#but hes at a point of desperation where fear of death means nothing

[thewulf]

Together || Aragorn

Summary: Request - So I'd also thought of something with Aragorn where the reader is also an ranger and the group meets her someday on their journey to Mordor as she takes him down unexpectedly as she thinks they're enemies, so she lands on top of him with a sword on his neck and in that moment he falls for her immediately... Read Rest Here

A/N: Okay had a blast writing this one. Happy birthday anon, hope you enjoy it :)

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k +

TW: Violence, orc violence, poison, death, blood, crying, angst, lotr warnings

Under the canopy of ancient oaks, the dense forest of Eriador hums with the life of creatures both small and menacing. Among them you move silently, cloaked in the hues of earth and leaf. As a ranger of great skill your keen eyes scan the underbrush for signs of your quarry. For days you have been on the trail of a band of orcs. Their clumsy passage through the woods an affront to the quiet sanctity of nature. With every soft step your hand rests near the hilt of your sword. Your long-time trusted companion in the ever-lonely wilds.

As the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows through the trees, your pursuit leads you to a clearing where the tracks are fresher. Much more hurried. Crouched behind a bush your eyes narrow upon the sight of figures crossing the distance. It was a mixed company, not of orcs, but of men, an elf, a dwarf, and others you cannot readily identify from your hidden vantage.

Driven by a mix of caution and curiosity you watch them, your mind racing with possibilities. Could these travelers be allied with your foes? Perhaps orchestrating the movements of the orcs for darker purposes? The presence of such diverse races together is unusual, but in these troubled times alliances are formed in desperation.

Deciding that the risk of letting potential enemies pass is too great you prepare an ambush. As the group nears you leap from your cover, swift as a shadow at dusk. Your target was the tall, commanding man at the forefront. Before he could react you tackled him to the ground with your sword at his throat. The shock in his eyes mirrors your own fierce determination. You’d managed to take the entire group by surprise.

"Who are you and why do you travel with such company through these woods?" you demand. Your voice a low whisper against the rustling leaves.

Before the man can reply, a powerful voice booms from behind you, "Peace, Y/N! Lower your weapon. These are friends, not foes!" Your eyes crinkle in confusion with your name that you kept so well hidden spoken so freely.

You turn slightly with your blade still pressed to the man’s throat to see an elderly man with a staff. He was dressed in a long grey cloak. His eyes twinkle with a mix of amusement and stern rebuke. He extends a hand in peace, "Forgive the suddenness of our meeting. I am Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey. You have nothing to fear from us my dear child."

"How do you know my name?" you snap as the tension raised in your voice. Few knew of your existence as you preferred the solitude of the forest to the company of towns and taverns.

"It is my business to know much that goes on in this world. Especially when it concerns those who could alter its course," Gandalf answers with a calm that seems to weave peace through the air itself leaving you rather confused by his words. Wizards, you could never understand them with their riddles.

With a frown you turn back to disheveled man sneering at him, “Tell your elf to lower his bow and then we can talk.” You pressed the blade into his neck further careful not to draw blood but to show you meant business at the same time.

The man nodded, “Legolas, please.”

The elf in the group with his bow still pointed in your direction now lowers it and steps forward. “We mean no harm to you or your lands. We seek only passage and perhaps some aid. This quest carries great weight." The elf called Legolas spoke right to you.

His words seemed sincere. They carry a sense of shared purpose. While you're still on edge the immediate threat of the group seems to wane. You slowly stand, sheathing your sword with reluctance. The man you had pinned—Aragorn, as Gandalf introduced him—rises, brushing off his cloak, his gaze never leaving yours. A mix of embarrassment and admiration passes between you.

Gandalf steps forward trying to smooth over the tension. "Aragorn leads us on a quest of great importance," he explains. "And from what I see your skills could aid us greatly. What say you, Y/N? Will you join the Fellowship and lend us your strength?"

You hesitate as your duty to your own lands weighing heavily on you. "I cannot abandon my watch. The darkness grows and my lands need protecting."

Aragorn steps forward. His expression earnest. "I understand your duty for I too am sworn to protect the lands of men in the north. But this quest... if we succeed, all lands will be safer, including yours. We need your strength and skill. I ask you not for my sake but for all our sakes."

Looking from Aragorn to Gandalf and Legolas, you're torn. The sincerity in Aragorn's eyes is compelling and there's a resolve there that speaks of his immediate respect and admiration for you. After a long pause, you nod slowly. "For the greater good, then. I will join you. But we must ensure my lands are safeguarded in my absence." It was no easy choice but even you knew you could hardly handle the orcs now… if it got worse there would be no land for you to protect.

"Agreed," Aragorn replies with a smile, a small, knowing curve of his lips. "Together we will protect all our homes. Walk with me and I will explain this further.” And so, you did.

As you walked alongside Aragorn away from the ears of the others except maybe Legolas, his voice takes on a solemn tone. He speaks of a great burden and a journey that began long ago in the quiet shire of the Hobbits.

“A darkness grows in the East under the shadow of Mordor, where the Dark Lord Sauron forges his malice into a single form,” Aragorn begins. “A ring, one of power and despair, lost for ages has resurfaced. It was found by the most unlikely of creatures—a Hobbit named Bilbo Baggins.”

He tells you how the wizard Gandalf uncovered the truth of this simple golden band. It is the One Ring, through which Sauron can conquer all of middle earth. But it is also his one point of vulnerability.

“The Ring must be destroyed,” Aragorn continues, “and that can only be done in the fires of Mount Doom where it was forged.” His gaze meets yours, impressing upon you the gravity of their task. “A Fellowship has been formed. A company sworn to protect Frodo on this perilous path. For without the Ring’s destruction… darkness will consume our lands, leaving no corner of the world untouched by its ruin.”

He pauses allowing the weight of his words to sink in. “This is our quest to see the end of the Ring and the fall of Sauron. And now you are part of this story, part of our hope. For alone we cannot stand, but together we might prevail.”

The immensity of Aragorn's tale seems to echo through the silence around you. As the responsibility and peril of what lies ahead sinks into your heart. "This is... more than I expected," you confess. Your voice betraying a mix of awe and trepidation. Shadows have been a common adversary in your solitary ranger life but the thought of a single ring holding the fate of all life in middle earth is overwhelming in the worst way.

Aragorn watches you with eyes that have seen the weight of the world but still hold a glimmer of hope. "It is a lot to take in," he acknowledges with his voice a steady presence amidst your inner turmoil. "But remember every meaningful journey begins with a single step. We do not choose the times we live in only how we meet them."

His words meant to comfort kindle a spark of resolve within you. "Then we walk this path together," you say finding strength in his unwavering resolve. "I've fought to keep darkness at bay from my corner of the world. Now it seems I shall extend my watch over the wider lands of middle earth."

Aragorn's eyes soften and a smile plays at the corner of his mouth, a rare break from his stoic mask. "With your help I believe we stand a chance. Let us go forward with hope in our hearts and a steadfast will," he says with a firm belief underpinning his words.

As you start to walk back towards the Fellowship Aragorn's tone lightens once more and he casts you a mischievous glance. "And I must say, for someone so adept at navigating these wild lands your skill at catching us unaware is remarkable," he jests. A playful note in his voice. "Even the elf’s keen eyes did not see you coming, which, I assure you, will be a source of friendly jest for many years to come."

The tension that held you moments before unravels into laughter. The absurdity of the situation finally coming forward. "I'll remember to tread lightly next time—or perhaps not," you respond with a chuckle.

From a distance, Legolas, whose elven senses miss little, looks up from his conversation with Gimli. He casts a mockingly indignant glance toward Aragorn. His eyes speaking silent volumes of an 'I heard that.' His feigned glare dissolves into a smile. Acknowledging the jest with the grace and good humor characteristic of the Woodland Prince.

The shared laughter and Legolas' playful acknowledgment bridge the space between you helped to weave the Fellowship closer together in mutual affection. It's a light-hearted interlude, reminding you all that despite the daunting path ahead you are surrounded by companions who will share the burden with unwavering support and moments of joy.

As you all move forward the sun dips below the horizon and the journey of the Fellowship grows richer by one more warrior. In the fading light Aragorn walks beside you, your strides matched. It was a simple silent acknowledgment of the bond beginning to form. Blossoming from the unexpected encounter that could very well shape the fate of all.

The Fellowship continues its perilous journey through Middle earth. The days meld into each other each bringing its own set of challenges and trials. You find your place among these diverse companions. Your skills as a ranger becoming invaluable as you navigate the treacherous terrain. Whether it's finding safe passages through impassable woods or tracking the movements of distant enemies your expertise does not go unnoticed.

Legolas often joins you on scouting missions. His feather light footfalls barely stirring the leaves. Gimli, the dwarf, though gruff, begins sharing tales of the deep mines of Moria with a relish that only grows with your attentive silence. Even Merry and Pippin find ways to lighten your load, often bringing you sweet, wild berries they gather along the way. Aragorn watches all of this with a thoughtful expression often playing across his face. In dangerous moments when shadowy figures loom and the threat of orcs feels ever-present, he stays close. His protectiveness is subtle, a guiding hand at your back, a cautious glance that lingers just a moment too long. You notice the unspoken bond growing stronger with each passing day.

As the journey presses onward Aragorn finds himself increasingly drawn to your strength and resilience. He respects your independence, the way you move through the forest, part of its shadow and light, yet he feels a burgeoning desire to protect you. It’s a feeling that stirs deep within him, unbidden yet persistent.

One bitterly cold night as the Fellowship encamps in a secluded glen your turn at watch finds you shivering against the chill. The fire is but a low glow as its warmth insufficient against the piercing cold. You hug your cloak tighter around your shoulders. You hear the soft approach of footsteps too heavy to be of Legolas.

Aragorn appears by your side his face etched with concern. Without a word he drapes his own, heavier cloak around your shoulders. The warmth from the cloak that was still holding the heat of his body, seeps into your chilled bones.

But you shake your head at his actions. "You'll be too cold," you protest trying to shrug off the cloak back onto him.

Aragorn shakes his head gently pushing the cloak back over your shoulders. "I'm used to the cold. I’m from the north you are not," he insists softly. "Keep it. It's more important that you stay warm."

Gratefully you wrap the cloak tighter around you as Aragorn settles beside you. "Tell me of your lands," he says quietly. His voice inviting you to share more than just the cold night air.

"My home," you begin. Your voice warming as you describe the hidden valleys and towering forests of your land, "is secluded and wild, full of ancient trees that seem to touch the sky. There are streams that sparkle with the clearest water you've ever seen and fields of flowers that bloom so vividly they look like a painter's canvas."

Aragorn listens intently. His eyes reflecting a growing fascination. "And the creatures," you continue, "are as varied as the plants. From the smallest bird to the majestic stags that roam freely… each adds to the life of the forest. It's a place where the world feels untouched, preserved from the scars of battle and time."

As you speak, Aragorn's gaze deepens as if he can see the very landscapes you describe. "It sounds beautiful," he murmurs looking straight at you as you spoke so lovingly of your home, "a land worth protecting."

Encouraged by his interest you lean into him, seeking warmth in more than just his cloak. Aragorn wraps an arm around you making sure to pull you closer. In the shelter of his embrace, the cold feels a world away. The moment feels suspended in time, your breaths mingling, hearts beating a steady rhythm.

Nestled in the safety of Aragorn's arm feels right even if it’s so foreign to you. You stay like that for the remainder of your watch with the warmth of his presence and the cloak combined keeping the night's chill at bay. When dawn paints the sky with hues of pink and gold, you, and Aragorn rise, knowing that while the journey ahead is fraught with peril, the warmth between you will carry you through the darkest times.

As the days stretch and the challenges of your journey with the Fellowship intensify the bond between you and Aragorn deepens with each shared glance and whispered word. The lightness in the air is palpable. Especially when the hobbits, Merry and Pippin, exchange amused looks or giggle softly whenever you and Aragorn share a tender moment.

One cool morning as the camp stirs awake and prepares for the day’s trek, Aragorn approaches you with a shy demeanor that you've come to cherish. In his hand is a small, intricately carved wooden figurine. “I made this for you,” he says presenting it with a modest pride. “It’s a bird from your forest.” The craftsmanship is exquisite. Somehow he captured the spirit of the wilderness you hold dear.

Moved by this thoughtful gesture you examine the figurine closely, the details meticulously rendered. "Thank you, Aragorn. It's beautiful. More beautiful than the bird itself," you say sincerely. At this, a blush creeps across Aragorn’s cheeks. It was a rare sight that makes him seem almost boyish, his usual composed exterior softened by your appreciation. Surprising both him and you, you wrap your arms around him in a quick, heartfelt hug—a rarity for you, as you've never been one to initiate physical touch save for cold nights.

This closeness that has enveloped you both is fortified not just through acts of tenderness but also through the trials that test your resolve. During a perilous trek through a narrow gorge, a sudden crumbling of the path catches Aragorn off-guard. Reacting with the swift instincts of a seasoned ranger you grab his arm and pull him back from the brink of a deadly fall. Eyes locked with a rush of shared relief and unspoken thanks passes between you. "Thank you, Y/N," he breathes out. His hand squeezed yours in a lingering, grateful touch.

This moment cements your mutual reliance and it's not long before it is tested again under more dire circumstances. As the Fellowship faces an overwhelming assault at the gates of an enemy stronghold, the chaos of battle quickly ensues. Amid the clash of steel and shadow you find yourself momentarily overwhelmed. Panic rising in your chest as an orc nearly breaches your guard. In that critical instant Aragorn is there, his presence a calming force. "Stay strong, Y/N. I am here with you," he whispers fiercely. His words cutting through the din of battle making sure to anchor you back to the moment.

Revitalized by his words you fight with renewed vigor, but the battle tests you further. As you engage a formidable orc chieftain his massive blade swings at you with lethal force. You parry, but the strength behind the attack staggers you. Before the orc can strike the final blow, Aragorn intervenes with a desperate shout deflecting the deadly arc just inches from you. Saving your life twice within a matter of a few moments apart. Together you rally, your movements fluid and fierce and with a powerful combination of strikes you bring the towering foe down.

The battle's intensity doesn’t immediately fade, but as it does Aragorn's hand finds your shoulder. His grip was firm and reassuring. His eyes alight with the fire of battle and something deeper meet yours. "With you by my side I believe there is no battle we cannot win," he declares his voice thick with emotion of the battle and nearly losing you. As you and the rest of the Fellowship take a moment to regroup and recover it’s clear that what you and Aragorn share has evolved beyond companionship to something profound. With each step forward towards the dark heart of Mordor your bond strengthens.

As the harsh landscape of Mordor stretches endlessly before you, the air thick with the stench of doom and the ground scarred by countless battles, the Fellowship readies itself for what everyone understands to be the final confrontation. Amid the chaos of preparations and sharpened swords you and Aragorn find a brief respite behind a jutting crag, a momentary shield from the surrounding turmoil.

Aragorn looks at you carefully. His eyes reflecting the storm of emotions raging inside him—hope, fear, determination. “We have come far, haven’t we?” he says softly. Almost lost in the clamor of the encampment.

“Yes, farther than I ever imagined,” you reply feeling the weight of every mile traveled and battle fought in your bones. “And through it all your presence has been my anchor.”

He takes your hand. His touch steady and sure. “And I will remain by your side,” he vows, “through whatever may come. No matter the darkness that lies ahead… we face it together.”

You nod. Your resolve fortified by his words. “Together,” you affirm, squeezing his hand, the word a silent oath between you.

As you both turn to face the battlefield the ominous shadow of Mount Doom looms in the distance. A stark reminder of the task yet unfinished. The air vibrates with the tension of imminent conflict. As the Fellowship lines up ready to engage the enemy forces, the battle begins with a deafening roar.

The clash is brutal. A maelstrom of steel and shadow as both sides pour their fury into each other. Amidst the chaos your focus narrows to the figures around you—Aragorn fighting with the grace and fury of a born leader. His blade a flash of silver in the dim light.

In the middle of it all the ground shakes violently underfoot. A tremor that sends many stumbling. A profound boom rolls across the battlefield echoing from the direction of Mount Doom. The combatants pause, uncertainty halting their movements as all eyes turn towards the source of the disturbance.

As if by a miracle a great light bursts forth from the mountain. A blinding flash that pierces the shadowed sky. The Ring, the source of so much pain and darkness, has been destroyed. You feel a surge of relief so intense it momentarily takes your breath away. Aragorn's face lights up with unrestrained joy as he turns to you, laughter bubbling up from deep within. "They did it! Sam and Frodo did it!" he shouts his laughter mingling with his words. A sound so full of relief and disbelief that it's contagious.

Around you the enemy falters, confusion and fear taking hold as the reality of their defeat sinks in. The forces of darkness begin to retreat, their will broken by the destruction of the Ring. As the battlefield quiets the dawn begins to break casting the first gentle light over a world freed from tyranny. You and Aragorn embrace each of your laughter mixing with tears of joy. The sound a vivid testament to the overwhelming relief of the moment. “We’re really here,” you giggle with utter relief, “it’s truly over!”

Rejoining the Fellowship your laughter continues, shared amongst friends who have become family. Watching the new day unfold the group shares a moment of elation. The shared laughter a release of months of tension and fear. With the shadow of the past dispelled, hope shines anew on the horizon promising a future filled with peace and renewal. Together with Aragorn at your side, you step forward into a world reborn.

As the harsh landscape of Mordor fades into the distance behind you replaced by the rolling hills and lush greenery of Gondor the Fellowship's journey reaches its conclusion in the grand city of Minas Tirith. Here, amidst the grandeur of the White City, the coronation of Aragorn, the rightful king, takes place—a moment of triumph and renewal for all of middle earth.

The first light of dawn paints the spires of Minas Tirith with a golden hue. The city awakens to a day of profound significance. The air is filled with the sounds of celebration; the streets are bustling with citizens and allies from across middle earth all gathered to witness a historic moment. Today Aragorn will be crowned King, an event that promises a new era of peace and prosperity for the realm.

Throughout the city banners flutter in the breeze, their vibrant colors a stark contrast against the white stone of the city. The coronation ceremony itself is nothing short of magnificent, held in the open air where the morning sun casts a regal glow over the assembled crowd. Aragorn stands before them, a figure of strength and hope, his voice resonant as he speaks the oaths of kingship.

After the formalities as the echoes of the last trumpet fade into the cool air, the new King Aragorn is surrounded by well-wishers and dignitaries each eager to pay their respects. But his eyes scan the crowd for only one face �� yours. With a smile that speaks of shared secrets and promises kept he excuses himself from the throng and makes his way toward you.

You meet him halfway, your heart swelling with pride and love as you look upon the man who has overcome so much to claim his rightful place. Aragorn’s expression softens when he sees you, all the weight of his new role momentarily forgotten. “There would be no joy in this day if I could not share it with you, my Y/N,” he says. His voice was low, meant for your ears alone. His hands reach out gently cradling your face. “You have been my courage when fear would take me. My light in the darkest of times. And it is my greatest hope that you will stand by my side, not just today, but always, as my queen. Together.”

Your eyes brimming with tears of joy, meet his gaze. All the noise and celebration around you fade into a hushed silence. Overwhelmed by his words your heart answers with a silent nod, affirming your shared future.

Aragorn’s eyes flicker with a mixture of tenderness and passion as he leans in. The world holds its breath as his lips finally meet yours in a kiss that is both a seal of everything past and a promise of everything to come. It is deep and passionate, conveying years of struggle, sorrow, victory, and an unbreakable bond.

As you part with his lips, breathless and flushed, the world comes rushing back. Cheers rise around you as a joyful noise that celebrates not just a king’s coronation but the love and unity that stands as the true foundation of his reign.

Hand in hand you stand by Aragorn as he faces the people of Gondor, now truly his queen in spirit and soon in title. Together you look out over the sea of faces, over a land that, at last, can dream of peace. And in this moment you know that every step, every sacrifice, has led to this perfect beginning.

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#aragorn x y/n #aragorn x reader #aragorn x you #aragorn x boromir #aragorn fluff #aragorn fanfiction #aragorn au #aragorn angst #aragorn imagine #the fellowship of the ring #the lord of the rings #aragorn elessar #aragorn son of arathorn #boromir #lord of the rings #gandalf #aragorn #aragorn one shot #aragorn blub #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings x you #lotr x reader #lotr x you #lotr x y/n #lotr rp #lotr rotk #lotr rings of power #lotr rop #lotr fluff #lotr

[gaysindistress]

Limits of a Fae Heart - two

Pairings: Azriel x reader

Summary: part two for this.

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of past abuse but no detailed descriptions gaysindistress masterlist one | three | four | five | six

“Impossible?” I hiss at the High Lord of the Night Court. “Tell me how this seems impossible when your own mate was Made as well as her sisters. Tell me how it’s inconceivable when I was stuck forever living and dying.”

He says nothing, only staring down at me with those violet eyes. I sarcastically chuckle.

“Since you drug me here and will be forcing me to stay as it seems, I would like to retire to a room now,” I snap at Rhys and he nods. He goes to place a hand on my upper back and the shadows are quick to rip it away. Rhys sighs but keeps his hand at his side and settles for just pointing to the hallway for me to follow.

He wordlessly leads me up the stairs and down a dark hallway. All the while I feel the blazing stare of the Shadowsinger on my back.

Rhys stops a door at the every end of the hall and gives it a light shove to reveal a bedroom that is cozier than I expected. Dark wood planks cover the expanse of the floor and an equally dark green shade covers the walls. Upon closer inspection, I see that there are trees of varying greens painted all around the room. Surrounded by a forest that feels like home but so foreign, my soul yearns for something I can’t give it.

“This will be your room,” Rhys explains as he walks further in and candles ignite as he passes by them, bringing with them light. “There is a bathing room here,” he explains while pointing a doorway off to his left and then points one to his right, “and there is a wardrobe. If you need anything, my wife’s and my room is to the left of the stairs, Cassian and his mate are on the right, and Mor’s are next door. Kitchen is downstairs and past the living room. I’m sure Mor will come bother you at some point but I’ll try to keep her away as best as I can. Is there anything I can get for you before I leave you for the night?”

It’s not lost on me that he didn’t mention where Azriel’s room is and he knows it too. He shifts his weight ever so slightly under my unwavering stare.

The words spill out of his perfect lips much to his surprise, “He’s across the hall but I can have him stay somewhere else for the night.”

Happy with his confession, I turn away to take in the rest of the room. “No, this is his home after all. Warn him that I will not hesitate if he comes near me.”

I don’t have to elaborate, Rhys understands my meaning. I can feel him grappling with why he told me that so I answer for him so he’ll leave.

“I take it you didn’t think my famed ‘sociability’ was more than a good personality?”

“I’d heard rumors of people telling you their darkest secrets without prompting but I figured it was because of who your mate was.”

I stopped trailing my hand over the cream knitted blanket on the simple wooden framed bed.

“And who was he? What name do they give him now?”

“He’s the King of Hybern now.”

“Of course he is,” I snort and continue my inspection of the blanket. “You may leave now.”

He’s gone in an instant and silence surrounds me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the bathroom and debate whether or not I want to truly see my current state. I’m sure I look like a complete disaster but I’m not sure Im ready to face my reflection.

A sharp pain hurts through my back and the heat of my body disappears as fear takes over me. I can hear my heartbeat pound in my ears as my breathing starts to become labored. Already weak from death, my knees buckle and I stumble forward, desperately searching for something to grip onto. I find nothing as the pain in my back becomes a searing sensation that is only amplified as my knees and hands catch on the floor. They tear into the soft skin and cause blood to leak from the cuts. The candles are blurred around me, and the silence surrounding me becomes suffocating. Water starts to envelop me from within as my breathing picks up pace even more, making it harder to swim to the surface of my emotions. Pain continues to spread from the torn skin and my back when I hear an awful tearing noise. I let out a sob as I feel the skin of my back break open and something tears itself free.

Blood drips onto the pristine wooden floors around me and there is a heavy weight at my back now but I can’t move. I don’t dare to move. I stay with my hands and knees firmly planted on the floor as sobs rack over my body.

I don’t know how long I stay on the floor but no one comes no matter how loud I scream at the agony in my back. Shadows, the persistent bastards, flood underneath the door and rush to me. I bat them away, unwilling to accept their help. They refuse to listen to me and hover with nervous energy as I crawl to the bathroom. I wince and bite back more sobs as the things that tore themselves free drag on the floor. They catch and hit furniture, ripping at them as I slowly make my way to the massive sunken bathtub. I don’t bother to pull off my clothes and instead just allow myself to fall right into the warm waters that are already waiting for me. I hiss at the feeling of warm water on my skin but it eases the ache in my body enough that I don’t wish for death.

Floating in the water beside me are membranous wings.

Ones similar to those of Cassian and Azriel. I snap my eyes shut and push myself further under the water. A deep dread sets in as I start to accept that this isn’t another nightmare created by my shattered mind.

I’ve been resurrected.

My former mate is now a king while the one I seemingly gained is a Shadowsinger and his pets are frantically tending to me.

What a shit show my life has become.

Waves of cedar, freezing mist, and olive filter through the room as my eyes flutter open. Sweat pools at the hollow of my throat and causes my skin to stick to the sheets beneath me. I brush back strands of hair that are plastered to my feverish forehead as I stare up at the ceiling above.

Shadows hover all around the room and I can only assume they’re standing guard outside of my door.

A shine from beside me catches my eye and I turn to see a blur of those creatures next to my hip. Cautiously, I shift and they awake at my movement to reveal a mess shiny black hair laying on top of muscular golden arms next to my hip. Unwanted comfort washes over me and my chest aches to be so close yet so far away from him.

He stirs for a moment and moves his head so he’s facing me. With his eyes still closed, I get a good at the face I already know by heart. The brave candle light that breaks through the shadows dances across the elegant planes of his face. Faint pale scars litter his skin and my fingers itch to trace them until my touch heals them. Scars cover the skin on his hands too but they are harsher, more jagged and deep than the others. Their angry deep brown color tells me that they’ve been inflicted many years ago and never healed properly. With how deep they go, I can practically feel the pain and damage they must have caused him. Something breaks inside of me to see that he’s been through so much but knowing that it’s similar to my own trauma is too much. I can’t fathom another ever coming close to going through what I did and I have to tear my eyes away from him.

Fate has been cruel to me and I suspect she will forever but this? Giving me a second mate and one who no doubt has the same nightmares that I do? That is a string even she wouldn’t think to weave herself. A part of me wonders if my first mate had anything to do with this. If he’s been able to take the crown, could he have been able to force the hand of Fate in his favor?

I scoff at the idea. That would be giving him too much credit to assume that he could do that or even would. He’d used me until I had nothing left to give and nourished me back to health only to restart the cycle. He’d whispered the most foul words a mate could hear as he bound my wings to my body after he found me. He’d forced me to be his own spy master and extract any and all information from his targets. It didn’t matter if it was important to his mission, he needed everything. When I proved to be too broken and weak to be of use to him, he’d left me for dead. He’d allowed his men to chase after me like hounds chasing a fox. He even demanded that they keep me alive so he could be the one to finish me off. It had my mate, the man the Cauldron said I was fated for, that put me on that island where I laid half alive, half dead for years. I don’t even know how long I’d been there but it doesn’t matter anyway.

Regardless of who Azriel is, I don’t want him. I can’t want him.

I can’t need him the way I thought needed the King of Hybern. I can’t allow myself to be in such a vulnerable position again even if I know Azriel would never do that same.

The two men have to be the same in my mind if I’m going to survive.

And I’ll do what I should have the first time; reject the bond and save myself.

It’s Feyre who does knocks at my door first. A woman who looks like a sharper and more intense version of her stands behind her. I quickly learn that her name is Nesta and she’s mated to the man child Cassian. She laughs and makes a side comment about how we’re going to get along when I tell her that. Feyre laughs as well but she stays quiet, probably in fear that I’ll say something less kind about her mate.

”We thought you might like company,” her gentle voice answers my unspoken question. She sits in the chair I assume Azriel was sleeping in earlier while Nesta makes herself comfortable on the bed next to me.

I go to push myself up but am stopped by the heavy weight at my back. My wings, I realize, as I push myself onto my forearms and watch as they emerge from under my hair. Feyre gasps and I quickly glance over to her to see that she’s also looking at them. She looks at me in wonderment. Nesta shares a similar look but keeps it isolated to her eyes and her face remains a facade of collected beauty.

“He…Rhys didn’t tell me you were Illyrian,” she mutters more to herself.

“Bold of you to assume that I am,” I say with a hint more edge than I intended. Her gaze flickers for a moment and Nesta chuckles under her breath.

Feyre goes to apologize but I stop her, “I was teasing. My father was Illyrian.

“And your mother?” Nesta asks and earns a stern look from her sister.

“Hybern.”

“Oh what a disgusting revelation.”

Once again Feyre tries to reign her back in while I feed into it.

“Yes it is quite unfortunate; however I don’t imagine the King would’ve taken me if I wasn’t from his land at all.”

Nesta shrugs her shoulders, “he’s a disgusted man. He probably still would have just for the fun of it.”

“Nesta!” Feyre gasps and looks to me with apologetic eyes, “I’m so sorry. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring her.”

“Do I look offended?” Both women look at me and scrutinize every inch of my face. “No, she’s fine and it’s…refreshing to be around someone with a sense of humor.”

I try to move again and my wings quack against my back from the pain.

“You’ll get used to them with time and practice,” Feyre tells me. There’s an underlying order in her words; don’t push yourself.

“I know you’ve only been here for a day but how is everything?”

I arch a brow at her, “define everything.”

Nesta snickers.

Cutting her off before she melts into her chair, I say, “everything is fine. Thank you for all of it.”

A gentle chill overcomes the room. One of those pesky shadows creeps in and slides over the back of Feyre’s chair. It plays with the ends of her hair before making its way to Nesta and halting by my foot. Nesta shivers and looks like she wants to bat at the shadow.

I clench my jaw and finally push myself further up so Im sitting against the wall. It’s painful and almost leaves me in a tears but I do it anyways. The shadow darts up to me but waits for me to invite it closer. The sisters are watching my every move as I reach my hand out with my palm up. It hesitates for a moment and then circles around my fingers. The shadow is cold but it’s not unpleasant. It crawls further up my wrist and to my arm. The ache in my chest feels content as this shadow traces my arm.

I let out a sigh. Warmth fills me and there is something akin to hope in the waves of comfort but it’s foolish. Hope cannot exist when the king still has his cold hand wrapped around my throat.

I swallow thickly despite the cold pressure on my neck and look to Feyre. “Why am I here?”

Nesta shoots her an uncharacteristically nervous look. Feyre sits straight up and clears her throat. “We need your help.”

“With?”

“The King. He’s planning a war and…”

I interrupt her, “let me guess; you’re running out of options and Rhys thinks that I’ll have some insight you haven’t found anywhere else.”

“And she’s smart,” Nesta pipes up and the shadows agree with her. They’ve made themselves comfortable on my shoulder and nestle against my neck.

“Well I can’t tell you anything you don’t know already. He isn’t the type to sip tea by a fire and spill his darkest secrets. That and I’ve been dead far longer than even your High Lord has been alive. Tell me, Feyre, how did he know about me.”

I want to feel bad about using my powers on her but I don’t think she would tell me without it.

“Az was the one who told him. I…I don’t know how he knew.”

The shadows shutter at the mention of their master and sink onto me even more. Feyre blinks in shock.

“It seems like I need to pay him a visit next.”

With that, the sisters leave. Now it’s just me with the shadows of a man who knows more about me than I would like.

#a court of thorns and roses #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel imagine #azriel acotar #az x reader #az imagine #limits of a fae heart az x reader

[talaok]

Hey, love! How are you? I hope you’re doing great 💕

Can i request a joel x fem!reader?

So, a few days ago I found a strand of white hair on my head and I freaked out cause I’m only twenty and wtf ?? And soo I had this idea of reader, Joel and Ellie being settled in Jackson, reader’s brushing her hair and she sees the white hair and screams and joel and ellie go to her thinking that something bad happened… joel keeps teasing reader about it but eventually comforts her because she’s a little insecure about it? Oh, and maybe age gap?

I also wanted to thank you again for your beautiful stories, they make my day so much better, you have no idea! Sending you a lot of love !!!

❤️‍🩹🫶🏼

Babe why are you always so nice you make me want to cry, also this is literally something I'm so insecure about bc I have a bunch of white hair and I don't get why so thank you for requesting this. 

(HUGE sorry for the wait I just really have to study)

A scream echoed through your house in Jackson, and as time stilled, and both their hearts jump-started, they came running towards your voice.

"What happened?"

Joel's eyes were clouded with fear just as the fingers gripping his gun trembled with worry.

"are you ok?"

Ellie's voice was thin, quiet, nothing you'd ever heard before.

You looked at them, the hairbrush still in your hand, the daunting discovery lingering between your fingers.

"I have a white hair" you spoke, your tone somehow more horrified than both of theirs.

"what?"

"look" you urged, bringing your hair more in the light, your face twisting in an appalled grimace.

"sweetheart..." Joel sighed, shaking his head and putting away his gun "I thought something bad happened" he frowned, a glimpse of a smile ghosting his lips.

"you scared me to death y/n" Ellie protested too now.

"I'm sorry" you murmured, "but something bad did happen!"

They looked at each other, their eyes wide with amusement, and they could not help but burst out laughing.

"why are you laughing? This is not something to laugh about!"

"I'm-I'm sorry it's just..." Ellie spoke between giggles "It's just a white hair y/n, it's nothing"

"Nothing? This is everything! If I get one that means I'll get more"

Again, their laughs bounced across the bathroom tiles.

there you were, despairing for a different colored hair in a world where zombies actually existed.

You shot them a look "I hate you, go away"

"y/n-" Ellie tried

"no, just leave me alone while I try to find a way to hide this"

They glanced at each other, a small - I'll handle this- traveling from Joel to Ellie was all that was needed before the girl went back to her room.

You went to stand up

"careful there, I'm not sure you're in the right shape to stand up on your own at your age" Joel joked.

"That's not funny," you scowled, making Joel finally understand how serious you were about this.

"baby..." he murmured, stepping closer to you "it's not a big deal"

"but it is" you replied, desperate

"no, it's not baby" he continued, wrapping his arms around your back "It's just a white hair." he persisted "You're still the most gorgeous woman on earth"

"that's not the point" You shook your head

"no, then what is it?" he spoke gently, his thumb caressing your side

You hesitated "I-I don't know"

Joel smiled, trying to reassure you "Baby if you think that's bad, look at me" he chuckled "I look like Santa Claus"

"you don't" you bit down a smile "and besides, it's different, you're..."

"you can say it, sweetheart, I'm old"

"you're not old"

"no, then what am I?"

"you're just... older than me"

"That's a nice way of putting it"

You shook your head, smiling as you soaked in the feeling of his embrace.

He felt like a warm blanket after a cold winter day.

He stroked your cheek "C'mon now pretty girl, you're an amazing woman, you're smart, beautiful, funny, kind, good, and beautiful, you don't need to worry about a little white hair"

Your lips turned into that little happy pout Joel adored

"You said beautiful twice"

"Yeah, I know I did" 

You hit his chest playfully, your hand lingering on his body "I hate you"

"why?"

"'cause you always make me feel better, I'd like to be mad or sad for more than two minutes once in a while, y'know?"

"I'm sorry" he smirked, his thumb tracing your jawline "I'll do better next time"

"you better" you joked, making him smile.

"Are you feeling ok now?"

"mh-mh" you gave a shy nod

"you want me to kiss it better?"

"you can't kiss a white hair better"

"now" he said "there's no harm in trying, sweetheart"

#look at that gif #he's so done with us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #tlou #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #joel miller the last of us #joel miller angst #joel miller smut

[mahmoudkhaled]

My name is Mahmoud Hammad from Palestine, Gaza. I finished my studies in nursing. I worked as a volunteer in one of the hospitals in the Gaza Strip, “Nasser Medical Hospital” in Khan Yunis, and after that I worked in a field outside my university studies due to the economic conditions and the siege on the Gaza Strip. “I want your help to save my family from this brutal war, and I am asking for your support to help me rescue my family (my parents, my wife, my two children, and three brothers) from Gaza. For more than 130 days, we have witnessed very difficult days of bombing, destruction, fear and terror. I lived days without I know news. My family has been cut off from communication due to the massive destruction and bombing. My family was displaced under bombing and terrorism to Rafah. We have reached a stage where we feel desperate. I ask you to help me save my family’s life by getting them out of Gaza because there is no safe place, and people are slowly dying because of... Hunger and dehydration. Displacement, the spread of diseases and malnutrition. My family became homeless like many others due to the ongoing bombing of Gaza since October 7. When my family was displaced, there was no means of transportation to get around. They walked under the bombing with fear and panic in their hearts. My family is staying now in a tent in Rafah in bad conditions. It is absolutely inhumane, food is running out, there is no electricity, water or toilet and it is very cold, imagine no diapers for my children! It has been 3 months of hell and horror. This genocide has been going on for a while for a long time, our mental health and our lives are in constant danger. This is what I can describe, and I cannot talk about the horrific scenes that my family witnessed throughout this period. We have reached a point where there is no longer any hope for us here in Gaza because unfortunately we are waiting for our turn to die.

The destruction in Gaza is too great to rebuild quickly. To exit Gaza through the Gaza crossing, which is the only crossing in the Strip, an adult must pay $7,000 to the coordinator. The occupation has destroyed a very large number of homes in our camp and bulldozed all the streets, and now we know nothing about our home!, which I miss and my eyes shed tears without realizing it. My entire childhood and childhood memories were lived in that house.

Please help me, I would greatly appreciate any donation, even a small one that can make a huge difference in alleviating our suffering. Please share my campaign widely, because every minute is a risk of death in Gaza. I would appreciate your help during this difficult time.

Thank you for standing in solidarity with us.

Mahmoud from Palestine - Gaza

#free gaza #gaza #palestine #save gaza #save palestine #gaza genocide #war on gaza #stand with gaza

[captainofthetidesbreath]

Frankly, the tragedy of Colin's life is that he cannot be—rather, is not allowed to be—Just Some Guy by his sociopolitical reality and the rules of the games that power plays simply because his grandfather was a tragically less successful Marquis de Lafayette. Importance can be inherited in this setting, and who one's grandfather was can, will, and often does override everything else about one's lived reality. Power is measured in blood, in more ways than one.

Lucas Fontina led Lacramor against "some royals who were putting their boot in the neck of the people." He was possibly noble himself, given he had a coat of arms and his child was a secret; this detail is a mere footnote in history, but perhaps it matters when the system revolves around hereditary power and when Colin is hunted for being a direct descendant. In all cases, the core point is: he was a rebel leader who nearly won his war, on that merit alone he is important and threatening to the throne.

The rest of Colin's other biographical details—he was born to an unacknowledged son, he was never eligible for titles or lands, he grew up on the streets in poverty, he has no political or social power, any other detail emphasizing that he is thoroughly of the commonfolk—don't matter to power because this is a sociopolitical system where importance, relevance, and power can be inherited and thus ancestry matters desperately. The identity of his grandfather has the ability to outweigh everything else about Colin's life, and it does because Fontina was a political threat so powerful that his memory haunts Lacramor decades later. It is a system of hereditary succession, and thus the throne will continue to worry about Fontina's bloodline until they are secure, more threatened by something else, or crumble.

Colin's father is suggested to not even be a recognized member of Fontina's family, being a secret child. It does not matter; despite otherwise being nobody of note, he was still someone important and threatening enough to established power to be worth murdering immediately upon the discovery that he is Fontina's son. The mere identity of his father elevated him into Someone Of Note; it was a status inherited, even as it materially brought nothing but fear and death, a symbolic power passed down a lineage in the way so much power in this setting is.

Colin, like his father, isn't allowed to be someone unimportant simply because Fontina was actually someone important for having crossed the Powers That Be in the way he did. Those powers and this system that places such importance on lineage made sure that Fontina's children and his grandchildren will bear that burden as well, of being someone noteworthy and important to the power struggles of the Islands, no matter how inconsequential they are otherwise. No matter what the details are in the rest of his biography, Colin is someone simply because he is Someone's grandson.

Power is measured in blood, through lineage as much as violence. Unfortunately for Colin, this means that the Powers That Be place an inordinate amount of importance on the identity of his grandfather. In the eyes of the throne and according to the rules of hereditary power, Colin inherits the symbolic power that Fontina wielded in life—so long as the throne continues to fear its authority will be challenged in the way Fontina did. The social system will not allow Colin to be an unremarkable common person. He cannot be Just Some Guy within this political situation and system of power, it isn't something allowed to him, and that's the tragedy and terror of his life.

#I thought this post was going to be short and then it wasn't. #Colin Provolone #The Ravening War #trw #Dimension 20 #d20 things #trw meta #trw things

[sukunasun]

could we get mma!geto fics

deep sigh...

geto suguru doesn't mind getting up close and personal—but only when it comes to the fighting of course.

says he likes to see the pain and anger simmer in their eyes with every swing he throws, every punch that feels more like a bite. amidst the bloodied knuckles and broken bones, his body, his being becomes a weapon, like there's a beast housed in there. an unstoppable force. nothing holds him down, not an iron cage or the fear of loss, of death. so capable and equipped, not to win but to kill. he picks them apart by their weakest points, precise and powerful, striking where it'll hurt the most and leaving no traces but broken hearts and bruised egos behind.

"he's more than just a fighter," you say, with clenched fists and passion-flamed eyes, "in one word, geto's kinda...legendary," so enthused, so enamoured. it's not your biased heart talking here because you're an expert at these things.

although you wouldn't call yourself a fan when devotee sounds more accurate given the countless hours you've dedicated to research and impulse buying—scrolling through wiki pages, analyzing old interviews, watching late-night matches on a glitchy livestream, catching a tiny glimpse of his figure from a shitty seat in a stadium, or buying an ugly t-shirt from his online store when the one made by a fan artist is cheaper and looks way better in your opinion—still, you'll do it now and again because he isn't like everyone else, he is a perfect being, untouchable, you'll love him from afar like this, settling for whatever bit of scraps you can get hoping to get closer, and yet...

"you don't know me," geto simply says when he's come face-to-face with you. well, technically he's looking down at you from where he stands tall, heads above you. he's every bit as handsome as you'd expect, the kind no injury or scar could hide. you think to say something, gush over him, the man of your dreams in the flesh, a long-awaited meeting now realized but it's all too much. 

his sweat-glistened skin, his flushed cheeks, the soft panting breaths, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and the way he ever so gently flicks his hair away, not to mention that dripping line of red that seeps from his nostril shouldn't make him look as sexy as he does, something about a bruised and bleeding man practically makes you swoon. oh how you'd always dreamed of this image, your imagination supplied you with multiple scenarios of him atop you and most preferably inside you too. 

to be this close to him, so close you could reach out and touch. but a bigger girl always takes the temperature of a room before walking into it, only now you've made the crucial mistake of forgetting where you are, and who exactly could be listening. "um...i didn't mean–" your eyes scan across a sea of judgemental eyes taking you in, contempt written all over their faces. there's a heat pooling in your eyes, a lump caught in your throat, visibly constipated would be the word to describe it, but geto doesn't feel pity for you. 

instead, his expression contorts into scorn, rolls his eyes at your desperate attempt to explain when you're choking on your words and flittering around like a headless chicken. he must think you're so awkward, so lame, just another one of those people with nothing better to do with their lives. "you should leave, you're taking up space," he says, pushing past you with a shove like you were merely a nuisance to him, your shoulder bumping into his torso. but it doesn't hurt honestly, not as much as the disappointment, the humiliation he's left you with. 

——————————————————

back home, you dismantle the shrine. an altar made with the labour of love, and many long nights spent crafting this holy site. suguru is a name you can't look at the same way, now riddled with sour definitions. mean, rude, arrogant, and all the synonyms bundled into one. suddenly, the pictures on your wall stare back at you differently, geto and his camera-ready poses, in designer pieces, perfectly curved happy smiles and sultry smirks turning against you. "he brushed me off like i was nobody, like i was nothing," you sniffle. 

with shaky hands, you tear them down hastily, omitting to start from the corners or to roll them back into tube containers. making it quick so it'll hurt less, like tearing a bandaid off. "psh, taking up space..." you shake your head in disbelief, "what a fucking asshole." 

stuffing the bins with crumpled magazines and the journal entries you were enthusiastic about, another collage you've put together, the pencil writings have faded, laser stickers peeled from the edges. however, the binders and photo cards have been kept well, pristine even, and you consider if there are notes and letters you wrote to him tucked into the spine, believing you'd send them someday, but you refuse to keep them.

flipping through, you can't help but cringe at the thought of a man being this famous as an athlete. you understand sponsorships and brand deals, but turning into a celebrity, a commodity...maybe it was an act all along, a persona he's crafted. there was no underestimating the man's capabilities, the ease and precision with which he strikes a punch or spews cutting words are unmatched, why would it be different when it came to your first meeting. 

"you've idolized him, it was a parasocial relationship at most..." you say. given the circumstances or the 'end of an era,' as you've put it, there'd be no other way to comfort yourself but with the hard truth. 

and it shouldn't feel this...hollow. an empty space left behind without any notice, like it ended too abruptly. you'd always known the phase would come to a close, but you had pictured meeting him at the end of an aisle, twirling in his arms under heavy rain, or a bittersweet goodbye at an airport maybe. anything resembling a whirlwind romance that would replace the daydreaming. anything but this. 

people meet all the time, people fall in love, was it too much to believe you'd be one of them. and you tell yourself you'll get over him, it wasn't meant to be anyway, what did you expect, that he'd see you and fall in love? you wouldn't know any different, the closest you ever got to love was...obsession really, he was never a real person to you. "all this for a man who never knew i existed." you're sure wherever suguru is, he'd be absolutely fine, happy even, and not the least bit gutted about what he'd done. 

——————————————————

the rest of geto's day plays out like usual—he fights, he wins, then tends to the nosebleed. nowhere in those allocated time slots for cryotherapy and post-match interviews does he think about you. or the way your eyes fell. or that he instantly regretted it the moment he left you standing there. 

across the gym, nanako calls from where she sits on a boxing ring,  "that wasn't nice, papa!" perching her head against ropes, her legs swing off the edge. beside her, mimiko nods in agreement, cuddling her dolly closer to her chest, "you were being mean..." she mumbles. the sandbag crushes and swings to the rhythmic, muffled beats of bandaged fists meeting leather. resounding, familiar, enough to tune out the disappointed tone in their voices. 

his punches come to a halt, "i know," he sighs exasperatedly. pressing his forehead to the sleeve and watching the sweat pool by his feet. drip, drip, he takes a deep breath in. willing himself to think of something else, anything that could ease the tightness in his chest, the grinding of his teeth. the guilt that bubbles up becomes unbearable, itchy and prickling all over his skin. heat creeping up his neck, to his ears, he's embarrassed, ashamed. he should know better, he'd been better. a part of him grieves, long gone were the days of geto suguru and his straight As and pressed uniforms, always thanking the teachers and using honorifics in between. 

geto learns that he doesn’t react to it as smoothly as he would like—your wobbling lips and puffed up cheeks, teary eyes shining, lashes clumping with tears, an expression he can't seem to forget, like your world was crumbling before your very eyes—he knew it was wrong, knew you were vulnerable and he did it anyway. 

when was the last time he got this hung up over a couple of badly chosen words, all for some fangirl?  you've got him giving away easy hits and fucking up his game-plan, ruminating. he's supposed to be training, working on his form, looking up the next guy he's meant to beat to a pulp and analyze his moves, all that and eating these tiny meals he abhors, the ones made up of bland chicken breast and broccoli. 

bottom line, he's meant to brush these things off as he always does. but the urge to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness is almost as strong as the urge to punch something. he only settles for the latter because geto never gets on his knees, and he never begs, the thought alone is enough to send a shiver down his spine, why does he even think of it as an option.

"she got to me didn't she?" is less of a question, and more of an admission but the twins giggle as if they know he's already done for. 

——————————————————

geto sits across from you at a crepe place a week later. famous for its strawberry sauce and the whipped cream they make from scratch, it's a good choice for a first date spot. the tables are covered in red and white checkered linen, there's an upbeat pop tune playing in the background, and sitting right between the two of you is a centerpiece made up of fresh daffodils. 

but this isn't a date. there's nothing romantic or intimate about it and how he's even managed to find you is still a mystery let alone what his intentions are with choosing such a scene. "my daughters like this place," is the only explanation you get. 

he's wearing what can only be described as undercover chic. greeted you by the door dressed in black head to toe. along with sunglasses and a face mask, but the earrings give him away. well, that along with the cut on his lip and the stitches over his eyebrow. "you got my letter," he merely states, without a 'hello' or 'thanks for meeting me on such short notice'. he doesn't mention why he's sent actual mail to your office instead of texting or calling like a normal person—how easy it was for you to recognize those familiar black inky lines scribing a time and place on paper with zoo animals decorating the edges—you might have ignored it, reported it, if not for the part of you that wholeheartedly gives into him, the infatuation still hasn't worn off. 

"so um," clearing his throat and keeping his voice low, geto's arms fold across his chest. it makes him look too big for his seat, bulky and broad, "about what happened the other day—" he chokes out.

"it's fine," you cut him off immediately. the last thing you need right now is to be reminded of it. took forever to wash away the embarrassment, to scrub off the eerie feeling of his dismissive gaze, his cold stare, a shining vaseline-lined face that would forever haunt you the rest of your days. "i don't even remember it," you wait for him to continue but he just..sits there. 

head tilting curiously, suddenly interested. "not even the part about me being...what was it you said...legendary?" he teases, laughing to himself. it sounds lovely, bright and clear. almost so good you think he's rehearsed it but you know it's just another one of those things geto does, that adds to his charm.

your cheeks puff up as you chew, the jam is sweet and so are the little slices of fruit. you munch and chew, growing annoyed by the second, "it's not that funny," you mumble.

geto brushes off your offended expression, "relax, it's nothing i haven't heard before, let me guess—you love me, you're my number one fan, and you want to ride me and have my babies," he lifts an eyebrow, a self-satisfied smirk appearing.

your fist clenches tight around your fork, "y-you don't know that for sure, in fact, you don't know me at all."  

geto scoffs, actually scoffs in your face, "i know what you're like, you're just another groupie who wants to get close."

"groupie?!" you exclaim, "as if i'd ever sleep with you after the way you've treated me—" your nose turns up at him, anger flaring up to the max, "i wouldn't want to be chucked around and felt up anyway, besides, you wouldn't be able to," you lie again, throwing the final jab to his overinflated ego for effect, to put him in his place. now emboldened by fury, by the urge to prove him wrong. 

you're so loud the other customers turn their heads, somewhere in the back a plate drops to the floor, the shock is evident. mainly because of how explicit you're being but....anyone would be crazy to think so. to say such a thing. how blasphemous. suguru is so physically strong that he forgets not everyone can split wooden blocks into halves with their bare hands like it were the easiest thing, hooking sandbags up to a rig with one arm, you've seen him breaking doors down with a mere shove in movies, and how could you ever forget that one picture of him holding two litre water bottles in his hand and having it look so out of proportion, dwarfed by their massive size.

there's no doubt about it, not only could geto lift and toss you around like a ragdoll, feeling you up any way he desires, but it would be effortless.

he starts grinning, "is that a challenge?" geto quips, smirking and suddenly interested in the half-eaten crepe. he gives it a once over, lightly jabbing it with his fork. contemplates if he should try it when he's been off sugar for years but maybe he'll make an exception now. he could always just burn the calories later, maybe do an extra sparring session with gojo over the weekend, but just for the occasion, he thinks he could indulge a little because he makes a decision then. 

"i like you, we should do this more often," he shoots you a look that isn't like the rest. assured, demanding, knowing you wouldn't deny him. "any objections?" leaning forward he cuts himself a piece of the pastry, lapping up every last bit of jam before he stabs at a large chunk of berry. taking a big bite of it, your eyes widen at the instant blush blooming on his cheeks because he more than likes it, in fact, he keeps at it til there's none left.

#wanted to make this one a slow burn ... #mma geto is the ice cream i have a lock on ... precious! #let me know if you wanna read more mma geto! #ask #anon #sunpiece #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #geto suguru #geto suguru hcs #geto x reader #mma geto #mma au #chubby reader #geto x chubby reader #jjk chubby reader fic

[yutafrita]

WITCH WAY DID YOU GO?

Jaehyun x Witch!Reader/ Warlock!Mark x Witch!Reader

Thank you @markleelately for the request <3 I hope you like it and that it was worth the wait!

WC: 3.1K

Genre: Angst, Fantasy, Thriller/ Mystery

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, missing persons case, references to the police, food, alcohol, mentions of psychological abuse, occult references and imagery, toxic relationship behaviors. Please read at your own risk.

The fortune teller tapped the old oak table three times, her eyes closed. Well, she wasn’t so much a fortune teller. She was just witch with a small amount of clairvoyance, but you had gotten desperate over these past three years. Rosé recommended her to you, and every other door had been slammed in your face.

“Hm… he’s alive,” the teller stated, her hand now twitching and her eyes moving rapidly under eyelids. You held back a groan. This was something you already knew- every spell you had done to see if Jaehyun was alive showed that he was alive- but no locator spell had proven successful. The human police force in this country had turned up nothing besides his engagement ring (he insisted he wore a small band with you while you were engaged), and everyone in the magical force was perplexed and unhelpful.

The magical force was also none too elated by you caring so much about a human, but you gave up on giving a shit after the first year Jaehyun disappeared. 

“He… that’s strange,” her eyes snapped open, and she hunched over to bring something onto the table. Tarot Cards. You were going to kill Rosé. The fortune teller placed a major arcana down. “He’s stuck,” she muttered before she looked up and pointed to the card, “this is the tower reversed. It means-.”

“I know what it means,” you cut her off. You were over this game. “Averting disaster, fear of change.”

She wagged her finger, “typically, yes. But,” she placed her hand over the card, “for you, for us witches, this means something else. It means he’s quite literally trapped and afraid.”

You furrowed your brows. This was a new development. You had been told he was probably devoured by a creature, that he was obliterated, or even that he simply ran away from you. But to say he was trapped was something different. 

“Trapped where?” you pressed, your stomach filling with nerves.

She sucked her teeth, her eyes meeting yours again, “I can’t see that. Someone far more powerful than me has placed a spell over your human companion.”

You blinked, “another witch has him trapped? Why?” you bit down on your thumb nail, trying to think. You hadn’t told Jaehyun that you were a witch, let alone for him to willingly go with someone who had magic abilities. The only other witch he had ever met was Rosé, and she wasn’t exactly interested in keeping him hostage.

“All I can tell is that there was quite a bit of jealousy put into this spell, it’s riddled with envy,” the fortune teller swatted the air around her as if she could feel the green monster itself.

“You’re not fucking with me,” you didn’t ask, but rather stated this.

“I don’t fuck around with other witches,” she chuckled, “I don’t want whatever the hell is going on with you to happen to me.”

“Great,” you sighed, digging through your bag to take out your wallet. Her hand wrapped around your elbow and you looked up.

“It’s… on the house sweetie. Here,” she extended the tower tarot card to you, “keep this. I need to get rid of this set anyways. That energy is bad for business.”

You entered your small studio apartment later that evening, the card still in your hands. You had been living in this country for three years, but still had unopened boxes strewn about. You didn’t mean to move here, but after Jaehyun went missing during your trip, you refused to leave until you could find him. 

If only you did things differently that night-.

No.

You refused to wallow and blame yourself again. You needed to focus. 

Your phone started ringing and you quickly answered.

“Why did my fortune teller call me crying?” Rosé asked. You shrugged, forgetting she couldn’t see you. This was your everyday disaster, you couldn't fathom a random witch with a small clairvoyance gift being so saddened by it they called just to cry.

“Well, she said the energy was so foul it brought her to tears,” Rosé then lowered her voice, “this sounds like some serious shit.”

“Rosé, the love of my life has been missing for three years. It’s kind of always been serious shit to me.”

 “No, of course it is. What I mean is- whatever is happening, this magic is some serious shit.”

You sighed in defeat, a tear sliding down your cheek in frustration, “I know. I… I’ll talk to you later Rosé.”

She was quiet for a moment on the other end of the line, “I… you should come home.”

“I’m not doing this again. I’m not leaving until-.”

“Until he’s back I know but… I miss you. We all miss you,” you could hear her voice shaking, and for the thousandth time, you felt you heart break. You needed to find Jaehyun, but you knew in the process the other people who loved you were in a pain of their own.

“I know, I’m sorry. I have to go,” you hung up before she could reply, and you broke down crying. How many more nights would go by with you sobbing as you tried to figure out how he disappeared? Your tears were stinging your cheeks as you held yourself. 

You missed Jaehyun. He always knew what to do to brighten his and everyone's spirits. Just being around him made the room brighter. His goofy sense of humor coupled with the sweet little dimples he had with his permanent smile… you couldn’t fathom never seeing him again. 

Another day passed. Another week. Another month with no updated on Jaehyun.

You were able to pull some strings and get a job at the country’s Magical administration. You got it after the first few months of Jaehyun’s disappearance since your savings had run dry.

On this particular week at work you were walking to your next meeting when a faerie approached you.

“I’m taking you out on the town,” Lisa stated this as if it were a matter of fact. She was flying a foot off the ground, making it difficult for you to move around her in the crowded hall.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes! Please? I have a friend visiting tonight that I haven’t seen in forever and I’m scared of it being awkward,” she pleaded, the glitter from her wings flicking off and making you cough. “He’s gonna bring a friend- he says it’s a warlock!”

“I’m not interested in being set up, Lisa.”

“You’re not being set up! He’s from where you’re from, so I thought it would be cool!”

Now this piqued your interest. There weren’t a whole lot of Witches to begin with, and even less warlocks to speak of, so for there to be a warlock from the same place as you meant you likely knew them.

“When and where?” you sighed. Lisa cheered and landed back on the ground as she told you all of the details, finally allowing you to go to your meeting in peace.

Jaehyun was the spontaneous one. You knew he would be happy you somewhat made last minute plans, even if you were just curious as to who it was that was friends with your coworkers friend.

You and Lisa later walked across the street to the bar, her wings concealed under a bulky sweater as she chatted wildly about her old college faerie friend.

“Ten is interviewing for the admin tomorrow but I promised I’d meet with him before,” she explained. As much as you liked to pretend moving here wasn’t lonely, that was far from the truth. Lisa was bubbly and affectionate, and has made you feel welcomed from the first day you met her- her friend, Ten, was just the same.

It was who Ten brought with him that made you surprised.

“Mark?”

“Oh, wow!” Mark leapt up from the bar top, rushing over and hugging you. “I haven’t seen you in years!”

“Three, to be exact,” you forced a laugh as you and Lisa sat across from the duo. Mark had grown up in the same town as you, Rosé, and Jaehyun. He was the only warlock in town, and you three would often meet once a week to practice your magic abilities. Warlock’s were naturally less powerful than witches, so growing up Mark was often behind compared to you two witches. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s the funniest thing- Mark and I are roommates and we both somehow got job interviews tomorrow for the administration.”

“Wow, what kind of luck is that?” Lisa laughed, and you forced a smile. You looked over to Mark and he sent you a wink, confirming your suspicions- he used a small luck charm to make it so they interviewed the same day. No luck charm would be strong enough to do more than that, but it still surprised you that Mark was even able to manage this.

Mark scored the job, of course. After speaking with him that night, you learned that he had been training non-stop and was able to compensate for his lack of natural magical ability with his sheer knowledge in all things spell casting. He ended up in your same department too, and oddly enough moved into a building close by, so you ended up walking to work together most days.

“Why do you walk to work instead of just teleporting in?” Mark asked one day. You didn’t know how to explain it- but doing a mundane task of just walking two blocks over helped remind you of Jaehyun. He loved morning walks, and even though it meant waking up an extra ten to fifteen minutes early, you loved them too. 

“I just like how simple it feels,” is what you settled on. Mark shrugged. You knew he knew of your engagement- you wore your engagement ring as a necklace- and that he knew of Jaehyun’s disappearance, but he never asked about it. Mark was very open about his distaste for your human partner before you moved.

While it wasn’t exactly uncommon for a witch to marry a mortal, it was still deeply frowned upon. 

“Yeah, Mark and I are going to the bowling alley tomorrow night,” you told Rosé one night as you poured over your notes. You were going through any spellbooks you could find to try and see about a spell as powerful as the one supposedly keeping Jaehyun to no avail.

“Oh, a date? That’s-!”

“Date? Absolutely not,” you couldn’t hide your laughter. “We’ve known Mark since we were all kids, he’s more like… an annoying brother.”

“A hot annoying brother.”

“Gross.”

“Admit it- he is hot as fuck.”

“I mean,” you paused, giving it thought before shaking your head angrily, “so what if he is? I’m engaged.”

Rosé was quiet again on the other end as you repeated yourself, “I’m engaged. Jaehyun’s alive.”

“Honey… he’s alive. Sure. But… wouldn’t he want you to I don’t know, live?”

She was right. Of course she was. Jaehyun was Mr. live-life-to-the-fullest- that’s how he went missing. However, you knew he wouldn’t want that to stop you. He’s so human, so sweet and positive. 

So, when you went bowling with Mark, you pounded two shots of vodka to help quell your fears. 

“Do you still have a crush on me?” you stupidly asked him after he beat you in bowling. His eyes went wide before he burst out laughing, his smile wide and his ears red with embarrassment.

“Why are you asking?” he asked through his laughter. You shrugged, looking away as you mulled through your thoughts.

“Do you still hate humans?” you asked rather loudly, completely disregarding the humans in the bowling alley now staring at you. Mark stood up, a nervous smile on his face as he wrapped an arm over your shoulder to walk you away.

“I don’t… hate humans. I said all those things because I had a crush on you and felt like you owed me something… I was wrong obviously and I’m sorry. And… I’m sorry about Jaehyun,” Mark looked you in the eyes as he apologized. It felt sincere.

“You said he wasn’t worth the gum at the bottom of your broom,” you reminded him. 

“Yeah, and that was fucking wrong.”

“Yeah… well… we were younger and dumber.”

“Oh, for sure,” he laughed, and you joined in, ignoring the stares you got in the street.

“Hey, I have that board game we used to play.”

“Oh, witches brew? I haven’t played that in forever,” you chuckled at the memory of beating Mark almost every game.

“Yeah? Do you wanna come over and play?”

You followed Mark to his place and stayed the night, never at any point touching the board game.

*****

You and Mark got engaged a year after you started dating. He was smart, organized, and easy to be around. You didn’t have to think much around him- he knew exactly where everything in the chaotic mess of your studio apartment was, and even helped you move your stuff into his apartment with a randomly specific spell you had no idea even existed.

All this, and you still missed Jaehyun. You wore the ring Mark gave you on your left ring finger, and still wore the ring Jaehyun gave you on a chain over your heart. You had to get a new chain after Mark accidentally broke your first one, but you were fine getting one that poked out less.

The cops had officially called Jaehyun’s case a cold case and the fortune teller hadn’t offered anything new. 

“Rosé will be here next week,” you told Mark one night after work.

“Oh yeah?”

“She insisted on helping me look for a dress.”

“I wish I was allowed to join,” he poked your arm, hoping for a change in your decision. He had taken over most of the wedding planning, but the dress and the wedding date were the two things you refused to budge on.

“You’ll see on the wedding day,” you offered, leaning in and dropping a kiss on his cheek.

The wedding day.

You were alone in your bridal suite, pacing up and down. You squeezed Jaehyun’s ring, your fingers trembling. You stopped in front of the mirror, staring at yourself. 

Jaehyun proposed to you the day before he went missing in the forest. You two were on the trip you had been saving months for- a national forest that was beautiful and quaint. You remembered the feeling each payday of shoving a hundred bucks into the mason jar, and how excited you both were upon your arrival.

It was quiet, just the two of you, alone. It was a three night camping trip, and after Jaehyun’s proposal, you two spent that second night staring up at the stars through the tall trees.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered for what felt like the hundredth time.

“It sure is,” Jaehyun whistled. His hand moved to grab yours, “but you’re still more beautiful.”

“Corny,” you teased.

And then, he said, “we should play hide and seek.”

You sat up, “are you a child?”

Jaehyun sat up too, and with only the moonlight you could still see his bright smile, “you make me feel like a kid- if that counts.”

You should have berated him. It was stupid. You agreed to stay within shouting distance, especially since you didn’t have signal on your phones. You should have said no.

But you didn’t. And you searched for hours. The cops searched for hours. 

And now, on your wedding day, it’s been five years and a day.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you held back your tears, and moved to remove your necklace. It was almost time-.

“Beautiful,” the voice made your heart stop and your eyes open. This wasn’t real. You turned around, refusing to believe that he was here. You were trembling all over now, trying to decipher what you were looking at. 

It was Jaehyun- exactly as you remembered him. In that same long sleeved shirt and cargo pants. His hair is no different in length or color either. He had been bleaching it blonde, and it didn’t even look like a single root had grown in all these years.

“You’re not real,” you whimpered. Without warning, Jaehyun rushed forward and wrapped you in a tight hug. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against your chest. He smelled as sweet as you remembered. His skin felt warm. He was real- this was not some figment of your imagination. You didn’t feel any magical illusion coming off of him. This was Jaehyun, somehow, in the flesh.

“I was so scared,” he whispered, his face burrowed in your neck. You gently moved back, having to force yourself to break apart from his hug.

“Jaehyun… what happened?”

He gulped, looking over his shoulder at the shut door before he took something out from his back pocket.

“I… He…” it was a tarot card that he handed to you. The tower.

“Who is he?” you were terrified, seeing that the card was ripped down the center.

“Who are you getting married to?” was Jaehyun’s response, and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. Mark… there was no way he alone could have this power you thought.

Unless…

“Rosé,” you spit out her name as soon as you heard your maid of honor answer her phone, “your powers.”

“You really want to talk about magic right now? I’m headed to your dressing room-.”

“No, do not come here,” you hissed, “Rosé… your powers are almost gone, aren’t they?”

The rustling on the other end stopped. You felt like a fool for only now noticing the change in your friend. “I… I can’t say anything.”

“It was Mark,” was what you replied with, and you heard a small whimper on the other end of the line. “He stole your fucking powers to trap Jaehyun in the tarot all those years ago, didn’t he?”

“You have to go before he finds out,” she was whispering into the line now, and you felt your stomach turn. “Please. I can keep everyone in the chapel for twenty minutes, but you two need to go now.”

“Thank you, Rosé.”

“Go!” the line went dead, and you looked back at Jaehyun. 

Mark had kept Jaehyun in a frozen, petrified state in the card for five years. It seemed that, according to Jaehyun, that yesterday he just found himself back in the forest. You had made it out of town as he explained what he knew, an ache still in your chest.

“I just… knew I had to come to the chapel,” was what he said. That night, in the forest, right before he was trapped, Mark had appeared and was the last thing Jaehyun saw all those years ago. The terrible envy that filled Mark was enough to allow him to still Rosé’s powers, and he likely planned to steal yours as well if not for your friend’s warning. 

“You’re not scared of me being a witch?” you asked Jaehyun, the engagement ring he gave you back on your finger where it belonged.

“I could never be scared of you.”

You knew you would have to face Mark again one day, and make him pay for the terror he had caused, but for now, you were more than willing to steal a moment of happiness with Jaehyun somewhere where Mark couldn’t find you two for a while. You two deserved that much.

Permatag! @nini0620

OTHER WORKS -> HERE

#jaehyun x reader #mark lee x reader #nct imagine #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #mark lee angst #jaehyun imagines #witch!mark #faerie!ten #faerie!Lisa #witch!rosie #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 x y/n #nct 127 x you #mark lee x y/n #yandere themes #nct x reader #nct x y/n #nct x you #witch!reader

[carefulfears]

so ... demons coming right after elegy, in the middle of the cancer arc is a crazy choice and i know it means something. please share all your big brain thoughts on mulder & demons?

well...it's kind of like...in elegy, they're being haunted by the future (omens of scully's impending death), in demons, they're haunted by the past (visions from before samantha disappeared). both are highly metaphorical, and both are intrusive, even though he sought out the second. the first is too much. the second isn't enough. and after elegy it's becoming clear that...nothing will be enough. she is so close to death that she can see it. she can't...hide it from him, anymore. she's been dying for a long time. and she doesn't make him face it. she never has that moment where she tells him to just get over it. she never has that moment where she tells him to just accept it, stop avoiding it. she goes to all of her appointments alone. she bleeds alone. even in elegy when they almost argue over it, she tells him that she is fine, and then she goes outside and cries in her car.

but she's not fine, she's so close to death that she can see it, and he knows that. he's so eternally aware. mulder's fatal flaw is that he can see the world, he understands every underlying system, he knows people and how they think. and when he says "i refuse to believe that," he knows that doesn't make it go away. in elegy, he tells her that he's afraid, and she tells him that she's fine. it is a system established long before this particular death sentence.

in the script notes for the last scene of never again, it is remarked that: “if it were ever going to happen, it would be now. as they maintain the silence.”

the way i see it, never again is when they knew. they are not escaping each other. they are dying together. you are coming down with me. (hand in unlovable hand). and then, in the very next episode, comes a diagnosis. they are dying together. and they are dying now. silence is maintained.

so what does she do, after her diagnosis? she buys a journal, and she writes. she writes him letter after letter after letter. begging forgiveness. begging grace. begging courage.

the page that he found, that he read, this is what it said:

“mulder, i feel you close, though i know that you are now pursuing your own path. for that i am grateful- more than i could ever express. i need to know you’re out there if i am ever to see through this.”

i need to know you’re out there. a few months later, in demons, a gun to his chin on the floor of his childhood home, does she feel that he’ll be “out there”? she finds out she doesn’t have much longer to live, maybe weeks, in the next episode, and she doesn’t tell him. she maintains silence.

there’s so much discourse over the choices that mulder makes in demons…it was selfish, it was stupid, it was confusing…i see people ask all the time why he would willingly do something that causes everyone to kill themselves. the answer, of course, is that mulder wants to kill himself. that’s not new, we all watched pusher. (scully watched too). in redux it’s revealed that the “gethsemane” of the episode directly following demons is not scully’s inevitable and closely impending death, it’s mulder alone in his apartment with a gun.

i’m really uninterested in attempting to moralize these decisions…what’s “selfish” at the end of the world? i think demons makes people uncomfortable. to watch a dying woman care for her reckless partner. i also think that’s…the point.

demons is desperate. there’s an obvious desperation in mulder, of course, but also in scully.

throughout season four, we’re watching scully die. she’s getting smaller. she’s getting weaker. she’s getting sicker. but as it progresses, scully is realizing that mulder is dying too. and it all culminates in demons. and what can she do but be afraid? what can she do but get down on the ground and hold him? what can she do but write about what she fears will happen to him? she won’t be there.

nothing will ever be enough after elegy. and there’s nothing that he can do that’s enough. he can’t save her (so he thinks). and…he can’t solve the quest before she dies. he can’t give her the answers that she’s dying for. demons to me is such a last ditch effort. such a hail mary. she deserved to know the capital t Truth, before she’s gone. and i think they both know that maybe, when she is gone, it will never be found.

#they’re DYING. #he does this drastic stupid thing because maybe then they’ll know about samantha. and they can go in peace. #i also think about ‘closure’ and how that’s 3 years after this and scully is there doing EVERYTHING doing all of the work and it was still #so hard. nearly unsurvivable. #and i think about what if she had died. and what if somehow he kept going. and he ended up there alone. #and she’s thinking that too. he will be alone. he will have no one. he will not be ‘out there’ and if by some miracle he is #he will be facing it by himself. he will be facing the Truth and the loss and the grief alone. #that one shot of ‘demons’ where he just falls to the floor and she slowly kneels beside him and drapes herself over him and holds him #that’s this entire era to me. that’s what it culminates at. because they’re still not saying it but they’re seeing it. #and what is there to do? she’s so sorry. #and she’s so scared #asks #demons #Lol I wrote this and the tags months ago before leaving tumblr ✌️

[quinloki]

Smoker - Bitter-Sweet

Requestor: @smokersbaby Reader Vibes Requested: AFAB she/her CW: Smoker lost his memory, reader had a BAD time with marines, no details, implied nondescript violence, angst.

The vacant expression on his face was concerning. Even as his brown eyes came into focus, you understood that something was wrong. He was angry, but he wasn’t reaching for his weapon.

Smoker had taken a beating, nearly paying the ultimate price for it. His men were scattered, the girl with the glasses who was always with him was no where to be seen. You’d made a completely crazy decision and had intervened.

Gotten between him and someone strong enough to have beat him so senseless. It had taken every gadget and trick you knew to escape, especially while carrying someone nearly twice your size.

Fear alone, sheer desperation, had powered your muscles and you had gotten him somewhere safe. Somewhere that you could tend to him as best as you were able.

It was a death of a thousand cuts, and nothing was mortally deep. You cleaned, stitched, sterilized, and bandaged everything you could. Once you were done you���d gotten him as comfortable as you could and fell asleep on the floor beside him.

A soft groan had woken you up, and you were relieved to see him coming around. Doubly relieved to see he wasn’t running a fever. If something had infected, or if he hadn’t woken up on his own, you didn’t know what you were going to do.

Now, however, you had a new problem.

“What happened?” He questions groggily, grunting a little as he sits upright.

“You were, uh, injured.” You begin, both of you looking at the bandages dotted over his body. “I did what I could and here we are.”

“You did this?”

You nod. “The nature of your wounds limited my options, so this was the best I could do. I didn’t want to risk a hospital.”

“… Your being vague on the details.” He points out.

“What… do you remember?”

He scowls a little, looking around and grabbing his jacket. He looks over the blood stains for a long moment before pulling a couple cigars free and lighting them.

“My name’s Smoker, I’m a marine. I have a devil fruit, and I just made captain.” He recites, filling the room with smoke and relaxing a little. “But my bars are scuffed and worn, like I’ve been captain for a good long while.”

“Long as I’ve known you.” You agree, pulling up a stool and sitting down nearby. “And I’ve known you,” you pause and consider it. “Three years now, give or take a week.”

“So I’ve lost that much time then.” He grumbles the words, chewing on the cigars thoughtfully.

“Mm, but hey, you remember your name and your job, that’s good.” You say.

“… You… sound sad.” He says carefully, eyes turned toward you. You feel yourself flinch a little but you shrug.

“Maybe a little.” You don’t see a reason to lie. You’ve been painfully honest with him for years at this point, no reason to stop now. “We’re not enemies, but… we’re not friends.

“I don’t know,” you mutter the words, eyes shifting to the floor as your mind wanders across three years of memories. “It’d be nice.”

“To be friends?” He prompts and you laugh.

“It’d be closer that way, wouldn’t it?” You say it sardonically, biting back the pain twisting in your chest. “Ah, but it is what it is.”

“We’re friends enough that you saved me.” He points out.

You snort, it’s more derisive than you mean, and so you get up and and go to pull your shoes on. “You’re stable, it’s been hours. You wanna look for a marine girl with dark hair and glasses-.”

“Tashigi.” He says, and you nearly bite through your lip. An ugly feeling curls around your heart.

“… Yeah. Her.” You grimace at the unintended venom. It wasn’t Tashigi’s fault he could remember her. “She’ll probably yell your name halfway across the town square when she sees you.”

There’s silence as you lace up one boot, and then the other. A soft shift of air moves over you and you can feel and smell the plume of cigar smoke that fills the room a little more than before.

“I’ll listen to you.” He says the words with such surety and weight you turn to look at him. He’s sitting on the bed facing you, but not looking at you. He takes another slow drag and lets more of the sweet scent of smoke into the room. “For saving me.” He clarifies, finally looking at you.

“Listen… to me?” You question, not entirely sure you know what he means.

“You’ve got something you want to say. I don’t know what it is, or why you want to say it,” he admits. “But I’ll listen.”

The words freeze you in place for a long moment. You could say everything. You could. There was no reason to keep them to yourself. Especially not now.

Not when you had permission.

But.

“It wouldn’t be fair.” You say eventually, sighing and looking away. “You don’t remember, or you wouldn’t offer.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He asserts. “What I owe you, this is the least-.”

“IT’S NOT!” You interrupt, clenching your fists and trying to calm yourself down. “It’s not… fair.” You repeat.

You breathe in deep, letting it out slowly as you look up at the ceiling. Bitter tears and equally bitter clipped laughs escape you.

“Marines razed my hometown.” You say, gaze still pointed upward. “Marines. Not pirates. Took everything. Women, supplies, kids. Murdered people in the streets. Set buildings on fire, tore fields to pieces.” You breathe in deeply again, looking down and matching his gaze. It was the same stern face you knew, but you could see rage at the edges.

“Those left behind almost died, but a passing pirate vessel docked. We figured that was the end, but they brought supplies, food, blankets. Set the fields right, built up a few houses. Not much,” you sigh. “But more than any marine ever did.” You bite the word marine hard enough you can feel it bleed in your mouth, but Smoker doesn’t even flinch.

“I’m not a pirate.” You say after a moment, the rage and anger leaving you, quickly replaced by the same bitter feeling you’ve been carrying with you for almost three years. “But why did you have to be a marine?” You can feel tears stinging your eyes, but the gates are open, and there’s no stopping you. “Why? Why did you have to be a marine! Why did they do that? Why did they leave me with this anger? To meet you later? To love you almost the moment I saw you and heard your voice?

“What good does it do me now?

“What good does it do you to know?” You question, flinching when you look up and realize he’s right in front of you.

You step back and he grabs your wrist. The hitch in your movement from the action is enough, and your eyes focus on his. He lets the cigars fall and they turn to smoke, swirling into the haze of the room.

When he speaks, the words are slow. Soft. Carefully chosen and left to slip gently from his tongue.

“Ever since I woke up,” he begins, fingers slipping between yours as he lets go of your wrist. “I’ve wanted to kiss you.” His fingers slip to the ends of yours and he lets your hand slip away. “Have we?”

You can barely her him over your own heart, but you shake your head. “Not in this life, no.” Your words are scarcely a whisper, displacing only the smallest wisps of smoke around you.

“Then… may I?”

You tilt your head up as he leans down, a gentle shift of smoke against your skin. A soft caress, a tender feeling, and the sweet understanding that it’s more than just your lips that meet. A little more than just his fingers against the nape of your neck.

A sweet caress that mingles with the parting of your lips. Wet, warm, searching. Committing the shape your heart beat makes against the smoke in the air. Nothing existed but the room, the haze, and the sensations of your fingers swirling through him.

From one sweet moment, to the next.

You walk away from your safe house, as it’s no longer a viable option in this port, and disappear into the crowd. He watches you, memories sparking at the edges of his mind, still unconvinced you don’t have a devil fruit of some kind.

It was the only way to explain how you could disappear into a crowd so easily, while your lips were still wrapped around his heart.

#Forget Me Not Event 2024 #reader insert #x reader #amnesia #one piece fanfiction #request event #angst #Smoker one piece

[steddie-thirst]

MICHAEL MYERS X STRANGER THINGS

Come Out | Mean!Eddie x Fem! Reader | 18+

(( I know it's not Halloween yet, but I felt like timing that fic this way so yeah halloween smut yay!))

Requested by: Anon

Summary: What about some eddie smut where he dresses up like Michael myers and stalks reader around the house and makes her go hide and if he finds her she's biiiiiig trouble

PLEASE ENOY THE FILTH

“Come on out, Princess. I just want to play.” 

Halloween night had not gone as planned. First, it was Eddie deciding to cancel the movie date. Then it was the little phone calls with hollow breathing at  the ends of the receiver. It had drove you to hell and back. What really had done it when he’d shown up dressed up in his costume practically scaring you to death. You had enough of his little tricks, yelling and calling him names, making sure he knew how much of a pain he was, but this was his final straw. 

He snapped. 

“Don’t you want to play with, Daddy?” Eddie had been searching up and down for his favorite plaything - no sign of stopping. The house was probably the closest thing to a mansion as anyone could get in Hawkins. Searching through every nook and cranny to locate the object of his desire. Brown orbs that once held a softness to them were now hardened. Darkened with anger. Eddie needs to make you pay for every action, "Kitten, I know you're hiding from me."

From your place underneath the guest bed you kept a hand clamped over your mouth, warm breath fanning against your palm. A poor attempt to muffle the frequent sobs and whimpers. Fear rocked through you, heart beating wildly, blood pumping. Each creak of the floorboards sends you into a frenzy of panic, old wood whining beneath his boots. He stalks down the hall closer to your room, noting how the door was left wide open, only sparing it a quick glance before moving on. You'd be dumb to hide in there. Eddie knew he’d picked out the smartest of the bunch.

He continued down the hall dragging the kitchen knife along the wall as he went. Blade scraping against the hardened wood, a horrible shrill sound  echoing down the long hallway. It drove you wild and it was surely intentional."I only want to play, sweetheart." He coos, voice cutting through the eerie silence hanging amidst the air. "Daddy, knows how much you like to play. I'm not mad. Everyone gets a little angry." 

Eddie's tone was so sickeningly-sweet. Making it even harder to hide. One part of you knew he was gone and yet the other side wanted nothing more to fall into his arms. You tensed as the door creaked open followed by the heavy thud of his footsteps. Then they stopped.

 You looked to the left. Nothing, then to the right- "Boo!" A scream ripped its way through your throat as his face sat only mere inches away, dark curls framing his face. "Gotcha." His hands immediately flung out to grab ahold of you.

One hand on the forearm and the other around the base of your knee, dragging whilst you were kicking, screaming, clawing at everything in a desperate attempt to get away.

As he does so the carpet bites into your skin surely harsh enough to leave small burns. "Eddie! No-" He hauls you off the ground and tosses you onto the mattress with such a force it's shocking. You scramble to get up, but he's got you at knife-point.

"Ah, ah, ah." He tuts with a click of his tongue, pressing the blade to your collarbone, "Let's not get too hasty now. I think you owe me a big apology for your little outburst of behavior, sweetheart."

"E-Eddie, please I'm sorry I-I.." You were unable to form a coherent sentence, stumbling over words as they tumbled poorly from your lips. He was eating it up.

"Dumb bitch." He hissed, pressing the blade with a bit more pressure, making your words turn into pathetic little sobs. "Can't even fucking apologize properly. I worked so hard to give you everything and you just had to go and throw a little fit." Each word was laced with venom. 

"I-I'm sorry." Eddie eyes you over as the wimpy apology finally makes its way to his ears. However, he's way past that stage.

"Sit up and take this dumb sweater off. It makes you look stupid." He growled, stepping back so you could stand up off the mattress. Still wielding the knife in his hand in case you felt like making an escape attempt. 

Shaking hands reach down to the hem to pull the crème colored sweater off and over your head. Eddie snatches the item and tossed it over his shoulder landing somewhere on the floor. He takes in every curve and dip of your body, like a predator does with its prey, "God baby you look so fuckin' cute when you're scared." His fingers cup your breast through the thin material of your laced bra. A moan had somehow slipped through all the whining you'd been doing.

"Ed-"

"Not my name, slut." He's quick to correct you.

Quickly going to correct yourself, "Daddy, please I-I need you."

Eddie tilts his head to the side examining you, curls flowing with his movements, "No, you don't get anything from me. You're gonna take your fucking punishment and thank me for it." He drags the knife down your chest, between the cups of your breasts and down to the hem of your skirt. "Take it off, princess. Then bend that little ass over the mattress." 

Eddie was meticulous, carefully plotting each step of your punishment right then and there, knowing full well you'd give in. It was hard to tell such a pretty man, No. Especially after the fact you'd gone so far as to hide, even throwing a fit calling him such names. 

You deserved this.

Shimmying out of the skirt and kicking it off afterwards looking up at Eddie, who only gave a cold stare in return. "Come on baby, bend over." You shiver as the coolness of the sheets nip at the warmth of your skin. Shuddering as you bend over the mattress and Eddie smirks. "That's my good girl." He sets aside the knife and takes in a deep breath. "Now, how many spanks do you think you deserve for your little outburst, Hmm?" His hands knead the flesh of your ass, rings digging against your skin in an unpleasant way making you squirm.

"T-Ten."

"Only Ten?" He seems shocked. "No. I think you deserve more than that, let's double it.” Eddie argues kicking apart your legs with his boot, “Let’s make it Twenty."

"B-But, Daddy-" The first strike catches you off guard and a sharp sting blooms across your backside. Eddie admires the reddened skin chuckling, still managing to make you squirm.

"No, buts. I wanna hear you count and thank me for each one. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy." Your response urges him to continue.

The first strike was gentle, to say the least, knowing full well he could hit harder. "One! Thank you, Daddy." Then the second came even harder, turning up the pain, "Two, Thank you." The third one was even worse: the skin was growing a bright red and purple bloomed from the spot his rings had struck.

Twenty painful plows left you whimpering, sobbing, and totally wrecked. Tears stained your cheeks, eyes red and puffy. Just how he liked you, "Such a good little slut. I wish you would argue with me more often, I like punishing you." He huffs, rubbing his fingers lightly over the abused flesh earning a choked sob from you.

"I-Im really sorry, Daddy." You were going to pay for every word, that much was true, but Eddie had never been so - Pissed.

“I know you are, baby. You’ll remember this moment the next time you wanna get smart with me.” He hissed, you turn to look back at him through your lashes as he unbuttons the blue jumpsuit he had been sporting for his costume. “But tonight it’s all about making it up to, Daddy. I’m going to fuck you as hard as I want all fucking night. Best part is no one will hear you screaming.” He admits. 

“Daddy, please.”

“Shut it, princess. The only thing you need to be begging me for is to ask for it harder.” Eddie jeered, gripping your hips and adjusting his position. He stood between your legs, fingers skillfully dancing over the hem of the lilac panties that you adorned. A rush of coolness brushes over your exposed lips as he shoves the lacey garment down your knees. “Look at that already wet and waiting for my cock.” The pads of his fingers toy with your entrance enjoying the way your walls clenched around nothing. A soft gasp escapes you feeling him toy with your entrance.

“I’m going to destroy this cute little hole of yours, princess.” Eddie is kind enough to let you in on his plan. His cock hardens at the site of slick that has coated his fingers when he pulls them away, immediately going to have a taste of you. He groans the sweet-salty filling all of his senses. You let out a whine as his fingers leave the comfort of your core, his fingers go to wrap around his cock, pulling aside the costume to free himself. Using one hand to pump his shaft to full hardness, a small bead of pre-cum leaking from the head, brushing his thumb over it, as he stares down at your entrance. His other hand has a tight grip on your hip as he guides himself inside, soft walls hugging, sucking him deeper inside.

Eddie shudders at the feeling. How you always managed to stay so tight for him was fucking unbelievable. Head lolling back, Adam's apple bobbing as a short grunt leaves his lips. “Fuck - Shit baby - You’ve got such a tight little hole.”

"God- Daddy - F-Fuck me." You moan almost breathless enjoying how his cock fills you up, inch by inch and stretches you in the most pleasurable way. Eddie takes how you clench around him as a sign to move. His hips meeting your very bruised ass mixing the line between and pleasure.  

Eddie grunts he takes his time building a comfortable rhythm, leaving your toes curling, eyes fluttering, and lips parted as lewd sounds fill the room. Eddie chuckles, "Don't worry baby. I'm gonna take care of that pretty little hole. Already sucking me in nice and tight." As soon as the words to the brim, the head striking that serene spot leaving you absolutely dumb. Eyes rolling into your head as his pace picks up, the sound of skin meeting skin accompanying the pornagraphic sounds hanging in the air. His fingers tightly wound at your hips nails biting into the supple curves as he fucked you into the mattress. He was relentless making sure you felt every inch and managing to hit that golden spot each time making you see stars.

“Ungh- Fuck -Shit, Daddy!” You cried out hands going to fist the sheets beneath you trying to find someway to keep yourself grounded in this moment. His shoulders were bent back, muscles tensed, jaw slack as his own noises sounded with yours.

"That's it, slut. Fucking take my cock like the greedy princess you are." He grunts making sure you knew how much of a slut you were for him. Eddie practically growled at you like a wild animal claiming its prey. A sharp pressur began to build in your abdomen and Eddie chuckled, “Don’t you dare fucking cum slut.”

"D-Daddy… Please.." You plead through tears and breathless moaning, but Eddie sneered down at you, “I said, No!” Hips slapping against your own. You throw your head back moaning, “You’re not fucking cumming tonight, not with that bratty little mouth, you’re going to take care of my needs for once!” He snapped cock beginning to twitch, balls clenching, as you grew tighter due to the building orgasm.

He was going to make you ride that high for as long as possible, as his own cock was twitching. “Fuck, gonna cum in this little pussy, fill it up and make you hold it. My slut.” He was going to be completely milked by your pussy. Eddie’s hips picked up the pack, before he felt it. The sharp and hot feeling through his abdomen as he came. Throwing his head back letting out a grunt, before leaning over you, torso pressed against your back, hips meeting with the bruised cheeks of your ass. "That's it, baby. Take it - Fuccck." He groans, thighs tensed, and shuddering cumming deep within you, a warmth floods your insides and one final strangled moan escapes you. Coating every part of you, flooding your little pussy, and staying deep inside. Enjoying every moment spent inside you.

Eddie sighs completely relieved and totally spent, pulling out of your aching cunt leaving you shuddering. He leans down and kisses your shoulder, brushing away the stray hairs stuck to the back of your neck . "Such a good girl, princess. So fucking good for, Daddy." He kisses your shoulder blades and helps you sink further into the mattress as he steps back to watch his handiwork drip from your used hole. “Fucking pretty like this. Maybe you should lose your temper more often.” A whine escapes you and he chuckles, going gently to rub the sore flesh. “I know, baby. I know. Next time don’t get so whiny.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“Mm, I love you too, princess. Happy Halloween.”

Taglist:

@st-ls @munsonloverblog @off-phelia @strangerthingsstories5255 @fujiihime @shyposttree @damon-loves-pie @fanficfanatic204 @positivevibesnlif3 @beebslebobs @seratoninsickness @k0urti @thatlonelypieceoftoast @marianita195 @b-barnes04 @phantomxoxo @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @snapped-chopstick

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x f!reader #x reader #inbox asks #joesph quinn #stalker!eddie munson #i love this #mean!eddie munson #daddy!eddie #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson smut #18+ #stranger things smut #eddie munson x reader smut

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 8

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 12k

warnings: swearing, mentions of Chrissy's death, fluff, just really saccharine fluff, sappy love, if you know you know

A.N.: Babysitter!reader part eight, newly formatted to make jumping between chapters easier! Mean!Girl Steve is in full force, and I kind of love it, Dustin finally learns the truth.

When you finally get back to Benny’s, the parking lot is full, indicating that with the passing of mid-morning into afternoon, the masses have finally descended.

The diner is swamped with regulars and newcomers, a whole host of the same onlookers you’d seen standing around gawping back at the trailer park. They’d been staring at you then, trying to get a good look while you were being forcibly removed from the Munson trailer and unceremoniously interrogated, and they’re staring at you now, whispering amongst themselves as you push through the doors and stalk across the diner floor.

Your coworker is running back and forth like a freshly decapitated chicken, berating you for leaving her to fend for herself, but you don’t stand around long enough to listen to her dig into you for abandoning your post.

You’ve wasted enough time as it is. 

You’d been detained by the Hawkins’ boys in blue for the better part of an hour, and the walk back had been unceremoniously long. With the weight of Wayne’s money sitting heavy in your pocket and his words even heavier on your shoulders, you’d walked, repeating them to yourself like they were the lyrics to a song you were trying to memorize, a desperate attempt to ward off the paralyzing fear they stirred in you.

You said them over and over again until that fear subsided and gave way to something more grounded, over and over until it was all you could think: Find Eddie, get out of town, don’t come back.

You’re muttering the words to yourself as you slip into the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room, where a short row of beat-up lockers stand beside the punch clock.

There you find Earl, looming in the doorway behind you with his thick arms crossed over his barrel-chested form, staring tiny holes into your back as you snatch your things from the locker you’d stashed them in that morning – jean jacket, bag, car keys, find Eddie, get out of town, don’t come back.

“– Are you even listening to me?” Earl snaps.

You twist at the waist to blink at him, stupidly you imagine because you had not heard a word he’d just said, so caught in the mire of your thoughts as you were. 

“No,” You answer honestly, followed directly by, “I’m leaving.”

The tone of Earl’s flesh deepens until he’s turned nearly purple and is all but frothing at the mouth as you skip back through the diner. He follows, as any self-respecting employer would, you imagine, hurling threats at your back.

You’ve already made it to the door by the time he manages to get out from behind the counter, making one last-ditch effort to stop you.    

“You step out that door and you’re done here, Missy!” He shouts.

The proposed loss of your income does nothing to deter you. 

You don’t miss a step as you shove the door open with a familiar chiming bell that you imagine you will be hearing for the last time.

Fine — Good riddance. 

Your triumphant exit is, however, not punctuated by the cheers and swelling music you’d always imagined it would be. It is, in fact, wholly uninspired as you leap down off the curb with Earl still shouting at you how you best not come crawling back, blah blah blah, and make your way across the lot to your little Toyota, left all but abandoned.

It is only after you slide into the driver's seat and jam the keys into the ignition that you discover, much to your chagrin, at some point over the last couple of hours your car’s battery has died.

Just fucking typical.

You don’t have time to run around trying to find someone to jump it for you, so you shoulder your bag and bid a silent farewell to your trusty little car before starting up the road towards town at a swift jog.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know it is going to be a problem when eventually you find Eddie and have to figure out how you���re going to get him out of Hawkins without the use of a car, but you’ll just have to cross that bridge when you come to it. 

You’ll get this done if it kills you, one Sisyphean hurdle at a time.

Of course, you have no earthly idea where you are even meant to start looking for Eddie, and it is only by sheer dumb luck that you somehow miraculously find yourself headed past Adam’s house.

Miraculous, considering you’d only cut into the neighborhood in a panicked attempt to avoid the cop car you’d seen nestled in its speed trap on the shoulder of the road, but all the more so because, like a stroke of divine intervention, you’ve somehow found yourself stumbling across an honest to God, Corroded Coffin jam session.

What are the odds? 

Like nothing has changed and somehow the encroaching cloud of doom has not yet reached this part of town, Jeff, Adam, and Gareth are all there, standing huddled together in the open garage like they were waiting for you.

The coincidence of it all drives you a little crazy, especially considering Eddie is not with them. You can’t help the pang of bitter disappointment you feel as you have to remind yourself it was never going to be that easy – nothing with Eddie ever is.

The band, sans its frontman, stands staring at you wide-eyed and gawping like they’re seeing a ghost as you bolt up the driveway, shouting their names and waving your arms for their attention as you come screeching to a halt.

Your body is surging with enough adrenaline to almost make you forget how your lungs are burning. You’ve done more running today than you have all year, and your body is not happy about it – funny how quickly you get out of shape once things like regularly mandated physical education become thing of the past.

“Whoa, holy shit, Dude!” Jeff squeaks out, stumbling over your name and the chord of his electric guitar as he moves towards you, “H-hey! It’s been a minute,”

You don’t let him finish, you don’t have time for a game of catch-up. 

“Where’s Eddie?” you demand, well aware of how you are starting to sound like a broken record even if only to yourself. “Have you seen him?”

The question seems to shock them. Adam and Gareth exchange nervous glances, meanwhile Jeff makes a harsh sound in the back of his throat that is a little closer to disgust than you like and recoils like you’d threatened to slap him.

The reaction might have confused you if not for the fact that you are well aware of the way he’s always had a big crush on you and the tension it has created between him and Eddie as a result.

You are not in the least bit surprised to see that it has not changed, but you have neither the time nor the patience to be nice to him about it.

You don’t care about Jeff’s feelings, you only care about finding Eddie. 

Gareth has to elbow him in the ribs to stop him from saying something snide as he answers you.  

“Not since Hellfire last night–” He begins, lamely fumbling for the excuse he doesn’t get the chance to trot out before Jeff cuts him off with a scoff.

“I saw him.” He says matter of factly, garnering horrified reactions from his friends.

Gareth’s eyes widen as his head whips around so fast you half expect to see it spin all the way around.

He and Adam are staring daggers, silently willing him to shut up, and suddenly you get a strange, sinking sense of betrayal like they are grappling with something big and unwieldy that is not for your eyes.

You swallow it, you can process it later if your feelings are still hurt.  

“You did?” You gasp. 

Jeff nods.

“Dude— don’t.” Adam hisses.

He narrows his eyes and shoots Adam an unimpressed look.

“What? It’s not like she isn’t gonna find out.” He says, sounding almost like a mocking reference to a conversation they’ve had before. Adam glares at him but says nothing, and Jeff looks almost smug as he turns back to regard you, “I saw Eddie,”

Your heart is in your throat and you can’t quite decide if it’s for excitement or nerves. You’re practically vibrating for it and you have to ball your hands into fists to stop yourself from grabbing Jeff by the front of his shirt and shaking him.

“Where?” 

He shrugs.

“In the school parking lot after the game. He was headed out with…”

Jeff trails off under the chorus of Adam and Gareth swatting at him and telling him to shut him up. It sets the band to bickering aggressively and your skin to crawl.

You can’t stop yourself from bouncing up and down in a near panic as you try to reign their attention back in.

“You guys, come on, please focus! I have to find Eddie, it’s an emergency!” 

It is enough to silence them.

“Jeff — you saw Eddie in the parking lot after the game…” You prompt him.  

After a moment's hesitation, Jeff averts his gaze and clears his throat. It causes your stomach to churn with dread. Despite how fairly certain you are you already know what he’s going to say, you suddenly aren’t sure you want to hear him say it.

He nods in a way that is almost halfway sheepish, like he’s only just realized what it is he’s about to say and who he is about to say it to.

“... I saw him getting into the van with Chrissy Cunningham… you know, that cheerleader?” 

Bingo.

Stupidly, it hits you like a fist to the gut, winding you ever so slightly.

You suppose you already knew that Eddie and Chrissy had been together last night in some capacity — how else would she have ended up dead on his living room floor — but in the midst of the morning’s panic, you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider the reasons why they were together, and now your insides are burning as your mind races with the suggestion of hideous possibility. 

You swallow hard and clench your teeth – it’s stupid to be jealous of a dead girl, you know this, and yet…?

Gareth pipes up then, grabbing your attention before you can go down the tantalizing road of bitter self-destruction by imagining Eddie and Chrissy together in any kind of intimate capacity.  

“What’s going on?” He asks tentatively, “Why do you need to find Eddie so bad?”

You open your mouth to speak before you’ve decided what you should or should not tell them about what you know. Do you tell them the truth or do you make up a sanitized version of things to try and save face, to protect Eddie?

You’re suddenly so conflicted that you feel as if your throat has filled with cotton, rendering you speechless. 

It takes you half a minute to finally force something out, settling on, “He’s in trouble.” 

Which, in the grand scheme of things is a relatively banal statement. Eddie is always in some kind of trouble, but you hope your presence is enough to clue the band in on the gravity of the situation as you swallow hard against the tightness of your throat and the black pit of jealousy forming in your stomach. 

Gareth’s brows come together over his eyes. 

“What kind of trouble?”

The worst kind.

You shake your head, partially because you don’t know where to begin but mostly to try and banish the image of Chrissy’s gaunt, screaming face from where it has shouldered its way to the front of your mind.

You set your jaw and breathe out a slow, shaky breath, but you don’t get the chance to gather your thoughts before they’re scattered to the wind again. 

“Oh, shit…” Adam mumbles, “Is it that bad?”

You don’t answer, though only because you don’t expressly know how to answer. It is that bad, and it’s worse.

After a long moment of silence, he blows out a harsh breath and shrugs.

“You know, you’re not the only person looking for Eddie,” Adam says, sending a pang of white-hot fear lancing through your midsection for what that could possibly suggest, until, “Dustin Henderson called about twenty minutes back asking basically the same thing.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as a cool wave of relief washes over you. In spite of yourself, you feel a bright and dangerous hope welling in your chest, banishing the black pit swirling there.

Dustin! Of course, wonderful, sweet, amazing Dustin would know where to look!  

The bright feeling lasts only the briefest of moments before it is dashed to oblivion because Gareth is giving you a very tense look, like he’s busy putting the pieces of a puzzle to paint a terrible picture of the truth.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with that girl who got killed… does it?” He asks.

It’s shocking, like the clanging of a bell ringing in your ears and deafening you.

You feel your heart seize in your chest and are aware of how your jaw falls open ever so slightly, betraying any discretion you might have hoped to keep regarding the situation at hand. 

Trust Gareth to always see straight through to the greater underlying truth. 

Adam and Jeff exchange nervous glances as you fail to answer. You feel suddenly very small under their collective gaze as words fail you, and all you can do is stare back at them. 

Unfortunately, your silence speaks for itself, and you watch Gareth’s jaw flex as the gravity of the situation finally starts to sink in.

You suspect they must have imagined it was just the typical Eddie trouble and no real emergency. What are you if not their friend’s ex-girlfriend, banging down the door and demanding to know where he is after he goes off with some cheerleader for God knows what – you think you can probably make a pretty good guess for what — don’t go there, don’t do that to yourself…

It makes sense that they would close rank around their friend, “bro-code” being what it is – it’s bullshit, but in the fucked up logic of the masculine brain, you suppose it’s bullshit that makes sense.

It doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“…It’s Chrissy…isn’t it?” Gareth asks then, his voice trembling and so soft you would not have heard him had he not been standing so close, “The dead girl?” 

The silence that falls over the garage is deafening.

Your stomach bottoms out and you are struck with a wave of cold nausea. You wire your jaw shut, suddenly reluctant to answer on the off chance that despite being Eddie’s friends, somehow their collective consciences lead them to the same terrible conclusion you are certain everyone else in this backwater town is going to jump to. 

You would protect him from that if you could, in spite of everything, be his shield, but your body betrays you, and you’re nodding before you can stop yourself.

They react with varying degrees of horror, faces blanche, swears are uttered, Adam covers his face in his hands and you can hear him muttering “Jesus Christ” to himself over and over. It leaves you wondering if he’s swearing or praying.

Gareth takes you by the arm, then, and leads you away from the cloud of hysteria you have created among them, back towards the drum set crouching in the shadows of the garage. 

He doesn’t immediately speak to you, he can hardly even look at you, which is not expressly fair considering you’re only the messenger. The color has drained from his face, and for half a second you think maybe he’s about to keel over or throw up, or something.

After a very long moment, he finally makes himself breathe out a harsh, shaky sigh. His hands are shaking as he cards them through his hair – he glances back at his friends, at his feet, and then at you, like he’s trying to decide what to say. 

You can’t blame him. What does someone say to something like that?

You imagine if you hadn’t been so single-minded in finding him you would be reeling too – you’d seen Chrissy’s body, afterall.

“He-he didn’t…? Fuck– did Eddie—”

“Stop.” the word wrenches itself from somewhere deep within you in a breathless gasp. You can’t bear to hear him say it, “Don’t you dare ask me that…”

Gareth sets his jaw and levels you with a strange, hard look before finally giving a short nod. You’re not sure what it means, but you don’t like the jagged edge of the way he’s looking at you. 

You do your best to steady yourself, but your voice is trembling as you speak.

“Look, I know this seems really bad, I get it, but… but Christ, G, this is Eddie we’re talking about, okay? It’s Eddie. We know he’s not like that, he would never do something like this… I mean, come on … he won’t even kill a spider.”

Gareth is shaking his head, but somehow you don’t think he disagrees with you.

It is, after all, a point of favored teasing among the group – Gareth in particular. Big tough Eddie Munson is scared shitless of spiders … and all flying bugs, you might add, but now is neither the time nor the place to offer that little tidbit of information.

Still, your brain offers you the rather unhelpful mental image of Eddie last January, leaping up out of bed and literally sprinting to the safety of the trailer’s front porch, where he’d stood shivering in his boxers as you quickly relocated a particularly large wolf spider from the nest it had made in a dark corner of his bedroom.

You wish you were back there now, arguing with Eddie as he refused to be coaxed back into the trailer, despite the subzero temperatures, instead of standing here in this terrible moment, wondering where in the hell he could possibly be.

“What happened?” Gareth sniffs, squeezing his eyes shut like he hates to ask but he has to know.

You cross your arms over your chest and cast your gaze down to your grease-stained keds.  

“I don’t know,” You mumble, “But it’s only gonna get a lot worse if I don’t find Eddie right now.”

A sticky silence blooms between you, but it barely has a moment to settle before it is whisked away.

“Uh oh,” Adam calls from the front of the garage. “Jerk alert,”

“Jesus, what are they doing here?”

A cursory glance toward the front of the garage reveals Jeff and Adam staring at something out on the street.

You follow their gaze to see the butched-out Jeep Cherokee that has pulled up to the curb and your heart seizes in your chest as you come to recognize it and the great many basketball players that begin to spill out of it – the Hawkins Tigers, with Jason Carver at the lead. This is bad, this is very bad.

Since graduating, you don’t keep up with the interconnected gossip of the Hawkins social elite, like who is dating who, but it occurs to you all too late that you are, in fact, very well aware that Chrissy Cunningham had been Jason Carver’s girlfriend.

At least until last night.

Adrenaline spikes through your limbs and you’re struck with the same nagging urge to run that you’d woken up with that morning. 

If Jason is here, then it can only mean that news of her death has reached him, though more importantly, it means Jason knows who Chrissy was with when she died. 

You have to find Eddie, now.

Before you can even think to move, Gareth grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and drags you deeper into the garage, leading you to the wall where a dozen boxes are stacked up against a disused side door.

He begins pulling at them, doing his best to dislodge the cardboard barrier standing between you and your escape. He speaks with a hushed urgency as he works, looking back over his shoulder at the scene unfolding at the mouth of the garage.

“Go.” He says, wrenching the door open as far as it will budge, “Find Dustin, if anyone’s gonna have a line on Eddie, it’ll be him. We’ll try to buy you some time.”

It’s a tight squeeze, but you hold your breath and manage to push through with the meager sacrifice of two buttons from the front of your dress and only the slightest amount of scraping.

Before you can slip out the other side, Gareth catches you by the wrist and says your name.

His brows are pulled tight over his eyes as you glance back at him. 

“He didn’t mean it.” He says thickly – you don’t have to ask to know who he means, “Whatever he did with… with Chrissy?”

Gareth trails off then, shaking his head like he isn’t sure he ought to even say her name, let alone try and make excuses for whatever did or did not happen. 

You dismiss the notion with a quick shake of your head. The jocks are getting closer, and you’re running out of time to escape. 

“It doesn’t matter–”

He cuts you off.

“No, it does. Just… just let me say it, in case he’s too chicken shit to do it himself.” He huffs, “Eddie’s been fucked up over you all year, okay? Trust me, whatever he did, whatever happened between you? He’s killing himself over it… he still loves you, Man, he’s just too stupid to do anything about it.”   

You swallow hard to try and stop any kind of reaction from spilling out of you.

You don’t have time to fall apart, but the coincidence that he would use those exact words? He still loves you? What could possibly have possessed Gareth to tell you that, why now?

How much had Eddie told them about what he’d said to you that night last August?

Before you have time to consider the notion, to muster any kind of proper feeling about it, Gareth pushes you through the door and shuts it behind you.

You stagger gracelessly into the grass on the other side of the wall, only just managing to stay on your feet as you hear the telltale scrape and thump of Gareth putting the boxes back in place.

You’re off and running again as the first of the jock’s voices reach you, body surging with adrenaline despite the way your legs are trembling as you go. 

Find Dustin, you tell yourself, You’ve got to find Dustin.

+++

This is the fourth time Dustin has tried you at home over the last hour, and yet again the phone rings and rings and endlessly rings with no sign of picking up.

Behind him, Max and Robin pace back and forth, dialing every number they can get their hands on, attempting to oh so casually inquire after Eddie to any of the citizens of Hawkins who might happen to have some inkling of where he could be.

So far no dice.

Not even getting Adam on the phone had drummed up any kind of result, except for Dustin having to make a very rushed, very lame excuse about why he couldn’t stay on the phone and reminisce about the previous night’s awesome session.

It had been awesome, and under normal circumstances, he would have loved the opportunity to relive the glory of Vecna’s defeat, but Dustin has to find Eddie as soon as humanly possible, and before he can do that, he has to get a hold of you.

Both of those things are seeming more and more improbable an outcome as the minutes tick past.

The phone continues to ring, and Dustin watches Steve with a misplaced vehemence as he skirts around the floor, assisting and suggesting and being an overall excellent Family Video employee like he was going for goddamn employee of the month or something.

He is very obviously doing everything he possibly can to avoid assisting in the search for Eddie, and it is very un-Steve of him.

In Dustin’s opinion, he is being very uncool about this whole thing, about looking for Eddie but also about getting you on the phone.

“You’re wasting your time,” he’d said the second time Dustin had tried your number, in that same cryptic way he always referred to you when the subject of Eddie came up.

Dustin had no patience for it today. 

“Steve, quit being such a douche,” He’d said, hurrying to finish his thought before Steve could get pissed about it, “I’m telling you — she’s good at this stuff, finding lost things? You don’t have to be her friend, just try to be nice to her for once, okay? She’s our ace in the hole.”

To his credit, Steve just huffed out an annoyed breath and rolled his eyes, which was a win considering he was within his rights to bite Dustin’s head off over the insult.

“Not if the lost thing is something she doesn’t want to find.” He'd muttered.  

“What does that even mean?”

But by then a slender brunette had walked in through the door and Steve had completely lost interest in the conversation.

The phone is still ringing, and Dustin has to remind himself for the hundredth time that it does not automatically indicate that you’ve been arrested, as Max suggested.

You’re probably at work, even though your mean coworker had already informed him that you’d gone running out the front door without a word, like a bat out of hell — headed for the trailer park, if I had to guess, she’d said.

It makes Dustin’s stomach curl to imagine it – you, mixed up in whatever weirdness was going on down there, with Eddie – his two missing friends.  

It makes no goddamn sense.

On the ride to Family Video, Dustin and Max had unanimously agreed that said weirdness very likely had something to do with the Upsidedown, which stresses Dustin out to no end, considering the fact that half of their party is presently all the way in California and unable to help if another gate has cropped up; not to mention how tirelessly he has worked to keep you safely removed from all that, and yet there they were, and here you were not. 

The phone is still ringing.

With a dejected sigh, Dustin resigns himself to the fact that you’re still not home. Just as his fingers have come down to rest on the switch hook, ready to end the connection, there is suddenly the telltale click of the receiver picking up.

Dustin’s heart leaps to his throat as he snatches his hand away from the phone and finally — finally, your voice comes through the line. You answer, loud and breathless, like you’ve just finished running for your life as you all but shout into the mouthpiece. 

“Eddie!?” You gasp at the same moment that Dustin bleats your name with a similar fervor. 

It confuses him, though not nearly as much as the rush of relief that floods your voice as you course correct and immediately begin speaking a mile a minute.

“Dustin!” You shout, “Oh, thank God – Did you find him? Have you heard from Eddie?” 

It leaves him more than just a little bit stunned.

“No, not since last night…” he hears you heave an overloud sigh of frustration and is quick to continue in a juvenile hope of pleasing you, “B-but we’re calling around and asking everybody we can think of…” and then a thought worms its way to the front of Dustin’s mind, “Hold on a second, how do you know Eddie—”

You don’t let him finish. Over the phone, Dustin can hear a cacophony of crashing and banging, the rustle of clothing and you swearing harshly under your breath, like you’re busy ransacking your apartment.

“Where are you right now? Are you home?”

“No, I’m at Family Video, Max and I—”

“Don’t move. I’ll be there in five minutes.” 

And then there is the hard clang of the receiver being slammed into place followed by the monotonous droning of the dial tone, and just like that you’re gone.  

Dustin drops the phone from his ear and stares at the receiver as he tries to understand what the hell just happened.

You’re very clearly not sitting in a jail cell, that much is clear, but somehow you’re already out there looking for Eddie?

He can’t decide if it’s fortuitous or just plain bizarre.

It’s fortuitous because it means he doesn’t have to waste any time trying to convince you to help, but it’s wholly bizarre because up until this point Dustin had been under the impression that you don’t even know Eddie.

How did you know he was in trouble? And why do you sound so stressed about it?

Dustin supposes it doesn’t really matter if the means add up to his intended end, but it’s just one more thing in a long list of things stacking up to make today unbearably weird.

His confusion does not go unnoticed.

“Hey, what happened?” Robin asks softly, craning her neck towards Dustin and holding the phone just far enough away from her ear so as not to mix conversations. 

He blinks at her as he tries and fails to untangle it himself, then shrugs and puts his phone back on the hook.

He explains as much as he knows: you’re on your way over, you’ll be here in five minutes.

It’s closer to ten by the time he finally spies you through the front windows, darting across the street and only just avoiding the passing traffic as you cross.

You’re flushed and jumpy as you push through the door with a loud clanging of the bell.

The sound of your arrival brings Steve whipping around a shelf from the romance section, eyes bright with possibility and diving into his bullshit spiel before he sees who has come in through the door.

“Hey there, welcome to Family — oh, it’s just you.” His face visibly falls as he turns on his heel and heads back towards the counter with a sigh, “Dustin, your babysitter’s here.”

He says it’s like a dirty word, gesturing to you with a flippant jerk of his thumb that makes Dustin’s skin feel hot and prickly with indignation – he’d told him to be nice.

Dustin knows very well that you and Steve don’t like each other, and he doesn’t precisely know why, except that it has something to do with something that happened back in High School, before Steve came around and joined the team.

He has tried and failed on many occasions to plead his case, to convince you that Steve is not all that bad, but you would not relent in your opinion of him.

You’re speaking before Dustin can make any sort of effort to defend you. 

“Eat shit, Steve,” you huff, taking the words right out of his mouth and looking very agitated as you follow him across the carpet to the desk.  

You greet Robin with an absent wave when she gives you a big, friendly smile. 

She either can’t or won’t speak for the tension between you and Steve, but she likes you just fine and as far as Dustin can tell, you have no issue with her.

Of course, this isn’t about your mysterious feud with Steve, this is about finding Eddie, so he does his best to ignore the way you’re staring daggers at each other.

“Where’ve you been?” Dustin demands once you reach the counter.

He can’t help but notice the way you’re gripping the edge of the linoleum so tightly your knuckles have turned white.

“I’ve been calling you all morning! Max said—”

You shake your head.

“It doesn’t matter,” You say, which Dustin finds to be particularly outrageous because of course it matters when Max is out here spreading rumors that she’d seen you getting arrested.

You’re talking again before he can voice any of those concerns.

“Where’s Eddie? What do we know?” 

Not much, unfortunately, and he hates to admit it.

Dustin’s cheeks puff out with a heavy breath as he turns his attention back to the long list of crossed-out names and phone numbers they have been meticulously calling for what feels like hours now.

All this time and all those people and still they are no closer to Eddie. 

“Only what Max saw.” He says simply.

Your eyes widen and your head snaps around to the redhead, pacing back and forth behind the counter as she talks on the phone. She casts a sidelong glance your way and scrunches her nose as if to say ‘quit staring at me’. 

It takes a very long moment before you finally turn back to Dustin. 

“What did she see?” You demand.

He doesn’t know why, but having your undivided attention like this makes his stomach tighten with anxiety – you’re just a little more intense than he is comfortable with right now, and strangely he’s nervous about telling you the truth.  

“Eddie and Chrissy together at his place.” He explains slowly, bracing himself for your reaction.

You clench your jaw and something indiscernible flashes across your eyes, but you prompt him to continue with a short nod.

Dustin takes a breath.

“Then a little while later the lights go wonky and she hears him screaming like he’s being killed, next thing she sees is Eddie hauling ass to get out of there.” 

He feels oddly proud, in the grand scheme of things, saying it all out loud helped to make it seem like they knew a lot more than he'd previously thought, but disappointingly you heave a dejected sigh and your shoulders fall. 

“So, she didn’t see anything,”

It leaves Dustin feeling strangely indignant. 

“She saw Chrissy.” He posits, deflating a little when the information fails to impress you. 

“Yeah,” you say bluntly, “So did I.”

Dustin doesn’t know what that means, but he can’t shake the feeling that there is some terrible reality behind that.

You’ve got this far-away look in your eyes, and you bodily shudder. He can’t imagine what must have happened to Chrissy to send Eddie running for the hills, big tough Eddie who everyone was so afraid of, who wasn’t really all that big or tough at all once you got to know him. 

A sharp pang of protectiveness lances through his midsection and Dustin finds himself eyeing you warily as he sees how your brows have come together, an angry scowl etched into your features.

He suddenly can’t stop thinking about the conversation you’d had with Eddie on the campus phone, how quickly it had turned before you’d inexplicably hung up on him – it leaves Dustin wondering just how you know Eddie, why you’d never mentioned him before, and suddenly he is very worried about your opinion regarding his guilt.

You want to find him, that’s for sure, for whatever reason that may be, but wanting to find him doesn’t expressly mean you want to help him, particularly if your opinion of Eddie is any shade of similar to your opinion of Steve.

Dustin hates to be suspicious of you, normally he would swear you don't have a mean bone in your body, but it's been a long time since you've been normal...    

“You know he didn’t do it.” Dustin says firmly, “...right?”

He watches you carefully as your head snaps up and you regard him with a strange look.

“Eddie.” He clarifies, “He’s innocent.”

Then your brows come together over your narrowing eyes, pulling a face that is somewhere within the realm of the same familiar look you always get when he says something you think is stupid or outrageous.

It’s oddly comforting, despite the way it makes his stomach clench with instant regret.  

“Of course, he didn’t do it,” you snap. “Dustin–”

He puts his hands up in surrender before you can admonish him for whatever it is that has offended you.

“Okay! I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page here–”

“Well, hold on,” Steve interjects, rocking up to lean beside you on the counter. You shift away from him, “We can’t just say Munson’s innocent and call it a day just because Princess Daphne here has got a major hard-on for him.” 

He jerks his head towards you and you recoil like he’d reached out and slapped you. 

“Excuse me?” You snap.

And Dustin can’t say he feels any different, he can’t believe what he is hearing.

“Steve, what the hell?” He yelps, trying his damnedest to be outraged and not to think of you dressed as Princess Daphne, which is easier said than done now that the image is in Dustin's head.

Even Robin is unimpressed, glaring at him from behind the counter. 

“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” she huffs.

Steve, in turn, immediately goes on the defensive, throwing his arms wide and raising his voice like he can’t believe no one is agreeing with him. 

“Oh, come on, people, he fled the scene! That’s pretty much an admission of guilt right there”

You level him with a hateful look. 

“He didn’t do it.”

Steve stares at you a moment before shrugging and giving you a halfway apologetic look, almost like he hates to say it, but in a very condescending way. 

“Well, of course, you’d say that,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re biased,”

Dustin watches warily as you bristle.  

“Biased.” You mimic, curling your hands into fists.

“Completely,” 

For half a moment, he thinks you might swing at Steve, and you wouldn’t be wrong for doing so, he’s being a complete and total douche.

To your credit, you take a deep, steadying breath before you come back with your rebuttal.  

“You don’t think maybe I’d say that because I have just a little bit more insight on the matter than you do?”

Steve scoffs, and just like that, all sense of diplomacy has gone out the window. 

“Oh, okay, insight? Is that what we’re calling it?” He prods, crossing his arms and staring down at you, “Insight?”

Once a mean girl, always a mean girl. 

“Fuck you.” you snap, and Dustin takes it as his sign to intervene.

He does his best to separate you, but unfortunately, he’s on the wrong side of the counter to do much more than reach out and grab the both of you by your sleeve. 

“Okay guys, take a breath.” he urges, rather helplessly considering how you and Steve have gotten into each other’s faces now.

He’s halfway to panicking because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if you start to fight, like, really physically fight.

Dustin doesn’t think Steve would sink so low to hit a girl, he’s got principles even when he’s being an unhinged half-reformed mean girl, but he can also hear you berating him for being a sexist at the notion – “Girls can get in fights too, Dustin, don’t be such a –” 

“I think I’ve got a lead.” Max says suddenly, slamming her phone down into the cradle and mercifully cutting the tension enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Some guy called Reefer Rick? Apparently, he’s Eddie’s dealer and I guess he crashes at his place sometimes,”

For half a moment no one reacts, and then Robin snorts with laughter. 

It is almost loud enough to cover the harsh sound of indignation you make. 

“Reefer Rick? Is that his legal name? Like, do you think it says that on his driver’s license?”

Max just rolls her eyes. 

“Did you get a last name?” Steve asks then, leaning over the desk on his elbow.

“What, suddenly you care?” Dustin scoffs, “Two seconds ago you were ready to call the cops.” 

“Listen, I’m just trying to be realistic, you little creep — any way you’re biased too, you’re obsessed with the guy,”

The comment goes largely ignored, as Robin slides into the computer chair and immediately begins typing. 

“Maybe if we can find this Rick guy, he can point us in the right … direction…?”

Robin trails off when she notices how you’ve spun on your heel and started across the lobby.

“Where the hell is she going?” Steve asks, reaching across the counter to shove Dustin for his attention when he doesn’t answer right away. 

“How should I know?”

Steve narrows his eyes in a way that would have left Dustin half inclined to slug him were he the type of person with those types of inclinations.

He’s really in rare form today, and Dustin is almost certain at this rate someone is going to punch Steve by the end of the day. 

“She’s your babysitter.” He drawls.

Again, he says it like a dirty word, and Dustin bristles.

“What, so like I can read her mind or something?” He snaps, scrambling out from under the desk and nearly tripping over his feet in an attempt to go after you. 

You’re out the door in an instant, the chiming of that stupid bell signifying your escape.

Dustin staggers out after you, blinking against the sun and shouting your name. He has to say it three times before you slow enough for him to catch you.

“Where are you going?” Dustin gasps, winded from having to dash after you so quick.

You’re practically vibrating, eyes bright as you stare back at him.

“I know where he is!” You say.

“Who?" He demands, then feels his brain melt a little, "Reefer Rick?”

Your brows come together and you roll your eyes. 

“Oh please,” You scoff, turning to leave again.  

Dustin grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and holds you there, stopping you from dashing off to the odd corner of the world. 

He doesn’t notice the strip of paper that falls from your pocket, too busy fixating on you. 

“Stop!” He pleads.

You pull against his grip and glare at him, the slightest twinge of annoyance coloring your face as you jerk your arm out of his grasp. 

“Dustin!” You start, swinging hard into your serious babysitter voice, “I have to go!” 

He knows this, despite how annoying it is, but he’s desperate to make you stay, anyway he can. 

“Just – wait a second, will you? You don't understand how goddam stressful this whole day has been, first with Eddie, then you–"

Your eyes go wide as you gesture to yourself incredulously.

"Me?"

It sets Dustin's teeth on edge.

"Yes, you! I've been trying to reach you all day. Max said you were in jail and when I couldn't get a hold of you..." He trails off as he realizes just how whiney he sounds and feels his cheeks burn for it.

All that talk about how he was too old for a babysitter and here he is wailing and moaning like a little kid.

You stand a moment, searching his face before your features grow soft in the strangest way. Dustin’s heart leaps up into his throat as you surge forward and embrace him.

"It's gonna be okay, Dusty, I know where he is now." You say against his ear.

Only at that moment, Dustin could not have guessed who you were talking about or what they'd all been doing only moments before if his life depended on it. Eddie? Eddie who? All he can think about is you and how good you smell.

It’s a quick hug, much to his chagrin, and it leaves him standing struck dumb enough that he doesn’t notice you skipping away until it’s too late. 

You’re halfway up the street by the time he comes back around. 

“Where are you going!” Dustin shouts, 

You twist around and offer him a big bright smile, one he hasn’t seen in what feels like years. 

“To find Eddie!” You call, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world,

The sound is lost to the afternoon traffic, and as quickly as you’d arrived, you’re gone again. 

Off to whatever corner of Hawkins Eddie is hiding in, he supposes. Dustin doesn’t know how he feels about it.

For some reason, his insides feel cold and squirmy, like they’re about to jump up into his throat. It feels like jealousy, but he can’t rationalize why he would be jealous.

You don’t know Eddie, except apparently you do, well enough to come running at the first sign of trouble. He can’t wrap his head around it.

He’s not worried you won’t find him, he’s only worried that after you do, he won’t be able to find you, like somehow you’re on the cusp of slipping through his fingers and he’s never going to see you again.

With a dejected sigh, he turns on his heel and starts back toward the video store, then he spies the long strip of paper lying on the pavement where you’d just been standing. 

Dustin stoops to retrieve it, guessing you must have dropped it in your rush to leave. He turns it over in his hands and his heart seizes. 

It’s a photo strip, one from the many kiosks they’d had at the Starcourt Mall before the Mindflayer took care of it.

The pictures are all more or less the same: it’s you and Eddie. 

Eddie giving you bunny ears and you sticking your tongue out, followed by Eddie pretending to bite your face while you laughed, followed by Eddie kissing you, and you kissing Eddie, and… and and and …oh God.

Dustin feels like he’s going to be sick.

So that’s how you know each other… that’s why you’d been down at the trailer park this morning, why you are so desperate to find Eddie. 

Finally, here is the missing piece of the puzzle, landing perfectly in place with an earth-shattering crash, threatening to knock Dustin off his feet. 

Your stupid boyfriend, the one who had plagued Dustin’s life for years, skulking around the periphery of his brain, slowly pulling you away from him, the one who had so callously broken your heart and left you sobbing pathetically on his couch last summer, who Dustin had sworn to avenge you against… is Eddie.

Of course it is, it makes perfect sense now that he really thinks about it, and Dustin hates every second of just how much it makes sense.

Who drove around in a shitty panel van blaring over loud rock music? Your stupid boyfriend — Eddie. Whose silver ring with the dark stone had you been wearing up until last summer? Your stupid boyfriend’s — also Eddie, as Dustin had noticed during his first session at Hellfire and done an incredible feat of mental gymnastics to convince himself that it wasn’t the same ring.

Who had he seen picking you up outside his house that night he’d torn down his curtains in a jealous rage? Who had he seen lean over the center console to kiss you? Your stupid boyfriend — Eddie Eddie Eddie. All signs point to Eddie, and Dustin’s mind is reeling for it. 

Now he knows why you’d never once mentioned Eddie or Hellfire in all your hours of doomsday prepping, and why Eddie had been so periodically weird and sulky and withdrawn. Dustin had long suspected it was a breakup that was ailing Eddie, especially considering Mike had acted the exact same way in the weeks following Will and Eleven’s departure for California. 

Behind him, the door to the video store chimes as it whips open, and Steve calls out to him. 

“Hey! Come in man, we’ve got a lead here!” 

Dustin crumples the photo strip without thinking and stuffs it into his pocket, hoping somehow he might forget he ever saw it, forget he knows what he now knows.

He whirls around and does his best to stuff down all the big unwieldy feelings threatening to burst out of him, making his way back toward Family Video. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Keep your wig on.” Dustin mumbles, swallowing hard to keep his voice from trembling as he goes.

+++

Eddie doesn’t know what happened to Chrissy, but he knows somehow it is his fault.

At least that’s what everyone is going to say.

He was there, he had his hands on her, trying to snap her out of whatever terrifying fugue state had suddenly gripped her, sure, but fingerprints are fingerprints, and his are all over her.

She was there, and then suddenly she wasn’t; now she is dead.

It all happened so fast, and yet it won’t stop playing in his head in a constant loop, like a slow-motion instant replay scorched into the backs of his eyelids that he’s destined to relive every time he closes his eyes until the end of his days.

He’s never seen anything like that, never heard anything like it – he didn’t know a person’s body could bend like that, that bones could make that sound.

When he was thirteen, his father purposely slammed his arm shut in a car door in the weeks leading up to his final arrest. Why he did it didn’t matter – that was just the old man for you – what mattered was how Eddie had heard the bones in his forearm break and sat staring in the blissful ignorance of shock at the bend in his arm that didn’t belong before he ever felt any pain.

That was nothing like the noises that had rung out when Chrissy’s arms and legs snapped up out of place or the unnatural way she’d hung there, limbs bent out of shape.

He hopes Chrissy wasn’t present enough in those final moments to feel any pain. 

He can still see it when he closes his eyes like the image is forever burnt into the back of his eyelids. He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to stop hearing that sound.  

And now he’s hiding out in Rick Lipton’s boat house, which is probably the most incriminating place he could have chosen to hole up considering the circumstances, but it’s not like Eddie had a lot of options. 

It’s dark, dingy, and full of all kinds of nasty dust and debris that hurts his lungs to breathe, and all of that would be positively fine if it weren’t for the spiders. So many goddamn spiders in this shitty crumbling boat house.

Normally he would have bolted straight for the safety of the house at the first sight of them, but things are anything but normal right now, and Rick is supposed to be in jail.

In spite of being currently half out of his mind, Eddie knows well enough that it would do him no good to draw someone’s attention with signs of life in the house, so there he sits, miserable and terrified and itching with the sensation of phantom legs crawling up and down his body.

He would say that things could not possibly get any worse, but he’s worried he’ll jinx it. 

And then, like it was just waiting for its cue, a sudden commotion startles Eddie into leaping up to his feet.

A crashing bang of metal and glass out in the yard causes him to damn near leap out of his skin. Trash cans, he rationalizes, but what knocked them over?

Eddie balls his hands into fists and tries to convince himself it’s just raccoons, he's heard them skulking around outside the trailer for years, causing a ruckus, but he could have sworn he heard someone swearing under their breath.

Last time he checked raccoons don’t go around muttering “Goddamn— son of a bitch,” 

He crosses his arms tightly over his chest and hugs his biceps protectively. He holds his breath, listening hard for any kind of sound. 

It’s faint, but it’s there. 

The telltale crunch of gravel, moving from one end of the building to the other, footsteps, drawing closer with each passing second. 

Fuck. 

There’s someone outside. 

Oh fuck.

They’ve found him.

Fuck fuck fuck shit oh fuck.

Eddie’s head is on a swivel, looking for somewhere, anywhere to hide – there are dozens of places, plenty of dark corners and tarps he could tuck himself into, but the threat of spiders keeps him frozen to the spot.

Move or die, Man! his inner voice screams, now is not the time for irrational phobias, but his legs have turned to jelly frozen in concrete. If he moves they’ll shatter and he’ll fall. 

The footsteps are getting closer. 

Eddie’s mind races with every terrible possibility, his subconscious whispers hideous things to him and urges him to run, but he still can’t move.

He knows he needs to get as far away from here as he can as fast as humanly possible, but the tiniest, nagging thought has him paralyzed — where is he going to go? 

Who’s going to help him?

Wayne’s bound to be tied up in police tape by now, Rick’s in jail and so is his father, not that he would ever dream of going to the old man for help, his mother is dead, and his friends all think he’s an asshole, so who is there in the world left to help him?

Chrissy was the only one left around who was even halfway nice to him and he saw what happened to her. She’s the reason he’s in this mess.

Who would even believe him if he tried to explain it? 

He’s tired — so goddamn tired he can’t think straight, and he doesn’t want to run anymore.

He’s been running all night, hasn’t closed his eyes to so much as blink for fear of seeing Chrissy’s face again, and he’s dead on his feet… so incredibly fucking tired that he tries to tell himself he doesn’t care what happens to him now despite how untrue that is.

He ought to just give himself up. 

The footsteps are closer now, nearly to the door. 

So what if someone is out there? So what if he’s found? He knows he didn’t do anything, but how far is his word going to take him in this town?

How much is he willing to bet the court system will take one look at his name and decide his guilt without so much as a thought for things like motive and evidence? 

What’s the worst that can happen? Prison. Just like his father.

His heart sinks at the thought, despite how he tries not to care.

Of course, like always, the problem is that Eddie cares too much— how unfair it is that he’s spent his whole life doing everything he can to get off that train, be good (as good as he can, considering it all) stay out of trouble, and keep his head down, only to end up in this mess.

Worse than getting picked up for carjacking or possession or just because the cops in this town just plain don’t like him, if Eddie goes to prison for Chrissy’s murder, he knows he’ll never get out again. 

Not alive, in any case. 

If he runs he’s going to spend his whole life running, if he stays he’s going to die. What kind of options are those? He suddenly feels like an animal in a trap, presented with the prospect of chewing off his own leg to survive. 

Does he have the fortitude to do something like that? He doesn’t know. 

The footsteps have stopped, and Eddie realizes with a burst of hot stinging adrenaline that whoever is out there skulking around is right outside the doors and he doesn’t know what to do. 

You would have known what to do… wouldn’t you? Probably not, but it would have made him feel a whole lot better not to be doing this on his own. Not to have to do any of it on his own.

Instinctively, Eddie jumps forward and grips the door handle, the cool metal bites into the flesh of his palm and sends a shiver up his spine. He tells himself it’s to stop anyone from entering if they try the door, but apathy is clawing at him, urging him to twist the handle, open the door himself.

Better to get it over with, he thinks, and in a moment of despair he makes his decision. 

He doesn’t want to run anymore…  

He takes a deep breath in through the nose and out through the mouth, and another, and then one more for good measure as he tries to gather his courage.

He grits his teeth, and whips the door open. 

In an instant, all the air has left his lungs in the form of the loud, terrified shout that he is powerless to stop as it tears itself from somewhere in his chest cavity.  

You scream too, leaping damn near out of your skin and covering your ears like you always do when you get scared like that.

It’s you — holy shit, it’s you — clutching your chest like you’re attempting to recover from the mini heart attack he’d just given you.

The feeling is mutual. 

Eddie suddenly thinks he might pass out as he feels his heart seize erratically in his chest before dropping into his stomach. His vision goes spotty for the briefest of moments and his legs tremble under his weight. 

“Jesus—”

“—Christ!” You gasp, like you’re finishing his curse for him. “God, Eddie!”

You stomp your foot when you say it, like he’d jumped out and scared you on purpose, and the way you say his name makes Eddie’s heart thump painfully in his chest. 

“You scared the hell out of me.” You breathe, shaking your head and fisting your hands in the front of your shirt — his shirt, he realizes with a start.

It’s inside out, funny enough, but he doesn’t miss the faded Metallica logo, backwards and staring up at him from between your fingers.

It’s painfully endearing, and his heart is beating so fast it makes his chest hurt looking at it, at you, two of his favorite things, long since written off as lost, mourned and now miraculously found again. 

All this time and you still had it.  

He tries to breathe but it catches in his throat. 

Holy shit holy shit. 

Out of everything and anything he could have imagined he would find on the other side of that door – police, national guard, an army of angry hicks, the re-animated corpse of Chrissy come to feast on his flesh – Eddie never once never imagined someone would be coming to help him.  

He never imagined it would be you standing there. 

Somehow his mind is simultaneously going ninety miles an hour and moving at a snail’s pace. He can’t think, and yet he can’t stop the tide of thoughts and feelings and everything he suddenly needs to say to you fighting for real estate at the front of his brain. 

For half a moment, it’s all either of you can do but just stand there staring at each other. 

Finally, you gesture awkwardly into the room.

“Can I…?” 

It takes him a moment too long to realize you’re asking to come in, and Eddie all but leaps out of your way, staggering to the side to make room as you jump up over the threshold and shut the door behind you.

You make a wide circle around him, surveying the room, and he watches you carefully as you do, still not entirely convinced he hasn’t just been breathing toxic chemicals all day and is now hallucinating you. 

You cast a sidelong glance in his direction and he thinks he sees the corners of your mouth quirk humorously.

"Take a picture, Eds, it'll last longer." you hum.

"...Sorry." he mumbles.

He knows he’s staring at you, but he can’t stop.

He can’t believe what he’s seeing. After all those months he’d spent dreaming about you, imagining he was hearing your voice or seeing you turn a corner, always there but just out of sight?  He doesn’t trust it — he can’t.

You try again to make idle conversation.

“Rick’s boat house, huh?” You say, glancing at him over your shoulder in a way that is enough to make his knees tremble. 

His throat closes before he can even think to answer you, and it forces Eddie to settle on a meager response, nodding stupidly.

He doesn’t know what else to say about it and it’s driving him crazy. 

Eight months of memorizing all the things Eddie thought he would say to you if he ever saw you again and suddenly here you are and he can’t remember a goddamn word of it. 

He tries to speak, but words fail him. Still, he tries, opening and closing his mouth in an attempt to force the words out, gawping stupidly at you like a fish out of water.

He wants to ask what you’re doing here, how you found him, but he realizes in an instant that he doesn’t care how you found him, he only cares that you’re here.

Your eyebrows come together in stark concern and you finally take a step toward him.

He’s this close to panicking about it. 

This was not how he’d imagined reuniting with you would go. His palms have become sweaty and he resists the boyish urge to wipe them down the front of his jeans.

Eddie makes himself swallow hard to try and wet his throat where it has suddenly bloomed with cobwebs. 

He can’t keep staring at you like this. He’s got to say something — anything. He blurts the first thing that comes to mind. 

“That’s my shirt,” he chokes, for lack of anything better to say. 

His voice cracks and his mouth slams shut. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. 

You blink at him, like you have absolutely no idea how to respond.

“You left it in my room.” You say petulantly.

It’s almost enough to break the tension hanging heave between you … almost. 

He left a lot of things in your room, most of which you’d given back to him, but he won’t say that, for fear of sounding like he isn’t happy to see you, it’s just with the way you’re staring at him, he can’t make any kind of coherent thought come through the fog of his mind. 

“What are— h-how did you—?” 

You shake your head and heave and airy sigh, giving him this strangely pained look, smiling with your nose scrunched and your eyebrows turned up.

“...Heard you were in trouble.” You say, your words punctuated by a wet sniffle, and then you shrug and roll your eyes, like you always do when you’re halfway embarrassed by what you’re about to say, “Came running.”  

Jesus–

You might as well have stabbed him for how his lungs flatten in his chest. 

Eddie rocks back a step, without really meaning to, shaking his head in awe of the specter of you, miraculously standing there in the dingy light of a place you by all rights have no business being, staring at him in too close a shadow of the way you’d looked standing at the bottom of his front steps last summer.

Eddie finally makes himself breathe, sucking greedily on a sharp intake of breath before he realizes the distance he’s put between you, that he’s still putting between you, and something in him snaps. 

He needed you and you came running. 

“—Oh, my God.” 

Eddie surges forward and seizes you, crushing you against his body.

He curls his arms around you and hugs you so tight you’re bent nearly backward. You make a faint sound as his embrace forces the air out of your lungs, almost like a whimper and Eddie buries his face in your hair as he presses his cheek to the crown of your head.

The movement kicks up the familiar hint of your shampoo and conditioner, cutting through the murky, mildewy tang of the boathouse like a breath of fresh air.

He breathes deep — your perfume is different, something soft and faintly floral, but it is not enough to mask the subtle sweetness of your flesh.

Christ, he’d nearly forgotten your smell, and now he’s forgotten everything but you.

His mind is caught in a flurry of spinning thoughts and feelings that are quickly overwhelmed by a strange calm, seeming to radiate outward from your point of contact and bleeding down into his limbs to react with the adrenaline still surging there. It brings with it a sensation Eddie has only felt very few times in his life;

Walking home from the diner hand in hand with his mother while the setting sun guides them home, climbing the steps of Wayne’s trailer the last time it was ever just that and the first time it was home, laying in your bed at three o’clock in the morning with your head on his chest, watching your lashes flutter and listening to the slow pace of your breathing, a deep breath in followed by a slow breath out.

Little moments that live like glittering jewels tucked safely away in the spot behind his lungs lead him to one, gentle, all-encompassing feeling: he’s safe. 

Somewhere, very far back in his mind, Eddie knows he isn’t, that there are people looking for him who think he’s done something terrible.

There is still the faintest alarm trilling danger, danger, Will Robinson! in his deep psyche, but how can he make himself think about anything else with you in his arms? How is he supposed to care about anything besides the fact that, somehow, in spite of everything he’d said, everything he’d done to hurt you, you’ve come back to him?

Eddie breathes out a shaky sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he feels your arms snake up around his body — for a brief, terrible moment he’d worried you wouldn’t reciprocate, that he was really well and truly kidding himself that you were here for him, but those fears dissipate the moment he feels the press of your skin beneath his jacket and vest.

The warmth of you burns him even through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it is such a relief to be under your touch again. You hold him so tight that he thinks at any moment you could slip beneath his skin and live there, and he’d let you do it because now that he’s got you again, he’s never going to let you go.

Then suddenly you’re carding your fingers through his hair, stroking his face, looking up at him with your big pretty eyes, and speaking softly to him.

“Hey—” you’re saying, “It’s okay, Eddie... hey, look at me — you’re okay, I’ve got you.”

He sniffles and dips his head to wipe his cheek on the soft denim covering his shoulder because there’s no way in hell he’s letting you go for something as trivial as wiping his face.

He almost whimpers when you take your hand away from where it’s been resting on his side, and when you reach up to brush the pad of your thumb across his cheekbone, he realizes with a start that his face is wet, he’s trembling under your touch, body heaving – he’s crying.

He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed about it, he’s too busy looking you over, trying to commit your face to memory in case this is just a terrible hallucination and he’s never going to see you again.

He takes your face in his hands and reverently compares what he sees now to what had lived in his mind before, trying to decide what, if anything, is different.

Your hair maybe? Your clothes? He doesn’t know, he suddenly can’t remember anything before this moment.

"You’re here, you’re really here…" He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but running on nothing but adrenaline has his brain all but malfunctioning.

Your face scrunches up in the most heartbreaking look, much too similar to the way you’d been looking at him when you pounded on his door last summer as your hands come up to shadow his on either side of your face.

“Oh, Eds…”

It makes him feel sick — his skin is suddenly hot and prickly with it. 

He never wants to see that look on your face again. 

“What are you doing here?” He finally manages to choke out, “You — you shouldn’t be here,” 

Eddie regrets saying it as soon as it tumbles past his lips. Particularly with the way your face ever so briefly contorts with the shadow of the same look you’d given him when he’d told you he didn’t love you, when he'd lied to hurt you — even with you here he feels his heart break all over again just at the thought of it.

He’d meant you shouldn’t be here in the sense that it wasn’t safe for you as much as it didn’t make any sense, because hadn’t you moved away? Left Hawkins behind? Left him behind? 

You shift backward, like you mean to step away from him and Eddie feels himself grow panicky about it. 

“Do you want me to–” You start, but he doesn’t let you finish that terrible thought. 

“No!” He cries, surging forward to catch you, “No, please don’t go, just… just…” 

Eddie grips you tightly by your shoulders like he needs to hold you there so you won’t disappear, but it’s not enough.

His hands move, scrabbling higher and higher even still until they come up to grace the curves of your throat. He’s desperate for more of you, desperate to kiss you, but he doesn’t dare.

He can’t shake the sense that your being here is balancing on the edge of a knife, and any wrong move will send you running for the hills. 

In spite of that thinking, you lean into his touch and his heart thumps painfully in his chest. 

“How’d you know I’d be here?” Eddie asks. 

Your face softens as you take his hands in yours.

“I always know where to find you, Dummy.”

He doesn’t know why that’s the thing to set him off, but it does. 

Eddie chokes on the steadying breath he’d been trying to take as the dam breaks, wrenching it out of him in a hiccuping sob.

He tries to cover his face with his hands but you don’t let him hide, you take his wrists and pull them away to wrap around you instead, and you hold him. 

He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve this chance with you, doesn’t know how he got so lucky to even have it, but he’ll take every moment he can get while it lasts. 

Eddie clings to you, weeping pathetically into your hair and babbling incoherently, apologizing for anything— everything— an endless tide of all the things he’s wanted to say to you all year, since the moment he’d stood there and watched you leave that terrible night in August. 

He should have fought harder for you, he should never have let you go. 

Eddie tells himself he’s got to stop crying, to stop talking, to try and pull himself together, but it is just another thing he has no power over. 

His brain had all but switched off after what had happened to Chrissy, and his body has been operating on primal instinct in a desperate attempt just to try and get somewhere safe — he’s held it together up until this point, but he’s never been so scared in his goddamn life.

“God, I’m sorry,” he whimpers, “I’m so sorry, Baby, I don’t know why I said any of that stuff, I’m a fucking idiot, I didn’t mean it— I swear on my life I didn’t mean a goddamn word of it. I love you. I love you so fucking much it hurts, Jesus Christ, I’m just so fucking sorry—”

As much as he’s talking, you’re nodding, pushing his hair back, stroking his face, and all the other lovely little gestures you’d always done before when things were still fine, when you were still his. 

“I know,” you tell him, pressing your cheek against his temple and carding your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. “I know, Baby. We’re gonna figure this out, okay? Me ‘n you, whatever it takes. We'll fix it.”

He can’t help the startled, watery laugh that bursts out of him to hear you say that.

It fills him with a bright and dangerous hope that maybe this is real, maybe you can pick up the pieces where you left them, maybe you still love him. 

“Yeah?” Eddie sniffs, brushing your hair back out of your face. “You promise?”

You catch his hand on your cheek and bring it down to draw an x over the left side of your chest, smiling sweetly and sincerely at him as you do.

"Hope to die."

Without the use of his higher functions, all Eddie knows how to do is love you, deeply, to his very core, and to hold you is not enough. 

He knows he has no right, but he cannot help himself.

Eddie presses forward and kisses you, a wet, forceful thing that you can barely move against as he frantically crushes his mouth against yours.

He kisses you with a desperation he’s never felt before, and he blesses you for how you lean into it, fisting your hands into the front of his shirt and doing your best to pull him that much closer to you.

It’s all scraping teeth, ragged breath, and reverent groping hands, only breaking apart in the briefest of intervals when the need to breathe and tell you how sorry he is outweighs the need to make up for all the time Eddie has spent not kissing you over the past eight months.

He tells you he loves you, again and again, breathing the words into your mouth, whispering them against your lips. 

He chases it hungrily, starved and greedy for your love, and wonders how he could have ever forgotten how much he needed it? How did he ever survive without it? Without you?

He would remind himself that he hadn’t been doing a very good job at it, but his mind is blown wide and bleached of all thoughts but you. 

Had he been able to really think, Eddie might have been afraid he would hurt you like he’d somehow hurt Chrissy, but the only thing he can muster is relief, because you’re here and that means something. Maybe there is at least the slightest chance you still love him. 

Thank you thank you thank you–

Even when you finally part, he does not release you, only holds you that much tighter. He presses his forehead to yours and he loves, loves, loves, bursting with the feeling like your touch has miraculously restored him after having been so wretched for so long. 

For the longest time, all either of you can do is lean against one another, swaying ever so slightly like you’re drunk on the euphoria of being together again.  

After a while, he lets you coax him into the house, and you collapse against one another on the sofa as exhaustion creeps into Eddie’s bones.

He can barely keep his eyes open, laying back with you spread over him, your face tucked into the crook of his neck where every now and then you’ll leave a gentle little kiss. He hums in response to each press of your lips, and he would thank you for each and everyone one, but his limbs are quickly turning to cement.

He’s so goddamn tired, but he fights against it, afraid that if he falls asleep he’ll wake up and find that he’s dreamt this whole thing. He's worried if he submits himself to Morpheus's embrace, you'll be gone when he wakes up, despite the way you’re tracing lazy patterns across his chest, how he can feel your steady heartbeat thumping in time with his own, the gentle rise and fall of your body with every breath in and out, in and out, in…

 A burst of soft, lilting laughter bubbles up from inside you, and Eddie startled awake, feeling himself light up for his favorite sound in the world, his favorite feeling as you smile against him. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks, thick and groggy.

He pushes up a little higher on the couch in the hopes it might stave off the need for sleep a little longer and pulls you with him.

You shift to accommodate this higher position, sitting on your knees and pressed into his side. 

You shake your head and laugh against the way your eyes are suddenly brimming. 

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” you sniffle, tilting back ever so slightly so you can look at him. “I was so scared I wouldn’t find you,” 

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he pulls you into his lap and hugs you tight.

He’s still having trouble wrapping his head around the concept that you’d been out there looking for him in the first place, that you’re here now, after all the time he’d spent wishing for this, how he would have given his right arm just to hold you again.

He doesn’t know how you knew he needed you, what kind of unearthly force intervened to send you to him, but he’s so goddamn thankful you came running.

“But I did it,” you continue, sounding so endearingly proud of yourself, “I found you.” 

Your hands come up to stroke his face and brush at the dried tacky lines of salt left struck down his face. And then you say again, quieter this time like you’re in awe of it. 

“I found you…” Your eyes are bright and sparkling with admiration and tears and relief and a hundred different happy emotions that spill out of you and into Eddie.

He can’t help but laugh, a thick, watery sound dripping with relief and half muffled by your lips as he dips forward to kiss you. Once, twice, three times for the sentiment, precious little thank yous because he can finally breathe again. He’d spent the last eight months drowning and you finally pulled him up to break the surface. 

You saved him, just like you always do. 

“Yeah, Sweetheart, you did,” he sighs, letting his eyes slide shut as he holds you tight and breathes a deep, contented sigh, “You found me.” 

Taglist: @harrys-tittie @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @itsrainingbisexualfrogs @thicksexxualtensionaltension @ganseysgff @scoopsr0binn @peanutbutter-y-jams @audhd-dragonautagonaut @clilxlxx @alexandriaemily200 @averagestudent03 @but-vanessa @cosmictime45 @timelordfreya @forever-war @munsonzzgf @chervbs

@irisabrams

#cruel summer #cruel summer fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #crikey this took everything i had #i really hope it was everything you guys hoped for in a reunion because i made myself feel all warm and fuzzy writing it #now i just gotta figure out what happens next lmao #if you find typos no you didn't I'll edit this in the morning

[himbo-in-limbo]

“The newcomer”

Tw kidnapping, gore, violence, intimidation,death,Blood

Yautja!Raian x Y/N the servant! (Gender neutral reader) //Chapter 1// guess I’m making more than one 💀

You don't know what god you might have pissed off to wind up like this...but surely no punishment could have ever warranted this!

All of your life you were treated like scum of the universe...being dragged off one space ship to another. Oh the horrors you've witnessed...

At this point you've become so numb the only feelings you had left were fear...and even that was starting to slip away as you started embracing the thought of the afterlife...

I mean hey, it can't be worse than this right?

Well...I guess you spoke to soon as your current prison

I mean ship was under attack...again...but this time things were looking really bad.. so bad in fact everyone just dipped and decided to abandon ship

There were limited escape pods and seeing how desperate everyone was already fighting for the rights to one you instantly gave up the idea of landing a seat in one...

So you just crawled under your bed and decided to wait for death to come knocking on your door...

Well there was definitely loud knocking and crashing sounds now...ohh lots of screaming too...ohh this was way to much so you just covered your ears and prayed it'll all end soon...

Eventually things got real quite, all those insane noises you heard were replaced by blaring alarms that rang throughout the ship...

No mop could ever hope to clean the bloody mess that laid out before you... skinless body's hanging.. everywhere...organs strewn about...the halls were just filled with blood...it was a total gore fest...

You cupped your mouth to stop yourself from gagging...ough the smell...you were very cautious when making your way to the escape room.. however...it looked like nobody was even able to take one... everyone was dead... EVERYONE...

Not that you had any family to begin with here but...who could have killed them all?! And so damn fast!!!

[a deep growling could be heard]...oh you didn't want to turn around...and you wouldn't have had the chance to, because before you knew it

Something grabbed your neck from behind.

[you screamed in terror of the being that was lifting you with such ease] it's like you weighed nothing to them!! Their hold on you was firm, there was no hope in escaping. And they knew that.

The alien was massive... easily 7-8 feet tall..you could feel how high off the ground you were! It began to inspect you and it made you face him. His skin was as pale as the moon, but at the moment they were drenched in so much blood...you now know who was doing all of the killing.

They began to speak...[HAHAH!!.. Thinking you could escape from me?! Piglet?!] Tears began to swell up but aside from the initial jump scare...you didn't protest much...you just kinda accepted the fact that this is where it'd all end...

The alien began to tilt his head in confusion..[Hah? Your not squirming as much as the others were?... we'll aren't you a brave one 🖤] he began to click in curiosity...

"Yautja!Raian...stop messing with the ooman that isn't our target...these beings are fragile you know..[another alien spoke] this Yautja!Raian fellow growled in response [Feh...] He loosened his grip and you fell hard to the floor gasping for air...you hadn't realized how much you were struggling to breathe

[If there's nothing more for me to fight here then I'm leaving] the burly looking alien stomped away while you were left behind with the other one..

Keep in mind you have absolutely no idea what they were saying...the only thing you could make out was that they were arguing and some how you were chosen to be spared???...you still think you were being punished by a god somehow...

Well the next thing you knew you felt something hit the back of your head and you blacked out...

You slowly woke up to a padded floor...way more softer than your old cell

I mean room, and very quickly you realized something was different with your attire...

Your ears, your neck, your ankles...they all had... jewelry?! Oof the neck piece was a tad bit heavy...ohhh no it's not coming off...and neither was the rest...

As a matter of fact your entire wardrobe was changed!! You were dressed in a white gown [in however manner suits your style] you started to take things slow and analyze your surroundings..

Then you heard a voice..."your the new one aren't you?" You quickly turned around to see other humans next to you! "We didn't want to scare you so we waited until you saw us.." they appeared to have the same jewelry as you....

"don't bother trying to take these off.. their tracking collars to make sure we don't escape..."

Oh good lord...you saw that they were at least 10 other humans with you..and you immediately began to ask questions about anything and everything...

"Were being kept as servants...if you do as your told….there not so bad…but don��t take their lack of aggression for granted!!! If you try to fight them THEY CAN AND WILL KILL YOU!!”

“So if you care about living just do as your told!"

Well you weren't going to protest against that...not like you had much combat experience anyways...

"So is no one going to tell them who their new master will be?" ……..

Huh? Why did everyone go silent? Why did they look so scared all of a sudden?

eventually you’d soon find out why…

#limbo writes #yautja #oc lore #yautja fic #oc x canon #tw kidnap mention #tw killing #tw death #tw gore #Yautja!Raian #I was not expecting to write so much LMAOO #i uhh will make a couple more chapters probably #cuz I was just setting up the self insert role n I got carried away skksksk #def will be more Yautja!Raian interaction in the next one heheh

[haru-chi]

Can we talk about Reiko for a bit ...

(I wanted to write this one because I wanna see how far this theory of mine going to develop in the future)

I don't know how to start with this one or from where exactly, but I'll try to make it organized as much as possible despite the chaos in my mind ><

I saw alot of people's theories about Reiko's husband or that some believe that he's Yorishima or other different theories about her, but I had very different theory about her or maybe her story in general. ...

- Her connection to the exorcist world

I guess it's already a given that her husband might've been an exorcist which in result would also explain how she knew about some spells .. but the connection doesn't seem to end there I fear.

the first time Natsume went to an exorcist gathering someone recognized him as Reiko, was that a human or a Youkai ?? but I believe it might be a human more than a youkai. since...

when Nanase first heard his name, she asked about Reiko so that prove exorcists do know of her somehow, she said she knew of her from the youkai, but is that really true ??

I mean one of the reasons Seiji was interested in Natsume was because of Reiko, in the manga (we don't talk about the anime ver here cuz it's too different ugh) when Seiji start threating Natsume, it was because he wanted info about Reiko that badly but what kind of info ??

Seiji also said the same as Nanase that he heard about her from the youkai and that it's natural to want to know more about someone this powerful since they're rare ...

that can be normal if Reiko is alive, but she isn't .. would you go as far as threating a little boy to get some info about someone who's already died ?? unless what you want is something that she left behind so you're desperate to get this info to the point you're threating like that perhaps ??

now you'll think, " oh so they heard about the book of friends from the youkai?!!!"

but nope, I don't believe it's from the youkai such rumors spread, why do I think so, you ask ??

in the same chapter, Madara stated even if Seiji heard about the book of friends, then that's likely from human than youkai since the youkai by instinct won't mention such a thing which hold their own life in it especially not to exorcists.

maybe it's as a myth or uncertain rumors, when and how did it start I don't know but I think the exorcist world DID hear one thing or two about Reiko and the book of friends.

in the same chapter of when Natsume first went to the exorcist gathering, Natsume realized that the book of friends must be kept a secret from those people, I tend to think of such things as having indirect meaning since Midorikawa-sensei craft her stories carefully so I took this as indirect sign that they already knew of it one way or another which led to what I'm gonna bring up next.

Now that I established that the exorcist world do know of Reiko one way or another be it as a myth or more we're yet to actually see or confirm

PS : it's normal for Natori to never have heard about Reiko or the book unlike Seiji or the others since Natori wasn't always there or grow up in this world and he's hated on top of all.

-Next is about Reiko's death

now to the next question, how did Reiko died ?? do we actually know the details ?? was it an accident ? sickness ? or killed ?? all we know is that she died at a young age leaving her daughter behind.

when Nanase showered Natsume with all those questions about Reiko and her way of death, Natsume stated that he only heard she was found died under a tree one day, nothing else is known. I smell a crime here :)

now if Reiko was indeed killed by someone, was it a human or a youkai ??

personally, as far as of now, and as far as what I stated before, I'd go to say it's a human who killed her and an exorcist at that too.

I don't think I need to state why she was killed; the aim was the book of friends :)

another reason why I believe it was an exorcist is ...

Madara stated the first time Natsume went against exorcist that he can't protect him against such humans 100%. I mean Madara for sure knows what actually happened to Reiko be it her life or her death, but he chose to stay silent about it, so if he was there but failed to protect her then he said this line out from experience.

also, an exorcist is the one who sealed him in his cat form, so what if this happened when he tried to protect Reiko from her attacker ?? but he got sealed while Reiko got killed.

and what if that time when Madara went berserk after seeing Natsume get hurt by an exorcist's arrow was very triggering to him because it happened before ??

thus, I kinda feel so far all of this point out to Reiko being killed by an exorcist more than by youkai ...

something else I think of is, where was her husband ?? her husband mostly an exorcist, right ? now what if he's the reason all this tragedy occurred, that he's the reason Reiko got into the exorcist world, that be it by him or someone around him the existence of the book of friends became known which endangered them all.

what if he tried to protect his family so that's why he was never there when Reiko had his daughter, or maybe simply he died in the line or work since it isn't a normal line of work ?

now where does that leave Yorishima in all of this ?? he clearly knows Reiko and the book of friends, if such myth or rumors going on in the exorcist circles then you can't convince me that the "walking dictionary" never heard of such a thing, he's also older than he looks so he might've witness it all. actually, what if that's the very reason he cut ties with the exorcist world ??

at first, I was like he might be the one who sealed Madara or Reiko's killer and out of guilt decided to live in isolation but Madara has no reaction when they met the first time so that was the end of that idea before it starts xDD

does he know Natsume's grandfather ? was he related to what happened to Reiko ?? many ideas go through my mind, but I don't know so far too little info for me. but that's one of the reasons why I'm against him being Natsume's grandfather and why I think the role he plays is different :)

(actually what if he's Natsume's uncle than grandfather?)

hmmm, that sum up what I have about Reiko overall, I feel I forgot to mention something but more or less that's all I hope, there's a missing link which I'm searching for (mainly Natsume's grandfather, Reiko's husband but yeaaah) but for now that's what's been living in my mind. I do have other few adjustments to the theory but will keep it to myself until I see which way it rolls with future info's.

just imagine what if Reiko's killer was a Matoba or even a Natori the paper master's family, or will it be a family we never heard of before. plus, whom to say his grandfather wasn't from a family we already know too if he's an exorcist :)

when will Midorikawa-sensei give us new info about his grandfather, been hungry for more since I know the next info gonna be a big one for sure T^T

anyway, I'll end this post with this panel and leave it at that.

#natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #natsume takashi #natsume reiko #Haru's theory #I debated for a long time whether to write this one or not since it's changing in my mind #those ideas kept on changing one way or another #but wanted to record it at least to myself and see how it gonna develop with any new info dropped #Midorikawa write her stories carefully so I tend to over think sometimes #especially when certain infos or lines be in the same story or chapter #I take that as an indirect hints so I work it from there #guess only time will tell which way all those info rolls #I don't think my heart will survive it when the time comes no matter what truth await ><

[dalekofchaos]

William Afton's motivations and goals

From this reddit thread

and this reddit thread

I'll say this right off the bat: I am 100% certain that William's motives for murder revolves around his family. I think everything we know about William from the games, novels, and now film is pointing to this being the case.

However, there is nuance to this that should be understood. Even with this being the case, with William somehow caring about his kids in his own twisted way, William can not love.

Look to The Silver Eyes:

"We both wanted to love," he [William] said in those melodious tones. "Your father [Henry] loved. And now I have loved." "You killed."

Then The Fourth Closet:

"I wanted so desperately to have been the one on that stage, but it was always her. All of his love went into her." "You're talking about Afton." Jessica stopped, and Charlie [Really Circus Baby/Elizabeth] nodded confirmation. "William Afton never made anything with love," Jessica snarled.

Baby then described the moment of Elizabeth's death, from both of their perspectives.

“The little girl approached me and pulled the sheet away. I felt nothing; it’s no more than a record of what happened. But there is feeling, my feeling as I pulled the sheet away, and stood in awe before this creature my father loved, this daughter he had made for himself. The daughter who was better than me, the daughter he wished I had been. I wanted to be her, so badly.”

William did not love Elizabeth, he loved Circus Baby, which remember, in the novel's storyline was originally created by Henry as the oldest-aged Charlie. William is obsessed with Henry, his creations, and his family. Quote from The Silver Eyes: (this was when the police was investigating him following the Missing Children's Incident)

A search of his house had found a room crammed with boxes of mechanical parts and a musty yellow rabbit suit, and stacks of journals full of raving paranoia, passages about Henry that ranged from wild jealousy to near-worship.

Another quote from The Silver Eyes:

“Oh,” he gasped. “You’re something beautiful aren’t you?” Charlie recoiled as if he had touched her. What’s that supposed to mean?

With later context, we know better why he said that- Quote from The Fourth Closet:

“Even after this; embodying the one thing Father did love, I'm not enough. Because he can’t duplicate this, he can’t make himself like me.” Her [Elizabeth's] voice began to grow angry again. “He can’t duplicate what happened to me, or maybe he’s too scared to try it on himself. I broke free of my prison, I emerged from the flames and the wreckage of Henry’s last great failure, and I went to my father. I gave myself to him, to study, to use, to learn the secrets of my creation. And still it is you [Charlie, the 3rd robot] he wants.” “You, maybe he can re-create. Henry somehow got a piece of himself into you, and that’s something we haven’t seen before. That’s ... unique.”

Throughout The Fourth Closet, we see William trying to do this, to recreate what Henry did: to put a piece of himself into his own creation.

That was in the chapter immediately after Carlton finds William, next to what's revealed to be the molten amalgamation of all of his victims. That amalgam makes an appearance earlier in the book, but let's look at what William says in that scene, describing his goal and reasoning for this. (I am trimming down these lines for the sake of this post)

“I have faced my own mortality, Jessica. I knew I was dying and through every broken fragment of my body, I was profoundly, immeasurably afraid. I fear it more than I fear life like this, even when every waking instant is pain, and sleep is possible only when induced by enough medication to kill most people.” “Everyone is afraid to die,” Jessica said. “And you should be more afraid than anyone else, because if there’s a hell, there’s a hole at the bottom of it reserved for you.” Afton nodded with a moment of honest resignation. “In time, I’m sure that’s where I will find myself. But the devil has knocked on my door before, and I’ve turned him away." “So, what? You want to live forever?” “Certainly not like this,” he said. “So, what, you’re making yourself into a robot?” “No, that’s science fiction,” he said, unamused.

Then, William says this.

“The most terrible accidents sometimes bear the most beautiful fruits,” he said, as if to himself. “Re-creating the accident—that is the duty and the honor of science. To replicate the experiment, and obtain the same result. I give my life to this experiment, piece by piece.” He nodded at the girl, and she approached Jessica with deliberate steps.

He then shows Jessica the "melted scrapheap," then asks her how she thinks the original animatronics came to life.

“How did the creatures at Freddy’s move, of their own will, with no outside force controlling them?” he asked mildly. “The children were still inside. Their souls were inside those creatures,” “Oh, Jessica, come now. What else? What else was inside them, to bind their spirits so inseparably to the bear, to the rabbit, to the fox? How did they die, Jessica? How Jessica?” “You killed them. They died in the suits,” she said hoarsely. “Their bodies were bound inside, along with their souls.”

Then, he describes how he plans to live forever:

“The spirit follows the flesh, it would seem, and also the pain. If I wish to become my own immortal creation, my body must lead my spirit to its eternal home. Since I am still ... experimenting ... I move my flesh piece by piece.” He looked thoughtfully over at the creature on the table. “More and more,” he murmured, almost to himself, “it is a test of the strength of my own will. How much of myself can I carve away, and still remain in control?”

He wants to surgically remove his organs, piece by piece, with Elizabeth's help, into his 'eternal home,' the amalgam, to become "his own immortal creation."

William is trying to recreate what Henry did, putting a piece of himself into his own creation. In Henry's case, he put a piece of himself into the robotic recreation of his deceased child; in William's case, he is putting a piece of himself into the fused amalgamation of all of his victims, which I think is important to my next point.

William sees the animatronics and his victims as family.

This was already clear with Baby, as Elizabeth described earlier. But here's more lines from The Silver Eyes.

“You're a sick bastard,” Carlton sputtered. “And you’ve created monsters. The kids you killed are still here. You’ve imprisoned them!” “They are home, with me.” Dave’s voice was coarse as he said it, and the large mascot head slid forward, tilting. “Their happiest day.” “How do we get out?” Charlie placed one hand on the mascot head and pushed it back into position on Dave’s shoulders. The fur felt wet and sticky, as though the costume itself were sweating. “There isn’t a way out anymore. All that’s left is family.” His round eye reappeared through one of the sockets, glimmering in the light.

I don't think its wrong to say that the story of FNAF (at least early FNAF) was about "the Afton family," because that is exactly how he sees the missing children. He finds comfort in living amongst them, especially as Springbonnie, and he even says why-

“Because I am one of them,” he said.

Most of what I'm referencing in this post comes from the novels, but this is not an exclusive trait to his character in these books. Look to the recently-released film:

“The Little ones tell me you have a sister, she will love it here!"

and...

"Wake up Children! I brought someone for you to play with!"

That line I also find really interesting, because of William's language elsewhere in the movie, referring to his daughter, Vanessa:

"Put that thing away, and help me clean up the mess that you created!"

With the first line, he's referring to Mike like he's a toy for the animatronics. In the second line, he's referring to Vanessa's gun, but its also as if he's talking to a child, asking her to put her toys away and help him. Think about it, he's blaming Vanessa for something that is not her fault at all, it's the language of an abusive father to his little kid. I bet this is actually something William has told her before, to persuade and manipulate her. ("He really messed you up, didn't he?" as Mike put it.)

Anyway, I just wanted to bring it up because it just strengthens this point, William sees the characters like his own family; which is ultimately where I think his motives come from. He finds comfort in his robotic family because of his disdain for his real family.

William's kids change between each continuity.

In the games, he has 3 real children- Michael, the Crying Child, and Elizabeth- and kills Gabriel, Jeremy, Susie, Fritz, Cassidy, and so on. Michael of course, kills his brother. In the novels, he only has Elizabeth, and rather than killing Gabriel and Jeremy, he kills a kid named Michael (Brooks), and a kid without an established name (who is characterized by his black-and-white striped shirt, crying, and who gets told he'll be put back together by Carlton-- all relating back to the CC. All of this is stripped from the Graphic Novel, where that kid becomes Gabriel). Again, there's juxtaposition between the kids he murders and his real children. In the film, Vanessa is established to be his daughter, but only her- Michael and his siblings are not presented as being related to Afton (There could still be a plot twist regarding this though). We also don't know the identities of William's victims, aside from the fact that Mike's brother (Garrett) was kidnapped by William rather than bullied to death by Mike.

Ultimately, these continuity differences is why I can't say "William kills because he wants to bring back his son after Mike killed him," or whatever, because that objectively does not happen in either the novels or the film. He becomes deranged no matter what.

In my opinion, the Bite of 83 is the first thing that happens in the games timeline, and does result in William killing Charlotte (and also the creation of the Puppet, hence why it doesn't exist in the novels and why she doesn't possess anything).

In the books, William is established to be jealous of Henry, even before he brings his creations to life- and I think it's still because of his family- hence why he goes for Charlotte. William doesn't have his sons, and he clearly doesn't care much for his daughter, so he robs Henry of his perfect family.

In the film, I think his motives are more speculative. William's first kill in the other continuities is Charlie, but its unconfirmed if she (or Henry) exist in the film. William kills Mike's brother, Garrett, separate from the five missing children, but we have no established motive as to why.

This will probably be a big reveal in a future film, maybe Mike and Garrett are related to William and thats why he abducted Garrett (Affair Theory?). When Mike tells Vanessa about his family, he says they'd sit around the table, say graces, etc.- its a cookie-cutter perfect family. Maybe William wanted to destroy that, like he did with Henry's. Maybe, again, I don't know.

Now for my spin on the theory. I believe this was William's goal, but his goal in the games was to became immortal, but also to bring his family back as the Funtime Animatronics. Mrs Afton would become Ballora, Elizabeth as Baby obviously, CC as Funtime Freddy and once Michael is killed, he would become Funtime Foxy. And they would live forever as the Funtimes, eternal and killing together as a family unbroken!

#Five Nights At Freddy's #FNAF #William Afton #The Afton Family #Mrs Afton #Michael Afton #Crying Child #Elizabeth Afton #Henry Emily #Charlie Emily