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kayjayjwrites · 2 months

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Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter One

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 6,350 Chapter Music Inspo: End of It - Friday Pilots Club

Chapter Content Warnings: fluff, some cursing, one bed trope, awkward but wholesome communication, AFAB Reader, Reader (You), some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish, reader low key being thirsty for Azzie

Note: Hello! Welcome to my first fic in like 10 years! This idea came about when I was having a hard time falling back asleep. I sometimes draft fanfiction when i'm trying to sleep. I don't often remember the plots come morning, but the memory of this one remained intact enough for me to jot down. I’m thinking this update is gonna be the longest chapter because it's both prologue and the first chapter, but I have terrible self control with word count limits. So I guess we’ll see what the next chapters bring, but they may be shorter!

Enjoy me 2am fugue state musings, there are likely typos~

XxXx

It was all worth it. The decades of patience and silent suffering. The centuries of loneliness paying off just as you lost hope of ever leaving The Court of Nightmares. You and your father, Kier, expected a typical visit from the Inner Circle. The High Lord would threaten your father to keep him in line, you’d go unnoticed in the back of the throne room monitoring the interaction. Just like every other time they visited.

Except, the High Lord and his Inner Circle asked about you like you were the reason behind their visit. You had clocked the visit as odd as soon as only Rhysand, Feyre, and Mor arrived. The absence of both The General & Shadowsinger at the same time a rarity. Despite being related to Rhysand and Mor, you didn’t think they knew your name, so when they asked Kier about you, by name, your heart damn near fell out of your ass.

They wanted you to leave Hewn City to work with them. A Courtier of the Night Court, working alongside Nesta, Lady Death herself, of all people. They wanted you to start immediately now that the war with Hybern was over. Relations between Courts were strained, and upon learning of your talent, the High Lord deemed it a waste for you to be hidden away down here. He and the Inner Circle believed you did not belong in The Court of Nightmares. To anyone else, having the High Lord speak so highly of your child would have been an honor.

It was the most furious you’d ever seen Kier. Which was saying something. His emotions grew volatile in a blink of an eye, outraged by the absolute gall of the High Lord. How dare he come to his city and tell him that you weren’t meeting your full potential down here? At some point Kier stood up, snarling at Rhysand and the others like a wild animal. Kier, so lost in his anger, let his mental shields falter. Just for a second, but it was more than enough time for your powers to draw his wayward thoughts to you, like a magnet, his unspoken intentions seeped into your own mind. You were always terrible at blocking him out when he got like that.

Power. Kier's thoughts whispered to you. A spy for him in the Inner Circle.

It disgusted you how predictable your father was, his intentions were always about how he could best use you for his own gain. It was the driving force behind your excessive training habits, desperate to protect yourself from the toxicity of his intentions. The more you failed at keeping him out, the more you hated him, and by default hated yourself.

Rhysand was right, you were wasted down here, and it wasn’t that your father didn’t see that, he didn’t care. He wasn’t furious with the High Lord for taking another daughter away from him, he was mad about losing a tool.

Well, your father could rot down here alone for all you cared.

You felt a lot of things in that moment. Intimidated by the prospect of working with Nesta, unsure of Mor’s morals and the rumors surrounding her, apprehensive of Rhysand and Feyre’s power, and not to mention all the unknown dynamics between the rest of the Inner Circle. But, despite all that uncertainty, you did not feel nervous about leaving Hewn City with them.

The first task Kier ever appointed you was to report on Rhysand and his Inner Circle’s intentions every time they visited. Either they all had flawless control over their mental shields, or their icy behavior was an act from the beginning. You never dared to share your suspicions with Kier, your father only wanted ammo for his hate, and he never took kindly to evidence that didn’t support his biases against High Lord Rhysand.

It felt a little too much like blind faith and a hunch for you to be 100% comfortable with the decision, but you decided to put your trust in these strangers anyway.

You would take the job.

Not to be a spy for Kier.

Not out of some duty to your High Lord or older sister.

It was time to live your life for you. Consequences be damned.

But, the focus of this story was not about moving to Velaris with Mor and getting to know the Inner Circle. It wasn’t about how much you rock as a diplomat for the Night Court. It wasn’t about how good it felt the first time sunlight touched your skin upon leaving the underground city. It wasn’t even about how you and Nesta became best friends. However good those stories may be.

However, this story is about Azriel Shadowsinger, and how the mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, fell head over heels for you without you ever picking up on it. Yeah, that’s right, the girl who struggled to control her talent for hearing unspoken intentions never puzzled the pieces together. For literal years everyone else in the godforsaken room could tell the Spymaster was in love with you, except for you.

It all started with an argument with Rhysand a few assignments into your career as the Night Court Courtier. You felt like you could handle traveling between Courts without needing an escort, especially if you’d be meeting up with Nesta at the destination anyway. Rhysand did not agree, basically threatening to ground you if you didn’t allow someone to accompany you.

That was how Azriel had become your full-time travel partner. Rhysand appointed Azriel as an additional escort in case Nesta was pulled away.

You’d take this to your grave before ever admitting it, but Rhysand wasn’t wrong to be worried. There had been a good number of times where just that had happened. Nesta would be working the other side of the room, and having Azriel lingering nearby eased your nerves. Prythian was a vast Realm, and Rhys had been right in worrying about your adjustment.

It didn’t take too long for you to adapt once you had visited all the different Courts a few times. Yet, Azriel continued to go out of his way to accompany you to events. The first obvious sign of his affections for you came a couple years into your career.

The event was in a small Day Court town on the border of the Night Court, just under a day’s travel from Velaris on foot. Home to one of the libraries hit hardest by Amarantha’s looting, the entire town was celebrating the return of a sizable chunk of the stolen volumes. The gala was advertised to be a quaint dinner and cocktail hour. You suspected that scholars and book enthusiasts would be the bulk of those present. Although interested in going, Rhysand had High Lord duties to attend to that involved Nesta and the other Archeron sisters in the Summer Court. With a promise to fill everyone in on anything of interest, you packed a small overnight bag and waited for Mor to arrive home. You never developed the ability to winnow, so you needed someone to bring you.

Fussing with your hair in one of the numerous mirrors decorating Mor’s walls, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. Your time in Velaris, just over two years, had already begun to sooth a deep sadness you hadn’t realized had settled under your skin. It was obvious in the gentle way you gazed at your reflection, the healthy flush of your cheeks, and the warmth of your thoughts. Velaris looked good on you, and as you smoothed a hand down the shimmery sapphire blue fabric of the dress that clung to your curves, you thought the new formalwear looked good on you too.

Giddiness bubbled up in you at the idea of modeling the new dress for Mor. The excitement felt foreign still, after spending centuries believing Mor didn’t care to know her own little sister. You never thought you’d ever get the chance to gush over dresses with her. Kier hated everything Mor represented, and was cruel to her in ways that made you feel lucky in a perverse way. Your father may have manipulated and alienated you, filling your head with lies about your older sister, but it was never public. Kier made sure everyone in the Court of Nightmares knew that Mor was a useless whore and a traitor.

When Mor became a core member of the Inner Circle, and Rhysand put her in charge of Hewn City, you would wait for her to acknowledge you during her visits. Decades turned into a century, but the same hope would always rise up when Mor was due for a visit, only to be crushed when she ignored you. She never paid you a second of her time, just a fleeting look in passing as if you were another spectator. Knowing that she wasn’t ignoring you out of ill intent stung more, because you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her.

Kier may be your father, but that didn’t mean you had to be a fan of his intentions. You never believe the rumors he spread about Mor.

And then, the big reveal came. It turned out that to Mor, you were just another spectator. Mor didn’t know she had a younger sister at all. Keir hid you so well that no one realized you were related to him. A detail that made you feel so small when it came to light. You were just the shy woman in the background, taught to be pleasant when spoken to, a pretty little wallflower the rest of the time.

Later, when you asked about who first realized your identity, you got mixed accounts from the Inner Circle. Rhysand insisted that it was he who put the pieces together first. Stating that it came to him suddenly after Azriel submitted a report from a surveillance mission detailing an overheard conversation between you and Kier about your talents. Rhysand claimed that your powers reminded him of a variation of Mor’s. The rest of the Inner Circle credited Feyre for noting the resemblance between you, Kier, and The Morrigan the first time she noticed you loitering at the back of a council meeting.

When the truth was confirmed, and you agreed to go with them, Mor wept. She vowed to never leave you alone in The Court of Nightmares ever again, even for a second. That promise was your first experience with making a deal in the Night Court. Your clear surprise at the intricate tattoo that branded itself over the center of your sternum clued Mor, Rhysand, and Feyre in on how out of touch you were with common lore from your own Court. Mor wasted no time in winnowing you out of there after that. The both of you had heard enough of Keir’s nasty sneers and low-blow comments to last a lifetime.

Now, Mor’s cozy little home was also your cozy little home, if not a bit tight for two people. If someone asked you a decade ago if you thought you’d ever have a relationship with Mor you would advise them to seek out a healer.

And yet there you were, vibrating with things to tell her, anticipating her arrival with an almost goofy grin when…Azriel of all people winnowed into the living room.

Perplexed, but not totally disappointed, “Oh!” you said, clearly taken aback. “I was expecting Mor.”

Azriel huffed a low chuckle, dimples bracketing his amused half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

You looked him over, dark circles under his eyes, droopy eyelids, posture leaning forward in a slight slouch. “Az, didn’t you just return from a long mission? Why aren’t you resting?”

“Wanted to escort you to the Day Court Library Gala, of course.”

The tenderness in his voice had warmth bubbling up from your chest. “That is very kind,” you started, making sure to meet his gaze so he knew you meant it, “but you look so tired, Az. I’ve visited the Day Court a bunch of times now and only need someone to winnow me there. As much as I enjoy having you accompany me to these things, I don’t want you to stretch yourself thin on my account. I’ve got this.”

“I know you’ve got this,” came his immediate reply, “as you’ve pointed out I’ve been gone for a few weeks. What if I offered to escort you because I missed you, hm?”

Despite yourself you felt a flush of heat in your cheeks at his teasing. You refused to use your powers on anyone in the inner circle, unwilling to violate their privacy without explicit consent. But you didn’t need your powers to read Azriel’s sincerity. It made it hard to meet his gaze, you turned back to running your fingers through your hair in the mirror, taking a moment to compose yourself. “Well alright then, I don’t think I can do anything more to tame my hair, we should be off then.”

You felt Azriel at your back, a gloved hand coming up to gently grasp your elbow, guiding your arm down as his hand trailed down the bare skin of your forearm to hold yours, turning you to face him. “Stop fussing, you look stunning, this dress is new, right? I think the color suits you.”

You smiled. “Thank you, I suppose you would like this color, now that I’m thinking about it,” with your free hand you held up the skirt of the floor length dress to the siphon on his wrist, marveling at the color match, “it looks like I did it on purpose.”

He hummed in acknowledgement as he pulled you closer into an almost embrace. “We should go now. Wouldn’t want to miss the opening speeches.”

You suppressed a shudder. Definitely from the way his breath tickled your ear, and not from the way his voice sounded as he tucked you into his chest. “You hate opening speeches.” You pointed out, remembering all the times he complained about how boring they were.

“I do, but you like them.” You’d never said as much aloud, but you did enjoy listening to people talk about things they were passionate about, and opening speeches tended to be just that. Of course the Spymaster had noticed.

If Azriel saw your smile before you hid your face against his leather-clad pec he didn’t let on. You pulled your hands free and looped your arms around his middle, clasping your fingers together under the base of his wings.

“I’m ready then, thank you for coming with me.” Your voice was muffled, unwilling to tilt your head up to talk to him in case your maddening blush was there. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you winnowed with Az, your whole face would go cherry red. Something Cassian never failed to poke fun at whenever he witnessed it.

Azriel wrapped his arms tightly around you, your body now flush to his. You focused on the sound of his wings rustling as he tucked them in closer. Anything to distract from the way your pulse spiked when you felt his lips brush against the crown of your head, his hold on you gentle, yet firm and protective as darkness folded around the both of you.

XxXx

Neither you nor Azriel realized the issue with your room reservation until much too late. Upon arrival in The Day Court the both of you hurried to the event. The gala wrapped up around midnight, and like most of the other guests staying in town, you and Azriel retired back to the nearby Inn. With your strappy heels in hand and a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, you felt positively bubbly. Paused in front of your room, you let Azriel rummage through the small black purse at your side for the key. After almost leading them into the wrong room, Azriel took it upon himself to find the correct room and unlock the door.

Minutes later you were still trying to suppress a smile at how Azriel reacted with such mortification when he realized you’d led them to the wrong room. The mental image of the great Shadowsinger so frantic in his efforts to stop you from further jostling the doorknob, had you letting out a laugh before you could stop it.

“It’s not funny.” He grumbled as he swung the wooden door to your room open, leading you inside. You were on the verge of poking fun at him some more when you caught a glimpse of the interior layout. Right, you had RSVP’d expecting to attend the gala alone. The realization sobered you up real fast.

The room was small, burgundy curtains concealing a sizable window, antique desk with tourist flyers stacked in a neat pile on top. A queen sized, four post bed situated in the middle of the room.

“I’ll take the floor—” Azriel started saying.

But you interrupted him. “—you should have the bed.”

“Absolutely not, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady sleep on the floor while I hogged the whole bed.” He nodded, as if the conversation was over, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him.

“There’s not even enough space on the floor for you to stretch out Az. The room is basically only bed. It’s fine, I can use my extra clothes—”

You inhaled sharply, tensing at the thought of your overnight bag, left forgotten back at Mor's apartment. Your eyes darted to Azriel, meeting his gaze out of the corner of your eye, and you knew you didn’t need to say anything about it as he scoffed under his breath.

“You forgot your bag.” He observed.

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair, your tight dress feeling like it was constricting around your chest as you contemplated sleeping in it. “I did indeed forget my bag.”

“We could just go back, we don’t have to stay here for the night.” Azriel pointed out, but the thought of cutting the trip short caused a ripple of disappointment to drop in your stomach.

“Or,” he continued with a hint of amusement, “I have an undershirt beneath my leathers. I changed before I met you at Mor’s, so it’s relatively clean. I was going to sleep in it tonight, but I would sacrifice my shirt for you if it meant you’d stop frowning like that.”

If you thought you were anxious before, Azriel’s suggestion sent your anxiety through the roof. You had always found Azriel attractive, even when you were still living in Hewn City. Who wouldn’t? That attraction grew into a bit of a crush when you first arrived in Velaris. He treated you with such care as you adjusted to living above ground, quiet, patient, and thoughtful.

Once it was apparent that you would be working closely with him you shut that shit down. You and him had spent a lot of time traveling together the last few years, always with separate sleeping arrangements, and never sharing clothing. You went out of your way to respect his privacy, give him space, all in hopes of being someone he one day could trust, like how you trusted him.

You could handle one night, sharing a bed, borrowing his shirt. That wouldn’t totally backfire on you in any way, right? Nodding to yourself once, you tried for an air of confidence as you talked around the nerves that have bloomed in your chest.

“Okay,” you agreed, “but if I change into your shirt you definitely can’t take the floor. I won’t let you sleep shirtless on the ground while I’m all tucked in and cozy in bed. I’ll only take up a sliver of it by myself anyway.”

He opened his mouth to object, his intentions written in the way his brow furrowed at you. But you barreled on anyway, “So, we share the bed tonight. Are you comfortable with that?”

His mouth snapped shut, eyes studying you for a tense moment as if you may be tricking him. You clasped your hands together in front of you, the longer you waited for him to respond the clammier your palms felt. Each second felt like an eternity and in no time at all you found yourself scrambling for a way to play off your idea as a joke.

Of course he wouldn’t want to share a bed with you. What in the world had you been thinking?

Maybe you could blame it on that deliciously fizzy drink you downed before leaving the gala, say you weren’t in your right mind. Pretend to not remember in the morning, as if this wasn’t going to be a moment you cringe about decades later. Would you be able to just laugh it off? Would Azriel be chill enough to let you live this down? You were probably so screwed.

He was still a little tense, but just before your panic truly took root Azriel began to nod his head like he...agreed with you?

“Yes, I think that is the most logical solution. The bed can definitely fit two.” Azriel finally said, and you tried to keep yourself from gaping at his response. But your surprise must have been all over your face because he went on to say, “I didn’t suggest it myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Wiping your hands down the front of your dress did little to help with the sweat. The pit that had been taking form in your stomach churned, your dread morphing into jittery nerves.

Then, as if you weren’t having a nervous breakdown right in front of him, the handsome lunatic started striping his leathers off. Dept hands tossing his gloves to the desk, he unclasped the chest pieces of his leathers, they fell to the floor with a thud. Then, the promised black undershirt was up over his head, and you were drinking in all his tattoos and corded muscles like you were a tactless teenager instead of a 300+ year old female.

A flash of movement from him, and you flinched when his shirt hit you square in the face. It was so big it draped over your head. You made a disgruntled noise, ignoring how delicious the shirt smelled as you removed it from your face, “Hey—!”

“If you’re done gawking at me like you’ve never seen a shirtless male, you can get ready for bed first.” He headed further into the room, collecting his chest piece off the floor and approaching the desk to place it with his gloves. He turned to face you, his butt propped against the desk as he gestured to the door his wingspan had been blocking from view. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, flexing his biceps, and you almost swooned at the sight. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fist tightened around the shirt, fighting the urge to toss it back at him out of spite. Embarrassment felt like hot iron under your skin, so instead you snapped your attention to the door he had pointed out–the bathroom. You knew you’d averted your gaze much too fast to seem unaffected by him. He chuckled, and you glowered at him as his head tilted to the side, watching you with a bemused expression. He looked about ready to comment further, but you waved him off with faux-annoyance and an exaggerated roll of your eyes. Clutching his shirt close to your chest, you escaped into the bathroom.

Subtle.

Pressing your back to the door, it closed under your weight. You paused there for a moment to focus on your breathing, your frazzled mind going a mile a minute. This was all so far out of your comfort zone, it wasn’t even funny. You never had to deal with handsome males in The Court of Nightmares, Kier didn’t let you socialize long enough for it to even be on your radar. Dating hadn’t quite made your list of top priorities upon arriving in Velaris either.

What little experience you did have was with a male named Allistair. You’d met him at Rita’s within your first year above ground. It was a fling of sorts that lasted a few months before you decided casual dating wasn’t for you. He was a perfectly adequate lover. At least you think he was. He was also your only lover. A nice enough companion as you acclimated to your new life. The times you had been intimate with that male had left you feeling…bereft. Seeing Allistair shirtless had been nothing like seeing Azriel shirtless.

And Azriel calling you out for ogling him so blatantly? Mother have mercy.

So now you were just expected to fall asleep next to him wearing his shirt after that? The situation almost made you want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The last thing you wanted was to draw his suspicion by loitering against the door for too much longer, so you moved to the sink. Maybe splashing lukewarm water on your face would reveal that this had all been a weird ass nightmare.

Cupping water into your face a couple more times, you took in the smeared makeup dripping down your face in the mirror. Definitely not a dream.

Azriel was going to think you were in love with him for fucksake.

Snatching the nearby hand towel from the rack on the wall you soaked it, and got to work on scrubbing your face clean. You had to have a little more faith in Azriel. He wouldn’t let a single weird moment ruin over two years of amicable teamwork. But your personal relationship with him felt fragile to you at best. You can't let some tattoos and abs mess up what you considered to be the most solid friendship you’d made among the Inner Circle.

So what if he was hot as hell? You could co-exist with attractive people, it was legit a part of your job. You could salvage the situation, just change out of the dress you accidentally matched to the colors of his siphons, put his shirt on that smelled so strongly of him it gave you a headrush, and face him like you hadn't just been drooling over him.

You know, simple.

The hem of his t-shirt landed just above your knees, and the comfort you found in it was criminal. The black fabric was very soft and so baggy that you worried the wing slits in the back would shift forward in your sleep. It could reveal a little more than what you’d considered 'tasteful side boob'.

Resisting the urge to fuss in the mirror (because it wasn't like you were trying to look cute for anyone, right?), you exited the bathroom clean faced and a bit more settled than when you had entered.

Your bravado, however, was short lived. Azriel faced away from you in only his underwear, the rest of his leathers added to the pile on the desk. He was organizing his various knives on the bedside table closest to the main door.

He looked over his shoulder at you. Totally not catching you checking out his butt in the tight underpants. Cauldron boil you. Would it be weird if you marched yourself back into the bathroom to try the whole “not affected by sexy, almost nude Illyrian warrior” thing again?

Azriel inhaled sharply, and you snuck a glance at him. His attention was back on his knives, but there was a tension to him, almost like he was brooding. There might have been a light blush over his cheeks, but you felt weird analyzing him anymore than you already had out of habit. You clocked the change in his body language for what it was the instant he saw you in his shirt. Clenched jaw, tense shoulders, spine ramrod straight, wide eyed before averting his gaze, elevated heart rate–classic signs of attraction. Reactions he clearly didn’t want you to notice.

"I'm taking this side." He informed almost absently, patting the mattress. Leaving you with the window side.

You wandered to the desk to avoid observing him further, wishing that you could turn off the part of you that always seemed to be prying for more information. And then you felt it, his thoughts getting louder, his emotions growing wilder, reaching out to you. You slammed your mental shields up hard, a gross feeling taking root when it was too late.

Protect. Azriel’s intentions conveyed to you. Protect. Comfort. Provide. Here you were invading his private thoughts without his knowledge, while he was concerned with your wellbeing. What was the point of all that effort Rhysand put into teaching you how to better control your mental shields? It never worked when you needed it most. The failure stung, and you had to busy yourself with folding your dress in a neat square so you had something to keep your hands from shaking.

It was quiet for too long, and you struggled with recalling what he had said to you before you’d lost control. Something about the bed. "Sounds good to me." You decide on saying, placing your dress next to his leathers.

Azriel didn’t seem to find your reply out of the ordinary. Small mercies.

"I'll be out in a few minutes, then." His voice was rougher than before, and it sent chills down your spine. As soon as you heard the bathroom door click shut you scurried into bed. You couldn’t get under the covers fast enough, pulling the blankets up to your neck with a hefty sigh of relief.

It felt awesome to be laying down after such a long evening on your feet. Too bad you couldn’t enjoy it more, instead drowning under waves of shame. Maybe you’d never get a full handle on your powers. Maybe the Mother was teaching you a lesson in this life? You couldn’t fathom what the moral could be. You wanted more than anything to be able to mind your business.

You wished you could turn your brain off. Alas, even your guilt couldn’t stop you from reflecting and organizing what you’d just observed. Not only had you heard his intentions, but you also felt them. Unlike the sweet warmth of his thoughts, his gaze had felt like desire and bad decisions.

He didn’t seem like he was actively seeking to bed you. You reasoned that you were also an available female wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties. You could only imagine how all of that must have chafed against his Illyrian instincts. Rhysand had once mentioned that Illyrians were possessive and protective at best, controlling and jealous at their worst.

Surely those possessive instincts were what you were picking up on, then. You were covered in his scent after all. That was the only logical explanation for his reaction, his instincts were telling him to protect you because you were vulnerable and wearing his clothing. Even if it didn’t quite sound right to you, it was the only explanation you were willing to entertain. You were barely friends, there was no way Azriel wanted to court you. The thought sent a fleeting pang of disappointment through you that you refused to examine.

Whatever. There wasn’t anything you could do to make the situation less messy right now. You were exhausted, and stewing on scenarios that would never amount to anything real was unlike you.

Snuggling further into the sheets, you decided it was best to just pretend you hadn’t noticed shit. The damage was done, Azriel wasn’t dumb, he at least knew he had flustered you. You weren’t going to draw any more attention to that tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever. Everything about this night was a fluke.

Azriel returned from the bathroom, and you kept your focus on fluffing your pillows. Sitting up you tossed an extra pillow onto the floor, and you could feel as soon as his eyes landed on you that some of his…instincts…were still acting up. You pulled the comforter back up to your neck as he got into bed next to you. Turning on your side to face him you were determined to be normal. No more awkward gawking allowed tonight.

He stretched his arms up above his head, his joints popping a million times as he groaned in relief. You couldn't help chuckling at him, the fearsome Shadowsinger of the Night Court, doing something so mundane.

Scooting further onto the bed, Azriel rolled over to meet your gaze, his wings tucked close to his back as he settled. Most of his wingspan spilled over the side of the bed anyway. He surveyed you, eyes lingering along your tired but genuine smile, and you saw the stern tenseness slowly leave his body. "You sure you're comfortable with this?" He asked.

Your smile turned a tad warmer. This male was just so kind, so different from what you knew in Hewn City. "I am, I trust you Azriel." It was the truth. You didn't have friends growing up, and although you may have a long way to go before Azriel truly called you his friend, you considered him a dear (sexy) friend.

Your words seem to settle something in him, and you could have sworn you saw something almost affectionate flash across his face. You blink, and it's gone, but the fuzzy feeling it left in your chest remains.

Like he sensed your mushy thoughts, he ruined the moment. "So I have to ask you something, it’s serious.”

Your brows raised in bemused interest, the scenario with him wishing to court you snapping to the forefront of your mind again. He’d always been very attentive to you, but in a worried protective way. You’d never picked up on any romantic intentions from him before, and he’s not the type to make a decision like that on a whim. The chance was small, but you couldn’t 100% rule out him wanting to ask you out. Could you say no to him? Would you even want to say no? You’d never considered this as an option before!

He held your gaze, as if for dramatic effect and then with the seriousness of a top notch spymaster he asked you, “You have seen a shirtless male before...right?"

Maybe it was a mistake to consider this male kind, he was a menace all along.

You had never rolled your eyes so hard at someone. Unbelievable.

Turning away from him with enough force to toss your hair in his face, you are rewarded with the sound of his indignant grunt.

"Can you turn the light off please?" You snap, unable to rein in your annoyance. Unsettled by how it tasted almost like rejection.

"You didn't answer my question." He goaded, and you fell right for it.

"Yeah, because it's a silly question." You fire back.

He hummed at your response, "Doesn't seem like you think it's a silly question."

You would rather swallow your own tongue than admit to Azriel that you’d seen shirtless males, but he had been the first you’d enjoyed seeing shirtless.

Done with the line of questioning, you blindly flung your arm back, swatting at him. He startled at the contact, and he exhaled a scoff when you didn't stop flopping your arm at him after the first blow.

He caught your wrist, stilling your flailing. "Fine, fine, I'll drop it," He let go of your wrist, “for now.”

You shifted to burrow further into your pillows, totally not dwelling on how his big hand wrapped around your wrist made you feel dainty. The texture of his scars hadn’t made your heart skip a beat either. Nope. Not at all.

"Could you shut the light off please." You asked again with more venom than you intended. It bothered you how easy this male could get under your skin. He wasn’t even trying.

You felt his weight shifting, the bed frame squeaking a bit as he moved. "Anything for you, Princess." He shuffled a little more, and then the light went off, casting the both of you in darkness.

The nickname made you grimace into your pillow. No one had ever called you that before, and you really didn’t want it to catch on.

You felt him return to the position on his side facing you. Some moments passed in loud silence, and although you were the one that let the conversation drop, the residual tension in the room was killing you. There was no way you would be able to fall asleep, and you would bet that Azriel was stewing in the tension too.

"Az?" You whispered. His response was quick like he’d been waiting on edge for you to speak, "Yes?"

"Goodnight." And you found yourself meaning it. You hoped he got some sleep tonight despite the turmoil he had so effortlessly sowed in your stomach with his teasing. The prick.

You could practically hear the mischief in his voice. "Sleep well, princess."

Ugh. Your stomach coiled, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Very dangerous. It was an inappropriate reaction, and you wrote it off as stress. However as hard as you wished to forget it, you wouldn’t be forgetting how Azriel had made you feel that night anytime soon.

Even your racing thoughts couldn’t stop sleep from finding you, putting you out of your misery.

And if you woke up to the sounds of song birds that morning, your face pressed against Azriel's neck, your body sprawled atop him while he slept on his back, then that was your business. No one would know if you relished being in his arms a few minutes longer than necessary. You wouldn’t confirm nor deny if one of his hands had looped through a wing hole of his borrowed shirt, his fingers resting just under your breast.

And so what if it had been the best sleep you'd gotten since leaving Hewn City. And if Azriel seemed more well rested than usual on your return to the Night Court, you certainly didn't notice that either.

XxXx

Next Chapter

#azriel x reader #acotar #azriel x you #friends to lovers #slow burn #one bed trope #one shot #one shot series #azriel #my writing #kayjaywrites #like bugs in a rug

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moonstruckme · 9 months

Note

You’re poly!marauders writings literally soothe my anxiety I love it so much. Could I please request poly!marauders comforting reader the night before a big presentation she’s super anxious for because she hates public speaking. I feel like they’d be so soft and encouraging when they realise how sad and anxious she is about it. You’re the best lovely 💗💖🩷

Thanks sweetheart!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 957 words

James erupts in applause as you click to the final slide, and Sirius sticks his fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly.

“Fantastic job!” James gushes, fawning. “Never seen anything like it. Will this presentation be considered for a nobel prize?”

“It ought to be,” Remus agrees, also clapping, albeit more normally. “That was great, dove. They’re gonna love it.”

“Are you sure?” You look to the screen uncertainty. “The ‘thank you’ slide isn’t too informal?”

“No,” Remus confirms. “I think it’s the perfect way to signal that you’re done.”

“But did I talk too fast? I do that sometimes.”

He gives you an odd look. “Did you think you were talking too fast?”

You shrug, looking at your pajama bottoms like there’s something interesting down there. “I can’t always hear it myself. Maybe I should run it through one more time, and you can let me know?”

“Wait, again?” Sirius sounds slightly alarmed. “This is a very interesting topic, but I think six practice rounds is probably enough. What, are you gonna give us a test or something?”

You cringe. “Sorry, I don’t mean to keep you captive. I can practice it by myself.”

You close your laptop, thinking of going to your room, but James says, “Wait, sweetheart, why do you think you need to run through it so many times? It seems like you’ve got it.”

“I just need it to be, like, muscle memory,” you reply. “A lot of the time, once I get up there, I sort of…it’s almost like I can’t think anymore, and if I don’t know the presentation super well I won’t know what to say.”

“I don’t think you need to worry as much as you are.” James’ voice has gone soft in that way he does when he wants to be extra kind. “Every time you’ve run through it tonight, it’s been flawless.”

You scoff. “Yeah, because it’s just you guys.”

“Oi,” Sirius pipes up, faux indignant. “I’ll have you know we are the most critical audience you’ll ever meet. If you can do it in front of us, those dolts will be no problem.”

“Yeah, don’t be nervous.” James gives you a smile. “You’re going to do great.”

“That’s a lot easier said than done,” you sigh.

Remus pats the arm of his chair, and you abandon your laptop, letting him pull you into his lap. Your boyfriends have the ability to bring emotions you didn’t even know you had straight to the surface, and you feel unexpectedly teary as he kisses your temple. “Would it make you feel better if we came to watch tomorrow?” he asks lightly.

You give him a small, sad smile. “Thanks, but even if you did, everyone else would still be there. It’d be a pointless trip for you.”

“Not if you could have a hug afterwards.” He sets his chin atop your head like he’s going to make you a fortress out of his own body. “Or if you just want support in the audience, we don’t mind.”

“I appreciate it,” you reply, “but I’ll be okay. I just need to get it down so that I don’t mess up.”

“And what if you do mess up?” Sirius asks, characteristically blunt. “Would it really be the worst thing in the world?”

You blush, and Remus rubs your upper arm comfortingly. “No,” you admit. “It would just be embarrassing. It would kind of ruin my day, to be honest.”

Sirius nods, looking at you evenly. “But then you get to come home, and it’ll be over. Maybe we can get you a treat or something to have tomorrow evening after you get home. That way you get a reward no matter what.”

You fidget in Remus’ hold, and you know they’re not going to like what you’re thinking, but you say it anyway. “I won’t deserve a reward if I mess up, though.”

“That’s not true,” James fires back instantly. “The reward doesn’t have to be only for if you give your presentation without a single hitch. It could just be for trying.”

You’re quiet, pleading silently for a change in topic. Remus drops another kiss on the side of your head. “You’ve worked hard on this, dovey. It’s really good, and even if everything doesn’t go as planned tomorrow, you still put a lot into it,” he pauses, stooping his head so you’re looking at him. “You deserve to feel good about yourself.”

You try to shrink, but he won’t let you, trapping you with an immovable arm around your shoulders. Remus is strong when he wants to be. He raises his eyebrows, a tiny smirk playing on his lips, until you smile.

“Okay, you’re right,” you capitulate, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Thank you guys.”

“Maybe it’d help if you got the presentation off your mind and just relaxed for the rest of the night,” James suggests. “There’s no point in fixating on it anymore, you’ve done all you can.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you say, and then Sirius is squishing into you and Remus’ chair, sitting half on top of both of you.

“Our poor baby,” he whines, words muffled against your cheek. “I’m sorry I made fun of your practice, sweetpea. I didn’t know you were so nervous.”

You laugh as he moves down to your neck. “It’s okay, it’s—quit, that tickles!”

Sirius ignores you, pecking relentlessly up and down your neck as Remus struggles to keep the both of you from falling off the armchair. “You’re going to do so good,” he promises ardently. “You know that, right?”

“She doesn’t even have to know it,” James speaks for you as you gasp for breath between giggles. “We know well enough to make up for her.”

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xhoneygirlxx · 9 months

Text

Fool For You

Dad!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

summary: Life as a single dad but life is about to get way harder when Steve falls for his son's teacher.

warnings: fluff. slight angst: mentions of steve's childhood. steve is sad over his son's first day of school. No pronouns are used for reader but they're described to wearing fem clothing. Steve compares reader to Miss Honey from Matilda. Readers skin tone/ethnicity is not mentioned. fic is set in 91 (let's pretend Matilda had already come out by then). meet cute. mentions of being a single parent. Steve's son is named Danny. ending is rushed lmao lets pretend it's not. bad writing/grammar errors. Not proofread!! 18+ plus only, MDNI

*If I missed anything lmk!

a/n: Awe my beautiful lovies!!! we are halfway done with my wonderful birthday week :( I just want to thank each and every one of you for supporting me and showing me nonstop love. I love each and everyone of you so dearly!!!! I also wanna apologize for the late upload! I hope you guys can forgive me!

Maybe I’m crazy, but it’s hard to ignore you

And I can’t wrap my head around it, but it feels

Oh, like I loved you before.

Being back in the hallways of Hawkins Elementary felt odd. Everything has stayed the same since the last time Steve went there, the paint of the walls, the decorations, even the smell was all the same. It smelled like a chilly autumn morning and books, innocence and childhood - a smell he didn't even realize he missed so much until he entered the building.

The cinder block lined walls hold memories, locking them in place until the end of time. Now his son's will be there along with them, a new generation of the Harrington family ready to leave their mark.

Walking hand and hand with Danny, Steve feels every single emotion any parent would on their child's first day. It's bittersweet, stinging him right through the heart with sadness and patching itself up with a sense of excitement. Danny on the other hand is a ball of energy, bouncing with every step he takes, like he always does.

The small boy is nothing but big smiles, eyes darting everywhere as he takes in the new environment. His Ninja Turtle backpack is comically bigger than him, flopping off of the backs of his knees with every step he takes.

As he looks down at his son, who looks just like him at that age, a big rush of adoration falls onto the older man. Over the short five years that Steve became a dad, he's learned that you can fall in love with your baby all over again just like the first time you held them. Steve is always amazed by Danny and the amount of love that runs through his veins for the small boy, but sometimes you need a little refresher like right now.

"You excited to meet your new teacher, Danny?" Steve swings the small boys arm causing him to giggle.

Nodding his chestnut hair, he looks up at his father with wide eyes. "M'cited dad."

"You gonna make lots of friends?" Steve isn't sure if this question is appropriate but a part of him worries about his son's ability to make new friends, since Steve is the only one out of his friends that has a child.

"I fink so but they hav' to like tourtles." Danny isn't really bothered by the question too much, not when he's too focused on the bright decorations that stick all over the walls.

"Turtles, Dan." It comes out in a chuckle. Even though Steve always corrects his son on the word, he's still a sucker for the way he says it.

Making it to the end of the hall, they stop at the wooden door with the numbers 206 written over them. The memory of Steve's kindergarten years creep into his mind as they stand there, flashbacks of him holding his mom's hand as wet tears streamed down his face. He wonders if his mother remembers that or if she buried that in the back of her mind like everything else in his life.

Pulling himself out of his head, Steve knocks on the closed door and scoots back just a little to leave room for it to open. Crouching down to his son's level, he runs a nervous hand through his hair, fixing whatever pieces didn't stay down.

"Daddy, you're gonna mess it up." Danny pouts, lightly stomping his converse clad foot on the vinyl flooring.

Pulling his hand back, Steve realizes he's using his son for his anxious habits. "You're right, m'sorry. You gonna be okay?"

Danny rolls his eyes in a sassy way, the way that always makes Steve laugh. "Yesss dad."

Wow, his son is really his carbon copy.

The sound of the heavy door opening pulls both of their attention, Steve immediately springing up from his position wiping his clammy hands down his shirt.

Steve steels himself for who he's about to meet, releasing a shaky breath he didn't realize he was holding. Now, Steve expected to see a middle aged woman, maybe even older. He pictured someone with a grandma type energy, sweet and welcoming. What he didn't expect was you.

Standing there in the doorway with the bright light of your classroom falling around you in a halo. A pretty floral dress hangs from your body, cinching your body just right without being too inappropriate. Your cheeks are puffed up as you smile brightly, eyes crinkled at the sides as you do.

You seem about the same age as Steve, no older than twenty five. Glasses sit on the top of your head, pushing back the front of your hair. In a way you remind him of Miss Honey, not looks wise but your aura. You're so fucking pretty and he doesn't think he'll be able to formulate a sentence.

"Let me guess," You stand with a hand on your hip, pretending to think hard, "You must be Mr. Daniel Harrington."

The little boy in question beams up at you, bouncing on his toes as he clutches his excited hands around the straps of his backpack.

"My dad calls me Danny." The lisp that he has is very noticeable when he says it. Steve can tell you want to coo so badly over the small boy, the flexing of your fingers not going unnoticed.

Crouching down to his level, you reach out a hand to Danny for a handshake. "What a pleasure to meet you Danny."

Placing his hand into yours, he shakes it in a jerky manner. His missing bottom tooth shows off with the way he smiles at you. Pulling your hand away, you stand up straight still looking at the small child.

"Danny whenever you're ready you can head right inside and find the cubby with your name on it!" Your voice is like the sun, bright and chipper.

Craning his next up to his dad, he waits for his dad's permission even though his body trembles with anticipation. Steve on the other hand doesn't want to let him go, not ready to detach himself from his baby he spent five years with.

Kneeling down, Steve wraps his son in one last hug. The sting of unshed tears hits his nose first, the lump that sits in the back of his throat waits patiently for the dam to break.

"Okay dad, I have to go!" The small boy giggles, not understanding the gravity of the situation. To him he thinks his dad is just being silly, not realizing that his dad's heart is breaking.

Reluctantly Steve pulls away, trying to remember the look on his son's face. His own flesh and blood, the boy he's worked so hard to raise by himself, and God is his heart full.

"Alright little man, go head inside." Tapping a heavy hand to the boy's head, he watches him duck into the classroom.

Popping back to his standing position, Steve tries his hardest to blink the tears away. You still stand there, observing the classroom behind your shoulder.

"Oh, Mr. Harrington," You call out before he can leave and he's quick to interrupt you.

"Please, call me Steve. I feel like I'm too young to be Mr. Harrington." He half chuckles, ignoring the skip of his heart when he makes eye contact with you.

"Steve," You correct, a bashful smile on your face, "I wanted to ask if you would be the only person to pick him up or if your wife would also be included in pick ups and drop offs."

"Oh, no I'm not- his mom isn't." Lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, he thinks of the best way to say it.

"Danny's mom isn't around, so it'll be just me on pick up and drop off duties. Possibly his aunt Robin but I'd let you know beforehand." A tight smile forms on his face.

"Oh I am so sorry, I shouldn't have assumed." You rush to apologize but you're quickly interrupted with the shake of his head.

"It's okay, you didn't know." He reassures and you visibly relax.

You're just as nervous as he is and he wonders if it's because you feel the same spark he does. Or maybe he's thinking too much into it. Either way, he'd like to think it's the latter.

"Well I'm very excited to teach Danny this year, he seems like a great kid." Although liking kids is part of your job, it sounds sincere coming out of your mouth and not rehearsed.

A coy smile breaks out on the older man's face, rose tint pours onto the rounded apples of his cheeks. "Y-yeah, he's a good kid. He can be shy sometimes but he loves to be around people."

Nodding your head, you sneak another peak behind you to check on the boy. "That's okay, I'm shy too."

When you turn to face Steve again, your lip is tucking behind your teeth. You're so fucking cute it makes him forget just how sad he was to drop off his own son and he doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing.

A long pause settles between the two of you, eyes becoming too bashful to meet. Steve kicks his foot at the hard floor, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans.

"Well Steve, it was so nice to meet you but I have to get back in there." You sigh hiking a thumb over your shoulder.

Steve feels like someone just popped him like a balloon, the small amount of joy he's felt just by talking to you has now been taken away. Meeting you with a tight lipped smile, he nods understandingly.

After bidding your farewells, Steve thinks about you. He wishes he wasn't so awkward, that he had acted way cooler than he did, and how breathtaking your smile was when you spoke to him and his son.

On his drive home all he could think about was you and his son, ping ponging back and forth between the two. Steve wishes that he met you before today, maybe in the coffee shop on Main or in line at the grocery store. He wishes that he would be able to ask for your number and take you out without any consequences brought on by the school.

He doesn't know how he's going to last a full year with Danny in school and he's really not sure how he can manage to keep a professional conversation with you every morning without falling in love.

The low hum of Rod Stewart's "Rhythm of My Heart" plays through the car, the soundtrack to Steve's drive home.

Ah, the rhythm of my heart

Is beatin' like a drum

With the word's I love you

Rollin' off my tongue

"Fuuuuuuck," His voice drags out in the safety of his car, "I'm screwed."

Yeah, he was definitely screwed.

The ending feels rushed and it's not good but I hope you still enjoy! love you all :)

#steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x fem reader #honey's birthday bash #honey's holiday celebrations

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hyallulonelyhime · 2 months

Text

Hyahime presents: That time when a jsk became an ironing board cover..

Today i'm sharing a classic from cgl many of you have definitely heard about: The ironing board fiasco. The story of a girl, her dad's fiance and many feels.

Everything started when OP shared this image and said the following:

Due to some unusual circumstances, I'm currently living in a partially-renovated house with my dad and his fiancé.

His fiancé is a very sweet lady who is very thrifty. She makes all her own clothes and and will usually find a practical use for something, rather than throw it out (i.e recycling old bottles and jars to pot plants).

I had a Baby The Stars Shine Bright Strawberry and Cherry Ruffle jumperskirt that I didn't wear anymore, so I was planning to sell it. From memory, it cost about $400.

I put it out in the main room next to a pile of clothes I planned to donate to Good Sammies, so I'd remember to take photos of it for the sale. I then went away for a week to visit my grandparents

When I came back, I noticed the pile of clothes had disappeared. Cool, my dad and/or his fiancé had donated them for me. But wait… Where was the jumperskirt?

It was then that I saw the sight portrayed in the uploaded. My dress had been cut up to to make an ironing board cover and a tablecloth. I don't know where the rest of the material is.

It appeared that my dad's fiancé had assumed the jumperskirt was part of the donation pile, and thought there was no harm in 'recycling' it for her own uses. In her efforts to pretty up the concrete-y wasteland of a house, she had unknowingly destroyed an expensive brand dress.

Literally the only thing I could do in that moment was stare blankly. I can't even be mad at her, she had no idea.

So now I have a BTSSB ironing board and table cloth.

the story immediately caught the attention of users as they scrolled. Some found it terrible, others couldn't help but laugh..

Though some were quick to say it must've been fake.

So.. did OP fake this for attention? Let's investigate.

It is very unlikely the fabric was gathered from a replica, judging by the print details and the fact that this isn't a very sought-after or popular piece you'd see everywhere.

But how did one dress result in so much fabric? Although it looks like a lot, one anon pointed this out:

But she knew she'd get the attention, right? ...yes, but I don't think anyone would come up with this specific odd way to recycle a lolita piece and make the community react.

OP responded to the questions and thoughts with the following:

At this point, some anons were pretty much just fighting over if it's okay for OP to be so calm or not. Which.. is a little bit weird. Others were more emotional about this than the victim themselves.

But what you may not know is.. there's more. There's more to the Kawaiironing fiasco.

Op comes back.

I queried the whereabouts of the remaining material and she showed me. She said my dad told her I was "throwing them out" (I have no idea where he drew that conclusion as i specifically said I was donating a bunch of clothes, so at the very least he should have assumed I was, you know, donating them), so she thought it was fine to cut up. My fault anyway, didn't separate the "sell" pile from the "donate" pile. HOWEVER… There were a few other brand dresses I was planning to sell. I assumed they had been donated with the rest of my clothes, as they were nowhere to be found. I was a little sad about that (they were valuable Angelic Pretty, BBSTB and Metamorphose), but oh well. Then I looked in her material bag and found they had also been cut up… When dad said I was "throwing THEM" out, he did not state a plural by accident… Pics to follow.

If anyone wants individual versions of those pics lemme know.

The loli gods frown upon me today for my unbecoming carelessness in handling burando.

Op decided to keep the truth a secret: ignorance is bliss, and her stepmother did not deserve to feel the guilt of ruining so much burando.. or to know that so many lolitas were in shambles knowing about her crafts.

..Although, anons said this wouldn't stop her from doing it again. Maybe she should know so she doesn't cut up even more dresses.

One thing is certain. that's a really cute ironing board cover. Maybe the fabric could become even more random burando stuff: headbows, little makeup bags, cup coasters, mats.. oven mitts?

Lolita home goods for all! we demand a cute life!(✧∀✧)/

#memorybox #eglfashion #jfashion #lolita fashion #egl #old school lolita #egl community #classic lolita #egl fashion #sweet lolita #gothic lolita

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madelynraemunson · 4 months

Text

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club series)

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI

Chapter 019: The Piggyback

If you had the chance to do it over again with Eddie — and DO IT RIGHT — would you?

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014** , 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020* * = somewhat smut , ** = smut

CW: hospital setting, dialogue heavy, uncertainty, fluff, talks of blood/broken bones/etc., car accident implications

word count: 2.5k words

“I’ll pick up these broken pieces ‘til I’m bleeding, if that’ll make it right.”

♡

Hawkins Memorial Hospital reeks of bleach wipes and bitter tears.

“Eddie…” Dustin wails. “No no no, noooo. Eddie…”

You’re sitting on the floor of the nurses station with Robin, Steve, and Nancy while the ‘kiddos’ occupy the waiting chairs. Surely, it's got to be unsanitary, but contracting germs off the floor of the ICU were the least of your concerns.

Your eyes follow Wayne as he helplessly wheels around, talking to anyone who would lend him an ear... anyone who would possibly know anything about his nephew’s condition.

“And my nephew — Eddie — he's self-employed,” Wayne continues to tell them.

Wheeling…wheeling…wheeling…

“But the Program he’s with allows him to go through Scott Clarke. You know Scott Clarke Insurance? It’s S-c-o-t-t, C-l-a-r-k-e… I’m through them too…”

But the able-bodied personnel are too fast for old Wayne, walking at a speed about 5mph while his frail fingers can only allow him up to 2 and a half. Just like the liters of oxygen he is on.

“Does he have a case manager assigned to him yet?” Wayne wonders. “If so I would like their name, please.”

Eventually Wayne’s voice fades the further away he gets. And just so you don't wallow in your misery, you go to your phone to see if anyone else has been reaching out to you for updates.

Justice (Hellfire)

Omg just heard the news! Hey girlie, is Eddie ok??? Can we come see him yet??

Just as you expected. Annoyed, you respond.

Girl fuck you

Suddenly a hand squeezes your kneecap. You didn't realize how aggressively you were tapping your feet until Max stops you.

“Doing okay, sis?”

“Yeah I'm just...” you sigh. “…going through all the emotions I guess. And in a fucked up way, I'm kinda convinced this is all my fault."

“You're a dumbass," she scowls at you. "How could you have possibly seen this coming? This was not in anyone’s control."

“I broke the rule,” is all you say. “We never go to bed angry.”

The odds have always been against you. You would think you knew that by now. It was probably why you spent all morning beating yourself up; because you knew that if you did, there's a huge possibility that Eddie would pull through. The Universe is twisted like that.

Suddenly, a pair of white coats are seen coming out of Eddie's room. Everybody in the party immediately stands, like it's some formation exercise at a bootcamp of sorts. Wayne eventually circles back as well, gazing up at Dr. Owens with hopeful eyes.

“Eddie is going to be okay,” Owens concludes. “You can all breathe now.”

The room fills with bone-weary, but nonetheless celebratory cheers. Owens and Eddie's nurse, Nurse Patty allows everybody to hug one another in relief. Eddie's doctor goes to speak again when the clamor dies down.

“But he did have to undergo emergency surgery,” Dr. Owens adds. “And he lost a lot of blood, so we have him on additional transfusions, as well as an antibiotic for an infection caused by his wounds. The plan for him is to recover, hopefully get him up with therapy when the time is right, and then he can get out of here.”

“Can we see him?” your voice cracks.

“That is up to him," the doctor responds. "But for now, what the young man told me is that he wants chocolate pudding... and to see his Uncle and girlfriend."

You and Wayne waste no time. Unlocking the brakes of his wheelchair, you lug Eddie's uncle into ICU room #010, unsure of what is to greet you behind the curtains.

The room is littered with juice and jello, laced by an overpowering bleach-esque fragrance that most likely was there to mask the innate smell of blood and other bodily fluids.

Beep, beep, beep, goes the familiar IV machine. And funny enough, Eddie has his TV on, blasting South Park on full volume, exactly the way it normally would be playing at the Harrington-Munson estate.

"…tell everyone the truth about whose fault this is! I didn't do anything!" ... "...you KNEW about the prank, you could've stopped it at any time, but you didn't say a word. SILENCE IS VIOLENCE!"

And there is Eddie, dressed in a mesh-fabric gauze bandana, a worn-out beige hospital gown, with matching grippy socks. His entire lower lip is busted, left arm in a cast, both of his heels elevated with blood-saturated pillows. And his hair... you didn't even want to think about the matting. But that is ground to be covered much later.

When Eddie sees the two of you, he only utters one sentence:

“Does this mean I finally get that motorcycle?”

“You fucking idiot!” you wail going in to hug him.

Eddie chuckles solemnly as you completely fall into his embrace, soaking his gown with your salty tears.

"I thought we lost you, Eddie,” you whisper in his ear as you sniff your tears away. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if we did...knowing what I said."

He strokes your hair. "You have every right to be mad at me. I've been such a shitty boyfriend to you."

“I second that,” Wayne huffs, crossing his arms. “The idiot part, I mean… but I’m glad you’re okay, son.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Wayne,” Eddie grumbles. “I knew those Eddie Stops would catch up to me one day.”

Eventually, the rest of the party spills in, starting with the batallion of younger Hellfire boys who were inconsolable all morning, absolutely petrified of losing their role-model.

"Jesus,” Dustin breathes. “We thought you were a-goner!”

"Hey guys, good to see ya," Eddie grins, soaking up every bit of attention from his little minions as they all pile on top of him. Suddenly, he flinches. "Hey hey hey, watch my IVs! I've got an important med running through that piggyback."

"Right, sorry," they all utter in unison as they separate themselves from him.

Steve is next in line to give Eddie a hug, followed by Robin, and Nancy, and soon Jonathan. Chrissy and Argyle are the next people to trail in, with Henry and Nina at their tail. Then, the Corroded Coffin boys soon after.

"Eddie, oh my god!" Chrissy cries. "Don't you ever scare any of us like that again!"

"Good to see ya, Chris," Eddie smiles, giving her a one-armed hug. "Hey Neens! Creel! Villalobos. Boys.”

"So not cool man," Argyle shakes his head. "So not cool. We were worried sick for you."

As you all iron out the details, it is discovered that Eddie got into the accident shortly after leaving your place. He, in fact did, pull an Eddie Stop, failing to see the car coming at him from his left side, which then resulted in him getting T-boned. The other driver was okay. In fact, he was the one who called the ambulance for him.

"How much longer until you're discharged?" Nancy asks.

"I'm not too sure," Eddie sighs. "Hopefully in a few weeks."

He fails to sit up completely, wincing once again when his pain drags him down. Everybody nearly rushes to his aid, tenderly lowering Eddie back onto the bed while encouraging him to take it easy.

"Don't even worry about it, Eds," Lucas assures him. "We can hold down the fort."

"Oh that's reassuring," Eddie mutters sarcastically, shaking his head in discontent.

"What'd you say?"

"Nothing!"

---

You decide to stay with Eddie for the afternoon while everyone else goes home. A couple others stay behind as well, so you all take turns alternating, helping the nurses with their care and making sure Eddie isn't alone when a specialist from his team comes to see him.

But for now, it's just you and him, cuddled up in his rather stiff hospital bed, watching TV to pass time by.

"It feels weird sitting in place for once," he comments. "My body isn't used to laying down for a long period of time."

"Constantly in fight or flight, huh?" you tut. "Always on the go..."

Eddie whistles. "God, you have no idea..."

"Nah, I do," you insist, grabbing his hand to kiss it. "Our flights just look a lil different is all."

Suddenly, your phone rings again, causing both you and Eddie to jolt in shock. This time, it's your FaceTime ringtone... and on the other line, is Kassidy, quite possibly accompanied by the other Hellfire Girls.

"Jesus H. Christ," you mumble. "They've been spamming me all morning. Probably just wanna know how you're doing."

"Answer it," Eddie encourages you sharply. His tone is rather gruff, and urgent. "I need to talk to them."

Because you're nice enough to allow the girls the luxury of knowing their lord and savior is alive, you answer the call and hand your phone to Eddie. There's a slight pause before the call is connected.

"Hi," is all Eddie says.

"Eddie! OMG!" the girls squeal through the other line, of course all while failing to acknowledge you — the person whose number they called in the first place. "Are you okay?!"

"Yes girls, I'm fine..." he sighs. "How's Hellfire? Everyone holding down the fort?"

"Of course, just like we do best," Kassidy responds. "We just miss you, Eddie. What happened?"

"Got T-boned."

"OMG, whose fault was it?"

"Mine," he seems relatively short with them.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm in a little bit of pain. But I got some pain meds to help me."

"Thank God!"

Meanwhile, on the other side of the hospital walls, Nina and Chrissy stare at each other in bewilderment, a look that is naturally followed by one of disgust.

"Oh I know damn well..." Nina shakes her head.

"Stupid ass bitches," Chrissy adds.

Being the nosy girls they are, Nina and Chrissy crane their heads over into the room, eavesdropping on the FaceTime conversation between Eddie and the Hellfire Girls.

"Oh Eddie," Emmy pouts. "We're so glad that you're doing okay."

"Yeah, Eddie!" Lady chirps. "When do you think you'll be released?"

"Hopefully I'll be out in about two weeks," Eddie responds. "But I'll stay at home for a bit before coming back. You won't even know I'm gone."

The girls cheer obnoxiously on the other line. You try to act indifferent towards everything for Eddie's sake, but it's hard for you to feign something that so evidently isn't true.

Eddie senses it. And what he says next to the girls takes you by surprise.

"...But," Eddie says. "In that same amount of time, I expect your lockers to be cleared... as well as your side of the dressing room."

There's a brief silence while the girls try to piece together what Eddie means by that. Because surely it doesn't mean what they initially thought it meant.

"Why? Are we getting moved?"

"No, you're all getting terminated."

So it was exactly what they thought it meant.

"Wh-what? Why?!"

"What do you mean why?" Eddie demands.

He begins to list off everything they have done wrong, all of which they pretended to be oblivious about until now.

"The final straw is calling my girlfriend's phone, non-stop, knowing that's the only way to get through to me," Eddie goes on. "And not even acknowledging her! And even if you did, you all have some damn nerve considering what you guys did at Hellfire."

"You don't even have proof of us damaging her property though!" Justice argues. "So for all we know, you're just accusing us of things, Eddie."

"That's funny," you speak up. "Who said anything about property damage?"

Caught in their own trap.

The MAIN reason Eddie couldn't fire the Hellfire Girls when they put sugar in your gas tank was because you didn't have any proof that they did it, therefore it wouldn't hold up well if the girls decided to sue for wrongful termination. Again, lots of legalities to come in to play.

The girls were smart though. Choosing to wreck your car because they knew it was parked in the security camera's blindspot. Essentially, after the damage was done, it would be your word against theirs. And there was only so much that Eddie could do with the "subtle jabs". But now that you have a confession, Eddie can work off of that.

"But Eddie!" Justice whines. "This is so unfair. We've known you, and been at Hellfire longer than she has."

"Two weeks," Eddie reiterates, still firm on his decision. "That's enough time for you ladies to figure out the next step. I wish you the best of luck."

The ending of the FaceTime call wasn't a pretty one. It mainly consisted of denying and bargaining, all of which Eddie did not have the energy to be receptive to.

You and Eddie continue to hash it out with the girls over the phone, all while Nina and Chrissy were twerking in celebration because it meant more money for them during tip outs. And most importantly, celebrating you getting the justice you deserve...along with the possibility of you coming back.

"That was something I should've done way long ago," Eddie sighs as he hands you your phone back. "I hate dealing with legal shit."

"I'm sorry that they ended up being horrible," you frown.

"And I'm sorry that they ended up being horrible to you," Eddie counters. "I really wish I could've done more for you. But up until now my hands were tied legally, honey. And financially."

"It was a sticky situation," you mutter. "But...I knew you had a favorite."

He kisses your forehead once more and you lean into him again, resting your head against his chest and wrapping your leg around his torso.

"Ow, ow, OW!" Eddie yelps.

"Sorry!"

You asunder again.

"You think you're gonna find enough dancers in time?" you ask him.

"We'll be okay four dancers short," Eddie assures you. "And besides, more tips for the other ladies when it comes down to tip-outs. They did Hellfire a favor."

Exactly what Chrissy and Nina were thinking.

"Speaking of Hellfire..." Eddie quips. "Does this mean you're coming back?"

"Only if I'm still welcome."

"Of course you are, babe," Eddie chuckles. "Everyone there loves you."

Your heart flutters at the forsaken "L" word, uttered with so much certainty and fondness.

"...including me," Eddie adds. "I love you, man."

You bite your lip to contain your excitement as you blush, giving Eddie a light punch across his chest.

"I love you too...man."

And as a way to poke fun at you, Eddie flashes you a "surf's up" sign with his non-crippled fingers. He puts on his most pretentious California accent possible, one he learned how to do from Argyle.

"Righteous...man."

And before it could get any more intimate, Chrissy makes her way into the room, reaching into her tote bag to give you something she's been holding onto since she arrived.

You watch as she unveils a familiar velvet garment — your cloak. She gives you a courtly bow as she hands it back over to you, symbolizing an end to your very brief retirement from Hellfire, and a permanent seat at The Party's table.

"You know Hargrove, I believe..." says Chrissy. "...that this is for you."

🏷️ tag list: @chrrymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @motherfckerr , @jxpsi , @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @mediocredreams @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron @kellsck @joyfulfxckery @munsons-mayhem28 @dragonfire @emma77645 @drivelikenina @livosssblog @thinkingth0ts @hugdealer @ellielunamckay @xblueriddlex @maskofmirrors @babyloutattoo89 @queenofhawkins @feral-pumpkin-energy @bl0ssomanddie

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marezablr · 7 months

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i think the thing that's funny about gohan is that if you take canon at face value, you have to accept he doesn't "have trauma." canon is fundamentally more interested in big intense emotions and drama than the smaller moments (although it still has those, and they can be really touching). this is not a deficit! dragon ball is a series where someone you love dies, and you scream so big you get superpowers. it's great.

so taking canon for what it is, gohan has experienced traumatic events, but he doesn't have any trauma from them. it has had no effect on him.

but if you want to understand him as having trauma, then the obvious reading is that gohan takes on the "just a guy" genre of having a trauma. the kind where you cannot get him to admit that he even experienced trauma, let alone that it did anything to him.

being dumped in the woods for six months should have affected him developmentally? sure, it was scary and weird at first, but then it was kind of fun, really!

watching people die at age five should have affected him? no, it's okay, most of them came back. it's sad about the ones who didn't, but it's important to mourn your losses and go forward in honor of their memories!

the world being put on his shoulders when he was eleven might have messed him up? that was hard, but it did have to be him. and he messed up, but his dad told him not to feel bad. his dad wouldn't want him to dwell!

everyone who put him in dangerous situations loved him, and they're his heroes, and gohan really was uniquely powerful, and the world was really at stake, so he did uniquely have to be involved. no one did anything wrong. besides, it was kind of hard, but nothing is wrong with him. he's just a guy.

he's aggressive about protecting his normal life and had a hard time even knowing what "normal" looked like, but he's just a guy. he didn't want pan to see people being killed, but there were no consequences when that happened for him. he's just a guy. his rage is something he avoids like it scares him, but his emotional regulation is great, really!

none of it had a negative effect on him. it was hard sometimes, but he learned a lot of things, and he's fine now. he's just a guy.

you will never get any of the big, obvious signs of trauma out of gohan (again: canon is pretty content that he's happy and well-adjusted!), but you can find trauma responses if you want by leaning into that. that's the kind of trauma response where people don't admit it to themselves, where they constantly minimize and excuse what happened (they love me, they never wanted to hurt me, therefore i can't have been hurt). the kind of trauma response that only comes out in weird leakages, in little comments and odd irrational behaviors—and then, occasionally, all at once in blinding moments of uncharacteristic emotional outbursts.

but that's not a big deal. it's just how his power boosts work, he guesses? it's a saiyan thing, probably!

don't worry about it. it's all okay. none of it was that bad.

he's just a guy!

#i do believe with all my heart that canon doesn't think he has trauma. it has no interest in that. son gohan is happy and well-adjusted #but i also believe that if you refuse to change any characterization while also reading him as having trauma it's SUCH a type of guy #a guy i've met #dragon ball

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itscherrylipsforme · 5 months

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The missing piece: Oliver Quick x fem!reader

Part 2 here

Summary: A few months after Saltburn becomes completely his, Oliver still feels like something is missing. Without being able to put a finger on it he decides to pay a visit to Oxford, where all started, trying to find the answer between his old memories. Fate believes that a pretty and sweet student he meets in a bookstore is the piece of the puzzle he needs right now. After all everyone wants to be showered with love, don’t they?

Warnings: Post Saltburn fic, a little bit dark (it’s Oliver, what you expected?), age gap (he is around 15-17 years older), slightly innocent kin? (nothing sexual)

Words: Around 1700

Author's rambles: Okay, I feel in love with him the movie and I am kind of embarrassed about it (It’s not my fault hat the actor has pretty eyes and a gorgeous accent, fine?) For your own good, don’t aspire to have a boyfriend as toxic as him in real life. Also this is my fic on Tumblr, please be nice

Masterlist Characters I write for

Likes and reblogs are appreciated ღ

I do not authorize any of my works to be copied, translated or plagiarized ✗

There is a psychological phenomenon that claims that after achieving something we have been longing for some time instead of the sense of satisfaction we were expecting we feel incomplete, hopeless and already looking forward to our next success. After having the Saltburn's keys just for himself, Oliver experienced that piercing emotion for the first time in his life. If he was painfully unaware of it or simply decided to ignore it remains as an open question until today. The only thing that was certain for him at that time is that he needed some action, a new goal, maybe some entertainment, and specially he needed answers. That’s why he decided to go back to the place it all started nearly sixteen years ago

Oxford hadn’t changed a lot since he graduated, as he had the chance to notice it. Different names, different faces, different decades… But still the same social scheme it was back them. Groups of rich daddy’s and mommy’s children swarming around the campus, pubs where you had to drink to be accepted, and poor little nobodies who had to adapt or die in the process

He rented a large flat not so far away from the university, and in the café just below it he rediscovered a hobby he had always had, but which have been almost forgotten on those last months on the mansion. Looking at the students, being able to read through their facades while accompanied by a cup of coffee, became his new pastime. But people always talk and after some weeks spending the afternoon in the café terrace just lost in his thoughts he realized the odd glances the staff shot towards him, so he decided to hide his true interest behind a less complex and unique one. The next day he went to the closest bookstore to buy any novel that would help him with his purpose, after all, people just ask fewer questions when you are reading on your own. That was when he found you sitting on a couch, legs crossed with a book between your small and soft hands

Pretty, beautiful, gorgeous even. Young, probably still studying at Oxford. On the shy aspect, lovely and smart as he guessed correctly. Sweet smile. Bright eyes. Oh, and some soft curves he was able to peep while he seemed to be looking at the shelves by your side. Wait, was that a blush, what he saw on your cheeks? Another scholarship student as he was back then. The fact that your clothes weren’t from big and expensive brands and that you spent your afternoons in the bookshop without really buying anything was the clue he needed to be sure about it. God, you were adorable, perfect, just what he needed right now and he decided to start working on it

Time had shown him that patience and a good plan could take you far away, this is the reason why, although he was eager to come to you and straight-forward mesmerize you with his tricks, he waited. He spent the next five weeks going to the library more or less daily hoping to see you, and luckily (since he was used to building his own luck) your schedules always matched. He always sat on an armchair to read next to yours, close but not enough to be suspicious. Just after he had made sure you have not so subtly looked at him a few times, he decided to make the move

“The Secret History” a deep silky voice said from behind your seat. His face slightly near to your face which made the words linger in the air for some honey-like seconds “You have a good taste”

“Thanks… Thank you” you manged to say in sweet and shy whisper

“First time you read it?” he asked and a shake of your head was the response he got

“No, I have already read it a couple of times in pdf. But I have never owned the physical book”

“We can have that keep happening, can’t we?” he grinned, and you couldn’t remember if he was the first man who had smiled and looked at you in that way “May I have a look at it?” his large and firm hands came to hold the cover as he stood up and went straight to the cashier “Follow me, darling” the nickname rolled in his tongue, sweet as candy, and before you thought about it, you did as he said. You were obedient, good thing, he thought to himself. He pulled the money out of his wallet in merely seconds, paid for it and hand it back to you

“Thanks, but I can’t accept it” you said slightly embarrassed

“Of course, you can! It truly is an amazing novel, you deserve it” he smirked. His words have had just the reaction he had expected from you, cheeks covered with a tiny hint of pink “I have always found myself relating to Henry Winter, I just need my Camila now”

You were taken back, was that an attempt to flirt? Because if it was, he had your attention. While you tried to make any sense out of your thought, he spoke again

“I am usually on a café nearby, if you are interested you could come sometime” Another smirk, and at that moment you knew that this man was going to be the death to you. Things like this only happened to the main characters in romance movies

“I don’t even know your name”

“ You can call me Oliver, darling”

“I am y/n”

“Beautiful, beautiful y/n, it was a pleasure to meet you. Hope we see each other again”

And you did. Between coffees, books, conversations and more, he had you wrapped around his finger by the time your classes ended. Oliver was sweet, devoted, intelligent… all you could ever ask for in a man. He was straight out of your dreams, and damn he felt you were straight out of his. Innocent, easy to make blush, could keep with his ramblings and most important, you were eager to love, and he was eager to be loved

Yesterday it had been your graduation, when you left the ceremony in that beautiful dress he had insisted on buying you and wrapped your arms around him, he felt like his plan has almost completely succeeded. Almost, you wanted a fairy tale romance, and he was going to give you one. Keeping things slowly and delicate. But when he woke up and felt you laying on his chest sleeping peacefully, he couldn’t help but want to make you his. That had been the only night you had spent in his apartment in your months together. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn't rush, so he didn't. At least he was glad you were coming with him to Saltburn for a few weeks in the summer and you could bet he wouldn’t let you leave the mansion again if he could. After all, you were all that he wanted. His missing piece

Part 2 here

#oliver quick x reader #oliver quick x y/n #saltburn 2023

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 20 days

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the albatross ii - matt murdock

a/n: my first part two! i really love odd reader shes my favorite person ever. uh i don't really have much else to add i just love their dynamic. sorry the beginning is kind of bad im trying to figure out how much i want to delve into readers past like that. also im going to start a taglist for this so let me know if you wanna be included :)) warnings: cursing, drinking, lots of talk of death, reader has a lot of insecurities, reader has boobs my bad, oh! like a very brief mention that reader has sexual trauma, and lots of talk of sex though nothing happens-- word count: 5.2k summary: if there's a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, matt murdock is going to find her, and foggy nelson is going to suffer. pairing: matt murdock x winter soldier!reader the albatross series : i // ii now playing: the albatross - taylor swift "i'm the albatross/i swept in at the rescue/the devil that you know/looks now more like an angel/i'm the life you chose/and all this terrible danger"

September 19th, 1972

When you wake up, you’re freezing and out of breath. The initial moments after those long-term freezes were always frightening. You do not know how long it has been since you were taken, and part of you wonders if you ever will. You’re only ever conscious here, surrounded by generals and guards.

As soon as you wake up, a muzzle is clamped over your mouth. You’re a screamer, or at least you used to be. But now the muzzle is put on as a reminder that you are truly trapped and have no autonomy.

Someone will come in soon to say a list of words that will snap you out of your brain—Maybe snap is the wrong word. You will be locked out of your brain, conscious enough to know what you are doing but not at all in control.

You’re sitting in this big metal chair that might have scared you all those years ago, your arms strapped to the arms of the chair. The dimness of the room almost makes you scared as if you are a six-year-old who is afraid of the dark.

A gruff looking man walks into the room, and behind him, you can see some soldiers dragging along an exhausted man, whose hair is long, but your eyes are drawn to him. Are there.. are there other people who are in the same situation as you?

In the back of your mind, a foreign emotion sparks, something that you cannot name at first, but then you find it— hope. Maybe hope is a strong word, maybe what you should be feeling is dread, that the things you are being forced into are happening to some other poor soul. You almost want to throw up when you realize it, but like everything else in your exhausting existence, you are ripped out of your thought by commanding forces around you. The man in front of you follows your eyeline to see you watching the man, and you think you see him grimace.

You have found something that was meant to always be a secret from you. You recall a foggy memory that isolation is the key to abuse.

The man nods towards you, and suddenly, you feel a violent shock go through your body as the man wills you to forget the small detail that you will hang on to for as long as humanly possible.

When a second jab of shockwaves hits you, you black out for a few seconds, only—

• • •

You sit up in bed, gasping or air as you try to orient yourself. Your hands come up to push sweaty hair out of your face, and you grip it tight to try and ground yourself. Your heart is racing as you take deep breaths in your nose and out of your mouth, not wanting to spiral into a panic attack.

You get up from bed to go shower, before changing your now drenched in sweat sheets, and it’s only then do you turn on your light and grab the book you’ve been reading.

You sit on the floor next to your bed, feeling disgusting and upset. You try to read, but you are rereading the same paragraph repeatedly. After twenty minutes of that, you grab your flip phone off the bedside table and dial Matt’s number.

You know it’s four in the morning. He’s asleep. He has to be up for work in the morning, but you cannot help it. You have been seeing the handsome stranger for a little under a month, and he has become your drug.

But there’s a couple of things.

First, you are still lying to him. He has no idea about your time as who is known in government circles as “The Midnight Agent”, and he has no idea that you will never be able to give him the life he deserves. Hell, you haven’t even spent the night with him, your relationship has been the definition of taking it slow.

Which leads to this: You have not slept with the man.

Back in 1945, you were surrounded by purity culture. Sure, you could have had a handsome soldier in your bed, but there was a part of you that always felt guilty when you looked to your large catholic family who were always insistent on saving yourself for marriage.

But you recall the memories of your time trapped, of guards who went unchecked and memories of men who took advantage of the fact that you were brainwashed, and how you might freakout if Matt’s hands wander too far..

And you recall Matt’s comment on your first date, about how he thought a long time to go without a date was a few months.

He picks up the phone before your thoughts can spiral any further.

“Hey, baby. You okay?” His voice is thick with sleep, and you feel a pang of guilt for waking him up. But you also melt at the simple pet name, not quite used to it yet.

“Hi.. I’m sorry I woke you up..”

“No, no, it’s okay.” He lies, “You didn’t..”

“Liar.”

“Okay, you got me.” He chuckles softly, “But seriously, it’s okay. What’s up?” He asks, and you let out this sigh. What to tell him, what not to tell him..

“Can’t sleep.” You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Wanted to hear your voice. I tried to read The Outsiders, but I couldn’t focus.” You cannot seem to do anything right..

“Okay.” He says gently, “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“..Not really..”

“Okay, that’s fine.”

“Sorry..”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You pause. It’s a good question.

“I dunno..” And then after a few moments you ask, “Matt?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Is it okay that we haven’t had sex yet?” The question eats at you. You recall Matt’s assumption that a ‘while’ since your last date had meant a few months. You’re worried that you’re not satisfying him and that he’ll get bored. Bored of you, bored of your quirks and oddities, bored of all of it.

And you don’t know when you’ll be okay to have sex with him, or if you’ll even be able to make it all the way through when you get to that point. And it’s eating you up— You could at least be good at something if you insist on being odd and bizarre throughout this whole relationship.

“Of course it’s okay,” He promised, “Why wouldn’t that be okay?” Sure, Matthew had his fair share of partners in the day, but this was different— You weren’t just a date to him, you were fascinating. If he hadn’t been such a realist, he might have accused you of being a time traveler.

And sure, sometimes he thought about you, about being buried between your thighs, about making you shake and cry with pleasure, and about how well he could fill you up..

But those lewd thoughts always take a backseat to how utterly interesting you are— Your odd taste in ice cream, odd movie and book tastes, the way you speak, some of the things you say..

“Because you’re hot,” you blurt out and then sigh. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, you’re so fucking handsome and I can’t even..” The words die out in your mouth, as you curl up into yourself on your floor, holding the phone pressed tightly against your ear.

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need to sleep with you to know that I care about you.” He promises. “Do you want me to come over? Maybe you’ll sleep better if we’re together.” He says softly.

You hesitate, looking around your apartment. If you had a nightmare, he’d question what happened.. But on the other hand, you were fucking exhausted, and maybe Handsome Matthew would be the trick to you getting some sleep.

“Sure.. but uh.. My apartment’s super messy..” You confess, and he just chuckles.

“Somehow I don’t think that’ll bother me.” He teases, and you laugh.

“Right, Right.. Sorry..” You say. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“See you soon.” He promises, and as soon as he hangs up, you immediately get up and start shuffling around to clean your apartment.

You do the dishes, you throw all your dirty clothes in the hamper, you make your bed with pristine edge and of course.. You grab the gun you keep under your pillow and stuff it right next to your vibrator next to your fuzzy socks.

You’re finally finishing up with your minor chores when you hear a knock at the door. You open it and have to take a beat to catch your breath since Matthew looks especially good with his grey sweatpants and black sweatshirt.

He grins at you, leaning into greet you with a kiss as he steps into the apartment.

“So, this is where the magic happens, huh?” He asks, and you smile bashfully.

“Something like that.” You shrug, letting him lead you through the apartment. His cane tip-taps against the floor, and your hands come up to rub your arms. It is your apartment, and yet, you feel absolutely exposed. “Uh, just… Keep going straight and the bedroom is on the right. Do you need anything?” You ask, unsure if he has some weird hypervigilant bedtime routine at.. you know.. Four in the morning.

His cane shifts hands and he holds his free hand out behind him, for you to take.

“Just you.” Your face flushes as you take his hand,

“You’re such a flirt.” And he laughs.

“How can I help myself when I’m in a pretty girl’s place?” he asks, and you go to answer but he leans against the wall right next to the doorframe, dropping his duffle bag and cane in favor of pulling you close, your chest against his. Your breath catches and he smirks as if he can see your flustered nature.

“You’re a decent young man,” you start, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to grab people?”

“No, the nuns never mentioned that.” He does that adorable half chuckle before tilting his head. “Why? Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?”

Your face flushes.

“Everything makes me nervous, Matthew, you know that.” You accuse and he laughs again, nodding.

“Yeah, maybe I do know that. Seems familiar.” He hums, his grip on you loosening a bit. He presses another kiss to your lips. “Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart.” You don’t protest, simply grabbing his hand and pulling him along to bed. He’s more than happy to follow you through.

You find yourself laying in the bed, and he’s standing to the side as if he’s staring at you. You raise an eyebrow to him.

“What? What is it?” You ask, and he quickly moves, jumping on top of you. You laugh a bit to hide your nerves, and he grins. He leans down and presses a long kiss to your lips before whispering,

“If we never have sex, I’ll still stay with you forever.” He says gently, and your face is deeply flushed.

“Forever?” You ask gently. He nods, leaning down and pressing another kiss to your lips.

“As long as you’ll have me.” He says gently, and then, he rolls over and lays next to you. His hand finds yours and he laces his fingers with yours. You look at him for a long time, just holding his hand. “What is it?” he asks softly, glancing over to you.

“I just..” you laugh a bit. “I’ve never had a boy in my bed before.” You confess, and he laughs, his arms wrapping around you.

“You’re so odd.” He says softly, his hands finding your hair to play with it gently. “I love it.”

• • •

And this is how you spend your early morning. You sleep soundly in the arms of the one who loves you, something you have never had the privilege of before.

You slip out of bed rather early considering that you don’t have work today. But you can’t help yourself, you find yourself making breakfast for Matt. Pancakes, sausage, and coffee, just for him. At some point, he calls out to you,

“Hey, babe, where’s the shower?” And it’s rather domestic, in a way that makes you both uncomfortable and giddy. At the same time. Weird.

“Uh, right across the hall from the bedroom,” you tell him. And after about twenty minutes, Matt comes out to the kitchen. He’s dressed for work, but his tie is undone, sitting on his neck. His jacket hangs over his arms, and for a minute, you are just as you were always meant to be—

A young woman, in love with a man who has a good career, who loves you and is kind, whom you cook breakfast for and anxiously wait for him to get home.

And before you can stop yourself, you walk on over to him and begin to fix his tie, and he tilts his head.

“Where’d you learn to tie a tie on someone else?” he asks curiously. Your brain flashes to the soldiers who were never taught to tie a tie, so you learned, making sure to help them make sure their uniforms were in pristine condition.

But better than telling your boyfriend about that, you settle on a different truth.

“Needed to tie my brother’s tie a lot before work.” You settle on, and he smiles. That was the first time you had mentioned any of your family, so he just nods.

“What was his name?” ‘Was’ is a cruel but accurate detail.

“Anthony.” You tell him, finishing your work on his tie. Then, you press a kiss to his cheek. “Ready for breakfast?” He smiles and nods, as you direct him towards your table.

Yes, even though you ate mac and cheese while sitting on the floor when you first met him, you do own a table.

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes and sausage. Oh, and Coffee,” You tell him. You serve breakfast and sit across from him, placing a jar of jam on the table as well as syrup. When you pop the lid off the jam, Matt tilts his head.

“Why do I smell strawberry jam?” He questions, and you just raise an eyebrow.

“For my pancakes?”

He begins to laugh.

“This is what I mean when I say you’re odd. The only other person I know who’d do that is my dad, who learnt it from my grandparents.” He tells you. You shrug.

“I grew up with jam. Syrup’s too sweet.”

“Of course you did.” He smirks, taking a bite of his breakfast.

• • •

After Matt leaves for work (After breakfast, a make out session and then ten minutes with you fixing his disheveled look), you begin to actually clean your apartment. But your apartment is only so big, so by lunchtime, you’re bored again.

So, you start cooking and making these chicken ceaser wraps and french fries, before hopping in the shower. You’ve never dated anyone who you’ve felt the need to make and bring lunch to, but there is a first time for everything.

When you get to his office, you take a while to notice and observe every little thing about the walk. When you get to the front door, your hands run over the sign that reads ‘Nelson, Murdock & Page.’ And then you remember that in going up these stairs, you’ll meet his two best friends, and your stomach flips at the idea of it.

But your fingers twitch at the idea of seeing Handsome Matthew again. You’re incredibly down bad for the man you refuse to sleep with, so you push open the door, making your way to the office. When you step inside, you’re faced with a blonde man holding a cup of coffee, talking to a different, more blonde, woman who eats her lunch.

Maybe you have the wrong office.

“Hi— Uh, I’m looking for Matt.” The words tumble out of your lips, and you wish you could say something more.

“Yeah, he’s in his office, I can grab him for you.” The man says kindly, and steps towards the only office door that’s closed. You nod and stand awkwardly. This is weird, you know that. You are a stranger in this office holding a big lunch box.

Matt steps out of his office and smiles in your direction. Immediately, you relax. There he goes, Handsome Matthew completely messing up your thought patterns and making you go against everything you ever thought you’d do.

“Hi.” He says, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

“Hey.” You smile, and you see a moment of recognition on the faces of his coworkers.

“Oh, you’re the girl—” The man starts, and then it clicks that these people must be his best friends.

“And you’re Foggy and Karen.” You smile, sticking a handout for them to shake, and they do. You introduce yourself, and they do the same. It’s not as awkward as you would’ve thought, but you’re making it so much worse in your head.

“What’s going on?” Matt asks, and you redirect your attention to him.

“Uh, I made lunch. I thought I’d bring it to you.” He smiles at this.

“Thank you. Here, let’s uh, eat in my office.” He takes your hand, and you tell Foggy and Karen that it was nice to meet them, as he closes the door behind him. You sit down in one of his chairs.

“Sorry for just barging in on you guys. I probably should have called first.” You decide, but he shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine.” He smiles, sitting down in his own chair as you unpack lunch. You’re seriously not used to any of this, so it’s as if you’re taking foreign steps.

The two of you make pleasant conversations before Matt asks you,

“Hey, do you want to come to the bar tonight?” He asks, “We have a usual spot we go to. I thought it might be a good way for you to get to know my friends.” He hums.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude...”

You also don’t really want to get drunk around Matt, afraid of what you might say. But he answers,

“Don’t worry, Foggy’s wife is going and so is Karen’s boyfriend.” You notice the shift in Matt’s body language.

“You don’t like Karen’s boyfriend.” You immediately recognize.

“What? No—“ He chuckles, “It’s just a complicated history..” The part of you that never grew up, that wants to dive head first into drama, the part of you that is still twenty something, clutching the arm of your sister as she spills about all the people she doesn’t like gets to your mouth before you can stop it,

“What do you mean, ‘complicated’?” You ask, and he just laughs a little.

“Really, sweetheart, it’s not—”

“Let’s make a deal,” You say, “In exchange for me bringing you a delicious lunch,” You start, “And for telling you something about my messy past, you have to tell me about that complicated history.”

“Deal.”

“Okay, than spill.”

“You remember a few years back, the uh, Punisher?” He asks, and you tilt your head. No, you don’t. It was probably before you were allowed to have autonomy and live on your own.

“Uh.. No.”

“What? It was all over the news.”

“I wasn’t living in New York until a few years ago.” Not untrue, you were living in the middle of Europe until recently.

“Oh, right.” He nods, “Well, he killed a lot of people he thought deserved it, and, as someone who has great respect for human life, I don’t know, I just can’t imagine dating someone with a kill count at all, let alone over thirty people.” He sighs, “But Karen sees something in him, I guess.”

A shiver runs down your spine. You realize that you can’t ever tell Matt about what had happened to you. He wouldn’t understand, he’d see you as a monster. Well, you are a monster, but you cannot ever tell him that! Is this a mistake? Are you supposed to break up with him now not to hurt him?

“Yeah, I can understand that.” You take another bite of your wrap.

“I believe I’m owed some of your messy history.”

“Right,” you nod, “Well, Before I moved here, I was living in Europe.” You tell him.

“Really? Where in Europe?”

“Here and there.” You shrug. “I just sort of went wherever I was needed.” You explain, again—Not a lie. Definitely not a lie. You were ordered around and told to go here and there.

“What did you do there?” He asks.

“It’s all kind of a blur,” You’re really being truthful now.

“Has anyone ever told you how weird and odd you are?” He acts, voice full of affection.

“You. Last night.” You grin, and he just grins back.

“Right. I really have a way with words, huh?”

“Yup. You’re a real charmer.”

“I meant it though.”

“Which part? The part where you called me strange?”

“The part where I asked you to come out to the bar with us tonight—And the part where I told you I’d stay with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes you’ll come to the bar with us or you’ll let me stay with you for a while?”

You get up, circle around his desk, before placing your hand on his jaw, tilting his head up to you. Your other hand comes up to take his glasses off. For a minute, you just admire him, before pushing the hair from his face. Then, you lean in to press a kiss to his lips.

When you pull away, his lips try to follow yours, but your thumb just gently wipes away your lipstick stains from his lips.

“Yes.” You repeat, and he just grins.

He absolutely adores you.

• • •

You make sure to fix your hair before you leave your apartment, and then, you find yourself leaning on the brick wall outside of the bar. Your heart is racing, and although you do not smoke, god you need a cigarette.

Your foot taps anxiously against the pavement.

This will be fine, you tell yourself. Matt likes you, surely you can get the others to do the same. Or at least, you can try your damn best, and not just sit out here like a bitch.

Your head glances over to the door as a rather tall and gruff man approaches the door. He sees you staring at him, and opens the door before asking,

“You coming in, kid?”

Kid.

You’re a hundred years old, but okay.

“Uh, yeah.” You answer, before heading into the bar, “Thanks,” He just nods back at you. You walk in and look around for Matt and his friends. You immediately soften when you see him. Of course you can do this.

As you make your way over to them, the man who opened the door for you also heads over to them. You tilt your head as you get to your boyfriend and his friends before Karen comes over to you guys, sends you a smile, before greeting the man with a kiss. Oh. This is the boyfriend that Matt doesn’t like.

Matt greets you with a kiss, before Karen asks,

“What are you drinking?” You realize she’s asking you. What do you drink?

“Uh, whatever. I kind of like everything,” You smile weakly, before shrugging. She just nods, and then her and her boyfriend head over to the bar. You glance over to Matt, and smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles and kisses you again. “I’m glad you decided to join us.”

“Well, I did say yes earlier.”

“Yeah but you were being very vague and odd.”

“You said you liked that!”

“Shhh,” and then he kisses you again.

“You two are gross.” His friend, Foggy, says, and his wife just swats his arm.

“Sorry,” You smile, and then Frank and Karen are back at the table, and this large bottle of whiskey is placed on the table, and six glasses are placed along side it.

“Woah, big bottle.” Foggy whistles, and Karen shrugs.

“Long week. Lots of whiskey required.” Matt leans over to you and says,

“You don’t have to drink that if you don’t want to—”

“I said I like everything,” You told him, “And I meant it.” You remind and the people around you laugh, so it definitely gratifies your desire to please them.

“See, this is the type of energy you needed in a date,” Foggy grins, and Karen laughs as she pours the whiskey for you all.

“I agree, I like her a lot more than I liked the last one.”

“Flattered, I love when people talk about me like I’m not here,” You tell them, as you take a long drink of your whiskey.

“You are odd,” Foggy says, and again, his wife swats his arm.

“Franklin, you cannot say that to someone you just met!”

“I was just joking, really it’s fine,” You assure, and take another sip of your drink. Then another drink. Your eyes get a glint of dog tags hanging around Frank’s neck. You nod to him. “Military?” Everyone’s head snaps to look at you, and then to him.

“Marines.” He answers, and he waits.

“I was a nurse overseas for a while.” And you almost slap your hands over your mouth, horrified at the words that just left your lips. Everyone looks at you, very confused, including sweet Handsome Matthew.

“Wait, you were in the army as a medic?” He asks, and you just nod.

“Yeah, I don’t.. really like talking about it..” You sigh, “It was a long time ago.. Before I was in Europe doing whatever, I was in Europe being a nurse.”

“Europe? There hasn’t been active combat in Europe since the 40’s,” Frank says, and you shrug.

“That’s where they had me. It’s where I learned to drink.” You finish your drink and go to refill it, “You’d be surprised how many young cadets try to assert their dominance over drinking games.” You laugh fondly at the memory.

Matt leans in to kiss your cheek, whispering in your ear, “Odd.”

• • •

You and Frank get into your own form of a drinking game as the night goes on. After two glasses, Foggy and his wife stop drinking, something about brunch with her parents in the morning.

Matt stops drinking after three, and Karen after four.

But here you and Frank are, swapping war stories like old army buddies as you make your way through the bottle. Five, six, seven.. You can’t remember by the time the bottle is empty. All you know is you’re leaning against Matt, and Frank is holding Karen close, and you are happy.

You don’t feel hidden anymore.

When the bottle is done, Matt’s fingers run up and down your arm.

“We gotta get you home, honey.”

“You need to kiss me.” You blurt, too drunk to know what you’re saying.

“What?” He grins.

“Kiss me. I want you all over me,” and you lean over to kiss him, and after a few moments, he pulls away from the kiss.

“Alright, but let’s get you home first.” And then you nod, because that’s a good idea. You don’t want Frank and Karen to see all the vicious things you want to do to Handsome Matthew. He helps you up and wraps his jacket around your arms, before glancing back to his friends. “Have a good night guys. See you Monday.”

You take a minute, before smiling at his friends.

“Thanks for having me. I had fun.” You cannot remember the last time you had this much fun. “Sorry I’m so fucking odd,” You start giggling, “But I had fun.” Everyone else, too tipsy and drunk to say much else, just laughs and sends you on your way.

You and Matt stumble home, as you mumble soft things about how much you like him, how pretty he is.

When you get back to your apartment, he locks the door behind you and helps you to your bedroom. Once there, you begin to kiss him.

“Sweetheart,” He mumbles into your lips, “Wait,” He pulls away and smiles at you. “Pajamas first.” He requests, and you nod.

“Yeah. Great Idea.” You mumble, going over to your drawers (Not the one with your vibrator, socks and gun) and pull out an old tee shirt and shorts. You begin stripping down, and you stop and glance to Matt, in just your shorts and bra, before asking, “Wait, how do I know you’re not staring at me?”

He almost laughs at how drunk you are.

“Honey,” he begins softly, and then taps the space between his eyes. Then you laugh, feeling silly.

“Oh.” You unclip your bra and slip on your tee shirt. You sit on the bed, and then lay down. You sigh deeply, your bed surprisingly comfortable after all of those drinks. You watch as Matt begins to strip down. “Handsome.” You mumble, and he laughs.

You fall asleep as he kicks his pants off before crawling into bed with you.

• • •

You wake up at some god-awful hour, maybe around two in the morning. You run over to the bathroom and vomit into the toilet. After a while of throwing up, you wander on over to the kitchen.

You take a big, long drink of water, before sighing deeply.

Your stomach growls. You find a loaf of sourdough bread you had brought home from work yesterday and begin to butter a few slices. You munch on your food, and remember Matthew in your bedroom.

Your Matthew.

You finish your snack, and then find yourself sitting on the floor of your kitchen. Just like you did the first night. Your lean your head back against the cabinet. You think about your boyfriend, and you think about everyone you lost.

In your half drunk state, You only smile when Matt sits next to you on the floor.

“What’re we doing on the floor, baby?” He asks softly.

“Just.. Sleepy..” You mumble, and then a grin spreads across your face. “I’m thinking about my best friend.”

“Your best friend?”

“Taylor.” You say softly, “She was my best friend.”

“And where is she now?” He asked, leaning over to brush your hair out of your face.

“Oh, she died ten years ago.” You say, and then laugh as if it’s funny. “Natural causes.” You shrug. She had died of old age.. And you weren’t there for her. Your best friend..

Matt’s arm is around you in an instant.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He says gently, and leans in to kiss your head.

“And you..” You glance over to him. “You.. I don’t even know what to do with you.” You laugh, and he frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I..” You sigh. “I mean that no one’s ever made me feel like you have..” You mumble, and then you admire him, only in his boxer briefs. “I love you, Handsome Matthew. And I don’t know what to do about it..” You mumble.

Matt just leans in to kiss your head again.

“If I said I love you too, would that help?”

“It would be a start..”

“I love you.”

“Even though I’m odd?” You ask, “Weird and bizarre? Off my rocker, completely out of my fucking mind..?”

“Especially because you’re odd.”

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

taglist: @writtenbyred , @indestructeible

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #daredevil #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock fluff #winter soldier!reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #reader is so weird #odd!reader #netflix daredevil

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sheeple · 5 months

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Miracles don't exist | 36: Extreme security measures

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): idk man... lot happens here [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

Your eyes are trained to the rough waves outside of the cottage. A steaming cup of tea in your hand. Bill and Fleur are nice enough to give you a room to stay in their home.

You've wanted to go search for Theo immediately, but Fleur forced you to have a shower. You felt grimy and dirty and just gross and once out of the shower were you glad she did so. That's what being stuck in a basement for half a year does to you.

Once you've finally seen yourself in the mirror for the first time in months, a gasp left you. You've lost weight and a lot of it. It has made the scars over your body more prominent. Your hair is matted and nasty, sticking out at odd angles. But the worst is the word traitor carved into your collarbone.

So... that is what Bellatrix did to you? Dear Merlin. It makes you want to puke. The fact that you've physically been permanently damaged by her makes your airways tighten up. Fleur has helped you through one or two nightly panic attacks. Salazar bless her.

Said woman comes over to you with a bowl filled with steaming porridge. "Eat up", she says gently, "you need to strengthen."

With a smile, you take the bowl. "Thank you. Not just for the food, but also for letting me stay here."

Fleur joins you staring out of the window. You slowly eat the porridge to not upset your stomach. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you're in a position to ask for anything. "Do you maybe know... if- where Theodore is? Theodore Nott."

She looks over her shoulder towards Bill, who's washing up some dishes at the sink. They seem to silently communicate towards one another, leaving you out of their discussion.

"He's staying at Grimmault Place", says Bill after a pleasing look from Fleur. "But that was before he was sent to mainland Europe on Shacklebolt's orders."

A cold plunge envelops your body. He's... gone? Fighting a war that your generation has no reason to be involved in?

You feel a soft hand on your shoulder. Fleur gives you a sympathetic smile as she holds up a handkerchief. Only then do you realise that tears run in two streaks down your cheeks. You sniff and turn around, hiding away from them.

"Is there... is there any news about him?", you croak out, doing your best to get your emotions under control.

But you get the message when Bill stays silent. You nod wordlessly and turn around. You walk out the door and towards the sea. You drop to a sitting position and bury your toes in the sand.

The smell of the sea and the sand brings back memories of easier times. A time when you still had to watch out and take care of each other, it was far before the torture and heartbreak.

Someone drops down next to you silently, their hands playing with something. You glance to your side, but Hermione keeps on staring in front of her. In her hands a wand. Your wand. It got taken before you were forced into the cellar.

"Are you alright?", you ask softly, your tired eyes raking over her body. You wonder what Bellatrix has done to her.

The girl nods before looking at you. "Are you alright?"

"I will be. I just... I need to- I don't know what I will do now. What are you guy's next move?" You pull your knees to your chin, burying your face.

Hermione hesitates for a moment. She lays the wand in front of you in the sand. But you feel no desire to touch it.

"We think there is a Horcrux in the Lestrange family vault at Gringotts."

You stiffen. "How are you attempting to get in?" Logistically, there is no way that the three of them pass the goblins at the bank. They have to one, identify themselves with a wand that belongs to the Lestrange family. And two, they're public enemy number one.

"We've got her wand and a hair."

"Pollyjuice potion? That's your plan? How are you going to bypass the endless counter-spell measures?"

She looks helplessly behind you. You turn around and see Ron and Harry standing at the cottage. Then it clicks. "You're asking for my help."

"I'm sorry, (Y/n). We wouldn't be asking if it wasn't necessary."

A deep sigh leaves your lips. "Fine", you let out. "But I first need to let Sirius know that I am okay."

Grabbing your wand, you fire off a couple of spells into the sand to test if it is actually your wand. And if your magic still works after all this time.

Once that's done, you conjure a piece of paper and a pen. You pen a quick letter to Sirius about what happened and that you're okay. You also ask to let Teddy know that you're alive and kicking once he comes back. You give the letter to Bill and Fleur's owl and watch it fly away with the letter.

"So...", you ask, turning around to the Golden Trio, "what's the plan?"

"This is the most reckless plan I've ever heard", you grumble lowly as you walk between Hermione — who's Polijuiced to look like Bellatrix — and a slightly edgier Ron than normal. Your Dark Mark is in full display with the dress you're wearing and you hate it. Harry is somewhere with Griphook under the invisibility cloak.

Hermione stumbles a few times over her heels as you all approach the front desk Gringotts. You clench your teeth and sneer at the goblins that look up from their work. Pretty much what the Dark Lord's Heir should do, in your opinion.

It's very quiet in the lobby when Hermione clears her throat. But no reaction from the goblin. "I wish to enter my vault."

You cringe internally at how un-Bellatrix Lestrange she sounds. You should have taken the roll.

"Identification?", says the goblin uninterested.

The unsure look in Hermione's eyes makes you speak up. You step in front of her and glare at the goblin. "I hardly think that'll be necessary", you sneer.

The little man looks up from his work as he recognizes your voice. "Madam Lestrange. Miss Riddle." He stands up straight before turning around.

"I don't like to be kept waiting." Hermione calls after the goblin as she folds her arms in front of her chest.

"They know", whispers Griphook. "They know she's an imposter. They've been warned."

You share a look with Ron, who looks ready to pass out when guards approach your group from multiple points.

The goblin returns with another one. "Madam Lestrange, would you mind presenting your wand?", asks the other goblin.

"And why should I do that?" She's getting better at pretending to be Bellatrix, with the way she holds herself.

The way the goblin speaks to Hermione gives the impression that he's speaking to a child. "It's the bank's policy. I'm sure you understand given the current climate."

"No", you growl, "we most certainly do not understand. I won't imagine the Dark Lord be very pleased to hear when his Heir and most trusted follower are denied access." At this point, you're giving the others time to think up a plan. And you hope it comes soon.

Softly, from next to the goblin you hear Harry whisper out, "Imperio", before the goblin's face changes. He sniffs deeply as a smile forms on his face.

"Very well, Madam Lestrange. If you will follow me."

The five you get lead to a minecart that sets off at high speed. Griphook steers the cart while the other goblin sits in the back, high as a kite.

"What is that, Griphook?", questions Harry as you pass over a waterfall that splashes down on the tracks below. "Griphook!", he inquires as the goblin tries to break but the cart doesn't seem to work.

You brace yourself for the water to hit you. Once you've passed under it Hermione is Hermione again and the cart has come to a screeching halt. A red light pops up before an alarm shrieks. Suddenly, the bottom of the cart slides from under you and you all plunge into the darkness below.

Hermione thinks quick on her feet as she casts a spell which seems to stop you just short of the ground. The spell releases you and you let out a grunt as you still drop pretty harshly on the ground.

You clamber up, looking around. "Oh no, you look like you again", you point out at Hermione.

"The Thief's Downfall. Washes away all enchantments. Can be deadly", explains Griphook

Ron makes a snide remark but acts quick as the other goblin wakes up from his Imperio haze. You want to make a remark that while you are the Dark Lord's daughter, you haven't used the forbidden curses voluntarily, unlike the Golden Trio.

But now is not the place nor the time for that.

As you approach the vault, a low rumbling and growling comes from within. A pit forms in your stomach as you recognise what that means. You've heard your aunt and uncle talk about an extreme security measure before when returning from fetching you money for school. But you never believed it to be true. Until today.

White as snow and wrapped in rusty chains, a dragon lies in front of the entrance to the vault. Scars and wounds decorate the skin of the dragon. It nurses his paw with pitiful whines.

"Bloody hell, that's a Ukrainian Ironbelly." Ron looks in amazement towards the poor dragon.

A pit from in your stomach as Griphook hands out rattles. When he starts to shake the rattles, the Ukrainian Ironbelly flinches away.

"It's been trained to expect pain when it hears the noise."

"That's barbaric!" You huff out angrily.

"It's effective", quips Griphook back as your group easily bypasses the dragon to the vault. He lays the hand of the other goblin on the door and it opens.

Everywhere you look inside is silver and gold. On every table, wall, or even every inch of the floor; leaving just enough room to walk around. Holding up your lightened wand, you realise all this is yours. Bellatrix and Rodolphus don't have children of their own. So as Bellatrix' only daughter, it's yours. Or will it go to Rodolphus' brother?

"Accio Horcrux", Hermione calls out, but nothing happens.

Ron turns towards her. "You're not trying that one again, are you?"

But you know it's here. It's in the vault because you feel it. It calls to you.

"Is it in here, Harry? Can you feel anything?"

"Yes", both you and Harry reply, looking at each other.

You look around, your eyes drawn to a certain point of the vault. "It's there", you point out. Up high, you hear it whisper to you to come and get it. To touch it. It makes your skin crawl. A golden cup gleams evilly at you.

Hermione gasps as she accidentally bumps against a table. A cup topples over and starts to multiply. Of course, the Lestarnges are not that stupid to not put a curse in the vault.

"Give me the sword."

Hermione pulls out a sword from her beaded bag and throws it at Harry. Since when does that fit in there?

As cups and plates and trophies multiply around you, Harry scales the growing pile of gold. The room starts to fill with objects as everyone struggles.

"Stop moving!", you call out and the room stops filling. Only Harry's pile is still growing until he snatches the cup. He bursts out of the pile, but the cup flies from his hands. Into that of Griphook.

"We've had a deal, Griphook."

The goblin in question holds out his hand. "The cup for the sword."

Reluctantly, Harry throws the sword at Griphook, who in turn throws the cup towards you. You catch it and it sizzles in your hand. Your head twitches harshly.

A mean gleam takes over Griphook's features. "I said I'd get you in. I didn't say anything about getting you out." He opens the door and the cursed riches pile out.

The four of you stumble out and watch how Griphook escapes and the other goblin gets burned to a crisp.

Guards fire blasting curses at you and you hide behind the pillars. "We can't just stand here! Who's got an idea?", yells Hermione above the blastst.

"You're the brilliant one!", argues Ron back.

You shake your head. "I've got an idea. But it's mad. Reducto." You fire the spell at the railing and it flies off. You run back before launching yourself on the dragon's back. The others follow you and grip tightly to the spikes on the back of the dragon.

"Relashio." The chain that holds the dragon snaps. It fires another blast towards the guards before it looks up. You follow its gaze and see your way out. The dragon climbs its way up, destroying a train track in its wake and sending a bunch of guards into the depts.

Bursting through the floor of the lobby, the dragon breathes fire around itself. Finally, it makes its way through the roof and sits like a gigantic pigeon on the roof, catching its breath.

Hermione fires a spell at its tail and the dragon flies off. You soar through the sky, getting a wonderful look over London.

You don't know for how long you've been staying put before the four of you drop down into a lake.

You feel it. His anger. Voldemort knows that Harry's been destroying Horcruxes. It's all-consuming. Searing. Red hot. He knows you've escaped the Manor. He knows you've betrayed him. And he is outraged.

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look-at-the-soul · 1 month

Note

Cia I adore this gif you sent! (Thank you for the inspiration!!) I immediately got the idea but other stories came to my mind first 🤭

Still loving you

Robert Fischer x reader (and it’s also part of my grandma tribute) ♥️✨

Word count: 3,246

Robert waited next to the carrousel, there had been trouble with the system and people had to wait in order to pass with a custom. He just hoped this would be solved quickly because he had a meeting in…

That laugh and that voice only belonged to someone. Turning around he stopped looking at the screen on his phone.

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

¿Y/N?

Robert felt his body froze, his heart rate increased and memories came back and hit him like an avalanche. After all these years.

Flashback:

Y/N felt her knees go weak the moment she saw Rob stepping down his vehicle. Dressed in an immaculate suit with a silky black tie and that effortlessly hairstyle that suited him so well, his face seemed to be made by a Greek God.

It was odd that he asked about her appointment at the salon, perhaps he’d send his driver to pick her up for the gala…

She tried to grab his face to give him a welcome kiss, but Robert stopped her, giving Y/N an emotionless stare. She soon was aware of his cold reaction.

“What’s wrong?”

Robert shifted his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably.

“I’m going to the United States.”

Y/N blinked confused by his statement.

“What? When?”

He wanted to reach out and touch her, but instead he decided to hide his hands inside his pockets. “Tomorrow night, it’s all settled.”

“But.. but I thought you’d be starting on the September course.”

“No, I enrolled in the summer program.”

“Okay, I could cancel my Venice holiday and meet you there then…” Y/N proposed, thinking of some way to make it work.

They had just graduated and she was hoping they’d take the next step in their relationship soon, so moving in while he focused on his master degree in a foreign country sounded promising.

“I could start hunting apartments right away, are you staying in a hotel meanwhile babe?” She smiled again, thinking it could be good he took the lead and moved there first, so he could explore the area and find potential places. “But first I’d need to fly there, do you think your Dad would still let me use his private plane? He had said before anytime, but since you’ll be there…”

“Y/N…” the way he said her name, made her look at him. But she didn’t like what she found in his eyes. “This is why I needed to see you. I’m going away for a couple of years, we’ve to end this. Right here, before I go.”

And she couldn’t hear anything else he said, because her ears were buzzing, she felt like she was underwater and that someone was stealing the air from her lungs.

“But I could fly over and be there, lots of people have a long distance relationship nowadays.”

“Don’t make this more difficult.” He begged, making an effort to keep his emotions at bay.

“You can’t be serious.” Y/N blinked nervously, trying to find for a sign in Robert’s face that this was a bad joke.

She waited a few minutes, eagerly to hear him ask her to come with him, that he was only messing with her, he was always joking.

But when he didn’t back off, she swallowed hard.

“Really? You can’t even tell me a valid reason to break up with me?” Tears would start falling any minute now.

“You know I’m going to start my master degree overseas. It’s for the best.” Robert tried to excuse his sudden decision.

“The best?”

She barely had time to process the sudden news. How long had he been planning this?

Anger took over her, pinching the bridge of her nose, she tried to control her emotions. “You know what? Do whatever the fuck you want Robert! Go and study your goddamn master, I hate you!”

Taking her purse, Y/N rushed, needed to get to her car as fast as she could. She had dreamed Robert would ask her to go with him to the United States, to live together and then, get married. But instead he broke her heart? He was he love of her life, they had plans together for the future, they were good… or at least she thought so, now realizing how selfish he really was.

Tears ran free down her face and she cursed in frustration now realizing how selfish he really was. The son of a bitch, he didn’t care about anyone else but himself.

Y/N never saw the way he broke into a crying mess. Feeling guilt eat him alive for causing her such pain. But he was suffering as much as her or probably even more, she had been his rock, his safe place to hide, he could be real and honest with Y/N. But now, not only she was gone, but that part of him as well.

Robert kept his head down during the entire ride to the charity event his family was hosting, thankfully his driver kept quiet. Images of Y/N giving him a look full of sadness and disappointment for breaking up with her filled his mind, he hoped the image would stop haunting him at some point. He didn’t want that to happen, but he was convinced if he focused solely on his studies, he’d make his father proud.

They were still young, he wanted to prove he was worth of the Fischer company and he needed to work hard to achieve that.

Putting on an emotionless expression, he took a few shaky breaths to mask the fact that he was dealing with a broken heart.

Walking past the directors and board members of the company, he shook some hands, everybody was expecting a lot of things from him, he had a very important place to fill in…

“Darling, over here!” His grandmother’s voice caught his attention among the people. “Where’s Y/N?” She turned her face around, searching for her.

“She isn’t here grandma.”

His maternal grandmother gave him an expectant look.

“Why not? She was so excited yesterday.”

“I just broke up with her.” He explained uncomfortably, his jaw clenching.

His grandmother couldn’t believe his words, Y/N was the most charming girl she had ever met, she had Robert drooling over her, her family was respectable, she was well educated, smart, funny, beautiful, everything anyone would kill to be.

“I need to focus on my maste-”

But his grandma was already shaking her head and giving him a disapproving glance.

“This is the worst decision you’ve ever made. And you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

(End of flashback)

And his grandmother was right, he did regret it every single day. He finished his master and started working for his father’s company, he had made his family’s wealth bigger than he ever imagined.

But none of that really mattered, because he let true love slip away from him that night.

And now she was standing a few steps away from him. And she was still the most beautiful girl in the room.

“Why is that man staring at you?”

Zoe whispered at her friend confused. Was he even blinking?

Y/N frowned and turning her face around, she found the man that broke her heart years ago.

The world stopped spinning for an instant and the air escaped her lungs. She could practically feel her blood running out of her body.

All the memories flashing back at her, as if it was a movie scene. His cold words playing over and over in her mind.

No, time doesn't heal anything. It’s just a way to disguise the pain people say to cover an uncomfortable silence.

And she knew it still hurt like the first day because even after all these years, she still cared about him.

Robert managed to leave his initial shock behind, and he finally started moving towards her.

What should he say? Should he greet her with a kiss on the cheek or keep his distance?

The heaviness in his heart grew as he saw Y/N blinking, looking from side to side as if trying to find a way to avoid him.

“Y/N.” Her name on his lips seemed to burn.

She could feel her friends whispering in shock, they must’ve realized by now who he was because they knew the story.

How are you supposed to react in moments like these? Say it’s lovely to see you! No, because it wasn’t.

Could this be their chance to talk about what happened? He wondered if she had someone in her life. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came up.

“Robert.” She raised her eyebrows, but other than that, he didn’t get much. Except she folded her arms in front of her chest, in a protective reaction. “All right, let’s go.” She stammered to the girls, wanting to go as fast as she could.

“There’s a problem with the car rental, they canceled.” Zoe announced and threw a subtle glance in Robert’s direction, he was still standing there, looking at Y/N.

He noticed Y/N wasn’t wearing a wedding band on her left hand, she was carrying a book in her bag.

“We’ll get an Uber then.” Y/N proposed trying to make her friends start walking.

“It’s extra expensive right now, it’s rush hour.”

“I’ve a driver waiting for me.” Offered Robert. “I could take you anywhere.”

A heavy silence fell upon them, you could hear a pin drop. Zoe and Lisa looked at each other, not fully believing what was happening. Then, they looked at Y/N.

“This isn’t a good idea.” She admitted in a low voice, avoiding his eyes.

“Hey c’omon we won’t be able to make it on time with this traffic.” Lisa pointed out.

Zoe gave Robert a suspicious look.

Whatever was crossing his mind, his ego dropped to the floor, he had been waiting for this moment all his life.

“I think a ride won’t hurt nobody, right?”

Before Y/N could protest, Lisa practically jumped on Robert, not wanting to give Y/N time to react. “I hope you’ve enough space in that vehicle because we overpacked.” And she grabbed him by the arm as if they were long time friends. “I’m Lisa.”

“I think I’m going to throw up.” Y/N grabbed Zoe’s hand for reassurance.

“Take a deep breath honey, this is not the right time to have a breakdown, you’re stronger than this.”

“Why him? Why now? After all this time…” Y/N’s eyes darted again towards Robert, who was walking several steps ahead with Lisa still hanging from his arm.

“I don’t know, but perhaps you were meant to run into each other, it was just a matter of time.” Zoe gave her friend a sympathetic look. “It still affects you.”

Her friend’s statement made Y/N stop walking.

It did. It still hurt her definitely. But it was only because Robert had been the love of life.

That was the truth, plain and simple, over time she of course started dating another man, but as soon as she realized things were about to get serious or that he would take the next step she decided to end the relationship not wanting to get married to the wrong man.

She wasn’t scared of marriage, she hated the idea of waking up one day and feel disappointed of the choices she made, it didn’t make sense probably for most of the people, but she rather choose to be alone.

Of course she never expected to see Robert again, there were a lot of things left unsaid between them. And all of those years apart didn’t prepare her to face him once more.

She remained quiet on their way towards his vehicle, the internal turmoil taking over with each step she took. And there he was holding the door open for her, giving her the sad and traumatized puppy eyes a pet would use after being scolded.

“I’ll go in the back.” Announced Zoe climbing in while the driver took their luggage.

Lisa gave her friend a curious look. “Can I go in the front? I get car-sick.”

That left Y/N sharing the second row of seats with Robert.

Y/N shook her head slightly while she tried to control her heart drumming like crazy, all their memories flashing her back in time to when they were happy, when they first kissed, when they first made love and of course, when he broke her heart.

A heavy and uncomfortable silence filled inside the vehicle.

Y/N tried to focus her gaze in the sighting they were passing through the busy streets, the man in the bicycle, the three women at the café, the elderly couple with their dog, anything but the man sitting next to her that was subtly looking at her and clearing his throat. She could feel his eyes on her, boring into her soul.

“Where am I driving to Sir?” The driver asked, waiting for instructions.

Lisa gave him Y/N address, she had a small loft in the city and they’d be staying there for the book signing event.

A million thoughts crossed Robert’s mind, he wanted to apologize first. But after all those years? Y/N could hardly stand to be in the same car with him clearly. What could he say? How could he even even begin to justify what he did to her back then? There wasn’t a single valid reason for leaving her the way he did.

And for what? To get his father’s approval? To show the old man that he was worth to be his son?

He lost the best damn thing that could ever happen to him. He lost her over nothing.

But now he was willing to give everything for her.

When they arrived, Y/N thanked the driver, took her bags and mumbled a very lowly thanks to Robert through gritted teeth, then she excused to rush to use the ladies room, leaving Robert standing there in the middle not knowing what to do with a million words to say and a sincere apology trapped in his lips.

Zoe approached him quietly, she had known Y/N for over ten years and given her reaction to the odd encounter, despite all, she knew Y/N still cared about him.

“Can I ask you a question before anything else?”

Robert crossed his arms and gave her a nod.

“Are you single?” That was the most important thing to know first.

“Yes.”

Then, onto the next question. “Call me a witch if you want, I don’t know you… but I know her. Do you still have feelings or something? I know it got messy the last time you talked but...”

Robert allowed himself to let his guard down, the one he had built after losing Y/N. He never let another woman into his heart. His bed? Yes. But not his heart.

“I don’t think it matters, she can hardly stand to look at me for two seconds.” He saw the pain was still there in her eyes.

“She’s going to hate me for doing this but if I can help in any way it’s worth the risk…” Zoe assured him. “I’ve a book signing today at four o’clock, this is the address.” Noticing the confusion in Robert’s eyes, she added; “this isn’t my business but I know the two of you’ve an unfinished business.”

Robert stared at the flyer, wondering what was the right thing to do.

“What if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“Oh it’s going to be hard, trust me.” Zoe then took her best friend side. “And if you hurt her again, I’m going to give you hell for ruining it twice.”

As the girls walked inside the apartment, Robert took his time to process everything, and taking his phone, he called his assistant to clear his schedule for the day, his mind couldn’t stop thinking of the series of events that just happened.

***

Robert took a look at his watch impatiently, then stared out the window of his vehicle and his eyes stopped at the women walking down the street. A grandma with what looked like her granddaughter, strolling with their arms linked, their eyes focused in the articles before their eyes and it made him think immediately of Y/N and her grandmother. How many times did he found them just like that, then they’d drive back into her grandmas house for lunch or dinner, the same with his grandmother.

When everything was simpler and happier. When they were together.

“Mr. Fischer, they are done signing the books.” His driver informed him.

Marcus didn’t ask him anything further, and without intention the man pressed him to make a choice. Walk in the book store and try to apologize to Y/N or drive away and leave behind a small possibility to get her back.

All damn day he kept thinking about her and what they had. How different his life would be if only he didn’t let her go that day.

But guilt was eating him alive, for the damage he caused her.

Did he deserve to be happy for once?

A bald man stepped out of the store, holding the door open and then he saw Zoe and Lisa walking out.

But when he saw Y/N hiding her beautiful eyes behind her sunglasses, he soon realized by just one look that he never stopped loving her.

“Y/N!” It was an impulsive move, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Wait…” he pleaded her, the three girls turned around to face him.

She gave him a confused look, not knowing what he was doing there or how he knew. Would the feeling of being incomplete without Robert would ever go away? Her heartbeat went crazy.

Knowing there was a possibility that Y/N could reject him, Robert cleared his throat and hid his hands inside his pockets. “I owe you a sincere apology, Y/N and I know it won’t take away what I did…” two pairs of curious eyes stared back at him. “I’m really sorry.”

Y/N stood there processing his words unsure of what to do or say. A million thoughts crossing her mind.

“If you want, we could talk? Privately.” He struggled to say the words, not because he didn’t mean it, because he was terrified of getting a negative answer. His next words came out as whisper whilst he looked down. “If you agree of course.”

Time slowed as Y/N took a deep breath, pondering on his words. Had she been waiting all her life for this moment? Was this the closure her heart needed?

She opened her mouth to explain him, she already had plans with her friends, but Zoe gave her a disapproving glance, reading her mind.

“I don’t know what will happen next,” Y/N said cautiously, “but I think a chat it’s a good start.”

“Thank you.”

As soon as she said those words, she felt free, relieved even for carrying the burden for so long. Whilst for Robert, this was the small light at the end of the tunnel.

They both knew it would take a lot of time to rebuild a relationship like they did. But at least this was the first step to try to get back the love they once had.

And without a doubt, he still loved Y/N.

Robert Master list

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@chishiyasan @allyly @fastfan @thomashelbyswife @lespendy

@onlydeadcells @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @cloudofdisney @blondie-22 @esposadomd

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#that’s what Cill said #robert fischer x y/n #robert fischer x you #robert fischer fanfic #robert fischer imagine #robert fischer x reader #cillian murphy characters #robert fischer inception

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cooliestghouliest · 4 months

Text

LOVE ME TWO TIMES, ch. two

(chapter one) (chapter two)

PAIRING: eventual Mungrove x Reader

SUMMARY: Struggling to come to terms with the abrupt abandonment of your father, you’re left with two options – attend an “all girls’ therapeutic boarding academy” that’s really more Bedlam Insane Asylum than trusty reformative school, or move half-way across the country to a small town in Indiana to live with your older brother, Rick. The upheaval of your life in Fresno might just end up being a little star-crossed and a whole lot serendipitous.

WORD COUNT: 8.7k+

SERIES TAGS: angst. some pretty heavy topics in later chapters. just enough fluff to hopefully balance it all out. eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI). not a slow burn; it’s pretty hot and heavy right off the bat. eventual love triangle. neurodiversity. dom/sub undertones (dom!Billy, switch!Eddie, switch!Reader), also bi!Eddie and bi!Reader but confused!Billy. drugs and drug addiction. no use of Y/N (but much use of nicknames and pet names). Reefer Rick is Matthew Lillard circa Senseless. more TBA as the story progresses.

CHAPTER TAGS: unexpected tears. some woeful reminiscing. wisecracking siblings. how Rick and Eddie met. flirting in front of a moody bartender. Eddie has a penchant for being self-deprecating but he tries to be funny about it. oversharing. dehydrated!Eddie 😉 (there’s a tease of f!rec oral here). even more cockblocking. a tinge of tension at the end.

TAG LIST: @babybatlover

—

chapter title: Nobody, That’s My Name

Packing up had actually taken three hours, mostly because you were so undecided on what to bring.

Your stomach was in knots with the realization that you’d have to leave some things behind. You wished you could just transport your entire room as it was to Hawkins.

This had been your sacred space since childhood. You were only two when your family made the move from Chicago to Fresno, so this house was really all you’d ever had memories of.

Your room had grown up and changed alongside you, a non-sentient appendage and an outward expression of every new trend and month-long hobby you’d picked up along the way.

“Bean, you good?” Rick’s voice called out from the other side of your closed door.

You’d been seated on your bed — it could have been for a few minutes or half an hour, you weren’t sure. You hadn’t noticed the wet line that rimmed your bottom lashes until you turned to look at your brother as he stepped inside your room. When you blinked, a tear broke free and rolled down your cheek.

“My face that ugly? You gotta cry when you look at me?”

You choked out a laugh, bringing a hand up to wipe your eyes dry. Leave it to Rick to try and lighten the mood. It’s what he’d been doing his whole life – never taking anything too seriously, refusing to get hung up on any emotion other than those aligned with happy hedonism.

You’d always wondered if there was a secret storm that raged somewhere deep inside of him.

“All my stuff isn't gonna fit inside your stupid van,” you said, not bothering to explain further.

You didn’t need to. Rick could read between the lines.

This was going to be the first time you’d left the only home you’d ever known for longer than a sleepover at a friend’s house.

The residence itself would never win any awards for being the greatest of places, but your bedroom, on the other hand — that had a surefire shot.

It was here where your dad had first read you the The Hobbit, the precursor to your love of fantastical tales.

It was here on the floor where you made your first prank call with Cynthia Toomey, your childhood best friend. It was to a teacher whose number had been written on a stall in the girl’s bathroom. It didn’t strike you as odd then why a twelve-year-old would know a much older male teacher’s phone number, but after the man had gotten arrested a few years back for soliciting a minor at a park, it all started to make sense.

It was here where you’d heard Janis Joplin for the first time, a record Rick had mailed you for your fourteenth birthday. Her deep crooning voice scratched at parts of your soul you didn’t even know were itchy.

It was here where you’d first taught yourself how to sew a patch onto your backpack; where you’d first tried on the lipstick and eyeshadow you’d stolen from the vanity in your parent's bedroom, something that resulted in a week's worth of extra chores (according to your mother, it was to teach you "the consequences of petty theft" or whatever); where you’d first experimented with a girl while watching Happy Days, soft tongues and even softer fingers exploring every inch of uncovered skin as Fonzie’s signature “Ayyyy’s” mixed with her breathy moans and your rapid heartbeat.

“I didn’t think I’d care that much about leaving,” you admitted, voice shakier than you’d hoped it would be.

Rick watched you from the doorframe, giving a knowing smile in an attempt to mollify you. “Y’know, you might not believe it, but I couldn’t sleep the first three nights after I left. Kept thinkin’ about how much I missed my bed and the noise the air conditioner made that I used to think I hated.” He quieted momentarily, observing his surroundings. Overflowing plastic bags and opened suitcases stuffed full of clothes, books, vinyls, and random knickknacks were scattered across the floor. “It’s still home, even if we never really wanted it to be.”

Rick walked over to one of the cases. He bent down to zip it up, having to put a foot on the grip to shut it enough so it closed completely. “But you’re gonna make a fuck ton more memories in Hawkins, Bean,” he pledged, grabbing the handle and pulling it towards the door. “We are. Okay?”

You chewed your lower lip and allowed yourself a few more moments of wallowing before heaving a sigh, slapping your thighs with the palms of your hands as you stood.

“Okay. You sap.” You snatched as many full plastic bags off the ground as you could. “The first memory’s gonna be about how much weaker you are compared to me.” You looked down at the single heavy suitcase he was carrying, scoffing lightheartedly. “Only one, Richard? Really? You have another hand. Use it.”

And he did, by bringing his free one up to flip you the bird.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Although your brother had a spacious purple-painted 1970 Ford Econoline the pair of you could have comfortably slept in, the back of the vehicle was currently filled to the brim with all of your luggage.

Any time the side door had to be slid open for whatever reason, an ample amount of contents came pouring out.

One of your "haunted-as-shit dolls," affectionately dubbed by Rick, had fallen victim to the concrete ground outside of a gas station in Colorado. Its glass eye had popped out and shattered, its arms detaching from its tiny body. You’d gasped in horror at the doll’s demise, smacking Rick on his chest for being so careless.

It was safe to say neither one of you were going to be getting anything from the back of the van until you’d made it to Hawkins to unpack, or else Rick would be forced to face your wrath.

Your possessions were prized, goddammit.

So, one motel stay and thirty-two hours after leaving the WELCOME TO FRESNO sign behind, Rick finally pulled into the driveway of his boathouse.

The orange neon lighting of the van’s dashboard clock read 10:13AM.

You’d been soundlessly sleeping for the last hour of the car ride, having dozed off shortly after Rick had put in a Talking Heads cassette, the G Major melody of This Must Be the Place lulling you into a dreamless nap.

Rick suddenly had the brilliant big brother idea to grant himself the honor of becoming your own personal wake-up alarm.

Putting the car in park, he switched the Talking Heads cassette out for Bad Religion’s How Could Hell Be Any Worse? He skipped to a track titled In the Night, cranked the volume to the max, and started to head-bang and sing along wildly off-key.

You startled awake immediately, arms flailing at nothing as you tried to rapidly blink your eyes open.

When you found Rick performing his solo concert, way too committed to the bit, you refused to laugh at the sight, even if it was your gut reaction. The last thing you wanted to do was encourage him. “Noooo, is this what you’re gonna be like the whole time?” you instead asked with faux abrasiveness, speaking loud enough to be heard over the music.

Rick grinned wide, never faltering in his seated moshing, not until the song came to an abrupt end a few seconds later, when you’d finally had enough and reached a hand over to eject the tape.

“I didn’t want you to have an aneurysm,” you told him plainly with a shrug, in response to his offended look. “I could hear your little brain rattling around up there in that thick skull. I got worried.”

Rick shot a hand up to cover his heart, as if he’d been stabbed. “You wound me, little sister. Deeply and completely.”

He pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped outside, hurrying to the passenger side of the van to slide open the back door. He tried with both hands to stop the cascade of your belongings from spilling out, but failed miserably, clothes and books landing in messy heaps on the driveway.

“Hey, what the fuck!” you called out, hopping down from your seat to start picking up what you could from the pavement, pulling your items to your chest. “Don’t you have any grace?”

Rick pretended to ponder this before saying, “Grace, huh. Think I dated that girl in high school. Don’t have her anymore, nope.” That earned a snort and an eye roll from you.

Rick remembered a time when your brattiness would have annoyed him to no end. He knew it would again, and probably soon, but he was surprised by how fond of it he was right now, how much he missed having you around.

“Once we get all this shit inside,” he started, grabbing two suitcases, filling both hands so he didn’t have to hear you comment about his carrying capabilities (or lack thereof) again, “you can unpack, and we can shower and relax. But then I’ve got plans for tonight.”

He’d begun walking to the front door, you trailing off behind him. “So you’re ditching me the first night I’m here?” you scolded, albeit playfully. You honestly wouldn’t have minded some alone time, being able to start decorating and acquainting yourself with your new abode. Still, you wanted to keep playing the part of bitchy baby sister, a role you hadn’t been able to play in so long but a role you fell right back into, as easy as riding a bike. “That’s very rude, Rick. What a horrible host you are.”

“Not a chance, Bean. Plans for us tonight. You’re comin’ with. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

He’d told you that he was taking you to some bar called The Hideout. It sounded sleazy, and you’d told him as much. He didn’t argue that, just said there’d be food and drinks and live music. And some guy there he knew that was in the same grade as you.

You didn’t know this, but Rick had a plan for Eddie Munson. He was going to barter with his young metalhead friend: be the lookout for his little sister when Rick wasn’t around, and he’d heavily discount the bulk weed and other goodies Eddie bought from him for the foreseeable future.

“What’s this guy’s name again?” you asked, moving to kick your feet up on the dashboard before Rick swatted your legs down. Again.

He’d told you several times already that sitting like that was one of the most dangerous positions to be in if he got into an accident. Said that your legs would snap and your bones would jam through your body. You thanked him for the visual, then kept doing it.

“Eddie," he answered.

“And what exactly does this Eddie look like…?”

You tried to breach the question with as much nonchalance as you could muster, but the intent behind your inquiry was still obvious: was Eddie attractive?

“Off-limits.”

“Hmm. That’s a weird physical description of someone.”

“I’m serious, Bean. Don’t.”

It wasn’t that Rick didn’t like Eddie.

It was quite the contrary, actually.

Rick had met Eddie the summer of ‘84, outside one of Al Munson’s many, many court hearings, after the elder Munson had mistakenly asked both of them for a ride home.

As an apology, Al invited both Eddie and Rick over to where he was currently freeloading at some guy’s apartment, to smoke a few bowls (that ended up coming from Rick’s personal supply) and order Chinese (that Eddie ended up paying for).

At some point that night, Al had mentioned to Eddie that Rick was the go-to guy for weed and weed-alike.

“Oh, shit, man – you’re Reefer Rick?” Eddie had asked after a particularly rough coughing excursion, having hit the piece a little too harshly.

“Reefer Rick? That’s what the kids are calling me?”

Eddie nodded, handing the bowl off to his dad. “Yeah, you’re kind of like a celebrity. Or a unicorn?” Rick’s brows furrowed deeply at this. Eddie laughed before explaining, “Meaning I very confidently thought you didn’t exist. Figured you were just who the posers from school said they got their shit from as a red herring, so they didn’t get in too much trouble when Hop took their stash.”

“Hop, like, Hopper? Beer-bellied fucking pig asshole Jim Hopper? That motherfucker knows I sell?”

Hopper had been a thorn in Rick’s side since just about the day he’d moved in.

Jim had been pulling Rick over for minor traffic violations almost weekly by that point, and if Eddie was telling the truth, the hard-on Hopper seemed to have for him now made a hell of a lot more sense. The cop was probably trying to catch him with something on him.

Eddie grinned like he was letting his company in on a joke. “Well, he knows Reefer Rick sells. You're just Rick Lipton, my friend."

From that night on, Eddie would stop by Rick’s house twice a month to re-up on his stock. The pair would sometimes get stoned around the fire pit in Rick’s backyard after they made the deal, and Rick soon found out that Eddie was not at all like the hardcore persona he projected to the world. And he definitely wasn’t a magnet for mayhem like his old man.

At heart, Eddie Munson was a total fucking nerd.

He liked mythology and board games and doodling and passionately debating which conspiracy theories he thought would stand the test of time. He often marveled at Rick’s comic book collection, standing at the shelves for an hour or so at times, just browsing the titles that stood out to him. Eddie’s favorites to flip through were Rick’s copies of Twisted Tales and Creepshow.

Rick had briefly thought a handful of times that you and Eddie would probably get along great if the two of you ever met.

But then the thought of just how great you’d possibly get along would get Rick irritated with Eddie for the non-existent relationship the boy didn’t have with a sister he didn’t even know Rick had.

On their last meet-up, Eddie had told him that he and his bandmates would dress up as pirates and paladins and go to the Ren Faire twice a year.

The band. That was another reason Rick was wary of introducing the two of you.

Being in the scene for as long as he had been now, Rick knew many musicians, and he wouldn’t trust nearly any of them around his baby sister.

They weren’t all like Eddie, though. Rick had to admit that.

Sure, the boy was a little rough around the edges, rowdy and flamboyant, but Rick remembered being kind of the same way as a teenager – and he hadn’t ruined the lives of any girls, had he? Not that he knew of at least, or at least not intentionally.

He’d been a bit of a relationship hopper, just desperate for attention when you got to the bottom of it, but Rick had never been disrespectful of women. He’d never forced himself on anyone, never pleaded to turn a “no” into a “yes,” never verbally or physically accosted any of them. Rick couldn’t bring himself to even imagine doing anything like that. He couldn’t imagine Eddie doing any of that either.

Despite cringing at the idea of you and Eddie maybe catching something more than just friendly feelings for one another, Rick still couldn’t think of another person he’d trust more to keep tabs on you when he himself wasn’t around.

But Rick could still at least try to persuade you to see Eddie in just a platonic light.

“He’s a dork, Bean. His favorite talking point is why Gollum is just a misunderstood victim. Doesn’t shut up about how they do the special effects in those gory B-horror movies, ruins the whole fuckin’ movie yapping. Plays lame board games with his little weirdo degenerate friends.”

“First of all, Rick, did you ever even read Lord of the Rings?” you started, throwing your hands up in disbelief, and Rick was sorry he even opened his mouth. “Sméagol is totally just a misunderstood victim. I mean, sure, whatever, he bit off Frodo’s finger, but he was basically the reason Sauron was defeated! It’s all the Ring’s fault. It was evil. It possessed everyone.” You huffed, settling back against the seat as you watched Rick pull into a parking space at what you assumed was The Hideout. “Also, are these things supposed to make me want to talk to this guy less? 'Cause if that’s the case, you’re really good at doing the exact opposite of what you intend.”

Rick gave a classic you move, rolling his eyes.

“Just don’t flirt with him, Bean, damn. Please. It’s, like, my only rule. He’s my… friend. He’s my friend. So just don’t.”

You pushed your lips to the side, stepping out of the car before Rick turned off the ignition.

Did your brother know nothing about you? Being told you weren’t allowed to flirt with this stranger, to even go as far as saying he was ‘off-limits’? You now knew exactly what your plan was for the rest of the night: try to break Rick’s only rule.

Isn’t that what little sisters were for?

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You knew Rick had said there would be live music, but you definitely weren’t expecting four young men about your age on stage singing nearly spot-on covers of Slayer and Iron Maiden songs.

Rick had gotten the two of you a table towards the back of the bar. He’d bought you a vodka pineapple – which he wasn’t initially intending on doing, at first telling you a Coke was all you were getting, something you were not willing to accept; after a hefty amount of prodding, he moped off to buy you the fruity alcoholic beverage just to get you to stop being so fucking annoying about it.

You were nursing the last few sips, sucking the liquid noisily through the small black straw, when the cute lead singer with the mess of black curls brought his mouth to the microphone.

“You guys have been great, really, all five of you, couldn’t ask for better fans,” he spoke to the sparse crowd. No one clapped or cheered or anything, which made you laugh out loud at the one-sided interaction. “This’ll be our last song for the night – ”

“Freebird!” someone in the audience called out.

“Vince, I tell you every time, we’re not fucking playing Freebird, man — it’s never gonna happen,” tall, dark-haired, and handsome sniped from the stage.

Familiar chords started to echo out from the bassist, the moppy haired drummer hit his wooden drumsticks together in a steady rhythm, and the small-town rockstar began singing Enter Sandman.

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Rick had been chatting with a handful of other bar patrons throughout the duration of the band’s setlist. A few of them — older, biker-looking men — occupied your table as the band on stage started to descend, done for the night.

You heard the jukebox start up, playing some Dolly Parton song, a hilarious juxtaposition from the heavy metal music that had just filled the bar.

Your eyes searched for the lead singer, spotting him heading over to the bar alone, the other boys in the band disappearing off backstage with their instruments in tow.

“Hey, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” you announced, but Rick just nodded and waved you off, in a deep conversation with one of the bearded men about something to do with Special K. The cereal? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care to stay long enough to find out.

What you wanted to do was to talk to this Kirk Hammett lookalike that poured his heart out on the stage of a hodunk bar like he was performing in front of hundreds of thousands of people at Madison Square Garden.

His back was to you when you approached, black ringlets of hair falling down past his shoulders, frizzy from the indoor humidity.

You put your now empty drink down on the bar-top, the clinking sound pulling his attention over to you.

Oh, wow.

He was nice to look at from afar, but even nicer to look at up this closely. His face was flushed, likely from the hour-long show he’d just put on, a small smattering of light chestnut freckles peeking out over alabaster skin. His big brown eyes widened as they took you in, as if he couldn’t believe you were staring at him.

“You were great up there,” you started, not able to contain your smile. “Made me forget I was in Hawkins. Thought I was at Whisky a Go Go or something.”

He looked surprised. Whether that was from your compliment or just from you talking to him in general, you weren’t sure. “Yeah?” he prodded, voice deep and raspy, obviously a bit blown out from the seven or eight songs he’d just belted.

You nodded eagerly. He grinned wide, chest puffing out a bit now. Boys plus ego stroking equaled checkmate, one of your favorite mottos.

“Can I, uh, buy you a drink? Whatever you want… whatever that was,” he pointed to your empty glass, “I can buy you another one of those.”

“Nice try, Munson,” came the voice of the bartender. Your new friend — Munson, supposedly — shot him an annoyed look. “I know you’re only twenty. You can have water or a soda. That’s it, kid.”

The raven-haired metalhead turned his attention back to you, face a bit chagrined. “Foiled by the barkeep. Sorry. You want a soda? Best in the Midwest. You’ll never drink another Coca-Cola like this ever again.”

You laughed. “Sure, I’ll take a Best in the Midwest soda. Coke with grenadine, light ice.”

“You heard the lovely lady,” Munson said to the bartender, obviously enjoying that he now got to order the man around a bit. “Coke with grenadine, light ice. Hop to it.”

“Lucky the boss likes you, you little shit,” the bartender was grumbling, but Munson didn’t seem distressed. Amused, if anything.

You watched as his eyes drifted up to the top of your head. “Now those are cool,” he acknowledged, pointing with a ringed finger.

Your brows furrowed in confusion before realization struck. Oh, yeah! You’d forgotten you’d put on a tiny little headband before leaving for the bar. It was black, but had two small red devil horns poking out on either side.

“Why, thank you,” you said, bringing a hand up to touch one of the points. “Although I wasn’t really going for cool. More along the lines of wicked or evil, maybe. Sinful. Be the reason everybody in here’s thinkin’ all those shameful thoughts.”

Had Eddie been anywhere else, or at least not high from the adrenaline he ran on after performing, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to fight off the blush from your comment. That, mixed with the heavy-lidded stare you were currently fixing on him, he’d have been a goner.

Thankfully for him, he was able to continue to false bravado his way through this conversation, as he’d just spent two-ish hours channeling his inner Eric Adams from Manowar. He could act like a big shot for a little longer. “With a face like yours, I don’t think I can call you anything but an angel.” He surprised himself with his flirtatious evenness, but he tried not to let it show on his face.

He watched as your eyes softened a smidge, but the moment was ruined when the bartender shot forward your glass.

“Coke with grenadine, light ice, for the lovely lady,” he mocked, his hard stare never leaving Munson’s face.

When the bartender turned away, Munson glanced at you, then shot a look over his shoulder at the moody man as if to say, What’s this guy’s problem?

You couldn’t help but laugh at his colorful expression before you brought your straw to your lips, taking a sip.

“Oh, fuck!” came the expletive from Munson. “Sorry. Here I am, buying you drinks and calling you an angel, and you don’t even know my name.” He fixed himself into a relaxed pose, leaning his side against the edge of the bar-top. “Hi, there. I’m Eddie.” He offered what he hoped was a beseeching smile.

Eddie… Eddie… where had you heard that name tonight? You knew you’d heard it from somewhere…

Oh! Eddie! As in, Rick’s off-limits, total dork of a friend, Eddie. This had to be him, right?

How lucky you were. You didn’t even have to go searching for your fun for the night. He just strolled off the stage, practically falling right into your lap. He’d even bought you a drink!

Achieving your goal of breaking Rick’s only rule might be a lot easier than you’d intended.

“Ooooh, so you’re Eddie,” you bemused, taking another small drink. “Of course you’re Eddie.”

A worried look overtook his previously collected features. “You’ve heard about me?” he asked. His voice now wasn’t as confident as it had been before. It was tinged with uncertainty, maybe a bit of anticipatory disappointment. “What d'you mean, 'Of course I’m Eddie’?”

“No, no, it’s nothing bad,” you cooed, bringing a hand to rest on his forearm. You could feel the solidity of his muscles beneath your fingers. You fought the urge to squeeze. “All good stuff, actually. Meeting you’s just adding to the intrigue. I promise.”

That seemed to put him more at ease. He nodded slowly, eyes briefly darting down to your hand which was still grazing his arm. You took it away, wondering if he wasn’t appreciative of it.

You’d read it wrong. He was.

“What’s your name?” he asked, finding your stare again.

Should you have told him?

It probably wouldn’t have hurt.

But you were afraid maybe Rick had already gotten to him, told him to steer clear of his little sister. Name dropping yourself might make Eddie back off, and you did not want that.

“You said you can’t call me anything but an angel,” you replied with puckish modesty. “So, let’s stick with that.” You put your free hand out, the one that had previously taken space on his arm. “Hi, Eddie. I’m Angel.”

You were a little bewildering, kind of cryptic, and super fucking hot. Eddie was a big fan of all three. He didn’t want to pressure you into giving an actual name if you didn’t want to. He could live with Angel. It wasn’t like the moniker was inaccurate.

“Okay, angel,” he granted, taking your hand in his. “It’s an honor.” He brought his lips down to press lightly against the skin of your fingers, eyes never leaving yours. He relished in the tiny bite you gave the corner of your lower lip at his action.

The bartender cleared his throat loudly. Both you and Eddie rolled your eyes simultaneously, turning your attention to him again as you pulled your hand back.

“You two mind? No one wants to come up here and drink with the both of you making Fuck Me eyes at each other. Scram.”

“You’re mean,” you admonished.

Eddie laughed at your accusation, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing at it under the heavy weight of his hair.

“You smoke?” he asked.

“Smoke what?” you countered.

Eddie grinned. “I was gonna suggest a cigarette, but maybe you’d be interested in something a little… greener?”

Your brows shot up in intrigue and you nodded, sucking the rest of your soda down in three long sips before slamming the glass back down on the wooden surface of the bar.

“Show me the way, rockstar.”

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“So, I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you around here before,” Eddie started, leading you out the door of The Hideout, heading into the parking lot.

You’d quickly scanned the crowd for Rick before exiting, wanting to make sure he was still otherwise occupied and wouldn’t catch you sneaking out with the one person he most definitely didn’t want you sneaking out with.

No longer was he talking to the biker bros that had basically accosted him at the table. Now he was sitting so close to a pretty purple haired girl that you were sure their foreheads were touching. His hand was on her cheek, and he was smiling goofily at her.

Good. He should be busy for a while now. Thank you, lavender loc’d lovergirl.

“'Cause you’d remember my pretty face if you’d seen it before, is that the rest of your sentence?” you teased.

Eddie grinned a bit bashfully, hand moving to rub at his neck again. You acknowledged it was probably a tell for when he was nervous or bordering on embarrassed. Good to know, perhaps an essential quirk to tuck away for safekeeping.

“Yeah, something like that,” he admitted with a laugh. “But really. You’re not from Hawkins, are you?”

“I am not from Hawkins, no. I actually just moved here today, if you can believe it.”

“Wow,” Eddie said, voice taking on a bantering tone. “Less than 24 hours here and you’re already walking alone at night with some stranger who many have dubbed a sinister cult leader. I may just be Indiana’s very own Satan incarnate. What ever will your parents think?”

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to be the offspring of a high-level Duke of Hell,” you countered, fully thinking of your mother when you spoke. “Guess it’s a match made in… Inferno?”

“My favorite kind of match,” Eddie confessed with a grin as you approached the brown and cream Chevy Beauville you figured belonged to him.

You paused for a beat as Eddie pulled open the side door before asking, “Do people really think that? That you’re a cult leader?”

“Oh, yeah,” he responded, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. When he spoke next, he took on a theatrical guise, words laced with performative shock. “When I walk down the street, men can’t help but to scoff and glare; women clutch their purses to their chests; mothers cover their children’s eyes before their children can shriek in horror; dogs bark and wolves howl and the whole Earth opens up beneath my feet.”

You found yourself watching in utter amusement at his sermonizing, your focus unwavering on his expressive hand motions and his demonstrative body language, your ears attuned to every shift in infliction of his voice.

Rick was right.

Eddie was a dork.

But such an endearing dork. A stellar storyteller. A winsome wordsmith. And it was like he wasn’t even trying. Like this ingenuity came to him as easy as taking a breath.

He reminded you a little of your father -- the eagerness to put on a show, the effortless spellbinding nature. The similarities filled your chest with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Too much?” Eddie asked, cringing a little at your silence.

You shook your head slowly, smiling. “Not at all.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Eddie had a multicolor Afghan spread out on the floor in the back of his van, one he informed you was made for him by a past girlfriend of his Uncle’s.

He apologized profusely that the interior wasn’t more appealing, mumbled something about how he should maybe think about getting actual seats installed, but when you sprawled out wordlessly on the blanket, back plush against its scratchy softness, and positively beamed at him, he shut up.

He sat down next to you after finding a half-smoked joint in his middle console, offering it to you for the first hit.

“Where'd you move here from?” he asked after a few moments of peaceful silence, nothing heard but the sizzle from the lit Rizla and the steady stream of cars from the busy street outside.

“Fresno,” you replied, passing the joint to him as you held in your hit until the smoke burned your lungs.

“A California city girl in little ole Hawkins?” he bemused, taking a deep drag. “You must feel pretty out of place here, angel.”

With a shrug, you said, “Dunno yet. It’s only been less than a day, remember?” You took the joint as he extended it out to you, taking a smaller hit this time. “Ask me again after school on Monday.”

“You goin’ to the community college or something?”

“No, I’m still in high school. Senior. I think it’s just called…”

“Hawkins High. Yeah, I uh, I go there too.” That hand rubbing at the back of his neck again. “Um – Paul, y'know, that mean bartender, he… said something about me being twenty? I dunno if you heard. But, yeah. I got held back a few years, so…”

Turns out the hand thing was a sign of embarrassment.

“Eddie, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you told him, moving to position your weight onto one side, leaning against your elbow. “Everybody’s on a different path. Besides, high school is such bullshit. It’s basically hardwired for you to fuck up or fail. Believe me, I know.”

You took another hit, this one bigger, wanting to feel the lightheadedness of the high sooner rather than later, especially breaching this subject. It always warranted a lament from you.

“I’ve had specialized learning plans since forever,” you continued, passing the joint off to him. His brows furrowed in concentration as he listened. “I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was little. Like, five or six. I could never sit still in class, and I always needed way more time to take tests than everybody else, and I'd forget whole chunks of paragraphs that I’d just read the second I finished reading them.” You sighed, slightly frustrated at the memories, but the weed was beginning to work its magic. Your muscles felt like they were relaxing, tension drifting away, and your head felt a very good kind of heavy. “But then I got on medicine, and it helped. Still helps.” As an afterthought, you added, “When I remember to take it.”

Eddie considered this for a few moments before sticking the joint in his mouth, inhaling. “Shit. Maybe I have ADHD,” he surmised, exhaling a thick cloud into the air.

“Maybe,” you suggested. “I’d say you could talk to my mom, 'cause she’s a psychiatrist, but she’s actually a huge fucking bitch, so nevermind.”

Eddie laughed, not expecting you to say that, and he'd been in the middle of another inhale so he ended up choking and coughing hard on the smoke.

“Oh, no!” You hurried into a sitting position. “Are you – are you okay?” you asked, and you felt bad, but you couldn’t help the little laughs that were escaping your lips at his now bright red tomato face. You were stoned. “D'you – do you have water in here, somewhere?”

Eddie nodded, having a brief break in his hacking fit, pointing to the front of his van. “Y-yeah, shit,” cough, cough, cough, “o-over there. Fucking fuck, man.” Cough, cough. That last one sounded like it hurt.

You scurried on your hands and knees to the front of the van, scanning the dashboard for some kind of drink. The high made it seem like your eyes could only move in slow motion. Finally spotting a half-drank bottle of blue Gatorade, you snatched it, crawling hurriedly back over to where Eddie sat hunched over, trying to control his breathing.

He took the drink, spun the cap off, and quickly downed most of the contents in an attempt to soothe his raw throat.

“Goddamn,” he rasped out. He realized he was still holding the joint in his hand. He definitely didn’t want anymore now. He looked to you, offering it silently, but you shook your head, rejecting it. He stubbed it out in an ashtray that was laying at his side. Bringing the Gatorade back to his lips, he dipped his head back, finishing it off.

Without really thinking, and weed always loosening your already pretty loose inhibitions, you brought your hand to rest on his cheek, your thumb stroking a small path back and forth on the smooth skin under his eye. “You good?” you asked, the ghost of a laugh twisting at your words.

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat at your touch. He was happy he’d swallowed the Gatorade or else he probably would have started choking on that, too.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a careful caress like the one you were currently giving him. It was simple, but it felt so good. So soft. And – fuck – you were straddling one of his thighs with your legs, and he didn’t even think you noticed. But he definitely did.

Even though his skin was covered by denim, he could still feel the heat from your center warming him. His cock gave an appreciative jerk in the confines of his tight jeans.

Your eyes finally drifted down to the sitting arrangement you found yourselves in. Slowly lifting your gaze to meet his glassy, doe-eyed stare once more, you tilted your head to the side in quandary, hand not dropping from the curve of his face.

“Should I move?” you asked, voice a pitch louder than a whisper.

“Please don't,” Eddie answered, unblinking.

You let your weight rest fully down on his thigh, shifting your hips once, watching as his eyes rolled back at the contact. He was so receptive that it made your cunt clench around nothing, and you took that moment to pull his face closer to yours, pressing your lips to his almost hard enough to bruise.

Eddie groaned at the feel of your mouth, his tongue eagerly and immediately trying to pry open your lips. You grinned into the kiss, giving him what he wanted by allowing his hot tongue access to slide slippery against your own.

He thought you were sweet and citrusy, like sugared oranges, and a little tart, like ripe pomegranate. He thought fleetingly that if he could, he’d bottle you up and drink you with every meal.

You thought he was fresh and sharp, like spearmint gum, and heady, like expensive sativa. Your tongue fought with his for dominance, each moan from either one of you spurring on the other, greedy mouths working hard to stake their claim.

When you finally pulled away, you were a little out of breath. “God, Eddie, you kiss like you’re thirsty.” Your hand moved from its resting place on his face to tangle in the curls at the back of his head.

He groaned when he felt you tug at the roots of his scalp, bringing a hand up to cradle just under your chin, fingers stretching out over the expanse of your neck. A lazy grin curved at his lips.

“You wanna see thirsty?"

With that, he flipped the both of you over so you were on your back, Eddie positioning himself between your spread legs. You were happy for the padding of the Afghan, knowing the cool steel flooring of the van would have pinched your skin unpleasantly.

He wasted no time in pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking quick but harsh at your supple skin.

You moaned wantonly, lolling your head to the side to give him better access. Your legs moved to wrap around his slim waist, your hips moving up to feel as much of him against your center as you could. Eddie couldn’t help but give a thrust down against you, his persistently hardening cock straining taut against his jeans.

“Can I taste you?” he asked against your skin, pressing softer kisses to the tiny marks he’d left just moments ago with his lips and teeth.

A strained whimper escaped your lips at his request. You nodded, feeling more drunk than high, arching your hips up again to try and garner more friction from him.

“Say it,” he demanded, bringing a hand up to grip at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “‘I want you to taste me, Eddie.’ Tell me.”

“I want you to taste me, Eddie,” you repeated lewdly, ad-libbing after with, “please, Eddie, want you to make me feel good.”

His pupils blew dark and wide, and he slid the remainder of the way down your body, burying his head under your skirt. Without removing your underwear or even pushing them to the side, he pressed his mouth to the damp fabric, his open-mouthed kisses continuing there. A desperate sound came from him as he sucked you through your panties, the deliciously honeyed scent of you enveloping him completely.

In this moment, he felt like if he died with his face buried in your heat, it would be a very happy and welcomed death.

“Eddie, take them off,” you demanded, shaking your hips around in a frustrated movement.

He laughed at your impatience, but moved to grant you your wish. He hooked his fingers under the sides of your panties, just about to pull them down… before a loud pounding was heard on the outside of the van.

“Hey, Ed? Hate to interrupt you, dude, but my mom’s gonna be pissed if you don’t get me home by 10.”

Eddie groaned loudly, the noise sounding almost pained. It seemed like it took a lot out of him to have to move his head out from under your skirt. He glanced over his shoulder to the clock on his dash, the LED numbers reading 9:35PM.

“This dream just turned into a real fucking nightmare, angel,” he grumbled, biting down lightly at your inner thigh.

You jolted at the feel of his teeth, and couldn’t help but give a frustrated whine at his sentiment, wholly agreeing. Your entire body was thrumming, wanting so badly to be touched and given a release.

“Eddie…?” came the voice again.

“Yeah, Doug, got it. Give me a minute, man.”

Eddie took one more longing look at your clothed cunt, studying the wet spot made from his spit and your arousal. He gave a salacious lick of his lips before dragging his eyes up to meet yours.

“That’s my bassist,” he begrudgingly informed. “His mom’s like your mom. Huge fucking bitch, but don't ever tell him I said that. I have to drive him home or else she’ll forever forbid him to play another show.”

You offered him a placating smile, moving your hand to brush a few of his longer bangs from around his eyes. “It’s okay. I mean, it really isn’t, 'cause I’m so fucking horny right now, but I get it.” Eddie gave another groan at your admission. He cursed the universe for shit fucking timing, and for totally inconsiderate bassists who didn’t have their licenses.

“Can I see you again?” he asked, voice bordering on timid.

It was shocking to you how he could go from dirty mouthed amateur porn star to red-cheeked virginal teenage boy in the matter of minutes. The duality was enticing. You briefly wondered just how far you could push him to either end of the spectrum.

“I’ll give you my number,” you said, but then remembered, “oh, wait, I don’t know my number yet. Um. You can give me yours?”

Eddie nodded fervently, moving to a kneeling position as he reached over and started looking through a pile of stuff on his passenger seat. He pulled out a pen from the mess and ripped off a small piece of paper from an old report card, quickly scrawling down his digits.

“Here,” he said, moving to hand it to you. He did a quick once over though, realizing you didn’t have pockets, so he slid the folded piece of paper under the front hem of your panties. He patted it with his fingers and gave a pleased grin before saying, “C'mon, I’ll walk you back inside.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

By the time you’d made it back through the front door of The Hideout, Rick was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, obviously in search of you.

“What the fuck, Bean!” he scolded, marching his way up to you when he spotted you walking in, not even glancing at Eddie. “I don’t pay attention for two minutes and you disappear for an hour?!”

“Two minutes, Richard, really?” you laughed out, the sound incredulous. Because, really, Rick’s timeframe was way, way off. You knew he wasn’t the greatest at math, but damn, right now he was straight up delusional. “You’ve been talking to everyone but me since we got here! You weren't paying attention for way longer than two minutes.”

“So not fuckin’ true,” he said, but his tone was quieter now as if he figured that, yeah, it might actually be true.

Rick’s eyes finally drifted to your side, observing Eddie’s presence. You’d taken great care to fix the boy’s hair and his clothing, making sure he didn’t look disheveled for this very reason – you could tell Rick was sizing the younger man up after finding out the two of you were off somewhere together. Alone.

Eddie looked like a lost puppy, glancing between you and Rick, trying to figure out what the fuck the dynamic between the two of you was. You tried your hardest not to look so amused at his sweet, utterly confused expression.

“Oh, yeah, I ran into Eddie while I was outside smoking,” you explained away easily. “He told me you guys are friends. I figured he’s who you brought me here to meet.”

Eddie side eyed you, unsure of where this was heading. He definitely did not tell you that he and Rick were friends. Eddie didn’t even think him and Rick were friends. He hoped they were, he wanted them to be, but he didn’t think it’s how Rick would have classified their relationship.

Rick turned his apprehensive gaze on Eddie. “Is that true?” he asked, eye contact steady and unblinking.

Best go along with it, Eddie thought.

“Couldn’t be truer.”

The older man seemed to consider Eddie’s response for a minute before a familiar silly grin etched itself across his pierced face.

“Cool!” he exclaimed, clapping Eddie on the shoulder.

Rick had been planning on propositioning Eddie tonight about being your watchdog, but after downing a few drinks and having basically driven around for the past four days straight with little sleep, he figured that conversation could wait a little longer. “You wanna come over tomorrow night, Munson? Hang out with me and the little sister for a bit?”

Eddie’s brows furrowed, shaking his head slowly in uncertainty. “Sure, but... who’s your little sister?”

Rick’s smile slowly began to fade in skepticism as his attention moved from Eddie and back to you standing beside him.

“Me, silly,” you admonished, bringing a hand down to grab at his, concealing the contact behind your back so Rick didn’t see. You stroked the skin on his thumb in a wordless apology for the whole not-being-totally-honest-about-who-you-were thing.

Eddie’s eyes widened at the reveal, still a little too stoned for the realization that he’d just had one of the hottest make-out sessions of his entire life with… Reefer Rick Lipton's… little sister…

Shit.

“Remember? I told you outside?” you were pleading at him with your eyes, still trying to make it not appear obvious that you were lying your ass off to your older brother.

Eddie indulged, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the rage of Rick if he found out what had just gone one in the back of his Beauville.

“Oh, yeah! Right, right!” Eddie tried to play it off. “Sorry, man, I’m just – totally fucking stoned.” That part was relatively true. This whole interaction was making him feel even higher than he thought he was in the first place, actually. Eddie gave Rick what he prayed was an easy-going grin.

You released Eddie and stepped in between the two of them, forcing out a wide yawn. “Rick, c'mon, I’m getting tired,” you brought your hand to your brother’s arm, starting to tug at him, pulling him toward the door. “Let’s go home.” You stressed the last word, hoping that by you referring to his Hawkins residence as that, it would soften and distract him.

It did.

Rick relented, figuring he was probably just looking too deeply into things, understanding his paranoia sometimes got the better of him. Nothing probably happened between you and Eddie. He was probably just being an overbearing older brother. Probably.

“Right. 'Kay. Lemme just go find this one girl and say bye.” He disappeared off into the dwindling crowd, and you assumed he was off to bid adieu to the same purple-haired girl from before.

You took this as your chance to turn to Eddie.

Eddie, who was currently staring at you a little too warily for your liking.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” you implored, fingers finding his hand again. He didn’t make a move to pull away, so you took that as a good sign. “Just come over tomorrow night, okay? We can talk about it.”

It kind of freaked you out how much you didn’t want this – whatever this was – between the two of you to be ruined so quickly.

Since your dad left, you knew things in your life had gone a little downhill, and you also knew you’d been acting a bit belligerently in your attempts to try and ignore it. You’d been making irresponsible, rash decisions all over the board – from school, to home, to friendships and relationships. Nothing seemed to be sacrosanct from your newfound self-sabotaging behaviors.

From this, you’d encountered quite a few willing partners, of both the opposite and same sex, to occupy your mind and time since last summer, and not a single one of them was someone you were interested in getting to know more than just carnally.

Eddie was the first person in a long time you felt you actually clicked with on more than just a physical level, and that was evident from your discourse at the bar, your rendezvous in the van, and now with the realization that you may have screwed it all up by not being truthful to him. You were starting to get a stomach ache. This was so not how you’d planned on the night ending.

Across from you, Eddie seemed to weigh the entire situation as you just had, his dark brown eyes studying your face as he did so. Maybe to find a glimmer of further deceit? Of an ulterior motive? He was used to those things. It wasn’t often people wanted him just to want him. It was usually to get something from him.

However, he could find nothing but honest anticipation in your eyes. His fingers squeezed yours briefly before Rick made his way back over, your brother’s heavily tattooed arm sliding around your frame as he pulled you away.

“See ya tomorrow, Munson!” Rick called.

At the last moment you could, right before the door to the bar closed, you looked back over your shoulder at Eddie. He saw you smile at him. Your intention was to silently ask for the possibility of forgiveness, or at the very least, understanding.

Eddie watched the door you’d exited through for a minute or two longer. Blinking back to reality, he realized he was tired, at first thinking it was just from the weed, but then remembering that Corroded Coffin had literally played a show tonight.

That seemed like days ago at this point.

Being in the van with you had felt like a lengthy escapade, definitely more than just roughly sixty minutes spent together.

Eddie’s palms started to sweat.

He hadn’t known you before an hour ago, but now that you weren’t next to him anymore, talking and teasing, he’d felt more alone than he had in a long time.

Exiting the bar, Eddie headed back to his van.

The whole trip to Dougie’s house and then on his ride back to the trailer park, he was fake scenario-ing all the different ways tomorrow night at Rick’s could go.

Maybe he was bound to be screwed over by you eventually, fucked royally in a not-so-fun way.

But Eddie, ever the opportunist, would likely let you as long as that meant he got to go along for the ride.

#eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #billy x reader #billy x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove smut #mungrove x reader #mungrove

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aurorabyler · 2 years

Text

Flashbacks in Stranger Things: When, Why, and How They Are Used (Long Analysis)

sit back and relax everyone. this is gonna be my longest post yet.

disclaimer before anyone proceeds--i have not tagged this post with any relationships other than byler so if you do not like this pairing please just scroll past this post! i never cross tag because i truly want a safe fandom space for everyone. this is just my analysis of the show and my own brainrot.

I’ve thought about the usage of flashbacks in Stranger Things a lot over the past few weeks. I saw a post by user @girlskth on Twitter (HUGE shoutout to them for this very eye-opening post, please go check it out their tweet and give them all the love!!), who mentioned the contrast between Max’s scene in Dear Billy (running up that hill → from Vecna), versus El being trapped by the vines in 4x09. First: we need to talk about flashbacks as they have been used throughout film and TV history as a key literary device. Here are some articles that I found that explain why flashbacks can be so important to understanding characters:

This quote is vital:

"Flashbacks are really a function of character, not story…the visual image we’re seeing is what the character is thinking and feeling at that present moment…it illuminates a character’s point of view.”

Flashbacks are never pointlessly placed. There is always an intent behind reverting back to the old material to demonstrate something about the character’s current mindset.

These two scenes are clearly parallels (complete credits to @girlskth for bringing this up), as both Max and El are encountering the same situation–being trapped in Vecna’s lair and hearing a monologue from him. The scenes are not only plot parallels but visual ones.

However, there is one thing lacking in this parallel, and @girlskth brilliantly points out what it is—their emotional connection. Max relies on flashbacks of her happiest memories to free herself from Vecna’s trance and come back to reality. There are MANY flashbacks of her platonic relationships (her friendship with El being the most significant), and her romantic relationship with Lucas, which is ultimately what gives her enough time to run away from Vecna.

Now, going into El’s scene, I as a viewer was EXPECTING that they would show flashbacks of El’s happy memories with Mike during his monologue. This is coming from someone who does not ship these two characters together at all.

I like them as friends, and I was still waiting for them to show us moments from their kiss at the snowball, from Mike giving Eleven the name “El,” from Mike calling her for 353 days in season 2, from Mike saying “No, El, you’re not the monster–you saved me,” from El saying she loves him at the end of season 3…but nothing.

Absolutely no flashbacks were shown apart from the scene of the boys finding El in the woods. This is extremely odd for a couple who has supposedly been the centrepiece of Stranger Things for four seasons, or, in the words of people who ship these characters, have been “built up for four seasons.” But no. Nothing.

This is an INSANE contrast to Max’s Dear Billy scene, which went out of its way to show her history with all of these characters over the 3 seasons her character has been in the show.

The concept of “show, don’t tell,” is critical in understanding this parallel. Take Max’s relationships that are highlighted when she is in Vecna’s trance: these flashbacks all occur because she knows they will give her strength. She is never verbally prompted to think about these memories because she has confidence they will help her fight in her darkest moment. Here’s some more information on show don’t tell and how it is used in media:

If we apply Max's unconcious logic to El’s scene in Vecna’s lair, being able to pull from her happy memories with Mike should have been something that came relatively naturally to her. Except, this didn’t happen. What did happen? El’s memories with Max DID come naturally, and those memories ultimately saved Max’s life.

Zero Flashbacks to Mike/El's Past Seasons' Dynamic

While waiting for volume two, even as someone who likes this pairing platonically, I was excited to see flashbacks to season 1 Mike/Eleven once they reunited at the Nina Project. I’ll always be nostalgic for seasons 1 and 2 and I wanted to see some of their friendship dynamics from those seasons come back. I was literally expecting there to be some sort of “still pretty?” flashback, or some other cut back to season one. Again, I am saying all of this entirely as someone who 100% believes in a byler endgame for this show. I was still very surprised by this, and it is clearly intentional on the writer’s part.

Some would argue that the lack of flashbacks is due to the varying perspectives in Mike’s monologue scene. We see Mike’s, Will’s, El’s, and Jonathan’s POVs switching between each other in this scene. When peeling back the layers, we learned that Mike's monologue utilizes the miscommunication trope in a big way. Let’s analyze:

Mike is under the impression, because of Will, that “these past few months she (El) has been so lost without you…You make her feel like she’s not a mistake at all–like she’s better for being different. And that gives her the courage to fight on.” —Will, 4x09

First and foremost: Mike’s monologue would not have happened without Will’s veiled confession in the van. He believes Will’s feelings are El’s, and it is these feelings that make him think that what he says is what El needs to hear.

Mike is TOLD (not sure if he entirely believes it especially after the final scene in the cabin when El walks away from him, but we’ll have to wait for more scripts to see the truth), that El has been “lost” without him and that she “needs” him to be able to fight.

This is what he is TOLD by Will about El, and this is not true, as NOWHERE during any of El’s scenes at school in California, or once Mike comes to visit, or during her time at the Nina Project, or during her battles with the military + Vecna does El EVER give the impression that she somehow needs Mike in her life to keep fighting, or that he gives her courage. In fact, given all of the parallels El draws between Mike's "what did you do?" and Brenner's "what have you done?" I would say what Mike gives her is the opposite of courage.

El keeps fighting because she has come into herself and she is powerful and strong, not because she needs Mike there to help her. And Mike, prior to Will’s confession, knows this is the truth, as seen by the line in the official script that was cut out from the show:

If El truly needed Mike to “fight on,” as Will implies with his own feelings, I believe that more flashbacks would have been utilized, regardless of the multiple perspectives in the scene, to show how Mike has supposedly helped El “fight” in the past. But none of this was shown BECAUSE El’s battles have always been about her personal arc and growth. In the past seasons, El has never relied on or needed Mike to help her fight–he has been misled because of Will’s veiled confession.

Perhaps the best example of El’s battles being about her own growth is in the 2x09 scene where she closes the gate: you'll see here that all the flashbacks she has during this critical battle have to do with her personal growth and past trauma. The same is true of her fight with the Demogorgon in season 1, of learning from Kali in season 2, of fighting Billy and the Mind Flayer in season 3--her relationship with Mike is not critical to any of these battles. It is her friendships and familial love that motivates her as well as her own coming of age.

The miscommunication about El "needing" Mike to be able to "fight" explains a lot of things, including, at least to an extent why Mike VISIBLY HESITATED when saying “I love you” for the first time in his monologue. There are obviously other reasons to this that have been analyzed by many other people, but I feel this miscommunication is critical.

This is something that has really been annoying me ever since season 4 came out: the whole plotline about Mike not being able to say he loves El should be extremely clear to audiences about what it implies. I love romance and I KNOW that the Duffers can write amazing love stories (Lumax, Jancy, Jopper…).

Lucas and Max never once say they love each other but it is clear to audiences–they SHOW it in their own ways.

True love is shown, not told–especially in media.

That is how the most popular romantic pairings are so believable to audiences. Showing, not telling your love for someone, makes it feel real. And boom: ever since season 3 and ESPECIALLY after season 4, there have been hundreds of thousands of people saying that Mike/El's dynamic seems "off" somehow.

My point here is that if you love someone unconditionally, if you are truly, deeply in love with them, you would not hesitate for a moment to say that you love them, especially if they practically beg you to say it while crying about that very fact. You would also not call them “ridiculous” after they start crying and then you proceed to deflect blame about a situation you caused onto other people.

Love is powerful. To me, it’s one of the most powerful things that exists in this world. And I believe that the writers of this show feel the same way: Love Conquers All. I’ll insert one of my favourite quotes from Avatar: The Last Airbender to display how I feel about this topic:

"You have indeed felt a great loss. But love is a form of energy, and it swirls all around us. The air nomads' love for you has not left this world. It is still inside of your heart, and is reborn in the form of new love." -Guru Pathik, Avatar: The Last Airbender

Real, romantic love is never something that should be questioned at critical moments. Let me emphasize: I do not question that Mike platonically loves El. He clearly loves her a great amount as shown by what he has gone through with her over the course of the show, just as he loves Lucas, Dustin, Max, Nancy, etc.

Millie literally said in an interview for ST4 that “Mike is not loving Eleven the way she wants to be loved.” This situation for El is honestly extremely heartbreaking because she truly deserves so much better than what she’s been given. El is one of my favourite characters and I love her dearly, and seeing her suffer because of this relationship as well as the bullying at school hits very close to home for me. She deserves so much happiness and I hope she gets to have endless amounts of it by the end of season 5.

How else have flashbacks been used in Stranger Things?

The article I cited earlier holds true to the Stranger Things writer’s perspective on flashbacks. Remember: "flashbacks are really a function of character, not story…the visual image we’re seeing is what the character is thinking and feeling at that present moment…it illuminates a character’s point of view.” Utilizing flashbacks as a literary device in this manner has been seen multiple times in the show at key character moments.

Will and Joyce

This flashback is key to showing Joyce's relationship with her son and how much she loves him. It holds true to the article in that it SHOWS that while searching for Will, she thinks back to the time they spent together in Castle Byers.

Jonathan and Will

Jonathan's relationship with Will is key to season one and remains one of the most beautiful parts of Stranger Things. This flashback, just like the ones with Max and Joyce, happens naturally. Jonathan associates The Clash with Will and can't help thinking back to their happy memories together once he hears the song play. This simple scene shows the depth of their relationship.

Hopper and Sarah

In my opinion, this is by far the most effective use of flashback Stranger Things has used to date. When I watched season 1 in 2016, this was the scene that made me cry my eyes out. I still think about it to this day as the catalyst that started my long-running love for this show. While trying to revive Will, Hopper is reminded of his daughter Sarah's struggle with cancer which led to her death. This flashback is a perfect representation of Hopper's development.

Hopper's arc in seasons 1 and 2 was one of my favourite things to watch: he starts as someone cold and isolated who drowns himself in drugs and alcohol to cope with his past trauma. Eventually, he learns to love again in all sorts of ways once Joyce comes back into his life. Hopper's drive to find Will and his love for Joyce inadvertently led him to El, and as he says in season 3:

"For so long, I'd been stuck in one place...And then, I left some Eggos out in the woods, and you came into my life. And for the first time in a long time, I started to feel things again." -Hopper's Letter, 3x03

In summary: flashbacks are used with intent and to SHOW the audience a character's internal struggles and thoughts. Stranger Things follows the textbook way to use flashbacks effectively, and has clearly been selective for a reason when it comes to which moments they choose to remind us of, as well as when, how, and why these moments are used. They have juxtaposed two very similar scenes and how the characters have escaped from the series' antagonist, Vecna, using these flashbacks/memories to their advantage. The final battle between El and Vecna was driven by El's love for Max. Mike was under the impression that what he said was what El needed to hear because it was veiled in Will's feelings. While these ideas have been widely discussed, showing how flashbacks have been effectively used throughout the show and comparing them to their usage (or lack thereof) in season 4 gives us excellent insights into El's headspace, as well as what the future holds for these characters. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into this analysis so I really hope you enjoyed it! Please give it a reblog if you can and leave your thoughts in the comments. I'd love to know your interpretation :) Thank you so much for reading! <3

#byler #byler endgame #stranger things #stranger things theory #st4 #stranger things season 4 #vecna #running up that hill #mike wheeler #will byers #byler tumblr #mike wheeler x will byers #byler nation #001 #001 stranger things #stranger things meta #byler meta #theory

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glorious-spoon · 4 months

Note

For the Spotify ficlet: buddie aaaand number 2? :)

hello, and thank you! i return 3 months late, bearing fic. number 2 was the funeral by band of horses, so please enjoy this odd little meditation about eddie and grief and second chances

to know me as hardly golden 1631 words | buddie | emotional hurt/comfort, pre-relationship

Eddie is six years old when he attends his first funeral. A great-aunt, on his dad's side—he has a vague memory of a frail white-haired woman with hugs that smelled like baby powder. His abuela was the youngest of her siblings by far, and he remembers her standing in the sunlight by the gravesite, iron-gray hair neatly pinned back, eyes dry, mouth pressed to a thin flat line as she watched her sister's coffin sink slowly into the earth.

At six, he doesn't really understand it. But he understands enough to hug her, and he feels her press a kiss to the crown of his head and murmur, Eddito, Eddito, in a soft, shaking voice.

It's an old, hazy memory. He's surprised he's hung onto it this long, but it lingers even now that he's lost count of the number of funerals he's been to. Shannon's should have been the one that hurt the worst, but the truth is he barely remembers it; he moved through that entire day like a wind-up toy, dazed and distant, registering almost nothing other than Christopher.

He didn't attend the funerals of any of the people he saved in Afghanistan, because there weren't supposed to be funerals. That was supposed to be the one thing that made it all worth it—ruining his marriage and missing his son's first steps, the nightmares and the guilt and everything else he stomped down into a deep dark hole where he'd never have to look at it. At least, he always told himself, at least there were four people living in the world who wouldn't be here if it weren't for him.

It takes a while to get past that one, after he learns the truth. A smashed-up wall, a frightened son, and a lot of therapy. A week of Buck sleeping on his couch and wishing he had the courage to ask him to share the bed. Not in the way he sometimes half let himself imagine, but just to have another person there. The solidity of a living breathing body, a person he loves, a person he can still keep safe.

In the hospital after the lightning strike, he haunts the hallways like a ghost, watching his family come in and out of Buck's room, unable to make himself come any closer. He can't stop imagining the funeral: Maddie's white face, the woodenness of Margaret and Phillip Buckley. Bobby and Hen and Chimney. Christopher. He can't stop imagining what Buck might look like in a casket, how much like the way he looks now: silent and white and still in a way that Buck never is.

Buck wakes up, and Eddie hugs him and teases him and lets him sleep on his couch, and he doesn't shove all the rest of it into a deep dark hole because he knows better than that now.

But it lingers, like a wound. Like something he doesn't know how to touch, to handle, to even think about let alone talk about. He moves around it, mostly. He lets Buck cheat at cards and cook him steak and ramble about bioluminescent octopuses from the latest wildlife documentary he watched, and he doesn't say, I imagined going to your funeral.

Buck knows, is the thing. That fear, that lingering directionless grief, Buck knows it. He's careful with Eddie, as if Eddie's the one who was wounded, and it would irk him more if he didn't remember being careful with Buck after the shooting in exactly the same way.

It's a terrible thing to understand about a person, but the alternative would be worse.

It doesn't come to a head so much as unravel the night after a bad shift a few months later, Buck sleeping on his couch even though he's never stopped complaining about how uncomfortable it is, because it's better than being alone. If Eddie were a better person, maybe he'd protest.

(If Eddie were less of a coward, maybe he'd ask Buck to share his bed. He's not even sure what he's so afraid of: at this point, he thinks it'd be a relief if Buck could see through him to the love he's been bleeding out for months or maybe years now. But he remembers Buck so quiet and still in that hospital bed, and he remembers the feel of Buck's chest unmoving beneath his hands, and the words strangle themselves in his throat every time.)

It's a dream that brings him out into the living room in the dark of night, or half a dream, anyway. Half a memory. The night Buck started breathing on his own, Maddie called him, and he woke up immediately and almost let the call go to voicemail, because if she was calling to tell him that Buck was dead then at least there'd be a few minutes more when he didn't know.

He answered, anyway, and Maddie was crying, and it took Eddie several gut-lurching seconds to figure out that they were good tears.

He wakes up now with the echo of his phone's ringtone in his ears, and fumbles it to him, half-asleep and chilled, to stare at the empty screen for several minutes before he realizes that it must have been a dream.

He swears under his breath, puts the phone down, drops his head back against the pillow.

Probably, he should just close his eyes and try to go back to sleep. That's what he usually does, albeit with extremely mixed results. It's not like he's going to call Buck in the middle of the night and wake him up just to reassure Eddie's sleep-scrambled brain that he's still alive.

But Buck is here, and Eddie is a weak man, when it comes down to it. He shoves his feet into his chanclas and makes his quiet way through the house, pausing first at Christopher's door—his noise machine is quiet now, his breathing heavy and peaceful—before heading into the living room. Buck is sprawled across the couch, long limbs everywhere, the throw blanket he always sleeps under tangled between his legs. Eddie's got a painfully affectionate impulse to tug it loose and drape it over him properly, but instead he lingers in the doorway, watching Buck's chest rise and fall, his soft, steady snoring. If he turned the light on, he knows that Buck's skin would be pink and healthy, aside from the minor bruising where the hydraulic rescue tool slipped and whacked him across the arm at that multi-car pileup that kept them out an hour past the end of their shift.

Buck's already been checked over. He's fine; he wasn't even wincing on the ride back home. Eddie stays where he is anyway, watching Buck breathe for several quiet minutes, until Buck shifts on the couch, brings a hand up to rub clumsily at his face, and mumbles, "You gonna just loom in the doorway all night, or what?"

"Sorry," Eddie says, flushing. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's okay." Buck levers himself upright, yawning, before Eddie can tell him not to. On the couch, he hunches over, rubbing at his eyes, then blinks up at Eddie with such sleepy affection that something twists sharply in Eddie's chest. "Come on. Come sit down."

Eddie takes a breath, then lets it out, then crosses the living room to sit on the other side of the couch. Buck turns toward him; his knee bumps Eddie's thigh, and he doesn't pull away.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," Eddie says back, and he finally exhales quiet laughter. Buck's just looking at him with a crooked little smile on his face, sympathetic eyes, like he knows exactly what brought Eddie out to the living room.

"You wanna check my vitals?" he asks.

His tone is teasing, soft. And it's that, maybe, or it's the quiet and the dark and the way that Buck still hasn't moved away, that has Eddie reaching across the space between them to press his fingers to the side of Buck's throat. Warm skin, faint stubble, and Buck's pulse beneath that, strong and steady. He can feel it when Buck swallows.

"Better?" he whispers.

Eddie nods. It is better. Proof of life, in the most basic of senses. The way Buck is looking at him, intent and knowingly fond in the shadowed living room, is better still.

"You want to talk about it?" Buck asks, still quiet.

Eddie shakes his head. "Tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"I'm sorry." He's not really checking Buck's pulse anymore. His hand shifts, flattens, until what he's doing is a lot more like cupping Buck's jaw the way he would, maybe, before leaning in for a kiss.

Buck's hand comes up to cover his, warm and steady. Alive, alive. "It's okay."

"No, just—it's late."

"Yeah. Still."

Eddie almost leans in. Almost. He's pretty sure at this point that Buck would let him. But they only get one first kiss, and he doesn't want it to taste like fear, even if that is fading now. He rubs his thumb against the edge of Buck's jaw, and suddenly finds that he can say the words after all. "Would you come back to bed with me tonight?"

Buck's smile takes on a mischievous tilt, and Eddie sighs. "Just to sleep."

"Sure."

"I mean it."

"Okay," Buck says. He squeezes Eddie's hand. "Yeah. Just to sleep, for now. But later…?"

Eddie swallows hard. Cards are already on the table. He's still cupping Buck's face like a lover would. It's too late to backtrack, and he doesn't actually want to anyway. "Later, yeah."

"Cool," Buck says, like a dork. His smile turns bashful, and he hesitates, then turns Eddie's hand to brush a light but definite kiss to the back of his knuckles. "I'm good with later."

#911 #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #prompt fic #my fic #i'm sorry this is SO LATE lmao

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cheeriecherrymain · 1 year

Note

Please can we have the conclusion to the lipstick ask? I wanna hear what Viktor has to say and how he's gonna apologize for being dumb

Final (fourth) Part!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

---

Viktor x fem!Reader (18+)

Content tags: enthusiastic blowjobs | face sitting | Viktor being kind of a tease | vaginal fingering

---

-You stand in your doorway, frozen. Of all the people you’d expected to see at your door - a stranger, a delivery driver, one of your neighbors - Viktor is not one of them. After everything that had transpired between the two of you, you were certain that he wouldn’t have wanted to seek you out.

-After staring at him for a moment though, completely perplexed, your gaze darts downwards, to where he’d fidgeting with his hands. Or rather…to where he’s fidgeting with…a potted plant?

-It’s just a small pot, with an even smaller leafy thing in it - scraggly and viney and drooping all over the edges. The poor thing almost looks pathetic, with how wispy it is, but what’s most notable about it are its flowers.

-Bitty bundles of miniscule blooms, so pale that they almost glow in the gloom of the evening.

- “You don’t like it when people behead flowers just to give them as gifts,” Viktor says, finally breaking the silence. “You think it’s mean. But I…wanted to get you something, and you mentioned a while ago that you’d never seen the little plants that sometimes pop up between cracks in the undercity.”

-You frown slightly, trying to think back to when you’d even had that conversation. It would have been years ago, by now. Had he really somehow retained that information?

- “You said that they were hard to find,” you nod along, only somewhat remembering. “And prettier in person. Viktor, what are you doing here?”

-He glances a couple times between you and the flowers, searching desperately for words. He opens his mouth a couple of times, taking a breath to start speaking, but…nothing comes out, save for a soft croak.

-Pink rises to his cheeks, darkening to a substantial flush the longer the two of you stand there. You have half the mind to be annoyed with his sudden appearance, especially after the kind of emotional hell he’d put you through: was this him trying to apologize? Trying to make things right after carving your heart out and grinding it into-

- “I had a whole speech planned,” he finally mutters, his somewhat-hopeful expression falling. “Some grand gesture, explaining everything from my perspective. Explaining how inebriated I was over the weekend, explaining that my mind was not where it should have been.”

-Oh.

-So he’s apologizing for sleeping with you.

-...why does that hurt so much?

- “This morning, though,” he continues, “You…you said that you…told me how you felt. That you, despite all odds, have secretly been harboring romantic feelings for me for years, and I’ve been stupid and oblivious.”

-He rubs little circles into the crisp clay of the pot in his grip, his lips pressed into a thin line.

- “I don’t remember,” he admits, then.

-You’re fully taken aback.

- “I don’t remember you telling me how you felt. I don’t remember much of our conversation at all. I just…remember laughing with you. Having a good time. Feeling lighter than I have in as long as my memory goes. And I…I don’t remember a lot of what happened…later.”

-Judging by the hue of his cheeks, you know exactly what he’s referencing, and you pop out of your little trance long enough to realize that you’re still standing in the doorway of your home, out where anyone could hear what you were saying.

-Everything in you is screaming at you not to trust him, to not fall for some kind of ploy again, but you decide to ignore it: because maybe you’d been wrong from the start. Maybe you’d been given the incorrect information, and you’d made assumptions, and maybe it’s a misunderstanding.

-Unlikely, but…you’ll hate yourself for it later if you don’t at least hear him out.

-So you quietly step aside, allowing Viktor to stride into your apartment enough for you to close the door behind him. Casting you both into a new type of silence as you both idle at the end of the hallway for a couple seconds.

-Before you nod him further in, and lead him to your quaint living room. Your couches are mismatched, and dated, but they’re comfortable and you don’t really care about the fact that they clash. The two of you find your seats across from each other, and Viktor sets the little plant down on your wobbly coffee table.

-He wastes no time in continuing his explanation.

- “If I had remembered what words had been exchanged between us, I wouldn’t have called that night a mistake,” he tells you, with the utmost seriousness. “I woke up beside you with broken, mismatched fragments of everything, and I fear I pieced them together incorrectly.”

- “I assumed that you would be angry with me,” he admits. “We got drunk, we had sex - I figured-”

- “That I would have thought it was a mistake,” you finish, your shoulders drooping with the realization. “You forgot that I told you I loved you, so your mind went to the worst place. God, Viktor.”

-You push yourself off the couch and nearly trip over your own feet as you move your seat to his side. “I wish you’d just told me,” you chastise him, pressing yourself right up against his side. “We’re adults, which means we can have a grown up conversation.”

-He at least has the sense to look ashamed of his actions, even as you run your fingers through his hair and draw him into a hug.

- “I forgive you,” you sigh, squeezing him a little harder when he hesitates wrapping his arms around you, and only once he does so do you continue speaking, “But you need to stop trying to predict my reactions, okay? Even if you’re anxious about what I might say, I need you to trust that I’ll face any issues with compassion. I need you to trust me.”

-His sigh tickles the soft hairs on your neck, but you’re still able to feel the minute shift in his body as he nods.

- “Okay,” he agrees quietly. “I- okay.”

-The two of you stay like that for a little while, wrapped up in each other’s arms, enjoying the closeness and allowing all the negative feelings from the day to slowly dissipate. And they do, eventually - as you allow his warmth to seep into your bones, your anxiety fades, your anger fades, your sadness fades - mostly.

-You’re still saddened slightly, by the fact that his first instinct was to prepare for your anger upon finding out you slept with him. But you suppose you can’t fault him too much: he’s spent most of his life being an unwanted second thought, despite the fact that you have never seen him that way.

-But…that’s a talk for another time.

-For now, you pull back from him slightly, just enough to rest your forehead against his to stare into his pretty honey eyes. You want to warn him about what you’re going to do - after everything that’s happened, you feel like you should. But he beats you to the chase.

-Closing the small gap between you, his lips find yours. Barely a fluttering touch, soft and simple, but enough to coax you forward into something deeper. Something hotter, sending off millions of little flutters within your chest as your breath mixes and you press yourself harder against him. Or perhaps he draws you in closer.

-You’re not sure.

-You suppose it doesn’t matter.

-You’re fumbling with the buttons of his shirt after a couple of minutes, trying your best to pull away from him enough to see what you’re doing: though he’s having none of it. His lips locate some other patch of exposed skin, latching on with mischievous intent as he begins trying to leave a bruise.

- “I’m trying to get you naked,” you grumble, without any sort of malice. You can feel him grin against your throat for a moment, before he sinks his teeth in hard enough that you have to pause what you’re doing, a soft whine falling past your parted lips.

- “I’m not stopping you,” he replies, breath tickling your skin. You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him, though you feel nothing but affection.

-He doesn’t make removing his clothes easy for you, not by any means. He teases you relentlessly throughout the process, making little quips and remarks, just for the sake of driving you up the wall.

- “I don’t remember you being this chatty,” you huff, finally removing his shirt in the most offended manner possible. You’re covered in little bite marks by then, and riled up beyond the point of impatience: you never knew that Viktor of all people was prone to running at the mouth.

- “Perhaps you should find a way to shut me up, then?” he suggests, grinning up at you where you sit on his lap.

-It pushes you over the edge.

-You stand up without a word, shoving yourself off him in a frustrated flurry. He looks startled for a couple of moments, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head: wondering if he’d done something wrong, or if he’d overstepped, or if you’d changed your mind.

-You soften by a fraction when you realize he’s probably just nervous. He’d recently been of the mind that you were angry with him, after all, and you’re willing to bet that he’s got some residual anxiety.

- “Go and get comfy on my bed,” you tell him, nodding towards the open door that leads to your room. “If you want me to shut you up, then I’ll do so by putting your mouth to use. You seemed pretty keen on it last time, too.”

-It takes a second for him to understand what you’re implying, but the moment the pieces click into place, he’s on his feet. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him move so quickly in all the time you’ve known him, and you worry for a brief second that he’s going to cause extra trouble for his knee later.

-But he’s eager to draw you out of your thoughts, gaining your attention once he disappears into the depths of your bedroom. “I thought you were going to do something,” he calls, and you can hear the brief shuffle of clothing, followed by the creak of your mattress.

- “Janna, you’re impatient,” you grumble, though you’re unable to hide the crooked grin that tugs at the corners of your mouth.

-You find him comfortably settled in the center of your bed a couple moments later, and he’s been courteous enough to divest himself of his trousers. Left them in the middle of the floor, mind you, but that’s a problem for later, you suppose.

-He smiles sweetly at you from where he reclines against all the pillows you keep the company of, and lazily gestures towards his face. “You are taking an awfully long time,” he quips.

-You narrow your eyes at him, only breaking contact when you pull your shirt over your head. You’ve half a mind to feel shy about baring yourself to him the way you are, until you remember that you’ve been here before. He might not entirely recall all of the weekend’s events, but you’re quite certain he wouldn’t forget what you look like naked.

-Despite all this, he stares. Watches with rapt attention as you kick the rest of your clothes off and carefully fold them over the back of your door. Lets his lovely honey gaze trail across every curve of your body, almost lecherous and without an ounce of shame.

- “You’re still not sitting on my face,” he tells you, though it’s less of a demand and more of a whine.

-In any case, you decide to have mercy on him. You slowly clamber onto your bed, and make your way up his body, stopping every couple inches to lay kisses to the pale warmth of his exposed flesh. Stopping for a few moments to tease him.

- “All we’ve been doing is kissing,” you murmur, staring down at where his cock lays against his tummy, already hard and flushed the prettiest shade of red at the tip. “You really want it, don’t you?”

-A sharp sigh passes his lips when you stoop down just slightly, to lick a flat stripe up the side. It’s barely enough to be considered pleasurable, and yet such a simple touch sends little tremors through his body. You watch entranced as a pearlescent bead wells from the tip of his cock, and begins drooling down towards his stomach.

-Well that won’t do, you think, and wrap your hand around him.

-His soft little sighs turn into broken cries, when you bring his length to your mouth. Closing your lips around him, you slowly start bobbing your head - it’s messy and filthy, and you can feel your spit dripping down over your fingers, slicking him up and making it easier to slide your fist around him.

-He’s less chatty now, as you’d put it, but he’s no quieter. Debauched little moans fall past his lips, without a care in the world, as you continue your onslaught. Tightening your hand by a fraction, stroking a little faster, sucking a little harder. You can feel his thighs quake beneath you, strung tight with pleasure.

- “Wait-” he gasps, and you freeze.

-You pull your mouth off him, worried for a moment that you’d done something wrong…until you see the way he looks at you.

-Breathless and hazy, half-lidded honey eyes nearly eclipsed by the black of his pupils. Looking at you like you’ve given him the moon, cheeks flushed and lips parted…

-Oh.

- “Are you really about to come?” you wonder, giving him a few teasing strokes. He whines again in response, and bats aimlessly at your hand until you finally release him.

- “Alright,” you agree, continuing your path up his body, “I guess I’ll be nice this time.”

-You stop briefly at his face, smiling softly at him before bringing your lips together. It’s a tender kiss, almost innocent with the way you melt into each other, though it doesn’t take long for the mood to settle back in. You pull away from him, with one last bite to his bottom lip, and hoist yourself upwards.

-It’s a little bit awkward, you’ll admit, hovering above Viktor’s face like you are, rather than being on your back. Part of you worries that you might squish him, or somehow suffocate him, even though you know he’d be happy to go in such a way.

-He wraps his arms underneath your thighs, scooting you a little further up.

-Staring at you.

-Nudging you down towards him.

-You humour him a little bit, lowering yourself down a couple centimeters, so that you’re close enough for him to reach you. But apparently it’s not enough. His grip tightens on you, and he urges you to come closer still, despite the fact that if you do, he’ll have nowhere to move his head.

- “You’re supposed to sit on my face,” he quips, with a quirk of a brow. “You know, like a chair? Sit?”

- “I don’t want to kill you or something!” you whine, embarrassment creeping up the back of your neck. “What if I like - I dunno, break your spine? Or your jaw? Or-”

- He seems to lose some of his patience then, pulling you down with strength you didn’t realize he possessed. You gasp at the sudden shift in position, but you’re barely able to collect your thoughts before his mouth starts moving against you - and oh god you almost forgot how divine his tongue is.

-He eats you out like a man starved, working his tongue against you in differing patterns, so that you never know what to expect. Closing his lips around your clit to suck gently on it. It sends a warm wash of pleasure over you, until he flicks the tip of his tongue against it within his mouth.

-If you’d been hovering over him at that point, your legs would have given out. A cry nearly punching itself out of your lungs. The white hot, unrelenting sensation between your legs.

-You have to grip the headboard so you don’t tip over.

-Slack jawed and holding on for dear life, you cry and moan and tremble as Viktor brings you closer to the edge. Lapping up every drop of fluid as it drools out of you, as if you’re the finest delicacy he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting.

-And oh, when he slides two slender fingers into you.

-You’re gone. Too lost in your desire to come to care much about appearances. You all but grind against his face, feeling his digits working inside you. Spreading you open to prepare you for his thick cock, curling them perfectly against that sweet little spot within you.

-You don’t even have time to warn him about your oncoming orgasm. It crests over you with sudden ferocity, tensing every muscle in your body as it fully encompasses you. All you can feel is Viktor, easing you through it, groaning as he drinks you in and witnesses you at the height of your pleasure.

-Basking in the fact that he’s the one who’s made you feel good.

-It takes a good thirty seconds for you to come back to yourself, breathless and trembling, leaning heavily against the headboard while you try to gather your thoughts.

-Viktor’s hands, slowly stroking up and down your thighs, drawing little patterns into the supple squish of your hips. Your eyes meet for a brief moment, and he grins up at you with the most shit-eating expression you’ve ever seen him wear. Entirely too pleased with himself.

-You can’t help but share the sentiment, mirroring his smile.

-You crawl off him a couple moments later, now intent on bringing the same rapture to him. Only…his confident smirk turns somewhat sheepish, and the moment he turns around, you see why.

- “Viktor,” you’re barely able to withhold your delighted glee. “Did you come from eating me out?”

-You watch as an embarrassed flush travels up his neck, across his cheeks and out to the tips of his ears. He stumbles over his words for a few seconds, trying desperately to explain himself and promise that he’ll be ready to go again in a little while.

-But you don’t care.

-You flop down beside him, and pull him into a deep, tender kiss. Pressing your body flush against his, drawing him impossibly closer by crooking your leg over his hip.

- “You’re perfect,” you sigh, before his lips find yours again.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #viktor headcanons #though it's more of a bullet point story #requests are open but slow!

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