; his soul mixing with yours in a swirl of heat and love and passion, all blending together in harmony, like the ocean meets the sky and the earth meets the rain. A compliment, a perfect fit.

You lightly grabbed his face, bringing his lips to touch yours, heavy and full of lust.

Neteyam ended up on top of you again, but this time his face was sultry and focused. He kissed your cheek, your neck, your lips, and continued down. He worshipped you. The valley between your now bare breasts, your stomach, your thighs, and the bundle of nerves sitting in between them.

It wasn't like you both were inexperienced in any way. There were stolen moments over the years throughout the chaos of war, a silence in the midst of a storm. It had given you both the opportunity to learn and experiment with each other, which had allowed you to figure out what you liked, and the same for Neteyam. But you couldn't deal with him taking it slow now, not when all you wanted to do was touch every inch of his body, to calm the overwhelming feeling of everything swirling inside you. You knew Neteyam was only going painfully slow because he knew this, and he felt the same.

"Tease," you huffed, grabbing his jaw desperately and kissing him fiercly. He chuckled, kissing you back.

"You want it, do you?" He asked in between kisses. You whined, arching into him.

"Nuh uh," he said, pulling back and going to speak in your ear, his voice and breath in your ear sending shivers down your whole body.

"Use your words," he said, left hand dragging up your torso and breasts, drawing lazy circles that turned you to jelly beneath him.

"I want you inside me, Neteyam," you choke out, just as his hand reaches the wetness between your legs.

"Oh yeah?" He moved his loincloth and your own, positioning his cock right at your entrance, again teasing you even as you clawed at his back and tried to pull him closer to you, craving contact. He resisted.

"Yes. Neteyam- please," you said tremulously.

"Well, since you used your manners..." he brought one of his hands down and guided himself in you, the thickness of him stretching your folds, as he had done many times before, but has never ceased to drive you mad.

He started off painfully slow, moving in and out of your wet cunt. You moaned, planting both hands at the back of his neck so your foreheads were touching.

"Faster," you whispered, and he obliged, pounding in an out of you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your eyes fluttered closed. He was kissing your neck, and you knew you would be left with purple marks on your already blue skin.

Neteyam groaned, a sound that immediately deepend your pleasure, bringing you up higher and higher to reach your peak.

"Come on," he said your name while he moved in you, you writhing and grasping at anything to hold on to.

"That's it, baby. You're almost there, just a little more for me," you mewled and cried out, finally reaching your climax.

The dizzying satisfaction you felt was drawn out as Neteyam sped up to also reach his addictive high, spilling his seed into your dripping pussy.

[cherryflavoured7777]

okay i’m thinking a fic where you’re spending your first christmas with Hazel 🥹 and making a gingerbread house while drinking hot cocoa and watching movies… like TONS of fluff im in love with her.

PS i love u and ur writing so much 🩷

THANK U SM ANGEL <3 ily.

(THIS IS PURE FLUFF. BORDERLINE TOO SWEET BUT I AM A very cheesy hoe IM SORRY, you have been warned)

You and Hazel spend your first Christmas Eve together. <3.

word count: 2k

⭐️🎄⭐️🎄⭐️🎄⭐️

December 24th, Christmas Eve, found you spending the entire day at your girlfriend Hazel's house. The two of you totally immersing yourselves in a festive atmosphere, indulging in baking sessions, adding last minute decorations to the space, and listening to a blend of both classic Christmas tunes and your personal favourite songs.

You stood at the kitchen island, putting the finishing touches on a round of baking.

"Smells amazing, baby," Hazel sighed as she wrapped her arms around you from behind, observing you intently as you worked on mixing your second batch of cookies.

"Yeah?" you hummed.

"Mhmm, can't wait to try them." You felt the comforting weight of her chin resting on your shoulder, a warmth spreading through your body.

In the oven, your initial batch of Christmas cookies baked, ready to accompany the gingerbread house you were about to create.

Hazel snakes her arm in-front of you, dipping her finger into the cookie batter you're mixing.

"Hey! no tasting the batter yet." you protest.

"It's not for me, I already snuck a taste when you weren't looking. Open your mouth. You gotta try it."

Hazel’s hands met your waist again, and she gently spun you around.

She drew you a bit closer, fingers gently encircling your waist as she slid her batter-covered finger into your mouth, inviting you to taste. Her eyes grew slightly darker as she watched you slowly suck the batter off her finger, pupils fixated on your mouth. With raised eyebrows, she watched you expectantly.

"See?" She removes her finger from your mouth and licks the excess batter off her finger. "My girl can bake."

It all feels incredibly domestic, and merely being in her presence evokes a flutter in your stomach, a sensation that persists despite the fact that you see her almost every day. Love with Hazel unfolds in unexpectedly simple moments, and you can't help but feel fortunate, a sentiment she shares. The idea of experiencing such a pure connection once seemed unlikely to her, until she met you.

Your eyes stay fixated on hers before for a moment before she speaks.

"I love having you here,” she blurted out.

“I love being here,” you replied.

"No," she seemed a bit frustrated, as if you didn't fully grasp how deeply she meant it.

"Seeing you here gets me excited. Excited about what the future holds for us, you know? I know it sounds insane, or maybe like I’m thinking too far down the line, but I can't wait to come home to you existing in our place one day. Our kitchen, with the stuff we picked out together." Though confident and intentional, you could tell Hazel’s words were laced with vulnerability and a tad of insecurity.

Hazel’s words didn’t freak you out, though, they actually did the opposite. You never imagined you could feel so deeply enamored with another person. Truthfully, you would give her whatever she wanted.

"I know, Haze. Me too. I think about it so much, more than you know," you reassure her.

Hands still on your waist, she lifts you onto the countertop, adjusting slightly to stand between your legs.

Your hand instinctively reaches up to hold her face. You were both so young, and perhaps naive, but you never let that stop you from having these thoughts. You felt you owed yourself a completely lovesick, teenage romance, not tainted by fears of the future, not yet at least.

Your hands brush a strand of brown hair from her face, and you lean down to kiss her.

Whenever you kissed Hazel, you understood why people wanted to kiss, why they chased this feeling.

Growing up, you never quite understood it as much. But here in this moment, and every other one like it, you finally did. The warmth of her lips against yours, the subtle taste of cookie batter lingering between you—it's a simple joy that seems to encapsulate everything sweet and pure in your shared world.

You pull away, leaving her chasing you for more “Alright we gotta get these out of the oven, get out of my way,” you playfully command.

Walking over to put on your oven mitts, you take the tray out, carefully placing it on the stove. The sugary sweet aroma of the cookies envelops the kitchen with a rich warmth.

“I think we make a pretty good team,” Hazel says, smiling at you and admiring your baking.

“What are you talking about? I did all the work,” you tease, giggling as you await her response, turning back around to face her.

“Hey! That’s not true, I-” You cut off her protest with another kiss, choosing to indulge her instead of teasing her further. She smiles into the kiss, grabbing your waist before before her fingers start to trail along your spine, igniting a electricity against your skin. Letting the heated exchange linger, the playful banter transforms into a more intense moment as she slowly walks you backward and pushes you against the counter again.

The kitchen's warmth now feels more noticeable as ever as Hazel's lips leave yours and find their way to the sensitive curve of your neck. Soft, breathy sighs escape your lips, and you feel the air thicken around you. Hazel's hands move with purpose, exploring the contours of your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

The magnetic pull between you intensifies, making it momentarily hard to focus on anything but the rising wanting in your chest. Yet, amidst the heat of the moment, Hazel manages to steer the energy back to your task, her lips lingering near your ear.

“Okay, ready to tackle this beast?” she asks, motioning to the unopened gingerbread house. The mischievous glint in her eyes tells you that she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Absolutley.” you smile, trying to seem unphased and ignore the growing heat between your thighs.

The next half-hour is spent constructing the gingerbread house with Hazel around her kitchen table. She eventually pulls you onto her lap on her chair, her arms encircling you as she reaches behind with the frosting, guiding your hands to steady them as you outline the bodies of the gingerbread men. Laughter reverberates through the room as you and Hazel engage in a frosting fight, adorning the gingerbread with colorful candies and sprinkles, not really paying too much attention to where you're putting them.

“This looks like shit,” you say, staring at your handiwork. Hastily, you reach to save the drooping roof thats caving in.

You can feel Hazel’s breath against your ear behind you as she lets out a laugh, her arms wrapping around you to help salvage the falling structure. The shared moment becomes a sweet memory, even if the gingerbread house didn't turn out as planned.

"I think it's perfect," Hazel declares, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

You glance around the room, the glow of Christmas lights casting a warm ambiance. The sound of holiday music playing softly in the background adds to the sweetness of the moment.

“Come on, I’m getting sleepy, let's go watch a movie,” she says, lifting you off her lap, interlacing your hand with hers as she pulls you up the stairs to her room.

You make your way up to Hazel's room, quickly discarding your T-shirt in exchange for one of her oversized sweatshirts, carrying her comforting scent.

Entering the bathroom, you find Hazel already brushing her teeth. You grab your toothbrush from the cup beside her sink, one that you kept there all the time because she insisted.

Staring at each other in the mirror, you both giggle as you brush your teeth in tandem, finding joy in the simplicity of shared routines. When Hazel finishes, she comes up behind you, grabbing a hair tie to keep your hair away from your face as you wash it. She mindlessly held your hips as you bent over to splash water on your face.

You and Hazel were both extremely clingy, but you couldn’t help it, always wanting to be close.

After both of you finish your skincare, you make your way over to her bed, clicking on the remote to her TV as you get comfortable under the covers.

“Okay, you have two choices, Home Alone or The Holiday?” you say as she climbs into bed beside you. She smells like soap and cookie batter.

“Why only those two?” She shifts under the covers, positioning herself beside you.

“Because those are my favourites,” you reply.

“I’ll watch whatever you want, babe,” Hazel says, a yawn escaping her mouth as she wraps her arm around you.

“If you fall asleep, I’m gonna be sad,” you warn. “I want to stay up with you until at least midnight. It's our first Christmas together, and I have to go home in the morning.” You pout.

Hazel’s eyes reflect a certain sadness in them, like she didn’t know how much you wanted her to stay awake. All of a sudden, it's as if her tiredness is gone as she sits up and walks across the room. She opens her closet and pulls something out, a large, flat, wrapped gift.

"Okay, I have something for you," Hazel grinned, excitement dancing in her eyes.

“But, my gifts for you are at home, I thought we were waiting until tomorrow.” You say, a pang of guilt hitting you.

“Shh- it’s fine. I want you to open it now, it’s just a small thing, I have more for tomorrow.” she says.

Her hands trembling slightly with anticipation, Hazel handed over the gift, a hint of nervousness in her smile. Your eyes light up as you accept the package, curiosity mingling with joy.

"Oh wow, Hazel, it's so beautifully wrapped," you say, carefully unwrapping the present.

As the paper fell away, revealing a sleek and elegant box, Hazel couldn't help but hold her breath. You opened the box to find a delicate frame containing a customized star map. The night sky on the night you first met, immortalized in a celestial display.

"Oh, Hazel," you gasped, your eyes welling up with emotion. You recongized the date immediately "Is this…?"

Hazel nodded, her heart swelling with affection. "It's the night we first met. The stars above us that night," she explained, her voice tender.

You and Hazel constantly argue about your first official time meeting. The truth is, she’d watched you from afar for months, never thinking she’d actually have a chance with you. You didn’t officially talk until the first night of senior year, at the annual senior campout. You’d spent basically that entire night with Hazel, following her in awe as she pointed out different constellations to you, her infatuation with astronomy becoming quickly apparent.

You traced your fingers over the constellations, a smile playing on your lips. "This is incredible. I can't believe you did this."

Hazel leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. "I wanted us to have a piece of that moment forever. Something to remind us of where it all began."

The room seemed to shimmer with warmth as you pulled Hazel into a tight embrace, the framed star map cradled between you two.

“Thank you, Haze. I love it.” You whisper into her hair.

“Your welcome, baby. I’m glad you like it” she whispers back.

You spend the next two hours tangled up together watching The Holiday. Completely content in eachothers presence. As the credits roll, Hazel’s hands find yours, lightly toying with your fingers. “Hey, pass me your phone.” She whispers.

You reach for it beside you and hand it to her. She turns it on, the clock showing 12:13am, December 25th. She turns to look at you, beaming.

“We made it,” she says smiling, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” She buried her head in the crook of your neck, peppering warm kisses all over.

“Merry Christmas, my love.” You whisper, hands finding her hair.

She coaxes you onto your side, pulling you into her, gently stroking your hair. The movie soundtrack faded into the background, replaced by the quiet cadence of your shared breaths. Hazel's fingers traced soothing patterns on your back, and as the clock ticked away the minutes, you succumbed to the gentle pull of sleep.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

NAHHH CAUSE I NEED A GF THIS CHRISTMAS NOW. WILL I EVER FIND LOVE??

[lovebugism]

i need more of “the customer is always right” before i wither away and die <3 the anticipation of IT happening is quite literally killing me ilysm

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | b-minus

summary: eddie munson takes the unconquerable english midterm that's forced him to repeat senior year two times. dustin henderson gets a pep talk. uncle wayne gives his nephew a warning. you cook your eddie spaghetti some spaghetti. (17k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: idiots in love, experienced!reader, domestic bliss, staying the night, eddie munson tries to get used to being loved TW probable typos, swearing, discussions of being poor, talks of insecurities, kissing, heavy petting, oral sex (m!receiving) 18+ only!!

a/n: hi. hello. me again. you probably don't remember me because it's been almost TWO MONTHS. i'm really sorry about that btw this semester of college was sent from the actual depths of hell. please take this sixth installment of tcar and find it in your heart to forgive me <3 ily all xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

“Okay, this is officially the last time I let you drive me anywhere,” Eddie gripes from the passenger seat of your too tiny car as one excruciatingly happy ABBA song bleeds into another.

He shouldn’t have expected anything less. You’re made of the same stuff you listen to — sunshine and melted ice cream and summer breezes. You match the blue skies above you as you belt the lyrics to the song you seem to know by heart.

The sight makes Eddie grin to himself, still beaming no matter how hard he rolls his eyes.

This was the only good thing about the breaks of his van going haywire and having to bum a ride to school from you — getting to see more of you in your element. 

As much as he loved having you in his passenger seat, bobbing your head to whatever rock song he’d popped into the cassette player, there was something entirely different about seeing you in the driver’s seat.

This car was your safe space, spotted with stickers on the console and polaroids on the speedometer, where you could sing any damn ABBA song you wanted to because it was your own little bubble where nothing could touch you. 

Eddie’s grateful you let him see it, all these parts of you that you reveal slowly to him like so many tiny rays of sunshine.

It’s even better to witness with a full stomach, which was maybe the second good thing about driving with you. You picked him up with time to spare to get breakfast — to take the long route to school and watch the rising sun sparkle over Lover’s Lake. There was no reason to speed through town like a maniac because he wasn’t in a rush. Today might be the first time all year he’s not five minutes late to first period.

He tells you to sing louder when you get all shy and hyperaware of his gaze, feeding you bits of your breakfast — but only on the instrumental parts so you don’t miss your favorites. The boy props his arm on the center console and folds down the wrapper of your greasy, plain biscuit with his thumb so it doesn’t get in the way of your bite. He doesn’t even complain when you try to sing through the mouthful. 

He figures that this is what love is. A part of it, at least. That stupid, philosophical feeling people have been trying to describe for ages is sitting right beside him — with crumbs sticking to the corners of her mouth as she mixes up the words to the Dancing Queen chorus.

Love isn’t butterflies or tight chests — it’s this. It’s letting a person listen to music you hate because you know they love it and not caring that they’re singing horrifically off-key.

And it’s not like Eddie’s in love with you or anything. He’s just got a lot of adoration for you. It’s the kind of innocent affection that makes him love ABBA and think you’re one of the best damn singers he’s ever heard in his life — even though neither would be particularly true if he didn’t care about you so much.

It’s sort of like the love he’s got for Dustin, to still care about the little shrimp even when he’s annoying him to no end. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because Dustin Henderson isn’t the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Dustin Henderson doesn’t make him feel like his heart is being trampled by an entire stampede of zoo animals. 

No one quite makes Eddie feel the way you do. But even if he was in love with you, he’s got no way of knowing the difference — between loving and being in love. The only thing he’s really sure of is that he doesn’t know a damn thing. And that the sick feeling in his stomach he gets every time he looks at you can’t possibly be normal.

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” you retort. Your words come slurred and slightly muffled through the bite of biscuit in your cheek. “I know you secretly like it.”

“Of course I do!” he shouts over the catchy bass guitar and your subsequent laughter. “It’s just not the kinda shit I wanna listen to right before I take the biggest test of my life.”

It’s true. The past two times he’s been forced to take Ms. O’Donnell’s impossible midterm exam, he's listened to the exact same song — ‘Ride the Lightning,’ Metallica. It’s the only song that gives him enough of an adrenaline rush to gather the confidence to fail the same test. Twice. 

Eddie Munson is a creature of habit. Today marks the third anniversary of the dreaded day that makes or breaks his high school career, but instead of spending it with Metallica, he’s spending it with you. He wants to believe you’re a good luck charm or some kind of lucky omen, but he’s terrified of getting his hopes up.

Expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed. That’s what Uncle Wayne always said.

“I think ‘When I Kissed the Teacher’ has plenty of useful advice, Eddie Spaghetti.”

The boy turns to you with a bemused wide-eyed gaze. “If you’re suggesting I makeout with Ms. O’Donnell to pass her class, I’m gonna hurl— like actually hurl. And I will deliberately do it all over the floor of your car.”

“Would you rather repeat your senior year? Again?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat and with a very enthusiastic nod that makes his wild curls sway around his face. “I would rather be a senior for the rest of my life than kiss Ms. O’Donnell.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you won’t have to, right? Because you’re totally gonna ace this thing.”

This is what you’ve been doing for over a week now — twisting everything negative into something more overtly positive. You meet Eddie’s pessimism and self-doubt with a sort of hopefulness he lost somewhere between the first and second time he got held back. 

You force him to study in the gentlest way possible because you’re never anything but soft with him. You make him pretty little flashcards and flip through them with him on the opposite side of his bed, obviously more enthusiastic about the whole thing than he is. You give him sympathetic pecks on his cheek when he gets a question wrong and kiss him totally breathless when he gets the odd one right.

Eddie would be lying if he said the incentive didn’t help at least a little bit.

There is no hint of impatience or sign of hubris that makes him feel stupid. You just teach him to be kinder to himself with tiny little reminders that you’re doing all this right along with him.

“Considering I’ve failed it twice already, I highly doubt that, sweetheart,” he counters, and he’s kidding — mostly. He says it with a teasing lilt and a twinkle in his squinted eyes, but you know that’s his way of covering up that he’s totally serious. 

He really doesn’t think he can do it, pass this stupid exam. He’s got absolutely no faith in himself — but that’s okay, because you’ve got all the faith in him in the world.

“Well, that’s because you didn’t have me to help you study,” you argue, just before accepting the last piece of biscuit he plucks from the parchment and offers to you.

You speak through the mouthful. “But now you do! And we’ve been going over this all week and—” You cut yourself off to swallow the dry pastry. “—And you totally got this. You’re gonna blow ‘em outta the park, Eddie Spaghetti. I can feel it.”

Your optimism makes him smile even though he doesn’t really feel like smiling. He lolls his head against the seat to look at you, finds you with a pretty grin and tiny biscuit crumbs on the corners of your mouth, and has the sudden urge to tell you that he loves you.

It comes out of nowhere. It bubbles up all at once like vomit and startles him with its unexpectedness. The sudden and unfamiliar feeling makes him feel sick, like he just went upside down on a rollercoaster. Whoever said love felt like butterflies was a liar because it feels a whole lot more like getting punched in the stomach.

The words rise from his throat like bile and linger on the edge of his tongue. Eddie forces himself to swallow them back down again. The unsaid ‘Holy fuck, I love the shit outta you’ tastes far more bitter going down.

“What do I get if I ace it then, huh?” he wonders after an awkward blink of silence.

“Uh, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Your diploma.”

“I meant as a reward, dummy.”

“I feel like graduating high school is enough of a reward.”

“I just think I should be compensated for a job well done, is all,” he proposes with a lopsided grin. The teasing nature of his words drips from his mouth like honey.

You glance at him once, eyes wide and dumbfounded, then back to the road. “Eddie Munson…” you scold in a lighthearted lilt. “Get your head outta the gutter. It’s not even eight o’clock.”

That sort of thing wouldn’t have bothered you before. Any other time, you would’ve been all too happy to pull over and jerk him off in a barren parking lot, relieve all his pent-up stress about the exam in the form of a quick handjob. But you’ve been quite obviously keeping your hands to yourself since he told you he was a virgin. 

You were serious about what you said before, about starting over, and Eddie learned that very quickly. You take to giving him tiny little pecks on the cheek and holding his sweaty hand in yours and hardly anything else — like you’re a couple of kids going steady.

Eddie likes it, though, the comforting nature of your unhurried disposition. He just hates the ache it leaves him with.

“It’s all I’m gonna be thinking about,” he confesses with a scrunched nose. “Just so ya know.”

“As long as it helps you pass,” you respond with the shake of your head.

“As long as it helps me pass…” Eddie echoes, quieter. 

“Just think about the biggest kiss I’m gonna give you when I see you again,” you tell him, flashing him a beam as you slow at a stop sign. You trap your smile between your teeth and flash him a glance that can only be described as whimsical — full of shy smiles and fluttering lashes and sparkling eyes. “‘Cause I’m gonna kiss you absolutely stupid, Eddie Munson.”

A rose-colored hue sprinkles along the apples of his cheeks. He never thought a threat could sound so appealing.

“Cool…” is the only thing he could think to mutter in the moment, too busy trying not to smile too wide. He turns his glowing cheeks towards his lap and purses his smile towards his fiddling fingers. “But, uh, I have Hellfire after school, so… Maybe tomorrow?”

You meet his disappointed glance with a shrug. “You could come over after if you want?”

He wants to. He always wants to.

“It’ll probably be late.”

“Then just stay over.”

Your offer comes effortlessly but strikes a deep feeling of complexity within him. Eddie doesn’t know why it makes him so suddenly nervous, only that it makes his palms sweat almost instantly.

The two of you haven’t crossed that threshold yet — of sharing a bed to sleep. He’d catch you dozing on occasion, slouched against his headboard with your head on his shoulder, and he’d wake you. Not because it made him uncomfortable, but because he didn’t want your neck to ache. 

You’d rouse with a groggy apology — “I should probably leave before Bowie starves to death and I drool all over your shoulder,” you’d tell him. 

And it’s not like Eddie wanted you to leave, but he was more than happy to sleep alone. What if he snores obnoxiously loud or he does something gross in his sleep? If you got instantly turned off by some sleeping habit he didn’t even know he had, he thinks it might destroy him.

Eddie can’t control the front he puts up around everyone when he’s sleeping. And for a boy who’s still trying to impress a pretty girl, that’s a very frightening thought.

“Uh, okay… Are you— Are you sure?” he stammers.

His apprehension confuses you. The offer hadn’t felt like that big of a deal to you. “I mean… yeah? We practically did it over the phone last week. It’ll be just like that — but, you know, in person.”

“Right… Okay.”

“I can make us dinner, and we can watch a movie or something,” you propose and grin at the daydream of it all. You wouldn’t have to miss Eddie if he was beside you all night. You wouldn’t have to drift off to thoughts of him either, because he’d be right there. “Bowie would be stoked if you stayed over. She’s practically obsessed with you.”

The thought makes Eddie smile to himself. His heart swells at the idea that other parts of your life have already started to accept him. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy in his leather jacket and ripped jeans and chunky metal rings.

“Her mom is too, right?” he asks you, mostly playful. He smirks all smug, but his cinnamon-tinted gaze gleams with sincerity.

“Oh, obviously,” you scoff without a second thought. “Have you seen her? She can’t get enough of you…” Your teasing lilt and soft smile fades as you squint at him. “Don’t tell her I told you that, though.”

Eddie pinches his thumb and forefinger together, zipping them across his lips, then rolling down the window to toss the imaginary lock out of it. 

Wind whips through the small car with vigor, making a wild halo of Eddie’s already less-than-tamed hair. The intrusion forces you to squint, even more so when you laugh. 

The sound of your giggling is like glitter or sunbeams. It’s as bright as yellow and soft like summer rain. It makes him smile, too, because that’s all he wanted to do in the first place — make you laugh. It’s all he ever wants to do.

Eddie cranks the lever to roll the window back up again as you tell him: “And, you know, if you stayed over, then I could give you that reward we were talking about.” 

You’ve successfully stooped to his level now: head stuck in the very depths of the gutter. Most of your thoughts are innocent, cooking for him and holding him while you slept. Others, not so much.

“And that would be…” he trails off with raised brows.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you squint at him as you turn the steering wheel to pull into the bustling parking lot of Hawkins High. 

The place is as wretched as it always was. It hasn’t changed a bit, just sort of deteriorated with time. The nameplate on top of the building has started to grey and the tiger mural painted on the bricks is fading, but it’s still the same. The familiarity of it all hits you with an ice-cold pang of nostalgia.

“I would,” Eddie nods a very vigorous nod, all innocent and wide-eyed, as you park on the far side of the lot. “I would very much like to know.”

You lean across the console to press a swift kiss to his cheek. “You’ll find out later,” you assure him, lingering just ahead of his face. Closer by an inch or two and the tips of your noses would nudge against one another.

“Have mercy…” Eddie murmurs to himself, eyes and limbs suddenly heavy under the weight of his desire for you. 

You made him promise he’d stay sober for the exam — no drinking the night before, no smoking while he got ready. Before now, he’d been perfectly clearheaded. Then you go and look at him with that look, and he’s instantly drunk on you.

He tries to close the distance between you but succeeds only in brushing your noses together before a loud honk blares from ahead of you. It sends the two of you jerking away from each other almost instantly, heads whipping toward the direction of the too loud beep. 

It comes from Steve Harrington’s maroon Beemer that he’d parked just ahead of your Volvo. Him and his friends file out one by one — Robin from the passenger, Dustin Henderson from the back, and then Steve from the driver’s side. 

The former two are beaming, far too happy for it to be so early. Steve looks more like a victim to the morning as he leans against his open car door. His smile looks like a wince and he props his wrist on the door, throwing his fingers up in the place of an actual wave. Dustin and Robin are far more enthusiastic with their gestures.

You and Eddie wave a tad bit awkwardly back at them.

“Look at him,” the boy says, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. “King Steve. Carpooling his kids like a real mom.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s a babysitter first and a human being second,” you joke, then more seriously tell him: “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to, you know?”

“I know,” he nods. “But I want to.”

“Okay… I just— I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to, you know, force you or something—”

“It didn’t.”

“—I was just saying it could be nice, you know? But I feel like it sounded like I was being a little pushy.”

“You weren’t.”

“And I don’t want you to be, like, scared to say no to me or something, you know? It wouldn’t hurt my feelings or anything, okay? I promise,” you ramble, partly lying because you know it would hurt a little, but you’d never tell him that. “The ball is totally in your court, so… Whatever you want to do, it’s completely—”

Your nervous blathering is brought to an unexpected halt when Eddie brings his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks in his palms, brushing his thumbs along the apples of them. The sleeves of his leather jacket tickle your chin. He sprayed his wrist with cologne this morning, you can tell; the musky cedarwood and tobacco are more prominent now. 

The boy laughs softly when the suddenness of his action makes your eyes go wide, chuckling louder when he squeezes your cheeks and makes your lips pout softly.

“I wanna come over, okay?” Eddie assures through his laughter. “And you’re never annoying me when you ask. I promise. I’ll probably say yes to just about anything when it’s coming from you, sweetheart.”

“And you’re not just saying that?” you press, words slightly muffled with the way Eddie’s holding your face.

“I’m not just saying that,” he echoes more confidently. He shakes his head at you, then moves your jaw back and forth with his palms so he’s shaking yours too. You jerk away from him with a grin. 

“I’ll see you later?” he asks you while he collects his things from the floor, which is just the little tin box he carries everywhere. He swears it has everything he needs in it. You assume it’s just a dull pencil and a couple of baggies of weed he plans to sell between lunch shifts.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile.

He clicks the handle to open the car door, then kicks it open the rest of the way. He rolls his head back and puckers his lips for a kiss. You happily oblige him, meeting him halfway but turning at the last second so his mouth meets your cheek.

“Kids are watching,” you joke at his surprise.

And even though he’d only pecked your jaw, it makes Robin and Steve roll their eyes. “Gag me with a spoon,” the girl gripes as she walks past the hood of your car.

Dustin follows behind her, too preoccupied to care. He’s got an anticipatory grin on his face that reveals the blue and green braces on his teeth. The composition notebook in his hands has the Hellfire logo drawn in red and yellow sharpie on the front of it.

You’ve never met the kid, but he’s exactly how you’d expected him to be.

You heard a lot about him — from Steve mostly, but from Eddie too. Robin has the occasional story about the boy from whenever he visits Family Video. They all call him little shit most of the time, shrimp on occasion, and Dusty Bun when he��s done something particularly sweet.

It’s all from a lighthearted place, though. You figure it must be because Steve Harrington is waking up at seven in the morning to take some fourteen-year-old to school. And Eddie’s even worse — the second Dustin calls asking for a ride, he’s hopping in his van without a second thought.

The boy barely lets Eddie get out of the car before he starts bombarding him with questions about the latest D&D campaign. He prattles on and on about it while they walk towards the school, pointing adamantly at the notebook in his hands. You imagine it’s full of conspiracies and potential ways to beat the Cult of Vecna. 

He’s so invested he doesn’t even care when Robin slips the cap from his hand and flips it backwards.

“Have the best day ever, kiddos!” you shout through your rolled-down car window.

You get a half-hearted wave from Dustin, but he doesn’t even glance at you when he does it. Eddie blows a dramatic kiss your way, but Robin rivals his sweetness with a middle finger and a rouge-tinted smile.

The bell chimes overhead, high-pitched and too familiar. The parking lot empties slowly, and the mindless muddled chatter fades too.

Steve saunters to your car after everyone else heads inside. He folds his arms along the passenger door as he leans down to look at you. 

His hair is un-styled, but in a cool sort of way that only he can pull off. Chestnut strands fall down over his forehead while others are pushed back from where he’s ran his fingers through them. His jaw is dusted with a fine layer of stubble that sprinkles a shadow of a mustache on his cupid’s bow.

You’re both wearing the elements of your uniforms.

He’s got on a pair of faded jeans and the mandatory collared shirt, even though he swears Keith only makes him abide by the dress code. You’re wearing the all black get-up required of all Enzo’s waitresses. The flowy blouse and a-line skirt are now wrinkled from the drive over. You’re only missing your floral apron and Steve his forest green vest.

“How long until your shift starts?” he asks you, voice deep and gruff with the morning.

Your eyes flit down to the flashing clock on your dashboard, then back up to him. “I don’t have to go in until eleven today, but I was gonna see if I could pick up an extra shift.”

He nods and juts out his lips as he turns to squint down the parking lot. He looks back at you with a more hopeful gaze. “Wanna go fuck around at Family Video instead?”

And, of course, by “fuck around,” he means popping popcorn and playing some terrible, terrible slasher film on the television behind the counter that has more boobs and blood than actual plot.

You’ll stop for junk food on the way like you always do and spend the bulk of the movie tossing gummy bears and M&Ms into Steve’s mouth. You’ll waste hours talking about nothing, but it’ll feel like only minutes have gone by when it’s time for your shift.

“Are you kidding?” you scoff like it’s not the best idea you’ve heard all morning. Or maybe second best because Eddie’s proposal of a reward is still swirling around in the confines of your mind. “Of course I do.”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

By sunset, Eddie Munson’s got a B-minus on his midterm, a crowd of kids singing his praises, and a date with the hottest woman on the planet. Life, as it turns out, was really starting to look up for the local freak.

“Best… campaign… ever!” Dustin shouts. He’s still so boyishly excited about the whole thing that he has to take in deep breaths before he says each word. 

The emphatic exclamation echoes through the dim, empty hallway of Hawkins High. The rest of the school had left some time ago; all that’s left now are the scraps — the basketball douchebags, the theater geeks, the D&D nerds.

The Hellfire Club gets the entire west wing to themselves, and the unusual vacancy allows them to saunter down the corridor’s length like they own the damn place. 

They don’t have to look over their shoulders for assholes that might trip them or stuff them into lockers. Still bubbling with the after-effects of such an utterly sadistic campaign, they feel like they’re on top of their own little world.

Eddie Munson hasn’t felt this good in a long, long time.

He spins on the heel of his worn-out sneaker and walks backwards ahead of his friends so he can examine each of their faces. He’d unleashed the whole Vecna lives twist that he’d been keeping in his metaphorical back pocket for some time now.

You were the one that gave him the idea, sprung it out of nowhere during a smoke session so many months ago. It feels like it’s been forever now. That was back when you were just his customer, and he was just your dealer — when all you needed was a little free weed, and Eddie just needed to pass a test.

You both somehow ended up with far more than either of you bargained for, but he’s not complaining. He hopes you aren’t either.

Dustin had sort of predicted Vecna’s resurgence. He’d scribbled it down in his journal with all the rest of his endless conspiracies. Well, actually, he suspected that Kas was still a villain and hadn’t slain Vecna like they thought — which wasn’t exactly right, but it was still pretty damn close. Eddie’s never met someone who cared so much about one of his campaigns.

So, needless to say, the curly-haired boy is beaming. His green-blue braces and pearly whites are on full display, partially from excitement but mostly because he was sort of right — in a vague, roundabout way.

Mike had been enthusiastic about it too, but that was before he had to suffer through his best friend’s endless boasts. His brown eyes roll damn near to the back of his skull as he huffs, angled jaw clenching from gritted teeth.

“Well, when you spend eight hours coming up with, like, a thousand different theories, one of them is gonna be right,” he’d finally groused. 

Dustin only smiled at the lankier boy, totally unfazed by his grumbling. “It’s not my fault you have exactly zero work ethic. You’re just mad you lost.”

“Yeah, because staying up all night writing in your diary makes you a real winner.”

“For the last time, Mike, it’s not a diary!”

Lucas was too far away to join in on the bickering. The boy had been distant for a while now, actually. Eddie joked that he must’ve been upset about missing basketball practice with Carver and the rest of his goons, but Lucas hadn’t laughed as loud as he’d hoped. He only chuckled under his breath, shook his head, and said it was just girl troubles.  

Gareth, meanwhile, is still grumbling about Vecna killing his ranger. Even though Dustin’s bard brought them all back with a resurrection spell in the end, he doesn’t like to lose. Eddie doesn’t blame him, but he’d be lying if he said the angry scrunch contorting his best friend’s features wasn’t hilarious.

Jeff had lost his druid too, but he was a much better sport about the whole thing. He usually is, especially compared to the rest of the club. He’s perhaps the only one who doesn’t treat every loss like the end of the world.

“Well, thank you, Ser Dustin,” Eddie responds in a fanciful sort of accent, bending at the waist in a gracious brow. “But I cannot take all the credit, I’m afraid.”

Dustin’s brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”

“He means that his girlfriend helped him put it together,” Jeff lisps.

“No way!” the boy gapes, totally dumbfounded. “The girl from this morning? In the car? She’s… She’s into Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Not really. No,” Eddie shrugs right before flashing a shit-eating grin. “But she is into me, so…”

The less-than-humble brag makes Gareth groan. His sandy curls fall back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, ocean eyes rolling and then fluttering closed. “If I have to hear about your stupid girlfriend one more time…” he’d griped after the first few times Eddie managed to bring you up in every conversation — about a million of them ago now.

His annoyance doesn’t lessen Dustin’s confusion. “I don’t get it…”

“Gareth's just mad because he’s in love with Eddie’s girlfriend,” Jeff clarifies once more, feigning pity as he pats the boy on the shoulder.

“All I’m saying is, I would’ve tried a little harder to get her attention if I knew she was into freaks,” Gareth grieves, a little forlorn and distantly heartbroken, but shrugging it off like he isn’t all that affected by it.

You were a bit like Steve The Hair Harrington in that way. A little like Vicki Carmichael or, god forbid, Billy Hargrove. You’ve garnered a sort of popularity that’s made you into a sideshow attraction that everyone wants to ride — literally.

You’re popular in a much, much different way than Steve or Vicki or Billy. It’s left you acutely fetishized in an extreme sort of fashion, an object of desire for many in disgusting, lurid ways.

It seems Gareth didn’t go unscathed with his lust for you either.

Well, too little too fucking late if Eddie had anything to say about it. But he would never, because that’s his best friend, so he decides to scoff and tell him: “Like she’d be into you anyway.”

“Oh, please. I’m a total catch.”

“Is there anyone she isn’t into?” Jeff chuckles, too kind of heart to realize the mercilessness in his words. “Isn’t that, like, her whole thing.”

A sharp pang of anger strikes like lightning in Eddie’s chest. It’s ice-cold and red hot, a burst of adrenaline that feels like fight or flight. His hands curl into fists before he even realizes it. If it had been anyone else and not one of his best friends, he imagines he might’ve swung before he even thought about what he was doing. 

Before the words to defend you spill like venom from his mouth, another beats him to the punch.

“Hey,” Lucas scolds from a little ways behind the group, making them all turn to look at him. His brows are furrowed slightly, but the rest of his face is contorted in an unreadable way. His hands are tucked deep into the pockets of the puke-green letterman he wears over his Hellfire tee. “Leave her alone.”

“How do you…” Eddie starts, then squints past the group, gaze zeroing in on the boy. “Since when do you know my girlfriend, Sinclair?”

“She’s friends with Max. And she’s, like, really nice. So maybe we shouldn’t talk about her like that.”

The boy with the wild hair grins something wilder. His gaze is stern but no less playful when he turns back to Jeff. “You heard the kid. Leave my girlfriend alone, Jeffy.”

When the phrase leaves his mouth, for perhaps the billionth time that day, he realizes how often he must say it. My girlfriend, he says. My girlfriend, my girlfriend — because he can’t get enough of how it sounds.

With a grin on his face and his dream girl on his mind, Eddie spins on his heel again to swing open the double doors of the high school’s exit. The chill smacks him in the face almost immediately.

It’s the strange knick of time in early spring where the days are warm, but the nights are so, so cold. This one isn’t any different. A bitter breeze pounds at his chest, ruffles through his curls, and pierces the fabric of his jacket. Eddie’s body mourns the sudden loss of warmth almost immediately.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dustin continues to whinge, even though the rest of them have more than moved on. “Does— Does everyone know her but me? Mike, do you know who she is?”

The boy perks up at the mention of his name. He tends to get a little reserved unless he’s bickering or talking bout his girlfriend. The kid’s a complete and utter wreck when he’s been away from her for too long. Eddie used to make fun of him for it. Not so much anymore.

Mike runs a hand through his lengthy raven hair, then scratches at the back of his neck. His eyes squint and his nose scrunches. “Uh… not really? I mean, I think she knows El because she knows Hopper, but… I don’t know… No?”

Dustin’s face falls flat at his answer. Or lack thereof.

“Wow. Very enlightening, Mike, as always. Thank you,” he deadpans, then turns back to Eddie. His features go from deadpanned to hopeful: eyes wide, brows raised, lips quirked. “So when are we gonna get to meet her? Do you think she’d do a campaign with us? Holy shit— she could be the fairy! You know, of the Firethorns! I mean, you did just say the campaign was feeling a little empty—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it down a few notches, alright, Dusty Bun?” Eddie chuckles as he slumps a heavy arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“Don’t call me that. We talked about this; that name is reserved for Suzie and Suzie only—”

“Didn’t you guys break up?” Mike wonders with a sort of blandness to his tone that only he could pull off.

“Shut up, Mike,” Dustin bites in response.

It was still a bit of a sore subject for the boy who’d just lost the so-called love of his life.

Suzie was a girl he met at summer camp about a year ago. Things were going pretty well until they weren’t. Something about her family being uber-religious and not approving of Dustin’s more agonistic disposition.

She broke up with him over Cerebro and hasn’t been on the channel since. It was cold. Ice cold.

Dustin still hikes up to Weathertop every now and then with nothing but a packed lunch and the hope that she’ll answer. She hasn’t yet.

And Eddie can make a mockery of just about anything — it’s practically a superpower at this point — but he knows when to leave well enough alone. Even the most innocent question can send the boy into a spiral of despair. Even now, he gets so suddenly weighed down by the burden of his sadness; lips turning downward and the insides of his brows curling slightly.

Eddie smiles a sad sort of smile down at the boy, but he’s too busy moping to see it. He pulls him closer with one leather-clad arm and uses the other to pat the boy on the chest. Their feet stumble less than gracefully over one another. 

“Yeah, you’re never gonna meet her…” Eddie says in a mournful sigh.

Dustin blinks up at him, confused and even more hurt than before. “What? Why not?”

“Because she’d obviously like you more than me,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. “And I can’t have anyone taking my girl, Henderson.”

That confuses him even more. He was more prepared for one of Eddie’s stupid quips than something short of a compliment. It takes him by surprise at first, leaves him gaping for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “Shut up…”

“I’m serious!” Eddie chuckles, all loud and boisterous. The sound echoes through the vacant lot, made somehow emptier by the cold.

He stops walking suddenly and makes Dustin stop walking too. He takes the boy a tad bit roughly by the shoulders and looks down at him like it’s the first time he’s seeing him. 

“I mean, look at you! What’s not to like, huh? You got their hair, the smarts, the personality—”

“And Eddie’s only got one of those things, so you definitely win,” Gareth quips from a few feet behind them.

“Exactly! Suzie was an idiot to let you go, Henderson.”

Dustin winces when Eddie jabs him in the chest. His saddened gaze flits to the pavement for a moment, then back up again. His eyes are brighter now, but still a bit melancholy — sort of like the streetlamp that flickers across the way. A light that’s going out but grasping for reasons to stay burning.

“You think so?”

“I know so, Dusty Bun,” Eddie grins — smiling wider when the kid’s beam falls flat again. He wraps his arm around Dustin’s punier frame. It’s supposed to be a hug, but it looks more like a headlock. “Never change, Dustin Henderson. Never change…”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since he was ten.

Fifth grade. Franklin Kowalski’s place in the suburbs. Trampoline in the front yard, pool in the back, and an assortment of soft drinks in a fridge in the garage. Maybe he remembers it so vividly because it's perhaps one of the more traumatizing experiences a prepubescent boy growing out a buzzcut could go through.

He knew he didn’t belong there — not in the good part of town with a bunch of boys in brand-new tennis shoes. Eddie Munson was trailer park trash, through and through. He wasn’t used to new clothes or two-story houses or underground pools. But he didn’t care where he came from. And neither did Franklin. Not at first, anyway.

The other kids were nice enough to him. They offered him their swim goggles when Eddie didn’t have his own and made sure he wasn’t left out of any of their conversations. It was all in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, though. Their kindness was manufactured, a mask for pre-teen boy cruelty. 

See, they only gave him their goggles so they could laugh when they got tangled in his curls. They only included him in conversation so he could be the punch line to each of their jokes. 

All of it went over Eddie’s head. He was too innocent to realize he wasn’t being treated nicely, he was being taunted. He laughed along with each of their inside jokes because he wanted so desperately to be included, having no idea it was himself he was laughing at.

It took him until two o’clock the next morning to understand. He woke up all alone in the living room and found that everyone else had migrated upstairs without him. They were still awake, still laughing — and Eddie was forgotten in the dark.

He nearly cried when he called Wayne. He wasn’t sure if his tears were from anger or from sadness, but they stung all the same. 

He punched the numbers on the keypad with a clenched jaw to keep from sobbing out loud. His gaze was still blurry with unshed tears. It made it dreadfully hard to see, and what little light spilled from the television — which had turned to static after midnight — didn’t help either.

“It’s three A.M., Eds. You sick?” his uncle gruffed into the landline.

“A little,” Eddie half-lied. He twirled the curly wire around his fingertip until it turned purple. He prayed he didn’t sound as sad as he felt. “Everyone else is asleep… ‘M scared I’m gonna puke everywhere.”

Wayne was there barely fifteen minutes later. He drove his rusted pick-up to the suburbs, found his nephew waiting on the curb, and didn’t ask questions on the drive back to Forest Hills. 

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since.

He’s got a feeling this one will be different, though. Because pre-teen boys are a hell of a different kind and you’re… you. 

He’s pretty sure you couldn’t be mean to him even if you wanted to be. You’re nice, far nicer than he deserves. You’re lovely and sweet and decent — every synonym of the damn word in a thousand different languages. It still floors him that it would ever occur to you to be kind to him. 

Eddie doesn’t feel all that worthy of your sunshine. He happily basks in your golden rays anyway. Maybe it’s because he’s selfish. Or maybe it’s because he’s so damn pale — in both the literal and figurative sense.

Eddie packs his overnight bag without a hint of methodology.

He isn’t totally sure of what to bring as he rifles through his disorganized drawers, so he ends up packing bits of everything. 

He does the sniff test for each of his crumpled-up t-shirts. The one’s that smell the freshest get stuffed to the bottom of his bag. He can’t be sure of how many he’s shoved down there now — three or four, maybe five. It makes it harder for his pants to fit, two of the pajama variety and two of denim. 

He grabs multiples of everything, just to be on the safe side. It takes only minutes for his backpack to fill up. He nearly breaks the zipper trying to fasten it, and still, he worries he hasn’t brought enough.

The bag sits upright on his mattress as Eddie bends down to grab the box of condoms that’s been idling under his bed for a year. The cardboard is coated with a fine layer of dust and time. He holds it between his ringed fingers, debating whether or not to finally break the seal and bring a few — just to be on the safe side. That’s when Wayne walks in.

The man isn’t looking at him. He’s too busy wiping his oil-stained palms on an already-stained rag, but his presence is sudden enough to freak Eddie out. The boy jumps like he’s been caught red-handed, scrabbles for a hiding place almost immediately, making the box sputter out of his grip. The thing falls to the ground with a dramatic thud.

He kicks it back under his bed again.

Wayne’s eyes finally flit up to his nephew’s at all the commotion. His bushy grey brows furrow when he finds him standing upright, hands behind his back, totally not suspicious at all. Raising a teenage boy has taught the man not to comment on what doesn’t concern him, so he keeps on swiping his fingers between the fabric of the grimy rag. 

“I finished looking at your van,” he says, accent deep and husky and not of Indiana origin. “Turns out that noise you were hearin’ was a damn rock in the break line.”

Eddie scoffs, then eyes a stick of deodorant sitting on his dresser. “Wow,” he marvels as he swipes the thing from its place. He stuffs it into the side pocket of his bag. “A measly pebble coulda killed me, huh?”

“Should be good to go now, though.”

“Sweet,” the boy nods.

Eddie squints as his eyes flit around his room, head darting in either direction to make sure he’s got everything. Wayne watches him with an identical squint. “Where you runnin’ off to now? You just got home, what, fifteen minutes ago?”

“Uh… I’m gonna go see a friend,” Eddie answers, voice trembling and slightly far away. He unzips his bag again to make sure it’s sufficiently filled. He does a little mental checklist: shirts, pants, PJs, shoes— how the hell is he supposed to fit shoes in here?

You’ve only got one pair of shoes, Munson, he reminds himself. Where the hell do you think you’re going, anyway? A nature walk?

“Oh, right,” his uncle nods. A smile plays on the edges of his lips, but it weirdly still looks like he’s frowning. “The friend.”

“Yeah— Well, she’s my… She’s my girlfriend, so…”

The admission makes Eddie blush in a way he isn’t typically used to. He can’t count the number of times he must say it in a day, but something about saying it in front of Wayne feels different — real.

He turns his glowing cheeks down to his bag and makes difficult work of zipping it back up again.

Wayne doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. The bright emotion is almost unfamiliar. “Well, shit,” the man’s chuckle sounds from the depths of his chest. “Look at you, Eds. My nephew’s finally got his first girlfriend.”

The boy rolls his chocolate eyes. He jerks under the pressure of the shoulder clap Wayne gives him. It’s equal parts annoying and embarrassing — to be talked to like a child in this way. Maybe because most children have long had their first girlfriends by now, and it took Eddie all of twenty agonizing years.

“We were gonna hang out at her place since I passed my English test and everything...”

The excitement washes from Wayne’s tired eyes. They widen, as though in shock, and reveal more of the glassy whites of them. He just blinks at him for a moment, like his words are still processing. “You… You passed?”

“Yep. Got a B,” Eddie nods, a tad bit sheepishly. He finds it hard to meet his uncle’s mystified gaze. “Well, a B-minus, but… Turns out, I might actually graduate this year.”

Wayne seems to experience every emotion at once. He’s surprised, of course — it makes sense. Eddie spent two years failing the damn thing, after all. Then he’s proud, overjoyed that there’s a chance his nephew might finally grow up. He’s distantly saddened by the exact same thought.

The man swallows thickly, as though to down each emotion. He nods and tries his best to smile. “Damn. Good job, kid. I’m… I’m prouda you.”

Eddie isn’t sure whether to take the praise or cower from it. At a loss, he opts to deflect entirely.

“Yeah, well, she— the friend helped me study and everything, so… I feel like we should probably be thanking her, you know?” he half-jokes as he swings the pack over his shoulder. His winces under the weight of it. “I probably wouldn’t have passed if she didn’t force me to read that stupid book. I mean, it’s 1986; who cares about the roaring twenties and blinking green lights—”

“Hm…” his uncle grunts. It isn’t an acknowledging grunt, though. It’s more of a bemused sort of grunt. And he’s got this quizzical twist to his features that makes Eddie confused too.

“…What is it?”

Wayne only shrugs, trying to act like it was nothing, but can’t help but to ask: “You’re real serious about this girl, aren’t ya?”

Eddie, feeling a bit weighed down by such a heavy question, shifts on his feet.

“Uh… A little bit, I guess. Yeah,” he stammers in the place of an honest answer. If he were being totally truthful, he would’ve said something like, “As serious as a goddamn heart attack.” But that might’ve actually given Uncle Wayne one, so he doesn’t answer with all that.

The man seems to hear all the words Eddie doesn’t say, though. He always does. Eddie figures that’s what happens when you raise a kid for fifteen years — you get attuned to their every thought like a superpower or something. 

It doesn’t make it any less annoying, though. Eddie’s never been able to keep a single damn secret from Wayne because he’s a total mind reader. It’s entirely possible Wayne knew Eddie was in love before he did.

“Just be careful, alright?” the man advises. He looks genuinely concerned, eyes glinting and brows pinched, like you’re a treacherous road or poison ivy.

The misplaced cautiousness makes Eddie breathe out a soft laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, Eds. Don’t play dumb,” Wayne tells him with a gruff chuckle — not totally unkind, just a Munson sort of curt. “You know what I’m talkin’ about. I didn’t even know her real name until you started bringing her around, 'cause all the kids at the shop call her the—”

“Don’t,” Eddie interjects sharply.

The bitterness in his tone is foreign. It contains the sort of venom he’s more like to spit at Jason Carver or Mike Wheeler if he’s being particularly dickish. Never at Wayne.

But that dormant urge to defend you rises like a sleeping dragon that just got poked in the belly. The words rise like bile in his throat and spew out before he can think to stop them.

Uncle Wayne is a weathered man. He’s seen a lot of the world, too much of it, but nothing’s ever quite taken him aback like this. He’s never seen his nephew’s chocolate button eyes hardened into something so cold.

Eddie gets all hyperaware of the heart on his sleeve and starts to crack under the pressure of it. He deflates, stern features crumbling into something softer.

“It’s different, okay?” he assures with his chin brought down to his chest — brows raised and wide eyes twinkling. It’s the same thing you’d said to Hopper not too long ago. Eddie hopes you met the words as wholeheartedly as he does now.

“And even if I explained all the reasons why it’s different, you still wouldn’t get it.”

His melodramatic tone makes Wayne scoff. “What? ‘Cause you don’t think I’ve ever been a kid in love before?”

“No,” Eddie shrugs playfully. “‘Cause you’re old.”

The foreign tension ebbs all at once with a pair of laughs. One is gruff, a couple of sharp exhales more than anything else. The other is a lighter, far more boyish giggle.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, alright?” Wayne tells him once the laughter fades.

“Yeah, I know. You always do,” Eddie lilts with a disposition that might make it seem like he’s displeased by his uncle’s constant pestering. In reality, he knows it’s saved him from a world of shit.

Like that time he wanted to get tacos from a new food truck that gave the whole town food poisoning. Or when he’d wanted to ask Tina Burton, the most popular girl in school, on a date his sophomore year. 

It was Wayne that saved him the embarrassment from either. It’s like he can smell bullshit or something.

“But this is, like, the first good thing that’s happened to me since Ride the Lightning came out… So, I’d kinda like to enjoy this whole thing while it lasts,” Eddie winces like it’s a joke, but he means it more than anything.

Wayne nods understandingly. “Will do, kid. But first girlfriends are always hard, okay? Remember that. Try not to let it hurt you too much, Eds.”

His uncle claps him once, then twice, on his shoulder before swiping away the grime he’d accidentally spotted there. Eddie lets him, too far away to shrug him off. He doesn’t even move when Wayne walks out of his room.

He knows his uncle means well, but something about his cynical words makes his chest burn. It’s like he’s betting on his relationship with you not working out or something. 

And Eddie knows he isn’t wrong. First girlfriends are hard. He’s heard enough shit from his friends to know that. Hell, Mike and Dustin have spent all year complaining about how complicated relationships are. 

But it’s different. 

Because they’re just a couple of kids and their girlfriends aren’t you.

Whatever form you come in, lover or executioner, Eddie’s more than ready to receive you.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You’ve never cooked for anyone other than yourself. And maybe Bowie.

That’s not to say you were a stranger to dining in company. Binging on takeout with Robin and Steve was routine. You’re pretty sure Benny at the diner has made more dinners for the three of you than you’ve ever made for yourselves — combined. 

But it was different, to make something for someone with your own hands. It took a relative amount of care, an acute sort of attentiveness that only felt deserved for someone really special. 

And Eddie was really special and then some.

There isn’t a word that encapsulates all the special he is. It makes you feel a bit guilty sometimes. You wish you were smarter so you could think of a big enough word to describe how much he means to you. But since you aren’t, you stick to making him homemade spaghetti and hope you can pour enough love into it that he feels all of yours.

Eddie arrives at your apartment before you’re ready for him.

You’d wanted to do more with your appearance by the time he came around — with your hair and your makeup and your clothes. Not because you ever had to, but because you thought Eddie deserved a girl who took extra care of herself in that way.

You got a shower in before you started cooking, but that was it. Your hair is unstyled and air-drying; your face bare and glistening in all its naked glory.

Clad in nothing but a hilariously oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks, you look more ready for bed than date night.

The knock at your door sends you into a momentary whirlwind. You scramble like someone’s seconds away from catching you naked — like there are four different fires in every direction and you don’t know which one to put out first. The panic is elaborate and fleeting, a bucket of ice-cold water on bare skin.

You figure that’s another part of caring about someone. You make them spaghetti because you love them and get nervous when things aren’t perfect. Love is all things stressful and homemade.

Eddie knocks on your door with several rhythmic raps. They’re evenly timed and spaced out. You recognize the bass line to ‘Crazy Train’ almost immediately. Da-da… Da-da, da-da, da-da. He must’ve been listening to it on the way over.

“Uh, come in!” you waver after an awkward beat. You’re yelling a little because you’re still standing at the stove, stirring the pot of noodles.

The door clicks once when it opens, then again when it shuts. The wall that separates the kitchen conceals your view of him, but you can hear Eddie’s shuffling in the living room from where you are because he’s never done anything quietly in his life.

Eddie toes off his sneakers before he heads into your apartment. You never asked him to do it, so it always confused you as to why. He’d told you, when you asked, that he knows he’s not the cleanest and that he cares too much about your space to make a mess of it. 

He tells you he can’t take care of you in the way he would like — that if he had it his way, you’d never have to work at Enzo’s again; that he wishes he was rich enough so you never had to wait on snobby stay-at-home moms or misogynistic businessmen. But since he isn’t a rockstar yet and The Hideout pays their busboy’s fuck all, Eddie figures the least he can do is not leave shoe prints on your carpet.

It’s boyish and strangely profound and so, so sweet.

He drops his backpack and leaves his sneakers by the doormat like he always does. They fit neatly between the wall and the roughly textured rectangle that reads ‘glad you’re here’ on the front of it. One is upright, the other falls to its side.

Bowie blinks at him from where she idles on her perch, green eyes wide and pupils set in narrow slits. “Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie greets in a quiet coo, scooping her up in his arms. Despite her round belly, the calico weighs no more than a feather. 

She meows once after being so suddenly plucked from her flower petal spot but settles into him instantly. He scratches at her chin to make her purr and revels in the soft buzzing sound she makes. Eddie waltzes into the kitchen with her, cradling her against his chest like a newborn baby.

You look over your shoulder and smile at the sight of them — at your two favorite beings on the planet, so obviously taken with one another. Bowie lolls in Eddie’s arm like he’s made of clouds and cotton candy. Her blinks are slow and lazy, her purrs audible to even you. She’s only this affectionate for him. You can’t even blame her. 

“Smells good in here,” the boy compliments trying his best not to blush at the wide smile you give him. He’s still not used to being looked at so tenderly. 

Failing to feel deserving of it all, he averts his chocolate gaze and flushed cheeks to the counter, where he plops Bowie down beside her half-empty food bowl.

You could only get her to eat so much of it before she got annoyed with you. Now she laps happily at the chunk of cat food like it’s the first time she’s ever tasted its goodness.

“Thanks,” you respond with a slight tremble to the edge of your voice. You turn back to the pot of spaghetti you’ve been stirring for close to ten minutes, eyeing the mixture of noodles and sauce and beef with intent because you need it all to be perfect. “I probably should’ve asked what you liked before you left this morning, but I only know how to make spaghetti, so… I made spaghetti.”

You look back at him, flashing the boy a nervous tight-lipped smile. It makes him grin, too, as he makes the terribly short trek over to you.

“Well, I actually love spaghetti,” he confesses, and it isn’t totally a lie. He just stopped caring for it around the millionth time Wayne made it because it’s one of the only things he knows how to cook too. 

Eddie lingers at your side, hip pressing into the counter, radiating warmth like a sun stuck in human form. You can’t tell if he’s toasty in his leather jacket or if you’re just cozy in the honey-coated tenderness you have for him. You don’t even realize you’re smiling at him when he scrunches his nose at you. 

“You should be careful, sweetheart. I’m kinda starting to think we’re soulmates.”

“That’s crazy,” you marvel, wide-eyed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Wow… We really were made for each other, huh?” he huffs with a similar sarcasm.

You try to keep the joke going, but it’s hard not to smile when you feel his hands creep around your sides. His fingers are soft on your waist, featherlight and a little unsure as he slithers along your back. The affection feels foreign on your skin. You bite back a shiver.

“Looks like way,” you affirm with a nod, tilting your head back so you can meet him halfway when he leans down to peck you.

It’s a soft and swift little thing, a brief brush of the lips that doesn’t mean anything but also the entire world. He kisses you just to kiss you — because he likes the feel of you or because it’s the sort of thing he can do now as your boyfriend. Either way, you revel in the unfamiliarity.

“Did the, uh… Did the test go okay?” you ask once he parts from you. You try not to sound like you’ve been agonizing over it all day and more like the thought had only just crossed your mind.

Eddie bites back a smile as he turns to walk to the opposite side of the counter. He makes sure any traces of the smirk have washed away when he hops onto the edge of it.  The forlorn look he gives you is manufactured, all pinched browed and gloomy eyed. 

“Um, no…” he fibs. “I, uh— I failed it again.”

You eye him from over your shoulder and notice how he shifts on his weight, looking down at the tile rather than up at you. It doesn’t cross your mind once that he might be joking. You just hope the flash of disappointment on your features was too quick for him to catch.

“That’s okay,” you assure and cover your chagrin with a smile. You shake your head and shrug. “We just try again, right? Not the end of the world.”

A grin tugs slow at Eddie’s lips. It’s bemused slightly and still sort of sad. He can’t believe how supportive you are of him even after he’s just told you outright that he’s failed — still loving even when he’s not good enough.

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a packet of stapled-together papers. It’s perhaps the first piece of schoolwork given to him that wasn’t immediately thrown away. He’d folded it twice in half, then tucked it safely away with the intent to show you later. He unfolds it again to marvel at it once more.

The letter grade is written in red and circled twice. Ms. O’Donnell’s fancy cursive is scribbled just beside it — “Finally! Good job, Eddie! I’m very proud of you!” Even though the boy has never been particularly fond of the woman, her compliment makes his chest swell.

“Oh, shit…” he murmurs under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

“Hm?” you hum back in response. You don’t look at him, though, more focused on not burning yourself as you pull a tray of golden brown garlic bread out of the oven.

“I read it wrong…” he answers, feigning surprise. “This isn’t an F. It’s a B.”

The pan clatters to the stove when you spin around the face him. Your eyes are wide and your brows are raised, each of your features agape with shock. You’re not entirely sure how he could’ve misread it, but you’re prepared to celebrate with him anyway. 

Eddie flashes you a pink, lopsided smile as he flips the creased paper around. He puts the grade on display for you with a knowing, mischievous glint in his cinnamon eyes. He’s too pretty and you’re too proud of him — you can’t even care that he was tricking you.

“Oh, my god, Eddie!” you shout with a bubbly laugh, all but launching yourself at him. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to reach where he sits on the counter. The bottom of your stomach digs into the granite as your arms wrap around his neck. 

You don’t realize until you’ve locked him in this embrace that you’ve still got your oven mitt on.

Eddie bends awkwardly to reciprocate the hug, meeting you halfway so you’re not doing all the work.

One hand keeps hold of his midterm, but the palm of his free one spreads wide and warm along your back. The tops of your chests collide, soft and snug. They press together in such a way that it confuses him how he could’ve gone so long without feeling you like this — even in the most innocent way.

His chin settles along your clothed collarbone. With his nose digging into the cotton of your t-shirt, he inhales to find your warm floral scent. Eddies sighs and relaxes against you without thinking. He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever hugged him like this before.

“I’m so proud of you!” you praise, chin bopping on his shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”

Eddie chuckles softly at the severity of your hug, so full of intent — louder when you peck him on his cheek and then the rest of his face when you realize you can’t just kiss him once. His stubble is rough against the plush of your lips as you press them to his jaw and chin and nose and mouth.

He tries to kiss you back, but he’s smiling too wide.

He’s almost certain no one’s ever gotten this much loving over a B-minus.

“It’s ‘cause of you,” Eddie insists.

“No, it’s because you’re smart.”

“Mm, I don’t think that’s it,” he retorts with the shake of his head, too damn stubborn to take a compliment.

His chin pulls closer to his neck when he parts from you. Your noses are barely inches apart, lips so close he can taste them. He could kiss you if he wanted, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at you.

“I’m pretty sure I only passed because I was thinking about you the whole time...” 

His words trail off. He’s got a crooked smirk on his lips like he’s only teasing, but brings his ear to his shoulder and gazes at you that way — so full of love and mischief. You think he might actually be sincere.

“Eddie Munson…” you scold at his suggestive tone. 

A smile dances on the corners of your lips as you pull back from him completely. You finally slip the mitten off your hand as you return to the stove, clicking the knob on the back panel until it turns off again.

“I just hope you’ve been thinking about that reward,” the boy lilts as he slips off the counter. He grins and walks until he’s leaning on the refrigerator beside you. He’s no more than a couple of feet away, but he somehow feels much closer than that. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe we agreed that I’d get something if I passed…”

Eddie’s only teasing. He doesn’t actually want anything. Spending time with you now is enough. Making you blush was just a bonus. 

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t cross his mind, though, far more times than he’d like to admit. 

And truth be told, you had thought about it, too. But that makes it sound too simple. It plagued you, really. First, it was the “oh god, what if he doesn’t pass,” and then the “what the hell am I supposed to do when he does?”

A passing grade isn’t usually that big of a deal. You’ve certainly never received anything from one. But passing a test after failing it the first two times and having to suffer two more agonizing years of school because of it certainly deserved to be celebrated.

Eddie was strange, though. He wasn’t materialistic or overtly enthusiastic about anything other than music and D&D. Maybe if you had more money, you could’ve gotten him a cassette or a new Dungeon Master’s manual. But thanks to Enzo’s salary, you’re lucky if you’re able to pay bills on time. And it sucks because Eddie deserves nice things, and not just for passing some stupid test. 

You hate that you don’t have anything other than spaghetti and adoration to give him.

It’s not fair to either of you.

You’d lamented to Steve about all this over gummy bears and buttered popcorn as Slumber Party Massacre played on the tiny television above the counter. The film was ripe with blood and random nudity, but you hadn’t fully paid attention to a single scene. You don’t think Steve had either because he was too busy trying to fuse two different halves of gummy bears together.

“Okay, you just passed a test you failed two times in a row,” you tell the boy, painting him a picture of your dilemma. “Your girlfriend wants to do something nice for you, but she’s boring and poor. What would you want?” 

“A blowjob,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His brows scrunch together like the answer was far easier than you made it out to be. He shrugs and squishes the strawberry head of one gummy bear onto the blue raspberry bottom of another. “Obviously.”

You didn’t think the answer was so obvious. Especially not when you’re trying to take things slow. It wasn’t an easy feat either — not with Eddie at your place, looking at you with that look. His features drip with honey as rose petal spill from his mouth. It’s like he’s trying to tease you. 

He’s got no idea he’s quite literally dealing with the master of teasing.

“We’ll see how tonight goes,” you tell him, flashing him an arched brow and a knowing smirk as you drag two of your fancy, ten-dollar porcelain plates from the cabinet. “Only if you’re good for me, yeah?”

Eddie quite literally forgets how to speak.

Like, if you’d asked him a question, the only thing that would spill out would be unintelligible murmurs of made-up words. 

His brain turns to mush with the look you give him — a two can play at this game kind of smirk that makes his mind melt. And your words are so effortless, so smooth, like you know just what to say and exactly how to say it to work him like a wind-up toy.

He’s in way over his head. The realization makes his breath hitch.

All he can do is nod like an idiot and let you fix him a plate of your “finest batch of spaghetti.” That’s what you call it, and he figures you must be right because you lay an entire three-course meal out in front of him. Well, it isn’t quite that extensive, but it feels that way.

Plates of pasta, a bowl of salad, and stacks of garlic bread decorate your small square dining table. Eddie almost feels like he’s at Enzo’s, even though there’s never been a world where he’s been able to afford Enzo’s.

You wine and dine him like the finest of them. Even though it’s nothing more than homemade spaghetti and apple juice in wine glasses, it makes him feel special — the kind of special people spend hundreds of dollars to feel. But he gets you for free and fuck, he doesn’t deserve any of it.

He got so damn lucky with you. 

He’s done trying to figure out why. He just wants to be more grateful for it.

Once he’s pleasantly full on a home-cooked meal, you usher him to the bathroom. There’s a bag full of stuff waiting there for him — toothbrush, toothpaste, body wash — all the essential shit that he’d forgotten all about. It makes his chest ache.

It’s less so that you knew he’d forget and more so that you thought about him at all.

Eddie imagines you getting off work, still in your Enzo’s-appropriate skirt and blouse uniform, scanning the aisles of Bradley’s Big Buy for things you think Eddie might need.

It’s mundane, but so beautiful still — to be remembered in the most minuscule of ways.

“—I didn’t know what to get you, and I couldn’t afford a lot, so I just got you that 3-in-1 stuff,” you ramble as you pull the dark green bottle out of the brown paper bag on the counter. You wave it mindlessly in your hand. “I don’t know, it was affordable, and you seem like the kind of guy who might use this sort of stuff, so—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie chuckles, trying to act like he doesn’t have an off-brand bottle of the stuff sitting in his shower back at the trailer.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a giggle of your own. You shrug and sit the thing back down. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want.  I just wanted you to have some stuff here so it could, you know, feel more like home…”

Your words strike something profound in Eddie’s chest, a lightning strike or a punch to the stomach. In that moment, he comes to the realization that home isn’t a place. It’s not four walls or the little trinkets that fill it. The people that make you feel all warm and cozy inside, the people that make you feel like you have a place in the world — that’s home.

It’s Wayne and it’s Hellfire and it’s you.

So it’s easy for Eddie to feel at home in your little apartment, and not just because you bought a bunch of stuff to make it that way. 

He’s warmed by the hot shower and the thought that you’re waiting for him in your bedroom down the hall. The idea that he gets this night and so many others you with makes him feel all giddy — like he’s ten years old again and no sleepover has ever traumatized him.

Eddie uses everything you bought, still a little dizzied that it’s for him, but opts to use your vanilla body wash. It’s sweet smelling, with hints of deep musk and high lavender.

The scent of it on his own skin makes him feel like you’re on him and all over him. He has to flip the hot water to freezing before he steps out of the shower. Because, sure, he’s been less than shy about how much he likes you, but walking into your room with a hard-on is a bit more forward than he’s used to.

Eddie finds you waiting for him in your bed. You’re idling at the very center of it, knees up to your chest and back against the headboard, like you’ve been waiting for his return to get truly comfortable there.

You smile when you see him again. It’s that same grin you always look at him with, as though every time you see him is the first time.

He brings an air of cleanliness in with him. He's dressed in fresh pajamas, curls damp and still drying. Steam radiates off his skin along with the scent of freshly baked cookies and flower petals. It’s familiar to you because it’s yours, but it’s different on Eddie in a way you can’t describe.

“You smell good,” you compliment as he maneuvers through the velvet darkness of your bedroom. The black night is evaded only by your dim yellow lamp and the streams of orange that filter through your curtains from the streetlamps outside.

Eddie scoffs as he climbs onto your queen-sized bed. “Did I smell bad before?”

“No. You just smell sweet now. Like a milkshake.”

You shift to make room for him, pulling back your green gingham comforter so he can slip in beside you. Even though you’ve given him ample room to sit down, there isn’t any hint of distance between you. You keep yourself intently pressed to his side despite the several inches of space next to you.

Eddie hopes you never realize there’s a whole world of other places you could be than right next to him. He doesn’t ever want to see a day where you’re separated by more than an inch or two. 

“A milkshake, huh?” he echos as he leans back against the slatted headboard and all your pillows. You twist until you’re practically on your side — hip digging into the mattress, shoulder propped along the cushions, chest pressed against his arm.

“Yeah. Like whipped cream or… vanilla cake…” you trail off, quickly losing interest in describing the scent of him when you’re staring the pretty boy in the face.

One half of him is bathed in shades of golden orange, the other half coated in a deep, deep navy. Eddie’s eyes are somehow darker than any night sky. They swim with their own galaxies and stars that twinkle back at you.

He looks at you and all words lose meaning.

“Yeah, I’m totally stealing your soap before I leave,” he jokes.

You shake your head at him, but smile anyway. “Thanks for letting me know, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Just like all the times before, neither of you realize you’re kissing until you already are. The gravitational pull that brings the two of you together is effortless and natural. You’re like the moon and Eddie’s like the tide — you drag him to you without trying and he bends to your every whim.

Kissing him is easy. It’s like breathing. You don’t ever have to think about it, you just do it. 

You press your lips against the rosy plush of his, and it’s like taking a deep breath of fresh air. It’s an atmosphere kissed by the sun and the trees and the morning dew. It fills your lungs with a new life, makes it impossible to quit kissing him.

But when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, when his mouth pries yours open to slip the pink muscle inside — that feels like getting the breath knocked out of you. The rough pattern of his tongue slides against your own, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Your lungs stop working, your chest aches, and there’s nothing you can do about it but let the moment pass.

Eddie keeps kissing you soft, though, coaxing fresh air back into your burning lungs. He helps you breathe normally again.

You move together like entwining summer breezes. Your thigh swipes against his lap and his hands find your hips to help guide you the rest of the way over. He’s halfway lying down now and you’re looming like an unconquerable mountain above him. Your back arches like a cat’s and your palms cradle his jaw while your tongue makes uncharted territory of his mouth.

The warmth lingering between your thighs presses into his lower stomach. It makes his grip on you tighten, hands pulling your hips further against him until he hears you moan.

The pressure of your clothed pussy against the pudge of his stomach brings you a distant pleasure. What really does you in is the thought of what little separates you — just the fabric of your cotton underwear and Eddie’s faded grey Tatcher Tire t-shirt.

But it’s hard to be indulgent when you’re so stuck in your head. Your mouth moves with Eddie’s on autopilot while your mind travels elsewhere. Because this isn’t supposed to be about you — it’s supposed to be about Eddie. You want to make him feel good for a change, but you have no idea how to go about it.

The foreignness is strange. It leaves you fumbling like you’ve never done any of this before.

In a way, you haven’t. Eddie is different from any guy you’ve ever been with. Not just because he cares about you, but because you’re practically the only girl he’s ever cared about in this way.

He’s a blank slate and you’re scribbled all over.

You don’t want to taint the pristine image he’s painted of you.

“Hey, Eds,” you murmur. The words are halfway spoken against his mouth because you don’t pull away in time to say them clearly. 

Your tongue darts out to feel how numb your spit-slicked lips have gotten after being kissed so ardently. You know they’re probably swollen and more vibrant in their color now. Eddie’s a lot of the same, mouth rosy and obviously kissed.

“Hm?” the boy hums back.

“Do you wanna… Do you wanna do something else?” you ask him, all slow because you don’t want to say the wrong thing. His brows furrow beneath the thin curtain of his curly bangs. The silent question eggs you on. “Would it be okay if I gave you a blowjob?”

Eddie’s eyes widen for a moment. He swears he goes blind because he doesn’t typically see white when he blinks. The question isn’t the weirdest for a guy in this predicament — with a pretty girl on his lap with his spit staining her mouth. It just catches him a little off guard.

“Would it be…” he tries to echo but trails off with a breathy laugh. You say it like it wouldn’t be perfect — to have you between his legs with your warm mouth on his cock, looking effortlessly beautiful while you swallow him whole. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I think that… I’d be a total idiot to say no,” he manages to stammer out, though words have long lost meaning by now.

The sight of his glazed-over eyes, warmed cheeks, and pink mouth makes you smile. He always looks at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen — like you're the infiniteness of space or a deep, deep ocean — something profound he desperately wants to discover.

“I feel like you deserve it, right?” you squint down at him, partially teasing. “For a job well done, you know?”

Eddie nods until he finds the words to respond. “Yeah… Right. Totally.”

“Do you wanna lie down? Or would you rather me get on my knees?” you ask him.

Eddie swears he’s dreaming. He isn’t quite sure how you manage to say something so sinful with such sincerity.

“It might be comfortable to stay like this, but most guys like the visual of girls on their knees better so…” 

There is no seductive lilt to your voice, no mischievous teasing to rile him up. It’s just a question of how he wants you, and it’s a very dizzying thought. Knowing he can have you however he wants makes his stomach all whirly and his vision start to swim like he just spun around ten times.

Eddie just blinks at you. His chocolate eyes and heavy lids flutter slowly like he’s trying to look at you through a layer of honey.

It takes him a second to answer because he doesn’t know what he wants — he rarely ever does, but now especially. How is a boy who wants you in every way imaginable supposed to pick only one?

“Uh, can you—” he starts before the words get caught in his throat. He grunts out a cough to clear it. “Could you, um… get on your, uh— your knees? Please?” 

You smile at how politely he phrases it. You don’t think anyone’s ever said please when asking you for a blowjob before.

Eddie fidgets awkwardly beneath you, and you’re not entirely sure why. You’re the one that just offered yourself up on a platter, totally and unequivocally happy to do whatever he wants. He’s not the one that should be embarrassed.

You nod down at him, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure. You can stay sitting if you want. Whatever you wanna do.”

“Okay…” Eddie mumbles in response.

He watches you with wide, inquisitive eyes as you maneuver off his lap and onto the rug beside your bed. When he swings his legs over the edge of it, you settle intently between them. His cock twitches at the sight of you below him, blinking up at him with sparkling eyes that almost look like they’re begging.

Your palms settle on his clothed thighs as your knees press into the woolen rug beneath you. Your chest warms when you’re finally level with his concealed cock. It makes your heart go silly, the sheer thought of what you’re about to do. You don’t think you’ve ever been this excited to suck dick before.

You wait patiently for him to make the first move — then you realize he doesn’t know how because he’s never had to before. Instead, he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do. With button eyes intently focused on your form and hands anxiously gripping the edge of the bed, he’s entirely prepared to move however you want him to.

“Take off your shirt, Eds,” you guide gently.

He listens to you without thinking twice. His fidgeting fingers reach for the fraying hem of his shirt to yank it up and over his head. He has to tug harder when the neck gets caught around his chin.

It isn’t the first time he’s been shirtless in front of you. Between changing and heated kisses, he’s had ample opportunity to get over his lingering insecurities.

For a while there, he found himself comparing his body to all your other more prominent escapades — the Billy Hargroves and the Steve Harringtons. The overtly masculine types with bodies that scream, ‘I peaked in high school.’

Eddie doesn’t look like them. He isn’t as toned or as thin. He’s got pudge on his belly and sparse hair on his sternum in the place of defined abs and pecks covered in layers of chest hair. He doesn’t look at all like those basketball douchebags that could easily model for whatever magazine basketball douchebags read — if they even know how to, that is.

But you don’t seem to care. You love on him anyway.

Even now, your eyes rake over his bare upper half with a gaze that isn’t anything short of hungry. You reach for his face to pull him down for a ravenous kiss that does little to quell your appetite. Your fingers tangle in the drying strands of his hair in the same way your tongues do. 

Eddie’s patient hands curl around the insides of your elbow as he keeps his lips obediently parted for you. He sighs into each of your eager kisses, more than content to let you swallow him whole.

You move down to his jaw and then to his neck. You nose his curls out of the way to sprinkle wet pecks to the warm skin there. You somehow manage to take your time and move with haste all at once — loving on all the places that need loving, but not lingering in one place for too long because there are too many of them to count.

The tip of your nose trails down his milky torso in time with your craving kisses. You press a final one between his ribcage, tongue darting out briefly just so you can hear his breath tremble before pulling away entirely. 

Eddie’s hands remain on each of your arms as your fingers curl around the hem of his plaid pajama pants. It makes his grip unknowingly tighten.

“Wait,” he blurts with his eyes squeezed shut. You tense almost instantly. “Can you— I mean, can we, just… you know…” he trails off, voice tight like he’s holding his breath. It’s probably because he is.

“What?” you pry with wide eyes and the sick feeling like you’ve done something horribly wrong. “Is this… Is this not okay? We don’t have to, like, do any of this if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion, Eds. We can just—”

“No!” he exclaims, eyes flying open to find your panicked ones. He shakes his wild head so vigorously down at you it makes his curls sway. He both wants to quell your worry and plead for you not to stop. “That’s not it. I— I want to, okay? I do. I really… really do. I just… You’re so far away like this…”

His words drip with a soft sincerity, his honeyed eyes even more so.

Your alarm curls into a gentle smile at his reassurance.

You haven’t had many firsts in a long, long time. Your first kiss was on the playground of Hawkins Middle. Your first handjob was in the locker room of the community pool not too long after. Your first time having sex was on a towel in the grass beside Tina Burton’s pool after her birthday party when everyone else had gone to bed.

All your stereotypical firsts happened lifetimes ago, but you’ve had a billion more with Eddie.

You can say with more confidence than you’ve ever had in your life that this is the first time a guy’s turned down a blowjob because you were too far away on your knees. 

“What?” the boy wavers at your silence. Your accompanying smile is somehow more frightening.

“Nothing,” you assure. Your brows pinch together as you smile up at him. “I just… I really don’t think we can be any closer than your dick in my mouth, Eds.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. His cheeks go rosy at your quip. “You know what I mean…”

“Yeah,” you answer softly. “I know what you mean.”

You rise again, this time planting yourself on his thigh. Your knees settle on either side of his leg and dig into the mattress below you, on top of him all over again. The position is a familiar one. The only thing different is a few months’ time and a lack of Fast Times playing in the background.

Eddie tilts his chin to peer up at you. It’s easier this way, he realizes, to be below you and at your mercy rather than above you. Sometimes he thinks you were made to be on top of him like this.

“How about this,” you lilt with a raised brow. “I can just jerk you off—”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie nods.

A giggle bubbles from your lips. “Let me finish, you weirdo. I can jerk you off, and you can just tell me when you’re about to finish.”

“Okay,” he answers right before his brows furrow. “Uh… why?”

“So you can come in my mouth,” you shrug like it’s obvious.

Your words knock the wind from Eddie’s lungs — it’s like you’ve punched him square in the stomach. Staring up at you through drooping eyelids, he swallows thickly, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s sounds… Yeah…”

You breathe out a laugh and lean closer to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. You couldn’t help yourself — he’s too damn adorable. Your fingers curl back around the hem of his pants and boxers, dragging them both down in one fell swoop to free his half-hard cock. You tuck the tops of them under his balls.

You’ve seen a lot of dicks in your time — long ones, short ones, thick ones, skinny ones — you could make a damn nursery rhyme of the variety you’ve seen. Eddie’s doesn’t particularly stand out.

It’s middling in length and in girth, not big but not too small either, with a width that won’t hurt to take but will stretch you out nonetheless. 

His cock is pale and a faint strawberry red at the tip. It’s the same rosy color his cheeks get when he blushes. There’s a vein that trails up from his balls and splits like a forking river up to his bulbous head. The bush at his pubic bone is fitting for a metalhead, but it looks like he’s taken a trimmer to the chestnut hair there sometime in the past month or so.

His dick isn’t ugly and it isn’t special, but it’s perfect anyway because it’s his.

“You’ve got a really pretty cock, Eds,” you praise in a low whisper.

He thinks you must be trying to talk dirty, but your gaze gets all shy — quirked brow, curled lip, twinkled eye — like you must really mean it. You seal your compliment with a soft, lingering peck.

“Can dicks be pretty?” he asks you, the question muffled against your mouth.

“Not usually,” you blurt before you realize.

Most guys are gross. They don’t shave because they don’t think they have to. Sometimes they smell bad, too, because they never really learned how to wash themselves. Either that, or they taste overtly of soap because they shoved a whole bar of the stuff down their pants right before.

Boys tend to care less about the situation their cocks are in. Only a handful you’ve been with really knew how to take care of themselves — Eddie for one, Steve for another, and Billy Hargrove on occasion.

“But your’s definitely is,” you promise.

“Um… thanks?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question; he just never thought that exact string of words would ever be spoken to him.

It’s a little bit surreal to receive a compliment on a part of you that most people wouldn’t typically notice — like your shoulders or lips or thighs. Eddie’s almost sure you’ve complimented each of those at some point or another.

You kiss him again, both because he makes it insanely hard not to and because you know that’s the only way to get him out of his head. He’ll never get hard if he’s worried about getting hard. So you keep kissing him, letting him focus on the pattern of your tastebuds and the curves of your cupid’s bow, while you happily do all the work.

Your fingertips trail up and down the underside of his cock. Your caresses are featherlight and meticulous along his warm, stiffening skin, all but coaxing him hard. 

When his cock is totally stiff and standing at attention at his stomach, you part from Eddie to bring your palm to your mouth. You spit a glob of saliva onto the center of it and let the added lubricant help your fist glide along his dick.

A stifled groan rumbles in Eddie’s throat as your fingers wrap fully around him. You’re only touching his cock, but it feels like you’ve embraced every inch of them.

The pleasure feels like static, like he’s just rubbed his socks along the carpet and he’s sizzling with the newfound electricity. He feels it in the tips of his toes and in the strands of his hair.

“Um, just to, uh… save myself the embarrassment,” Eddie cautions shakily. His voice is a few octaves higher than normal and audibly fragile. “I should probably urge you to lower your expectations—” He has to stifle a whine when you squeeze the base of his cock. “—Just a little bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m probably gonna come, like, really, really quickly,” he tells you and tries his best to laugh. It’s as shaky as the smile he gives you because you haven’t stopped touching him, even despite his warning. 

Your fist squeezes his cock, then rises again. You pause momentarily to swipe your thumb over his leaking tip before sliding back down again. It’s a slow and methodical cycle that’s going to make him burst far quicker than he’d like.

“That’s okay,” you assure with the shake of your head, brows furrowed because you don’t know why that’s such a band thing. You shrug. “Just means there’s more time for me to make you do it again.”

Eddie huffs out a sigh as his cock twitches in your fist, growing somehow harder at your words.

Your unhurried pace hastens in a way that’s still obviously disciplined. Your hand moves faster until you hear his breath start to race and see his milky white chest splotch with red. Then, when his rapid pants begin to tremble, your pace goes back to normal.

You push him to the very edge of the cliff and then pull him backward before he falls.

It’d be agonizing if it didn’t feel so damn good.

His eyes have long fluttered shut by now. You miss his chocolate syrup irises, but the look of pure serenity on his face is the kind of beautiful most people pay to see. His agape mouth, bared neck, rosy cheeks, and long lashes that tickle the apples of them deserve to be hung in the Louvre. 

It’s a sort of heavenly that everyone needs to admire in their lifetime, but one that belongs to only you. The sheer thought of someone else having him this way makes you angry, sparks raging orange embers just behind your sternum.

Eddie grows quiet. Suspiciously so. He isn’t moaning as much as he was before, and his chest is totally still, as though he were holding his breath. You feel his gentle grip on the outsides of your thighs start to harden. You figure the added tension helps him stay hushed. It’s less so accidental and more like he’s trying not to make noise.

“Let me hear you, Eds,” you urge in a whisper. “It’s okay. Go ahead and whine for me.”

The assurance barely spills from your mouth before he’s moaning for you. It’s a long, drawn-out whine that travels from his chest to his throat and out of his mouth, concluding in a fragile sigh.

The sound makes you double your efforts. You want him to make that noise again — you never want him to stop making that noise for you. So you squeeze harder, rise faster, and pay more attention to his rapidly reddening tip. 

You’re not entirely sure what Eddie likes the most. Most guys moan louder when you do something they like, but he seems to like all of it, so you don’t pay extra attention to one place. You keep jerking his cock, faster still, even when the muscles of your forearm start to burn.

“Fuck—” the boy sighs in a heavy moan, then cuts himself off with a pitiful whine.

He tries to lift his head and open his eyes to look at you, but he doesn’t have the strength to anymore. His head lolls back again when the pleasure begins to crescendo.

Sufficiently stupid, he can’t even find the words to warn you. “I’m— I’m close, sweetheart,” he slurs lowly. “I’m… Fuck… Fuck, I’m gonna…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. His face screws up, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, as the feeling becomes almost unbearable. It’s all the warning you need.

Your fist holds onto the base of his cock as you dismantle his thigh and settle on the rug again. You don’t think twice before darting forward to lick the dribbles of pearly-white pre-come spilling from his reddened tip.

You wrap your lips around him totally, cheeks hollowing as you suck him there like he’s a piece of candy.

And Eddie dies. He passes away on the spot.

It’s the only way he can describe the feeling.

The crescendo of pleasure — that’s the life flashing before his eyes. The brief moment of numbness is the infinite void of death. The burst of ecstasy that spits from his cock in one, two, three loads is heaven.

It just has to be.

There can’t be a higher pleasure than the feeling of your mouth on his cock and the way you moan around him when his come spills on your tongue.

Eddie whines something pitiful. He loses all the previous inhibition that kept him so quiet he was too scared to breathe. One hand twists in the sheets while the other settles on the back of your hand, not pulling or tugging, just resting there as his hips buck off the mattress. He can’t tell if he’s running away from the intensity of his pleasure or if he never wants it to stop.

You don’t seem to mind that he doesn’t know.

You let his hips jerk wildly even when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and makes you gag. It does take everything in you not to laugh, however, when Eddie murmurs a fragile “sorry” through his cries.

And when his fingers knot in your hair, you don’t mind that either. You let him halfway fuck your mouth, even though you’re pretty sure he’s too far gone to notice that he’s fucking your mouth.

You don’t stop until he’s shuddering. Only when you’re sure he has nothing left to give you do you finally pull away from him. You leave a delicate kiss to the tip of his softening cock, no longer the angry red color it was moments ago. Eddie’s stomach clenches at the feeling of blatant sensitivity. His face scrunches as another feeble cry gets trapped in his throat.

You snap his boxers and pants back into place on his waist and rise.

“How was that for your first blowjob?” you ask him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eddie just shakes his head in response. He flops back against the mattress, the springs bouncing under his weight, and tries to find the words to answer you.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he just saw Heaven and Hell at the same time and that you were both God and the Devil. There isn’t any string of words in any language that could explain the otherworldly pleasure you gave him with nothing more than your hand and mouth, so he decides to stay quiet.

With his eyes still closed, he can hear you laughing quietly at him while you slither in at his side. You lie beside him on your stomach. When you’re finally in reach again, he peeks his eyes open and reaches for you, pulling you toward him for a searing kiss.

You think it might be the first time he’s ever done so without asking awkwardly first — as though there was a world where you would ever turn him down. He seems to understand that now, the way he kisses you without thinking twice about it.

His tongue swipes into your mouth. The both of you moan when he tastes the salty tang lingering there. Eddie doesn’t even realize that it’s him he’s tasting at first — that the heady bitter-sweetness on your tongue is his come.

It’s less so that he’s tasting himself, and more so that his taste is in your mouth at all, that makes him exhale a moan against you. The heavy breath of it fans against your cupid’s bow.

“Oh,” you hum through labored pants when you part again. “It was that good, huh?”

“Better,” he answers with a crooked smirk on his swollen pink mouth. He’s finally able to open his eyes and see more than a blur when his high starts to subside. “That was fucking… I mean, that was… fuck…”

His speechlessness makes you giggle. Your gaze stays locked on his profile when he turns to look up at the ceiling.

“That was exactly what I wanted. And, like, I didn’t even know I wanted it, you know?” he rambles. “How did you— How did you know? How do you always know?”

You’re not entirely sure what he means by that, and honestly, neither is he.

You just always know what he needs. You buy him a toothbrush because you know he’ll forget his, and when you touch him, you know exactly what he likes — even though he doesn’t even know what he likes.

It’s like you’re another half of him, and not in the stupid soulmate way everyone always thinks they’ve found. You’re an identical part of him that no one else can fit. He’s only whole with you — like a sandwich cut into triangles or halves of an orange. 

“Well, to be fair, I did ask Steve what a guy would want in this sort of situation,” you admit with a scrunched nose. “I just sort of went with what he said.”

Eddie’s brows pinch together as he turns his head to peer at you again. He blinks at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then sputters. “Wait— You’re telling me I have Steve to thank for that blowjob? Like Steve-Steve? As in Steve The Hair Harrington?”

His dramatics makes you giggle. You hide your grin behind your palm.

“Hope that doesn’t change anything, Eddie Spaghetti.”

You meant it as a joke, as in, please don’t think of Steve every time I give you a blowjob from now on, but your words settle something heavy on the both of you. 

Because you’ve had Steve The Hair Harrington, in more ways than most friends tend to have one another. You’ve had a lot of people like that. There are people in the world with parts of you that most only give away when they’ve found someone really, really special. 

You learned about that too late. And now you feel a lot less special.

Eddie hears all your dreadful, no-good thoughts because they’re also his own. 

He’s a virgin with the town slut, so he often feels like he’s drowning. It isn’t because of you, though. It’s never because of you. The number of people you’ve slept with doesn’t mean a damn thing to him; he just wants to measure up to them.

He wants to be the kind of man that sticks in your head after you’ve been with a thousand of them — the kind you can’t help but remember fondly because there hasn’t been another one like him.

He’s got no idea he’s already better than every person you’ve ever been with combined.

“No, sweetheart,” he assures with the shake of his head. The apple of his cheek rubs against the fabric of your comforter as he looks at you with eyes deeper than an infinite galaxy. His gaze holds all of its own stars, and each of them is named after you. “It doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”

[alicent-vi-britannia]

Lelouch's relentless search for purpose in life

I've previously talked to you about Lelouch's trauma through the enneagram to explain why Lelouch refuses to open up and trust others and insists on doing everything alone to feel self-sufficient and strong. I've also used the enneagram to explain that Lelouch has locked himself into a protective shell and is uncomfortable feeling vulnerable because of his trauma and his upbringing in Darwinian values ​​in Britannia. However, I haven't talked to you directly about one thing that is very important and perhaps because it is so obvious I have overlooked it until I stumbled upon a small thread on Twitter.

In the last conversation Lelouch has with his father, Charles nullifies the meaning and value of his existence by telling him: "But you're dead. You've always been dead, from the moment you were born. Who gave you the fine clothes you wear, a comfortable home, the food you eat, and your own life? I gave you all of that. You are nothing to me because you have never existed." At that moment, Charles kills Lelouch in symbolic terms, causing him enormous psychological and emotional damage from which he never recovers.

We have this flashback in episode 7 of the first season and later Lelouch threatens CC with suicide if she does not let him go to face his sister, Cornelia: "Until I met you, I was dead. A corpse that existed behind a false appearance of life, a life in which I did nothing real. I experienced the emotions of living day to day as if I were a zombie, with the feeling that I was dying little by little. And if I have to go back to that, then I prefer… [And he places his finger on the trigger of the gun]." The series connects those two scenes through a Dutch shot focused on Lelouch's gaze. The Dutch shot is a steep horizontal tilt shot that is used to indicate instability or danger or that something is not right. In this case, it warns us, on a superficial level, that Lelouch has felt dead since his last meeting with his father and that he has been fighting against that (unfounded) belief and these negative feelings and, on a deeper level, that this is a wrong and harmful belief of Lelouch's that has been poisoning his mental health ever since.

(It's sad to compare the two shots. Little Lelouch's eyes show deep pain. As the Bart and Lisa Simpson meme says: it's the exact frame in which his heart broke. Teenage Lelouch's eyes, on the other hand, are empty. A dead look.)

There are several moments in the story that give us an idea of ​​the young prince's struggle. For example, in the first Audio Drama, "The Uninvited Prince," a young Suzaku rescues Lelouch from some children who are beating him and reproaches him for not standing up for himself and disregarding the hospitality his home provides him and his sister, to which the child Lelouch replies, "I am here and I will live. If I live by my own strength, then I will never be dead again." Little Suzaku, of course, finds Lelouch's statement absurd and just thinks he is a strange child. But this response reflects the boy's insane desire to be self-sufficient (to the point of rejecting the help of others) in order to feel that he is alive (remember that Charles told him that he is alive because he has given him everything he has).

We also have a Picture Drama (I'm sorry I don't remember or have the exact number of the PD, but if it's part of the alternate universe, we can ignore it because they are different universes that shouldn't be mixed) with a monologue by a teenage Lelouch: "I've made a vow to use the strength I have to save Nunnally. That will be the proof that I exist in this world."

These words evoke in me a part of Lelouch's song "Back to Zero" (for the fantastic Code Black album in Ashford) in which our hero sings: "Oh! Can you hear me? This fight is how I know I'm alive."

That is, Lelouch tries to prove his father wrong by looking for a purpose to live that reaffirms his existence and, in principle, Lelouch finds it in Zero and the rebellion since they are the means he has to destroy Britannia and create a kind world for Nunnally. And that's why later on he abandons Ashford Academy, the Zero mask and his friends and gives in to depression (in the future, I'll talk about this moment in more depth in another analysis). Then his goals change and his motivations are reconsidered for a series of reasons and events that I won't stop to explain here, but I will point out that I find it interesting and moving how Lelouch goes from clinging to a purpose in life to giving up on it and dying, in order to fulfill his new goals, obtain results and atone for his sins (the magic of a powerful script and a narrative arc, Larry).

Also, all of this explains why Lelouch lost his temper in the season 1 finale when Suzaku yelled at him that his existence was a mistake and that he needed to be wiped off the face of the Earth. Not only did it bring back memories of Vietnam for Lelouch, it was another important person to him who was denying his existence. Suzaku's words hurt him because, as President Snow said in the Hunger Games trilogy, "the people we love the most are the ones who destroy us." I'm not sure if Suzaku knew what Charles told his friend since Lelouch never reveals his secrets to anyone (people around him, including his loved ones, find out on their own), but Suzaku certainly hit a sensitive button that mentally unsettled Lelouch.

Poor Lelouch. He just wanted his existence validated.

[seramilla]

Vaggie: What do you mean you knew it?! How?!

Clara: You act a lot like Mama does when she gets growly and protective! Plus you look way too much like mama did when we were alive! I can't believe I was right though! I get to finally be a big sister!

Odette: This explains mama crying...we had all been devastated when we died and thought we'd never get to meet you...But it's nice to officially meet you hermanita.

Carmilla: Sobs and gathers her babies close.

Vaggie hasn't been hugged many times in her afterlife. The first time had probably been Charlie, when her princesa first found the lonely new "Sinner" extremely weak and fighting for her life on the streets of Pentagram City. She'd taken Vaggie home, and nursed her back to health. Her hugs are like a fluffy cloud, or a warm blanket. Welcoming and inviting in their embrace, if not a bit pressurizing and forceful when her bubbly personality starts to come on a little strong.

The second had been Carmilla, of course. Unexpected, and at first overwhelming, it had been entirely different from Charlie's hugs. There had been a sense of protectiveness there, and also a desire to comfort and console. Vaggie had never experienced Carmilla's type of maternal love before -- it was similar to Charlie's way of showing affection, but not controlling or demanding to be felt.

Clara's is somewhere in the middle -- a bit more forceful than she normally likes, but once experienced, Vaggie can't help the lump from forming in her throat. Clara almost threatens to lift her off the ground, she's holding onto Vaggie so hard. Vaggie facilitates it; she has to reach up, but puts her arms around Clara's shoulders. She's standing on tiptoe to do so, but she suddenly wants to be even closer to the girl. She doesn't even care if Clara starts to spin her a little. The demon is happy, and laughing. It starts to rub off on Vaggie, too.

And then Carmilla and Odette are added to the mix, and they're all hugging her at the same time, and wow! Vaggie decides right then there's nothing else like this feeling in the world. Vaggie had once been lost. But now, like the Heavenly song says, Vaggie feels found. Not by one, or even two, but by four entirely different souls who love her, all in their own unique way. Vaggie had never even known there were so many types of ways to be loved. Now that she's had them all, she never wants to let any of them go.

She does have to let go, eventually, however. But of the three of them, Clara is the one who holds on the longest. When she and Vaggie finally step back from each other, there's a genuine smile on both their faces. Vaggie doesn't cry again. It's a near thing, but she's honestly too exhausted to shed any more tears. She's more curious than sad at this point. So before any of them can change the subject, she looks at Clara, because she just has to know.

"How? How did you know?"

Clara laughs again, like Vaggie has just told her a joke, or is trying to pull a fast one on her. When she realizes Vaggie is completely serious, she motions up and down around the angel with her hands, like the answer should be completely obvious.

"Look at you!" Clara exclaims, continuing to motion with her hands. "The hair, the eyes, the way you fight! Even your complexion is the same! Also, you look just like Mama did when she was your age. We had pictures we could show you, if we were still alive...but you'll just have to take my word for it."

Odette steps in, as if to interject, also wanting to say her piece.

"We didn't think much of it when Lucifer asked us to give a sample to see if we were a blood match. Everyone at your Hotel did, too, by the way. Clara said that wasn't what tipped her off...it was just the way Mama acted around you after the fact. She spent an entire day with you at the hospital. You're all she's talked about for days now! Honestly, I feel pretty stupid for not realizing something more was going on here."

Clara nods, and continues on from Odette's line of reasoning. "Yeah! And I overheard Lucifer telling Mama about what Exorcists really are. After that, it was obvious!"

"You didn't tell me that!" Odette accuses her, crossing her arms, and shooting Clara a death glare, like she's just been thoroughly betrayed.

Clara gives Odette a cheeky grin and sticks her tongue out. "You didn't ask!"

Vaggie chuckles, holding her hand to her face to try and hide it from the squabbling sisters. Is this what it feels like, she wonders? To argue? To bond? To throw around silly quips at one another without getting offended, because you know it's all in good fun?

Is this what it feels like, to be sisters?

Carmilla decides to move into the sisterhood circle just then. Maybe it's her maternal instincts doing damage control, putting a stop to Clara and Odette's verbal and physical sparring match before it unfolds on the floor right in front of her. Or maybe she just wants to hug Vaggie some more. Because she does. Vaggie finds she doesn't care about the actual reason. The way Carmilla pulls her into her embrace now is far less strained and awkward, and much more natural, than before.

She falls into it like a habit; like she's been doing it forever. Carmilla's hugs are just as warm as Charlie's. She could definitely get used to this, Vaggie thinks. For the rest of her afterlife, if not longer.

"My girl," Carmilla says softly into Vaggie's ear, starting to choke up all over again, breathing softly into her hair. Seeing the overlord Carmilla Carmine cry for her, with her, will never not be novel for Vaggie.

Carmilla, her mother, is practically lifting the fallen angel off the ground, to draw her in even closer.

"Mi hija. My baby. I'm so glad that I've found you at last. Welcome home, mi hermosa."

"Gracias, Mamá," Vaggie responds, and fuck, if that doesn't sound so odd and foreign rolling off Vaggie's tongue. But it also feels so perfectly normal, and so right. Just like Carmilla, Odette, and Clara's hugs, she could easily get used to saying those things, as well.

Vaggie sends a message to Charlie later that evening, to let her know she's staying at Carmilla's overnight: "Don't wait up for me, hon. We have a lot to catch up on. I'll be back home in the morning. Love you!

Charlie responds with an ungodly barrage of heart and smiley face emojis, followed by an enthusiastic string of letters in all caps: "I LOVE YOU, TOO, SO MUCH, VAGGIE!!! I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU, SWEETIE!!!! I CAN'T WAIT TO HEAR ALL ABOUT IT!!! YOU BETTER TELL ME EVERYTHING AND NOT LEAVE ANYTHING OUT!!!"

Vaggie smiles. She won't leave anything out. She has a lot of firsts to catch up on with her family in the coming days, so she puts her phone back in her pocket, and takes that first step.

She quite literally has all the time in the world now. But being the impatient individual that she is, she'll see how much of it she can cram into that first night. Carmilla had mentioned some of Clara and Odette's embarrassing baby stories earlier, when they'd all been around the dinner table. Thank Heaven, Vaggie thinks, that she doesn't have any of those.

[kiatheinsomniac]

Kia darlinnngggg 🥰 so ik you've been simping over tomoe lately soooo I have a request ~ how about smth to do with heat? Perhaps the reader is a yokai as well, having gotten herself turned into one to be with him, not necessarily a fox yokai ( ahem I'm giving you free reign, rabbit and deer are optional bc ik you love those dynamics ) but it's her first heat with him? She's feeling all hot and bothered and doesn't know what to do and Tomoe is both trying to guide her while also trying not to lose it because he's in heat too? But yknow, he fails at the latter hehe

──── 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 ˊˎ -

☾ ⋆ﾟ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: I actually had the theme song for this stuck in my head all around Ikea today lol. My first time writing for Tomoe so you bet I made our fox man feral, horny and mean <3

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Tomoe x yokai bunny! Reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 0.8k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NSFW, MDNI, smut, heat cycles, breeding, 'bunny' pet name, creampie, marathon sex

He had told himself that the two of you wouldn’t end up like this and yet here you were: pinned beneath his weight with your belly flush to the sheets, your head pushed down with a clawed hand on your nape and your hips angled upwards, Tomoe’s aching cock pounding into your little cunt over and over again without mercy. When you took on the features of a bunny after becoming a yokai to always be with him, Tomoe had expected that you would end up experiencing a heat similar to his own. Your white-haired lover had warned you of what would happen, had prepared all sorts of herbal remedies meant to help suppress your urges and yet none of it had been enough to make you resist pushing your hand down your pants to try and sate the need between your thighs, moaning unabashedly and unintentionally provoking your partner who had been doing a much better job at hiding his own heat until he heard you moaning his name so sweetly and desperately. 

You had been on your hands and knees earlier but they had since buckled beneath you as you let out little sobs that were a strange mix of overstimulation and relief. Your arousal had already been leaking down your thighs by the time Tomoe found you, teary-eyed and begging him to bury his cock inside of you, feeling so empty without him that it hurt. It had spent the last shred of his restraint and he had been quick to pin you down. Your clothes hadn’t even been discarded initially but now they were tossed all over the room between switching positions and your face burned at the sound of Tomoe repeatedly pounding into you, set on releasing his cum inside of you time and time again, even if it was already leaking out of you and making a mess of the sheets. 

“You just don’t listen do you?” His tone was almost a growl in your ear as his nails bit into the skin over your hips, holding them firmly in place so that you had no escape from him. “I gave you everything I could so that we didn’t have to end up like this and yet you thought you knew what was best.” You let out another sob at three particularly harsh thrusts in a row and yet your cunt tightened around him, “So, bunny, you can keep on crying and take it seeing as you were so sure that this was what you needed.” He pushed more of his weight down on you, leaving you with absolutely nowhere to go and making you take the full force of each thrust. 

The way that the mixture of your cum had him slipping in and out of you with such ease was paired with the obscene sounds of your walls stretching around him and the smack of his skin against yours. You noticed how his moans had become much more vocal, more than aware by now that this meant he was close to an orgasm. You felt him bury his face in the crook of your neck and you were almost certain that he would bruise your poor pussy at this point, “You’re going to take it all…” His voice husked by your ear, “Such a good bunny, you’re going to take it all for me. Help me through my heat, I help you through yours.” His arms wrapped around your body as you were tightly sandwiched between him and the bed, feeling his hips stutter and then slow before stopping entirely, feeling the throb of his cock more so than the spill of his hot cum inside of you considering how stuffed full you already were. 

“Let’s… rest a while, my love.” He panted out, a hand reaching up to tenderly and lazily play with your hair and stroke your ears which had flopped down over your head in utter exhaustion, “It’s been hours…” You could only let out a hum of agreement. 

You felt drenched between your thighs, your skin sticky with sweat, stiflingly hot with Tomoe’s damp skin pressing down on you. Your hair was in tangles and his own white tresses fell over your face, making you shake your head a bit to move it away from where it had been tickling your nose and tormenting your lashes. 

What a mess the two of you had got yourselves in. 

“And you said this would last a week?” You let out a little yelp when you felt his cock push into you once more. You had seen the recovery speed that his heat gave him and yet you had not expected him to continue after suggesting a break, “Wait! Tomoe, you said-” 

“I know what I said and I take it back, I’m not done with you yet, my bunny~” 

☾ ⋆ﾟlike my work? why not: 

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🏷️@edensrose @asuni921

[loviatarsluv]

chapter ii. cracked ceilings

pairing: Gale x f!tav (my own oc, Elara)

(takes place mostly after the events of the game with some flashbacks sprinkled throughout)

rating: mature

CW: strong language, slight se*ual harassment (just a drunken oaf making nasty comments), blood/injury, light violence, angst

in summary: After the fall of the brain, and her home having been destroyed in the chaos, Gale offers Elara sanctuary with him back in Waterdeep. She struggles to deal with the feelings she has been harboring for him and the guilt that she’d been the one to prevent either of them from taking the relationship any further a few months prior. Yearning and pining ensues

a/n: thank you to those who were so sweet about the first chapter, it really means so much to me 🥹 i hope you enjoy this one just as much ♡︎

word count: 6.8k

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ii.

She had finally begun to understand why they called Waterdeep ‘the city of splendors’. 

Since coming to stay with Gale, Elara hadn’t left the tower much. A part of her feared running into any further trouble when she’d just experienced more chaos and turmoil than most would in their entire lives, especially now being known as The Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Despite being here rather than back home, she knew word had likely spread as far as Neverwinter by now. 

Gale had been incredibly patient with her, despite his desire to show her around his beloved city. She was boundlessly grateful for that fact despite her guilt for becoming a hermit when he was likely just happy to be home and wanted to enjoy it in its entirety.

She would tell him not to hold back on her account and to do all that he desired with his newfound freedom from the fear of the orb within himself, and that she would be fine right where she was. But she could see in his eyes that he wanted company. Her company. 

So, this time, she relented. A simple trip to the market surely couldn’t hurt, right? 

She caught the end of a familiar tune as she approached the large open window in her bedroom— a song that she remembered her mother humming absently throughout the day, and then singing to her before bed. One of the last vivid memories she had left of her. 

Elara hoped maybe they would pass the bard on their way to the market so she could toss them a few gold pieces. 

She gazed out over the expanse of the ocean and hummed along to the song until its eventual end, smiling somberly to herself. 

She glanced at herself in the mirror and tried to remember her mother’s face— tried to imagine her own face, just older, but with bright blue eyes rather than dull brown, her hair long, pin straight and black instead of untamable, wavy, and garishly bright. 

No. If there was one thing she recalled about her mother, it was that she had the sort of beauty that words couldn’t describe. The kind that scribes and bards scribbled poetry about and sang ridiculous ballads for. 

A far cry from how she viewed herself, certainly. 

Her long azure waves flowed down her back, partially braided back near the crown of her head to keep some of it out of her eyes. Shadowheart had taught her a few hairstyles to manage and tame her hair, but most of the time she just couldn’t be arsed to put in the effort. 

She dusted off some of the robes Astarion ‘purchased’ for her while they were in the Lower City, muttering something about how she desperately needed a wardrobe change. A gift wrapped in a backhanded remark, as could always be expected of Astarion. She smiles at the memory, now suddenly missing him and all of his mischief and hoping he was doing well. 

Perhaps she could pay them a visit soon. 

The robes were rather lovely— a deep cerulean mixed with accented gold metal clasps and brown leather, the length of it just right so that it doesn’t drag the floor. It suited her well. Astarion really did have a good eye, unsurprisingly. Perhaps in another life he was a tailor. 

She takes one last long look at herself in the mirror, the anxiety evident in her eyes as well as the dark circles under them. She’d barely gotten a wink of rest as her mind turned over every possibility of what could happen the moment she steps foot outside of this tower. 

Nothing that made any sense or seemed feasible— but then again, a year ago, the thought of a mindflayer invasion seemed like a fever dream. 

Now was not the time for what if’s. All would be well. She would have a nice outing with her good friend. 

Great friend.

Friend.

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Gale had mastered the art of keeping himself occupied. 

He somehow always had something he could be working on or a book he could be reading or a subject he could study further, especially in times when his mind required redirection.

Or distraction, rather.

Spending an entire year in solitude with only yourself, your books, and four walls to keep you company teaches you many things about yourself. 

Spending months surrounded by who very likely could be the love of your life without the ability to act on that feeling also teaches you many things about yourself. 

There had been many days spent holed up in his library, trying all that he could to keep his mind of anything other than her and her eyes (one a deep, rich brown and the other a much lighter, honey-like shade) and her dazzling smile that made him feel like if the orb were still present in his chest, he would be at risk of implosion just at the sight of it. 

Now, to have a proper outing that would finally be just the two of them after months of dropping hints— he was feeling quite restless. 

So much so, that he basically leaps to his feet at the sound of her footsteps bounding down the stairs, standing quickly and straightening his clothes before she appears from the staircase, adjusting himself and ensuring nothing was askew or out of place. He smooths his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear and adjusts his sleeves just before she emerges, his heart skipping a beat as he sees her.  

He had to remind himself many times that this excursion was nothing more than a quick trip to the market— but it did little to quell the sweat beads rising in his palm and the buzzing in his stomach. 

He hadn’t spent a lot of time with her that felt like they were both choosing each other’s company. It almost always felt like they just happened to end up in the same room as each other by chance, or if they did, it was merely to complete a task. To do research, to eat breakfast or dinner, to exchange notes.

If it were up to him, he would remain at her side every moment that her eyes were open and if he were allowed, even those when they were closed. 

He was only waiting for the right moment, or any sort of notion that she had perhaps changed her mind— then, he would— well, do something.

Uncharacteristically enough for him, he hadn’t really thought that far yet. 

Now may be an apt time to start, though.

“Sorry I took so long, I had to make sure I had everything so we can stock up and last us a little longer.” She says with a huff, gesturing to the two wicker baskets draped over her arms. 

He stares at her for longer than was necessary, mouth slightly agape as he took in the sight of her. It wasn’t unusual for her to look anything short of breathtaking, but this had been the most put together he’d seen her since bringing her back to Waterdeep. She looked—

“Radiant,” he mutters, not realizing the word hadn’t remained only in his mind. 

She smirks at him awkwardly, looking down at herself. “What did you say?” 

He shakes his head, clearing his throat. “I said— I just meant— you look lovely today.” 

She chuckles, averting her gaze sheepishly. “Funny.” 

“Not at all. I meant it, Elara. You look… you are radiant.” He says, his voice low and reverent, as if he were admiring a painting hung in a gallery. 

A blush rises to her cheeks as she tries to fight off what would probably have been the widest she’d ever smiled in her life. “Oh… well, thank you, Gale. You look… dashing. As always.” She replies, the dimples in her cheeks visible as she grins shyly. 

“Why, thank you, my lady,” he says with a bow, then holds his hand out as an invitation for hers. She timidly places her hand in his, and he presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Shall we?” 

She’s taken aback by the gesture, her already intense blush only becoming ever more prominent and persistent, the heat in her cheeks beginning to feel as though she may burn up before they even make it outside. 

She nods slowly, then follows his lead out the door, her hand lingering in his until they reach the front door steps. She takes a few steps ahead of him and attempts to steady her breathing, as he quickly casts Arcane Lock on the door before rejoining her.

Everything seemed to come alive with a brand new vigor— the streets were full again, the sounds of children running and playing as well as the Waterdhavian locals just existing and enjoying the sunshine for the first time in months echoed off the sides of the stone buildings that lined the streets. The faint melodic strumming of a lyre could be heard not too far from the Dekarios residence, as a bard occupied a spot just outside one of the nearby taverns and busked for coins throughout the day. 

They walk side by side in silence for a little while, both of them happily drinking in the sights surrounding them. Gale points out places and bits of interest as they walk, telling her stories of his life growing up on these very streets. 

She listens to him, but her mind fills any empty gaps with his voice echoing in her mind again and again. 

You are radiant. 

Gale was not averse to a bit of flattery, it wasn’t an uncommon behavior for him to compliment her or offer her or anyone else a kind word when it seemed they needed it, and even times when they didn’t.

But something about the phrasing of it struck her. Almost in a way that nearly made her believe it. If Gale Dekarios thought she was radiant, then by the gods, she must be. 

No one had ever seemed to look at her twice before in her life— none had ever seen her in that light or verbalized such a thing to her before. Not like that.

But Gale— gods, she’d write it in the stars if she could. She would paint the night sky with each syllable in only the most dazzling of stars, the brightest she could find— so that every night she could remember the way it sounded dripping from his tongue like honey. 

A single word had never filled her entire body with a warmth that the sun’s rays could never provide.

Radiant.

“I’m not sure if I’ve asked you yet, but how have you enjoyed Waterdeep thus far? Despite not having seen much of it yet,” He asks, slowing his pace slightly to accommodate her, her legs being shorter than his so her shorter strides made her fall behind. 

He had asked, a few times. But that was months ago when it was all still new. Plus— her answer had changed considerably since the last time he asked. 

“Hush, you,” She pushes his shoulder playfully, a soft melodic giggle following. Gale’s heart flutters. 

“Not to worry. We are remedying that from this day forward. By the time we’re done, you’ll never want to go back to Baldur’s Gate, I guarantee it.” He says proudly, a dash of hope in his eyes as he does. 

“I don’t know. Does Waterdeep get invaded by tentacled monsters and completely ravaged by cultists and corrupt politicians and their armies regularly? Might not be my speed,” she teases. 

“It is not without its strange happenings, I can assure you. Nothing quite so severe, I am regretful to say.” 

“A shame.” 

They smile at each other for the length of the lull in conversation, their banter bringing memories of their adventuring days back to the forefront. The gleam in Gale’s eye causes her to look away as if she’d looked at the sun for too long. 

After a beat, Gale continues. “But, there is nothing quite like witnessing the changing of the seasons in Waterdeep. I’m happy to provide that experience for you, at long last.” He replies, punctuating it with a wink. 

She rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulder to his, averting her gaze to the cobblestone beneath her feet as they continue to walk. “Thank you, for that, by the way. For… letting me stay with you. I know it’s not ideal. I’m sure you would’ve liked to enjoy some peace and quiet in your home after everything… and I don’t know if I have properly thanked you for allowing me to stay with you, so,” she rambles, the heat in her cheeks only increasing. 

He places a soothing hand on her arm, his fingertips featherlight as he slowly runs them along the length of her bicep before returning to his side. 

“After a year of complete solitude outside of my cat and hundreds of books whose pages I am all too familiar with, your company is more than wonderful and most welcome. No thanks necessary.” 

When she meets his eyes, the warm and mirthful smile that greets her nearly turns her legs to jelly, but she would happily melt under the sunshine that was his gaze. 

Before she can attempt to craft a response to him, a commotion is heard ahead, and both of their attention snaps to it.

A crowd has begun to form near the front of the nearby tavern, and not a single intelligible word could be made out of the raucous whooping within the crowd of presumably day drunk patrons and bystanders craning their necks to watch whatever was taking place at the center of it. She furrows her brows, shooting Gale an inquisitive glance.

She watches closely for a moment before she feels Gale’s guiding hand on her back, urging her to go in a different direction, any other direction. 

“Come, let’s push on. There is no shortage of drunken tomfoolery around here, it’s nothing to concern ourselves with. Besides, Tara will be waiting for us, and trust me when I say she is not the most pleasant when she’s been kept waiting,” he says, his voice low next to her ear. It was a throwaway excuse to pull her away from the ruckus and to safety to avoid potentially getting swept into a hysteria she needn’t get swept into. 

If her mind hadn’t been so preoccupied by whatever was happening in front of them, she’d have been blushing furiously at the position of his hand, just above the small of her back. Something to try not to think too much about later. 

Her eyes flick to him for an instant before she hears what sounded like a lyre being smashed against the side of the bricked building. Her head snaps in that direction, and the crowd parts in just the right way for her to see a young tiefling crumpled to the ground with his face in his hands, and an older human man above mocking him, gripping part of the smashed instrument in one of his fists. 

Her face twists to a deep grimace, and before she can stop herself her feet are carrying her forward, her pace quickening. Gale calls to her from behind, his voice distant and nearly inaudible over the loud pounding and drumming of her heart in her ears. 

The crowd has begun to disperse only slightly, but a handful of people still linger and are either cheering on the older man or encouraging the tiefling to stand and fight. The tiefling’s shoulders shake and tremble as he cowers away from the inebriated brute towering over him bellowing nonsense.

The man stands above what she can now see is merely a child, no older than thirteen, shouting taunts of profanity and cruelty that she tries her hardest to disregard before the lightning crackling in her palm can (very easily) send him onto his ass. 

She calms herself as she shoves her way through the crowd, taking a breath before she approaches the child and kneels before him.

“Hello,” she says, her voice soft so as to not startle him. She places a gentle hand on his arm, coaxing him into looking up at her. “Are you okay?” 

Before he can respond, the booming of the perpetrator’s slurred mockery echoing throughout the small alleyway interrupts them both. 

“Oi, missy! Careful, the little foulblood’ll snatch yer coin purse when ye ain’t lookin’!” 

The tiefling peers at her with desperate eyes, his flickering flame-like yellow irises beginning to gloss over again as new sobs begin to wrack through his fragile looking body. “I didn’t— I swear, I didn’t do a-anything!” 

She searches his face for any sign of deceit, noticing the faint scar that ran along his cheek from his eye to the corner of his lip that looked like it had only healed somewhat recently. His body language resembles that of a frightened pup in a cage and his tears seem genuine, so she offers him a reassuring smile. “I believe you.” 

“‘M talkin’ ta ye, missy! Ye got shit for manners too?” The man yells again, the sound of the broken instrument clattering to the ground following it. 

She continues to ignore him, entirely unfazed by his drunken tirade or his hulking size. She’d fought monsters far more intimidating in the last year, he would be quick work if it came to that. 

“‘Ye think yer too good fer ‘vryone, too good ta’ listen when a man talks ta’ ye.” He rants, her last few strings of patience beginning to wear dangerously thin.

“No, I just don’t care to listen to drunken oafs.” She retorts, her tone nonchalant and almost cocky in a way that sets the man over the edge.

The man launches into a blind rage, and she barely has a second to comprehend the situation before she hears a grunt of fury and large hands crash into the side of her body, surely bruising her ribs with the force it took to shove her to the ground, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs. She yelps as stone scrapes across her bare arm and the side of her head collides with the ground. The tiefling jumps backward and out of the line of fire of the older man’s warpath, eyes wide and boring into hers in terror. 

“Elara!” Gale calls out, pushing through the now dense crowd frantically. 

He finally makes it through, and the very second his eyes lock on her as she attempts to sit up, fire burns through his veins and concentrates at the center of his palm.

He notices a small trickle of blood running down the side of her face, one hand clutching her ribs as the other presses over the tender spot where her skull met stone. He’s at her side in an instant, gathering her up into his arms and holding on to her tightly. 

“Are you alright?” He asks her, his voice cracking with concern. 

She bristles, fury flaring within her. Before she can stop herself, her once brown eyes glow blue, the lightning coursing through her burning its way down to her palms. Gale’s eyes widened before scrambling to calm her before causing even more of a scene, despite her ire being well deserved on the drunken man’s end. 

“Not here, Elara. Let me handle this, please.” 

He places a hand on her cheek, his palm catching a drop of warm blood that makes his boil. 

After a moment of contemplation she nods, the anger still evident in her furrowed brow. She glances between him and the child backed against the wall, her main focus still on ensuring his safety. She motions to the child for him to stand with her, and Gale steps in front of them both protectively as he turns to face the drunkard. 

“‘S that yer boyfriend, eh, girly? Wanna know how it feels t’ be with a real man?” The man cackles, stumbling forward as he belly laughs at his own vile taunts. 

Gale’s own composure is slipping as he feels the heat from the fire itching at his fingertips as it begins to emit a faint and crackling orange glow. 

“It may be wise to walk away, friend.” Gale’s voice is threateningly calm, soft with a not-so-hidden edge to it. 

The man balks at the wizard, much smaller in stature than himself yet somehow still intimidating in nature. Likely more so intimidating once he realizes who he was up against. Not intimidating enough not to egg them on, however. 

The man’s yellowed teeth show in a crooked smile. “Aye… I know the two of ye. If it ain’t the cunt of Waterdeep and the so called Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Softened up since the squids left town, have ye?” 

Elara dashes forward before Gale’s arm comes out to stop her, magic surging between both of them like a thunderstorm brewing in the heavens. 

“Piss off, ugly. Lest you leave with a scorched hide.” Elara hisses, pushing against Gale’s arm that served as a barrier between them. 

“Didn’t think th’ mighty Hero of Baldur’s Gate wa’ just a common whore off th’ streets. Funny, that is, innit?” 

Gale’s shoulders tense and his jaw clenches, gritting his teeth to bite back the storm of curses burdening the tip of his tongue. “Walk away. Now.” 

His fingers twitch against the effort it takes not to hurl a fire bolt right at the bastard’s cocky face, but it seemed he wouldn’t have to as the man notices the faint glow of fire in Gale’s palm as well as the lightning crackling in Elara’s and begins to back away, apprehension etching into his weathered and sunburnt features, fear visible in his eyes. 

“You lot ‘re just as uppity as I thought ye’d be,” he mutters as he raises his hands in surrender, then quickly rounds the corner and dashes down the alley without another word, and the wizard relaxes his hand, dispelling the cantrip from his palm. 

The air is still crackling with tension as the three of them try to steady their breathing, Gale in particular finding it difficult as the sight of her on the ground and her sweet face that, prior to this entire encounter, had been adorned with a smile that could stop a charging Minotaur in its tracks, twisted in pain and a gash on her forehead. Not to mention the disgusting comment that foul—

Deep breaths. 

The crowd slowly begins to disperse, some eyeing the two wizards wearily as they begin to back away, some pointing at them and whispering to their counterparts, some recognizing them and some inquiring to who they were or what their significance was. 

Eventually they, too, depart, leaving only two of them and the tiefling who was still cowering behind Elara, gripping the back of her robes as if he would fall through a crack in the ground without her anchoring him. 

Gale spins around and cups Elara’s face gently, his umber eyes teeming with distress and a bit of anger as they scan her face for any further signs of injury or harm. Her eyes still glowed blue despite the situation stabilizing.

“Elara,” Gale whispers soothingly. “It’s over.” 

Her eyes meet his as she blinks a few times, until they return to their natural deep earthy tone, sparkling as water burgeons at the corners. 

Gods, she has the most beautiful eyes. 

“Are you well? Did he hurt you? Is your head okay?” He asks frantically, the words tumbling from his lips in rapid succession as he gently turns her head to check each side of her face. 

She swallows hard and tries not to get lost in the way his strong but elegant hands feel on her burning cheeks as he fusses over her, and places her hand over one of his in an attempt at calming his distraught babbling. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she shushes him, placing her other hand on his arm. “Everything is fine.” 

Gale frowns. “It is most certainly not fine, you hit your head and you are bleeding. We should head back and clean that up, I’ll just run to the market tomorrow—”

“Gale.” She coos, cutting his rambling short. “You act as if you haven’t seen me in much more dire straits. I will live.” 

He stops, his entire body stilling and a heat creeping to his cheeks. Reality washes over him again as he blinks out of his worrisome daze, and realizes his hands still on her cheeks, and her hand over his— oh, hells, her hands are so soft, so warm— and slowly begins to pull away. She nods her head in the direction of the child attached to her hip, reminding him that they had company still. He takes a deep breath and glances around, likely looking to see if he catches a glimpse of that bastard and hoping that he was still within range for him to send a witch bolt his way. He’s unable to hide his disappointment when his search is fruitless. 

The child’s eyes widen when Gale turns once again to face them and sighs deeply, his shoulders sinking low when all of the air exits his lungs, his body seeming to shrink with his posture. He slams his eyes shut tight, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking slow and steady breaths to calm himself. 

“Mystra, give me strength.” He murmurs under his breath.

Elara ignores the disgruntled wizard at her side, leaning down slightly to be closer to the smaller tiefling’s height. 

Elara smiles reassuringly and places her hands on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry about that. Are you okay?” 

The child stares up at her, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the man brooding behind her. 

“He’s with me, it’s alright.” She says, making her best attempt at a soothing and calm tone despite her voice wavering. 

The tiefling’s eyes dart to the wreckage that is left of what was once his instrument, and his frown deepens. “My lyre…” 

She follows his gaze, wincing when she sees the extensive damage. She could tell instantly upon inspection even from a distance that there was no repairing it, and it would simply need to be replaced. She offers him a sympathetic smile and a pat on the shoulder. What was once what appeared to be a beautiful instrument, was now shattered into several jagged pieces, sprawling across the ground around them. She frowns, feeling regretful for its owner but also for herself— an echo of a memory from this morning when she heard her favorite song being strummed by it reverberating in her mind. 

“What’s your name?” She asks him. 

He bounces heel to toe, his hands behind his back timidly. His peach-tinted skin contrasts the dark mop of curls atop his head, with two small horns peeking out of them. He’s quite slender, but still has the tiny bit of pudge that a prepubescent child would have, his cheeks round and youthful. He reminds her of the kids from the Emerald Grove. She smiles sadly, hoping the ones that made it were doing well. 

“Dex.” He says meekly, his face downcast and defeated as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Dex. I’m Elara, and this—” she motions to the man behind her. “is Gale.”

Gale’s attention snaps to her at the sound of his own name, clearly having been mentally elsewhere during the entire exchange. He meets the uncertain gaze of the child, and bows slightly, offering a warm smile. Dex smiles back, a small chuckle leaving his lips at the gesture. 

“Thank you, for helping me. I’m s-sorry you got hurt,” he points to her bloodied forehead and forearm, reminding her of the stinging sensation biting at her nerves shallowly within her skin. Her head was pounding and throbbing, her vision not entirely steady, but she tries her best to disregard it for the moment.

“I think I’ll live. I’m sorry about your lyre.” She says, motioning to the scattered wooden debris and frayed strings. 

He shrugs. “I’ll live.” 

She chuckles, her smile widening. Gale watches her with this unfamiliar child that she had no real reason to be so kind to, other than just out of the boundless kindness of her heart, and feels that warm twinge in his chest he’d grown all too familiar with since she made her grand entrance in his life. He’d seen her with kids many times now, whether it was with the tieflings or with Yenna, but each time his heart skips several beats and the urge to whisk her away and kiss her on the stoop like he’d previously imagined becomes harder and harder to resist.

“Well, Dex. I think you’d best get going home. It’ll be dark before too long and I’m sure your parents will be worried. Hm?” She tries on her best schoolteacher voice, placing her hands on her hips. 

Dex sighs, his entire body shrinking at the mention of his parents. “I don’t want to go home without my lyre… they’ll be furious at me.”

She pauses for a moment, then shoots Gale a pleading glance, hoping he has any bright ideas that could magically fix everything for this poor child. She looked at him as if the child were a lost kitten that she was begging him to let her bring home. 

He looks toward the sky pensively for a moment, appearing as if he were doing calculations in his head, then wordlessly and effortlessly waves his hand in a flourish, whispering an incantation that reassembles the lyre with a purple hued fog of weave. 

Dex’s widened eyes sparkle with glee as each of the fractured pieces of the instrument rejoin as if they’d never been apart to begin with. The lyre floats toward the child, basked in violet and sapphire light, landing gently into his still shaky grasp. Gale smiles and nods at the boy as the light fades, his eyes gleaming with a hint of pride. 

“Weeping bleeding hells! How did you do that?!” He chirps, turning the lyre in his hands and inspecting each and every inch of it in search of any cracks or imperfections, then smiling a wide toothy grin, his pointed teeth peeking over his lips when there is not a single dent or scratch to be found. 

Gale chuckles, then pats the boy on the shoulder. “Stay out of trouble, young man. Hopefully next time we meet will be under better circumstances.” 

She turns to Gale, impressed. “You have got to teach me whatever the hell that was.”

The young tiefling glances back to Elara, the exuberant expression on his face contrasting the tear stains still present on his cheeks. Before she or Gale have any time to react, he throws his body between them, wrapping his tiny arms around the both of them as best as he could manage, and nuzzling his face into Elara’s arm. 

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” He says as he pulls away and turns to leave, glancing over his shoulder and waving to them one last time before scurrying off. 

She watches the boy disappear into the distance, skipping along the cobblestone streets with a childish glee that fills her with a wistful sensation— to be that young and for everything to be so new, for something as simple as a fixed lyre to make her completely forget any hurt or pain that had befallen her. She envies him, silently, as she watches him run home to his parents surely to regale everything that happened to him today, just as she wished she’d been able to every time something exciting happened to her during the day. 

Gale notices her sudden shift in demeanor, then places a hand placatingly on her uninjured arm. 

“Elara?” His voice is gentle and tepid. “Allow me to help you with this,” he says, motioning to the still bleeding cut on her head. “Let’s head back.” 

She sighs, turning to him but unable to muster a genuine smile, still taken by real memories and those that never came to pass. Her lips curl, but her eyes remain glossy and sullen. She nods, the motion small and nearly imperceptible. Without another word, they head back to the tower, her arm never leaving the comfort of Gale’s hand as they walk. 

Something so simple, something that could mean nothing. But to her, it meant everything. 

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The scent of balsam and sandalwood fills the room as Gale’s adept fingers gently dab at the small cut on her forehead, his eyes narrowed and his brows knitted together in deep concentration.

He pestered her until he could coax her into sitting in her favorite spot on the chaise where he could tend to her, much to her protest.

Stubborn wizard, she grunted as he gently guided her to sit. He did not regard any of her disgruntled murmurs, nor her insistence that she was fine and not to worry. 

Just as she’d helped that boy on the street, he felt the least he could do is take gentle care of her the way she would anyone else. He recalled noticing her attempting to heal herself or patch her own wounds when no one was looking while they were on the road, before eventually having to ask Shadowheart for a quick healing spell, much to her dismay. Had she always had to pick herself up? Had no one ever swept in and dusted her off when she fell before? 

He would. From now forward. Even if it were something as small and simple as rubbing balsam on her wounds, however small, and wrapping it with the softest cloth he could find. He would be that for her. He would be anything for her, should she ask. 

It wasn’t lost on him how intimate of a gesture it was, to treat another’s wounds, either— he couldn’t deny that he simply just wanted to care for her in a way that felt deeper than just cooking for her and providing a bed for her to sleep in. 

“That was incredibly admirable of you, back there. Stepping in like that. That boy won’t soon forget what you’ve done for him.” He says, his tone reverent and almost thankful on the child’s behalf.

She smiles a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Guess the hero gig is one I haven’t quite given up on,” she half-jokes. “He seemed like a sweet kid. And I would hope someone would do the same if it were me, in his shoes.” 

She says it, but she realizes that Gale sort of had done the same for her, many times— especially the way he stepped in and deescalated the situation today. The way he stood in front of them protectively, blocking them with his body as if he were willing and ready to take whatever blows were aimed at them in their place. 

“He’ll remember you, too,” she continues, her breath slightly catching as he rubs balsam on the still raw and tender spot just above her eyebrow, and wincing as the fabric of the cloth brushes against the raised skin. “You saved him twice, in a way. Saved him from a drunkard and an angry lecture from his parents.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head causing a stray strand of hair to fall into his eyes as he does. “I suppose so. You took care of all the heavy lifting, though. I just helped with the clean up.” 

She fights herself and her need to push that hair out of his eyes. Would that be too intimate? Would that push things too far? 

Her eyes lock on the strand as she speaks. “You did your own heavy lifting, for my sake. Thank you. For stepping in. And for this,” her eyes dart up to his wrist, just as he finishes. “Even though you didn’t have to.” 

He places the soiled cloth aside then sits back slightly, where he was still able to see every detail of her face as clearly as he could see his own in a mirror when he was close enough, and eyes her for a moment, a smile ghosting on the edges of his lips. 

“To do something for someone doesn’t always have to be borne of necessity or desire for reciprocity. I wanted to.” 

His face was so close, she could nearly feel his breath whispering across the flushed skin of her cheeks. She wants to say thank you again, but finds that every single word in her vocabulary has escaped her as she basks in this closeness and the way she can see the reflection of the flickering candle beside her in his dark eyes that still managed to seem so bright with the way they twinkled as he looked at her. 

“Can I ask you something?” He breaks the silence but not the tension as their gazes stay locked. 

She nods, dazed by the closeness, intoxicated by his presence.

“Back in the Shadow Cursed Lands… when you said that our relationship couldn’t go any further… did you mean that?”

She swallows hard despite her throat feeling dry, her entire body tensing at his questioning. The emotions of the day had fluctuated so immensely and the mention of the thing that had been weighing so heavily on her mind for so long only served to bid them to return in full force. A pit forms in her stomach and she feels the urge to retreat. 

“Gale...” She tries to maintain composure, despite her words wavering upon delivery. She offers Gale that same smile from before— the one that never quite reached her eyes. He frowns, but nods. 

“Understood.” He says simply, their faces still dangerously close.

“No, no— I don’t mean— I am just not sure if I have the proper words to convey to you. I—” He moves one hand to comfortingly cover hers as it rests on her knee, patting it gently.

“Perhaps it was too bold of a question after such a harrowing day. Disregard it.” 

The warmth of his hand and his words radiates throughout her entire body, down to her bones. She notices the strand is still hanging in front of his eyes. She doesn’t hold herself back from brushing it away this time, her fingertips lightly graze his forehead as she tucks it behind his ear. Her hand lingers near his face for a while, but not nearly long enough, before she drops it back to her side.

“What if I said no?” She utters fearfully, her voice betraying her and her moment of courage. “Does that change things?”

Gale balks at her, taken aback by the gesture and her words, quick flickers of shock, trepidation, then elation flashing across his expression. He smiles a smile that sends a shiver through her, his eyes dropping to her lips and the gap between them suddenly seeming so much smaller. 

Oh. 

It was getting smaller, as she realized that the magnetic pull between their lips was getting stronger as they both began to lean in, her body taking the reins as her mind tried to make sense of what was happening and determine if she were dreaming or not— had she hit her head hard enough to hallucinate?

“Mr. Dekarios?”

The sound of Tara’s voice calling from down the hall cuts the moment short, both of their heads snapping in the direction of the sudden intrusion. Gale sighs, his head falling in evident disappointment. He glances at her, her eyes wide and her cheeks a bright rosy red that makes his heart flutter. 

“Gods damn it... I should—”

“No worries, go ahead. I’m going to go rest, my head is killing me.” She waves him off, her voice strained and brimming with disappointment.

Gale stares at her for a moment, the desire to kiss her still lingering but ebbing as he sees her pulling away, suddenly feeling as though he’d done something terribly wrong. He opens his mouth to ask, but before he can she’s standing and quickly darting across the room and into the hall, stopping just at the doorway and peering at him over her shoulder. 

She sighs, placing a hand on the doorway and using it for support, her legs feeling as though they may give out on the spot. “Thank you, again.” 

He watches helplessly as she disappears into the hall and the sounds of her footsteps fade slowly, preceded by the sound of a  bedroom door clicking shut. His eyes pinch shut so tightly that he sees stars amidst the inky blackness behind them, and he sinks back into his chair, wishing a blackhole would form underneath him and swallow him.

He could conjure one, if he wanted to. 

He heavily considered it. 

“Mr. Dekarios, fix your posture! Your back already aches enough as it is,” Tara admonishes him as she strolls into the room, blissfully unaware of the havoc she’d just wreaked on his sanity. 

As per usual. 

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There were a surprising amount of cracks in the ceiling above the bed in the room that she stayed in. 

Everything else in this tower seemed nearly pristine aside from appearing well lived in and well loved, Gale evidently cared greatly about his surroundings. The home was cluttered but organized to his exact liking, perfectly tidy apart from books and papers and scrolls strewn about but still cozy and comfortable. Anyone who entered would feel at home. 

She felt at home, more than she wanted to admit to herself. She tried to continue to remind herself that at some point she would have to leave and move on. But as she lay in this bed— this large, ever so comfortable bed— gaze trailing along the strangely cracked ceiling of her bedroom, she wondered what the ceiling of his bedroom looked like. 

She was certain there were no cracks in his bedroom ceiling. There couldn’t be. 

Today had been immensely overwhelming in terms of her feelings toward Gale that had once been burning embers and were now alight in full force— him having stoked the flames tenfold with his seemingly innocent touches and his ardent care for her that he put on full display multiple times throughout the day, all culminating in an almost-kiss. 

They almost kissed. He almost kissed her.

They were so close. She could still feel the heat of his breath against her cheeks and the skin on the back of her hand tingled with the sensation as if his hand remained there still, his thumb rubbing languid circles against her wrist.

In fact, every part of her skin that he’d touched today still felt as if it had been electrically charged, still buzzing and alight with energy that had nowhere to go. She missed the feeling of him already and it was only a mere whisper of a taste rather than an entire bite. 

It wasn’t entirely her fault, obviously, that it never came to pass— Tara had a way of having serendipitously terrible timing. She wasn’t always sure that Tara didn’t know exactly what she was doing, and she wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case this time. 

It was endearing, most of the time. 

But even if Tara hadn’t interrupted— would she have really kissed him? Would he have really kissed her? Or would some other force of nature and horrible timing pluck them out of each other's grasps yet again? 

She thinks maybe he would have. She hopes. 

Now, she’s not sure she’ll ever get the chance to. 

Guilt began to gnaw and claw at her insides furiously as she remembered the way she’d exited the study— hurried and curtly— and the way hurt and confusion etched into his features as he watched her leave.

She loved him. She knew that she did. There was no way around it. She loved him and it was killing her.

But something always stops her in the moments when she longs to tell him, to finally let him in.

It wasn’t that she was inexperienced in the romance department— she’d had a few partners here and there, nothing substantial and all quite short lived— and if she’s being honest, she had never felt strongly toward a single one of them. Most were kind, loving. She enjoyed their company. But she’d never felt comfortable enough to open up to another person and allow them to see the less than savory bits of her that she kept to herself.

And strangely enough, she felt very comfortable with Gale most of the time— she had to, during all those months traveling together. They all saw each other at their worst and lowest moments, but they supported each other through it all. Gale had been particularly helpful to her amidst her own personal struggles she faced in that time. He had been the closest to her, aside from Astarion and Shadowheart.

He’s an easy person to just exist with. That is, if you aren’t hopelessly enamored with him. 

Gods. 

She clenches her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose— another habit of Gale’s that she’d picked up— wishing the large quilt and plush mattress beneath her would just swallow her. Just take her away from it all and save her from having to deal with the consequences of her own idiocy. 

Knock knock. 

“Elara?” 

The sound of Gale’s voice on the other side of her door lurches her from her thoughts and her body up from the mattress. She quickly hops off of the bed and approaches the door, her hand hovering shakily over the handle. 

“Yes?” She asks, turning her head so her voice appears further away than it actually was. 

She hears what sounds like feet shuffling aside from a brief pause, before hearing a long and defeated sigh. 

“Can we talk?” Is all he manages, dejection evident in his tone. 

She reaches for the handle again, turning it slowly and pulling the door just enough to see him through the crack. 

He looked the way he did when something was weighing heavily on his mind or vexing him— she could tell he’d been raking his fingers frantically through his hair as it was uncharacteristically messy and unkempt, his robes were nowhere to be seen, and he stood only in his white wrap shirt that was tied dangerously loosely and tucked into his breeches. 

Not now, brain. Not now. 

“Everything alright?” She asks, trying to hide the sound of her swallowing the massive lump in her throat. 

He shakes his head, placing his hand against the wood grain and gently pushing it, opening it further. 

“The very question I came to ask you,” he retorts. “May I?” 

She nods, backing away from the door to give him enough room to push it the rest of the way open, her heart thudding a million a minute.

He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his expression nearly unreadable. For as expressive as his eyes were, she had such a hard time understanding him or trying to sort out what mental storm was brewing in his head sometimes.

“I could not bear resting my head upon my pillow and or fathom sleeping a wink tonight without knowing whether I’ve done something to upset you or not. If I crossed any lines today, please do tell me, and allow me to offer my most sincere of apologies for—”

What? 

“Gale—“ 

“—ever making you feel uncomfortable or uneasy in any way, I would never want to jeopardize the friendship that I feel we have formed over the course of this past year and—”

“Gale, hold on—”

“—if I’ve done something to potentially sour anything, just know it was never my intention—“ 

“Gale!” She raises her voice in a final attempt to catch the rambling wizard’s attention, crossing the space between them and placing her hands on his shoulders. 

He takes a deep breath, his shoulders tense and she can feel the way his body trembles slightly. 

“Relax, please. You haven’t done anything to make me uncomfortable. Ever.” She coos, rubbing circles with her thumb into his shoulder. 

A few days ago, a gesture like this would’ve made her entire being feel as though she were on fire— but after today, it felt right. After receiving such care and comfort from him, the least she felt she could do was to return it in kind. 

He stares at her incredulously, as if he simply just doesn’t believe a word she’s saying. 

“You don’t have to spare me, Elara. I saw that look in your eyes. I never want to make you feel that way, ever again.” His face softens as he speaks, the pain of potentially slighting her in some way weighing heavily on his chest. 

She blinks a few times, then that gnawing guilt returns with even sharper teeth, maybe some claws too. She pinches her eyes shut and releases a long breath from her nose. 

“You— you think I didn’t want to kiss you?” She murmurs under her breath.

“I feel as though I keep pushing you and all I’ve done is push you further away.” He responds, the hurt evident in his slightly quivering voice.

Her eyes had begun to burn at this point.

“Gale… it isn’t you. Truly,” she cringes at her own words, realizing how it sounded. “I just— there is a lot on my mind right now, and I don’t want to burden you with any of it. That’s all.”

It wasn’t a lie, at least not entirely. There was a lot on her mind— even if most of it pertained to a certain brown eyed wizard who happened to be standing in her doorway, looking like that. 

His eyes find hers in the dim candlelight, searching them for something, anything that could answer at least one of the myriad of questions he wanted to but couldn’t muster the nerve to ask.

The pale blue moonlight filters in through the large window on the other side of the room, almost haloing her and basking her in an ethereal glow. 

“It’s not a burden if it’s taken on willingly,” he contests, taking one tentative step toward her. “I care for you, Elara.”

If the room had been any quieter, she swears the sound of her heart booming through the smaller space would be deafening. “It’s not important. You have many other things to concern yourself with, I don’t expect you to���”

“The only thing concerning me presently is—” he pauses. You, is what he wants to say, but can’t seem to wrench it out of himself. “What is important to you is important to me. I meant it when I said that we work better as a team, you and I.” 

How this man has not been wed yet, is beyond madness to her.

“Gale…” it comes out more as a plea, as she feels her resolve to maintain composure weakening bit by bit as the conversation continues. She was exhausted, physically and mentally, and her heart had been through enough strain in one day. 

His shoulders sink. This was one of several attempts now that he’d made to break down the walls she had built up, and he was beginning to feel more like the villain rather than the hero coming to rescue the trapped maiden from her tower. 

“I do apologize. I fear I have overstepped once again. Here may be a good place to leave this conversation for now. I’ll let you rest.” He resigns, his words betraying the sullen expression he held. 

“Gale, no, I didn’t mean—” 

He holds his hand up to stop her. “It’s quite alright. Get some rest. Goodnight, Elara.” 

Before she can stop him, he turns to leave, pulling the door shut behind him. 

The room suddenly feels several degrees colder than it had prior to what had just occurred. She feels as though all of the oxygen had been sucked from her lungs and every bit of strength had been sapped from her body within a split second— emotional fortitude included, as tears that had been begging to be shed that she had been neglecting for longer than she could confidently say finally began to fall, slipping down her cheeks and wetting the collar of her night shirt. 

Her head falls back as she makes eye contact with the ceiling once again, gaze finding a large crack just above where she stood. It looked fresh, almost. Like it had occurred within the last day or so. 

She wondered if he noticed it while he stood in the doorway. 

She wondered if he was in his room, staring at the ceiling of his own bedroom. 

“Goodnight, Gale.” She whispers into the darkness of the night.

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previous chapter ❥ next chapter (coming soon) ❥ masterlist

(lmk if you’d like to be tagged in the coming chapters :3)

[violetasteracademic]

An In Depth Look at the Gwyn/Lightsinger Theory

As always, we are bringing a text based analysis straight from the books!

Full disclosure, I have mixed feelings about the Gwyn Lightsinger theory. It definitely could be the case, but I also have an alternate theory about her powers that I'll share at the end. The reason I don't love it 100% is because it is founded in a bit of a messy way. My understanding is g/wynriels started this theory because: Lightsinger and Shadowsinger! Light and dark! Cute, meant to be. Then us Elriels replied by saying babes, lightsingers are evil AF and that's not a good thing. Thus Evil Gwyn was born which I do not subscribe to.

Lightsinger *is* totally an option, but there is some context both for and against and I'll share my take on both sides! That being said, not a whole lot is actually said about lightsingers and the manner in which their power functions.

Here is the only passage describing lightsingers in the book (and this is their description on wiki):

Key words that stand out to me re: Gwyn- ethereal, friendly faces.

Now let's read the chapter where Gwyn's singing lures Nesta into a spell-like trance where she then begins to scry completely against her will or knowledge:

Key words: The bells ringing at 7 pm. A faint glow radiating from Gwyn.

Key takeaways: Gwyn's song beckoning and calling only to Nesta, lulling her into a place down into her own bones which are somehow then used to scry. Scrying with your own bones is *not* generally possible!

Key takeaways: Doors and pathways trying to be opened by Nesta's own body and the stones of the mountain becoming scrying tools while listening to the 7 pm service.

Key takeaways: Nesta literally collapses and everyone is looking at her concerned. She was the ONLY one who has been affected by the priestesses service in this way.

Now let's take a look at Azrie'ls bonus chapter:

Azriel and his shadows can hear a song, and his shadows replied to it. One of the most critically important elements to this occurring that I feel very few people discuss is the importance of Cauldron made items being the only ones having this reaction to Gwyn. Nesta herself is Cauldron made, and Gwyn's song literally controlled her entire person (I'm not saying intentionally! That is just what happened.) Azriel bears truth-teller, a Cauldron made weapon. There is a lot of indication that his shadows are also closely linked with truth-teller, they are all commonly described as a part of him. Only Made beings or beings with Made objects on their person can hear Gwyn's song, and it absolutely lures Cauldron made power. Is this lightsinger power? Maybe. We simply don't have enough context to the nature of lightsingers or Gwyn to say for sure, but it is compelling.

Now Azriel, bearing a Made object, finds himself present as the bell chimes 7 pm for the evening service. Exactly as Nesta had.

I do think an important mention is also this:

Does Azriel sing because he's a shadowsinger? No, it's just a being/species/whathaveyou. As lightsinger is just a being. The fact that they do sing is irrelevant to singer in their alleged respective titles.

So key items *for* Gwyn being a lightsinger: She is described as an ethereal beauty, containing a secret beneath her lovely face by Nesta. She has some sort of spell like power in her song. Is it luring specifically? Or is it something that calls to and controls Made objects?

My personal opinion is that the latter is more explicit in the text. There is no conversation around lightsingers having any specific impact on Made objects and Made objects alone. Why are only these two experiencing Gwyn's impact on their powers? If she could have had a luring effect on Cassian as well, in his POV book, I would have loved to see it.

I also think Gwyn being part river nymph might prove more relevant. Lightsingers are creatures of the Bog of Oorid, and they lure their prey into the bog. River nymphs are different water creatures entirely. So when would a fae or river nymph have gone to the Bog of Oorid to mate, when lightisngers eat both human and fae alike? I think it's possible we may see she is a Siren or some other yet to be discovered being.

I also think her proximity to the Cauldron in Sangravah, which we now know was corrupted and leaks dark power, is *extremely* interesting. I'm here looking for the connection for why only Nesta and Azriel experience this with Gwyn, and I think the Cauldron will prove relevant!

Whether Gwyn is a lightsinger, whether she is something else, I can't wait to find out! Please know I love Gwyn. My being an Elriel does not detract from how beautiful I thought her story was. Her being evil would honestly devastate me. However, I don't quite understand why g/wynriels are against the notion of Gwyn's secret powers and it being reflected again in the bonus chapter. It only serves to actually make her relevant to the plot, which is otherwise very lacking for our cute ginger Valkyrie!

What do you guys think? Are you still team Gwyn lightsinger after reading or are you seeing other options?

I'm leaving my usual Elriel tags on here to avoid getting unprompted boomer yelling style all caps DM's again from angry g/wynriels, even though I always try to be respectful to her and all ship opinions while also passionately sharing my own, but feel free to share!

[aangelinakii]

WHAT MUSIC THEY WOULD LISTEN TO.

characters written about in this piece : bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, damian wayne, barbara gordon, duke thomas, stephanie brown, cassandra cain

not proofread !

note : if you actually went and read through all of this i will actually smooch you

BRUCE WAYNE

bruce isn't an average music enjoyer, so he doesn't really have many preferences to what he listens to. all i know is that he doesn't like music that is too upbeat, like many pop songs.

perhaps in his angsty emo the batman 2022 phase, he would listen to metal, heavy guitars and drums, similar to jason. but as he develops as a philanthropist and vigilante, he would sway towards classical music without words. it helps him concentrate in many situations, and different artists or albums can convey so many different emotions in their music.

this music often plays within his office at wayne enterprises, the batcave whilst he's researching on the computer, or even just throughout the manor whilst he's doing bruce wayne shit.

songs i think he would like :

jazz suite no. 2: vi. waltz 2, dmitri shostakovich

12 études op.25: no. 11 in a minor "winter wind", frédéric chopin

vi. lacrimosa dies illa, slovak philharmonic

tango - bof "kuduz", goran bregović

le cygne (arr. for harp and cello), camille saint-saëns

le nozze di figaro k.492: overture, wolfgang amadeus mozart

DICK GRAYSON

i can see dick as someone who incorporates music a lot into his every day life; playing something on his alexa as he cooks dinner, listening to something in airpods as he walks around gotham during the day, hums or whistles a tune as he surveys the streets of blüdhaven at night. i don't think he would have taken up learning any instruments, but he's a very musical person, knows how to hold a rhythm as well.

he's into more modern music, very much frank ocean. he likes chill music with a good beat and maybe some good vocals. as long as the song overall sounds good, he doesn't really pay attention to lyrics. if a song he likes has weird lyrics, he'll only notice it one random day as he's singing along, and begin to overthink them in the shower and wonder why they were written in the first place.

songs i think he would like :

swim good, frank ocean

she, tyler the creator & frank ocean

novacane, frank ocean

dance now, joey valence & brae

wet dreamz, j cole

mysëlf, yeat

JASON TODD

i actually have a jason playlist here !

i think jason enjoys darker sounding music, but it can go one of two ways; either loud guitar, or absolutely gut wrenching vocals. i'm talking lyrics mixed with the perfect pleading voice to make you feel just numb inside.

jason has experienced a lot of loss and trauma in his life, so sometimes he may feel numb and just need to amp it up with a loud deftones song, or he is feeling too much, and needs a mellow, yet depressing mitski song to bring him back down. granted, neither are the happiest options, but it's what works for him.

songs i think he would like :

xerces, deftones

danger, south arcade

i don't smoke, mitski

come home to god, amaarae

smoke sprite, so!yoon!

dagger, slowdive

TIM DRAKE

LMAO i think this guy would be such a closeted theatre kid. he's watched all the heathers slime videos and watched hamilton and newsies on disney plus. he loves it, it just evokes an entirely different feeling. he would never tell anybody about this side though, which is why these playlists are kept privateee on his spotify.

so when he's with other people he shows that he listens to more mainstream artists, but likes an experimental sound, so maybe some tyler here and some carti there, but they aren't his go-to artists.

songs i think he would like :

boyfriend, tyler the creator

flex, playboi carti

non-stop, broadway cast of hamilton

once upon a december, broadway cast of anastasia

meet the plastics, broadway cast of mean girls

miso, edv & bigbabygucci

DAMIAN WAYNE

this little shit only exclusively listens to either classical music (aww look at him taking after his own papa) or the heaviest, scariest rock metal you've ever heard. bonus points if it's metal with classical undertones !!! he loves that shit, not that he would show it.

when he does his homework or falls asleep, he listens to heavyyy heavy metal. when he's eating a sandwich in the kitchen, or training in the batcave he'll be listening to classical music. see? it's not exactly linear.

songs i think he would like :

carnival of the animals: aquarium, camille saint-saëns

romeo and juliet op.64 - act 1: balcony scene - romeo's variation - love dance, sergei prokofiev

the isle of the dead op.29, sergei rachmaninoff

immortal rites, morbid angel

them bones, alice in chains

BARBARA GORDON

barbara is a woman on the quieter side, despite herself. i feel towards others she is more outgoing and reliable, but when she's with herself, she likes to wind down and just sit with her thoughts. she likes jazz, slow and soft, and the type of music you would find in music from the 50s and 60s. there's something wistful about it that she just loves.

this type of music can help her concentrate. she listens to music whilst reading, or whilst sitting behind the computer as oracle during less high-tension moments.

songs i think she would like :

the shadows of paris, elsie bianchi trio

piano and strings, henry mancini

a night to remember, beabadoobee & laufey

la javanaise, serge gainsbourg

jane b, jane birkin

my favourite game, the cardigans

DUKE THOMAS

we can all agree that duke is one of the more positive members in the family, trying his best to keep his optimistic outlook despite the rest of the world, and the rest of gotham especially. he likes songs with meaning, although hidden behind a happy instrumental and youthful vocals, but he also enjoys just plain old happy-go-lucky sounding songs.

i also think he's a very musical person, always got headphones on. he probably gets that one notification at least once a week telling him his volume is too high in his ears.

he loves to dance, so songs that he can get lost in and have a little jam sesh in his bedroom are a must!!!

songs i think he would like :

useless, omar apollo

the magic number, de la soul

batshit, dominic fike

breadwinner, floyd fuji & topaz jones

the violence, childish gambino

smokin out the window, silk sonic

STEPHANIE BROWN

as for stephanie, this girl listens to EVERYTHING. she listens to kpop, shoegaze, indie, rnb, 2010s pop, jazz likeeeee she will literally listen to anything. she doesn't have playlists she just fr adds every song she likes to "liked songs" and listens to it on shuffle, and whatever comes up she listens to without an issue. almost never skips songs because she's so open to anything and everything.

like one minute she could be listening to her fav red velvet album, and then the next min she's on the verge of tears listening to phillipa soo sing burn on the hamilton soundtrack.

songs i think she would like :

so good, red velvet

cola head, willow kayne

if you want to, beabadoobee

call me maybe, carly rae jepsen

xxl, young posse

unchained memory, cafuné

CASSANDRA CAIN

following her quieter nature, i can't see cass listening to anything too upbeat or loud. she'll like a softer instrumental but with an emotional vocal line, almost as if getting to express the things she may not be fully able to towards her family and friends.

may enjoy a good old shoegaze or indie song here and there, especially if she's feeling more emotional, as she feels the sound of the song encapsulates her emotions.

songs i think she would like :

only, lee hi

chocolate and mint, duster

slow burn, infinity song

gaia, lexie liu

emo song, beabadoobee

chaos angel, maya hawke