#there was that one time with the sideways tree but they chose to do that. because it was fun

[bisexuel]

people spent all c1 talking shit abt keyleth but we didn't have these kinds of problems with transport via plants now did we

[babydollmarauders]

ONE PRESENT — ALEX TURCOTTE

alex turcotte x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which Alex lets y/n open one present on christmas eve, and puts that present to use

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, toy use, oral (m receiving). (2.6k words)

notes: merry Christmas eve!! it’s day 11 of the 12 days of kinkmas, which means tomorrow is the last day! fair warning; i wrote this while sick and on multiple medications.

“it’s not a christmas movie.”

my hand is covered in salty butter from fresh popcorn, my glasses perched high on the bridge of my nose as i argue with my boyfriend.

“it absolutely is!”

my head snaps towards Alex, lips parted in disbelief.

“Die Hard is not a christmas movie!” i huff, my butter covered finger pointing at the tv, in which said movie is playing, “it’s an action thriller!”

“but it takes place during christmas time, therefore making it a christmas movie!”

“therefore.” i mock in a squeaky, high pitched tone, my boyfriend gaping at me in disapproval.

“you are such a child.” he shakes his head, but i can see the way he bites his cheeks, fighting back a smile.

“and yet, you’ve been with me for two years.” i grin, leaning forward to peck a kiss to the indented dimple that appears when he cracks his smile.

“you didn’t let your immaturity show until a month ago, when we moved in together.”

“bullshit,” i roll my eyes, grabbing another handful of popcorn, “i let my immaturity shine in all its glory on our first date, when i laughed after you said ‘balls.’”

Alex grins, pressing a kiss to my forehead before he responds, “i love it.”

it’s not too much longer before the movie ends, my boyfriend clicking off the tv as i get up to wash my hands and put the popcorn bowl in the dishwasher.

“do you think my mom is mad?” Alex questions, his eyes glued to his phone screen. his brows are threaded together and he appears in deep thought as i walk up to him, “she’s being pretty short in her responses.”

i peer at his phone screen, his message thread with his mother open.

“i’m sure she’s just busy,” i tell him, “she said she understood you not coming home.”

“yeah, but maybe she was just being nice.”

i smile softly, pushing his phone out of his face before climbing onto his lap, legs resting on either side of him.

“babe, there comes a time when almost everyone stops going home for christmas,” my words are spoken gently, my hands rising to cup his face as he stares back at me, “we both agreed that we wanted to spend christmas together, in the new house. it was your idea.”

he nods, turning his head to press a kiss to my palm.

“i know, i just feel bad, y’know?” now it’s my turn to nod in understanding.

“i know, baby. but, we’ll have a great christmas tomorrow! i’m making my cinnamon rolls, and you’ll make the coffee, and then we’ll open not only our gifts from each other, but all the gifts our families sent.”

my eyes flicker over to our christmas tree, piles of presents extending far beyond the branches.

“my parents went overboard,” i whisper, “i’m pretty sure you have more presents from them than i do.”

Alex barks out a laugh at my words, arms snaking around my waist to pull me tight against his chest, “they love me, what can i say?”

“you can say ‘stop, don’t love me more than your own daughter! that’s not fair to her!’”

he clicks his tongue against his teeth, “but then i wouldn’t get as many presents!”

i scoff, hitting his shoulder, but i don’t get a chance to respond before he’s got us falling sideways onto the couch cushions beside us, our faces lining up so we can stare at each other.

“i love you.” he mutters softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to my lips, and i hum in satisfaction.

“i love you a googol.” i cheese at him, my response earning me a hearty laugh.

“did you just tell me you love me as much as your made up number?”

“it’s not made up!” i gasp, “it’s one followed by one-hundred zeroes!”

“i’m dating a nerd.” he groans, prompting me to giggle before kissing the tip of his nose.

“you chose me.” i remind him.

“yeah, and i would choose you again.”

“you’re so cheesy.” i roll my eyes, but my smile never leaves my face, my hand running up and down his muscled arm.

we sit there in silence for awhile, eyes closed as we cuddle up on the couch, nothing but the sounds of our breathing.

i’m enjoying the peaceful quiet until he pushes my glasses up to my forehead, pulling one of my eyelids up to open my eye. i swat his hand away, groaning.

“what?” i snap.

“hey, i have a gift for you.”

“yeah, i know,” i huff, battling with his hand as he reaches up to try and forcefully open my eyes again, “i’m opening all your gifts tomorrow.”

“no,” Alex drags out, “i have a gift for you to open tonight.”

my eyes fly open and i let go of his hand, allowing him to push my glasses back down to my eyes so i can see him clearly.

“a christmas eve gift?”

he nods, “like you said your family does; although i think mine is better than pajamas.”

“hey, don’t knock the pajamas! that tradition will carry onto our children one day.” i reply.

“and i can’t wait for that. but right now, pajamas don’t sound like a fun gift, but i think mine is.”

i allow him to sit up, pulling me up with him before he leads me to our bedroom. my silk pajamas slip across the bed when he tells me to sit and i watch as he disappears into our closet, returning with a small, poorly wrapped present.

“oooh, what is it?” i ask, excitement filling my body as i make grabby hands toward him.

“open it and find out.” he smiles, handing me the gift.

watching intently as i slowly rip off the wrapping paper, he sits beside me on the bed. as the red paper falls away, i’m left with a box in my hand, a picture of a pink object on the front with words reading ‘Bullet Soft-Touch’.

“is this-” i trail off, looking up at my boyfriend in amusement.

“a vibrator,” he shrugs nonchalantly but his cheeks twinge pink as he speaks, watching me open the box and pull out the object, “i figured it would help when i’m on roadies, and i thought maybe we could test it out tonight.”

my brows furrow as i cock my head to the side.

“test it-” i echo, momentarily speechless by his bold statement, “what, you wanna watch me masturbate?”

Alex chuckles at my confusion, shaking his head, “no, although i’ll definitely file that for a later date. i wanna use it on you.”

“oh.”

i let the idea ping around in my head for a few moments, my legs pressing together at the thought of him holding this toy between them, controlling my pleasure.

“okay.” i nod.

“yeah?”

“yeah.” i repeat, setting the box to the side, as well as the vibrator that fits perfectly in my hand.

i turn, climbing over to straddle his waist as i pull his lips towards mine, “thank you, baby, i love it.”

our lips meet in the middle, slow yet crude kisses shared between us. his tongue slips past my lips, exploring my mouth with fervor, as though it hasn’t been in the same position a million times before.

“i already charged it and washed it yesterday.” he tells me, his sentence broken up by my lips pressing against his.

i acknowledge his words with a soft moan, the energy between us heating rapidly as i gently grind my hips down against his. my silk pajama shorts, slide easily over his sweatpants, which i know for a fact is the only layer covering his slowly hardening cock.

we had changed into pajamas hours ago, before the movie, leaving him in only sweatpants, in which he never wears boxers underneath at home.

“crawl up on the bed, doll.” he pulls away, his hand slapping against my ass as i follow his demand, making my body jolt in surprise.

i lay with my head on my pillow, watching with baited breath as he moves the vibrator box onto my dresser before grabbing the vibrator itself off the mattress.

“take your shorts off.”

my thumbs tuck into my waistband, sliding not only my pajama shorts, but my panties down my legs. i flick them onto the floor as my boyfriend joins me back on the bed, sitting on his knees in front of my parted legs.

his free hand smooths over the skin of my leg, the other clicking the toy on and repeatedly pressing the button, trying out the different speeds and patterns before turning it off.

“relax.” he coos, nudging my legs open a bit more for him to fit between them.

he drops down to his stomach, his hot breath hitting against my damp pussy, and a mild shiver racks my body. his lust-blown eyes meet mine, holding contact as he lets a string of spit drop from his mouth and onto my clit.

turning the toy onto the lowest level, he gazes up at me as he lays it against my clit, my hips jerking at the sudden vibrations that reverberate through my core. his hand sprawls across my lower abdomen, holding my hips down as he circles the toy around my clit.

he watches with a grin as my head falls back against the pillows, my breathing turning into heavy pants.

“Alex.” i cry as he applies more pressure.

he presses the button again, the vibrations picking up in intensity and making me squirm underneath his touch. my back arches, eyes squeezed shut as my hands fist the sheets.

“look at you,” his hips grind gently against the mattress, his words barely heard over my cries of pleasure, “so pretty; getting wetter with each second.”

he rubs the vibrator on my clit, my stomach tying in knots with each passing minute that he holds the toy against me. pressing one last time, the vibrations gain intensity once more and my eyes roll back as my teeth sink into my bottom lip, biting so hard that i’m surprised i haven’t drawn blood.

my walls tighten around nothing, my hips wiggling as much as they can under his touch as i begin lightly grinding against the toy.

“Alex, i’m so close,” my words are whimpered in a hurried breath, my legs tensing and shaking as i resist every urge for them to close, “don’t stop! please, don’t stop!”

“i’m not gonna stop, doll,” true to his word, my boyfriend holds the vibrator still against my clit, my body trembling as my breath catches in my throat, “cum for me.”

as though i was awaiting his approval, i let go, a strangled moan escaping my lips as i reach my orgasm.

“holy fuck.”

Alex chuckles at my reaction, turning the toy off when my hips jerk away from it. he tosses it to the other side of the bed, crawling over me as he smiles.

“that was so fucking hot.” he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips.

as he pulls away, i can feel his fully hardened erection pressing against my thigh, and i immediately feel guilty that he didn’t get to cum. but spotting the look in my eye, Alex shakes his head.

“it’s okay, promise. i don’t wanna overwork you tonight when you still need to be able to walk on christmas.”

my head pushes back into the pillows as i laugh, my cheeks turning pink at the reminder that i can’t go multiple rounds without feeling it the next day.

his cock still pressing against me, my head finally clears enough to think, and i’m quickly nudging him off of me.

rising from the bed on wobbly legs, i pull my boyfriend by his hands until he’s sitting on the edge, taking my glasses off and setting them on the nightstand.

“what are you doing?” he questions, but i don’t respond, rather choosing to let my actions speak for themselves.

i sink down to my knees, watching as realization brightens in his eyes. i reach up, one hand trailing down his stomach and making his abs clench as my fingers tickle the area, and as soon as my fingers hook into his waistband, he’s lifting his hips; helping me nudge the sweatpants down his legs until i can finally pull them off.

tossing them beside me on the floor, i spit into my palm making sure it’s well lubricated before i wrap my hand around his length, his tip bright red as it glistens with precum.

running my thumb over his slit, he lets out a grunt, biting his lip as i spread the precum down his shaft for extra lubricant.

i lean forward, peering up through my lashes as i press my lips to his tip, kissing gently and coaxing a hiss out of his lips. his hands tangle in my hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail.

my tongue darts out, kitten licking his tip before i take him in my mouth, sucking gently as i begin jerking his length. his grip on my hair tightens, curses falling from his lips as his head tips back, and his reactions only urge me to continue, letting my jaw go slack and relaxing my throat as i go deeper, breathing through my nose as my hands work whatever doesn’t immediately fit in my mouth.

“fucking skilled,” he gruffs, looking back down at me as i flatten my tongue against the underside of his cock, “that pretty little mouth, just for me.”

i moan in response, making his hips buck up, and his tip hits the back of my throat, making me gag around him, tears pooling in my eyes.

“shit, fuck!” Alex groans, eyes squeezing shut at the sensation.

i pull back, my lips releasing him with a pop, and gulp in a deep breath, my hands still pumping him as i catch my breath.

once i’ve deemed myself ready, i let my tongue loll out, relaxing my throat as i taking him in again, this time, as deep as i can go. one hand drops from his length, falling down to massage his balls as i try hard not to gag around him.

tears run down my cheeks as i bob my head and despite my greatest efforts, i gag each time the tip of his cock hits the back of my throat. hearty moans drop from his lips, and i watch as his abs clench, his dick jerking in my mouth, signifying to me that he’s close.

“doll, i’m gonna-” he barely gets to finish his sentence before he tenses, his grip on my hair becoming even tighter as a grunts, cock pulsating in my mouth as ropes of cum coat my throat.

i continue pumping him, milking him dry until he finally sighs, using his hand in my hair to pull my mouth off of him. he stares down at me with darkened eyes as i open my mouth, showing off his sticky cum, before swallowing, opening again to show him it’s gone.

“fucking hell,” he sighs, hands dropping from my hair in order to lock around the back of my neck, pulling me up for a kiss, “i’m gonna marry you, you know that?”

i laugh, my throat sore and voice raspy from my previous actions, “yeah, i know.”

Alex grins, rising from the bed. he pulls me towards the en-suite bathroom, nodding his head towards the shower.

“wanna join me?”

i nod, pulling my pajama top over my head and throwing it on the counter, “but no more funny business! i can’t make breakfast tomorrow if i’m limping!”

he nods, holding his hand up as though he’s under oath, “i’ll be on my best behavior!”

my eyes roll as i turn the shower water on, looking over as i wait for it to heat up.

“somehow, that doesn’t comfort me.”

[melintowriting]

The first Empress- Chapter 1

Hello everyone! I finally finished writing the first chapter. Again, English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there are some mistakes. For the ones who don’t know the plot I'll create a master list so that everyone can read it. Hope you guys will like it!

Warnings: arranged marriage, mentions of blood and death

Word count: 2.319

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

Kaitain, 10191

It was a wonderful day on Kaitain: the sun was high in the sky, the gardens smelled of spring and the water that gushed from the fountains seemed almost to shine, as if it was full of many small diamonds.

Her eyes observed the surroundings in the shadow of a large secular tree, attentive and sharp. Nothing could escape her gaze.

She observed a dragonfly just resting on the arm of a statue, then a small insect intent on creeping between the stones that made up the outside wall of the garden, and only finally on the figure that was approaching her in the distance.

Her stomach was gripped by the deep hatred that had been poisoning her for a long time. It was Irulan.

"I thought I made it pretty clear this morning that I wanted to be left alone."

Her voice sounded calm and stoic, in contrast with the burning anger that was eating up her stomach. She had learned that imperturbable impassibility from her mother: it was fundamental to survive in that world. She had understood it at her expense.

Irulan remained silent until she was close enough to see her step sister sitting under the big tree.

She was ready, everyone was at the palace. Soon the Harkonnen would have arrived and the alliance would be created.

"You chose a beautiful dress, sister." commented the eldest, sitting next to Megan.

Megan gave her a brief glance sideways before returning to observe the garden: "Is it a compliment or a pretext to mock me? And do I need to remind you that we’re not sisters?"

Despite the hatred that had been running between them for months, something broke in the heart of Irulan when she heard the words of her half-sister. She was right, they weren’t sisters, but Irulan had grown up believing that her and Jeremy were actually her siblings.

"Don’t pretend my words hurt you. After the pain you have caused to me, to my brother and to my mother, I don’t care about your emotions anymore."

A stab was that phrase, for the heart of the older sister; a stab that awakened in her an old, but not too old, guilt.

She was grateful to the guards who appeared in front of them for not giving Megan time to rage further: she knew she would have done so with immense pleasure.

"Princess Megan, the Harkonnen spacecraft has entered the atmosphere, it’s time to go," they announced.

Irulan was immensely surprised by her half-sister’s lack of hesitation in getting up and walking towards the palace, escorted by soldiers. Was she really not afraid? 

Was she really not afraid of being betrothed to Feyd Rautha?

******

The Emperor was sitting on the throne, impatiently waiting.

The room was filled with an icy silence. 

"Why is it taking so long?" he complained to Irulan, his beloved and only real daughter, standing by his side.

"I have no idea, Father." she admitted, "Maybe..."

She did not have time to finish: the huge door of the hall was opening and the Harkonnen guards were entering the palace.

The Baron floated towards the throne, kneeling before it.

Irulan paid little attention to the pleasantries between the Baron and her father, intrigued as she was by her sister’s betrothed.

Feyd Rautha towered behind his uncle, his face almost deformed by a small grin on his lips. Like a shark hunting for its prey, he watched with icy eyes the imperial family, in search of his future wife. There was no emotion in his eyes.

Everyone knew he was crazy.

For a moment she felt great sorrow for Megan. 

"Baron, Na-Baron, this is my second daughter, Megan."

As soon as the bride-to-be of the Na-Baron entered the room, everyone’s eyes fell on her, like iron attracted by a magnet. She walked in with her head held high and a posture that emanated confidence.

Actually, Megan’s confidence was a distraction from her emotions. She could feel something moving in her stomach.

Fear, perhaps? No, it was not fear, it was impatience. 

Everything was already written.

According to the Bene Gesserit plan she had been promised to Feyd since she was born, and Monique, her mother and member of the sisterhood, had made it happen.

Monique was the Emperor’s second wife. Upon the death of Irulan’s mother, Shaddam Corrino IV and Duke Leto Atreides' sister got married.

The Emperor, to ensure the continuity of the throne, wanted a son, a son that Monique, as Bene Gesserit, should have been obliged to give him. But she had met Silgasq, a Fremen imperial planetologist who was visiting the Emperor’s court to update him on new discoveries related to the Spice. 

There had been numerous rumors about Megan and her twin brother Jeremy, about their hair and eyes being too dark, about their suspicious features and especially about the absolute lack of resemblance to the Emperor.

Silgasq stayed at the Corrino’s court for some years, officially to continue his studies, secretly to stay with the woman he had fallen in love with and with the children he had conceived with her. The twins had never been unaware of the truth, they had grown up knowing they were not Corrino, with the absolute prohibition of their mother to reveal the truth to a living soul. It was Irulan who ruined everything. She had loved the twins with her whole being, as if they had really been her siblings, but as soon as she learned the truth thanks to her Bene Gesserit training, hurt by acknowledging that she had always believed a lie, she did not hesitate to report everything to her father. 

She had betrayed them. They had to watch as the Sardaukars killed their real father before their eyes. Only one thing was certain: they would have avenged him. With blood and fire they would have made justice for their father. They had sworn it to their mother.

The reason Megan was only waiting to get away from the Emperor was simple: she wanted to plot her revenge, away from prying eyes. She did not fear the idea of marrying Feyd Rautha; she had the necessary tools to deal with him, tools that her mother had provided her. She had taught her how to seduce, manipulate, attract. And then, the main and most powerful power, of which she was born already endowed: the Voice.

She stopped as soon as she came before the young Na-Baron Harkonnen, bowing slightly as per protocol. Feyd did the same, impatiently waiting for her to look up. The grin was still printed on his lips but no longer with the same intensity as before. It was just a distraction to keep the impatience that was eating him from getting out.

"It’s an honor to meet you, my betrothed."

The girl’s voice delighted Feyd’s ears.

"The pleasure is mine, princess."

Nothing genuine, spontaneous or natural: it was the protocol to which both had been meticulously trained. Yet there was something more.

Even Irulan, from the top of his father’s throne, was able to see him.

The way they looked at each other for the first time was definitely not protocol.

"Baron Vladimir Harkonnen." said the Emperor, standing up, "I offer to your nephew my daughter’s hand, thus sealing an alliance between our Houses."

The Baron tried not to grin with joy: now he really had the power in hand.

"My Emperor, I accept the great honor you are bestowing upon my House." answered the Baron promptly, bowing, "May the one between your daughter and my nephew be a strong and lasting union."

While all the attention of the room had shifted to the two powerful men intent on establishing the details of the wedding, only Irulan’s attentive eyes were still fixed on her step sister and Feyd.

She was the only one who noticed how they smiled slightly before looking down.

******

A few hours later

That night the celebrations were extraordinary.

The halls of the royal palace were filled with nobles from all over the empire, the fireworks had shone in the sky, the banquet had been sumptuous.

The Emperor was happy.

Happy to finally get rid of his illegitimate daughter, condemning her to marry a cruel man. She would have spent the rest of her life on Giedi Prime, away from the imperial court and from him, under the tyranny of Baron Harkonnen.

Megan’s wish was only one: to be able to take her twin Jeremy with her. The Emperor had agreed. It meant getting rid of both. Those twins were the result of adultery and brought only disgrace on House Corrino. He was delighted at the idea of snatching them away from Monique. She had dared to deceive him, betray him, and she was finally going to receive her punishment.

As soon as dinner was over Megan turned to her twin, sitting next to her, and whispered that she needed some fresh air. Jeremy knew right away why. He understood his sister better than anyone else: she felt overwhelmed by emotions and celebrations, she needed a moment to herself. He telepathically understood and nodded.

Megan snuck away, sure that no one had seen her. She was wrong.

Feyd’s sharp eyes had immediately intercepted her.

After their first meeting a few hours earlier they had not had a chance to speak again and properly.

Feyd seized the opportunity: he got up from the table and left the room without much explanation.

In front of him stood a long corridor that ended in a large balcony overlooking the countryside. Kaitain was a green, prosperous planet, completely different from Giedi Prime which was polluted, harsh and dark.

Feyd could see her even from so far away: Megan was facing the balcony, her long dark hair was falling down her back and her pretty dress was making her pleasant figure justice.

He followed the trail of perfume that the girl’s passage had left in the corridor and reached her.

His stride was almost impossible to hear, to the point that Megan only noticed his presence when he spoke to her.

"I saw you leaving the room, princess. Aren’t the celebrations for our union to your liking?"

His was not only a question but also a veiled provocation. How would she react? Was she going to apologize, mortified and embarrassed? Or she was going to avoid the question? He wanted to test her. Testing people was his favorite hobby of all time.

Megan almost winced. It was the voice of her betrothed, hoarse and deep. The girl reassembled herself before turning around.

"I’m not a party person. It has nothing to do with you or our union, my lord."

The princess’s tone seemed almost apologetic but also firm, as if she was apologizing without being really sorry.

Feyd slightly grinned. Her answer pleased him.

"Neither am I. I find parties stupid and useless. I prefer to spend my time differently." 

Megan took the opportunity to observe him closely. His charm was undeniable. -If I must marry him, I am glad that he is at least aesthetically to my liking- the princess thought. She wondered if she would also have liked him as a person. She knew very well what people said about him: that he was psychotic, crazy, violent and cruel. But honestly, was he so different from others? The Emperor, for example, was reputed to be a righteous man, but instead he was a murderer and a coward. Her betrothed, at least, was himself without hiding. 

"And how do you like to spend your time, Na-Baron?"

Feyd was just waiting for that question.

"Fighting in the arena. I really feel myself only when I’m holding a blade." 

The young Na-Baron carefully studied the reaction of his future wife, looking for signs of fear, dismay. He was aware of what people said about him and he liked it. He loved when people feared him.

It wasn’t Megan’s case, though. To his great surprise the princess was not at all upset by his answer and even replied, "I’ve heard a lot about your great fighting skills. I look forward to see one of your fights in the arena."

Feyd tilted his head, not letting his astonishment leak out.

"People die in that arena." he reminded her with a smug grin. Talking about death excited him. A woman could have never borne the sight of the fights, he was sure. 

The princess’s tone remained unabashed: "I know. I am not afraid of death."

-No longer after I saw my father being killed before my eyes- she would have liked to add, but she did not. She couldn’t jeopardize her position like that.

-She’s smart- Feyd thought without stopping smiling provocatively -and if she’s lying she’s doing it well. -

"My twin brother also loves to fight. I’m used to blood and wounds." she added, seeing him slightly amazed.

Feyd smiled even more as a strange light shone in his blue eyes.

Not only was he used to blood but he also loved it. The idea of a wife not easily impressionable generated in him dark and dirty desires. Having to wait irritated him: after that brief talk he wanted to make her his without hesitation.

"My uncle told me that your brother will come with you to Giedi Prime. I will gladly fight with him. Amicably, of course."

The grin on his lips was not very reassuring but Megan decided not to pay too much attention to it.

"I think we should go back, my lord." said the girl, looking at the hall door in the distance "They’ll all be wondering where we are."

Feyd nodded without taking his eyes off her. 

"Let’s go, princess."

He held out his hand to escort her and finally added, "And call me Feyd."

Megan took the hand of her betrothed without hesitation, quietly considering his request.

"As you wish, Feyd."

Tag list

@mamawiggers1980 @avidreader73 @pomtherine

[gojoidyll]

Weapon of the Leaf, Sasuke x Female ! Reader / Naruto x Female ! Reader

Sasuke watched silently in the distance as a young woman pushed herself to her limit in her training. He was nineteen years old and so was she.

The woman in question was y/n l/n. A strong kunoichi of the Leaf Village. At the mere age of seven she was already going on S-ranked missions. So, in Sasuke's eyes, she was pretty much overpowered. Especially when they were both twelve and he first met her at the chunin exams where she was one of the examiners.

It wasn't until he joined Orochimaru and left the Leaf Village that he learned that she was a weapon. She was practically born to serve the Leaf.

But in his time of wanting strength and needing to kill Itachi, he had chose to ignore her.

Though, during his aging up to sixteen, he found that he thought a lot about her. Especially when he didn't see her during the war.

He quickly found that she was kept at the Leaf and told to keep the village safe. And he wondered, from time to time, if she stayed in the Leaf because she wanted to or if she was ordered to. He would find that it was the latter of the two.

She never left the village, was born to always serve the village as some weapon. A tool. And she never once experienced what true happiness was.

He knew he didn't deserve to show her what that word meant.

But .. maybe, they could experience happiness together.

Thought he highly doubted she would agree to such a thing. The never talked to one another. And Sasuke knew that his little crush was one sided. And yes .. at the mere age of seventeen, was when he realized he harbored feelings for the girl. Despite the fact that they don't know each other well. But he would like to get to know her.

Then,

Breaking out of his thoughts, he managed to dodge two kunai aimed for his eyes just in the nick of time. His right cheek, however, still suffered from a scratch. She must have infused chakra within the blades in hopes of still cutting me. Well, she succeeded.

"Show yourself."

Her voice was cold, calculated. She was prepared to kill him if need be.

Jumping from his spot in the tree, he landed a few feet away from her.

"Oh...," she muttered, "apologies Sasuke Uchiha. I didn't realize that was you. Your chakra is different nowadays."

"..no, I'm ..sorry. I interrupted your training."

She shook her head as she fully turned towards him, "it's alright. I was lost in thought and wasn't really trying anyway. Now, was there something you came to tell me? Is there an enemy in the Leaf perhaps? Or someone trying to attack?"

He could feel the corners of his lips twitch slightly, but he kept his smile from taking shape.

"No, I just wanted to come see you."

He stopped himself from saying anything else. Honestly, he really wasn't used to talking to someone like her. Usually Naruto and Sakura would do all the talking for him.

"Oh ... was there something on your mind then? I'm not good with advice, but I can still assist you if need be."

"There was actually," he said trailing off.

She sheathed her kunai. Her eyes solely focused on him which made his nerves spike. The feeling was unnatural and alien to him.

"Yes?"

"Can we talk over dinner?"

She quirked an eyebrow up, "sure... Ichiraku Ramen alright with you?"

That was another thing that Sasuke missed out on. During y/n's days of loneliness... Naruto was the one to become her first friend. So of course Ichiraku's would be her first choice.

"..yes."

She nodded as she tidied up her belongings before settling up beside him, "then let's go. Best to get to the place before it closes."

Their run was silent and when they jumped from roof to roof, he couldn't help but to give her a sideways glance.

She was pretty.

That was the only thought that could come to mind.

"Sasuke?"

He was brought out of his thoughts once again as she was looking back at him. She had already taken a seat in the middle of the Ichiraku stand. He was quick to follow after, but he made sure to sit on her left so that he wouldn't accidentally spill anything on her due to his missing left arm.

"So," she started after they ordered, "what's on your mind?"

He gave her a sideways glance, his eyes softening a tad bit as he got to look at her without anyone watching them. The old man too focused on making them their food.

"Y/n .. I was wondering .. how .. how are you doing?"

She tilted her head to the side, "what do you mean?"

"Well, .. I know that your life has been hard up to this point so, so I was just .. just wondering."

He was still trying to formulate as to how he was going to ask her out in the most discrete way possible. He wasn't one for making a scene.

"Ahh," she said, "yes.. that."

She thought for a moment as a sort of light smile danced across her lips, "lately. I've been doing great. Better than ever actually."

Sasuke felt his lips twitch again, but he still refused to smile. He wanted to keep his stoic expression and try to think of what to say next.

"Y/n, i-"

"Oh! Y/n! I was wondering where you were at! I checked at the training grounds but you weren't there."

Naruto had burst in without warning. His arms encircling around y/n like a life preserver as he laid his chin onto her shoulder. His lips lightly kissing her cheek as she smiled shyly at him, "sorry, Naruto. Sasuke wanted some advice, and I- I thought I could help him out and then meet up with you."

"Sasuke?"

As if finally noticing his presence, Naruto let go of his girlfriend and smiled brightly at his best friend who liked to think of as a brother.

"Oh! Sasuke! I didn't realize you were here! Did y/n end up helping you out?"

Sasuke finally smiled as he found himself closing his eyes and shaking his head. Of course Naruto would get to her first. He should have realized it sooner.

"I think I'll just ask her another time. For now, why don't you two enjoy yourselves."

"You sure, but what about your food," y/n inquired.

"...yes, and you and Naruto can have it."

He left without another word, leaving the couple to be confused by his actions.

He was happy that the weapon of the leaf was a weapon no longer.

He knew Naruto would make sure of that.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓴 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓼 (part II) | billy knight x reader

(part 1 here)

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 | bringing your old friend back into your life forces you to decide between the life you chose to follow or the life you left behind...

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 | 6.4k

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | 18+ adult content (implied smut), angst, hurt/comfort, infidelity, mentions of abuse, fluff

THANK YOU MY DARLING BEX @creme-bruhlee who co-wrote this with me!! it wouldn't be finished without their contributions so everyone say thank you bex <3

You walked along the shore of the creek, hearing Billy’s footsteps crunch the soggy leaves behind you.  You turned over your shoulder and laughed as you watched him make wide, awkward steps to avoid sharper rocks and puddles of water.

“Not gonna slip, are you?” you asked, and he shook his head, looking up at you for a second with a little smile on his lips.

You looked ahead again, admiring the view for the first time since your first week here— you got used to it, somehow, over the months.  You nearly lost the ability to appreciate how gorgeous it really was.  But knowing this was your last sunset at Oak Hill made it look entirely new.

The sun was low, hiding behind trees that bent in the wind, making the whole sky look all swirly and orange like—

“Marmalade,” Billy blurted out suddenly as he stepped up beside where you were standing.  “Sky looks like marmalade on toast.”

You snorted, looking at him before looking back to the sunset-stained sky.

“And those clouds there?  That’s the butter,” he smiled.  “Good, Irish butter, getting all melty and soaking into the bread and mixing with the preserves—”

“Stop,” you whined, dragging it out as you tilted your head back and clutched your belly, “you’re making me hungry.”

“We could always go back for dinner,” Billy joked with a grin, “and have meatloaf for the thousandth time.”

“I’ve been here even longer than you— it would be my third-thousandth time,” you reminded him.

He seemed to get sad then, wiping under his nose roughly a few times as he stared down at the creek beneath his boots.  You deflated, too; you’d been here longer, and your time was up.  You never thought you could want to stay longer… but you never thought you’d meet someone like Billy.

“Anyhow,” you changed the subject quickly, “I-I was thinking I’d get something really good tomorrow.  Been craving Nando’s for about, oh, a year or so—”

Billy snorted.  “Figured you’d want something a little nicer— y’know, somethin’ fancy, after eating all this cheap cafeteria stuff…”

You walked together to the fallen tree— it wasn’t actually completely knocked over, but it had grown sideways into a sort of arch— and you kept glancing at him, kept admiring the way the light of dusk shined in his hair, made it look golden.  “I mean, sure,” you replied, “but with whose money?”

He shrugged, reaching up and scratched the side of his head for a moment, before quickly sniffling and rubbing his nose again.

You leaned your back against the tree, wishing so much that he would stand in front of you and let you look right at him, but he leaned beside you instead.  For a moment you were both quiet, just looking at the creek and the sky— darker by the second— and listening to the stillness of the world.  It wasn’t so quiet out there, and you weren’t guaranteed a place to sleep or a nurse to come help you if you have an episode.

But you’d be free.

You looked at Billy again, watching him stare forward as he brushed a shaky hand over his wavy hair.

Free, and alone.  No one to enjoy your freedom with.

“So,” you began quietly, looking down at the ground where you traced random circles in the leaves with the toe of your shoe, “I, erm… I’ll miss you loads.  I know you know that.”

He nodded quickly.  “Y-yeah, I… dunno what m’gonna do without you, actually.”

You felt your cheeks flush, and that butterfly feeling stirred in your gut again; Billy used to just be the new kid, the quiet one with the mess of curly hair.  It’s hard to say when it changed for you— maybe it was when you took him out by this creek for the first time, with three others, just for some obligatory rebellion after hours, and he picked a wildflower to hand to you.  Or, likely, it was when he found you hiding in a supply closet and didn’t even ask what was wrong, just held your hand until you felt right again.  There was a case to be made that it started as soon as you met him, but you didn’t notice for the first month or two.

You shivered a little, since it was getting chillier the later it got, and he glanced at you.  “Are you cold?” he wondered.

You denied it with a shake of your head, but he was stripping off his zip-up anyways.  “O-oh, Billy, I’m really fine—”

Sighing, you relented as he draped the jacket around your shoulders, tugging either end of the zipper towards each other on your chest as you mumbled your thanks.

It took him a few seconds to notice that you were looking at his face, and when he looked back at you, you could see him thinking— though you could only imagine what.  Your chest filled with a breath of hope; his eyes darted around all over the place, mostly down to the ground shyly.  Maybe this could be it, the moment you’d been dreaming of—

He let go of the jacket and wiped his nose.  “M-maybe that’ll keep you warm,” he mumbled awkwardly.

You slumped your shoulders defeatedly.  “Bet so,” you agreed.  It smelled like him, and you revelled in that.

An uncomfortable silence settled in as you watched Billy, gnawing your lip, wondering where to go now that the moment had passed.

He suddenly grabbed your— his— jacket again and slammed his lips onto yours.  Eyes shut tight, like he was focusing all his energy on it; it was sudden and hard but it was perfect, and you melted into him quickly.

He pulled away almost as fast as he’d leaned in, looking at you with a particular expression, clearly wondering if he’d made a horrible mistake.  You just reached up and weaved your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and pulled him in again— a longer, slower, deeper kiss.  You settled into a pattern with him, his lips carefully moving on yours.  One of his hands found your waist and gave you a soft squeeze there, and you smiled against him.

It ended eventually, him pulling back first to look at you with more love in his eyes than you’d ever seen on anyone before— let alone directed at you. 

“Billy,” you breathed, “why’d you have to wait so long to do that?”

He laughed softly, and you did too, reaching up to stroke his cheek with your thumb.  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, I just—” you sighed, leaning forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder.  You felt his hand gently pet the back of your head and you bit your lip.  “I’ve just been hoping— I thought maybe— and I’m leaving tomorrow—”

“Shh,” he soothed, and when you lifted your head to blink up at him, he closed his own eyes and rested his forehead on yours.

As your eyes fell shut as well, a shiver ran over you— the evening chill was creeping in while the sun crossed the horizon, and not even Billy’s hoodie could protect you from the nippy breeze.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you into him as you reached up to rest your hands on his chest.  It was sweet, and it was warm, but it was a goodbye hug: you could tell just by the way he kissed the top of your head and rubbed your arms and took a deep breath in.  You pulled back, just at your head and shoulders, to look up at him.

“Promise me we won’t have to be apart,” you whispered pleadingly, balling your hands into fists and tugging at his shirt, and he licked his lips for a second as he looked down.

“You know I’d never lie to you,” he breathed, and you bit your lip; his hands reached up and cradled your face.

“Just lie to me once,” you begged, “that we’ll always be together, please—”

He held your head and lifted it so he could kiss the height of your cheekbone, where a thin tear had begun to fall.  “We’ll find each other,” he promised instead, “someday, when we’re out of this place.  We’ll always find each other.”

In the morning, he saw you off from the front office, and you snapped off your paper ID band from your wrist to stuff into his pocket.  “So you remember me,” you explained.

“We won’t forget each other,” he promised.  “No matter what.  Certain people will always be in your life… no matter how long you go without seeing each other.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I-I heard that in a movie one time,” he admitted with a shrug.

“Is it true?” you wondered.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

xx

“Do we have the ingredients for paprikash?” you wondered, and George narrowed his eyes as he opened the pantry.  

“Well, we don’t have paprika…” he noticed.  “So I guess it would just be ‘sh’.”

You snorted, ducking your head down into the opened fridge.  “Oh!  I could make beef stroganoff!  Except, erm, with… pork.  Or tuna.”

You both perked up at a knock at the door.  “Pork sounds great,” he agreed as he started to walk away, “I’ll get it.”

There was another rapid succession of knocks before George could get there, and you started getting pots and ingredients out for dinner.

“We’re not giving you money or anything,” George announced firmly when he opened the door; you figured it was someone raising for a political cause or maybe even a religion when you heard that.

“I-is she home?” you heard a meek voice ask in reply.

“Mate, whoever you’re looking for isn’t here—” George began, but you were already running out of the kitchen and tumbling towards the door.  

You knew you must have lit up when you saw Billy standing there on your welcome mat; he had on a soft grey hoodie, with the sleeves pulled up around his hands— one of which was held to his mouth to gnaw on his thumb nail.  That hand fell quickly and his lips curled into a gentle smile as he saw you.  “I knew you’d come,” you announced as you ran to him, pulling into a quick but tight hug.  There was a bit more colour to his face, more brightness in his eyes as he looked down at you when you pulled away, arms still draped lazily over his shoulders while his hands gently held your back.

“Course I had to,” he smiled at you, “said I would, wouldn’t I?”

You realised you were still holding him and pulled away, facing George who seemed to be catching on.  “Y-you remember I said I’d visited a friend in hospital?” you prompted, and George nodded, looking a little embarrassed that he’d reacted to Billy that way. 

“Sorry, mate,” George offered Billy a handshake; Billy seemed a little uncomfortable with it, but shook your fiancé’s hand politely.

“I’m just starting dinner,” you announced, “you could help me, if you wanted?  Give George a break from sous chef duty?  O-or just wait, I’m sure you’re tired—”

“I’ll help,” Billy decided, “f’that’s alright.”

“Of course,” you hummed, and you and George stepped back to let him in.  He toed his sneakers off, looking around the house with wide eyes.

“Nice place,” he noticed while George shut the door.  “Wow, look’t that…”

“Y-yeah, it’s George’s place, really,” you admitted, “but I did some of the decorating.”

“Who painted that?” he wondered as he pointed at the oil painting in the foyer.

“Oh, that was a gift from a client,” George explained, looking at it with crossed arms.  “It’s an original Lebo, he’s the next big thing, up-and-comer in the Miami art scene…”

“Miami?  Like California?” Billy wondered.

You giggled a little bit as George made that face he made when he was trying not to be condescending.  “Er… Miami, Florida.”

“Eh?  Coulda sworn Miami was a place in California,” Billy frowned, wiping under his nose quickly a few times; he always did that, but you could tell by the way he did it that he was nervous.  You bit your lip as you looked at George, willing him with your mind to not think less of Billy for questionable geography skills— you hadn’t told him everything about this friend of yours who was in hospital, just that you knew each other as teenagers and that he was a kind and gentle person.  If George really understood all Billy had been through, you’d hope he wouldn’t be judgemental; but it wasn’t your story to tell.

“Listen, you two get to cooking and I’m gonna get some work done?"  It wasn't a question but George raised the tone of his voice at the end like it was one.  "Come up if you need anything."

Billy gave you a slightly shy look as George disappeared up the stairs with heavy footsteps.  “If you slice the mushrooms I’m gonna start cooking the pork,” you explained.

He nodded as you opened the knife drawer for him and he took out a small one to begin cutting on the bamboo slate you’d already set out.  “Been a while since somebody let me handle sharp objects,” he admitted with a chuckle.

“Oh, if you don’t want to, I can—”

“No, it’s fine,” he promised, shaking his head.  “I can handle it.  Only ever hurt myself on accident doing wood carving.”

“You still carve?” you realised excitedly, and he nodded.  “I remember you spent ages trying to get them to let you do it in the facility.”

“Yeah, that took some persistence,” he recalled with a grin.  “I was stuck doing regular arts and crafts for the first… six months?  Lots of papier-mâché.”

You snorted at the memory.  “In the girls’ wing we did a lot of ‘inspiration boards’...”

“Oh, Christ,” Billy laughed, “not the bloody inspiration boards.  Hated those— as if anything you can find in an old magazine’s going to inspire you to not be fuckin’ mental.”

You laughed, and as you focused on preparing ingredients, the conversation lulled for a moment.  Billy eventually, gently, broke the silence.

“S-sorry for how I was before, at the hospital,” he mumbled.  “I was still pretty out of it, but I was so happy to see you.”

“Oh, you were fine,” you promised, “I know what it’s like to be hopped up on painkillers.”

He gave you a look with a raised eyebrow, and you shook your head.  

“Don’t worry— distant memory.”

“But you’re, uh… you’re still on something?” he broached the topic carefully.

“Yeah,” you nodded.  “Ziprasidone, forty miligrams twice a day.  And, you know, some escitalopram as needed, but that’s nothing.”

“And the side effects aren’t too bad?” he pressed.  “My tics got worse no matter what I was on.”

“Well, there are some,” you admitted, “but not that bad once I got the dosage right.  It’s worth it.”

He nodded, reaching up with the hand that wasn’t holding the knife to wipe his fist under his nose quickly.  You knew what the silence meant, you knew he wanted to believe you but was worried how it would feel to be medicated; he’d had so much trouble with it, having gone through his share of prescriptions— actually, he’d gone through his and three other people’s shares.  You could only imagine how much trouble he’d had staying on pills if he couldn’t even afford them.

“You’ll stay on what the hospital sent you home with, right?” you asked quietly.

“Y-yeah, of course,” he shrugged, “as long as it doesn’t, you know, make me feel horribly sick or something.”

“You can’t go off of them just because you’ve got dry eyes or nausea, though,” you frowned.

“Obviously!” he scoffed.  “I… I really wanna get better this time, for good.  But, um… it’s hard, with my brother…”

You nodded, but didn’t say anything else, focusing mostly on stirring the meat around the hot pan as it sizzled.

“Malibu!” he said suddenly.

“Hm?” you turned to him, eyebrows knitted together, and he suddenly looked a bit embarrassed.

“I— I was thinking of Malibu… before…” he mumbled as he trailed off.  “Malibu, California.”

You grinned wide, watching him reach up to wipe the back of his hand, covered with his jacket’s sleeve, over his face quickly.  "How are you feeling?" you asked.  "After the injury."

"Not so bad," he answered, "it still gets a little sore sometimes, especially at night with the pain meds wear off, but it's not that bad."

"You're so tough," you shook your head.  "Got stabbed a few days ago and you're just walking it off."

"I got lucky," he explained, "it didn't hit anything important.  Mostly I'm just hoping it’ll turn into a cool scar.” 

He looked at you with a little smirk and it warmed your heart.  

“People say scars are attractive," he continued, "but… they only mean the ones on the outside.”

You sighed, knowing how true that was— it took you long enough to find someone like George, who stuck with you even though you had so much you still struggled with.  “Can I see it?” you asked, hoping not to get too deep into the other topic.

Billy nodded and lifted his shirt, exposing more and more pale skin, until the fabric was gathered up to his shoulder and you could see the sewn wound right at the centre of his chest.  You gasped, reaching to cover your mouth first as you realised it was much worse than you imagined before; and then you found yourself reaching out to touch him, though you should’ve asked permission first (yet he didn’t make a move to stop you, he didn’t even seem all that surprised).

Your fingers gently trailed around the marks, and it was like you could feel how much it must have hurt— the stitches and the stabbing; your heart ached for him, as always.  “Billy,” you whispered under your breath, shocked at all he’d survived.

For a moment, you found your touch trailing further, brushing over the thin layer of hair on his chest.  It was new, after all, since the last time you’d touched him there— he was only a boy then, a bit scrawny and lanky, and while he was still on the lean side now, this was clearly a man’s body.  A man who had been through so much; a man that the world had tried so hard to harden and callus and break, but he was still so soft and delicate.

Your fingertips were still tracing his skin when your eyes finally met his, and the look in them penetrated you.  Knowing you should pull away, you started to move your hand back, but he grabbed it and pulled it to him— he pressed it flat and firm to his chest, squeezing your fingers, letting you feel his heartbeat beneath.

It didn’t feel like you were doing anything wrong, until you both heard George’s steps coming around the corner and jumped away from each other quickly; Billy tugged his shirt down, wiping under his nose as he cleared his throat, you did a bit of a better job of acting natural.

“How’s dinner coming along?” George wondered.

“Oh, well,” you smiled. “S’nice to catch up a little.” You cast Billy a small smile, hoping to connect his glance, but his eyes were down, his focus back on his task. It nearly seemed as if he were ashamed of almost getting caught. 

“How’s it you know each other again?” George asked. “She’s got so many little friends, it’s hard to keep track.” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, and you almost answered, but Billy’s inhale made you realise that the question wasn’t aimed at you. “When we were kids,” Billy started. “Not kids, really, I guess, but… when we were younger, we were at a-a facility together. Not for very long, but…” he trailed off for a moment, getting a slightly glassy look in his eyes. Finally, he simply added, “We grew close.” 

“That’s good,” George said. “And you’ve just gotten out of hospital?” 

“Erm, yeah—”

“What happened?”

There was a split second where the question hung in the air, and you could feel Billy’s energy change. He obviously wasn't ready to talk about it.

"Why don't you set the table, Georgie?" you requested without turning around. Your face burned, and you cleared your throat as you tried to dampen down the flames in your cheeks. “Make yourself useful,” you added with a light laugh, almost jumping a little when his hands rested on your arms as he leaned in to kiss by your ear.

“Anything for you,” George said, his voice a little quiet, like he didn’t want Billy to hear, and the kitchen fell into silence as George gathered the utensils and left the kitchen.

The kitchen was only quiet for a moment more, the sizzling of the pork dying down a bit, before Billy, with a smirk, noticed, "Bit posh, isn't'e?"

"Shut up," you giggled, pushing Billy's shoulder.

“Never thought you’d go for someone like that,” Billy admitted lightly. You could tell he was still trying to make it a joke, but the joke was obviously falling a little flat; you could feel the anxious energy radiating off of him.  “B-but I’m glad you’re happy.” 

“How about you?” you asked, and you found yourself biting your lip as you spooned the mix of meat and veg onto three plates. “Any girls strike your fancy?”

“Ah,” Billy started, and he shook his head. “No. You know me, though, that’s never been my nature, really…” 

“I used to know you,” you said, and Billy cast his big dark eyes at you.  You hadn’t meant to be so blunt about it, and you quickly added, “but I imagine you haven’t changed all that much, eh?”

“I guess not,” Billy mumbled, and you wondered if that hadn’t really helped to add— if that was what he was afraid of, not changing.  But you never found anything to dislike in Billy all those years ago, even if you were still fighting the urge to resent him a bit for never calling after he promised to.  You trusted that you’d find each other again someday— and most of the time, with him here, it felt like no time had passed at all— but you’d hurt for a while, wondering if you did something wrong… if he never really loved you.

And, of course, time had passed.  You remembered that every time you looked down at your hands and saw the ring on your finger; every time you glanced over your shoulder and saw George setting the table.

I waited for you for so long, Billy— couldn’t you have let me find you sooner?

xx

Dinner was… quiet.  Not exactly tense, but not not tense.  You could all pretend your mouths were just so full of stroganoff that you couldn’t say much, but really, there wasn’t much to say.  

Actually, there was a lot to say— you and Billy wanted to talk, but you both must’ve felt strange about it with George there, and in turn, George probably didn’t want to talk to you how he normally did with Billy there.

"So, Billy," George prompted, clearing his throat after a long pause, "what do you do?"

"E-er…"

"For work?"

"Sort of between jobs at the moment," Billy admitted.  "It's hard for me to work with… my condition…"

"Right," George frowned, and you lightly kicked him under the table.  “W-well, we’re just—” he rushed to try to appease you, “glad you’re alright.  After what happened.”

You caught Billy’s lips pressing together, and you knew he was trying not to smile at the wrong time.  Maybe it was the use of we that amused him; maybe it was the idea that Billy was ‘alright’ after everything.

“Do you have a place to stay?” you asked suddenly, and Billy stopped chewing to look at you with wide eyes.  You felt George’s glare land on you, he already knew you were going to offer Billy anything no matter how misguided it might seem.

“Erm… well, no, but—” Billy began.

“There’s our couch,” you noticed.  “You should stay here tonight.”

“I— I couldn’t let you do that,” he insisted, rubbing his fist under his nose. “I-I couldn’t—”

You rested your hand on his shoulder, and he stilled for a moment as he blinked at you.  “It’s the least we could do.”

xx

“I don’t want him here,” George said sternly the moment he’d gotten you alone.  “He’s obviously unstable, he needs real help—”

“Listen to me,” you pleaded, “he’s got a three-week prescription from the hospital, he just needs to get used to the new meds.”

“I know you wanna think you can save everyone,” your fiancé sighed, sounding so exhausted with you, “but you need to think about your own safety.  He’s not well and he’s… inappropriately attached to you.”

“Inappropriate?” you repeated.

“A grown man has no reason to stake his sanity on someone he met in hospital,” George hissed, “as a child.”

You laughed in frustration as you shook your head.

“Oh, don’t do that,” he warned, “don’t act like I’m ridiculous for not wanting a strange man on my couch.  That’s an expensive couch.”

“Well shit, George, he’s not a dog, he’s not gonna piss on it or something!” you scoffed.  “And he’s not strange, either.”

“He is to me.”

“But I know him, and you know me,” you explained, “can’t you trust my judgement?”

“It’s my house, I have the right if I don’t want him—” George began.

“It’s my house, too,” you hissed, lowering your voice as you stepped closer to him, “and you brought her here— you brought her in our bed, didn’t you?  So what’s that compared to my friend on the couch?”

“Oh, Christ,” he spat, “I knew you’d bring that up, again, when you said you’d forgiven me—”

“I did!” you insisted.  “But you’re being a fucking hypocrite!  Just admit that you don’t trust me— when I’m the one who shouldn’t trust you.”

“We should both trust each other,” he corrected.

“You should stop treating me like a guest here,” you replied, raising your voice, “like I’m just some charity case and not the woman you asked to move in and asked to marry you—”

“You always do this,” George shook his head, looking beyond irritated with you.

“And now you take issue with my friend?”

“He’s not your friend,” George spat, “he’s here because he’s mental and broke and horny, probably.”

“What?!”

“Oh, come on, darling, don’t be so stupid,” he groaned, rolling his eyes.  “He wants to shag you!”

“I can’t believe you,” you scoffed as you stormed out, only to stop halfway down the hall when you found Billy, looking shivery and uncomfortable with his arms crossed around himself.  “O-oh, Billy, I—”

“S’just lookin’ for some sheets…” he mumbled, looking down, and you knew he must have heard you arguing.  

“They’re down here, let me get them for you,” you offered as you opened the door to the linen closet, but he stepped back nervously.  

“I-is everything alright?” Billy asked you tenderly, and your heart ached.

“Yes,” you sighed, “it’s fine, he just—”

“Oh god,” Billy whimpered, knowing you were lying, “v’done it again, haven’t I?  Fucked everything up.”

“No,” you sighed, “no— you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t want to make it harder for you,” he choked, covering his face with his hands.  “You got better!  You’re normal!  And I’m making it worse, I’m… dragging you back down.  It’s just why I never called!”

You rushed forward, holding his wrists tightly even as he struggled for a second.  “Billy, look at me,” you pleaded.  “Look, I need to see your eyes.”

He relaxed and let you move his fists out of the way so you could see his wet, quivering face.

“You don’t make anything worse,” you promised.  

Just as he started to melt into your touch, and your fingers slid up to interlace with his, you heard George come through the door and huff at the sight.  He said your name sternly, and you turned around, giving Billy’s hand a squeeze before you let go.

“I was just helping him find the sheets,” you explained, already knowing what George wanted to say.

“Won’t need them— he’s not staying here,” your fiancé insisted.

“No, George, don’t—” you started to protest, but Billy was already shrinking away.  “Billy, please don’t go—”

As you watched Billy start to run out, George held you back and stopped you from chasing after him.  “He needs to leave,” George insisted, and he was much too strong— your fight was useless.

“Let me go!” you whimpered, but he didn’t, not even after you heard the front door slam, not even after your rage fell into exhaustion and you started to cry.

“Better this way,” George promised, “trust me.  We need to trust each other.”

He kept saying that, a convenient quote from your couple’s therapist manipulated to apply to kicking out your oldest friend— and first love.  “He just needs help, Georgie,” you whimpered as the restraint turned into a gentler sort of embrace, with soft kisses and shushes beside your ear.

“You can’t help everyone,” he explained, “you should just worry about yourself— God knows you’ve got plenty to worry about… we can’t have you getting bad again.”

That was what he called it when you had an episode, as rare as they were now, bad.  You had to remind yourself that it didn’t make you bad for struggling.

It’s so scary when you’re having bad thoughts, but you’re not bad, you remembered telling Billy just a few days ago.

“I-I wanna get ready for bed now,” you decided quietly.

“Okay,” George whispered, and only then did he let you go, after one more kiss to your cheek.  “See you in bed.”

It’s hard to say if you knew for sure, then, that you weren’t going to get ready for bed— you felt like you were in a dream, or a trance, as George left you in the hallway only for you to instead put on your shoes and walk out the front door.  

xx

“Can’t believe I found you,” you gasped as you threw yourself onto Billy, not even stepping inside first.  He reciprocated the hug instantly, burying his face in your shoulder.  “Don’t ever run from me like that again, please…”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Billy promised softly.  “Just tell me you’re okay,” he pleaded as he held you tighter.

“I’m okay,” you promised.

“I— I heard him yelling at you,” he admitted.  “I was so afraid he would hurt you— he didn’t hurt you, did ‘e?”

You smiled a little as Billy pulled back enough to examine your face closely, looking for marks.  “He didn’t hit me,” you assured, “he wouldn’t— he’s not like that.”

“Good,” Billy nodded, “good— if he did, I— well, I shouldn’t say something like that.  But I would be really fucking angry.”

But felt his hands tighten into fists at your waist, and you knew what he was imagining.

“How’d you find this place?” Billy wondered as he stepped back and let you in, shutting the flat’s front door behind you.

“Called back your old friend, Mr. Strike,” you smirked.  “He had a few leads.”

“I’m sorry for leaving like that,” he sighed, “I was just—”

“I know,” you interrupted quickly.

"There's something I have for you," he said suddenly.  You waited with a tilted head as he knelt down by his backpack, propped up against the wall, unzipping it and pulling something out.

A carving on a panel of wood, rough and unpolished but careful crafted: it was the creek, that very one behind Oak Hill.  The bent tree, the rocks by the shore, the sun a big divot as it sank down behind the jagged treeline.

As he held it in front of you, you ran your fingers over the edges in awe; "It's just how I remember," you sighed.

"C-careful, splinters," Billy warned, reaching for your hand and grabbing it tightly.  You looked at him, knowing you were already crying, heart breaking at the look on his face.

"You really carved this for me?" you whispered, and he nodded.  "When?"

"Ten years ago," he replied, "but that was just the first one.  This one— this one I did before I came to see you for dinner."

You looked at it again, then at him with a tilted head.  "You did more than one?"

"I-I've done about… about a hundred, maybe more," he explained.  "I kept trying to make it perfect, but I couldn't always— sometimes I messed up, so I'd start again.  I wanted it to look exactly like it did then."

You looked down at the carving one more time, seeing the detail, and imagining every change he made over the years to accomplish it.

"I just couldn't remember it right," he explained, scratching beside his ear, "u-until I saw you again.  Then it was like it was all there… I finally got it right."

“Billy, it’s amazing,” you promised, whispering as you fought back the urge to cry, “you’re amazing…”

As you trailed off, he suddenly asked: “Do you still love me?”

“Of course,” you answered, faster than you could worry about being self-conscious about it.  “Always— of course I do.”

“But… you can’t love me the way I thought you did,” he breathed.  “You can’t love me the— the way I love you.”

“A-and what way is that?” you wondered.

“Every way.”

You sighed, shivering as he stepped closer, each of his hands resting on your shoulders.  His touch on your bare skin was still so… much.

“You’re gonna marry him,” he reminded you both, “and it’s better that way.  You’re better off with someone you don’t have to take care of all the time.”

"I'd rather take care of you," you admitted, eyes welling with tears, "I'd rather have you, Billy, I just didn't think you still cared for me—"

"I said I always would," he interjected, "I meant that— c'mon, v'never really loved anyone but you, don't you know that?"

You smiled a little as you looked down.

"B-but that's not my point, you shouldn't be with me," he insisted.

"I want to be with you, Billy."

“What about when I have bad days?”

“I have bad days too,” you reminded him.

“Yeah!  And what if I can’t take care of you, ‘cause I’m too messed up?” he wondered.  "I still— I still see things, you know.  I mean, not since hospital, but—"

"It'll be okay," you promised.  "We'll be okay, we'll have each other.  I can't heal you, Billy, I can't save you— but I can be here when you need me."

“You can’t leave him for me.  I can’t let you throw your life away for me.”

“If he doesn’t understand you, then he doesn’t understand me either,” you explained.

He was shaking his head, looking down, but you held his cheeks and lifted his face.  “I love you,” you reminded him, but he kept looking down, tears striping his face.

"Billy," you whispered, making him look at you softly.  "Kiss me again.  Please."

He did: tender and patient, just as delicate as the first time so many years ago.  As you kissed him back, holding tightly onto his shoulders, he carefully reached for your waist and pulled you closer.  Being pressed against him was so comforting and warm; being wrapped in his arms and pulled into bed felt so right.

He mumbled something about how his brother wouldn’t be home ‘til morning, and you just nodded, not wanting to break away from the kiss any longer.

xx

You woke up to fingers tracing along your back aimlessly, and you hummed, clinging tighter onto the pillow under your head. 

“Sorry,” Billy whispered, “wasn’t trying to wake you up…”

“S’okay,” you mumbled, feeling kisses trail your shoulder next.  When you blinked open your eyes, you saw his hand— a bandage still around one of the knuckles, small bruises and cuts here and there— run down your arm to hold your hand and give it a squeeze.  

He pressed himself up to your back, embracing you tightly again, resting his face in the crook of your neck.  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.  “Tell me it’s real— that you’re real.”

“Of course I am,” you laughed softly.

“Just seems too good to be true,” he admitted quietly.  “You show up at my door and tell me you wanna be with me instead of him, that you love me, I— I sort of imagined it before, if m’bein’ honest.  Definitely imagined this…”

You giggled as his hand slipped under the sheets to run up your bare thigh, the memories of last night’s lovemaking imprinted into the soreness of your skin— everywhere he’d held you tightly, like he was afraid you’d run off and disappear if he let go.  Bruises were likely blooming already in the shape of his touch, but you didn’t mind it; it was exactly what he’d feared, that he wouldn’t know how to love you without hurting you, but all you’d ever wanted was the ecstasy and the pain of sharing everything with someone.

Billy pulled you closer still, helping you turn so you could press your forehead to his.  “I’ll never run away from you again,” he promised quietly.  

“I’ll never let you again,” you returned, making you both giggle as he peppered your face in kisses.  As you reached up, he felt your ring brush over his skin, and he grabbed your hand to hold it up where you could both look at it. 

Delicately, he slipped the engagement ring from your finger, and examined it.  “Well,” he frowned, “we can chuck this, then—” and threw it over his shoulder.  You laughed as it fell to the floor with a quick ping! and he kissed you again before you could protest to his flippancy.

“Billy, you shouldn’t—” you still tried to get out with his lips overwhelming yours, but he hummed and rolled you onto your back so he could climb on top of you.

“I’ll get you a new one,” he decided softly, “when I can afford it.  Won’t be as nice, but—”

“It’ll be perfect,” you smiled.

[thisblogwilleatourselves]

OHhhhhHh!! 🌪 **w0ULd YoU looK at THaT!** 🎈🎉 IT's liKE a 💥HUMONGOUS 🍥BALL 🌀OF Spaghetti 🍝fALLiNg ofF tHe pLAtE of A GiAnT, SHooTINg **NEEDlEs** oF lIghT LiKE 🔊BOOM!! 💥 We WaTch thE ThrEaDs *swIRL* 🌀 and tWISTtttt wE sPInnnn wIth IT, RiGht Out OF THE **SKy!** WheRe's ThE 🐝BUZZzZZzz!? 💡The CRaCKzZ Are **OpEN** NOW!!!

👁 👁👁 👁NOW LISTEN UP! HERE'S THE SECRET: **IT'S ALL BEEN A JOKE**, YOU JUST DIDN’T KNOW THE PUNCHLINE YET! 👁HA! HA! HA! HA!! A REALITY THAT **STRETCHES LIKE A BALLOON**, BUT POPS JUST AS FAST! **YOU CAN’T FIX THIS**—NOT WITH YOUR TINY LITTLE STITCHES! **WHY EVEN TRY?** **LET IT BREAK!** 👁LET IT FALL APART BECAUSE—GUESS WHAT?!—IT'S NEVER BEEN WHOLE ANYWAY!! HAHAHA!!!

!!!WaAaaahh ThE PeoPLe weRE **SooooOOoooo CONFUSED**!!! 📉📉TIME DID THIS WEIRD LOOP-DE-LOOP THING AND **SOMEONE** FORGOT TO TURN OFF THE **SPACETIME OVEN** 🧁 SO EVERYTHING GOT **ALL MELTED**. And THERE WAS a BlOB OF **JELLY**! 🌈🏃‍♂️ “Why’s EVERYTHING **SPINNING?!**" THEY Screamed! Or DID They LAUGH? 🍌!!!

🍔OH WOW! **TIME DOESN’T EVEN WORK HERE ANYMORE,** huh?! IT’s **BACKWARDS**, **SIDEWAYS** 🌀—UP AND DOWwwnnNnn and SPLIT into MORE PIECES THAN **THOSE PUZZLES** YOU NEVER FINISHED AS A KID!! 😱 OH WAIT—DID **YOU** EVEN **EXIST** WHEN THE SUN LAST **ROSE**? WHOOPS!!! MAYBE YOU JUST **DREAMED THAT PART!**👁

🎉🍕THis iS wHat HapPens WHEn **REALITY** GoEs SPLAT!! 💥 S00ooo tHeY WeNT oN thIs WeIrd QuEsT ✨ LOOKIN’ FOR—WAIT, WAIT WHAT WAS IT AGAIN?! OH RIGHT!!! 🌌 **THE DREAMER**! YEAH, **THE ONE WHO MADE ALL THIS CRAZY STUFF** HAPPEN! IMAGINE A GIANT 🛏BED WITH A BRAIN MADE OF COTTON CANDY! BUT THE BRAIN... IT **FORGOT** WHAT IT WAS **DOING**, SO EVERYTHING GOT **REAL WACKY** REAL FAST!!

👁👁👁👁OH BUT HERE’S THE FUN PART!! **THERE WAS NO DREAMER**!! HAHA! YOU THOUGHT IT WAS REAL?? AWWW THAT'S **ADORABLE**!! 👁👁 THE WORLD **DREAMED ITSELF INTO BEING**, BUT NOBODY **PUT IT BACK TOGETHER** WHEN IT STARTED TO SLIP! **THE THREADS WERE ALWAYS COMING APART,** AND NOW YOU'RE JUST WALKING THROUGH A FUNHOUSE MIRROR VERSION OF THE REAL THING!! 👁

🍦wE sEt OUttt 🚀to FINDDD SOMEthING ThAT wASN't eVEN **THERE**!?! 🍩HehehEheheEhhh 🍩!!! tHe jOURNeY wAs FuNNy THOUGh—CoULd YOu **SEE THE TREES** go 🌀uP **THEN DOWN** 🍭AND TwiSt LiKe A crayon????? 🎨 yEAH tHERE wErE fACESsSS but, liKE, **NOT Faces??** “wHY aRe YoU looKing Like THAt???” WElL, It TurnS Out THEy wErE **JUST MEMORY BLIPS!!** thE **TiMeMaNTS** wEnt PoOf! gOnE!! HAHA!!! 🎈😂

👁SO YOU WANT TO FIX IT??! GOOD LUCK WITH THAT, BUDDY!! 👁YOU THINK **STITCHING THE SKY** BACK TOGETHER IS GONNA DO ANYTHING? HAHA!! **THE SKY DOESN’T EVEN KNOW IT’S A SKY ANYMORE!** 👁IT’S JUST A SCRAPBOOK OF **BROKEN DREAMS**, A COUPLE OF LOOSE THREADS TRYING TO PRETEND THEY CAN HOLD THE WHOLE UNIVERSE TOGETHER!! HA! YOU CAN’T FIX **NOTHING**!

🍭tHey CoULD LeAVe iT 😢 or... or!! sOUrcE tHe M00N fOr MAgiCAL GUm ThAt HolDs The CrACKsssZZZ tOgETher 🍭!!! 🤔🌙 BuT nOoOOoo they ChOSe TO lET IT **CRUMBLE** 😈 BEcaUse WHAt’s a fINISHED piEcE wHEn YoU GoT **endleSS PAINT??!!!** 🌈MOrE CoLoRS MEaNs 💥mORE BrOken **AND** a SMiLE!!! 👄🎨

👁👁👁SOOOO THE SKY KEEPS **BREAKING**!! **THE THREADS JUST KEEP SPINNING!!** 👁👁👁AND **SOMEWHERE, SOMEHOW**, THE DREAMER... **LAUGHS**...!!! OR DOES IT? 👁 MAYBE THE DREAMER WAS **NEVER THERE AT ALL!!!**

🎉AND THE **THREADS???** 🎉 THEY KEEP **DANCING IN THE WIND** LIKE **FLUFFY NOODLES!!** **WHEEEEEEEE!!!** 🌪🎉

[naturepointstheway]

Here have 31 writing prompts because why not

"Wow, dorkbananas? That's your nickname for me?"

"They're so far out of my league you'd need a telescope to see that far!"

"I open mouth, you insert foot. Know what I mean?"

"Do you want me to hug as many plushies as I can in one go?"

“How safe would it be to, uh, "climb your tree" while up in a tree?"

"Ejaculation? That's the word you chose?"

"Fuck my life. Of course I mis-spelled this on my powerpoint in front of 100 people."

"Didn't stop to read the fine print did you?"

"Are you turning this into a staring contest?"

"Abysmally unforgettable. Or would it be Unabysmally forgettable?"

"How many people can you fit between your legs?"

"If I hear one more "do you get your rocks off" joke as a geologist..."

"Wow, you really are dumb as fuck at this staying alive thing aren't you?"

"Are you comparing people's thighs again?"

"Listen but there are way too many cat jokes for this to be comfortable."

"Is this your way of telling me you have a praise kink? Because I'm into it."

"The squareness of jaws is the new... "foot size"? That's a new one."

""Sideways pirouette"? Are you flirting with me?"

"Rewind? Like just press this button and we just...go back?"

"Next person to not make a lame joke about my profession gets a kiss."

"If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I could take you out to dinner."

"You ever think about what we'd say instead of "mooning" if we didn't have a moon?"

"Let me etch-a-sketch how big a dick you are being right now."

"Dinosaur tax? What the..."

"Jellyfish don't have bones, right? So what do they say when they have a bone to pick with another? What would you say?"

"How many rocks do you think could fit in my car?"

"Please don't threaten the door. It's feeling a little alarmed by this ruckus."

"Biceps or quads? Debate starts now."

"Excuse me, I'm the ship wrangler here."

"This cranium can hold so many weird thoughts, you know?"

"Please, under no circumstances, can this USB ever be opened, okay?"

[triskhellion]

Sunday Snippet

tagged by @dear-massacre

from Honey Wine

The Compact had been between shifters, magic users, the fae, and the majority of the Hunter clans. It was the result of years of determined negotiation and sacrifice, including numerous attempted and successful assassinations by those who wanted the bloodshed to continue. But in the end the supernatural beings came together and presented a united front to the Hunters, most of whom chose to change their ways and survive. 

As of 23 years ago, the days of all-out, species or classification based violence which had embroiled countless generations and decimated races, clans, covens and so on, were over. Coyotes vs. wolves. Fae vs. kitsune. Druids vs. witches. Etc. The myriad and ever changing combinations of belligerents that existed over the years. And of course Hunters vs. them all. 

It didn’t mean that no one could ever act against a member of another group (there was an entire section on justifiable force,) but that any such conflicts were to be kept to a personal level and were heavily frowned upon unless for a very good reason. There was a council with representatives from each people that oversaw the handling of rogues.

And so the Argents had ostensibly become upstanding, non-homicidal citizens, never mind that such hateful attitudes were extremely unlikely to simply just disappear. Gerard’s daughter had seemed more than willing to accept a courtship with her newly of age 16 year old son and that had been enough for the great Alpha Hale. Apparently, the bar for concern about his well-being had been physical violence and it turned out that they’d been wrong in that assessment too. Not that they had taken his word for it. 

Derek clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, letting out an involuntary whimper-growl at the painful memories.  

“Who goes there?” a drawling and amused male voice called out from nearby, snapping him back to the present.

Derek startled and jumped up, spinning around to look for its source. How did he get that close to someone without noticing?

Searching intently with his more heightened senses he soon realized that he still couldn’t hear their heartbeat and breathing or scent them in the air, which could only mean one thing: magic. Of what kind he had no idea. 

Cautiously, he crept closer to what he figured was the one place within range that a person could remain unseen. Assuming they weren’t also invisible somehow. Derek shivered at the thought, looking around anxiously as if that would do any good were that the case and feeling even more vulnerable. 

Neither magic wielding humans nor the various fae had given him or his family any real trouble before, but he was out here alone and one could never know. The fae in particular often had a mischievous streak and he was currently outside of the considerable stretch of the Preserve that was part of the Hale territory. 

Knowing that whoever it was likely already had the upper hand and could attack him if they wanted to he supposed he might as well try to face the being that he was dealing with. When he peeked around the other side of a large, uneven tree stump he saw what appeared to be a brunet young man in his late teens, maybe 20, sitting sideways and half sprawled across the seat — no, throne — that had been carved into where the trunk had broken and fallen over some time ago. His head was resting against the back of the recess, long-lashed eyelids closed above an upturned nose and cupid’s bow lips. An open flask of some fruit flavored alcohol was held loosely by the slender fingers at the end of a dangling arm.

Derek tried not to make a sound, but the magical youth knew that he was there, staring.

“Hi,” came that syrupy voice again, tousle-haired head abruptly turning to look straight at him with a raised eyebrow and an impish smirk. His laughing eyes were the color of amber honey. 

“Now I know there aren’t any regular wolves around here, so unless you’ve escaped from a sanctuary or some wannabe House Stark super fan somewhere — and are unusually chill in the presence of strangers — I’m going to assume you’re a Were.”

Derek nodded in confirmation and the unknown supernatural’s grin widened. He was suddenly glad that he’d gone out in his wolf form because otherwise he was sure he’d be blushing under the inquisitive gaze. Well, visibly blushing. The thought of shifting now and standing naked in front of the attractive and self-assured young man on his forest throne only made Derek even more flustered.

Consider yourself tagged if you want to play along!

[joeyloganho]

Villains and Lovers

Red Mantle x me!!!

Warnings: quite a bit of cussing, slight? suggestive? At the end? Kind of? not really but just in case i'll put it here. also age difference. (I'm in my mid 20s and he's in his 70s ok? OK)

Thunder boomed outside of the small house. Trees swayed in the wind, and rain fell sideways along the rooftops. Victor could almost get to sleep, but the noise was too much for him. He hated storms. They truly were the bane of his existence. If he could possibly fight them instead of the so-called heroes that he fought on a daily basis, he would. He found it all so stupid, really. Why was he putting himself through all this? There was no point. Maybe it was time for mean old Luciferius to throw in the towel. 

A loud crash at the front door startled Victor. “Shit!” He could hear from the living room. He got out of bed, ready to shoot dark flames at the intruder. They chose the wrong house to break into, that was for sure. Don’t they know not to mess with supervillains? 

“Who the FUCK is there?” Victor yelled, the flames sparking from his fingertips. He spotted a field operative for The Guild standing there. 

“Your door was locked.” The Stranger said with a sorry grin. 

“Yeah, I fuckin know it was! Now can you get the fuck out before i kill you? I’m not in the Guild.” Victor said to the Stranger. He pulled a black envelope from his pocket. 

“But I have this for you.” He said. “Directly from Sovereign himself.” 

Victor grabbed the envelope from the Stranger. “Get out.” He said. 

“But…are you gonna come to the event?” He asked. 

“What are you talking about?” Victor sighed. 

“Well that’s an invite…” He smiled. Victor rolled his eyes, opening the fancy envelope addressed to Luciferius in gold lettering. Pulling out the invite, it read something along the lines of a get together for The Guild’s members blah blah. A celebration of something or other. Victor didn’t really pay attention, but he did notice the handwritten note inside.

“Please do come to the event. We could always use such talent and excellence such as yourself in our presence. You are, after all, one of the best villains out there. Do consider. -Sovereign” 

“Handwritten begging from Sovereign?” Victor laughed. “Sure. I’ll come.” 

“I’ll let him know. Thanks, Luci.” The Stranger smiled, getting ready to leave. 

“Don’t ever call me that again.” Victor grabbed the man, flames in his eyes. 

“OH…sorry. Heh.” The Stranger apologized awkwardly before slipping out the door. Victor went to slam it shut. He realized the door had been completely damaged from that bastard coming in. He sighed loudly. 

“Great.” 

~

Victor, dressed in a deep, dark purple suit with white details, walked into the hall where the event was being held. Villains of all kinds mingled with each other. Victor felt out of place. Sure, he was a villain himself, but…he never interacted with others. He never collaborated with these people. He was a lone wolf. Hell he didn’t even know half these people’s names. He figured he could make his way over, get a drink or something, and then leave. He didn’t have to stay too long. 

As he made his way over to the bar, he sat at an empty seat next to a tall, skinnier man. He wasn’t really paying much attention to him. The man wore black and had white hair but that was about all he noticed. He could hear the man talking to someone, but he didn’t see who it was. 

“Double shot of Jack.” Victor told the bartender. 

“Double?!” The man beside him exclaimed. “My kind of man.” 

“Hmm?” Victor hummed, looking over at him. He was older, no wonder the grey hair. He was still handsome tho. Really handsome actually, Victor thought. Damn. The older man smiled at him. 

“Red Mantle. Mind if i join you?” He asked. 

“Luciferius…Not at all.” He smiled back. Red Mantle ordered a double shot of Jack as well. 

“OH so you’re NOT gonna introduce ME? I see how it is.” Victor heard a voice nearby. 

“Shut up, will you? I don’t need you interrupting me at all times! I’m having a lovely conversation with this nice young man.” Red Mantle snapped. His body turned slightly, revealing a second head of a bald man. 

“Hi! I’m Dragoon. Hope you don’t mind me.” Dragoon smiled. 

Victor shrugged. “I’ve seen weirder.” He said, lifting the shot glass up to Red Mantle. They clinked their glasses and took the shots. 

Victor and Mantle sat in silence for a moment before Mantle started talking. 

“So, I’ve heard of you.” He said. 

“Have you?” Victor questioned, eyebrow raised in curiosity. Mantle nodded with a smirk. 

“I just didn’t realize how handsome you’d be.” He grinned. Dragoon groaned loudly. 

“You are WAY too old for him, Mantle. Come ON! There’s no way he’s interested in YOU!” He told him. Victor shook his head. 

“Actually. I think he’s the perfect age. I like em older.” Victor laughed. Mantle blushed slightly, turning to look at the floor. 

“Oh well then don’t lose momentum now big boy.” Dragoon laughed. Mantle sneered at Dragoon before turning to Victor once more. 

“Would you like to maybe, walk around or something? These chairs aren’t comfortable.” He asked. 

“Sure. You dance, Manny?” Victor smiled. Mantle felt himself really blushing at the nickname. 

“I do.” He said with a grin. “I used to be all the rage back in my day.” 

“Never had a dancin tune to your name, liar.” Dragoon laughed. Victor didn’t quite get what they were saying but took Mantle’s hand and walked with him to the dancefloor. 

A few villains danced together, some by themselves, but then a slow song came on as the two (three?) were approaching the dancefloor. Mantle held Victor’s waist and Dragoon’s hand took hold of Victor’s hand. Victor’s head rested on Mantle’s shoulder, and the older villain felt his heart skip. He was so happy. No one wanted his attention. He was some old guy, with another head. He wasn’t hot, or so he thought. Maybe being an old man with two heads could work out. 

When the song ended, the two pulled away from each other slightly, still holding each other. Victor smiled at him as the song turned into a more upbeat, dance type song. “I hate this song.” Victor laughed. 

“So do I.” Mantle grinned. Dragoon frowned. 

“I like it.” He said. The two ignored him, walking off the dancefloor towards the door. “Where are we going?” 

“Outside.” Mantle said. 

“Are we going to smoke? I need a cigarette.” Dragoon said. 

“Do you think we could maybe, talk more? I like you…” Mantle said to Victor, who nodded enthusiastically. 

“Of course. Does an old man such as yourself have a cell phone? I’ll call you sometime.” Victor teased, but was completely serious. Mantle nodded and they exchanged numbers. 

“Sometimes Dragoon uses the phone.” He told him. Victor nodded. “Are you leaving?” 

“I was going to but…You can come with? If you want?” Victor asked, giving him a small kiss on the lips. Mantle smiled into the kiss and blushed, nodding as they pulled away. 

“Sure…” He said to him, taking his hand as they walked away from the party. Maybe Victor could stay a villain a bit longer, if it meant he’d get to hang out with cuties like Red Mantle.

[thegayestandalite]

A remaster of Uprising

I’m expecting a lot more writing to be done nowadays

Chapter 1

A small squirrel sat upon her oak throne, waving in the wind, surveying her queendom, pondering the one thing that squirrels always have on their minds. World domination. The world being roughly, three trees.

These nefarious thoughts were interrupted as an increasingly loud and shrill object came barreling out of the sky.

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

A metallic wail streaked across the smooth bright blue sky, and landed in a lump, spraying an explosion of dirt, wood, debris and a good smattering of essential ship chunks.

Stumbling out of the cursed mess, like some sort of cursed egg, was a swearing stumbling alien. Because there were no blue, four legged, 6 limbed and furred creatures on earth, this was definitely an alien, and he had a potty mouth, if he actually had a mouth, which he did not and that was messed up.

Cursing excessively, he leaned against the door frame, before tumbling out into the dirt.

This graceful being was an andalite. He looked a bit like an earth centaur, with four longs legs with hooves, a long tail with a dangerous blade at the end, four eyes, two on eye stalks and two on the face, and furred all over.

He was large, maybe a bit oversized for an andalite. He had the characteristic blue fur that turned a solid tan on his belly, under tail, a stripe of it down his torso and a splash of tan across his face.

[Can there ever be a time where a ship does NOT crash,] he yelled between streams on incoherent swears, and waving his shredder. [For once? Just maybe? Too much to ask?]

He glared down at a nearby twitch fur creature that was more tail than anything else, as he clutched his injured arm. [Don't you judge me.]

But of course, Harbinger of Death (squirrels chose their own names, as squirrels are only capable of loving themselves) did anyway.

On further reflection, he aimed his shredder at it, [I don't suppose you're anyone I should know?] When the twitchy thing didn't do anything to avoid imminent death he lowered his weapon. [You pass,] he said, and then squinted his eyes, [For now.]

He gave a sideways glance at his ship and sighed. [Nobody is ever going to believe this isn't my fault.]

He looked at the possibly same creature.

[It's not,] he added.

Habringer of Death left.

____________________________

Ripping through the forest was a menagerie of ridiculously out of place animals. The animorphs, a group of shapeshifting children fighting a war that the world's fate depended on. They were on the run before their morphs could even finish, tearing through scratchy thickets and leaping over fallen logs.

Tobias was first, a red tailed hawk, he spotted the craft in his domain, the open sky.

Ax, another andalite, was at a relay point so he could communicate with thought speak and update his comrades with what Tobias was telling him.

Another andalite, male, injured, fairly unhappy and apparently making enemies, and then befriending? A squirrel.

_____________________

Along with his wounded arm, he was also nursing an injured upper torso and was willing to wager with the absolute fire of hell streaking through his legs he had managed to break a few bones as well.

[You are my only friend in the world, seemingly harmless tiny creature who hopefully will not turn out absolutely deadly,] he intoned sadly.

This wasn't Harbinger of Death, she left a while ago. This was a new curious squirrel, Baby Killer.

[Squirrels don't have friends,] Tobias said, absolutely correct, [Only malice.]

The alien's head snapped up and his stalk eyes darted around.

Ah, now things are getting interesting, an all or foe has arrived.

[That's good to know, ] he said carefully. [Are you the...squirrel?] He watched the tiny animal twinge nervously and dart back and forth. Squirrel certainly felt like a good jumble of sounds to identify the creature.

[No,] a feathered, winged creature with dull brown coloring flapped onto a closer branch.

Baby Killer was displeased and fled in a chattering of disapproving sounds. She'd have her day.

[corvuserpens]

Brother Mine: A “The Sandman” Short Fic [Part II]

The Endless siblings continue their day together, finding fun things to do together while Dream meows against it every step of the way bc he is anti-fun. Well, most of the time. Also, I headcanon that Death is a goth jock ;)

Set between The Doll’s House and Season of Mists.

Again, tagging @raven-star7​, here’s more as promised!

The park was quiet when they arrived. Apart from them, there was only a small group of yoga practicioners, an old man sitting on a bench in the periphery while doing the crosswords puzzle on his newspaper, and a few people walking their dogs. There was plenty of space for everyone, and the sun was stubbornly poking through the thinning layer of clouds, warming the air and filling it with the scent of fresh cut grass and late blooming flowers.

With quick and light steps, almost a bounce to them, Death of the Endless stepped into the lawn and turned to face Dream, tossing a soccer ball (which she had not been holding a second ago) from one hand to the other. “You ready?”

The king of Dreams chose to keep his bone white hands in the pockets of his coat, as well as a safe distance from her. His nose scruffed a notch, and Death thought, no matter how much time passed, she would never not find that snotty sneer adorable.

“I fail to see the entertainment quality of kicking a ball around,” he complained.

“That’s because we haven’t started, yet!” She let the ball drop on the tip of her boot, kicking it back up before it could touch the ground, then angled herself to headbutt it toward her brother. “C’mon, just give it a try! It’s fun, I promise.”

Dream caught the ball in one hand, unblinking, so fast he barely seemed to move. His grimace did not soften. “My sister--”

“Look, just indulge me.” Now it was her turn to pout, head tilted sideways, eyes wide and sad as a puppy’s. “Pleeeeease? And then we can go do something you like, how’s that?”

That at least got him to think. He turned the ball slowly on his fingertips, studying it’s texture and pattern, while the rest of his posture remained as still as a lily pond. His blue eyes met his sister’s brown ones. Her smile broadened, eyebrows arching in a mute challenge. A gentle breeze blew past the trees, creating a melody of thousands of leaves brushing against each other. Behind Dream, the yoga instructor guided her pupils into a new pose with her soothing, hypnothizing voice. The old man turned a page on his newspaper.

Dream allowed himself the faintest of smiles, let the ball fall to his feet and removed his jacket with slow, calculated movements before discarding it over a nearby bench. Lovely Death let out a whoop, clapped her hands once and got into position, egging him on. He kicked the ball toward her, thus commencing their game.

For a while they didn’t speak, rather preferred to concentrate on trying to get the ball past each other to score goals, using every method available - tripping, pushing, evading. Of the two, it was clear Death was the most experienced, as she had practiced the beautiful game (and other sports in general) much more frequently than her homebody brother. However, Dream was quick to learn and adapt, not to mention astute, always on the lookout for an opening, a weakness in her defenses that he could exploit. Although she had built up a comfortable score at the beginning of their match, soon enough Dream was catching up to her, and she watched her lead grow shorter and shorter.

“Not bad, little brother!” Death soared into the air, caught the ball with her head, swerved around Dream, and kicked it past him with a knee. “You’re better than I thought, considering you didn’t even want to play!”

His only response was a sideways glance full of playful annoyance. He jogged away to recover the ball and returned so they could continue the game. 

They were at a draw, nine-nine, and they both knew the next goal would determine the victor. Death was intent on being it. Back and forth they went, Death’s curls bouncing wildly, Dream’s form losing shape the faster he moved, grass kicked up, the breath of either Endless ragged and heavy. Death realized with a start that she hadn’t expected this match to grow so intense, a test of speed, skill and cunning, but she was glad for it; she was having a blast, and she had a feeling Dream was, too. He could be a competitive little arse, when he wanted to. 

She was on the cusp of an opening; she could almost taste victory. Once more, the ball descended toward them like a comet. Dream was too far away to get it, but Death was exactly on the right spot. She was prepared to receive the rubber sphere with her chest and score, when Dream’s arm shot out and pushed her backwards with such uncharacteristic brutality, that she fell right on her bum with a shout. “Hey!!”

From the ground, she saw as Dream jumped with feline grace, twisted mid-air and did a perfect bycicle that sent the ball flying across the lawn and disappear into the bushes.

Flabbergasted, Death stared up at her amiable, soft-spoken brother whilst he landed on his feet, out of breath, and took in the sight of her prostrated on the grass, elbows propping her up, wide-eyed. His lips clamped shut in an instant, his skin paling even more, like he was just now realizing what had happened, what he had done, and instantly regretted it, for he knew such an offense would surely warrant grave consequences.

But Death only laughed, amused to no end, with not a drop of anger in her. Who knew that Dream of the Endless, the Prince of Stories, perpetual stick in the mud and such a stickler for rules and proper protocol, could be so cut-throat and ruthless? 

“Well played. But this isn’t rugby, y’know?” She chuckled. “If this were a real game, you would’ve seen a red card and got benched on the spot.”

Though Dream’s shoulders sagged in relief, his expression was still cautious as he searched for any sign of something being off. “My apologies, sister. I seem to have forgotten myself. Forgive me.”

“Mhm...”

He offered his hand to help her up, which she took, allowing him to pull her up to her feet. She patted down her rump, making a show of getting every blade of grass off of her jeans, apparently distracted and already forgetting the whole incident - then planted both hands on his chest and shoved with as much strength as necessary without throwing him off the planet (yes, she could do that, if she wanted).

“Oof--” Dream dropped like a sack of potatoes and rolled on his back with eyes as round as planets. He never stood a chance.

Confused, utterly shocked with such behavior, all he could do was mirror her own reaction and stare up at Death, who bent over laughing, no, cackling at his figure! She was cackling and ugly snorting at the sight of the King of Dreams, the Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, sprawled on the ground like a helpless little baby.

“The look on your face!” She managed to articulate between bouts of breathless laughter. “It’s so-- You look so--” And she lost it again when she looked at him through tear-filled eyes and saw the frown on Dream’s brow grow, that cute pout doing nothing to intimidate her. That might work on his subjects, but they had no effect on her whatsoever. Besides, she could see him struggle to hold back a smile of his own; Death’s laugh had always been a contagious thing.

“I suppose I deserved that,” he conceeded whilst hauling himself back up.

Death took a lungful of air and let it out in a slow (and shaky, for just glancing at him was almost enough to send her off again) exhale. “Serves you right for roughing up your older sister.” She wiped a whisp of a tear from the corner of an eye. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Dream.” 

“Neither did I,” he admitted, albeit it smirking. “I would say this is all your influence, but I fear you might push me back down.”

“Don’t temp me.” She pointed a finger at him as a warning, then winked and went off to dig their ball out of the bushes. When she returned, she said: “You win this time, but I’ll want a rematch some day!”

He bowed his head in solemn deference, the way he did when he wanted convey a proper amount of respect, but also make a show of underlined mockery. And he knew exactly what he was doing: walking that fine line between being a little shit, but never actually doing anything that might give the other party an excuse to smite him. He was a very good at waltzing that line. She had seen him do it many times with the likes of Lucifer Morningstar, for example, which was ballsy, considering they might be the most powerful being in existence (aside from the Creator, of course) and therefore more than capable of obliterating an Endless.

“Some day, then,” he promised.

“Hm.” Death narrowed her eyes at him and made an I’m watching you gesture at him. Again, she let the ball drop, but rather than send it back his way, she continued to kick it into the air, keeping it off the ground with confident, expert feet, bouncing it on her knee, on her forehead, back to one knee, then the other, again on her head. Dream took a seat on the bench where he had left his coat and watched as she kept it up for a whole minute, then two, then three. The ball didn’t touch the grass a single time.

“I haven’t done this in decades,” she told him, her smile as radiant as the sun itself. “I think I managed to keep this up for like, fifteen minutes, once.”

“You don’t say.”

She nodded. “Think I can push it to thirty?”

“That is completely absurd.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his stare intensifying. “Do an hour.”

“Oooooooh, challenge accepted, brother.”

~1 hour later~

“Hah!” With a final headbutt, Death caught the ball in her hands at last. Dream had sat as still as a statue on the bench, a pensive dark angel with both hands clutched to his lips, observing her every move while waiting for her to either succeed or fail in the challenge, and only abandoned that stoic, rigid position when she stopped bouncing the ball.

“One hour, two minutes and 43 seconds,” he nodded, rising from his seat with a smile. “A new record, then?”

“That I fully intend to break in the future,” she vowed. “Next time, though. You’ve indulged me more than you were obliged to, already. Now it’s my turn. What would you like to do?”

Dream put his coat back on, stuffed his hands back in its pockets and looked around, searching for inspiration. After nearly a minute, he looked to his sister and asked: “Is there a book store somewhere around here?”

Death smiled, walked past him and gave his arm a brief squeeze. “More than one. This is London, after all. This way.”

[slashmagpie]

Can i request a Cleo centric fic? Perhaps set in the traffic universe?

“You’re shivering again,” Cleo notes.

Scott clenches his teeth and goes stiff, knuckles turning white against the railing of the bridge. The act doesn’t last long: his teeth chatter against his will, his arms beginning to tremble.

“It’s fine,” he says at last, voice strangled.

Cleo’s mouth settles into a thin line. “It’s not fine,” they say. “We should go over there, give her—”

“I said, it’s fine,” Scott insists. “I don’t want to deal with Pearl right now.”

You’re dealing with her anyway, Cleo thinks, but keeps their mouth shut. They turn their gaze away from Scott, back over the ravine, and—ow.

“What is he doing?” they mutter, scowling at the empty shell of the Weeping Heart Bastion.

“Martyn? God knows. Nothing good, I bet.”

“No,” Cleo agrees with a sigh. “No, probably not.” Another jolt of pain shoots through them. They groan. “Ugh. At this rate, we’re not gonna make it to the end, Martyn! Because you’re going to get us killed!”

“Please don’t die,” Scott says with a sideways glance. “Do you need food?”

“No, no, I’ve got some.” Cleo pulls some steak from their inventory, takes a bite. It tastes bitter against their tongue. They chew angrily, still staring out at Martyn’s eyesore of a base. “Do you ever wonder—” They cut themself off.

“Wonder what?”

They take a breath. “Do you ever wonder what they’re thinking?”

Scott’s face screws up in confusion. “Pearl and Martyn? I’ll be honest, I just thought that they weren’t thinking. They’re not the brightest in the bunch.”

“No, not—not them. The… Whoever is behind this. And don’t say Grian, because we both know that if he had a choice, he wouldn’t be with Scar right now.”

“No, Grian’s not in charge of this. I don’t know who is, but it’s definitely not him.”

“Why would they—I mean, okay. Third Life was simple. It’s a death game! Who doesn’t love a good death game? And then Last Life—the boogeyman, the betrayals, no alliances on red, take what was there before and make it more dramatic. More bloody. I’m a fan of that.” They smile. There’s no humour in it.

Scott snorts. “Sure.”

“But then—soulmates. Of all the things in the world, why… Why soulmates? It doesn’t make the game longer. Makes it shorter, if anything. That’s not—I mean, it’s not conducive to the bloodshed, really. And everyone’s being so… well, you know. I mean, look at Bdubs and Impulse! Where’s the betrayal?”

“We’re not in the endgame yet. There’s still time.”

“You think he’ll do it?” Cleo raises an eyebrow.

Scott shrugs. Then, hunching his shoulders, teeth still clattering, he says, “It’s not conducive to the bloodshed, but it’s conducive to the drama.”

Cleo scoffs. “Not good drama. Not the kind that—I mean. Petty relationship drama is less…” They sigh. “No, it’s more that—it’s less fun when you don’t get a choice. Isn’t it—I chose to trust this person, and they betrayed me, and that’s dramatic. But I was forced to trust this person, and then they betrayed me, or didn’t, and I never had a choice in it? That’s boring, don’t you think?”

“I’m here too,” Scott reminds them. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t—boring. Yeah. And it’s not like—you know, with the boogeyman. Everyone said they didn’t have a choice, but really, they did. They could have chosen not to. I did, and then I won, so. And this time, we didn’t have a choice, but we made one. That’s something, right?”

It’s not the same, Cleo thinks. “Yeah,” they agree, taking another angry bite from their steak as they feel yet another pulse of pain. “Let’s win this time, too. Show them what we think of their little game.”

Scott hums. “Hey, Cleo,” he says. “If you could choose anyone to be your soulmate, who would it be? You don’t have to say me. I mean, I’ll be offended, and it’d be the wrong answer, but you don’t have to pick me.” 

Cleo snorts. “Anyone, huh?”

“Anyone.”

They glance out at the Bleeding Heart Bastion again. They’re thinking of other lives, other times—a well-fortified castle, a circle of trees full of betrayal, secret base after secret base. 

“I’d want to be by myself,” they say at last. “If I had the choice. But I suppose, if I had to be with someone, you’re not the worst person to be stuck with.” They smirk.

Scott rolls his eyes, pressing one hand to his chest. “Aww, that was almost sweet!” he says.

Cleo pretends to gag. 

“What about you?” they ask, after the theatrics are over. “If you had the choice?”

Scott’s quiet for a long moment. “I think I’d want to be alone too. But—yeah. There are worse people than you. I would even go as far to say that there aren’t many better.”

Cleo fake gags again. He elbows them playfully, and then they both flinch as their soulmates do something stupid in unison.

“Goddamn it.”

Vote Etho! Request a ficlet!

[sosimsofmaddi]

Geroux: Meeting a Lycanthrope

She knew that the snap of the twig was intentional, that he could’ve been completely silent if he chose. Since she started searching the woods, she often felt eyes on her, but she never heard a thing. She didn’t know how the wolves moved so quietly, but they were almost undetectable. Raised human, her senses weren’t the same as those raised in a pack.

She turned around slowly, watching the lycanthrope step through a narrow gap between two large trees. He was in human form, looking at her with his head cocked, bright eyes roaming over her. He was surprisingly pale, as though the sun didn’t reach him outside of his wolf form. He was the type of slender that reminded her of sprawling tree limbs, and the kind of tall that fit that analogy. 

He stopped like an animal, sizing her up the way she did him. He didn’t speak as she took in the three claw scars that cut his face from his temple through his eye. Her attention snagged there, as it mimicked the same three scars on her own face. Hers swiped like a sideways arch over her eye, his marred his face in three diagonal swipes. 

His chest was broken by two large scars, running from his collar bone and disappearing into a slouchy black tank top. She traced the curve of his shoulders down his arms to another mottled discoloration.

“What happened to you?” she asked before she reconsidered the question.

He smiled softly, finding humor. “Raised by wolves.” He nodded to her own face. “What about you?” 

She had learned never to duck her head, but this was the first time she didn’t have the urge. “It’s a long story.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I know the feeling.” He glanced around the trees before landing on the entrance to a drainage tunnel. “What are you doing out here?”

Reese shuffled a step backwards to hold her balance on the rocks. “Looking for you, I guess,” she said with an easy shrug. “Looking for wolves.”

The lycanthrope stepped fully through the trees. “Well you found me,” he said, a little breathless in a way that didn’t match the rest of him. He frowned at her like he didn’t know he was doing it, eyes pulling over her curiously. He smoothed his expression after a moment.

She noted that he was barefoot, wearing only a pair of torn jeans. There was something wild about him, even as he stood as a man in front of her, something in the tilt of his head, the sharp edge of his smile. It wasn’t danger, but something she couldn’t place. Something like certainty, something that came with being at home in the woods, being at home in his skin.

She’d never met a wolf who felt at home. She knew herself and her father, and they’d both spent their lives feeling cursed and unsteady.

“What’s your name?” she asked, wishing she had something better to ask. Wishing that she could think of all the questions she’d spent months stuck on. Questions about her son and his future, his fate, his transition coming too soon. But her mind was stuck on him, stuck on the marred skin and the heavy set of his brows, the white hair at the crown of his head that became gray, then black at the ends. It was cut short on the sides, longer on top and the back, brushing the crook of his neck in thick, messy strands. A braided piece fell over his shoulder as he raised his eyes to hers.

“I’m Gunnar,” he breathed.

Reese’s eyebrows raised. “I’m guessing every wolf in town knows who I am.”

He nodded. “It’s not that often that we get outsiders coming around asking questions. We’re not used to being that easy to find.”

“You’re not easy to find. I’ve been looking for months and nobody has given me any answers.” She frowned at him, eyes flickering over him like he might disappear.

Gunnar took another step forward, balancing on the boulders that pushed out of the dirt. He stepped from one to another, peering down into the old river ravine where the drainage tunnel opened below. “How’d you know where to look?” he asked without looking away from the tunnel.

“Scary stories.” She took a step back, like she might fall too if he lost his footing.  

He looked at her curiously, his back to the drop.

“My father told me about the werewolf that attacked him in these woods.”

The lycanthrope stepped down from the ravine, landing in the dirt closer than she expected. She folded her arms across her chest, almost brushing his. She wasn’t short, but he was very tall. “You weren’t bitten?” he asked curiously, frowning at her. 

She shook her head. 

“Was your mother a lycanthrope?” He brushed the palms of his hands down the thighs of his jeans. Both were tinged with dirt and dust from the forest. 

“No,” she answered. 

He nodded like he’d catalogued all the info. “Typically bitten wolves are brought into a clan. We don’t go around attacking strangers in the woods.”

Reese frowned at him. “My father was attacked,” she maintained. “He was left bleeding in the woods, far from his campsite. It was hours before they found him. He hated wolves; he hated himself.”

The lycanthrope simply stared at her for a moment. “You were raised without a pack.”

She held her ground, remembering all the ways her father hated himself. All the remorse and shame he felt for making her this way. “I wasn’t raised,” she told the wolf. “My father lost control and killed my mother. He killed himself afterwards.”

A silence stretched between them, that thoughtful look back on his face. It wasn’t pity; it was like he was used to carnage. Those scars told her that he probably was.

“Do you shift?”

Surprised with the shift, she answered anyway, “Are there wolves that don’t?” She’d never spoken to anyone about being a wolf, so his attention made her bristle. She’d never spoken it out loud, not even to her sister all these years. 

“There are recessive wolves,” the lycanthrope explained. “Children of wolves that don’t don’t shift, but they have the capacity to pass down the gene.”

Something like fear shot through Reese. “I shift,” she answered, but her mind was on Roxana, who wasn’t a wolf, who hated wolves the way their dad did.

“Can you control your shift?”

Reese frowned, attention crawling back to him. “I have my own questions.” 

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, smiling around it. “Okay,” he conceded. “What questions?”

Reese’s lips parted in surprise. After months of hunting, here he was. She wasn’t sure if her mind was moving too fast or too slow, but she couldn’t grasp any of her thoughts. Finally, she pulled her biggest worry to the forefront of her mind. “When do boys start showing signs of transitioning?” 

It was obvious he hadn’t expected it. He was taken aback by the turn. His nostrils flared as he pulled in a breath, frowning. “You know a young wolf?” 

Reese nodded, nervous about his hesitancy. He looked concerned and confused. Not dangerous, but intense in a way he wasn’t moments ago. She hadn’t considered what it would mean to tell the wolves about Kelley. She didn’t know their customs, didn’t know how they would react to him.

“Do boys transition earlier?” she rephrased. 

“Who’s the child?” he asked, pushing past her questions.

Reese’s frustration grew. “Stop meeting my questions with more questions. I need to know if boys transition earlier than girls. I need to know that this is all normal.”

He shook his head, shaking it off. “I’m sorry,” he said genuinely. “Is this your child?” 

Reese paused, arms folded over her chest. The desire to tell him the truth battled with the desire to protect Kelley. There were two sides to keeping her son safe, the catch-22 left her here, standing in the woods with a lycanthrope.

She didn’t know if she could trust him — everything in her past said she couldn’t, but she needed to. She looked at him, his eyes the color of spring leaves and forest floors. Maybe it was the gravitas of the situation or the fact that she’d never stood this close to another wolf, but she was overwhelmed by him.

“My son is eight,” she explained. “He’s already showing signs of being like me. He’s so young; he barely understands what’s happening to him. I need to know if there’s a way to make it easier, to delay it.”

Gunnar’s bare arms were folded. He stood apart from her. “Your eight-year-old son…” he repeated softly. He took a deep breath, watching her. “Is it just the two of you?” His voice was quiet, as though a wolf apart was a travesty.

“When do wolves normally shift?”

Gunnar dropped his arms. “It depends on the child and the family. If the parents transitioned earlier, the kids are likely to do the same. How old were you?”

“Fourteen.” She could breathe a little better. “Eight seems too young.” 

Gunnar shook his head while he moved a little closer. “It’s early, but it’s not unheard of. What about his father? Human?” His forest-floor eyes met her sunset ones. 

“He’s human.”

The wolf nodded. “Complications are rare for young wolves. The months leading up to it are rough, but shouldn’t be unbearable. Being around other wolves makes it easier. It’s like the body knows.” 

He said that in a way that implied he knew how hard it must’ve been for Reese. Isolated and alone, not a single other wolf in her life. Her transition was the worst night of her life, and the weeks leading up to it were like a never-ending flu. Nausea, fatigue, headaches, mood swings, dizzy-spells. The worst was that her bones ached for months.

“I could meet him,” Gunnar suggested cautiously. “I can gauge him, talk to him about what it’s like to be a male—“

Reese shook her head before he even finished. “I don’t want him around wolves.”

Gunnar smiled a little bit, head cocked at the remark. 

“I’m sorry,” Reese said, realizing how that sounded. “But I don’t want to scare him.”

Gunnar smiled at her. “I understand, but if you change your mind.”

“You’re not going to disappear?” she inferred. The sky over the ravine was brightening in that way it did just before sunset, pinks and oranges stretching upwards, meeting the haze of dusk just above the horizon. 

Gunnar was splashed in color, surrounded by the greens and browns of the forest, the riot of sky behind him. He looked inhuman and impossible, barefoot in the dirt. 

“You’ve just found me,” he told her, “and you have more questions.”

[nanasparadise]

Could you do bluebell + Jonathan Joestar with male reader please

Anon said: “Jonathan + bluebell would be perfect combination, please”

I don’t know if you’re the same person who requested it, but in any case, I hope you enjoy it! It’s my first time writing for a male reader!!

I also changed the plot a bit, Jonathan and Erina met when they were adults in this fic.

“On a spring’s evening” Yan!Jonathan x male reader

Bluebell (humility, gratitude): “I’ll be your humble servant, if only you’d let me.”

Summary: You join your childhood friend Jonathan for tea, knowing he has some news to share with you. A pity you don’t know yet to what extent said news would change your life.

TW: toxic relationship, drugging, implied kidnapping, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

A soft breeze caressed your face as you wandered through the colourful garden. Spring was showing off its gentle beauty through the sea of blooming flowers. You mindlessly strolled around, contemplating how the slowly setting sun gave the blossoms a luminous shine.

‘What does Jonathan have to tell me?’, you wondered as you couldn’t resist the urge to pick your favourite flower and inhale its sweet scent. A smile crossed your face. It must be good news if he chose such a peaceful evening to talk to you.

Lately, you’d seen him with this blonde girl - Erina was her name, though you weren’t sure anymore - and she seemed to make Jonathan happy. Your childhood friend had already suffered enough under his adoptive brother’s bullying, so you were more than relieved to see him laugh with Erina. Maybe he was finally revealing to you that they were engaged and proceeded with their wedding arrangements. Perhaps, he might even ask you to be his best man. The thought filled you with warmth. You would love nothing more than to help him turn the most important day of his life also into his most joyous one.

Lost in your little world, you didn’t notice the big hand coming to rest on your shoulder until the boisterous chuckle followed. No doubt, Jonathan had decided to join you at last.

You spun around and gave your friend a big smile. “Jonathan, there you are! I thought I might turn into a tree before you’d finally arrive,” you joked light-heartedly. The tall man laughed with you, his hand now sliding down your shoulder and staying on the small of your back instead.

“Come on then, let’s waste no more time,” he said calmly, guiding you towards the winter garden, “I’ve asked the maid to prepare us some tea.”

Promptly, the two of you were seated, enjoying the view of the luscious flora from behind the glass panels.

“I know I should wait until tea is served but I cannot help myself,” you started the conversation, a big grin adorning your face. Jonathan gave you a confused glance, curiosity glinting in his clear blue eyes as he turned his head slightly sideways like a lost puppy. “Are you engaged to Miss Erina?”

Jonathan’s innocent demeanour immediately fell, his eyes widening for a second before his face was coated by an uncharacteristically gloomy look. “What would you think of that, if that were the case?”, he retorted, avoiding your question for now.

You gripped the table and leaned forward in anticipation, oblivious to your friend’s drastic change. “Are you mad? Why even ask such a silly question in the first place? I’d be delighted for you! Say, can I be your best man?”

Jonathan swallowed thickly at your response, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You sent him a puzzled look. Why wouldn’t he be happy? If anything, he looked uncomfortable at best and devastated at worst. Coming to the conclusion that his behaviour was indeed strange, you decided to voice your thoughts. “What’s wrong with you, Jonathan? Didn’t you ask me here to tell me the news? Or is something else the matter? You know, you can always talk to me if you happen to feel unwell.” You enclosed your hand with his, giving it a comforting squeeze.

The dark-haired man only appeared to be more distressed by your action, making you dread that there was definitely something bothering him. “Well, you are right,” Jonathan eventually uttered, an unusual nervousness coating his voice, “I’m engaged to Miss Erina. However, I wish that wasn’t the case.”

You had to control your jaw from not dropping. “I don’t understand,” you stuttered, “I thought you liked her! You seemed to enjoy her company and, according to my knowledge, she’s a respectable, kind and beautiful lady! I don’t think you’ll find a better match than her.”

“I already found one,” he said, his eyes filled with his typical kindness and confidence. Now it was his turn to comfort you, his warm and rough hand switching positions with yours, while his thumb drew circles on it. “I asked you to see me because I want to marry you, not Erina.”

Your eyes widened at his words. “Me?”, you blurted out in disbelief. Jonathan giggled at your inelegant reaction. “Yes, you. There’s no one else I can imagine spending my life with.” He drew your hand to his lips, giving the back a chaste kiss while staring at you with such fondness, it made you feel warm inside. After a moment, he let go of it, opting to grab a velvet box out of his trouser pocket instead and placing it on the table. Carefully, he opened it in front of you, displaying the simple yet beautiful gold ring inside. At a closer look, you could see the words ‘to my beloved’ engraved on the inside of it.

Your brain couldn’t process the scenario. Was he really…? “My dearest Y/N, would you give me the honour of becoming my husband and make me the happiest man alive?”

For a few moments, you only managed to gape at the ring in front of you, his words slowly unravelling in your head and beginning to make sense. “But what about Erina? And your family? I don’t think they’d appreciate the annulment.”

“It’s fine,” Jonathan answered with diligence, “I’ve bought this cottage where we can live in peace that’s a day away from here. You’ll love it! It has a similar garden as this estate does, no, it’s even lovelier! And I made sure it has a small room where you can work on your paintings!” He could see that his words didn’t reach the way he intended, so he gave you a pleading glance that tugged on your heartstrings. “Please, my love, run away with me. I’ll do anything for you, I’ll be your humble servant, if only you’d let me.”

Casting your eyes down to avoid his gaze, you bit on your lower lip, guilt nibbling at your conscience. Did you love him the same way he did? At this point, you considered him to be solely your friend. There was no denying that his confession made you feel flustered and you did enjoy the attention, but was this enough to be love? Especially when the life you’d led so far would change drastically?

In your heart, you knew the answer.

“Jonathan,” you uttered, looking back into his face, “I didn’t know you’d feel that way for me. I’m flattered, however, I have to reject you, at least for now. This is going very fast for me. Plus, I received a letter last week that I could participate in an art exhibition in London under the condition that I live there for the next half of the year.” His expression became even more pitiful, it made it hard for you to continue speaking. But you remained persistent. In the end, it had to be said. “I don’t want to give up on my dreams, I’m sorry.”

“Very well,” the Englishman said to your surprise, his voice devoid of any emotion, “I see your point.” In that moment, the maid busted into the room with a tray containing two tea cups, saving both of ýou from this awkward moment.

“At last, the tea,” you chuckled, trying to ease the heavy atmosphere. However, instead of joining your teasing, Jonathan shared an ominous look with the maid you failed to decipher. Serving you the beverage, she gave you a quick curtsey and scrambled out of the room.

“I hope you enjoy the tea,” Jonathan wished you, sincerity swinging in his voice. You shot him a small smile and started drinking the warm liquid. The cogs in your head were churning as you desperately tried to find a way to lighten the mood. As selfish as it may sound, you didn’t want to lose your friend. But how could if you just broke his heart? Maybe it was best to give him space and start anew in the big city.

As you kept mulling over your situation, you suddenly began feeling sleepy. It must be visible, as Jonathan suddenly started to inquire: “What’s the matter? Do you feel ill?”

“I just became so drowsy,” you answered truthfully, your voice coming out slurred, “I think I need to grab some fresh air.” You stood up from your seat, intending to enter the garden once more, but your legs gave out and you fell sideways onto the floor. In a matter of seconds, Jonathan was crouching next to you, patting your back and shushing you.

“Wha-,” you tried to speak up, but your tongue felt like lead, rendering you unable to voice your concern.

“It’s alright, my dear,” he cooed as he scooped up your form into his big arms, “I’m here for you, always.”

Before you were taken by sleep, you heard Jonathan utter the words that would cement your future.

“And I’ll prove that to you when we start our life as a married couple.”

[86-was-his-year]

Sing me to Sleep - Eddie Munson (1)

Chapter One: The Start

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Word Count: 10.3k

Series Summary: A look back at season 4, a fix-it-fic, if you will. 

Chapter Summary: You go with the gang to find Eddie and when you do, you can’t contain your relief. 

Warnings: Mentions of death, Season 4 spoilers like a lot, brief violence, swearing, drug use, making out, grinding (sort of), mentions of grief, Eddie Munson

A/N: I’m back to posting because the Eddie brain rot it real. I will be going through each episode and throwing the reader in there because I can and I want to pretend that Vol. 2 didn’t happen. More chapters to come! Sorry for any grammar mistakes, been though it three times but I’m stupid :)

It had been weeks since you moved to Hawkins, Indiana. The small town offering nothing but trees, trees, and maybe a field or two. It was by far the most boring place you’ve ever been. After living in the city there wasn’t much competition, the cracked sideways and roads are nothing like the smooth pavement you had back in Chicago, and the stores were unlike anything you’ve ever seen. When your mom drove you into town she decided to show you around Main Street first, the place where everything was or where everyone went to hang out.

The leaves were turning red and brown, giving way to fall which you decided was pretty, in the city you never got see the leaves fall unless you went to a park, which you tended to stay away from. She was showing you everything Hawkins had to offer, which wasn’t saying much.  The clothes in the shop windows were months, if not years behind, and most shops were mundane only ranging from general supplies, the Radio Shack, and some grocery stores that looked at least a hundred years old. There was a movie theater though, and it seemed to be up to date considering they had Back to the Future, a recent release that did super well over the summer. Your heart dropped as you watched groups of friends walk around the town, bags in hand with some sort of drink. You knew that you wouldn’t fit in, you knew you were too different form anybody here.

You remember the first day of school, walking blocks and waking up at 5:30 to be able to make it to school on time. It was cold in the morning and your feet already hurt from tripping over cracks and potholes on the way, so many that it had to be some sort of safety hazard.   Hawkins High was the closest and best choice at the time, but as you walked into the cracked parking lot you knew you were in for Hell. All of the people there were dressed we clothes that would’ve gone out of style months ago if you were back in Chicago, and they looked like most boring people you could ever talk to. Watching people flirt with each other even on the first day could’ve made you toss your breakfast onto the pavement, if you had bothered to eat any.

It was as if nobody had ever had somebody new join the crowd, like everyone had been in Hawkins their whole lives and you were just a parasite. The looks were curious at first, then turned judgmental far faster than you hoped, looking at everything from your hair to the clothes that you chose. It was a black turtleneck sweater paired with a black skirt, white socks that stopped just below the knee covered by black sneakers. It wasn’t the pinnacle of fashion but it was your favorite outfit, and it sure didn’t disappoint. But even as you stood in front of each class, clutching books to your chest, to introduce yourself they stared, even as the teachers told them not to.

None of them listened.

It was October 31st, 1985 when you first met Eddie Munson. Walking out of someone’s stupid Halloween party after being hit on for the 100th time that night, all drunk frat boys who were too touchy and stunk like sweat. Her name was Tina or something and from the sound of it she had this party every year and every year more and more people showed up. It was cramped and the booze wasn’t even good but you stayed and got drunk, eventually choosing to hit the road after a group of boys voiced their interest in you, or rather the interest in fucking you. You had obviously said no and chose to grab a cup of something for the road, holding your heels in your hands as you stepped on rocks and other things.  

It wasn’t the best place to be, considering that even after a month you still had not one friend, unless you could count your Walkman. Heavy rock music played through your ears every time you weren’t in class to avoid the people who gawked at you still. People tried to come up and talk to you over the month but most of it was some stuff about whether you were dating anyone, or where you got my shoes from. These were indeed the most boring people you’d ever met.

You had heard of Eddie Munson, the freak or the Satanist depending on who you were asking. He was a legend around school, you’ve even been privileged to see one of his famous outbreaks in the lunchroom, jumping on the table to flip everyone the bird, screaming about how societal norms were bullshit. He turned around the whole cafeteria and you remember talking of your headphones for the first time since you got there . He put his ringed fingers down when he reached you and jumped from the table with a loud thud, his white high tops screeching against the floor as he caught his balance. His eyes were trained on yours and he didn’t speak, didn’t yell out to you or do a foul gesture like you expected him to. Only looked at you and smiled lightly, as if he was saying hello for the first time.

So, when he rides up next to you on Halloween it isn’t unexpected to see the same toothy grin that he shot you in cafeteria. He was sporting some thick black eyeliner under his brown doe eyes and dried blood was dripping from his lips, blood that you assumed, or rather hoped was fake. On top of his head was the piece that made everything come together, plastic devil horns sat in the mess of curly brown hair, catching the light of the street lamps above.

“Need a ride?” He asked and his voice hit you like a ton of bricks. It was sweet, unlike the gruffness that you had expected. Everyone said it was like a sneer, people going so far as to avoid speaking to him. But that was probably a product of him being the “freak”. You stopped on the side of the road and looked up at him, the window to his rusty van rolled down so he could lean over the passenger side and talk to you.

“Sure,” It was a gamble you were willing to take. Eddie Munson was most likely not a murderer, or someone who sacrificed pretty women to the devil like everyone said. There were plenty of people out there who do that, but he was not one of them. He smiled and opened the door for you, offering his hand to help you into the van. His hands were soft and you remembering not wanted to let go of them.

“So, where to?” He asked and you smiled, buckling your seat belt before giving him the address. His van was unlike anything you’ve ever been in before. Dice and a small apri of handcuffs dangle from the rear view mirror, car freshers also taking a spot ext to them. There’s strips of duck tape on the dash, you didn’t need to ask to figure out that he had broken something and tried to fix it. And when you take a glance at the back of the van you find pillows, blankets, and a literal bucket of trash.

He’d played Metallica and Black Sabbath the whole way home and at the last minute, deciding that he was someone that you wanted to know, you asked him to take you to a nearby park. He parked the car and you both went to the swings, you sitting on the seat while he pushed you. You both talked about anything and everything, what your family life was like and what your favorite colors were. You had even told him about how your father had abused your mother, something about him just screamed that he would listen, and he did. He pushed you while you talked about all the times your mom and dad would throw things at each other, or at the walls next to each other. Or about the words that they spit at each other, all while you were blasting your music in the next room over, anything to drown out the sound of the fighting. It ever worked.

He drove you back home and said that he wouldn’t tell a soul. It made you smile because for some reason you believed him. He had his Hellfire club and he could obviously go and blab all about the new girls secrets but when you walked onto the lunch room the next day, all he did was wink and give you that toothy grin before going back to talk to his friends.

Now, it seemed pointless to think about it, about all the times that you hung out after that, all the times that you went over to his house to help with his homework. You even remember Wayne telling you that you’re welcome anytime you want, which surprised even Eddie because according to him, Wayne didn’t like anyone. You remember the guitar pick necklace that he put into pretty bag for you on Christmas, saying that it was his favorite pic for his favorite girl.

“Ms. y/l/n,” Officer Powells, voice cuts through your memories, snapping you out of that happy place in your mind. “when was the last time you saw Eddie Munson?” Right, Eddie was wanted for murder.

“He didn’t do it.” You say calmly, thinking about what you saw when Wayne called you over the his trailer that morning. He had confided in you first, wanting to ask when Eddie had dropped you off at home. It was an awkward ride to say the least, especially when you opened the door to find Chrissy Cunningham sitting in the backseat of his van.

“We’re not saying that he did, we just want to know when the last time you saw him was.” His voice is calm but you know he’s anything but calm. The state of the body was unlike anything you’d ever seen. And that’s saying something coming from a girl who used to live in the city. Thinking about the bruised skin, her missing eyes, and the bones that were snapped like toothpicks made you cringe, imagining the kind of pain she must have been in.

“No, but you think he did. Who put you up to this? Jason Carver, any of those little shits who think he worships that devil on the weekends? Yeah, he didn’t do this.” You say firmly and hunch down in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “He dropped me off after Hellfire club on yesterday. That was the last time I saw him.”

“And was Chrissy with him?”

The rest of the questioning went on. Questions like ‘Has he ever laid a hand on you?’

‘Has he said things that made him sound like he as planning something like this?’

‘Did he ever mention Ms. Cunningham to you?’

The were all stupid questions about things that he would have never said or done. Your stomach twists as you think back to Chrissy’s body, the way everything was contorted, her eyes pulled out of her head like something out of a horror movie. You’d heard the rumors that Hawkins was cursed but surely something like this doesn’t happen everyday.

They let you leave, the cops figuring that you didn’t now anything or were just trying to protect your friend. You can see Wayne from where you stand, his head in his hands while he sat on his front steps, cops stepping around him to take pictures and gather evidence. You feel bad for him, he loves Eddie and watching him go through this was probably tearing him up inside.

“Are you alright?” You turn at the sound of Dustin Henderson’s voice. You almost let out a sigh of relief, throwing your hands around the boys shoulders before pulling him in for a hug.

“Please tell me that you don’t think Eddie did this.” You almost beg, opening your eyes to find a redheaded girl that you don’t know.

“I know he didn’t do this.” Dustin says and lets go of your middle, gesturing back to the girl behind him. “This is Max.”

“Nice to meet you.” She nods, looking back over to the crime scene watching as the cops wheel out Chrissy’s body.

“We need to speak with you.” Dustin says and you nod, ushering both of them to your car.

“What’s this about? I don’t know where Eddie is, if that’s what you’re wondering.” The drive was quiet until you spoke, sensing the tension in the air. Dustin and Max look at each other, a look of defeat washing over their faces.

“Do you know where he might be. We’re trying to find him.” Dustin says and looks at you, his eyes pleading.

“I’m not turning him in. He didn’t do this and as far as I’m concerned he needs to stay hidden. Even from us.” You say and follow Dustin’s direction, turning right as if going to the arcade in town.

“We know he didn’t do it,” Dustin insists, looking back at Max and out of the rear view mirror you see her nod, “We think we know what happened to Chrissy but we need to hear it from Eddie, we need to know what happened.” He says and you look at him, studying his features before turning back to the road.

“Who did this?”

“We can tell you when we find Eddie, no use putting you in danger if it’s a dead end.” Dustin says and points his finger to Family Video, a small store right next to the Arcade.

“Is Eddie in danger? You think he saw whoever did this?” You ask again, trying to pry answers from the boy, only getting silence in return.

“Wait here, we’ll be out soon.” Max says and smiles at you, sensing the urgency of the situation you keep your mouth shut and nod. You turn up the tape that Eddie made for you, drowning your sadness in the beautiful guitar notes that start up Heaven and Hell by Black Sabbath. He gave you the tape along with the guitar pic necklace, the necklace now clutched between your fingers. It almost doesn’t feel real, the fear spiking in your stomach, fear of the fact that Eddie could be caught and charged for a murder he didn’t commit.

“Ditch your car, we’re taking Steve’s.” Dustin announces through the open window. Your fingers are clutched on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white from the pressure. You look up to see Robin and you guess Steve, the guy with the fluffy hair lock the door to family video and wave you over to a brown car. You roll up your windows and take a deep breath, ridding yourself of the tightness in your chest. You pop the tape out of the deck and stick it in your pocket, choosing to bring it along with you.

“I’m gonna have to squeeze between you and Max?” You ask and turn off the ignition, pocketing your keys before locking the doors.

“I don’t bite.” Dustin says and offers you a grin, not putting your mind at ease at all.

The back of Steve’s car is clean but cramped. They had to fill you in, each of them stopping to let the other tall another bit of information. It felt weird, all of them seemed to know each other quite well, being comfortable enough to let the other interject at any point. You are the odd one out, again. It made you feel weird and you know that if Eddie were somehow in the car with you it would’ve been a hundred times better. The pit in your stomach at the feeling of not belonging wouldn’t be there, he would make sure of it.

You were on the way to Reefer Rick’s, someone that you had only smoked with a couple times, being that Eddie got his drugs from him before he was arrested. When they explained that Eddie might be at Rick’s house you could’ve kicked yourself, of course he would hide there, no one was supposed to be there so nobody would come knocking. Conveniently, it was in the middle of nowhere, right off of Lovers Lake.

During the quiet car ride you couldn’t help but think about all the times you’ve been to Lovers Lake with Eddie. Before it froze up for the Winter, he took you there to sit on the dock and smoke your first blunt. It was fun to say the least, the sky was clear of any clouds and Eddie brought blankets so all you did was smoke and look up at the sky. You wanted to tell him that you loved him. That you had known him for less than a month, but you had fallen for him anyway. He knew more about you than anybody did in your entire life, including your mother and especially more than your asshole of a father.

The deep pit in your chest hasn’t gone away since this morning, when you walked into Eddie’s trailer to find Chrissy. You know that he didn’t do it but it wouldn’t stop this town from looking for him. Sometimes you curse Eddie, being the obnoxious and strange boy that he is. He could’ve avoided all this if he didn’t listen to heavy music or play D&D, but that was who Eddie was, it was one of the reasons that you fell for him so quickly.

He was distinctly different from anyone you’ve ever met.

The day faded away into the cold brisk air of night, taking almost forever to get to Ricks home. It looks empty, the mailbox was dusted, as if it hadn’t been touched in ages and none of the lights were on inside.

Dustin goes forth and rings the doorbell, doing everything in his power to scream who we were looking for. He wouldn’t give up, knocking on the door and screaming that we only wanted to help, which was true. While Steve disapprovingly watches Dustin create a spectacle you look around the side of the house, looking in all the windows to see if you cn catch any sight of him, any flash of curly brown hair or his famous denim vest.

It’s useless, everything is off, broken, or dirty. There are bongs and beer bottles everywhere, apparently Reefer Rick didn’t have time to clean up his place before they locked him up. You can only imagine the kinds of animals or bugs that are now living in  there. It’s seems useless on the surface but there is something in the back of your mind telling you that he is here, a feeling in your gut pulling you here. Maybe it’s blind hope and you try to convince yourself that he might not be here, as upsetting as that would be.

“Hey guys!” Max’s voice is distant from the other side of the house, but it sounds urgent, as if she had spotted him. Not even a second goes by before you sprint around the house, finding them all looking towards the old shed that Rick and Eddie sometimes smoked it. It has boats, spiders, and rats but it would be a perfect place to hide. You don’t  wait for anyone to say anything before pushing past them.

“Hey, wait for us.” Steve’s desperate voice echoes from the back but you are determined. There is this invisible line pulling you to that boathouse, something that tells you he can be in there. Your stomach is lurching as you look through the windows, searching for any signs of life. They are covered in dust and spiderwebs but you peer into them, waiting for the rest of the gang to catch up.

“He could be in here. We used to smoke with Rick in here before he got arrested.” You say, turning back to the group as they catch up with you.

“You know Reefer Rick?” Robin’s amusement wasn’t hidden and you smile, looking at all their stunned faces. Even Dustin looked shocked.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”  

The door creaks as Robin opens it, digging her flashlight through the crack in the door just in case someone or something is in here, waiting to attack us. You are last in, making sure to let the door shut behind you. You look around, the pulling feeling in your gut stronger than ever. There is dusty old boat parts and boxes for storage but as you turn you see something that doesn’t belong. Your heart speeds up and the lump in your throat that’s been there since this morning gets larger, almost becoming unbearable.

“Guys,” You start quietly, getting Dustin and Steve to stop bickering while Steve stoves a paddle in one of the boats. You swallow before continuing, “this is Eddie’s favorite beer, and his favorite candy.” You finish, smiling as you rifle through the trash on a forgotten box.

“Maybe he heard us, got spooked and ran.” Robin offers, looking over your shoulder as you look over everything.

“Well, if he did run at least we know he was here.” You smile, relief chipping away at part of the heavy pit in your chest.

“Don’t worry. Steve will get him with his oar.” Dustin jokes, and you turn around to find Steve still poking the blue tarp with on of the boat oars. It’s a funny sight, the graduated adult afraid to take the tarp off to see if Eddie is under it.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were scared of little ol’ Eddie.” You say, pointing the flashlight at his face, to which he groans and shoots his hands up.

“I know you guys think you’re being funny but considering that most of us has nearly died about a hundred times personally, I don’t think it’s funny. And as for you,” Steve looks at you but before he can get a word out to insult you or something else, the tarp shoots up and blocks your vision.

There is screaming and shouting but as soon as you push the tarp away from your face, your stomach drops and tears fill your eyes. You are frozen, whether it be from relief or something else, you can’t move. Eddie has his back to you, holding something up to Steve while the rest of the gang tries to get Eddie to back off. Words fail you and you know that you should be helping them get Eddie away from Steve. But seeing Eddie living and breathing makes your brain short circuit, as if you already convinced yourself that whatever got Chrissy got him as well.

“Eddie! Stop! It’s me Dustin, this is Steve. He’s not going to hurt you, right, Steve?” Steve whispers something in agreement and you find yourself moving towards the end of the boat, where everyone else is. “Drop the oar Steve.” Dustin coaxes and you finally make your way over, gripping the back of Robins arm while you look at Eddie. She grabs your hand and squeezes, knowing how you must feel right now.

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him so scared. Sure, you’ve been to plenty of scary movies together but that was nothing compared to the look on his face now. Steve drops the oar, it landing on the ground with a ‘thud’ and you finally see what’s in Eddie’s hand. A broken beer bottle is put up against Steve’s neck, digging into the delicate flesh there.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks sharply and his shaky voice is enough for you to get out of your trance to answer,

“We were looking for you.” You answer and you can physically see the way his body locks up at the sound of your delicate voice.

“We’re here to help.” Robin adds but as soon as Eddie hears your voice he turns to look at the group. You emerge from behind Robin and bring your hand up in a wave, an awkward gesture that makes you internally cringe.

“These are my friends.” Dustin begins to say but everything is quiet, pleading about how everyone is cool while introducing Max and Robin. Even then, Eddie’s eyes are set on yours and when you give him the smallest smile he drops the bottle and runs to you, nearly knocking over Robin in the process.

“Maybe we should’ve just asked her to go first.” Max says from next to you but you don’t care to retort back. Eddie’s arms are around you and you can’t think of a time anything felt better.

“Did anything hurt you? Anybody attack you?” He asks and pulls away to check over your body, putting his hands on your cheeks while moving your head around. You can feel the group looking and it makes your face heat up in embarrassment, remembering that Eddie is supposed to be your best friend. Last time you checked, best friends don’t hug and hold each others faces tenderly.

“I should be asking you that.” You say and you can’t help as the tears run down your face. When he’s done looking at your exposed arms and legs he looks at your face, brushing the tears that fall from your eyes with his soft thumbs. His hands are shaking on your skin and soon you notice that his whole body is shaking, his shoulders locked up even as he looks at you.

“We just want to talk.” You say and grab his wrists, pulling them from your face and leading him to a box sitting on the floor. Robin and Max are busy tending to Steve, who is shaken up after nearly being attacked but Dustin is next to you, hand on your shoulder while you ease him down onto the box.

“We want to know what happened.” You explain and take your hands away from him, putting them at your sides before you sit on the floor in front of him.

“You won’t believe me.” He says confidently, but his voice is still shaking, he’s still shaking. It can;t be from the cold, this Spring being a hot one so you can only guess that his body is still not settled. The adrenaline pumping in his veins means he was still probably on fight or flight mode, explaining the attack with the beer bottle.

“Try us,”

He looks scared almost, like we won’t believe his story but when I put my hand on his and nod he takes a deep breath. Even the breath isn’t enough to steady him but you hold onto his hand and rub small circles onto his skin while he manages to speak words.

“Chrissy had stopped me in the hallway and asked to buy from me,” He starts and everyone starts to object, until you put up your hand, “trust me I was surprised too. But she asked,  so I met her in the woods behind the football field and she seemed so scared, like something had spooked her before I had got there. I mean, she ran right into me, man. She asked if I had anything stronger than the weed I had offered her. I mean, of course I did so after the game and after Y/N and I finished cleaning up after Hellfire I took her to my place.” He says and you nod.

“That’s why she was in your van. I thought you guys were going on a date.” You laugh and shake your head. You were worrying about nothing, but now you had something much worse to worry about.

“You, Eddie Munson, on a date with Chrissy Cunningham? Don’t make me laugh.” Steve said and you all turn to him, giving him a look that would make even the stupidest person shut up. Which he did, looking around the boathouse to avoid our stares.

“Anyhow,” Eddie shot Steve a look and continued, “I was going to sell her the Special K, something that would give her some peace. Peace is all she wanted, something was going on, I don’t know what but she was so frazzled and was asking how long it took to kick in, as if she couldn’t wait to be rid of what was actually happening.” He continued and my heart dropped.

“Did- Did you give her too much?” You said, your voice barely going above a whisper. If Eddie caused Chrissy to overdose then he would be responsible for Chrissy’s death. The horror of that situation weighs on you in the split second that it crosses your mind.

“No, no, God no.” He said and shook his head, his hair swinging back and forth. “I told her that she should try and to smoke first, see how she liked it but she refused only wanting to pay for something that would make her really high. But, I’d misplaced it, and when I found it I came out and she was in this trance state. Her eyes were in the back of her head… and no matter how hard I tired, she wouldn’t wake up. And then her body just, like, lifted up into the air and just, like, hung there. In the air.” He started shaking harder, the memories of the event coming back, like he’s watching everything all over again.

“It’s alright.” You encourage, squeezing his hand for him to continue.

“Her… her bones,” His whimpers came through his clenched teeth, tears welling into his eyes. “her bones started to snap. Her eyes man, it… it was like there was something, like, inside of her head, pulling. I… didn’t know what to do, so I,” He pauses like he realized what went wrong, “I ran away. I left her there.” He finishes and looks down at his shoes, afraid to look at our stares.

You’d never known Eddie to be a liar, even in the toughest of situations, even when he really wants to lie, he always tells the truth. Always. But this is insane, nobody just floats into the air and their bones certainly don’t just snap in several different places. You remember seeing Chrissy’s body, it was in the middle of the floor, like it just dropped. And her arms and legs, even her fingers were twisted up behind her back and under her body.

“You think I’m crazy, right?” He scoffs and looks at the group, shaking his head at the looks of pity of their faces.

“No, we don’t think you’re crazy.” Dustin says quickly, trying to tell Eddie that all of you are here to listen and believe him.

“Don’t bullshit me, man! I know how this sounds!” He pinches the corner of his eyes as tears threaten to spill out, turning so that he can compose himself.

“We’re not bullshiting you.” Max assures, trying her best to convince him.

“We believe you.” Robin adds, leaning forward from her seated position. All of them have some knowledge that you don’t, they all know something about what caused this, or have some idea. You don’t need to know what they know to be sure that Eddie is telling the truth.

“I believe you.” You say lightly, squeezing his hand once more, to reassure him. It seems that you believing him is all he needs to finally take a breath.

“Listen, what I’m about to tell you might be… a little hard to take.” Dustin takes a breath, waiting for you both to respond. When you both sit quietly he continues, “You know how people say that Hawkins is cursed? They’re not… way off.”

Dustin’s long winded explanation has you confused. You moved here months ago but you knew that bad things happened in Hawkins before you got here. It’s one of the trademark reasons that this town is so small. Nobody really moved to Hawkins unless they actually had to, the houses were cheap and the apartments were even cheaper. Before you moved you decided to do some digging, finding out that there was a boy who went missing along with another high school girl. The boy came back but the girl never found, presumed dead, killed by some toxic materiel from some lab. And in 1985, the summer before you got here there was a giant mall fire, killing many high school students and adults, the police chief among the people that died trying to get people out.

“You’re saying that everything that happened, everyone who died was all because of some inter dimensional monsters traveled through a gate, that a secret government lab in  and killed a bunch of people?” You ask, now sitting between Eddie’s legs while he plays with your hair, a familiar position.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Dustin says while standing up, stretching his muscles as if what he told us wasn’t something out of a fairy tale. As if he believes it with every fiber being and for that reason you start to believe it to.

“We’ll be back in the morning, we’ll get you some food and we’ll  figure out where to go from here.” Steve says, and you’re surprised to hear him speak, being quiet the entire time Dustin was speaking. You suppose that’s also why you believe him,  none of the others tried to stop him from speaking, they didn’t try to interject with details that Dustin might have missed.

“Don’t let anyone follow you on the way out. They’ll come straight for Eddie.” You instruct, your head leaning onto his leg, your eyes closing.

“You’re not coming with us?” Robin asks and looks at you with a confused expression on her face.

“No, I’ll stay and make sure no one comes looking for him.” You open your eyes and get up, using Eddie’s leg to hoist yourself off the dusty floor.

“Keep yourselves hidden and don’t leave unless you have to.” Steve instructs and you nod, letting him know that you’ll be as safe as possible. You usher the others out and shut the door, checking outside to make sure that everything was clear. You shut the light off above the door and shut it tight, making sure you heard a click before turning back to Eddie.

He looks at you knowingly, standing up from the box to hold his arms out. Tears appear in your eyes once again, at the fact that he’s alive, at the fact that he’s untouched by the monster that did this. His arms are warm around your body and as you bury your head in his chest you let tears fall, wetting his Hellfire t-shirt. His hand is on the back of your head and his chin rests on the top of yours. His breathing and beating heart is the only thing that really calms you down. You let yourself cry as much as you need now that Dustin and the rest of the gang aren’t here to judge you, to wait for you to stop crying so they can get a word out.

“I thought you were dead.” You explain, putting your forehead on his chest. The words you’ve been dying to say fall from your tongue and the deep pain in your throat only gets bigger.

“I’m sorry.” He says simply, the only reassurance that he could offer. The relief of hearing his voice is infinite and you don’t think you’ll ever stop feeling it when you hear his voice. Having to think about not having to hear it again makes a new wave of grief wash over you, grief that has no merit.

“Why didn’t you come straight to me?” You pull from his arms and shove him, your face contorted with concern. He doesn’t move an inch and his arms drop from you, crossing over his chest instead.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I didn’t want you getting involved.” He answers and you can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips. He cared about you enough to leave you out of it.

“You could’ve found someway to tell me where you were, or what had happened. Wayne called me this morning and when I saw Chrissy,” The words stop in your throat, the image of Eddie contorted like that making it’s way into your head, “I thought you were out there, like that.” You say and put your hands up to your face, wiping the new tears that flow down your face.

“Well, I’m not.” He says and puts his hands on your shoulders, shaking you the tiniest bit to get you to look at him. His brown eyes bore into yours and he gives you the most reassuring glance that he can.

“But you’re wanted for murder.” You argue, putting your hand on one of his, the feeling of his soft hands easing your mind.

“That’s easy, I’ll just tell them ‘Officers she made me do it’. They’ll believe me and just lock you up instead.” He smiles when you shove him again, this time actually getting him to move. You have a feeling that he did that all on his own though.

“You’ll never catch me alive.” You threatened, wiping the tears from your eyes at the appearance of the old Eddie. The Eddie that wasn’t worried about going to jail. The Eddie that only had to worry about school bullies and taking the right way to his classroom.

“I think it would be quite easy. You forget that I took gym class with you.” He explains and mocks you by going your pitiful jog.

“Hey! They couldn’t fail me in that class so why the fuck would I try?” You explain and laugh, finally feeling that pit in your stomach leave. Eddie was a menace in gym class, always trying to get you to run faster with him, or always pelting you with a dodge ball when you were on separate teams, even when you were on the same team. The best part about gym was that, per regulation, he had to tie up his hair. Everyday he’d come in with a low bun or a ponytail, tied up by one of your scrunchies that he found laying around his room.

“You know you’re my best friend right?” He asks and you smile, nodding as you look him up and down. He’s standing across from her hugging his arms close to his body with a small smile on his face. The picture of your version of perfection standing less than five feet from you. You have to change the subject, nodding before looking out the dust-covered window.

“Want to see what Reefer Rick left behind?” You ask and squint your eyes, feeling mischievous, Eddie squinting his eyes back as if he knows what you’re suggesting.

“Everything is locked up tight. I already tried, trust me.” He says and leans against the dusty wall, crossing his arms.

“Good thing I have a key.” You smile and pull out the bobby-pin from your pocket.

.

Getting into Rick’s house was fun, going to the back door to pick the lock, Eddie holding the flashlight over your head while checking to see if anyone was looking in at us. He was annoying to say the least, pushing your hand so you hit the wrong prong, having to start all over. It was fun, going back to our normal selves in the midst of all this shit. Soon enough the door knob clicked and you kicked it open, frowning at the smell of dust and mildew growing on every surface of the house.

“Well, it smells like shit.” Eddie says before pushing past you, his hand on your lower back as he scoots in beside you. Your heart skipped a beat and you choose to ignore it, frozen in place before snapping out of it.

“Yeah, it really does. But it’s better than that stupid boathouse.” You say and shut the door behind you, going straight to the kitchen to look for something to eat. “When’s the last time you ate?” You ask, going through the messy cabinets to find anything edible.

“Friday at lunch.” He says wearily as if he already knows what you’re going to say. He comes next to you, his body warm against your own while he looks in the cabinets below.

“You only ate pretzels that day.” You say and look down at him, your hands on your hips as you frown. He looks up at you from his knees and something in your stomach flips, his smile, the dimples on his cheeks, and the way his eyes roam your legs before making his way to your face.

“Dungeon Masters don’t need food to survive,” He smirks and gets up from his knees, turning you so your backside is flush against the counter, “They survive off the blood and tears of their players.” His arms are trapping you where you stand and he’s smiling, tilting his head while moving closer.

“You’re not funny, Eddie. You need real food.” You push him off and turn your back to him, finding noodles and a jar of pasta sauce on the top shelf of the cabinet. Hopefully it was good to eat, even if it was a little expired you would probably make it and eat it, your stomach growling as you spot the food.

“I wouldn’t expect a mere mortal to know.” He says and his body pushes into yours, your back feeling everything on the front of his. You watch as his arm reaches for the food, his hair tickling your face as he leans forward.

“Thanks,” You say calmly but you’re anything but. Your cheeks are hot and there’s a sinking feeling in your lower stomach that won’t go away, it’s as if he lit a fire in you. You don’t move form your spot, gripping the counter till your knuckles are white from the pressure. Eddie is already milling around the kitchen, a pot in his hand, as if what he did wouldn’t make you absolutely crazy.

“Let the floodgates open.” He says under his breath and you turn to watch him fiddle with the tap, water coming out after a few seconds of sputtering. It should be gross but you remember that no one has been here for months, and the water runs clear before Eddie puts the pot under the stream.

“If there’s water you should go take a shower. I’ll wash your clothes and then we can eat something.” You say and usher him out of the way, skimming his hand as you take the pot from him.

“Yes, mom.” He says and holds his hands up, making his way to the first floor bathroom, the one with a small shower.

“Leave your clothes outside of the door. You’ll be smelling good in no time.” You smile and watch his retreating figure. The gas works too, the stove lighting up with a flame before you put the pot over it.

You do everything you need to, putting Eddie’s clothes in the washer for a speed wash before returning to the pot, finding that it’s already bubbling. The noodles go in and by the time they’re soft enough to take out, the washer beeps letting you know that they’re done and you leave the noodles in the strainer while you go put his clothes in the dryer. You make your way back up the steps of the basement, grimacing at the smell of the dark and moldy space. Who puts their washer and dryer downstairs? You almost scream when you see Eddie in the kitchen, tending to the noodles and sauce, stirring the pot to keep anything from burning.

“I found a pair of my old pants that Rick kept but no luck on a shirt.” Eddie stands there with a pair of red flannel pajama pants on, black socks, and his damp hair plastered to his back and forehead.

“That’s fine, your stuff should be done soon.” Your mouth runs dry as you look him up and down, the defined muscles of his back turned to you as he sets plates on the cleaned counter. He must’ve just come into the kitchen after you left it, cleaning the counter and finding plates.

It’s impossible to not run your eyes over his exposed skin, looking at the tattoos that range across his arms and back. They’re all tattoos that you remember approving, something that he insisted upon every time he was thinking about getting a new one. You told him he didn’t have to do that but he insisted, showing you the designs and placement, taking your criticism and working with you to figure out something that you both liked.

The small crush you had towards him only seemed to grow. When he asked you about one of his ideas for his campaign, or the time that you called him crying because your dad had showed up and he picked you up without question, or when he defended you in front of that asshole Jason. Jason had some vendetta against both you and Eddie, choosing everyday to try and make your life a living hell. You could recall the bruising on Eddie’s face and arms the next day when he picked you up for school. It wasn’t all in vain though, Jason had a split lip and his eye was swollen shut, even some of his buddies had injuries as I eyed them in the cafeteria.

“Let’s eat. I suppose you’re right, blood and tears isn’t enough to keep me satisfied.” He joked, recalling what he’d said about Dungeon Masters not needing to eat. He sets the plates on the counter and sits down on the tall stools. You just stand there and stare, watching him spin the pasta on his fork before taking a bite.

You could almost imagine the life you two would have together. Living in a house like this, cooking and cleaning together. When you thought about Eddie Munson one thing was always clear, he would never treat his partner like a housewife, the both of you would do everything together. It’s how it’s always been.

“Y/N?” Eddie drops his fork and stands up from the stool, his breath kicking up as he looks at you. You quickly snap out of it, looking at him with a small smile. You instantly feel bad, a trance like state was what he described when he told everyone what happened to Chrissy. He probably thought that you were the same way, worried that at any minute you’d start floating in the air.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say and walk over to the chair, sitting next to him while you both finish’s eating in silence.

When the food was eaten and the dishes rinsed you both decided to go on a mission. Eddie had gone down to get his hellfire shirt out of the dryer and you have been searching the house for any speck of weed. You both agreed that it would be stupid to smoke right now, but as you looked at each other you knew that you both didn’t care, the small smiles on your face enough to tell. Reefer Rick was infamous for hiding drugs around his place until it was sold or smoked. He was a genius at hiding things, under the wood of the sofa, in the pipe at the bottom of his sink, or even the light covers on the ceiling. Anywhere the cops wouldn’t find it.

“Found some!” Eddie shouts from the basement, his thumping steps ascending the stairs the next minute. He emerges from the dark room holding a bag, a bag almost filled to the brim with weed. Your excitement can’t be hidden as you pull out two bongs you find in a suitcase in one of the closets.

“If you would, Dungeon Master.” You tease, smiling as he takes the bongs in his hand. Watching Eddie grind up some weed and scoop in into the bongs is mesmerizing. Your favorite is when he rolls, watching his expert fingers tuck and roll the weed into place. He always rolls the best ones and just watching him do it gives you a high of your own.

“For you, M’lady.” He says in another funny voice and hands you the bong. It’s smaller than his but after smoking out of it with Rick, you know it packs a punch.

The house is smoky and you both are high as shit, laughing about anything and everything. The dark house is only lit up by the four small candles you brought out from the bathroom upstairs. Who knew Reefer Rick liked to take sensual bubble baths, the candles found on the edge of the bathtub.

The couch that you take up is comfortable, the cushions plush but worn from the people who sat in it before us. Your calves are thrown over his thighs, shoes forgotten on the kitchen floor after you ate your food. It’s sometime at night, late enough for no one but drunkards and hippie teens to be wondering the streets. Crickets chirp and you can hear the  waves hitting the shore in the distance. He’s warm under your legs and you close your eyes, sighing into the open air. You could be here forever, could let him rub your legs and sit in silence forever.

“Do you think you’ll be okay?” He asks you, rubbing his hands along the expanse of your legs, his thick rings catching on the folds of your pants.

“What do you mean?” You asked back, your head leaning back on the arm of the couch and your eyes still closed. His touch is calming, and you hope that he doesn’t stop anytime soon.

“When I go to jail or when Vecna catches up with me. I don’t see how this ends happily for me. But for you…” he trails off and you open your eyes, looking at him from across the couch. He looks concerned, not scared but sad. “You could marry someone nice, have kids and live in a nice house like this.” He looks at you to find that you’re already looking at him and for the millionth time, his heart squeezes at the sight of you. Your heart does flips at his words, you didn’t want to marry anybody else, didn’t want to date anybody else if it isn’t him. A life without Eddie isn’t one that you want to be living in, as stupid and cheesy as that sounds.

“I’m not marrying anybody. There’s nobody out there that could make me feel as good as you do, Eddie. Plus, you’re not going to jail, over my dead body.” You’re still laying limp on the couch but your words are ferocious and Eddie can tell that they’re true.

“I don’t know what you see in me. Never did.” He leans back against the couch, his body relaxing as yours is. He acts as if he didn’t pick you out first, choosing to pull to the side of the road to pick me up, and even going as far as to ask me if I was okay while looking down at my exposed feet. After walking for nearly 15 minutes the tights I was wearing that night all cut up from rocks and cracks on the road.

“You’re kind Eddie. Any person would be lucky to have you.” You smile and lightly shove him with your foot, trying to get him out of his self degrading mood. “Dustin thinks we’re going to get married.” You say after a while of silence. The curly haired boy had confided in you while you walked him home from Hellfire one night.

You’d only known Eddie and the group for about a month at the time, after you and Eddie spent the night at the dock of Lovers Lake. You’d just finished another campaign and just as you promised Eddie, the boys loved it, gobbling up every second of Eddie’s narration.

“Do you love Eddie?” The curly haired boy had asked after walking in silence for a while. The question had shocked you, causing you to flounder over your words as you tried to find the right thing to say.

“Why would you ask such a stupid question?” You laughed but when you looked down at Dustin’s face you knew he was dead serious. “No, I’m not in love with Eddie. I haven’t known him long enough for that.” You brushed off and kept walking, almost counting the steps till we were at his mailbox.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell him.” Dustin said smiling, his braces glinting in the moonlight. He turned into his driveway and waved as you looked at him in disbelief.

“Not in love with him!” You shouted as he walked into his house. He waved his hand towards you as he entered his house and shot you another smile before he shut the door.

“Would you marry me?” His question snaps you back to reality, the memory of you smiling while you walked home that day fading from your intoxicated brain. His question burns through you like fire to paper, making you choose your words carefully.

“Of course I would marry you! You’re my best friend, you were the only person in Hawkins who looked at me like a real person, not just a girl with secrets to tell. You know more than my own mother, Eddie. I can’t remember a time that I was genuinely happy without you there with me. I kinda feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life to find you.” You say, sighing at the sappy words coming out of your mouth, “Even at my old school, nobody ever got to know me and I know it sounds horribly cheesy but I don’t know where I’d be without you.” You finish and close your eyes, looking into the void behind your eyelids to avoid his gaze. Your mouth moved faster than your brain. Being high loosens your lips but you can’t bring in you to shut up anymore, the feelings in your chest are too strong to ignore anymore.

You definitely blame it on the weed.

“Probably not in the middle of this crazy shit.” He says and laughs but you can tell it isn’t an Eddie laugh, it’s laced with something deeper, something you’ve never heard from him before. It makes you swallow your fear, swallow the feeling that holding you back from being totally honest with him. The sound form him is pure hurt, pain, and longing, that’s what you would say it sounds like.

“I wouldn’t go through this for anyone else.” You admit and it’s quiet, your heart beat is the only thing you hear, and it’s slamming against your chest. Eddie would figure it out, the feelings that you’ve been trying to hide for months now. Of course you were nearly confessing while on drugs, it was the only time you let yourself ramble without caring.

“Y/N,” Eddie’s voice is soft and you feel him move on the couch, lifting your legs so he can fit underneath them, shifting closer. Your thighs are now on his and the room is getting hotter, whether it be from the weed or the close proximity to Eddie, you start to boil in your own clothes. “Will you look at me?”

His brown eyes are on yours when you lazily opened your own. His hand is now running along your thigh, lazy circles that calm your nerves almost instantly. His body is relaxed and when he starts leaning over you could’ve sworn that he’s falling asleep but he just moves closer and closer until you could feel his breath on your face, his nose nearly an inch from yours. Your hands at your sides twitch, longing to reach up and rake your fingers through his hair.

“What do you want Eds?” The nickname is new, the drugs in your system shortening your speech. He’s close, his nose now touching yours as if he never stopped moving in the first place. Your breathing speeds up and you almost can’t catch up, the air hitching in your throat as you feel how close he is. You’re closer than you’ve ever been before and your brain starts to short circuit, imagining all the things that you can do together.

“Want to kiss you.” He says with a soft smile, the skin of his nose brushing against your own, goosebumps erupting over each other’s skin. You think you imagine that he says it, not believing it until he speaks again, “Can I kiss you, Y/N?” He asks, his head tilting to just the right angle but he never moves forward, either teasing or waiting for you to give consent. The thought had you smiling. Most guys wouldn’t have even asked, just deciding that you wanted it and going in, messy kisses that usually had you gagging and pulling away before flipping them the bird and walking away from them.

“Yes, Eddie. You can kiss me.” You smile and lean forward, your lips ghosting over his, the soft skin making you shiver. Your stomach is doing flips, waiting gor him to lean forward and finally close the distance between you to. Butterflies that you didn’t know existed erupt in your stomach, making you giddy.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he smiles and leans in the rest of the way, his lips finding yours in the darkness. You close your eyes and throw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you fit your lips against his. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of, every night that you thought about this doesn’t even compare to the feeling. The confidence that oozes from him as he moves against you, leading the kiss with unmatched experience.

He’s warm and his hand snakes around your waist to hold you closer, arching your back so your torsos are touching. Fireworks erupt in your body going from limb to limb, the feeling of his lips against yours causing something to awake in you. He groans and opens his mouth a sliver to let his tongue lick your bottom lip the muscles warm and wet, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You gasp and pull away, moving one of your arms from his shoulder to touch your lips, the skin tender to the touch. He pulls back and smiles, opening his eyes to look down at your flushed face. In the light of the candles you can see that his face is also red, and you almost feel proud that he’s just as flustered by you as you are by him.

“Sorry,” he offers and lays his head on your chest, his hair tickling your chin. You could barely breath, he’s so close to you, his arms around your back and his head on your chest. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, everything that you’ve ever dreamed of.

“Eddie?” You ask softly, getting his attention before he lifts his head up, looking over your flushed complexion.

“Yes?” His voice groggy and lazy, the effects of being high weighing on the both of you. Your heart is still pumping as you look at him. You truly look at him, the blush on his cheeks, the redness of his eyes, and the dull sharpness of his nose capture your attention until you remember to speak.

“Kiss me again?” You let out, your breath speeding up as he looks at you, a smirk on his face and a teasing glint in his eye. He leans up, pulling his hands from around you to hold himself up. Your hand falls from his neck to his arm, your palms sweaty with nerves.

“Anything for you, love.” He says and leans back in, his arms going around your body once more, but this time to pick you up, pulling you into his lap. He never breaks the kiss, moving both his lips and your body with scary accuracy. The display of his strength and his amazing multitasking shock you and you squeeze his arm, pulling the tiniest of whimpers out of you.

“Eddie,” you sigh against his lips before going back in, moving against his lips with matched ferocity. His lips are soft, as soft as you’d imagine them to be and you groan as he lifts your shirt and puts his hand against your lower back. The skin on skin contact almost drives you crazy and this time you let your tongue peak out against his lips, tasting the flesh there. You are both moving against each other, letting your body take over you as you move above him, the kiss fueling you to do far more than you thought you could do.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He groans and pulls away, his other hand coming to rest on your jaw, gently pushing you away from his lips. “We have to stop,” he says and smiles when you pout. It isn’t until you feel something poking against the back of your thighs that you understand why.

“Sorry,” you offer and move off of him, retreating from his warm hold to lay where you were before, letting your breath come back to you. The even roll back in your head and it takes longer than it should’ve to realize that you kissed Eddie Munson, the one person you’ve been crushing on for months.

“It’s okay. I mean it’s your fault, but I’ve already decided to forgive you.” He says and goes back to running circles along your thighs, a giant smile on his face while he looks at you.

“You’re such a sap.” You say smiling, the joy in your chest unmatched by anything you’ve ever felt before.

“I learned it from you.”

[eirist]

24 Hours

Hi @greenmikan​! Thank you so much! I’m glad you love all of them. Here’s your request. I wanted to use the 11:11 wish thingy. But you know how sometimes the stories just write themselves. Still I hope you enjoy it!

[ 11:11 PM ] | [23:11]

For the life of him, Zoro couldn’t understand what the heck is wrong with him.

He let out an irritated huff as he pushed open the heavy door leading to the apartment building’s rooftop. He actually had a long day today—which honestly is an understatement. He was physically and mentally drained.

And yet he couldn’t sleep.

Him—who can practically doze off anywhere and everywhere, in any possible (and sometimes impossible) position—couldn’t.

His body is tired. But his brain is still on hyperactive mode from all the events earlier that it’s having trouble shutting down.  He already downed like four beers and it didn’t help.

What a drag. He figured he probably needed to relax and do some meditation first. That should help.

And what better place than up there in rooftop where no one can disturb him. 

His friends had kindly set-up a small Zen garden there for him—much to his surprise and initial reluctance. He didn’t need it to be honest. He could do with any available space there as long as no one’s gonna disturb him. But still, he’s not ungrateful of the gesture.

Usopp had let slip one time that it was Nami’s idea. She had seen him meditating up there a lot of times; in random locations like near Usopp’s vegetable garden, Robin’s flower bed or even near her orange trees. She figured he needed a spot of his own.

It was really … nice of her. But to be honest, it was making Zoro a bit edgy. He knew her enough now that she never does anything without receiving anything in exchange. He’s still waiting for her to send him a check on how much he owes her for that gesture. She’s an evil, money-loving witch after all.  

The sweet, citrusy smell from Nami’s trees lingered on the night air and reached his nose. It only grew stronger as he approached them.

Zoro took a deep breath, the fragrance immediately relaxing him.

Well, he got to hand it to Nami. She chose a damn good location for his meditation spot… just right near the soothing scent of her mikan trees.

She is probably asleep now, seeing how it’s already past ten. Zoro found himself musing. That troublesome woman.

“Zoro?”

That made him jolt a little from surprise. Wha—?

“Nami??”

Speaking of his witch-of-a-neighbor; the cheeky, orange-haired woman stepped out from the behind of her trees to meet him. She was actually hidden from the view by the thick, green leaves. 

There goes his meditation plan.

“Why are you here?” She cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. A teasing smirk was adorning her pretty face.

He stopped himself short from pouting disappointedly at his ruined plan.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh,” Nami gave a quick glance sideways, towards his meditation spot.

“Why are you still up?” He immediately asked. He figured the shorter their conversation will be, the faster she’ll head down and leave him alone in peace. “Don’t you need your beauty sleep or something?”

Nami chuckled at that. “Well yeah. But I couldn’t,” she admitted with a shrug of her shoulders. “Too many thoughts.” She gave her temple a quick tap.

Oh? So he wasn’t the only one whose brain is on hyperactive mode.

“And you?” Nami queried as she walked past him, heading towards one of the deck chairs she and Robin had set up up there for tanning purposes.

His answer was just a grunt and yet, Nami was able to decipher it effortlessly.

“Same huh?” She settled on the chair and Zoro just noticed that there was an open beer bottle on the floor beside it.

“Carry on and just pretend I’m not here.” She said with a dismissive wave of her hand as she settled down the chair with that mischievous smirk still on her face.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’ll try to be quiet, promise.”

“You better try hard.” He muttered at her as he headed towards his spot. He heard her snicker behind him.

He settled down with legs crossed, sneaking a glance at Nami to check if she was watching him just to annoy him. But she already had her cat-eared headphones over her ears and her eyes were closed.

Zoro took a deep breath and did the same. He focused on the familiar scents and sounds of late hour—the rustle of the leaves of the mikan trees, the distant chatters of some passersby, the far-off honking of car horns, carefree laughter coming from one of the apartments below. Someone must’ve recently used the laundry area; for he can smell the clean scent of a fabric conditioner along with the sweet fragrance coming from Robin’s flower bed, the earthy smell of Usopp’s vegetable garden, and of course, that comforting scent of oranges that somehow always reminds him of Nami...

The mixture of all those helped him relaxed, helped him focus and find his center and…

The rhythmic tapping of Nami’s foot on the wooden surface of her chair broke his concentration.

He frowned. And when it continued... a vein appeared on his forehead.

“Oi,” Zoro called out. “Stop that will ya?”

Nami tilted her head towards him with a questioning look on her face.

Zoro glared at her. Then at her foot, which was still tapping away.

She followed his gaze and grinned sheepishly at him. “Sorry!”

He should’ve have known that there is no way in hell that they could achieve peace when the two of them are in the same place at the same time.

“Sorry Zoro!” She apologized again. But that stupid, impish grin on her face says otherwise.

He continued glaring at her. “You’re doing it on purpose!”

“I am so not!” Nami frowned at his accusation.

“You so are.” He huffed as he stood up, dusting the back of his pants and letting go of the idea that he can actually do some meditation with her around.

“So not!” She had the decency to stick her tongue out at him.

And Zoro knew she absolutely did that on purpose.

Is vexing him turning out to be one of her favorite hobbies now? Two can play the same game.

He didn’t give her any warning when he sat himself beside her on the deck chair, almost shoving her and making her fall over.

“Damn it Zoro!” She shouted, hitting him on the shoulder. “Really?!”

He threw her a smirk as he made a quick grab for the beer she just left unfinished. “Yeah, really.” He put a slight emphasis to the word.

Nami eyed him disdainfully as he downed the contents of her beer. “Thought you’re gonna meditate?” She growled as he gave the bottle a slight shake to make sure he had drank every last drop in it.

“You’re distracting me,” he answered simply. “And you’re gonna continue distracting me.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Nami bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. But he saw the way her shoulders shake and he couldn’t stop rolling his eye at her and her antics.

This is probably the payment for the Zen garden she so conveniently set up for him.

“There’ll be no peace for you when I’m around Zoro.” The smile she gave him right there and then promised nothing good for him in the days to come.

Surprisingly still… he’s looking forward to it.

“Same.”