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orpheusredux · 2 years

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Ride the Lightning

Summary: Eddie is hanging out in his girlfriend's bedroom when he discovers something... naughty and delightful.

Rating: NC17

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Reader. Established relationship

Warnings: Very, very smutty. No Minors! 18+ only. Canon compliant.

A/N: I have been writing this is fits and starts for weeks, but I just couldn't stop. I meant it to be a quick and dirty little drabble about a boy, and girl and her vibrator, but then I went and got feelings all over it and it turned out way longer than I intended too. Please consider reblogging, it really helps. Also, this way for my AO3 and my masterlists. 5433 wds

“Baby… what’s this?”

You look up from where you’re lying on your tummy on your bed reading a trashy romance novel to see your boyfriend of six months holding…

“Oh my God, Eddie! Put that back!”

…Your vibrator.

You met at a punk show in Indianapolis in the depths of Winter. Eddie was working the door, and when you walked up late to meet your pals who were already inside, he’d looked you up and down, given you a wrist stamp, and a wink, and ushered you in without asking for a dime.

It was almost as if he’d known the way to your heart was free gigs.

Later he’d “bumped into you” at the bar and bought you a drink. Then you bought him one. Then there were shots with the band. The next thing you knew the two of you were back at your apartment, sprawled across your ratty old sofa, his tongue in your mouth and your hand in his pants. You’d been dating ever since.

Being with Eddie was both delightfully easy, and head-fuckingly bizarre at the same time.

First of all, he was a metaller, and you’d only ever dated punks, stoners and on one less than stellar occasion, a party guy from California who wore pastel exclusively. You were not prepared for the level of energy Eddie brought to your relationship, the earnestness and often kind of confronting honesty. He told you he loved you three months in, and then proceeded to spend the next three months showing just how much.

“I learned the hard way not to fuck around,” he told you once, when you’d pressed him on how he could tell someone he loved them so easily. “I know for a fact you don't always get that tomorrow you're putting things off till. You know?”

Which brings you to the second thing: Eddie was from Hawkins, that town down state that had caught fire and burned to the ground - like the whole town. They called it Indiana’s Centralia, now, after that town out East that’d been burning for 30 years? That was Hawkins. Everyone had been evacuated and there was still a danger zone three miles deep around the place.

Eddie talked about it sometimes, not a lot, but enough for you to know he wasn’t over what had happened to him there. All you knew was he’d seen some shit, been badly hurt and never wanted to go back. Except… as much as he hated the place, as much as it scared him and he never wanted to see it again, it was like he knew one day he’d have to.

It was eerie, honestly.

He never took off his shirt, either. Not even in bed. You’d felt that the skin on his ribs and chest wasn’t entirely smooth, and once in bed he’d rolled over in his sleep and you’d glimpsed some shiny pink skin at his waist. You knew it had been bad, you knew there’d been fire, but those scars looked… well, they didn't look like burn scars. They almost looked like... well, it was silly what you'd thought. Besides, it had been dark and what the fuck did you know, anyway?

Glimpsing them hadn’t made you any less curious about him, but it did make you stop trying to get him to take his shirt off in bed.

You didn’t know how to tell him that he was safe with you, that he was the best boyfriend you’d ever had. Kind, considerate, thoughtful; that you thought it was quick, sure, but maybe you were falling in love with him.

He’d introduced you to his only family, his uncle Wayne, who lived in Wyoming now, but came to visit him a lot, and the guys from his band - Gareth, Jeff and Dave - Corroded Coffin.

He shared a place with them in Speedway, you'd stayed there a few times. You loved the guys, really you did, but it was kind of a dump, so you spent a lot of time together at your studio on Canal Walk.

He wasn’t perfect - he could be impulsive, your dad worried about his “fiscal stability”, and for someone with so many secrets, he sure was nosey.

Which was why he was currently standing in your bedroom holding your goddamned vibrator with a look on his face like he’d just won the sexual lottery.

In his defense - not that he deserved any - you are the one who left the draw open, which was practically an invitation to pry as far as Mister Sticky Beak here was concerned. But still, a girl could keep some secrets, couldn’t she?

You leap off the bed and make a grab for it - or try to - before he can push the little black button on the base of the thing.

Eddie, being Eddie, holds it above his head, just out of your reach and says, “Now now, let's not be hasty,” as you try vainly to grab it.

“Eddie,” you whine and consider elbowing him in the ribs - but the other thing that glimpse of his scars has given you is a healthy respect for his body. You’d rather die than hurt him. You’ll have to resort to pouting and pleading instead. “Give it back. That’s private.”

You give him a pointed look and hope he’ll pick up what you’re putting down. Naturally he doesn’t.

“Is it though?” He leers at you, trying not to laugh right in your face. “I mean, I am sort of in charge of delivering the orgasms around here now, aren’t I?”

You bark a laugh, despite yourself. “Oh, who are you, again? Cruise director of the love boat? My orgasms are my business, mister!”

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” he says slyly, before putting on the worst - also the most annoyingly accurate - impersonation of you in the throes of passion, pitching his voice just below a falsetto squeak. “Oh Eddie! Oh Eddie, you’re gonna make me… I’m gonna… Oh, oh, oh!”

Scars be damned, you poke him right in the armpit, and he drops the vibe with an “oof”. You grab it before it can hit the ground, and make to run away with it, but he grabs you - playfully - around the waist and mock-wrestles you onto your bed. You land on top of him, both of you breathless and laughing by now, the vibe clutched tightly in your fist, up by his head.

His hands slip down you back, over your hips and he grabs two good handfuls of your ass. In the six months since you started fooling round he has never missed an opportunity to show you how much he loves touching you, kneading your flesh, tracing all your curves. He likes it almost as much as he seems to like being touched by you. It’s one of the things you adore the most about him - he has a healthy respect and fulsome admiration for your big, bouncy body.

“OK,” he says. “Let’s settle this like gentlemen. Let’s play a game…”

You squint at him, not trusting him one inch - you trust him completely, but you also do. Not. Not one inch.

“Like gentlemen, old sport! What what,” you reply, in a mock English accent.

“Let’s play Quid, Pro, Quo.”

Now, you’ve never played a game called Quid, Pro, Quo before, but he just took you to see Silence of the Lambs last week - you don’t care what anyone says about psychological thriller, that was a dang horror film in disguise - so you think you have a pretty good idea what it means.

“Ew, Eddie, I am not role playing sexy serial killers with you,” you say, and put up a bit of a struggle to get off him.

That really makes him laugh, but instead of letting you get away, he wraps his arms around you and gives you a squeeze.

“Oh Jesus Christ, no. That does nothing for me, either,” he says with a theatrical shudder, that only serves to rub you forcefully all over his body, your soft squishy boobs against the hard, warm planes of his chest. It makes something delicious tingle deep in your core. How’s that for quid pro what-the-fuck-ever, you get plenty of pleasure and enjoyment out of his body, too.

“No, in my version of the game, we take turns offering each other something we think the other might want, and if they do, they have to…”

He lifts a hand off your derriere and waves it around suggestively.

“What like, I offer you a BJ, and if you want one - “

“If!” Eddie snorts.

“ - you have to offer me ‘something of equal or greater value’?”

“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “Something like that. And then you can counter it with something of greater value again.”

“Like a sexy version of ‘chicken’?”

“Well, I was trying to make it classy, but we can go with ‘Sexy Chicken’ if that works. My idea, so I start…”

“Nuh huh, Big Fella,” you say, tweaking his chin with the hand not currently holding a goddamned vibe. “Ladies first… OK, what will you give me to get the hell off you.”

“Oh no,” Eddie replies, nose scrunched up. “I wouldn’t even give you a dime for that. You’ll have to stay exactly where you are.” He grabs your ass again, and kind of settles in with a sigh.

“Ungh, OK,” you say, rolling your eyes. “What if I… take off my bra.”

“Without getting off me?”

“Without getting off you, you perv.”

He laughs and then bites his lip considering. “OK, I will give you a foot rub. Both feet. On… Thursday, straight after your shift at the coffee shop.”

You gasp. You work nights at the campus beanery and your feet are routinely absolutely battered by the end of the night.

Once, early in your courting, Eddie had been waiting for you at your place when you came home from one of those shifts. He’d waited for you to kick off your shoes, and slump in your favorite chair, before kneeling down next to you, and starting to knead your instep, heels, calves and the pads of your toes. Without being asked.

No offence to the many wonderful orgasms you’d shared with each other since you met, but that massage had been better than sex.

Now that he was working the door at the club more regularly, Eddie wasn’t around when you finish work much anymore, so this offer was kind of a big deal.

You start reaching behind yourself to unclasp your bra without saying another word - only to then realize you are still holding the Goddamned vibrator. You chuck it up the bed by the pillows, and he grins down at you cheekily.

“I’m on a goddamned promise, Munson,” you say, from somewhere inside your tee shirt.

“Yeah, yeah, you know I’m good for it.”

His eyes slip over your shoulders and arms as you wriggle and twist, pulling your straps off under your tee shirt and pulling the bra out the sleeve. Through two layers of denim you feel his cock twitch when your unfettered boobs press against his torso. He bites his tongue and sweeps his hands up and down your arms. His gaze is just as warm and soft.

“Ta dah!” you say, flinging the bra away. You’re immediately jostled a bit by his laughter. “My turn again?”

“Your turn,” Eddie agrees.

You take your time thinking, trying to remember some throw away snippet of kinkiness he’d hinted at, or a time when he’d wanted to try something, but you hadn’t. Finally, you mind settles on a movie you’d watched together one rainy afternoon that had ended in a mind blowing fuck on the floor of your en suite bathroom.

“I will let you do that - you know - that thing, from 9 1/2 Weeks.”

Eddie goes very still. “OK, I need to be clear here, are you talking about the striptease?”

“Nope… the other thing.”

“With the - the ice and the -”

“And the blindfold.”

“Holy fuck,” Eddie said, eyes like saucers.

You cross your hands on top of his chest and rest your chin on the back of them. “I play to win, Munson,” you say, all cocky.

He laughs at you. “Oh my God, what have I got that would match that?”

“What indeed?”

He looks at you thoughtfully, reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear tenderly, and then in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard him use, he says, “The next time we fuck - I’ll take off my shirt. I’ll take it off. For you.”

It’s so not what you were expecting, so not where you thought this teasing, titillating game was going, that for a second you’re too shocked to say anything. Your voice just deserts you, until finally…

“Baby, you don’t have to do that.”

“No, I know,” he says with a sigh, his eyes slipping away from yours, to focus on a tendril of your hair he’s playing with. “But I also know it’s weird - ”

You do push away from him then, because you’ve suddenly got this horrible weight in the pit of your stomach. Did you give him that idea? Had you made him feel pressured?

“It’s not weird,” you say. He sits up too, as if he’s going to argue the point. So you stop him, with a hand to his chest.

“It’s not weird,” you say, firmly. “It’s private. It’s none of my business, it’s - you don’t have to tell me or show anything you don’t want to.”

He covers your hand on his chest with one of his own.

“But what - what if I want it to be your business,” he says. “God, that sounded way better in my head. I mean - “

You turn your hand, take hold of his and squeeze, nodding for him to go on.

“I don’t want us to have secrets anymore. I feel like I’m keeping something from you every time we fuck, and I don’t want to any more.”

“Then I’m happy for you to tell me anything you want to tell me. But Eddie, you have to know -”

His eyes are so big and limpid in the dim light of your room and you just - you don’t want any secrets any more either.

“You must know I l-love you,” you say finally, tripping over the biggest four letter word in the language.

He smiles, warmly, but you can’t help noticing there’s sadness there too as he scoots up the bed.

“Sweetheart,” he says, reaching behind his head to pull the back of his shirt over his shoulders and off. “You really do play to win.”

The tee shirt sails off the side of the bed and then there’s just him, his arms out wide, head lowered so you can’t really see his face, just his mottled torso and the top of his dear, beloved head.

You knew it was going to be bad, but it’s actually even worse than that. He’s not looking at you, so you have time to school your face into a placid, relaxed gaze, to not to show what you’re really feeling, because you know the shock and horror would hurt him, even if he pretended it didn’t.

Now you understand exactly why he’d never shown you before; why it took him half a year to trust you with this. You’re honest enough with yourself to admit if you’d seen the ruin of his chest in the first few blushy weeks of your romance, you might have run for the hills.

Low, on his right side, there are gouges - not burns - angry-looking welts of pinkish, reddish skin that bulge and buckle like an infection that’s healed badly. Dotted around this scar are little rosy contusions, like blood has burst under the surface and congealed there. Deep scores - healed, but puckered - rake across his hip. They look like they could pop open again at the slightest provocation.

You can’t keep back the gasp that comes when you take in the extent of the damage to his right side, though. There’s almost nothing there but scar; no nipple, or curve of skin over fat, muscle and bone. Instead it’s just a horribly twisted rent in the flesh where those parts of his anatomy should be.

Without thinking, you reach out - to what? Sooth? Map? Verify? You don’t know - only to pull back before you can touch him. He catches your hand, pulling it towards his ruined pec, flattening your fingers, gently, like he’s trying not to spook you, and pressing them to the skin.

“It’s OK,“ he says. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s healed. It’s actually…I was going to try and say it’s not as bad as it looks. But, ah, it is - it was - exactly as fuckin’ bad as it looks.”

“Oh Eddie,” you whisper, because there’s really nothing else you can say. The skin under your fingertips is warm and hard, feels rubbery and artificial. You feel what’s left of his muscles flex a little under it.

He lets go of your hand and takes hold of your shoulders.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he says, urgently, whispering your name rather than one of his many pet names for you, squeezing your shoulders for emphasis. “Everything they say about Hawkins, the - the fire, the chemical spills. It’s all bullshit. I’ll tell you all of it, one day, if you want. But, it’s a long story. Can we - another time?”

You nod as if you understand, but you don’t. You’re not sure you ever will, or even want to.

“Do they - can you feel me?” You ask, sliding your hands so gently over the scars, touching. mapping each one.

“Yeah, I can feel you,” he says. “I always feel you.”

With your hand still on his chest, you kneel up, straddling his thighs, press yourself closer to him, leaning in to kiss to his mouth, slowly and thoroughly, so he knows - so he can be certain - this knowledge changes nothing except to make things more real, more sure between you.

“I'm so sorry this happened to you. And I am so glad you survived.” You hear your voice catch on that last bit, feel the tears choking up at the back of your throat.

He makes a soothing sound and wraps his arms around you.

“I was mad about it, for a long time,” he says, his voice muffled where his face is pressed into your neck. “But - this is going to sound fucking insane - everything that happened brought me here.”

He leans back and looks up into your eyes. You cup his dear face in your hands.

“I don’t think I’d change a fucking thing - not even losing my goddamned nipple - if it meant I didn’t get to have you.” His voice is gentle, soothing, and so full of love he’ll never need to say the words if he just keeps talking to you like that.

You kiss him then, because you’re not sure what will happen if you try to speak. You don’t want to cry all over him. He’d only end up taking care of your messy feelings, when you’re pretty sure he’s got big enough feelings of his own to deal with.

You lean back and smoothing your hands over his bare shoulders and back to his neck, you say, “so, I guess that makes it my turn again, huh?”

He barks one of his big braying guffaws, wraps his arms around you and squeezes.

“Oh, we’re still playing? OK, OK, sure, babycakes. Whaddaya got?“

Out of the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of that goddamn vibe sitting by your pillow. The idea pops into your head before you’ve really thought about the logistics, but once it’s there, you almost can’t get it out. Could you? Should you? Really?

You pull yourself off his lap and crawl up the bed, collapsing onto your back, the pillows under your head. Eddie twists to watch, and his eyes go soft when you pick up the vibe and turn it over in your hands.

“What if I… ride the lighting, right here, right now, while you watch?”

You both stare at each other for a second, until Eddie cracks, snickering like a naughty school boy.

“Ride the what now?”

“Ride the - the lightning, baby,” you say, giggling and waving the vibe. “That’s what they call it right? ‘Cause it’s electrical? “

“Oh my God, seriously? What the hell have you been reading?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?

“I’m pretty damned sure I would,” Eddie says, bemused. He crawls up the bed after you to lie on his side looking down at the little pink vibe in your hands.

He reaches out, and thumbs the little black button on the bottom. The little thing starts up with a buzz that makes the breath catch in both your chests. Eddie hmms, and runs the tips of his finger over the soft, curved edge. You know he’s picturing it, picturing you spread out for him, pleasuring yourself while he watches.

“OK,” he says, lifting the vibe out of your hands, and gently rolling it over the curve of your breast. It feels so good, even through your tee shirt, you can’t help squirming a little at the sweet, tingling hum of it. “I see your offer of a wanton display of feminine lust, and I raise you… me fucking you with this - where does it - oh, I see where that goes - me fucking you with this, while we both watch.”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

Without saying a word, you start pushing your sweatpants down your legs and trying to wriggle out of your tee shirt at the same time, which ends up getting you all tangled, so Eddie has to put the vibe down and help you get the shirt off.

“Leave your panties on,” he says, breathless as he lies on his back to thumb open the button on his own jeans and start kicking them off.

“I think we messed up the game,” you say, as you scoot back on the bed, and watch Eddie pulling off his boxers and socks. “I think I got too many turns.”

“Hmmm?” Eddie hums, thoroughly distracted by your breasts and thighs, and his eyes are fixed on the damp patch you can feel slowly spreading across the crotch of your white panties. He’s not thinking about the game or his scars, or Hawkins. Just you. The joy floods through you like sweet honey in your veins, warm and delicious. You get to have him, have this. Fuck, yes. Life, God, the Universe - whatever - may suck ass sometimes, but sometimes, it’s also this good.

He guides you to lie back as he slides up next to you. His cock, half hard and leaking, is pressed against your hip as he leans over you to kiss your mouth. Then there’s a click, and a hum as the vibe starts again. Still kissing you he starts to roll it, so gently from your collarbone, over the swell of your breast, to your nipple.

“Eddie,” you hiss, arching your back. He pulls away from you, to turn his head and look down the length of your torso to the stiff, pink peak of your tit.

He hums again, almost to himself, like he’s considering where to go next. When it seems like he’s decided, he drags the vibe slowly across your sternum, to your other nipple, and rolls the buzzing silicone over your tender flesh. He looks down at your chest.

“God, baby, look at these pretty little titties,” he says, biting his plush lower lip.

You look down at yourself, but the sight of him holding the buzzing tip of the vibe to your quivering nipple is too much. You mewl, and grip the sheets beneath you in your fists, pushing yourself into the warmth the vibe is creating.

“Do you - oh, God - do you like them, Eddie?”

He leans down to suck the stiff peak of your other nipple into his soft, wet mouth and lets it go with an obscene pop.

“Oh Princess, you know I do.”

You’re just holding on as the buzzing against your tender flesh starts to verge on pain. But it’s the kind of pain that shoots right through your core to your aching cunt, makes it flutter and clench.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you whine, arching your back and rubbing your thighs together, before letting your legs fall open and tilting up your hips.

“Hmmmm, so sensitive,” he says, his voice deep and rough. He tilts his face again to look down your body to your sex and his hair brushes across your cheek like a butterfly’s kiss. “Oh ho ho, what do we have here?“

“Please, baby," you whine, canting your hips again. “Please.”

“Needy girl,” he sing-songs, and starts dragging the vibe across your sternum and down, over your belly to the edge of your white cotton panties. “Oh no, you’ve made a bit of a mess here, Princess.”

You know that by “mess” he means the damp patch. You’ve been wet since he started this game, and now you’re practically flooding. Any other time you’d be embarrassed about that, and the noises you're making as he rolls the vibe across your pubic bone and your mons, but you just can’t summon an ounce of shame right now. All you want is that vibe where it belongs, buried in your pussy, or on your clit. You fucking want it.

“Please, Eddie, don’t tease me,” you say, and your voice sounds so shaky, you’re shivering so hard your teeth are almost chattering.

He slips the vibe over the thin cotton, to the damp patch. He rolls the vibe around pressing in. It almost makes you jerk, like he’s touched a live wire to your core.

“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” you start chanting, pressing your hips up into that hot buzz. “Fuck, yes. Right there, oh, oh Eddie.”

Your head is thrown back, eyes clamped shut as you chase that feeling, fisting the sheets under you. You can feel it building so you chase it. If he keeps this up you’ll come just like this.

“Hold on there, sweetheart,'' he says, not removing the vibe, but easing some of the pressure. “We’ll get you there, but not too soon, OK?”

You can’t help the whine that follows. It sounds so needy and pathetic. Again, you’d be embarrassed, but it’s all you’re capable of right now. It makes Eddie chuckle, and worse, lift the vibe away from you altogether.

“Edd-ie,” you pout. But he just taps your hip and starts to slowly peel your panties down. You lift your ass long enough for him to get them out from under your butt, and then he’s drawing them down your thighs, and calves, over your feet and off. And then, like the wild goddamned animal he is, he smooshes them against his nose and mouth and breathes deep.

“Fu-uck, baby, you smell so good.”

You respond to his teasing by spreading your legs wide and slipping your fingers between your wet folds. “Yeah? How does it look, Daddy?” You ask him, as his eyes fix on your cunt.

He knows what a fucking buzz you get from him looking at your sex. You don’t know why, or what it means, but any time he looks at your pussy, you feel yourself get exponentially hotter, infinitely wetter. Part of you thinks you could just come from him watching you spreading while he tells you how good your little kitty looks, how much he wants it. Which is kind of what’s happening right now, God have mercy.

He throws your panties over his shoulder, and leans down to nose your hand out of the way and suck your little rose bud into his mouth. It’s kind of an awkward angle, but that just makes it feel even better, unexpected and strange.

“Taste fucking good, too,” he says, pulling off your clit, breathless and a little dazed. His cock, hard and red, is jutting up from his lap, the tip wet with pre-come. You want to suck it, but before you can ask for it, he rolls the vibe over your mons, and presses it hard, against the left side of your clit.

That really does make you jackknife up off the bed. You can feel the buzz everywhere, in everything, all at once. It’s humming in your cunt, your ass, even your nipples, it reverberates through your teeth and out the top of your head, where every single follicle is standing on end. There are thousand tiny bubble bursting under your skin, and you never want it to end.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” you hear Eddie say, as if from a distance. “Fuck yeah, fucking ride it.”

You realize there’s someone in the room wailing… it takes you a second to understand that that someone is you. You’ve got one hand fisted in the sheets, and the other is gripping Eddie’s knee. Your toes are curled into the blankets, and your eyes are clenched shut as the orgasm arcs through you like he’s just flicked the on switch and lit you up.

It seems to go on forever, every muscle in your body going into spasm for long, hot seconds of pleasure, until it slowly starts to ebb away.

You slap feebly at Eddie’s hand when it’s too much, when the intense pleasure has melded into a keen pain. He gently lifts the vibe away from you, thumbs the button and leans over to put it on your bedside table.

For a couple of minutes, you can’t open your eyes or move a muscle. It’s like all your bones have turned to jelly. You lie there, spread eagle, panting, your hand still gripping his thigh.

“Fucking hell, Eddie,” you whisper, finally. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah?”

You peel open one eyelid to look at him, leaning by your side. “Yeah,“ you breathe, only just able to nod your head.

You attempt to sit up and turn to him. It’s a pretty pathetic attempt, all things considered and you end up sort of limply rolling towards him, the vision of that big, red, weeping cock of his is still fresh in your mind. “What about…”

He’s got one arm across his lap, covering his groin.

“Yeah, about that…”

“Oh my God, did you just bust a nut from watching me come?”

“You make sound so romantic,” he says wryly, reaching over the edge of the bed and snagging his Metallica shirt to cover his slowly deflating junk with.

“Eddie,” you say, reaching for him. “Baby, that is the hottest fucking thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Sure, sure,” he says, as he wipes up his lap and throws the tee shirt into the far corner of the room. But he lets you pull him on top of you, your loose, sweaty bodies sliding together a perfect fit.

“You’re just too… God,” he says, snuffling into the crook of your neck and wrapping his arms and legs around you and under you in a sticky, sexy bear hug. “Too fucking sexy. I had to bust.”

You both laugh, giddily.

Eventually he rolls off you, and leans up on his elbow, his tousled head resting on his palm as he looks down at you. He’s so lovely, those chocolate eyes, and his plush, beautiful mouth, even the road map of pain on his chest that leads all the way back into his past, all the way to you two here, in this bed… even that has a kind of raw beauty. He’s a survivor, your man.

“Eddie,” you say, reaching up to twine a lock of his hair around the finger. “I think I was wrong.”

He grunts a little as he leans over you to grab a pack of smokes from the bedside table. He pops two out and lights them both at the same time, like some Beatnik from the 60s, one for him and one for you.

He takes a lit smoke from between his lips and holds it out for you. You take it, wait for him to take his own out of his mouth and blow a plume of smoke over your heads, before you lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Leaning back again, you take a drag, blow a plume of smoke of your own, and smile.

“Yeah,” you say, stretching languidly. “I think you are in charge of dispensing the orgasms ‘round here now.”

______

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#eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie my beloved #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie x you #no y/n #established relationship #femme reader #orpheus writes #stranger things

935 notes · View notes

sakurayumeno · 1 year

Note

an orpheus writer?? ur a legend. c, d, m, and r from the smut alphabet 🙏

NSFW Alphabet Hcs.

Character: Orpheus.

Genre: Smut, Headcanon game.

Letters: C, D, M, R.

A/N: Bro I go crazy for Orpheus, I got so excited when he got requested 😭

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He doesn't enjoy the mess that it makes afterwards, so he either finishes in his hand/ rag or inside of you, if you're comfortable with it.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When thinking about how he would plan on using his abilities in match, he's briefly thought about how it would feel to switch bodies with others. Could you feel what they did in your body after switching back? Then his mind trailed to you...yeah, you get the picture. He's definitely thought about you leaving him with an erection when you switch bodies again.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Calling him authoritative names, like sir or detective.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Not down for any kind of risk that involves you two getting caught, he wants to keep his dignity, thank you very much. He always plans ahead before doing something intimate with you to insure that absolutely no surprises like that are to occur.

Besides that, he does enjoy experimenting with different positions/ kinks and is quite accepting to what you want to try out as well.

#identity v #idv #identity v x reader #idv x reader #idv headcanons #500+ follower event #idv smut #idv novelist #idv orpheus #orpheus x reader

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corruptedroses · 1 year

Note

hi, i saw reqs were open!

nsfw novelist hcs with a fem reader 👀

⌞ask box open⌝ | ⌞commissions open⌝ | ⌞ko-fi?⌝ | ⌞Patreon coming soon⌝

— “A little research goes a long way, darling ❤„

Fandom — Identity V

Featuring — Orpheus / The Novelist

Content Warnings — AFAB reader [no pronouns], mentions of scratching, mentions of biting, temperature play, a suggestion of Nightmare joining in on the fun.

Author's Note — at the time of writing this we still do not know Orpheus' real name [as the name Orpheus has ben confirmed to be his pen name], in the near future I may end up coming back to fix this to include his real name but for now, he shall just be Orpheus.

As the title of this post suggests, Orpheus isn't a stranger when it comes to the concept of intimacy or topics regarding sexual intercourse. While this man may be a bit frigid himself, he certainly wouldn't deprive himself of the chance to learn new things. As a writer, research is a vital role of writing, and thus research means divulging in desires that would make even the devil himself sweat in pure sin.

While he leans on the vanilla side of the spectrum, he isn't afraid to experiment on his beloved or himself; while scenes like this don't usually appear in his books given that he is an author specialising in the detective genre, you have noticed that if he does something like tying you up, it usually ends up in the next book. It's weird but oddly enchanting. His personal favourite of these scenarios has had to be when he had watched your skin pebble as he dragged an ice cube across your exposed bosom. He really did like seeing you tremble

Being a bit of a frigid person, you will have to guide him at first; use him how you see fit, guide his hands, his legs, his arms to hold you tightly, squeeze you, embrace you, allow him to absorb the scent of your skin and the taste of your sweat into his brain to the point that he cannot forget it. He will not forget it. As a fast learner, one that tends to save every little detail to his memory, it wouldn't be too shocking that he ends up finding himself knowing your body like the back of his hand by the fifth time you fuck.

Talking about his fingers, he's got some long ones, he likes to make you sit in his lap, watching your face as he touches you ever so slowly, gentle circles, beautiful melodies, he's a man that likes to watch his pieces come together [and apart] with his fingers. From his years of typewriter and pen, he has callouses that also provide some nice texture. He wants to make you drip all over his thigh whether you like it or not.

He really, really likes to see evidence on each other's bodies that you two have danced the tango only meant for the most desperate of people, scratch his back, bite his skin, and he will return the favour in a way that no other man would do. He wants to leave evidence that he was there, for you to remember how he felt against your skin even long after the bruises and scratch marks have faded, he wants to remember how your heels felt digging into the small of his back as he made you sing broken syllables of his name. His true name.

When he begins to run out of ideas on how to best keep you on your toes, do not be surprised when certain books of a certain genre start appearing in his home; it's all important research to him.

There are certain nights, however, that he tends to forget, ones where his notes have already been done and you lay sound asleep. Those are the nights that make Orpheus think that he must've given into his most basic of instincts, the yearnings of the living man. As long as his notes are presented nicely and well in case of future projects, he best not dwell on them for too long.

#Anonymous #Identity v smut #idv smut #identity v #idv x reader smut #idv orpheus #idv Orpheus x reader #idv novelist #orpheus/reader #idv orpheus smut #idv novelist smut #smut #x reader headcanons #idv orpheus headcanons #idv novelist headcanons #idv orpheus smut headcanons #idv novelist smut headcanons

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ma1dita · 3 months

Text

partners in crime

luke castellan x fem!dionysus!reader [the trouble!verse]

MAIN SERIES MASTERPOST

summary: few things are certain in this life as a demigod, but one thing is for sure— you can’t fight fate when it pulls you and luke castellan together, over and over again. two young people who hate the gods are more like them than they think, for better or worse. annoyances to best friends to lovers

things to know: dionysus!reader's nickname is trouble & most of these can be read as standalones!

here's a playlist (spotify & apple music links now available!)

child of dionysus headcanons!

trouble!verse moodboard 1 & moodboard 2 & college!trouble by the lovely @24kmar

deleted scenes from a different universe (AUs)

play the extended cuts (blurbs from in-between)

character study: luke castellan & trouble

any works, updates, thoughts, musings, etc about this series will be tagged under #trouble!verse !

key: fluff - ☼ angst - ☽ smut - ☆ jo's favorites - ᥫ᭡

[rewind to before] pre-established relationship

trouble always finds me (trouble!reader origin story) 1.7k ☼

The one where he could tell you were trouble from the day he met you. (You're an annoyance, but not an enemy)

entropy ☼

The one where you both blur the lines between annoyance and admiration. (the promise of becoming partners in crime)

buddy system 4.2k ☼

The one where he comes with you to rescue your younger twin brothers, Pollux & Castor. (this is as close to a real quest that Mr. D will give you--might as well take someone you trust!)

somebody's angel 4.4k ☽

The one where you convince him he’s pretty, even with a scar. (songfic - Die Alone - Finneas)

feed the fire 1.2k ☼

The one where his focus is not on spilled food, but on you. (Luke realizes this is more than playful banter)

bedtime stories 2.4k ☼

The one where night shift with him runs late, but you don’t mind at all. (the both of you have feelings you want to admit, but duty calls!)

crazy little thing 3.4k ☼

The one where he uses all his drachmas to make you smile on Valentine's Day. (the Apollo kids are better matchmakers than Aphrodite, sometimes)

anything you want 1.6k ☼

The one where you and him have your first kiss. (You've always loved teaching the story of Orpheus and Eurydice; except when your Orpheus runs away from you)

said he likes crazy 2.1k ☼ ☽

The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's avoided you since your first kiss. (For being a son of Hermes, he has a way of calming your nerves)

[pause and remember us like this] established relationship

play pretend 5.1k ☼

The one where Mr. D catches you two in the act, but you and him aren’t exactly together yet. (Drunk words are sober thoughts. Your dad just wishes Luke told you instead of him)

a wish your heart makes 1.4k ☼ ☽

The one where you share dreams, burn cookies, and it still reminds him of home. (The dryads will probably ban you from the kitchen after this)

chance encounters ☼

The one where you both daydream about different lives. (You think you'd find him anywhere, by soul alone)

to see the chaos through ☽

The one where he remembers he was never a good guy, just yours. (Luke makes the ultimate deal with the devil in order to save you)

not your goddess ☽

The one where you both know the best of days eventually have to come to an end. (songfic - Goddess - Laufey)

don't blame the kids ☼

The one where you both chaperone a trip to Mount Olympus. (the Olympians are bigger gossips than you thought they'd be)

trouble's coming for you 3.7k ☼

The one where Percy meets his two favorite counselors at Camp Half-Blood. (three times Percy is oblivious (and in the way) and the time he realizes you and Luke are in love)

now that we're older 3.5k ☼

The one where he asks if you can stay the night even if all of cabin 11 makes fun of him. (Luke is tired of the routine. He just needs his girl)

if you need to be mean (be mean to me) 1.5k☽

The one where he leaves before you wake up. (songfic - I Don't Smoke - Mitski )

[fast forward until we meet again] post-tlt

lovers, or partners in crime 2.1k ☽

The one where Annabeth and Percy think you’re guilty too. (the last day leading up to Luke's betrayal)

love like a blister: the five stages of loving losing luke 4.7k ☽

The one where you learn to mourn someone even if they’re still alive. (the five stages of grief after facing a loss)

to catch a thief 3.7k ☼ ☽

The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. (Your reunion with Luke isn't quite what you expected.)

solipsism 5.3k ☽

The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. (the four times Luke uses Backbiter to visit you during college ft. the first time you trust a god to help you)

angel with a broken wing ☼ ☽

The one where he falls from grace and still thinks of you. (the four women Luke Castellan risked it for and how it will end up killing him)

love me dry (LATEST ADD) 4.5k ☼ ☽

The one where he meets you at his mother's house, though both of you didn't expect the other to be there. (a glimpse into May Castellan's idea of a perfect day)

when the curtains close☽

The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Annabeth and Pollux find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.)

asking for trouble ☽

The one where Luke's final wish is to see you. (He's himself again, and all he wants is to find out if the trouble was worth it all)

as above, so below ☽ ☼

The one where you plead your case with the gods of Olympus. (The one thing the fates didn't expect was how much you'd both be like your fathers; in a way, you and Luke didn't see it coming either)

ask to be added to luke/general taglist 🥹

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan x reader #pjo series #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #pjo imagines #luke castellan x reader fanfic #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #🪽#trouble!verse #percy series #pjo x reader #jo's navi <3

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m00nlight-ramblings · 1 month

Text

Talk

As a famous singer, you find yourself at the same terrible party as Hozier, but you two decide to do something about it.

Pairing: fem reader x Hozier

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, p in v (protected) sex, fingering, 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who waited for this one...I'm so sorry it took so long. Please enjoy, and remember, my inbox is open for requests!

This party sucked.

Somehow, at one of the biggest album release parties of the year, you found yourself bored out of your mind, sipping on a weak gin and tonic. Leaning against a corner wall, the bass of the music from the DJ vibrated through you as you watched other people dance – your bandmates were somewhere amongst them, but for whatever reason, you just weren’t feeling it. Maybe you were just in a mood, maybe it was the music (one good song for every ten awful ones), but you sipped your drink, checking your phone every so often until it became a polite time to excuse yourself. You could already taste the revelry of getting back to your house before midnight – pajamas, Thai takeout, and scrolling aimlessly on your phone while Grey’s Anatomy reruns played in the background.

Suddenly, you saw a head bobbing around the others in the crowd – standing what seemed like almost a full foot above everyone else, his thick, curly hair pulled back in a half bun, he smiled and tilted his head to the music distractedly. Your breath hitched for a moment as you saw him – you had seen Hozier at countless red carpets and events in the past year it seemed, but he was also more handsome than the last time. He turned his head and your eyes locked, making you blush, and making him smile. He gently pressed a hand on someone’s back to alert that he was making his way behind him.

As if the giant could ever go unnoticed.

“Hi,” He said as he landed next to you, sipping from his drink. Something brown and in a rocks glass, one giant ice cube anchoring the liquid.

Of course.

“I feel like I needed to come over and speak to you – we seem to orbit each other at basically every red carpet this year.” He spoke, seemingly reading my mind. You smiled.

“That’s funny – I was just thinking that.”

Hozier nodded and his eyes scanned the crowd before landing back at you. It was like he was staring into your soul. Extending a hand, he smiled, “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m –”

“I know who you are,” You admitted, somewhat bashfully as you shook his hand. “I’m a big fan. I’m–”

“I know who you are,” He echoed, a smirk playing on his lips mischievously, “I’m a big fan.”

You could feel your blush deepen as his smooth words washed over you. His accent was enough for you to want to drop your panties, and his smile was already sending your head upside down.

“Your ‘Best New Artist’ win was well deserved,” He continued. “Your album was one of my favorites this year. Selfishly, I hope you guys are working on another one.”

“Wow, thank you,” You breathed, your heart thumping in your chest, “That means a lot coming from one of like, the best lyricists of our generation.”

“Ah,” Hozier waved his hand, bashful, “Come now.”

You cocked an eyebrow and smiled, “You’re going to write something like ‘I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found, I'd be the choiceless hope in grief, that drove him underground’ and not expect to be considered that?”

He simply shrugged and sipped his drink. He was blushing, embarrassed.

“This album was also very good,” He changed the subject, speaking of the current album release party. He cleared his throat, “Even though this party sucks.”

You laughed and gently grabbed his forearm in agreement, “Yes! What is that about?!”

“I think it’s the DJ,” He admitted, leaning into you, “The guys releasing this album are buddies of mine, but I’m starting to think if I need to end our friendship based on the DJ they picked for this party.”

“The music he’s playing is making me feel old,” You admitted, “I don’t know any of the songs, and I don’t seem to really like it, either. Is this what our parents feel like when we were listening to Good Charlotte and Britney Spears?”

“Not mine. My mom loves Good Charlotte.” His eyes twinkled.

You laughed. Your eyes fell on your bandmates dancing to the music, obviously drunk off of the expensive beer being served at the open bar. You were acutely aware of Hozier standing next to you, his heat seemingly radiating.

“Is it an inappropriate time to tell you that I think you look beautiful tonight?” He asked, his breath warm on your ear as he leaned down to whisper it. Shivers were sent down your back as he spoke. You turned your head and looked at him, trying to play it cool with the smile that played on your lips.

“Probably not, considering how I’ve been thinking about how handsome you look since I saw you from across the room tonight.” You retorted, titling your head. He smiled and nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd.

“I’m reminded of your beauty every time I see you at events,” Hozier said, his hand finding the small of your back, “And, admittedly, every time I scroll your Instagram feed.”

You laughed, “Hozier is my internet stalker, eh?”

“Can you blame me? That number you had on at the Grammy’s this year?” He made a face, whistling, “It took every ounce of strength not to follow your account as soon as you were done presenting on stage.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” You asked, almost interrupting him. He seemed taken aback, so you tried to backtrack, “I mean…in a bit. We could go somewhere where…the DJ doesn’t suck? After we finish our drinks.”

Hozier quickly chucked back the rest of his drink, putting the glass on the nearest table. “Let’s go.” He took your hand as you chugged the rest of yours as well, finding the spot next to his glass for yours.

He guided you through the party, his hand never leaving the small of your back. You felt heat rushing through you as you made your way to front door, and Hozier handed the valet his ticket. He turned to you.

“Did you drive here?”

You shook your head. “Car service.”

“Great. We can take my car then.”

As the valet pulled up in a sleek Audi, Hozier thanked him and handed him a large bill as a tip. He waited until you were situated in your seat before he slid into the driver’s side, closing his door and pulling into traffic. Some sort of blues-y jazz was coming through the speakers softly.

“So where are you kidnapping me to, Mr. Internet Stalker?” You teased, looking out the window at the lights of downtown L.A.

He smiled, “My hotel,” His voice was a low purr. You exchanged a glance as he leaned his head forward, in explanation, “The bar there is really nice. Live jazz band tonight. It’s mellow.”

You nodded and smiled. As your heart raced, you were trying to calm yourself down, fiddling with the clasp on the purse in your lap. Hozier’s arm was resting on the console in between you, and every so often, his hand inched closer to you. By the time he pulled into the swanky hotel parking lot, his large hand was resting gently on your thigh.

Your stomach was in excited knots.

After another valet exchange, Hozier took your hand and led you inside the hotel. It was grand and beautiful – a $500/night type place. To the right of the entrance was a beautiful restaurant, speakeasy in style. As promised, a four-piece band was set up in the corner of the bar, playing soft tunes and creating the atmosphere of an underground jazz club.

“Told you,” Hozier said, raising his eyebrows playfully, “And the drinks are great as well. Had one before the release party.”

“It’s really nice.” You awkwardly agreed. Hozier stopped for a moment, his face unreadable. He stood before you.

“I also have a minibar upstairs in my room, if you want something to drink.”

“Oh, that sounds much better.” The coil in your belly was itching to be sated, and you didn’t know how much you could play this cat-and-mouse game of will they/won’t they. For a moment, a darkness of lust flickered in his eyes, but he simply smiled and took your hand, leading you to the elevator. He scanned his room card and pressed the button to the top floor.

The air in the elevator was thick, heavy. You both stood facing the door, saying nothing. As the doors open and he led you to his suite, your heartbeat doubled in time. Flicking the lights on, he shut the door behind you, placing the lock in it’s place.

It took all of 30 seconds before your bodies crashed together, teeth clacking and moans erupting.

Hozier grabbed you and pushed your floor length dress up so they he was able to wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed. Your arms snaked around his neck, fingers finding their way into his hair. You pulled back slightly, your breath ragged already.

“So what the fuck do I call you?” You asked, breathlessly.

Confused, he looked at you, “What?”

“I need to know what I’m saying when I scream your name later…is it Hozier, or is it Andrew?”

He barked out a laugh and bit your lip, “Andrew. Andrew is fine.” He pressed his lips on yours again, dropping on top of you as he guided you to the bed. His large hands ran their way up and down your waist, palming at the skin on your body. He was moaning, grunting into the kiss, as your tongues danced together. You felt his hands leave your waist and slip your heels off, your toes already curling.

Andrew pulled away and slipped off the tweed suit jacket he was wearing. He looked down at you as he shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.

“So fucking beautiful,” He murmured, pressing hot kisses down your neck. “So fucking sexy. Every time I see you.”

You moaned and pressed your hips to him slightly, causing him to gasp lightly in surprise. He kissed down your neck, to your collarbone, gently slipping the thin straps of your dress off of your shoulders. Licking a stripe from your neck to just above your breasts, he smiled, looking at you.

“Fuck,” You breathed, looking down at him. You watched as he stood, slipping off his shoes and socks next to the bed. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and slipped that off, revealing his thin, hairy chest. He was lean, built lithly but strong. Biting your lip, you stifled a moan. He was on you once again, pulling you into a kiss, his hand cradling the back of your neck. His other hand made quick work of the zipper on the back of your dress, and he shimmed it down, before sliding it off of you completely.

Revealing the intricate…shapewear…you wore underneath.

For a moment, both of you stopped breathing, looking down at the ugly, functional corset that covered your body. Embarrassed, you pressed your lips together before looking back at Andrew. Suddenly, both of you were in hysterics.

“I really wish I was wearing some sexy lingerie right about now.” You said, throwing your head back and cackling. Andrew laughed and peppered kisses on your cheeks, shaking his head as he undid the shapewear and took that off as well.

“That was brilliant,” He said, wiping a tear away from laughing, “What a fuckin’ reveal.” As he took it off, you were completely nude, your skin softly pressed against his fingers. He groaned as he took you in, “That’s much better.” His voice was back to husky, low.

He kissed you once more before his fingers found their way to your clit, spreading your legs gently. He didn’t take his eyes off of you as his fingers felt your wetness. Quickly, he inserted two fingers, pushing his long digits all the way in. You moaned and furrowed your brow as he didn’t move for a moment, letting you adjust.

“You’re so wet for me already, darlin’.” He purred, his forehead on yours. You whimpered and nodded. He started to pump inside of you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. Immediately you started to squirm, which made me smile.

“Jesus Christ, Andrew.” You said, your eyes flickering to his fingers moving in and out of you. Heat rose in you as you watched him, the pleasure evident on his face as he licked his lips. When your eyes found his again, you found him looking at you, and not his handiwork.

“I love seeing you like this,” He said plainly, “You’re so beautiful when you squirm.”

He increased his speed, causing you to buck your hips. He nodded, his eyes twinkling, as he continued to pleasure you with his fingers. He leaned down to kiss you – a hot, open-mouthed kiss, with his tongue finding yours immediately. You moaned into it as he curved his fingers inside of you and took your bottom lip in his mouth, sucking gently. Pulling away, he dipped his head and moved his tongue to your hardened nipple, sucking on the bud as your body started to convulse under him.

The coil in your belly was tightening, and fast. Your hips started to buck faster, your wetness pooling out on to his fingers. You started to repeat his name like a prayer, and as you moved closer to the edge, your hand found its way into his hair again, tugging lightly.

“I’m close.” You whimpered.

“I know,” He smiled, moving his mouth to your ear, “Come for me. Be a good girl.”

You gasped slightly at his words as the coil snapped, bucking your hips one last time before your orgasm sent waves of pleasure through you. You moaned loudly, gripping the back of his head tightly as he bit down on your earlobe, never stopping his fingers inside of you.

“That’s it,” He groaned, his voice raspy, “That’s it, pretty girl. Give it all to me. Show me how pretty you are when you come for me.”

Your head swam and your heart raced, your eyes squeezed shut because you could focus. The pleasure that was spreading through you was warm, electric – it was one of the best orgasms you had ever had, and it was only with his fingers.

Jesus Fuckin’ Christ.

After a few moments, Andrew slipped his fingers out, causing you to open your eyes, your breath coming in heaving pants. He was smiling, obviously proud. Slowly, he licked his digits as he stood, moaning.

“Jesus, you taste delicious.” He said, looking at you. He undid the button and zipper on his pants, the obvious tent of his arousal very evident before he slipped them off. Down came his pants and boxer briefs, his large member springing free, wet with precum. He made his way over to a duffle bag thrown on a chair in the corner of the room and rifled through it, finally emerging with a condom in between his fingers. Opening it quickly, he slid it on himself, pumping himself a few times as he walked back to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Are you ready?” He asked, straddling himself in front of you, continue to stroke himself.

“Actually, if you’re not inside of me within the next few seconds I might lose my fucking mind.” You said, watching him. It was silly, but seeing him touch himself in front of you like that made him seem like a god. He smiled and crawled on top of you, slowly positioning himself at your entrance. As his tip teased your wet folds, you whimpered.

Finally, Andrew slid himself inside of you in a single thrust, his forehead finding yours again. Your moans filled the room, and as he started to pump inside of you, the familiar numb feeling of being filled spread throughout you.

“So good,” You said, closing your eyes and pressing your head to the pillow, “So, so good, Andrew.”

“That’s it,” He said, his breath hitching, “Wanna make you feel good. You make my cock feel so good.” He dipped his head in the crook of your neck as he started to slowly increase his pace, finding himself deeper inside of you. The sound of your wet skin slapping together filled the room, matched only by your breathy groans and his primal grunts.

“Fuck!” You shrieked, Andrew finding a particular spot that made your vision fuzzy. Andrew tilted his head up to look at you and he smiled.

“Yeah? Right there, darlin’?” He asked. You nodded, your brows knitted together. His hand found your chin, holding it roughly, “You like it when I fuck you right there?” You nodded again but he shook his head, “Lemme hear you say it, baby.” He gently commanded.

“Fuck. Yes, Andrew, right there!” You said, unable to take your eyes off of him. His eyes darkened as he continued to fuck you, his face flushing.

“My name sounds so good on your lips.” He groaned, continuing to pump in you. Sweat was beading on his forehead as he continued to hit your spot. His hand moved from your chin to your tits, and as he pinched your hardened nipples, you moaned. His thrusts became erratic, irregular.

“You’re close already, aren’t you?” You toyed with him, taking a moment to bite down on his bottom lip, “My pussy so good you’re gonna come for me?”

“Fuck,” He barked, furrowing his brows, “You’re so fucking tight…you’re so wet…I’m gonna come soon. I’m close,” His face flushed deeper as he stared into your eyes, making your heart thunder in your chest. Suddenly, he squeezed his eyes shut, his head thrown back, voice parted in a silent moan.

You felt his cock twitch inside of you, the condom filling with his orgasm. He jerked his hips, almost a spasm, as he moaned your name. His hands gripped the pillows on either side of you, his biceps flexing. You smiled as he finally opened his eyes, almost in submission as he rode out his orgasm. Your hands found their way to his back, gripping him and bringing him closer.

A few moments went by as he stayed inside of you, trying to catch up with his breathing. He placed gentle kisses on your cheek lazily, finally rolling out of you. Standing, he quickly made his way to the bathroom to toss the condom and clean himself up, but laid next to you again, scooping you up in his arms.

“You’re fucking incredible.” He murmured in your ear, his Irish accent coming out with his tired demeanor. You giggled and looked at him, brushing a sweaty lock of hair behind his ear.

“I’m really glad that party sucked so bad,” You said. He chuckled, his eyes still closed. Opening one, he looked down at you.

“Me too…” He paused for a moment, drawing you closer, “Though, even if that party was fun, I still would’ve made my way over to you.”

“Yeah?”

Andrew nodded and shifted so he was propping himself up on his elbow, “Yeah. I had been trying to muster up the courage for like…three awards shows to come over and say hi to you, now. Months worth of time.” He was somewhat bashful. You blushed.

“Well I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” He reached out and started to brush his fingers through your hair, and you couldn’t help the fluttering in your chest.

That party sucked. But you were glad it did.

---

A/N: I'm actually kind of obsessed with their banter and relationship...should I make this multiple parts?! I was originally only planning on doing this as a oneshot but I kind love them (teehee).

As always, comments and reblogs mean a lot if you liked this one <3 Thanks for reading

#hozier fic #hozier fluff #hozier smut #hozier oneshot #hozier #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier fanfiction #hozier fan fiction

515 notes · View notes

crypticminx · 4 months

Note

Please pleasee do felix x pregnant reader smut, ily ur writing ur so talented 💌

Thank u my loveee! Here you go xoxo

AN: smutttt, eating u out, sex, breeding kink! Xoxox

Felix is ravenous for you.

Actually, ravenous is an understatement.

He’s so damn starved for your touch since you’ve become pregnant, his internal famine grows more and more as does the swelling of your bump.

He desires you more than ever, finding you as beautiful as all the goddess he ever studied in his Greek mythology class. Like the tragic tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, Felix was so unearthly in love with you that he vowed to do anything for you, but even more so now as you were the one carrying his seed.

So alluring—yet sentimentally fascinating, for the man to watch your body and physique evolve in the most glowing way possible.

Felix just wouldn’t be able to contain himself in a manner that wasn’t touching you all over with his exceedingly needy hands. No restraints could keep him apart from you.

And when you were naked, it was like he was in heaven and you were his angel.

He adored seeing you so full and round with his seed, your once petite breasts now full and swollen. He’d gently cup them, stimulating a nerve inside of you that felt relaxing as your boobs were constantly sore. And when he felt like his hands could only provide so much for his lover, his tongue would ease its way to your hard nipples. He’d be delicate, not wanting to suck on them in a way that would hurt you. So as he’d swirl his desirous tongue round and round, you’d moan for him in agony to just fuck you already.

Making love was a strong suit of his, he was a master in the bedroom and could get you off in a hurry with a few powerful thrusts and some aggressive hair pulling. However, sex while being pregnant was different. It brought out a more sympathetic side to Felix, he was stimulated to no end, but didn’t let his rough, usual pace take over.

Slow and steady, he’d make you feel warm and losen all your tension by eating you out. Plunging his tongue in and out, by taking his sweet time in devouring your delectable cunt. Taking a few sweet moments to glance at your sweaty, pink cheeks before letting his hands roam freely around your protruding bump, his head retuning back to his favourite meal that was sprawled in front of him.

His throbbing cock had no seconds to spare, patiently waiting to enter the insides of your needy pussy, except Felix didn’t rush his stamina to slide it in. Cautiously taking his time, he lightly thrusted his solid cock into you, loving the slow feeling of letting his cock be surrounded in your inner walls that were already so wet for him.

He groaned seeing the image beneath him, your eyes squinting trying not to roll back with how pleasurable he was being, but most all, he loved seeing your bare bump on display for his eyes only. If you’re weren’t pregnant at the moment, there was no doubt in his horny little mind that would stop him from knocking you up this instant.

You were so gorgeous. Your heart was pure, filled with generosity and you had to have been the most selfless person he ever encountered—something so unfamiliar to him.

“Look at you, my little dove,” he proclaimed in between his erotic pants. “All full of my baby….oh so beautiful you are.”

His eyes were full of passioniate fire as his ears were overflowing with the beautiful sounds of your delicate whimpers and divine moans.

He’d get lower on you to the point where his toned abdomen would collide with your swollen stomach, skin to skin, he felt so connected to you.

“I wanna keep you like this,” he truthfully whispered, “keep cuming in you with my seed one after the other…”

A line of Catton heirs, now that was something worth talking about.

He loved everything about you being pregnant. He loved how you needed him, he loved your cute mood swings, he loved seeing your nurturing side blossom.

He was definitely getting you pregnant again.

#saltburn #felix catton #felix catton x you #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #jacob elordi #saltburn 2023 #felix catton smut #felix catton fanfic #felix catton x pregnant reader

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fishermanshook · 3 months

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[n]sfw Drabble w/ Orpheus

Thinking about how Orpheus just loves you so much, his heart physically hurts when you confess to him that you don’t like how your body looks. Every day is filled with dread when you see the added fat on your stomach and thighs. Orpheus just wished you could see how beautiful your body is.

Which lead to where you are now. Maybe it was for the better, but you can’t think as Orpheus’ cock splits you down the middle as he fucks you in front of your mirror. Cum drips down your legs from earlier sessions as he whispers just how much he loves you into your ears. He won’t stop until you realize just how lovely you are.

note: is vent smut a thing? cause this is basically what this is 😇🙏 if your reading this, go read my new Demi fic 😈

#⋆౨🎞️ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ PLAYBOY NOW PRESENTS...#smut #minor writing smut #Orpheus idv #orpheus deross #idv the novelist #idv x reader #idv #idv smut #orpheus x reader smut #orpheus smut #identity v orpheus #idv orpheus x reader #idv orpheus #mirror sex

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orpheusredux · 2 years

Text

The First Time - Part 2

Fic Summary: Four first times for Eddie Munson: angst, redemption, romance, and true love.

Fic Rating: 18+ only

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader, Eddie Munson x OFC

Warnings: A description of underage sex, non-con, statutory rape of a minor, period homophobia in part one only, future parts will be more uplifting and fulfilling.

The First Time Masterlist - Masterlist

“Your girl coming over tonight,” Wayne asked as he emptied his thermos into the sink, and started rinsing it out.

It was their little ritual when Wayne came in from the night shift: Wayne would clean his dinner pail and thermos and ask Eddie how he’d slept and what his plans were, while Eddie ate breakfast and asked him about his shift.

“She’s not my girl,” Eddie replied, alternating between shoveling eggs into his mouth and taking mouthfuls of coffee. He had a copy of a batteries science text book in one hand, and his attention flicked between the page, the plate and his cup. “But, yes, she is. She’s got some big bio test and wants me to do some flash card thing. I don’t know.”

Wayne had nodded and hummed, noncommittally. He didn’t believe Eddie’s bullshit. Not for one second.

Eddie tries not to have impure thoughts about you, but he is only one man, and between the shorts skirts, and the way literally everything you own ends up in your mouth at some point is almost more than he can take.

The thing is, you’re only 17. You’re also his friend and - surprise! - he doesn’t have enough real friends to blow one on sex.

Everything will change if he fucks you, he knows it. But Jesus Christ, he really wants to.

Like last weekend, you’d come over to watch Back To The Future and fallen asleep on the sofa with your sock-clad feet in his lap.

Eddie had turned to say something incredibly witty and scathing about Marty Mcfly - you’d let slip you thought he was kind of cute, so now Eddie hated him on principle - but instead of your cute little face, he’d been confronted by the sweet curve of your ass in those pink and white floral panties. The hem of that godforsaken little skirt you always seemed to be wearing these days flipped up almost to your waist.

For a second he’d been transfixed; the idea of just reaching out and touching the faint pink line where the elastic had bitten into your skin, meandered we into his head nonchalantly, sat down and kicked up it’s feet. He pictured squeezing your thick flesh, kneading it, pushing the hem out your panties higher and slipping his thumb inside, touching the tiny, dark pink, puckered rosebud he imagined you were hiding between those luscious cheeks.

Then you’d snuffled a little, wiggling your hips deeper into the sofa cushions, and spread your thighs a tiny bit more. God help him, he’d wanted to touch so much his hand itched.

Thank God, his better nature had appeared out of nowhere and smacked his hormonal desire to do a goddamned sex crime on you in the head. He’d dragged the afghan off the back of the sofa over you instead.

Later, after he’d driven you home, he pulled the van haphazardly off the road half way onto the kerb in his rush to get his pants open, and just about broke his wrist beating off to the memory of those panties.

God knows what he’d have said if one of the deputies had spotted him, parked like a crazy person, and decided to check it out.

“Can you tell me why Eddie The Freak Munson’s shaggin’ wagon is parked up in well-heeled Clerville Heights, Son?”

“Why yes officer, I was bearing off to the thought of molesting a minor!”

He’d have been caught, jizz-handed, and immediately put on some sort of register or watch list and, fuck’s sake, he’d have deserved it.

You arrived at the trailer after dinner, a walking pile of books, papers and energy, ditching your bike in the yard and talking a mile a minute before you were even half way through the door.

“...And then he says, ‘no! No, it’s the coefficient’. The coefficient! Like, has ever even read a book?”

“Reeves giving you grief again?” Eddie said from the kitchen where he was upending a bag of chips into a bowl.

Reeves is your lab partner. Eddie cannot believe that the douche gets to spend three periods a week sitting next to you for an hour, and yet has somehow managed to fuck up that sweet deal completely. Eddie loathes the guy almost as much as you do. “Want me to rough him up for you?”

“I want to put a hit out on him. You know people, right? People who will accept cash money to - to ace Hawkins High’s stupidest senior?”

Eddie grins, slightly tickled that despite being a two time senior himself, you don’t think of him as stupid, never have.

“I think you mean ‘ice’ Hawkins High’s stupidest senior, and I choose not to be offended that you only want me for my criminal connections,” he jokes.

“Oh I want you for way more than that Munson,” you reply.

You both go stock still.

“Wow,” Eddie says, managing to deftly disguise the fact he’s just about choked to death on his own tongue.

“I mean the flash cards!”

He just chuckles and give you one of those “sure, sure” looks, so you throw your book bag at him and it devolves into slapping, pinching and tickling as he ducks your half assed attempt to beat him up, giggling like a pair of middle schoolers all hopped up on red sodas.

“Ow! Ow! Help, I’m being assaulted by a nerd! Ow!”

“Gah!” You yell, finally, stomping into the living room to collapse onto the sofa. “You spent 12 hours writing a campaign for five 9th graders and Gareth last weekend, but I’m the nerd?”

“Excuse you, Missy. I’m a goddamned craftsman,” Eddie follows you with the chips and a couple of sodas. He puts them down on the coffee table.

“OK, give me these fuckin’ flash cards,” he says, making grabby hands and throwing himself onto the sofa next you.

The way you kick off your shoes and clamber up on the couch, crossing your legs under you, the way you seem so at home, it does something melty to Eddies’ insides.

And then the melty feeling has to go and ruin things by shooting straight to his dick when you lean over the side of the couch to pull some papers out of your bag, and that God-damned, tiny, little bastard skirt flips up again.

Eddie is a good man, but he isn’t a particularly strong one when it comes to self control, he certainly isn’t strong enough to stop himself from staring at your lap; at the pink and white floral panties barely covering your mound; at the little crease where your sex is defined by the taut cotton. Like a slack jawed don’t, he stared at your pussy way, way longer than is really acceptable considering you are a minor.

The word 'minor' goes off like a siren in his head. He jerks his eyes up to see you staring back at him eyes like saucers.

Without breaking eye contact, you tug your skirt back down.

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, I’m sorry. That was - I don’t know why I did that.”

You just stare at him, unblinking, breathing hard.

“Please say something,” he says, feeling like the worst kind of asshole.

“Was that - did you - Eddie, have you heard about the Juliette clause?”

That’s not at all what he was expecting you to say. In fact, it was not what he was expecting you to say so much he had no immediate response. Then his brain comes back online with a whoosh.

“Sweetheart, are you fucking serious right now? We’re not discussing English class. We can’t just pretend I didn’t just perv - I just want you to know that despite what I just did, I respect you so much. I lo - I care about you. You’re practically my best friend.”

You take a deep breath and hold your hand up. Your eyelids flutter, not in the come hither way but it the “does not compute” way, like you’re trying to process a bunch of stuff you don’t quite know what to do with.

Eddie’s seen this before at the All State Interscholastic Quiz Bowl last year, when you were the only Junior on a team up of Hawkins High’s biggest brainiacs. There were ten points and two questions between Hawkins and Kenney High. You looked just like this.

(You also got both questions right, and won the All State Interscholastic Quiz Bowl cup.)

Finally, you look up and pin him with your stare.

“I have given you every imaginable opportunity to jump me, Eddie. Every time, every time, you do nothing.”

You hold up one hand and start counting ‘every time’ off: “There was that time in your van, I was wearing a thong, and you didn’t even seem to notice.”

Oh, he’d noticed. His poor abused dick had noticed too.

“And the time at Gareth's pool party, when I wore that yellow bikini…”

He hadn’t even been able to talk to her the entire party, and every time someone male that wasn’t him had gone anywhere near her he'd thought he was going to have an aneurysm. He’d ended up leaving the party early.

“Then there was the time we watched Back To The Future, I thought - I thought if I just… showed you my ass, maybe you’d cop a feel, but no! You covered me up so fast I thought, well. I felt like I was grossing you out. Like I was some kind of freaking sex pest,” you said, looking stricken. “Oh my God, Eddie am I a sex pest?

Eddie realizes his chin is just about on the floor. He thinks about all the times he’s sweet talked women and girls; all the flirting and saying things he thought they wanted to hear. He thinks about how you’ve been his friend first, through thick and thin, and how much he doesn’t just want to bone you, but how much he really likes you, too.

He realizes that for the first time in his young romantic life, he doesn’t want to play any of the cutsie-pie games he’s played in the past. He wants to be real with you because, well, he loves you - the big L and the little l versions.

“Honey,” he says gently, reaching out to take a hold of your hand - you’ve been twisting them together in your lap.

“If your a sex pest, then I am one too, because if knew the sorts of things I’ve been thinking about you, you’d call the fucking cops on me.”

He just about swoons when he sees the heat flood your face and you cheeks go almost scarlet.

“But then, why won’t you - Am I not… I mean, I know I’m not ‘hot’...“

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, stop,” Eddie says, squeezing your hand. “You are absolutely hot in all the ways that matter to me.”

He could tell you were really struggling with something, but he didn’t want to push you, he’d be honest with you about how he felt, but he wasn’t going to push anything.

Your brow crumpled so adorably, as you processed this new bit of information.

“But Tommy said there was only one reason someone like you would want to hang out with someone like me. That if I wanted you to like me - like me - I’d have to, you know, do…that.”

Eddie tamped down a spike of rage at the thought of your meathead jock brother saying something like that to you. He thought about his first time, about how he couldn’t see clearly after that, what he really wanted from a girlfriend, how he’d always played this kind of dirtbag casanova part because he thought that’s what dudes did. Yeah, he’d been one giant desperate hormone at 17, but no one had ever just… held his hand and kissed him and let him enjoy the longing, the build up, the anticipation.

“You don’t - Sweetheart, I love spending time with you, you don’t need to - to put out for me to like you - to l-love you. I always want you around.”

“Oh Eddie,” you said, covering her face with her hands. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was exactly the right thing to do, but he slid closer, and slipped his arm around your shoulders.

“I’m only a couple of years older than you, but trust me, those couple of years are going to feel like a couple of decades. You don’t have to rush any of this. You don’t have to do one single goddamned thing that you are not ready for.”

And then because he was only one man, he asked, as gently as he could: “Do you, um, do you want - like, are you - do you feel, like, ready?”

You squeeze his hand and giggle.

“No,” you said after a minute or two. “I don’t think so. I mean… all I know is that I kind of think of you as more than a friend. But Tommy says….”

“No offense, Sweetheart,” Eddie interjects, shifting back a little so he can see your face. “But your brother Tommy is a fucking idiot, who once fucked a football for a dare in front of our entire male half of our gym class, junior year.”

“Ewwww,” you wail, pushing him away. Eddie doesn’t let you get too far though.

“Oh my God, my fucking brother? Jesus Eddie.”

“I know… I know, it was fucking gross.”

“Ew!”

Your disgust makes him all but cackle.

“Look, I’m just saying that he’s not someone you should be taking romantic advice from. His idea of romance is when you finally have sex sober, you’re engaged.”

“Oh God.. no, please stop talking!” you put your hands over your ears and scrunch up your eyes and Eddie doesn’t really believe in much, but he believes he loves you.

“For the record, I don’t think we’re just friends either,” Eddie says, when he stops laughing. “I don’t think we’ve been just friends for a while.”

He looks down at your tiny hand in his, you’re pink nails, the way the skin is so thin and fine between your fingers it’s practically blue.

“Wayne calls you my girl, asks ‘is your girl coming over?’ And I always say, ‘she’s not my girl’, but… you know what? I never have to ask him who he means. Because there isn’t anyone else it could be. You are my girl… or maybe, I’m your boy, man… whatever, you know what I mean. I’m yours, if you’ll have me. No strings attached.”

You lean your head on his shoulder and he rests his cheek against the crown of your head.

“For a couple of smart people we really are dumbasses,” you say.

“Damned straight,” Eddie says. He shifts back again.

“OK, listen. Sweetpea, I would love to touch you one day. I would love to - Jesus - to do everything we could want and more, one day. Like I will… lick, suck bite every goddamned last inch of your body…”

“Eddie,” you sigh and shiver a little. Eddie shakes his head a little to clear it himself.

“But! I am not going to do any of that until you are fucking begging me for it. Ask that feminist pamphlet woman, she calls it ‘enthusiastic consent’ and it sounds fucking hot.”

You scramble up onto your knees and throw your arms around him.

“Oh my God, Eddie! You read it?"

“Course!” He says, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “You asked me to.”

You kneel up, till you’re looking down on his upturned face. You cup his jaw between your palms, and stroke your thumbs across his cheeks.

“I don’t think it’ll be long,” you say, so softly. “I mean, you - we - won’t have to wait long.”

Eddie has a bit of a lump in his throat when you say it. Everything will change if he fucks you, if you fuck him. But that doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. Not it you’re in it together.

“But I’ll tell you one thing, Eddie Munson. I’ve never been kissed, and you have my enthusiastic consent to be the first to -”

He doesn’t let you finish asking. He’s dreamed about this, about the feel of you, slight and tender in his arms, about your mouth, soft and open under his.

He cups your head and tilts you slightly, deepening the kiss, dipping his tongue gently into your mouth, trying to show you, in the only way he can, how good he wants to make it for you, giving you everything he has to give.

Your hands gripping his tee shirt, anchor him, ground him, but inside he is flying. He’s kissed… been kissed by women he regretted, but this - this kiss at once so innocent and chaste, yet filled with a very carnal kind of promise - this feels like the first kiss he’s ever had.

When you lean back, he chases your lips for a single, smacking peck that makes you both grin.

“Mmm,” you hum, melting back into the sofa.

“Ok, for a first kiss?” He asks, “I pass muster?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, lifting your arms over your head to stretch languidly. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ll be waiting long at all.”

Part 3 Coming Soon!

#eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #orpheus writes #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic

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sakurayumeno · 2 years

Note

hii id love if you could do k, o, u, and v from the smut alphabet for orpheus! ty!

NSFW Alphabet Hcs.

Character: Orpheus.

Genre: Smut, Headcanon game.

Letters: K, O, U, V.

A/N: OMG ORPH REQUEST 😍😍

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He's learned with you that he really enjoys bondage. Definitely has used his little tie thingy (Idfk what it is 💀 jabot? cravat?) to restrain your wrists while he does whatever he wants with you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Giving is another one of the many things he's talented in; his experience? From books. Hell, with how good he is, you'd think he were studying eroticas in his free time. What other explanation could there be for the practical poetry he speaks between your legs?

He'd be more than down to receive it any day. It relieves his stress, especially if he's been hitting a block near the end of his writing, so having you go down on him under his desk is a great way to put his mind someplace else.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Physically? A lot. Verbally? Surprisingly not as often. There's only so much that words can do that actions don't do better. Likes to tease you a lot, but isnt so keen on having it returned.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

His moans are loud and breathy, and he does not like it at all. It's embarrassing for him to acknowledge, so he tries to supress them by muffling them in your neck/ shoulder or clamp a hand over his mouth.

#identity v #idv #identity v x reader #idv x reader #idv novelist #idv orpheus #orpheus x reader #idv smut #500+ follower event #idv headcanons

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munsons-maiden · 2 years

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𝐀 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Here’s the Orpheus & Eurydice AU oneshot I promised - it’s angst WITH a happy ending though because Eddie Munson deserves all the happy endings. I hope you enjoy it! - Love, Kiki ♡

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | With the love of your life dead in your arms and your heart shattered to pieces, you’re ready to make that deal with God and swap places. Everything to bring Eddie back. But the only God in this dark place, frozen in time and filled with monsters, is not a benevolent one. And when you agree to his deal to play the game of gods and monsters and bring Eddie back, you know you it might be a losing game. You heard that story before - and it never has a happy ending. Now it’s on you to trick the fates and rewrite Eddie’s stars.

Inspired by this ask I got ♡

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | angst with a happy ending, a bit of smut

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | death but not permanent (I mean he has to die first if we want to bring him back from the dead), angst with a happy ending, canon-typical violence, contains traces of SMUT as a treat (not explicit but definitely implied so 18+ only please!)

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 & 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ♡

*whispers* This is for you, Eddie.

You’d known you were too late when you raced towards the swarm of bats pouncing from the sky, a maelstrom of wings and talons and teeth, the air pierced by their blood-curdling shrieks – and Eddie’s scream.

A battle cry fading into a howl of pain that bled into the air.

You’d known you were too late when you finally reached him, tearing and ripping at the beasts pinning him to the ground, devouring him alive while the first of them started to falling from the skies.

Known you were too late when you fell to your knees with a cry of his name, and his dark eyes found yours.

When flashes of lightning bled through the thunderclouds above to paint the skies a deep, dark crimson. The same deep, dark crimson that bloomed on the white fabric of Eddie’s Hellfire shirt, like red roses on fresh snow.

Running from his lips as Eddie’s dark eyes found yours while you pressed your hands over his wounds, a desperate attempt to staunch the bleeding, buy more time –

But there were too many wounds.

Too much blood.

Coating your hands, sticky and warm like the tears that ran down your cheeks as you whispered, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

It wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You both knew it.

The smile curving Eddie’s blood-smeared lips was a real one. Sad and proud and loving and bittersweet all at the same time. It was an unspoken farewell.

“I didn’t run this time,” he breathed.

It took everything in you to suppress the sob clawing at your throat. “No. No, you didn’t. You’re a hero, Eddie.”

“Told ya it’s gonna be my year.”

“It is. It is, okay?”, you breathed, “It’ll be. It will –“

“When you walk that stage…,” Eddie choked, “And grab your diploma…flip Higgins the bird for me, yeah?”

“You’ll flip him the bird yourself, Eddie. When…when you snatch your own diploma, okay? You’re gonna do it, and then we’re going to run like Hell out of there. Out of this fucking school, this fucking town. Just…away. Together.”

“Hey, sweetheart?”

The sob ripped free at the sound of the term of endearment, so beautifully familiar. “Yeah?”

“I love you. You know that, right?”, Eddie whispered, and the tenderness in his gaze even in death was so him, so Eddie, “I always loved you. It’s always been you.”

“Please don’t say goodbye, Eddie,” you whimpered, the flood of tears choking you, “Please. You…I need you to stay with me. Okay? Stay with me. Stay with me –“

But like the flame of a candle snuffed out by the wind, the light vanished from Eddie’s beautiful umber eyes, still trained on you as if he’d wanted to make sure you’d be the last thing he would see.

For a heartbeat, time froze.

The world stood still as more and more of the bats fell from the skies, hailing down all around you, the whirr of their wings and the thuds of their bodies hitting the ground the only sound to fill the silence.

And something broke.

Shattered.

Deep within your chest, your heart, your very soul.

It took you a moment to realize that the anguished scream piercing the cold air of this forlorn realm was your own.

Because the moment the life had been snuffed out of Eddie’s eyes, stolen, his body going limp in your arms…everything in you turned as cold and dark and dead as this realm around you.

You didn’t feel the cold anymore, the pain in your own body where the dying creatures had hacked teeth and claws into your own skin as you’d started to rip them away from Eddie. You didn’t care anymore why they were dying, or what would happen to Hawkins. To the rest of the world.

Why would you? A world without Eddie was as empty and forlorn as this one.

With the blur of tears veiling your vision, Eddie’s limp form in your arms and his blood coating your hands, you squeezed your eyes shut.

“You took him.” Your voice was broken, barely a whisper, while the shards of your shattered heart were piercing and tearing at your insides as everything in you was falling apart. The words weren’t a plea, but a command as you breathed, “Take me too.”

You waited.

For your bones to snap like twigs.

For the God of this forsaken realm to claim you like he’d claimed the love of your life.

The bats kept falling from the skies, fewer and fewer of them, their tails trailing behind them like lonely paper streamers at the end of a party.

The spores kept floating through the air, like the slow flurry of snow trapped in a snow globe, with you sobbing over Eddie’s body, a nightmare forever frozen in time behind polished glass.

But Vecna didn’t deign to take you as well, out of this world that had lost all its light and all its reasons to be saved because it had turned into a world without Eddie, without his sunshine smiles and warmth and kindness, his singing and his weirdness and his laughter.

The tears kept falling from your eyes while your body went numb with the agony of your overwhelming grief as you bent over, your forehead resting against Eddie’s, and wept.

For the boy who’d always fought the odds with the cards the fates had dealt him.

Who’d chosen kindness over and over again when it would have been so much easier to let the scorn and bullying he’d faced for being different turn his heart hard and cold.

Who’d dreamed of leaving this small-minded little town behind with you. Of walking that stage, and finally snatching that diploma.

For the boy you’d always love more than everything in this world.

You’d sell your soul to turn back the clocks, to unravel the tapestry of time, grasp the frayed ends and weave the threads back together into a happy ending.

Or simply to rewind time like a VHS tape, and press pause in one of the countless happy moments. Maybe to be frozen in a tiny little snow globe world wasn’t bad if the moment was a good one.

And there had been so, so many good ones.

You would have followed Eddie Munson out of this cursed town. You’d have followed him everywhere.

You didn’t know how long you’d wept – but it couldn’t have been long. Eddie’s blood had yet to dry on your hands, the warmth yet to fad e from his skin.

And with grim determination, at the frayed dark edges of the grief pulling you under, an idea took root in your mind.

The lyrics of Max’s song echoed through your memory.

And if I only could make deal with God, I’d get him to swap our places.

You would. Without a second of hesitation. Trade your soul for Eddie’s, bring him back, put the life back into his beautiful umber eyes.

If only there was a god.

If only, among all the monsters, there was a god who would listen.

But…there was.

You just needed to make him hear you.

Grim determination flooding you, you slowly raised your head.

Eddie’s gaze, unseeing, was trained on the skies above, the ghost of his smile lingering on his blood-stained lips. His dark hair formed a midnight-black halo around his head, the white particles settling in his curls like tiny snowflakes. Like stars in a night sky.

“No matter how this story ends…I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson,” you breathed, before you leaned down to place one last kiss on his forehead, the soft curls spilling from the black bandana tickling your cheeks.

And with all this love and grief flooding you, sweeping you away, a newfound determination, grim and fierce, blazed through your veins as you slowly rose to your feet.

Where you would go, you couldn’t take him.

Your voice was steeled with the force of your blinding wrath at the unfairness of it all, of loss and grief and that wild, desperate flutter of hope as it rang through the still air of this dark place.

“VECNA! COME AND GET ME!”

The bats had stopped falling.

There was no wind in the air, no noise apart from the thunder in the distance, crimson lightning bleeding through the clouds, the exact shade as Eddie’s blood coating your hands, slowly drying.

“DO YOU HEAR ME?! COME AND GET ME, YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!”

You grabbed the discarded makeshift-spear from the ground. It had fallen out of Eddie’s grip when the bats had sunken their teeth into his skin, forced him down.

“IS THAT ALL YOU CAN DO?!”, you screamed into this frozen void. You didn’t care if it would draw in more monsters. You didn’t care for the monsters of this realm anymore – all you wanted was to face their god. “IS THAT IT?! SENDING YOUR BEASTS WHILE YOU STAY IN HIDING LIKE A FUCKING COWARD?! COME AND FIGHT ME!”

You felt him before you saw him.

There was a shift in the air like ripples across a lake, raising the hair on your necks, a tingle like a swarm of spiders skittering down along your spine.

Max had described him to all of you, after she’d escaped him in the graveyard.

Rotten flesh, covered by writhing creeping vines.

Eyes as cold as the realm he’d made his home.

But nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you as you whirled around, your fist tightening around the makeshift-spear – because the eyes staring back at you weren’t the icy blue you’d come to expect.

They were dark, a beautiful, familiar shade of umber so opposing to the hollow coldness within them, sharp and hard as the edge of a knife. So out of place in Eddie’s eyes.

“No,” you breathed, shrinking back, away from this monster which dared to wear the face of the love it had just ripped from you.

“Is this not what you wanted, girl?”

The voice filling the air as he spoke wasn’t Eddie’s. It was the thunder in the bleeding crimson skies and the shriek of distant monsters in the air. It was the writhing of creeping vines on the ground, the vibration of the earth; an echo of a thousand voices that had become one.

He wasn’t here, not really. You knew how you looked like right now, outside of this illusion Vecna was creating – your body rigid, eyes white, frozen in place beside Eddie’s lifeless form on the cold ground. You’d seen it once, when he’d nearly gotten Max.

Vecna tilted his head, his face – the face he’d stolen – a frozen mask as white spores settled in his dark curls, the lack of light turning the dark chocolate brown into a deep inky black; curls you’d run your hands through countless times, playing with the strands, Eddie’s head in your lap as he read The Lord Of The Rings to you. Curls tangling around your fingers as you drew him closer to deepen a kiss, to whisper confessions of love.

Bile rose in your throat, bitter and burning and acidic, at the cruelty of Vecna’s mask.

Eddie’s eyes – but void of the warmth and kindness and humor they’d been brimming with. Eddie’s lips, void of the tender smile which had always played them when he’d looked at you.

Vecna had taken what you loved the most and twisted it into a nightmare to drive the blade deeper into an already fatal wound, simply because he could.

He was watching you; that predatory, icy gleam shining so horribly misplaced in Eddie’s gentle eyes that you wanted to break down and weep all over again.

“I want him back,” you breathed. “Take me instead. I won’t fight you. I won’t try to escape. Give him back, and I’ll follow you willingly.”

Vecna stepped closer, the expression in his eyes the sharp gleam of a bird of prey ready to pounce, to hack its talons into his squealing, writhing prey as he drew every last drop of anguish from their minds, feeding on their pain like a leech sucking blood.

Your grip around the makeshift spear was so tight that you feared your knuckles might pop with the strain as you refused to shy away any farther.

“I have no need for you to follow me willingly. I can take whatever I want to take.”

Vecna’s hand came up, slowly – the gesture of someone who knew he had all the time in the world – and nausea churned in your guts as the pad of his thumb caught one of your tears, his eyes, these beautiful dark eyes stolen from Eddie, locked firmly on yours.

“You already have,” you whispered. “You can’t take anything else from me because you’ve already taken everything. And I’ll take it back.”

I ran, Max’s words echoed in your mind. I ran, and then I was in that…that place. Where he’d put all the others before me.

Every realm had its god, and every Underworld its king. And every king…had a castle. You only needed to find it.

With a swift motion, you thrust out the spear, the red face of the demon glaring on his Hellfire Club shirt turning into the bulls-eye for your blade.

And with Vecna’s howl – not of pain but fury – booming through the air, you whirled around and ran.

Stumbling over writhing vines, not looking back whether Vecna was following behind, you raced into the looming woods at the edge of the trailer park, towards the fog in the distance, the crimson light seeping through the swirls and wisps like blood.

And when you reached it, hands outstretched, the edge of this illusion Vecna had created in your mind, the ground shifted, sending you stumbling to the floor, the skin on your palms tearing open as you caught yourself and pushed back to your feet to face your new surroundings.

It was just like Max had described. Crimson light, the hollow, distorted ticking of a clock, floating debris. The door with the red flowers made of stained glass like a heart at the center of Vecna’s lair.

Doors and stairs leading into nowhere.

Pillars reaching into the low, crimson skies – and on these pillars…

Vecna’s victims.

All of them.

Their bodies disfigured, limbs broken; hollow sockets where their eyes had been, mouths agape in frozen screams, forever muted in death. Like a horrid assortment of butterflies, their fragile wings pinned and preserved beneath eternal glass cases to decorate a lepidopterist’s walls.

That’s what Vecna was.

A collector of souls and horror.

The scream lodged at the back of your throat ripped free to form his name, Eddie’s name, as you fought for your feet to move, fought your body’s urge to bend over and retch as if somehow, magically, it would chase the cruel images away.

But there was no time.

And so, you stood still, feet anchored to the ground as you spun in a slow circle, eyes scanning the collection of horrors preserved all around you.

The Creels; mother and daughter side by side. Chrissy and Fred and Patrick.

And –

“Eddie.”

Your voice was less than a whisper as you stumbled the last few steps towards him, tears streaming down your eyes in hot rivulets as you reached him.

Eddie was bound to the pillar closest to the solitary stained-glass door; thick, writing creepers wrapped around his wrists to hold him in place, curling around his throat in a deadly chokehold.

Another beautiful butterfly trapped in Vecna’s collection.

But unlike the others, Eddie’s limbs weren’t broken; his eyes not amiss but closed, his features serene as his dark curls spilled around his face. A horrid, twisted version of sleeping beauty.

And in this story, true love might not be be enough to break the curse.

“Eddie,” you breathed, your hands reaching out, thumbs caressing his cheeks. “Eddie, I’m here. I’m going to get you out of here. Just hold on. Hold on a bit longer. Please, please hold on, do you hear me?”

There was the softest of flutters of his eyelids, fleeting and ephemeral enough to make you wonder if you’d simply imagined it.

With a barely suppressed howl of rage, you ripped at the vines around Eddie’s throat, tearing them away as your fingertips dug into the gooey black tissue of the creepers.

They came away writhing and hissing, their black blood seeping over your hands, mingling with the crimson stains of Eddie’s blood on your palms as screeches and hisses rose like a chorus of echoes in the air.

He knew. If Vecna hadn’t already known you were here, he would, now.

And time was running out like sand slipping through your fingers.

One by one, the vines came away beneath your hands, revealing angry red marks crisscrossing the pale skin of Eddie’s neck that only fueled your rage, this blinding, white-hot wrath that felt like it was burning you alive.

You wanted to hurt Vecna, hurt every last thing in this forsaken realm.

When the last of the creepers around Eddie’s throat came lose, his head lolled forward, against your shoulder, and a tremor ran through his body as you moved on to free his wrists, the black blood of the vines cold as it ran over your down your arms while you dug your nails into the creepers to shred them beneath your hands like paper.

It was easy, you realized when they came loose, Eddie’s wrists slipping free as he fell forwards, a limp weight in your arms.

Too easy.

“Do you truly think you can save him?”

There was mock in Vecna’s voice as it boomed through the air from behind you while you sunk to your knees in an attempt to support Eddie’s weight, keep him from falling over as, with a weak susurration, Eddie pleaded, “Go. Leave.”

“Not without you.”

Eddie’s hands came up to cradle your face, his skin cool, colder with every second that ticked by as the life drained out of him, and the tears – of despair, this time – started flowing as he rested his forehead against yours.

“I didn’t die for you to die for me, ya know,” he breathed, his nose brushing against yours as his eyes – his eyes, so warm and gentle and brimming with love – found yours, the ghost of his old humor laced in his voice. “Go. Live.”

“Not without you,” you echoed your own words once more.

Vecna’s chuckle rose in the air like a horrid echo. “You are a fighter for sure.”

A cry ripped from you as something cold and wet wrapped around your left ankle, dragging you backwards, away from Eddie as Vecna mused, “Stay with me, and you stay with him.”

“No,” Eddie’s weak whisper floated through the air as he reached out for you, a desperate attempt to grab you as he sunk to the ground, his mess of black curls spilling around his pale features.

You fought with every last ounce of strength left in you, every remaining dreg of willpower as you thrashed against Vecna’s creepers as they curled around your ankles, your wrists, pulling you away from Eddie and backwards to one of the still empty pillars, rendering you so utterly, utterly helpless as desperate sobs ripped from your throat.

Not for yourself, but for Eddie, cowering on the ground.

“Your suffering,” Vecna droned, stepping closer, the façade of his stolen face crumbling, the pale skin on his cheeks rotting away to reveal tendons and muscle beneath as those stolen umber eyes watched you intently while he drew closer, a predator stalking its prey, “Is almost at an end.”

The vines had reached your throat, cold and slippery, squeezing as your back met the pillar while Vecna’s mask melted away, wilted away, his form decaying in a gruesome, cruel promise of what would happen to Eddie’s body if your desperate attempt to save him failed.

And failing, it was.

Once again, Vecna’s hand found its way to your face, a long, sharp fingernail dragging along the side of your cheek, tracing the glittering streaks of tears as Eddie hissed, “Stay. Away. From her.”

Over Vecna’s shoulder, you could see how Eddie fought himself to his knees, ringed fingers digging into the dirt for purchase as he pushed himself off the ground with every last ounce of strength left in him while the creepers and your own tears choked your voice.

“Don’t try to put up a fight you cannot win, boy,” Vecna crooned, his eyes still watching you and his voice almost gentle as his other hand raised in the air, a flick of his index finger enough to make more creepers sprout from the ground, wrap around Eddie’s ankles to rip him off his feet again – but Eddie didn’t surrender. His dark eyes locked on you, the bandana slipping off his head to release the mess of his wild curls as he struggled and fought against the creepers, he hissed, “I said. Don’t. Touch. Her. You ugly. Fucking. Boogeyman.”

For a split second…Vecna flinched as Eddie called him Boogeyman. As if the insult had actually hit home.

Of course it had, it dawned on you.

All this doling out judgement, deciding who lived and who died, his message for the little girl which had defeated and banished him here – in his own eyes, Vecna was the god of this mirror realm as much as he was in yours.

A banished god, but a god nonetheless.

And if the stories humankind had been telling since the beginning of history had taught you one thing…it was that gods got bored.

Before the creepers slithering up your throat, your chin, could reach your lips to mute you, you spat, “Let’s play a game.”

Your eyes found Vecna’s, icy blue seeping through the warm umber of his irises as his mask kept melting away.

“I don’t play games.”

“Don’t you get bored?”, you choked out, the creepers’ grip around your throat tightening further, “Banished by a little girl. Banished over and over again. Don’t you want revenge? Don’t you want to hurt us all for what we keep doing to you?”

“Yup, um,” Eddie choked, “Sweetheart…you’re not…helping –“

“I am hurting you right now,” Vecna crooned, Eddie’s voice dying with the tightening of creepers around his throat, and rage burned in your chest as Vecna dragged the back of his index finger along your jaw.

“Not as much as you could,” you breathed, oxygen running out. You could see the gleam of cruelty, of interest, in those eyes, fully blue now, like a lake frozen in eternal winter. He was listening.

You needed to make it count.

“Let us go,” you forced out, “And see how far we can run. If you’re as powerful as you think you are – there’s nothing left for you to lose and a lot of entertainment to win.”

The smirk playing on this creature’s rotting lips was sickening, when he crooned his reply. “I have a better idea.”

You waited for the vines to squeeze your windpipe, throttle you, snap your bones – but their grip…loosened.

You fell to the ground, on your knees in front of Vecna’s decaying, mutated form, your teeth gritted as a claw-tipped index finger locked underneath your chin, tilting your head up to force you to meet his cold eyes when he drawled, “You wanted to make a deal. To stay with me in his stead.”

“Yes,” you whispered.

“NO!”, Eddie howled, but the vines clamped over his mouth, his eyes wide as tears of panic and terror and despair streamed down his face, smearing the soot and the blood on his cheeks.

“Here is my deal, girl,” Vecna cooed. “Run. Run away and leave him here with me and don’t look back. Not once. If you look back before you’ve reached the edge of my realm, I will keep both of you. If you don’t, and if you make it past my army – I will give him back to you.”

You knew what Vecna was doing. You knew the story and you knew it didn’t have a happy ending.

A tale as old as time.

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”, you hissed.

Vecna tilted his head, the skin on his cheek shriveling away with the movement to reveal pale bone and teeth beneath.

“You won’t. I might be many things – but I am no liar. But you better hurry if you want to save him,” Vecna droned, trailing his finger down your throat, over the vines that heeded his command, loosening, slithering down to the ground, “Because time is running out. There is only so much even I can do when a heart has ceased beating for long enough.”

With these parting words hanging in the air of his lair, Vecna stepped away from you, and the rest of the vines retreated to set you free.

As if on cue, there was a last deep, distorted tick of the grandfather clock floating in the distance.

With a last glance at Eddie, his eyes screaming at you to run, you did exactly that.

You turned heel, and you ran.

At first, nothing happened.

You’d anticipated monsters, another swarm of bats, vines, something.

The absence of all these things could only mean that Vecna had something else in store for you.

Something worse than his vines and his monsters.

But the one thing you could do right now was continue to run.

And you did.

Breaking through the wall of mist, you were back in the woods, beneath the crimson thunderclouds glaring through the naked branches of the trees, your pants echoing through the air as your legs carried you faster than you’d ever run, the edge of the woods already in sight –

A scream pierced the air. Laced with raw, primal anguish.

Eddie’s scream, calling out for you.

You froze dead in your tracks.

A trick. It was a trick. Eddie was with Vecna. Eddie was still there, left behind because that was the deal, and this was nothing but a trick to make you turn around and lose the bargain.

To condemn Eddie and yourself to eternal Hell in Vecna’s lair.

A second scream rang through the air of the woods, even more tormented than the first one.

“HE TRICKED YOU! VECNA TRICKED YOU!”

No. No, he didn’t. He couldn’t –

Why couldn’t he?

It was the game of gods and monsters you were playing.

You’d left Eddie behind, in this horrible place, among the rotting souls of Vecna’s victims, his collection of butterflies, all for a monster’s promise?

“MAKE IT STOP!”, Eddie’s screams filled the air, “PLEASE! PLEASE MAKE HIM STOP! HELP ME!”

“It’s a trick,” you whimpered. You knew the story. Vecna sure as Hell knew it, too. Orpheus turns, Eurydice stays damned, they both die in the end.

But these screams, the pictures they painted in your mind…they were made from the fabric of nightmares.

He had Eddie. He still had your sweet, gentle Eddie, locked up in this place of horrors.

And with a glance at the trailer park in the distance, the trailers dark silhouettes against the crimson skies, you realized that Vecna hadn’t needed to trick you. You’d done that all on your won.

Because of course you were still trapped in Vecna’s vision.

Without music.

Oh god.

In all your grief and despair, so hellbent on bringing Eddie back…not once had you thought about bringing yourself back as well.

You didn’t have music to break the curse. And Dustin – Dustin was with the others, having sought them out because you and Eddie had sent him there, out of harm’s way.

There was no one left to put a pair of headphones over your ears.

And Vecna had known it all along.

That’s why he’d agreed.

It had been a losing game all along.

“No,” you whispered, slowly sinking to your knees while the tears started falling again, Eddie’s screams filling the air, and your hands pressed over your eyes as if there was any chance to keep the flood of images at bay of all the horrible things Vecna could be doing to Eddie right now, doing to him because you’d left him there. “No, no, nonononono NO! STOP!”

But it didn’t stop.

“MAKE IT STOP!”, Eddie’s scream laced with your own, “PLEASE! PLEASE MAKE IT STOP! HELP ME! PLEASE, COME BACK!”

Your head snapped up at these words, breath catching in your throat.

These screams couldn’t belong to Eddie.

It was his voice, but these weren’t his words – because Eddie wouldn’t scream for you to come back. No matter the torture Vecna could concoct for him, Eddie would want you to run, to leave him in that place, because he’d wanted you safe. That’s why he’d cut the rope, had darted out of the safety of the trailer and right into certain death to buy more time. Not for the others, but for you.

Which meant Vecna was trying to trick you right now.

Which, again, meant he knew there was a way out, other than with music.

A hidden path to break the spell from within.

And he was distracting you so you wouldn’t find it.

Hands pressing over your ears to drown out the screams, your mind was going a mile a minute.

What had Max told you?

The red realm, the pillars, Vecna’s victims. The remains of Creel House, the floating clock, the light seeping through the red petals of the flowers in the stained-glass window.

Music, Kate Bush’s voice ripping the fabric of Vecna’s curse, opening a window back to reality.

I thought of when I was happy.

Happy.

Happy memories.

If Max was sure she could hide in a happy memory – maybe a happy memory would be the key to unlock the door even without music.

Your eyes squeezing shut, the screams that weren’t Eddie’s in the air, you thought of him.

How you’d always watched him in English Lit class, the movement of his hands as he drew little doodles to the pages of his books, all over his notes. Bats and guitars and random chords, little demon faces and monsters. Admiring him from afar, this dangerous looking guy with the mane of dark curls that wasn’t black but the soft brown of dark chocolate, with his tattoos and rings and ripped jeans and leather jacket, the guy most people steered well clear of because he was a freak dealing drugs.

How one day, he’d caught you watching him in class – and had given you the most timid yet dazzling smile you’d ever seen.

How with that first smile, you’d known you’d fall for him.

How, a few days later, there had been a little doodle of a vampire bat waving a wing in greeting slipped through the slits in your locker door, the word “hi” scrawled at the bottom with black sharpie. The answering “hi” with a rendition of a waving bat of your own you’d slipped through his locker door – and all the little doodles and notes which had followed.

The first time these clandestinely swapped slips of paper had turned into a real conversation.

Fleeting touches and lingering glances, until one day, there had been one of his doodles of a bat playing the guitar, with a note inviting you to one of his band’s gigs at The Hideout.

The first kiss in the moonlight outside of the bar, and all the kisses since.

Eddie Munson, who was your first kiss, your first love, your first everything, and who’d always be the last because you knew with all your heart that there never could be anyone you loved as much as you loved Eddie.

And with this burst of happiness as these memories flitted to you, like a swarm of fireflies lighting up this eternal night of pain and grief and loss and fear, you grabbed one.

The newest one.

Yesterday night.

His dark curls were tousled, even messier than usual with the way you’d raked your hand through the soft strands as he’d kissed you, both of you breathless. A fresh wave of need flooded you as Eddie’s fingertips wandered down along your spine, the warm, smooth metal of his rings a beautiful contrast to his hands, calloused from years and years of playing his guitar.

His breath ghosted over your collarbone to elicit sparks in its wake; your body turned into a live wire beneath his caresses as his soft lips trailed kisses down the column of your throat. Another moan tumbled from your lips, and you could feel his smile against your sweat-soaked skin as you mused, “Don’t you think they’ll know what’s up if we stay away any longer?”

Eddie chuckled, the sound vibrating through your body with a pleasant shiver that seemed to travel straight to your core, stoking the need for him once more. God, you would never get enough of this. Of him. All of him.

“We’re a couple,” Eddie breathed, teeth grazing the sensitive skin above your racing pulse point as he pressed closer against you, his thigh creating enough friction against your heat to send your senses spinning all over again, and one of his hands came up to gently tilt your chin, granting him even better access to the sensitive skin below your ear. “We snuck away half an hour ago. I’m pretty sure they know exactly what we’re doing.”

“Have been doing.”

“Are still doing,” he corrected mischievously.

“Is this a radio show or a secret make-out session?”, you teased, and Eddie snickered in reply, before he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours, those beautiful umber eyes brimming with warmth, his pupils still dilated with arousal as he whispered, “I love you, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

“I love you too,” you breathed, and Eddie’s expression changed as he saw the tears brimming in your own eyes, his hands coming up to gently cup your face.

“What is it?”, he asked softly. His voice was a dark croon, still laced with his afterglow, his breathing ragged, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared to lose you, Eddie.”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he nodded, overwhelmed with his own emotions as your words burst the happy little bubble the two of you had created, reality catching up with you again. Of the plan for tomorrow. And the thoughts of everything that could go wrong.

“I can’t lose you,” you whispered, your voice breaking with the strain of tears.

“You won’t,” Eddie crooned. His breath was warm as it fanned over your lips, his scent wrapping around you like a blanket. “I promise you won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

There was a beat of silence, before Eddie’s hands left your cheeks and he reached up to remove his necklace, a few stray curls tangling in the tiny links as he pulled it over his head.

“Wait, let me –“ you breathed, already moving to help untangle the strands from the necklace, “What are you even doing?”

The last few of his curls were freed beneath your fingertips, and with another of his sunshine-smiles, Eddie gently put the necklace over your head, the guitar pick dangling from the band warm against the skin below your collarbone as your hand flew up you grasp it, eyes widening in surprise.

“You –“

“Keep it safe for me, sweetheart, will ya?”, Eddie smiled softly, pulling you closer before he nuzzled his nose against yours. “And when we’re out of there, safe and sound, and that goddamn son of a bitch is six feet under, you can give it back.”

The lump in your throat was growing, throttling you. “And what if we don’t?”

The expression in Eddie’s dark eyes was stern when he breathed, “Then you’ll have to find me in the next life to give it back.”

“I can do that. I’ll find you in every life. I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson.”

“Good,” he replied, the softest of smiles on his lips as he gently tilted your head, “Because you won’t get rid of me again, sweetheart. Promise.”

And his lips met yours, to kiss away the fear and the sorrows once again.

Tears running down your face, your hand flew up, fingers wrapping around Eddie’s guitar pick charm resting over your heart, its surface smooth and warm against your skin, love flooding every cell of your body, every corner of your soul, like sunlight piercing through thunderclouds.

And when you lifted your head, it was there, at the edge of the woods, where the trees stopped and the trailer park began.

A rip in the fabric of Vecna’s curse.

The way out.

The screams that weren’t Eddie’s behind you, you climbed to your feet and started to run.

You didn’t turn around.

You were winning, you realized as you drew closer, your ragged breaths filling the air, blood rushing in your ears.

You were winning this twisted game of gods and monsters.

There, beyond the veil of Vecna’s curse, was your silhouette, still as a statue, head raised to the skies. And there was Eddie, his lifeless body on the ground beside you, his heart still as frozen and still as this cursed mirror realm.

Not much longer.

You were close, so close –

There was a shriek in the air, blood-curdling and high-pitched, a million voices forming one.

And then they were upon you.

Bats; hundreds and hundreds of them.

A sea of claws and wings and teeth.

You screamed as they reached you, leathery wings slapping your face, talons scratching and tearing at every inch of your skin, drawing blood, pain shooting through your body as you fought to keep going, to keep pushing forwards.

This was what it had felt like for Eddie, you realized. The last minutes of his life.

Panic and pain, drowning in a sea of monsters because he wanted to draw them away from you.

Only that for him, it had been real while this, right now, was nothing but an illusion.

They weren’t real.

They couldn’t kill you.

Only Vecna could do that.

With a howl of fury and anguish, you darted forwards, towards the rip, towards Eddie, the real Eddie.

Who needed you to run.

To make it, for the both of you, before he was so far gone that not even Vecna could bring him back.

A final cry ripping from the back of your throat, you leapt through the torn, frayed edges of Vecna’s spell.

With a gasp, your eyes flew open the moment your knees hit the ground, hands splayed in the dirt to catch your fall, body racked by tremors as you fought for your lungs to fill with the Upside Down’s toxic air.

The bats were gone, vanished. So were the screams.

You’d made it. You’d actually made it.

“EDDIE!”, you cried out, voice breaking as you scrambled to your feet, towards his lifeless form.

“Eddie”, you sobbed, falling to your knees beside him, your hands shooting out to grasp his shoulders, shaking him slightly, “I made it out. You need to wake up now, okay? You gotta wake up.”

Any second now. He would tilt his head and smile at you and everything would be okay, the rip in your own chest mended, the pain chased away by joy.

You waited.

For Eddie’s chest to rise with an intake of breath.

For the warmth and light and life to return to his umber eyes.

For his lips to tug into one of his sunshine-smiles as he realized that you’d done it, that you’d brought him back.

But nothing happened.

His chest didn’t move.

His umber eyes stayed fixed on the bleeding skies, hollow and unseeing and dull.

“Eddie?”, you breathed. Pleaded. “Eddie, you need to wake up.”

You shuffled closer, your hands running through his dark curls, the strands coated with dried blood as you cradled his head, the pad of your thumb caressing his cheek to swipe away some of the soot and dried blood.

His skin was cold beneath your touch.

“Wake up, Eddie. Wake up. Come back –“

But he didn’t.

It felt like breaking all over again.

Your head thrown back, you screamed at the skies, voice shrill as it rang through this eerie new quiet.

“YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED TO BRING HIM BACK YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

There is only so much even I can do when a heart has ceased beating for long enough.

You’d been too late, you realized.

And Eddie…he would stay in this horrible place.

Alone and scared, another beautiful dead butterfly pinned to Vecna’s wall of horrors.

You had left him there.

“No,” you sobbed, burying your face in the crook of his neck, his curls tickling your tearstained cheeks.

This couldn’t be the end. Not in this cold, dark realm frozen in time. Not now, when there would have been a whole lifetime ahead; when there were so many dreams to live, memories to make.

It wasn’t fair –

There was a sharp intake of breath, a soft shudder running through his body.

Followed by a muted, “Jesus H. CHRIST.”

Your head snapped up – and your eyes met Eddie’s.

Warm and brimming with life and relief and tears as you stared at each other in utter shock and disbelief before his lips found yours, his fingers gently grasping your chin to tilt your head up and deepen the desperate, greedy kiss, so fierce and full of everything neither of you had the words to phrase right now, of heartbreak and relief and happiness and love.

Tell me this is real, your lips moving against his seemed to beg, tell me it’s not just another of Vecna’s cruel tricks.

The kiss tasted of blood, of your tears mingling with his own, of him, and a suppressed sob of relief ripped from your throat as Eddie’s hands settled on your back, trembling when he pulled you closer against him as if he, too, wanted to be sure that this was real.

The dark realm of the Upside Down blurred around you like watercolours running over a canvas while every fibre of your being was filled with raw, radiant happiness.

Because no matter what would happen now, with Vecna, with Hawkins…everything would be okay. Eddie was back. That was all that counted.

Nothing else mattered but this, right here. Eddie’s lips on yours, his skin warm against yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he held you close.

Your hands found their way beneath the remains of his torn Hellfire shirt, roaming up his chest – careful not to graze the bite wounds, his skin coated with dried blood beneath your searching fingertips – and Eddie pulled away, a little bewildered. “Um, like…right now?”, he panted, “I mean – here?”

“Your heartbeat,” you breathed, dumbfounded. “I want to feel your heartbeat.”

There was a second of silence before you both burst into tear-stained, relieved laughter.

You’d thought you’d never hear that sound again, the beautiful melody of Eddie’s laugh.

Your favorite sound in the world. It made sobs rack your body all over again as Eddie shuffled closer, his arms coming around you once more to pull you against him as he cooed, “It’s okay. I’m fine. You did it.” With your cheek pressed against his collarbone, you could feel the soft, incredulous laugh rumbling through him as he added, “You fucking did it.”

He moved, one of his hands finding yours underneath his shirt to gently guide your own hand upwards, placing your palm over the warm skin of his chest, right above the steady pounding of his heart.

“See? You made it,” he whispered, a half-sob, half-laugh bubbling from his lips, “You fucking made it. You fucking brought me back. We’re gonna need to have a talk about your crisis discussion with the undead eldritch entity ‘cause I was pretty sure my soul left my body for a second time in a row when you recounted how we all repeatedly sat his ass on fire but you fucking made it.”

“That was pretty metal of me, huh?” you whispered.

“Hell yeah. You totally stole my thunder, sweetheart. Just when I thought my guitar solo was the moment of the day you drag my ass out of the goddamn Underworld.”

You sniveled, the tears still rushing down the sides of your face – of relief this time.

Your free hand, the one that wasn’t resting over Eddie’s heart, flew up to grasp the guitar pick dangling around your neck and pull the necklace over your head, but Eddie’s hand folded over yours to stop you. “Keep it,” he said softly, “Just…I…you went in there for me. You did that.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t saved me first,” you breathed, a smile on your lips. “That was pretty damn heroic yourself, Munson.”

There was a beat of silence, before Eddie said quietly, “I’d do it again to save you. Not a second of hesitation.”

“I know. So would I.”

His hands came up to the sides of your face, thumbs gently brushing away the tears from your face as he whispered, “I love you, sweetheart. I love you so fucking much.”

“And I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson.”

---

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭! 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 ♡

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things imagine

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shurisneakers · 4 months

Text

a writing challenge? in 2024? you bet

Hi! Hello! Hey!

I've been going through A Time and have chosen to cope by going back to the specific vibes of 2016 to 2018. That happens to include an incredible resurgence in my love for MCU fanfic, the community around it and all the love that goes into them. I've felt a bit distant from here for a while, but I still see so many of my old friends writing, ones who want to get back into it, and a whole lot of new writers I am dying to meet.

I've floated this idea vaguely on my blog and people seem to be interested so I figured it was worth a shot!

So yeah, welcome to Ari's Old School, Nostalgia Jam, Why-The-Hell-Not MCU Fic Writing Challenge 2024!

Prompts, rules and whatnot under the cut:

Requests:

If you could reblog this post to reach someone who might want to participate, I'd really appreciate it! No need to be following me, it's open for anyone.

Reader-inserts, OCs, solo character fics, character x character-- absolutely no limitations

Any and all MCU characters are allowed

Anything above 500 words should have a read-more/keep-reading tab. Series, multi-chapters, one-shots, drabbles, etc etc. The sky's the limit.

Please tag me in your fics (@shurisneakers) so I'm notified of them, and post them with the tag #arisoldschoolwritingchallenge . It may take me a while to get back to you due to the circumstances I find myself in currently, but I absolutely will. Please send me a DM if I haven't responded within 10 days.

Send me an ask with the prompt you would like. Feel free to pick up to 2 prompts

The only thing I request of you: no RPF and no dark fics. Smut is welcome, but non-con/dub-con/incest or anything along those veins is something I'd ask you not to submit for this challenge. Thank you for your understanding!

I know I've called it an MCU fic challenge as it's the community I've grown with, but if you feel like any of these prompts resonates with a character from another fandom, please go ahead and write it. This challenge really is just about the fun of writing fanfic and love for Your Little Guys

No submission cut-off date. Take all the time you need.

Prompts

I've tried to have a mix of classics and uncommon tropes/dynamics, so I hope everyone finds something they connect with!

Relationship Prompts

1. Enemies (taken by @theysaywhatasadsight)

2. Best friends/childhood friends

3. Coworkers (taken by @jaaneymann)

4. Internet friends

5. Neighbours/roommates (taken by @angrythingstarlight)

6. Fake dating (taken by @hungryforpowernotfood)

7. Commuters

Alternate Universe Prompts

1. Florist AU (taken by @hungryforpowernotfood)

2. Showmance AU (taken by @bombsonboard)

3. Social media/streaming/gaming AU (taken by @splintered-emotions)

4. Thieves/Heist Group AU

5. Time travel AU

6. Pirates AU

7. College AU (taken by @lovelybarnes)

8. Apocalypses/dystopia AU (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)

9. Chef AU

10. Roadtrips AU

Some rarer miscellaneous ones for those who are so inclined!

1. Shipwrecked together on an island

2. Meet Ugly (opposite of Meet Cutes) (taken by @barnesandco

3. Both of you are ghosts but don't know the other is

4. Treasure hunters AU

5. Faking death

6. Professional cuddlers AU

7. Time loops/Groundhog Day (taken by @sxrensxngwrites)

8. Orpheus and Eurydice

9. Villain x hero

10. Hitchhiking

11. Carnival of Horrors

12. Robin Hood

13. Matchmakers AU

14. Insomniac x narcoleptic

15. Intergalactic Coffee Shop AU

16. Doomed By The Narrative

17. Enemies to Lovers to Enemies

18. Subversion of Classic Hallmark Movie Tropes

Dialogue prompts

You can tweak them as per requirements, but be sure to keep the underlying message!

Angst

1. "I should have trusted myself. I should have stayed far away from you." (taken by @waywardcrow)

2. "Has it occurred to you that how I feel matters too?" (taken by @jaaneymann)

3. "We failed. I would do it again."

4. "You do not deserve my forgiveness."

5. "You make me feel so alone." (taken by @reidishh)

6. "I'm not giving up on us." "I did. You should too." (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)

Crack

1. "Ohhh, you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid." (taken by @pinkthick)

2. "I think you and I make the worst choices together." "Yeah, but it's always entertaining."

3. "I trusted you." "Terrible decision, really."

4. "I know I'm smiling but I want to push you off a very big cliff." (taken by @pepperonijem)

5. "I'm hilarious." "You're traumatised."

Fluff

1. "This is the only thing I look forward to everyday." (Taken by @bombsonboard)

2. "I think we should do that again. For the sake of the world and my sanity."

3. "You're all I think about." (taken by @waywardcrow)

4. "Don't go anywhere I can't follow." (taken by @iguess-theyre-mymess)

5. "Don't smile at me like that." "Like what?" "Like that." (Taken by @lovelybarnes)

Word Prompts:

Flesh

Strawberry

Bruised (taken by @juvenilearson)

Groovy

Jump

Sunflower (taken by @barnesandco)

Alchemist

Wayward

Offerings

Mischief (taken by @supraveng)

I hope you'll join in! Please do tag anyone you think would be interested, I'd love for this to have as wide an audience as possible.

Lots of love <3

-Ari

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ofsappho · 2 months

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treehouse chapter 31 (tumblr version)

🔞 Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader 🔞

Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT. 6.3k words of sin and both Morpheus AND Reader being wet cats.

crossposted to AO3 (want to read the whole story? click here)

Morpheus is not thrilled that Johanna Constantine has swooped in to save you.

please read my statement on Palestine here

tags under the read more

Tags: jealousy, exhibitionism, public (not actually) sex, fucking on the throne, she can't fuck you like I can, cockwarming, orgasm denial, CNC but not really, one sided hate sex (she hates him but wants to fuck him, he loves her and wants to fuck her) THIS IS UNEDITED, DO NOT HATE ME

Morpheus POV

He hates her, this knight in shining armor. Loathes her, even. He hates that she’s touching you, and he hates that you find comfort in it.

But Morpheus has no wish to soil your rooms with what hell he plans to wreak upon Johanna Constantine’s head, so he wraps you and the interloper in threads and transports you both into the throne room, the true seat of his power.

As Dream reclines in his great chair of white marble flickering with streaks of onyx glass, he settles on a form somewhere in between the man you love and the dragon that went against his own kind for you. “On what business do you trespass in my realm for? You were not invited here, Constantine, nor did you petition for an audience. And I certainly did not grant you permission to speak with my bride.” You have laid with him and loved him, and you should know what manner of creature you’ve permitted to lay a claim to your heart.

Does it matter to Dream that you still balk at the thought of marrying him? No, not particularly. It’s semantics - if you agree in the future, that’s functionally the same as you agreeing now.

You face him with fury blazing in your eyes. “What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you, Morpheus? I don’t fucking need permission to talk to anyone,” You snap, your cheeks flushed and chest heaving.

You don’t understand yet. Morpheus reminds himself that you’re new to this, new to this world, and how these things are done. “This does not concern you,” He says to you, not dropping the mask of the fierce dragon despite how badly he wants to go and be soft and comfort you.

But you have your rules and so does he. Johanna Constantine has trampled on every one of them through daring to breathe in your direction and she knows it.

You wield your force of will like a knife to his throat. “Yes, the fuck it does.”

Morpheus wants to do selfish, despicable things to you. He wants to kiss you, feel you sigh and tremble in his arms, and make Johanna Constantine watch as you give in every single time.

Constantine cuts in, as impetuous as the rest of her line. “I come here on mortal business, Dream Lord.”

“You have no right-“ He rises to the provocation like a snake in the grass, fangs bared and venom dripping to the ground. Is he not king here? Is Morpheus not the name all must answer to and shake in terror at the sound of it?

“Oh, I very much do. You see, I’ve made a deal. You remember the rules. I represent two humans who are in search of their child, metaphorically. A child I have found here, stolen away by you. I deliver their child safely back to them, where she belongs, and they pay our arranged price. Hell, I even gave them a Friends and Family discount.”

Morpheus tenses as the magic Constantine invokes settles upon him like a yoke, binding him to the ancient rules of hospitality and obligation.

Orpheus invoked such rules in pursuit of his bride. Where did that get him? Nothing much other than his death and Eurydice returned to her master, Aidoneus.

So - he must house this thief and give her the honors due to an invited guest until her quest is done. “Do you intend to take her by force? I did not think a Constantine would be so stupid as to try my might.”

Unwillingly, his gaze is pulled to you. You have that effect on him, a magnetic grip that draws Dream to you with the strength that not even gravity could exert.

It destroys a part of him you brought to life to raise walls of gilded magic around you to keep Constantine from tearing out his heart and soul in taking you. But he must.

Tears glimmer pearlescent in your large, pleading eyes. “Morpheus. Morpheus. What are you doing? Let me go. Stop it. Please.” As he would rather your hatred over your absence, Dream remains unmoved by your cries.

Constantine’s face hardens. “Of course not. She must come willingly. But if this is how you treat her, well, I thank you for doing my job for me.”

Out of sight of either of you, Morpheus’s fist tightens in the sleeve of his dark robe. His fingers dig so deeply into the marble arm rest that he leaves behind fingerprints in the solid stone. Constantine is doing this on purpose. She must be. Reminding him over and over with every word how you’re not meant for him.

What can Johanna give you that he can’t?

Everything.

You’d be safe with her. And Morpheus thinks you might be happier not cut off from the world and the life you love so much. He loves how much you love it and your people, and that you find love growing in places he’d never think to look.

If he had been Nada, he wouldn’t have chosen himself either.

Morpheus can’t even be good enough to let you go. His awful adoration of you traps him as the villain to your maiden, the death of your life, the true evil you must be protected from.

That cult only endangered you because of him. And Morpheus is going against the laws of nature to have you. The sharpened edge of an ax will remain at your lovely throat until the day he finds the strength to look away, or until it ends your life. Whichever happens first.

“Your family has been much favored by me. You have directly benefited from that benevolence. Is this how you seek to repay me?” Morpheus feels your heart beat furiously in your chest, as furiously as your hands on the bars of his cage.

No, he’s not angry with you. He understands your longing for the Waking world like he understands his own longing for you. Like the yearning of blood to rush through one’s veins.

“What can I say? I just work here. Sorry,” Constantine shrugs.

“You cannot have her. Do you understand me? She is mine,” Dream growls, his voice underpinned by the faintest sound of claws against stone.

“Let me go. Let me go. I’m begging you. You said you would be different. You promised. Please. For the love you bear for me-“ You say.

For the love he bears for you.

He’s almost moved to do as you wish. Almost.

Constantine knows better than to rap at the bars of your prison. That could be interpreted as an attack on his realm, giving him ample cause to expel Constantine. Just as he cannot harm a guest, she cannot harm her host. “Release her, Dream of the Endless. Come on. This is horrid. Absolutely horrid. No fucking wonder she doesn’t want you,” The woman spits in her coarse, common accent.

“I’ll let her go once you’re gone,” Morpheus replies, magnanimously ignoring her rudeness.

“And I’m not going, so that unfortunately puts us at an impasse.”

You’ve lapsed into silence and your pretty mouth twists into a furious scowl. There’s a humming in the back of his many sharp teeth, like the electric tension that hangs in the air before lightning strikes, thrumming through his stardust bones when you watch him.

It’s best to get Constantine safely tucked away before your thunder shakes the throne room from ceiling to floor. “Per your deal with the mortal Willow, I shall house you in appropriate state until your mission fails. Go. My Vizier will see to it. This is family business. Stay out of it, and out of my way.”

Reader POV

Your stupid tears have long since dried by the time he frees you. You’ve got half a mind to demand he return Johanna to the throne room so you can go with her. Especially after that display of fucked up posessiveness Morpheus seems incapable of restraining, getting the fuck out is looking more and more appealing by the second.

You don’t have to put up with this. You don’t have to put up with him. You can just leave if you want to. And you do want to.

“Well, Morpheus,” You say in a short clipped tone instead of doing the logical thing of leaving. “That certainly was a display. Are you pleased with yourself?”

He leans back in his throne, unwillingly drawing your attention to the long, lean lines of his chest, his chiseled stomach, his thighs under his close-fitting pants. “That depends, my dear. Which answer would please you?” And his eyes- they flicker and gleam in his godly face, sapphire and aquamarine and onyx.

A warm breeze curls past your cheek and a bead of sweat drips down your neck under the silk robes you wear, kissing your spine as it goes.

You dig your nails into your palms in an attempt to regain control of your breathing, to slow down the desperate, panting rise and fall of your chest. “I am deeply uninterested in your efforts to please me. All you’re capable of is disrespect and humiliation,” You hiss.

The air tastes hot on your tongue as if someone’s stoked a fire in the throne room. The fire burns with smoke and something animalistic, something musky, the scent of bare skin on bare skin.

Morpheus’s gaze darkens as you draw closer. “But I live to please you. Every breath, every gesture, every move I make will bring you pleasure.” You’re not sure if you’re stalking towards him because you want to hit him or kiss him.

When you reach the throne, you grasp the arm rests and lean over him, your hair falling around your face like a veil. “Every breath you take has done nothing but hurt me.” You’re taller than him as long as he stays seated, and you take complete advantage of this, snarling in Morpheus’s face like a lioness.

Morpheus swallows, a movement so sudden and quick like the flapping of a bird wing. It’s one of the few signs that you’re affecting him at all.

But you want more than that. You want to take his frozen heart and dash it on the floor until it shatters. “And if I am to be the Queen you want me to be, what makes you think I’d let your foolishness stand? Did your mom not teach you basic courtesy, oh great paragon of feminism?” Because that’s how you felt when he raised those golden chains around you in a beautiful cage. You felt shattered. Betrayed.

And above all else, stupid. You should’ve known better than to believe Dream.

Just as his hand reaches for your waist, you dance out of reach. “That’s right, you’re a god so you probably don’t even have a mom. My mistake for expecting better from you,” You tell him in a cold and cruel voice, from a very safe distance of a few feet away.

“Do you think insulting me will accomplish anything?” You see his long, razor-sharp teeth shine in the light as he speaks.

A low humming sound registers a little too quietly for you to hear precisely what it is. It sounds like a heartbeat thudding alongside a thousand voices whispering in a dark and sinister melody.

His smoldering, smokey gaze drinks up the aroused flush reddening your cheeks and your half-lidded, languid eyes. “It’s certainly pleasing me,” You murmur after a pause to stop the urge to pull your heavy robes from your limbs and leave them on the ground until the heat kindling between your thighs abates.

“You’re very clever indeed, little darling,” Dream praises you. He takes an odd delight in being insulted, more amused than he is offended, treating you like a kitten that’s learned to roar.

That only eggs you on further. “I can see that mortal niceties are lost on you and you don’t deserve them anyways. So let me speak in a language you’ll understand.”

In a split second, Lucienne’s earlier warnings make sense to you. This is about power and having power, the power to keep the thing Morpheus loves most, sees the most value in. You give him power and he’s afraid to lose it.

He’s afraid to lose you. That he might hurt you in the process is a cost he’s willing to pay.

“You will not put me in a cage, you will not dictate to whom I can speak to and when. I’m not asking. I’m ordering. Every time you disrespect me, you only reveal yourself to be unworthy of me, your kingdom, and of your power.”

Morpheus merely smiles and bows his head. “Hauteur becomes you.” Is he teasing you or being sincere? The bastard has the audacity to have fun at a time like this.

And despite yourself and your convictions, you’re having a little fun, too.

“And it would be very easy for me to find someone worthier. Johanna Constantine, for example.” You toss the suggestion his way as carelessly as you might let a sleeve fall off your shoulder, revealing the bare expanse of your back to ignite Dream’s hunger.

And ignite his hunger your words do.

He sits upright in his throne as rage battles his self-control in the angular confines of his preternaturally-handsome face. When Morpheus blinks, the black of his pupils grow and grow until they swallow the sclera.

Unconsciously, you take a step back.

It seems as though self control is losing.

“That is a dangerous game to be playing, my love,” He says silkily, his mouth twisting into an expression that should be a smirk and comes off more as a snarl.

You can no longer pretend that you don’t care, that this is just a game.

“Oh, so she threatens you? No, you should be fucking threatened by me.” You get louder and louder with each word. “You need to be fucking terrified right now. I swear to God I will bring her back in here and fuck her in front of you if I have to.” He’s as common as the next human man, so obsessed with his possessions. “Don’t test me, Your Grace, lest you find yourself dethroned,” You tell him through your mouth filled with rancor and spite.

And then Morpheus is up on his feet before you can blink. He surmounts the distance between you in only a couple of steps and towers over you, wrapping cool fingers around your wrist with a grasp tighter than a manacle. His dark eyes are filled with a frantic wildness that scares you as much as it attracts you.

Morpheus bends down until his mouth is level with your ear. “You’ve forgotten something,” He whispers.

Your heart beats so loudly in your ears that you can barely hear him over it. “And that is?” You’re trembling. Do you want him closer? Do you want to shove him back? You turn the two outcomes over and over in your head as you try to pick one.

His nose brushes your hair and he swallows, his pale throat bobbing with the effort.

Morpheus’s voice coils in your ears like a snake, his words writhing and twisting as they take the whole of your focus captive. “Who you belong to. I’m out of patience, darling, and I think you need to be reminded of who possesses you, who’s devoted to you above all else.” Burning hot need scorches through your stomach and your breath catches in your lungs.

He drops into a rough, raspy growl. “Who you’ll always come back to. Who adores you. Who worships you.”

You fall into Morpheus’s embrace without a second thought. It’s the most natural thing in the world, giving in to him. His mouth on your mouth, kissing, biting, he lays a palm on the back of your neck and presses his other hand between your collarbones, trapping you where he can devour you.

His sharp nails dig into your skin and his tongue presses between your lips, turning the kiss into a mess of slick saliva and your ragged gasps for air, your high-pitched whines when Dream’s teeth- no, fangs, leave imprints of his love on your bottom lip.

Then you fight him. Not for freedom, like before. For sovereignty. For domination, for hegemony. You wage war, grabbing a fistful of his beautiful black hair and dragging him down to you, and you take control of the kiss, using your tongue wickedly against his before breaking away. Morpheus might have his hand near your throat still, but you’re shoving his face to the side to sink your teeth into his neck.

He groans at the unexpected burst of pain and the pleasure of you doing it again and again, marring his pale skin with glimmering red-gold marks.

“You’re a fucking menace,” You hiss.

The very instant Dream’s had enough, the hand he’s resting on your collarbones moves upwards until it wraps around the base of your throat. He’s careful with the practically-nonexistent pressure, far more careful than you would’ve liked in a time before he got you pregnant, but it’s such an effortless show of control that you release his hair and gasp breathlessly anyways.

“Good girl,” He whispers. “Very good. But this is just the start. You’ll be begging for me before we’re done here.”

He’s kissing you once more. Your nose knocks into his from your enthusiasm and he laughs with his head tilted back, making a bright, happy, human sound. Then Morpheus folds his arms around your waist and lifts you into the air so he can continue to ravage your mouth, softly kiss your cheeks, and occasionally nuzzle your hair while walking backwards without tripping.

Your knees knock into the marble stone of his throne. Morpheus has led you here and his intentions on what he plans to do become clear when he elegantly lowers himself into the seat, keeping one hand cupping the back of your neck while his other hand trails down the neckline of your gown.

There’s enough room on the throne for you to kneel in his lap. Morpheus doesn’t even need to help you; you crawl atop him all on your own with eagerness that almost disgusts you, your body animated by desire as bright as an open flame.

Once you plant your knees solidly on the outsides of his thighs where you can rock your humming clit against his fully-hardened cock, you hear a sharp ripping sound. Cool air chills your exposed breasts and now-naked thighs. Dream’s fucking ripped your beautiful, splendid clothes straight down the front and now the remnants hang from your shoulders in tatters.

“Fuck-“ You exclaim as your cheeks flush from embarrassment. Anyone could… anyone could walk in and see you, see what he’s doing to you.

Then his hand clamps down on your jaw to prevent you from looking around. “Look at me, darling. Come now,” He hisses. This close, you can see scattered flecks of light in the pure black of his eyes, a whole universe in his gaze. Beautiful.

“Someone’s gonna- Morpheus, please, not here,” You whisper shamefully as he teases one of your swollen tits, rolling your nipple between the pads of his fingers. You cut your pleasured moan off by biting down on your lip. “What about Lucienne, ahhh, or Matthew…” He switches to your other breast, massaging your flesh in slow, luxurious circles, and your eyes flutter shut.

Without so much as a warning, Morpheus removes his hands altogether and sits back to look at you, folding his fingers under his chin, arrogantly tilted up. Those fingers would be better served on you, you think grumpily, or between your legs, dealing with the wetness trickling from your cunt.

His expression is remote and utterly heartless. “I told you to look at me.” There’s nothing soft or gentle in that face, a mask of porcelain skin stretched taut over a skull far too severe.

“But,” You start to beg. Doesn’t he realize what he does to you? You can feel the hunger churning viciously in your stomach, like you’ve spent your whole life starving and the embrace Morpheus is denying you is everything you need to sustain yourself, every flavor you crave.

Your mouth twists in a scowl as he bats away your wandering hands tugging at the collar of his cloak. It’s not fair that Morpheus gets to sit there unbothered while you’re practically melting. “A queen, begging for me? I’m honored,” He teases.

The moment before you resort to desperate measures, like clawing open his clothes yourself, he slips his hand in your hair as if holding back was torture for him to. Morpheus licks a hot stripe along the length of your throat, nipping and kissing over your pulse. “Can she make you beg like this?” Your skin muffles the sound of his voice.

You feel him stroke your spine with gentle fingers, counting each vertebrae. Then Morpheus finds his way towards your rounded hips, squishy and soft, and he groans under his breath in appreciation.

“Who…” Truthfully, you’re not listening to him, not even a little bit. Your back arches, encouraging Morpheus to palm your ass. He plays with one of your cheeks, bouncing your flesh in his hand, and when you gaze into his eyes, you see pure adoration warring with pitch-black possessiveness.

His fingers dip down, down between your thighs, and come back shining in the soft light streaming through the stained glass windows. “Johanna fucking Constantine, my love. Does she make you this wet?” Morpheus cleans his fingertips off with his tongue. His eyes shut as he savors you.

The sunlight flickers. One brightly-lit moment, he’s the angel finding heaven in your body. The next shadowed moment, his obsidian claws almost pierce your skin. A wraith from smoke who’s only aim is to make you moan and tremble.

And forget. Morpheus almost succeeded in making you forget why you’re fighting in the first place.

You pin his wrist to the high back of his throne. “Are you fucking for real right now?” A shiver runs through you. You put more of your weight into your grip. Dream could throw you off with just a thought, but he doesn’t.

Fuck talking. It’s so much easier to articulate your feelings through fucking him. “ I was just saying that to- to-“ He leans forward to take one of your hypersensitive, swollen nipples into his sinful mouth. “God, Morpheus, please.” He kisses, then sucks ever-so-carefully.

You no longer hold him away from you - you clutch his wrist for stability as pleasure ripples under your skin straight for your cunt.

Blindly, you grasp for the stone, eventually planting your elbow on the spot next to his head. “Oh, I am being very, ‘for real.’” Morpheus switches to your neglected breast, now mouthing along the heavy curve then kissing along your sternum.

He brings you pleasure. Traps you in a cage. You hate him and he loves you. You’re determined to say no but Morpheus will always tempt you to say yes.

You spread your thighs further, bringing your dripping core closer to his hips. “What are you, five years old? You have to learn how to share, Dream.” As you grind, you gasp and your eyes roll back. Your clit throbs and sensation wraps around your insides like honey, warm and sticky and sweet.

By now your arousal has leaked all over your thighs and his pants.

He lifts his head from your tits and his free hand cups your cheek. “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Morpheus croons, watching your face shift and slacken as you whine. “Let them watch, let her watch. Why wouldn’t I share such a precious and rare thing as you?”

Everything happens so quickly.

No matter how sweetly you plead or how urgently you nudge him towards your cunt, Morpheus’s hands go literally everywhere else.

You shove the last of your robes onto the ground like they’re burning your skin and they might as well - you can’t stand anything touching your skin that isn’t him.

He slaps your bare ass with a light touch, more of a love tap than a proper blow. A drop of sweat slides between your tits and Morpheus traces its path with his mouth. Murmurs echo in the space between you and him. If you listen closely, you can hear Dream say how much he loves you, how beautiful you are.

You’re perfect. You’re divine. I’m sorry. Don’t leave me.

You don’t say anything in return. You just stop his words with kisses. Those are simple. The taste of him on your tongue. It feels good, so good, and it doesn’t hurt like listening to him does.

Morpheus could beg like that for the next fifty years and it wouldn’t be enough.

When he tries to talk again, you growl and dig your nails into the nape of his neck. None of that shit. His fucking words got you fucked up to begin with.

He rests his forehead against yours. His long eyelashes frame his vulnerable gaze, as delicate as fractured glass. A stray breeze could shatter him.

No. Fuck Dream. You’re not the bad guy. You’re not the villain. He is. He can’t- he shouldn’t make you feel so fucking guilty…

There’s no preparation. He doesn’t warm you up or ease you into it. You blink and in a single, lust-filled moment, you’re turned the other way around where the whole throne room and palace and this plane of reality can see you, naked and aroused and dripping wet for their king. They can all see how much he wants you.

It shouldn’t make you wetter. It does. A fresh trickle of arousal drips from your swollen folds and you hear Morpheus mutter a hushed curse before delicately dragging the tip of his pointer finger through the shining path it took.

He moans as he tastes you.

Morpheus kisses the back of your neck as he shifts under you. He pulls his thick, angrily-hard cock from his pants and you eagerly rock back on your knees, trying to catch the tip between your thighs.

“I thought you didn’t want to be seen,” Dream laughs darkly, holding your hips up with one arm so you can’t sink down on his dick and soothe the hollowness in your stomach that’s devouring your senses, craving to be filled by him.

Frustrated tears gather in your eyes. He’s rubbing the fat head of his cock through your folds, just grazing your clit with every teasing motion. “Just fuck me already.” Your thighs quiver each time he does.

Pain shimmers through your nerves as he bites down on your throat. You arch your back and rake your nails through his thick hair. “Just fuck you already…” Dream’s voice mockingly draws out the last word.

If you weren’t so fucking horny and half-out of your mind, willing to do almost anything, even crawl on your hands and knees for him, you’d be looking for the nearest knife.

“…Please,” You say through gritted teeth, humiliation blooming red in your cheeks and across your chest. Oh, he’s in for it. First he’s going to make you come, and then you’re going to kill-

He slips into your cunt with a harsh curse, the breath in his lungs stuttering from how tight you are around his dick.

“You only had to ask nicely, little darling.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, driven by the feeling of his cock spearing you open inch by inch. Morpheus holds perfectly still. You’re doing all the work as your hips roll against your will, your muscles flexing to suck him deeper and deeper into your cunt, and gravity does the rest. He doesn’t need to do a goddamn thing, the fucker.

He runs his palm over your bare spine over and over, soothing you as you shake and cry out. You’ve never felt more wanted or debauched in your entire life.

Behind you, you hear him gasp when your pussy milks his cock. “Deep breaths, my love.” Your core has almost swallowed him whole. Almost.

In this position, the tip of his dick is angled so that it brushes your most sensitive spots with each movement. It’s torturous. You can feel Dream in your guts, stretching you out so perfectly that you barely register his muttered curses and eloquent praises.

Shhh. Good girl. You can endure it, I know you can. Doesn’t it feel good? Fuck.

“Can you take the rest, sweetheart? For me?” His voice is strangled and stuttered and strung out, as if Morpheus is just seconds away from losing his entire fucking mind. His hands ghost over your hips, his fingers tremble on your skin. He wants to reach out and pull you down onto his cock so badly, you can tell.

You cry out as your inner thighs finally meet his lap. Your back arches, your thigh muscles shiver and ache. The feeling of the full length of his cock buried into the depths of your pussy clenching helplessly over and over, scorches your veins with a pleasure as bright and clean as vodka burning the back of your throat.

When you involuntarily shift to try and find a more comfortable position, one that’s easier on your stretched cunt, your eyes roll back and you whimper hazy little noises between hitched breaths.

“Good girl,” Dream moans. One of his hands grasps you possessively, like his fingers are loathe to leave your skin even for a moment, and he cups your hip, then the soft, squishy curves of your rounded belly.

His breath stutters across the back of your neck, damp with sweat. The entire weight of his focus rests on you. All of it, every giddy dream-feeling and dark night-belief. Morpheus touches you and the baby like you’re his whole world, safely contained in the space between his palms and the span of his arms.

You can almost taste his thoughts

How could he ever look away, Morpheus asks himself when he kisses your shoulder reverently. Why would he ever want to?

You’re soaked, your slick is drooling all over the seat of his dark pants. Your body feels like it’s hanging by a thread, desperate for him to do something.

To move.

“And here I thought you had no need for me.”

You shut your eyes as white light sketches across the backs of your eyelids. “Morpheus… ah…” Your voice trembles and trails off into a sweet, desperate sigh.

You’re just so full in this position, forced by the stillness to think of nothing but Morpheus buried deep inside your belly. Every time you try to rise, to shift and ease the hot, slick pressure between your legs, he keeps you from rocking back and forth and deriving any true pleasure from this with a tight grip on your round hips.

He takes your earlobe between his teeth and the sudden, sharp pain makes you shriek and your cunt spasm. “Control yourself. Let this be a lesson, my love, in discipline.”

The incomprehensible, borderline-Lovecraftian cosmic deity fucking you in his ridiculously grand throne room groans in the same timbre that has haunted your fantasies since that very first night together. It’s so familiar and comforting that it breaks your heart.

Through the foggy haze clouding your mind, you vaguely remember that Dream was talking to you. “What-“ Before you can finish that thought, his hands loosen ever-so-slightly. Your animal hindbrain takes over in an instant, urging you to circle your hips, grinding the tip of his dick against your sweet spot.

“No, my darling. I’m not going to move. Not until you beg,” He says in a voice richer and more intoxicating than blue-gray tobacco smoke lacing the air. The sound clogs up your lungs until you’re groggy and weak and utterly dumb.

You curse under your breath as you cast your bleary gaze about the throne room. Is that a footstep you just heard, or some stray conversation wafting towards you as the speaker momentarily enters to see your lewd display?

Any respect Lucienne has for you would disappear in an instant. Matthew would never be able to look you in the eye again. Desire would merely laugh, their teeth snapping with amusement.

Your body betrays you.

Abstractly, you’re horrified by the thought. But right now, practically driven mad, the need to orgasm wrenching your muscles taut…

And as if Morpheus is reading your fucking mind, “I might not even let you come. Perhaps- I’ll simply leave you alone, wet and wanting. See if Constantine can do half of what I do to you.”

One of his palms moves from your ass and ends up pressed against your belly, right above where he’s buried inside your pussy.

“No, no, please, don’t-“ You sob, batting at his arm as his fingers rub tight, torturous circles into your swollen, aching clit.

With every firm brush, your thighs clench and tears of frustration, pleasure, and terror, all at the same time, run down your flushed cheeks. Morpheus might keep you here for days, playing with you, bringing you to the edge over and over and never giving you release.

“Shall I summon her? You’re so desperate that you’d let me as long as I fucked you? Don’t lie - fuck, I can feel how you tightened up when I said that.”

It’s too much, like pressing your tongue against a hot pan and feeling the sting down to your bones, and not enough at the same time.

“I need to-“

“Beg,” He says, before the sound turns into a choked groan in your ear as your muscles ripple around his length.

His arms coil tighter around your hips and waist. “Please.” One little, tiny word leaks from between your kiss-swollen lips.

You rock back and forth and Morpheus permits it, helpless to his own desires.

He pulls you upright, your back snug to his chest, and you feel him unencumbered by clothing. His skin radiates heat like a furnace. “Who?”

As you shift, he grinds up into your cunt in achingly slow thrusts.

“Morpheus,” You demand, as infuriated as you are close. “Please let me come.”

Your hand grasps behind you until your fingers find his soft hair that’s cool to the touch. You tug and pull on Morpheus’s hair, urging him to meet the rolling, deep pace you’re riding him.

“…I’m sorry,” His voice wisps through the air. And underneath it, something forlorn and horribly lonely.

Later, you’ll tell yourself it was just the feeling of getting fucked within an inch of your life that wiped away your filter, that you didn’t really mean it. “No- Don’t… don’t want anyone else. Just you, my love.” The term of endearment slips off your tongue almost as an afterthought.

“Come for me, my queen.”

Your body shudders on top of him and you let out a long, keening moan. Your eyes stare unseeing at the opulent surroundings, the rich, ornate beauty that pales in comparison to the being bringing you so much pleasure.

There’s a loud roar in your ears. Your insides wrench themselves into knots, tighter and tighter, you can’t breathe, you can’t think. You can only come and keep coming. Your cunt gushes, the slick dripping all the way down his thighs from your stretched core.

Morpheus pants in between fevered kisses and mouths greedily at your shoulder. A burst of warmth flutters against your walls, finally soothing the ragged edges of your orgasm splitting your belly open.

When he tries to kiss your sweat-damp cheek, you turn and meet his mouth with yours.

“We fucked on your throne,” You murmur in a rough, conspiratorial tone.

Morpheus hums his assent as he runs his palm over your baby bump in gentle circles. “You indulge me.” He picks up your hand and kisses it delicately, his scintillatingly blue eyes never leaving your face.

You slump backwards into his solid, comforting embrace. “And if Lucienne had walked in on us, it would’ve been all your fault.”

His chest rumbles with a purr. “After all, I am… a menace.”

He’s smiling. The bastard is smiling. Not a full smile - a half-tilt of the corner of his mouth that fills your stomach with butterflies, a mask resembling the man who lit your cigarette.

Like blinking during a sunset and missing the switch from day to night, the afterglow dissipates in an instant and takes your good humor with it. “Let go of me.” Feeling has returned to your fingers and toes and you have no need for his embrace, or so you tell yourself.

You carefully avoid touching him again as you stand to find the shreds of your clothing reforming into a large cloak that covers your nakedness.

It makes your stomach turn, how easily you give into Morpheus every fucking time, that you find more comfort in his shadows than you do out in the sun.

“By Your Grace’s leave,” He says quietly.

Morpheus has never been small to you. He’s always larger than life, more vibrant than Technicolor, loftier and greater than anyone you could imagine, a presence so grand that he generated his own gravity.

But he seems very small as he sits back in his throne with hunched shoulders. He sits there defeated and you almost- you almost run back to him. You can feel the impulse in the back of your throat, clinging like arsenic and something of the same bitter, regretful taste.

“We can’t go on like this anymore, Morpheus.” Your words exist in parallel universes - the one where all he can do to change your mind is to fuck you, and the one where all you can do is cause as much damage as you can.

It’s a compulsion at this point and you’re so sick of it, so sick of yourself, like poking at a rotten tooth despite instructions to leave it alone.

Maybe it’s a compulsion for him, too. The ashamed tilt of his gaze directed towards the floor tells you that you’re right. The more you fight him, the more lashes he can add to his back.

Faced with the cold account of all of your mistakes, and his, you turn and flee the throne room, tears trickling down your cheeks.

So this was actually supposed to be smuttier but it languished in production hell for months because (writer's block / health issues / disabilities / mental health issues / life events) so I was like. Perfection is the enemy of completion. I will just post it unedited and not fully written to my original plan. Please don't hate me.

#treehouse #the sandman #sandman #the sandman comics #sandman comics #the sandman dc #sandman dc #sandman netflix #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus #lord morpheus x you #lord morpheus #lord morpheus x reader

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just-some-random-blogger · 9 months

Text

the sandman masterlist

🍓 = fluff themes

❄️ = angst themes

🚧 = smut themes

🤸‍♀️ = slice of life / bish idek what theme this is

🚀 = crack fic themes

🎩 = dark and/or violent themes

🏩 = genre fic, i.e. mystery, horror, fantasy, etc

🍳 = slow burn

🦕 = personal favorite

back to main masterlist

Magic Means Deception | ❄️ Dream of the Endless x Magician!Reader

Left In Hell | 🍓🍓 Dream of the Endless x Musician!Reader

Sounds Like Heaven | 🤸‍♀️🏩🦕Dream of the Endless x Musician!Reader

Songbird |🍓🚧🚧🚧🚧🏩🍳 Dream of the Endless x Musician!Reader

Coffee Nightmare | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Illustrator!Reader

Cake | 🍓🍓🚧🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Out of 9 | 🍓🚧🤸‍♀️🎩 Dream of the Endless x Reader, Corinthian x Reader [Headcanon]

Wrapped Around You | 🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Fortune Teller!Reader

P(r.)etty | 🍓🚧🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Doing My Goth Boyfriends Makeup! (I had to beg [my knees hurt ]) |🍓🚧🚀🚀 Dream of the Endless x Reader

Skin | 🍓🍓🚧 Dream of the Endless x Reader

"TEACHER! HE HAS MARKER IN HIS EYES!" | 🍓🍓🚀 Dream of the Endless x Preschool Teacher!Reader

Granny’s Superstitions | 🍓 ❄️❄️🍳 Dream of the Endless x College Student!Reader

First Love | ❄️❄️❄️❄️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Headlock Of Love | 🍓🍓🚀🚀 Dream of the Endless x Valkyrie!Reader

Dream, The Big, Touch Deprived Puppy | 🍓🚧 Dream of the Endless x Reader

Birthday Girl | 🍓🍓🚀🚀🦕 Dream of the Endless & Dream!Reader

Christmas Lover | 🍓🍓🚀 Dream of the Endless x Reader

Over It | 🚧🚧🚧 Dream of the Endless x Reader

Through The Dark | ❄️❄️ Dream of the Endless x Immortal!Reader

Thorn At My Side | ❄️❄️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Beer | 🍓❄️ Dream of the Endless x Reader + Corinthian x Reader

Not Enough | 🍓❄️🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Reader + Corinthian x Reader

Oh, Don’t Be Like That | ❄️🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️🚀 Dream of the Endless x Reader + Corinthian x Reader

Inside My Mind | ❄️🚧🎩🎩🏩🍳 Dream of the Endless x Opera Singer!Reader

Hold My Hand | 🍓🤸‍♀️🚀 Dream of the Endless x Reader

As You Command | 🚧🚧🚧 Dream of the Endless x Reader

Da Bootie | 🍓🤸‍♀️🚀🚀 Dream of the Endless x Reader

I’ll Protect Your Heart | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Hello There! | 🍓🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Prince Of Stories | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️Dream of the Endless x Reader

Seconds Into Centuries | 🍓❄️ Dream of the Endless & Dream!Reader

A Thing Of Beauty | 🍓🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Never Hurt | 🍓🍓🚀 Dream of the Endless x Reader

What Was That? | 🍓🤸‍♀️🚀 Dream of the Endless x Reader

Dawn of the Endless | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️🦕 Hob Gadling x Endless!Reader, Dream of the Endless & Twin sister!Reader

Blood Thirsty | ❄️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Baked Brie (With Extra Jelly) | 🍓🍓🍓🚀 Dream of the Endless x Reader

Papa! Papa! | 🍓🍓🍓🍓🤸‍♀️🚀 Dream of the Endless x Reader

Make It Last Forever | 🍓🍓🍓🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Caged | 🍓🚧🚧🚧🏩🍳🍳 Dream of the Endless x Demon Hunter!Reader

Petty And Yours | 🍓🍓❄️❄️🚧🚧🚧🚧🏩🏩🍳🍳🍳 Dream of the Endless x Demon Hunter!Reader

Why Are You Here? | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Mortality | ❄️❄️ Dream of the Endless x Gadling!Reader

Harbinger Of The Dusk | 🍓🍓🍳🦕 Dream of the Endless x Angel!Reader

Holy | 🍓🍓 Dream of the Endless x Angel!Reader

Oh My Darling | 🍓❄️🤸‍♀️Dream of the Endless x Reader

Star Collector | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Fae!Reader

Marshies | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️🦕 Dream of the Endless x Reader + Destruction of the Endless x Reader

A Lesson Of Tongues | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless & Angel!Reader

School Of Rock | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️ Orpheus & Sister!Reader, Dream of the Endless & Daughter!Reader

Rain Drops | ❄️❄️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Didi’s Brother | 🍓❄️🤸‍♀️🦕 Dream of the Endless x Reader

Unturned Stones | ❄️❄️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Good Thing | 🚧🚧🚧🦕 Dream of the Endless x Reader

Gorgon | 🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Goddess!Reader

The Dreaming Estate | 🏩🦕 Dream of the Endless x Gadling!Reader + Corinthian x Gadling!Reader

Potato Chips | 🍓🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Kryptonian!Reader

I Know All | 🍓🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

Reborn & Remade | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️🚀 Dream of the Endless x Reader (& The Corinthian)

Aisle 43 | 🍓🤸‍♀️ Dream of the Endless x Reader

The Pretender | 🍓🏩 Dream of the Endless x Reader

Wayne!Sister Universe

A Goth & An Emo Walk Into the Room | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️🚀🏩 Dream of the Endless x Wayne!Reader, Bruce Wayne & Sister!Reader

Vengeance & Nightmares | ❄️🤸‍♀️🏩 Dream of the Endless x Wayne!Reader, Bruce Wayne & Sister!Reader

Green With Envy (& Oliver) | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️🏩 Dream of the Endless x Wayne!Reader + Oliver Queen x Wayne!Reader, Bruce Wayne & Sister!Reader

Actor Fic

Wild Child | 🍓🍓🤸‍♀️🏩 Tom Sturridge x Princess!Reader

#masterlist #the sandman masterlist

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hwan-g · 1 year

Text

11 O’ CLOCK TICK TOCK 🪬 jisung & seungmin.

part two/four of the skz go to hogwarts! series.

MOODBOARD | PLAYLIST

pair. soothsayer! jisung x fem! reader (+ prefect! seungmin, changbin, chan, minho) | genre. fantasy, romance, minor angst, smut | warnings. profanity, pet names, brief mention of smoking, food/drinking, clairvoyance, mentions of dark magic, legilimency, flawed characters, cheating, exhibitionism, fingering, dirty talk | word count. 11k

synopsis. you ask yourself when it changed. when did runes become decisions, and books holes to hide unspeakable truths? was it when you neared your captain with the Golden Snitch, and he couldn’t look away from the gold? or was it when he ran after you the first time but not the second one? decisions accumulate, you conclude. they do, and they mean everything.

“What disappears as soon as you say its name?”

That was the riddle the Ravenclaws had to solve to enter their Common Room after dinner time. It was also, apparently, the reason why the stairs to the blue and bronze tower were blocked for the past thirty minutes. An intense game of chess was currently taking place on a tread, a consequence of boredom, with both parties having lost equal amounts of pawns.

“It literally can’t be that hard,” a scowling Slytherin girl snarled, folding her arms over her chest.

Some students sitting cross legged on the stone floor in front of her looked up, an empty expression on their tired faces. The eagle knocker on the wooden door stared back, despite not blinking once. The entire fifth floor was in disarray, and no authority seemed to be around to navigate the lost Serpents back to the dungeons. The Ravenclaws were used to this scene, and certainly were not about to disrupt their routine for anyone.

“Why are you even going up there at this hour, Goyle? Class doesn’t start till midnight,” someone standing pointed out teasingly.

“None of your business,” she shot back, and stuck her button nose high up in the air in arrogance. “Anything,” she answered the knob, “we’re wizards.”

A disapproving murmur rose amongst the rest of the crowd, but Penelope Goyle ignored it all, stubbornly looking at the door that wouldn’t open. After a heartbeat, she stomped her foot and grabbed the hand of the Slytherin next to her, rushing down the stairwell before it moved again. A small win for some.

“Damn Ravenclaw riddles!” She yelled in frustration, and her voice echoed throughout the spiral staircase.

It was a strange thing, though, how no one seemed to know the answer to the knocker’s question. The portraits started placing bets after a point, talking about how ‘it may as well be the hardest riddle in a decade!’ and ‘back in our day wizards were infinitely smarter.’ Kevin Chang, son of Cho Chang, had sharply turned around and glared at that particular jab.

“Back in your day, you also started wars for no apparent reason,” he had snapped at the old man with the feather hat.

“Tell him, Chang!” Changbin’s loud tone boomed coming up the Grand Stairwell, followed by the Prefect Kim Seungmin, and Han Jisung, the former pushing through his two friends to see what the problem was.

“Where the hell have you been?” Orpheus Lovegood asked, getting up from the cold stone and dusting his robes. “Matter of fact, where’s Alphard?” Referring to the Head Boy currently missing.

Everyone looked around as if in a trance, realizing that the Head of their House was, indeed, not present. Seungmin sighed, muttering something about the Heads having a meeting with McGonagall. Orpheus groaned and slumped back down, rubbing his face, exasperated.

“What are you staring at?” Changbin snapped at his mortal enemy; the painting from 1847, Abraxas Rivertower, the last of his name.

“Here we fucking go again…” Jisung mumbled, clutching his broomstick tighter. “What’s the riddle?” He asked a Third-Year that was leaning against the ancient railing, one step behind him.

“What disappears as soon as you say its—OH, NOT AGAIN.”

The stone shook and thundered before moving slowly to the left, along with the kid, and four other students. Seungmin shook his head, and the Gryffindor chuckled. Jisung blinked.

“Rookie mistake,” Changbin shrugged, and turned back to the portrait. “I’ll say this one time and one time only, old man—Bang Chan is the best captain Hogwarts has had since Edgar Cloggs. Your generation did nothing for Quidditch.”

“I’ll have you know, you insolent little—”

“As soon as you say what?” Jisung interrupts the bickering by shouting over to the Ravenclaw that’s currently on his way to the other side of the castle.

“Its name!” He shouts back, hands around his mouth.

The Gryffindors look up, trying to see where all the commotion is coming from, while Seungmin scolds his House for not waiting for him to leave the Great Hall. Kevin argues that he’d seen Alphard go ahead of them, and assumed he was leading the way. The Prefect hung his neck and shook his head in disappointment, soft, parted hair moving with him.

“This is why I should’ve clearly been Head Boy.”

“Silence,” the round-cheeked boy says after a moment, raising an eyebrow at the eagle knocker.

The wood gives way and the door opens at once, the sound of it deafening to the tens of hopeless students that had been waiting in front of it. Clapping erupts and then everyone’s getting up at once, pushing their way through to the Common Room, Jisung’s name on their lips.

“Our Chaser is the best, of course.” “Top of the class, after all.”

“Move carefully, we have no staircase people!” Seungmin reminds them, annoyed, and climbs over rock to have a clearer view of the crowd.

“Guess I’ll wait for my lift,” the Gryffindor jokes, resting against the wall next to the entrance. “Look at you, all red.”

Jisung pierces him with an irritated look, mentally willing his hair to go back to its chestnut brown color. Having grown up with him, the Metamorphmagus abilities surprised no one by that point, yet his friends never seemed to let the fact go, teasing him any chance they got. It was all in good fun, he was aware, and secretly he even liked the attention.

But, God, could his best mates get infuriating.

“Make sure you go straight to your dormitory,” Seungmin warns Changbin, and the latter raises two fingers, placing them over his heart, crooked smile in full effect.

“You know I’m all about those rules, Min.”

“Are you, now?” The Prefect deadpans, and enters the Common Room, leaving the other two boys to stand guard until the Third-Years return with the stairway.

After Gryffindor’s win last week, Ravenclaw was gearing up for a game against Slytherin, which meant extra practices after classes, and sometimes even Sundays. The Serpents were clearly a threat to all Houses, and for good reason. The team had an unbeatable record, not to mention fast fliers. Jisung wasn’t as into it as Chan or Changbin were, but he still enjoyed the workout, and the feeling of the wind hitting his face on his broom. No other thing like it, except perhaps the smell of an old book, or you on his lips.

Shut the fuck up, Han Jisung.

There was no one to tell the secret to, he had learned. Only the corners of the library, the shadows of the candelabras—the creases of the books used that day. And they were friendly things, those; well equipped to keep secrets, and wishes. Ancient, reliable ways to swallow your feelings forever and never speak a word to anyone. Sometimes, though, and that was not often at all, Jisung would catch you looking at him, and find it in himself possible to risk everything if it meant having you. But it all also just meant one more silly reason he joined the team, and always a disappointment as your eyes remained impossibly locked on the Gryffindor captain, and never at the soothsayer. Understandably so, he’s concluded countless times. It didn’t lessen the sting.

Who’d want a scary vision and a life altering prophecy over riches and glory? Jisung was bound to lead a solitary path—Seungmin had predicted it, after all.

“Don’t tell me…” Changbin starts, tone taunting. “Purple hair, wistful expression—thinking of your unrequited crush again?” His elbow meets the Ravenclaw’s side, and Jisung resists the urge to shoot back, to ask about the Gryffindor girl that had rejected him twice or that one Hufflepuff he kept meeting up at the Astronomy Tower every Friday, but alas. He wasn’t cruel, and he certainly didn’t need any more questions raised towards him.

Even if he desperately wanted someone else besides Seungmin to talk to, about you and the things he’d seen in his crystal ball that morning in Divination class. There were far more important matters to discuss besides feelings and unlucky crushes. When would a good time come around for them, though…

“I’m a very easy person to read, Bin,” he said, slapping his friend’s chest. “Come on, we can wait inside. For all we know the staircase could’ve lost its way again.”

The Gryffindor nodded, putting both hands on the Metamorphmagi’s shoulders. “A smart fucking Raven you are, my friend.”

The Raven fakes a smile, and closes the door behind him. The Common Room has fallen into its usual half filled quiet study time, under the supervision of Kim Seungmin, who grimaces at the two of them entering without the rest.

“Too smart,” Jisung repeats to himself. “Far too smart for your own good, Han Jisung.”

“Cartomancy is commonly used to predict the future, and/or warn against a potential enemy,” professor Trelawney said, summarizing today’s lesson.

“You are each tasked to choose three cards out of the decks in front of you, my children. Three cards that are going to show you a truth. Go on, then!”

The tarot cards in front of Seungmin were faded, hand-drawn pieces of work that had been in desperate need of a replacement for some time now. He had half a mind to switch them out with his, but for the sake of this class to succeed and go according to the room’s energy, they simply had to do. Jisung on the other hand—the older boy looked to be under some kind of spell, a highly ordinary occurrence as it happened frequently when he was in the middle of a reading, but what wasn’t the least bit normal—the white tint over his orbs, the buzzing of the cards under his fingers.

The professor seemed to notice it as he did, nearing their table immediately and studying the Ravenclaw intently. The rest of the room was quiet, waiting for something kooky to happen, as it always did when Divination was in session. Seungmin was not impressed, he was concerned. Jisung had numerous visions nowadays, and fell ‘asleep’ even worse during readings. Trelawney thought he was just awakening as a mystic, but it was an entirely different thing the Raven was fighting…

“What do you see, boy?” The peculiar professor asked softly, holding her breath.

Hands moving, the boy in question pulled the three cards at once, never looking down at them. Instead, he stared straight ahead and through his friend. Seungmin sighed and made his own choices, flipping to see what they were.

“How’d you do that?” Orpheus asked him incredulously, sitting right above them.

Trelawney gasped, clutching at her chest. Everyone leaned in to get a closer look, the same surprise bleeding on their faces. Impossible, they all thought.

The Tower, Ten of Swords, Death.

On both decks.

“Disaster in the darkest hour. It has not happened yet—the Death is last,” Jisung wakes up with an abrupt shake, eyes widening before glancing down. “Twice over?” He questions, and looks to the professor for an explanation he cannot seem to find.

She’s shivering all over in her old age, backing away from the ominous duo. Seungmin gathers his things, sensing the class will be over sooner than expected. He tries to deny what just happened, but knows it’s bigger than him, bigger than Jisung himself, and will no doubt reach McGonagall and the rest of the teachers in no time. It’s a calamity, a warning. For time’s lived again and again.

“Dark times are upon us once more, my children,” she confirms the fear. “Stay behind, young mystics. The rest—dismissed! Someone please summon the Headmistress for me.”

It was the first time the class dispersed in such silence, Jisung had never seen it before. As if a gray cloud had settled over everyone, they moved in harmony and exited the room at once, leaving the two dorm mates alone with the professor. The red of the tablecloth hung heavy and deep underneath the weight of the cards. Seungmin wanted it to be a false draw, an error. Things would be simpler then, everything back to normal.

This is too much of a responsibility to hold, even for him.

Trelawney picks a fourth card, throws it on top of the others with an ease only natural to someone who’s been doing this for a very, very long time. Her fingers tremble as she passes her hand over the result.

Five of Cups. Card of change.

“One will be on each opposing side, both burdened by a decision,” she muses. “It won’t be you,” she looks at the Ravenclaws. “Though, you will be the eyes into the future.”

Seungmin maniacally chuckles, unable to hold himself back, while Jisung is getting crushed under the weight of what he’d just predicted.

“Are you seriously telling us there’s going to be another war?”

“Not me, no. The cards, dear boy.”

Seungmin blinks. “The cards can change.”

“But they can never lie,” the professor reminds sadly. “Even if the reading alters, the cards still have to be played out. It’s what I warned Albus about all those years ago…” she pins them down with a haunted look. “Before he died, I kept drawing a Tower moment. It ended up being a literal reading, and the loss was immense.”

“Professor, who has to make a decision?” Jisung asks seriously.

She looks at her student soberly, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “They will show themselves to you. You must guide them as you will know how.”

“You couldn’t have drawn a Wheel of Fortune, Han. It had to be Death,” Seungmin mutters, arms folded over his chest, robes perfectly pressed. “Typical.”

Minerva McGonagall enters the threshold in a hurry, cloak flowing in tumultuous waves, tight bun on the top of her head, looking exactly as they met her, six years ago. Timeless. The Minister of Magic stood next to her, her name powerful, important. Historic.

Hermione Granger stared at the two Ravenclaws in wonder.

Jisung glanced at Seungmin nervously, the latter’s eyes going fully round in surprise. They both couldn’t believe the legendary witch stood before them, eager to hear about their bad news concerning another war against the dark and corrupted. It was not a good look, they grimly thought. But it was, unfortunately, a true one.

“I was instructed to inform the Ministry should any talk of a prognostication like this come up,” the headmistress said. “Well?”

“It is merely an augury, though I’m sure a prophecy will not be too far behind…”

November shed all its leaves and greenery in exchange for snow. All mountain sides were covered with it, and the castle was too. Dusted and thick, it canceled a much-needed Quidditch practice, but instead gave an extra reason to haul students in the library and have them revise for the upcoming exams.

The Black Lake was at last entirely frozen, an exquisite view from the Ravenclaw Common Room. Kevin and Seungmin stood by the window, discussing the Astronomy group assignment, while Jisung got ready for yours and his study date, a tradition dating back since Fourth Year, the time his crush graduated from a tiny spark to a full blown forest fire. One sided, of course. Completely fine, that was. He’d made his peace with it already. Except for some nights, when the wound hurt too greatly, his heart beating too fast for someone that would never hear it. Still, he refused, he refused, he refused—

“Swear to me no one will learn about this,” Seungmin had made him promise. “Not a word to anybody.”

“I swear,” Jisung had agreed on it, his bones rattling with the importance of keeping something of this magnitude to himself. “I swear.”

But if something were to change, Jisung had decided; if he had a new vision on the next full moon, and it proved to be urgent… he’d tell Bang Chan. The Gryffindor needed to know, and possessed all the determination in the world to lead them to battle. A proper heads up would prove to be crucial, and he didn’t care what Seungmin or McGonagall said. Certain decisions were in order, and the Raven always felt the most qualified to make them. Seungmin was the moral of the two, but Jisung would do whatever needed to be done. The life of a mystic, perhaps.

Those were waters untested, still.

Saturdays were a fuzzy dream in the castle, coated with sticky snow and a breakfast, and lunch fit for kings. The Great Hall was always somehow so very questionably warm, and the corridors so bitterly cold, but it did not matter. The tea cakes melted in your mouth, and the quill ink never ran dry. By the time the clock sounded five in the evening, Jisung had spotted you waiting for him, an ‘Advanced Rune Translation’ volume in your hand, hair pulled away from your face, a knitted sweater and corduroy pants adorning your body.

“Kind of you to show,” he teases you, turning at once for the library.

You giggle, and nudge his arm. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

His eyes flutter shut for a single moment, the sound of your laugh too precious, too rare to go unnoticed. He wonders how it feels to live in the same space as you, hear you speak and feel your hands freely, instead of the borrowed time he has with you, the time that’s already being wasted just by walking. It is why he joined the team, the very reason why he took Ancient Runes when they have very little to do with what he’s interested in. To see you. To spend as much time with you as possible.

Him and his stupid heart, wishing and wanting without end, pointlessly. Until you break it, once and for all.

“Heard the Minister of Magic was here the other day,” you mention conversationally, waving back at random students Jisung does not know the names of. “Wonder why.”

Should he tell you? He’s lost sleep over this question. It is no sort of secret you’re one of the most important people in his life, and you deserve to know, to keep yourself safe. But to be aware of something like this prematurely, without absolute certainty of its chances of happening…he couldn’t risk that. For all he knows, the cards were picking up past energies of times passed.

How good has he taught himself to pretend ruin isn’t upon them because he predicted it.

“There’s a full moon this Thursday,” he changes the subject. “My magic is stronger then, so if you need anything solved or cleared up…”

“My Charms exams maybe,” you walk closer to him, a pleasant expression on your pretty face. “Minho mentioned you did a reading for Hyunjin last month.”

Jisung gave you a questioning look, slowing down his step. You seemed to regret letting that slip, but there was no way he was going to let that go now. Minho with you? Why?

“Wasn’t aware you two were friends.”

“We’re not,” you retort easily. “We’re working on a potion together.”

Again, he measures you with a suspicious glance. “And Chan knows about this?”

You frown, and that’s answer enough. Still, you continue, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

You take the left turn to the corridor, and your arm wraps around his bicep absentmindedly, the Hufflepuff Head Girl exiting the library wondering about your proximity, sneaky eyes following your movements closely. Nearly everyone had learned the news about the princess of Gryffindor and its House’s favorite captain. It was kind of hard to miss when Chan would follow you around everywhere, like some sort of nervous puppy and its owner.

Nauseating, Seungmin had called it. For Jisung it was just tough to swallow.

“What was the reading about, Ji?” You drop your voice as you settle into a spot in between the two bookshelves.

Your study mentor busies himself with selecting the books needed for this session, avoiding your eyes. You smile as you notice the shade of his hair turning a ginger shade, and you wait for the familiar roll of his shoulders to speak again. Learning to figure out the Raven had proved to be a challenge all in itself. A fun one, nonetheless.

“It can’t have been good. His friend is planning to raise the dead.”

Jisung almost gets whiplash from how fast he spins his head your way. You smirk, crossing your legs at the ankles, and lean against the desk behind you. Neither of you break eye contact.

“What are you saying?” He asks quietly, and his voice sounds strange. Like how it does when he’s amongst tarot cards and crystal balls. Careful not to disrupt the magic.

You insist. “I’m saying I know a little more than you do for once, Han. What was the reading about?”

With a tall pile of books following him, the Ravenclaw walks to your usual spot by the furthest window away from Irma Pince, the ‘book keeper from Hell’ as you called her, and throws a leg over the wooden table, expression solemn.

“He’s been having dreams. Are you even acquainted with Hwang? Why the sudden interest?”

Your eyes shine as you sit down in front of him, opening your book to the appropriate page. The bookshelves stretch endless on each side of you, the rest of the students throwing you sharp glances, visibly fed up with your chit-chat.

“Never talked to him,” you say proudly, and Jisung is pretty sure you’re messing with him.

“I say this because I’m your friend, (Y/N), but—some things are meant to stay hidden.”

The two of you fell into your almost religious silence quickly enough, working together but separately, breaking concentration only when a question arose. Jisung was a natural in translating ancient passages into modern English, and you were not far behind, though your struggle lay on deciphering the runes themselves. It is where the differences between your Houses lay—he took a direct approach to puzzles, treating them as things with answers instead of questions, while you just couldn’t get past your ignorance. Perhaps it was your muggle background that prevented you from truly excelling; the fact that Jisung simply knew about these symbols, while you had to rewire your entire brain to even fathom they could possibly mean something.

He always took his time with you, teaching you patiently and thoroughly, his fingers tracing the runes on paper like he’d written them himself, eons ago—like friends meeting again, or at least that’s what it seemed like to you. Jisung, you’d decided a couple years ago, could not be figured out, not in the slightest. Most likely it was a Ravenclaw feature; to constantly be slipping into reverie, with no firm grasp on reality. Maybe he was never meant to fully be corporeal, to make sense—he’d always been the kid with the book, the odd one out for being able to look into a crystal ball and see more than just glass. Clairvoyance is a gift, he’d explained to you once, if one is willing to admit the future is beyond their grasp. That perhaps, all there should be is not all there is.

A lot of the time, you didn’t understand him. Not entirely. None but three classmates of yours in this whole school possessed the abilities Han Jisung had, and he was one of them, Seungmin being the other one, and Lee Felix from Hufflepuff the biggest question mark of them all. Someone that shouldn’t, yet is. The Raven took him under his wing immediately, offering everything there was to know, and watching it take form, transform into something more, something different than what he had. But nevermind that—it was a story for another time.

Your eyes followed him; the way his full lips fell open, the voice coming out soft and kind, the round cheeks and the round glasses, and the round eyes. He was just so…circular, so untouched by sharpness. Some time ago you’d taken a leap and kissed him, just to see how it felt holding the secrets of the universe inside you. Turns out they taste like blueberries, and feel like standing on the Astronomy Tower at midnight, looking up at the starry sky through a telescope, all impossible, and grounding, and transcending at the same time. You could never be with someone like Jisung, you would only hold him back.

There was no magic for you like there was for him. Books are all you could possibly share or have in common. Yet, it never left your mind, the moment of contact… Secrets knew how to conceal themselves in a library. So they did. You, on the other hand. Where was a place for you to hide, to exist through runes and charms and potions? If he could do it—if he could touch decades old cards, and sit on the highest tower on a full moon with his eyes closed and his palms open, and have the answers come to him, where would be a way to cheat your heart, the very atoms that make you, and finally find some peace for yourself?

“You know, I feel you slipping away,” he tells you very stilly, cocking an eyebrow and turning his face slightly to look at you. “If you’re bored then, by all means, put me out of my misery here.”

You can’t look away or pull back, so you stare. You smile, and you wonder if he, perhaps, is also a Legilimens. If you’re meant to collect them all and have them know you inside out as you’re losing your way more obviously with each passing day. If you can hear me, tell me what I should do.

Jisung just smiles back, holds his breath. Secrets have a way of outing themselves cold. Sometimes you’re expecting them warmly, arms open wide. Sometimes they kick you in the face and call you a hypocrite. Which one is it, then?

“You? Miserable with thousands of books around? Please. You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

Your back hits the chair, and you exhale a breathy laugh. “Maybe. Continue.”

He closes the thick book, and takes off his reading spectacles. His hair is red, and his cheeks are flushed. Your Raven is a difficult person to figure out, yes, but he’s the easiest to read. You think of Chan and how he’d react knowing you’re very actively thinking about kissing your mutual friend again. You think that because it’s clear he is. Perhaps he always has.

What you don’t notice are his closed fists. The way he wants.

“You’re asking me to do something,” he states, and it’s unfair, you know. “I won’t. I can’t.”

You don’t even blink. “No one thing is carved in stone. You told me that.”

“I didn’t mean this.”

“And yet this is no different,” you argue calmly. “It’s been going on for a long time, hasn’t it?”

He caves, or crumbles, and his back curves, his elbows touch his knees. He’s contemplating, and the universe is moving with him. It feels so much more than what it is, and for some reason you sense that it is not simple, it is not light. It will not be easy with Han Jisung, not like how it is with Chan. And maybe it will happen all the same, and there will not be a single fucking thing you’ll able to do about it.

You ask yourself when it changed. When did runes become decisions, and books holes to hide unspeakable truths? Was it when you neared your captain with the Golden Snitch, and he couldn’t look away from the gold? Or was it when he ran after you the first time but not the second one? Decisions accumulate, you conclude. They do, and they mean everything.

“Ever since I met you,” the Metamorphmagi replies, hands in front of him, an unconscious plea. By the time he closes his mouth, the strands on his head have turned black, and it is then that you realize this is bigger than you. It always is.

Because he’s not playing the game anymore, either.

It is amidst dusty books and claustrophobic library aisles that he takes your wrist and gives a wave for everything to go back into place. Non verbal magic is extremely difficult to get right, but there he was, a place he knew so intently bending to him, to his will, and he didn’t even have to mutter a single word. You recognize nothing in this Jisung—he’s not your friend, and he’s not the person that helps you study. He’s a mystic, a soothsayer with abilities beyond your understanding, and a wizard capable of far more than most his age. And all of this he achieved quietly, without fuss. While everyone else was too busy showing off.

Irma nods at the both of you as you speed walk out of the area, and into the cold, torch lit corridors of the first floor of the castle. The collar of his white button up is crooked over his sweater vest, but you swallow and say nothing because there’s raw intent in the way your hand is clasped in his. How his fingers crawled down the delicate skin to find your own, the warmth of touch closing around your digits. He has never done this before. You do not know how to come back from it.

Under stone and into the shadows is where he pushes you against rough wall and takes your mouth in his. A statue of someone important and dead towers over the both of you, but then your eyes fall closed and you can’t think of nothing but Jisung, Jisung, Han Jisung and his clean scent, his hands roaming your body, holding your face, pushing your hair back—

You move forward and press your chest to his, your arms around his broad shoulders, feeling the muscle of his back. It doesn’t register, or more like it can’t possibly—that you’re really doing this, while Chan is back in the dorms completely oblivious, thinking you’re transcribing runes next to the one person that can get you to focus. Something important is now tainted forever thanks to your inability to make up your mind. Your heart.

“Don’t you dare slip away from me now,” Jisung mutters fervently against your lips. “There’s nothing to do about what’s already been done.”

Fingers get lost in your trousers, inside your panties, curling upwards, pushing in, and you gasp, the feeling forbidden, overwhelming in its intensity. The boy all over you fucks you with an objective set in mind—to have you come all over his hand, to smell you on him every time he goes to sleep, to think back on this and have something to remember you by, something concrete, unnerving, more than a kiss, less than a conjoining of bodies. He will have it. No matter what.

“I‘ve waited for so long…watched you from afar, unable to have you like this…wanted you in all ways, your scent, your mouth, your cunt…will you understand, darling? Could you ever?”

He’s breathing hard, and you can’t really see him, but you think you can make out a sliver of midnight blue above his eyebrow, dark eyes flaring against the tiny bit of fire light that’s reaching in between the curves of the statue. Red for embarrassment, orange for nervousness, purple for love, blue for—

Blue was for—sadness. Your brows furrow as you further study his face, your eyes getting used to the dark. A surrendered expression stares back; given up eyes, and a pained smile. You can’t explain what’s stirring inside you, only that you’ve somehow hurt him, your friend, your sweet, sweet Raven. Because you don’t know what you’re looking for, while he’s been so sure from the get go. And now you ruined it.

Blue is sad because it knew all along.

“I could turn into him,” he whispers, and it’s not proud. It’s a shameful, quiet thing that escapes his mouth all at once and leaves a big hole in the middle of your chest. “If that will make me have you. I could turn into anyone you want.”

Your hands immediately cradle his face, and he leans into your touch, leans into you like a flower under the sun. Jisung blooms and opens, and it’s beautiful, it’s a lovely rarity to see. It’s all for you, and you’re being awful, leading him on in his vulnerability. You’re awful.

His hands undo your pants, while his digits move faster inside you. You’re terrified of moaning, of informing anyone of what you’re doing. Your senses are on overdrive, your moral compass seemingly cracking every time Jisung hits a spot that has you seeing stars, and his mouth devours yours like a starved man, a man that knows he only has one chance at this. He makes it count.

You convince yourself this is closure. This needs to happen so he can move on. It’s imperative that it does. Your lips go to his forehead, then his eyelids, his cheek, his nose, and finally his lips. You don’t dare actually kiss him again, you won’t be the first, but you linger, a ghost of a breath away, hoping the illusion will be enough.

“I would never ask that of you,” you tell him. “Never. You are one of a kind, Ji. I want you because it’s you. I just wish you would’ve gotten to me first.”

His eyes are still closed, taking your words in, his lips pressed together like it hurts to even hear such things come out your mouth, and maybe they do; maybe he’s regretted that most of all, these years he’s watched you from afar with his friend. That you would’ve ever accepted him is news to him. He almost doesn’t want to believe it, if the truth of it wasn’t stitching his very existence back together.

When you come, it’s an absolution that spreads across your chest, warm as a summer day, cold as panic. He holds you anyway. He holds you and makes sure your dignity, at least, stays intact. He never meant for this to happen, but chaos is a ladder, and he’s decided to climb it. See where it takes him.

He knows he needs to step away from you now. Right the wrong. But Merlin’s beard, he can’t fucking seem to know how to.

“Let me see you hear it, just once,” you see him draw a shaky breath in, his courage inhaled, at the tip of his tongue, “I love you, darling. I always have. If you come to me tomorrow or in ten years, I’ll be right here. I’ll fucking wait for you, I swear.”

“Please, Jisung. How can I—”

“Moving,” he hears a familiar venomous voice behind him. His jaw clenches, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “As it stands, (Y/N), this is the second man I see you with. Is there some sort of way to sign up for this apparent club you have going on?” A pause, as Jisung turns around to glare at the figure studying the both of you. “Consider me interested, sweetheart.”

Lee Minho stood amidst the dark in all his height and expensive clothing, obviously amused and tantalized with his own comment. The deep plum of his hair glittered under the faint light, and his big eyes sparkled with mischief.

You hadn’t seen him in a few days, after the two of you spent most of Tuesday afternoon gathering the ingredients for your joint potion. He had told you to go back to your dormitory as soon as everything was put together and ready to go, and it had left a very bad taste in your mouth. So, you’d decided to ignore him. After all, he was the one needing your help.

“What do you want, Minho?” Your Raven had turned feathery black all over, clearly irritated by the interruption. “You better have a reason for this.”

Minho tilted his head in question, obviously patronizing the Ravenclaw. “You mean walking to the library? Han, you’re out in the open,” he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his gaze sliding to you.

“Stop that,” you warn him, and you try to guard your mind as best as you can. “I’ve never given you permission to do that.”

Jisung squints his eyes at the two of you, visibly confused at first, though it doesn’t take long for him to figure it out. By then, Minho was chuckling in naughty delight, twirling his wand between his fingers.

It happens fast—the Metamorphmagi’s lips move and the wand goes flying right out of the Serpent’s hands. You slip from behind your friend and put yourself in the middle of them, hoping that’ll be enough to stop a serious altercation from happening. There was no reason to have points revoked for petty silliness.

“Powerful, our soothsayer, isn’t he?” The Slytherin comments, and brings his wand back the same way it was taken away. “Pity I’m better.”

“Seriously debatable,” Jisung deadpans, and you grab his sleeve, giving it a slight tug. He falls silent, those expressive eyes thundering to come to your defense.

“Leave the witty remarks for your Prefect, Han. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why?”

Minho looks at you again. You sense you’re not supposed to hear what’s about to come next, but Jisung doesn’t bat an eye to it, making you want to stand your ground. I’m already part of this, you think in hopes the pureblood will hear it.

He does.

“The Minister came to the castle. You must’ve had something for her.”

“And what’s it to you?”

Minho audibly sighs, growing annoyed with the hostility. Just then, two Hufflepuffs cross behind him, whispering to themselves about the scene playing out in front of them. You panic, thinking they saw your hold on Jisung, and your hand immediately drops.

You regret it as soon as you do it. The Ravenclaw shudders, his eyelids fluttering, but he says nothing.

“I’m being very nice right now, Jisung. You can choose to tell me or I can do it my way.”

“Muffliato,” you quickly cast, encasing the three of you in a makeshift privacy bubble. The boys look at you. “What? Someone had to do it.”

Minho ignores that. “You’re aware my father works at the Ministry.”

The Raven folds his arms, leans against the wall. “The redemption arc, yes. We’ve heard it a thousand times. One too many Death Eaters parading around free, if you ask me.”

If Minho took offense in that, you’ll never know. His expression betrayed little, his stance remaining the same since he snuck up on you. “Not for long,” he states, tone devoid of emotion. “They’re planning an upheaval.”

Just then, the muffling incantation is disrupted, one Kim Seungmin looking absolutely shaken in his brown leather jacket and boots. He looked like he’d just come from somewhere, you conclude. His hair was wind-ruffled, his cheeks rosy.

“We need to take this behind closed doors,” he says, and Jisung is the first to catch the urgent tone in his voice. “Come with me. Now.”

The Room of Requirement materialized only when a person was in dire need of it.

Seungmin had to walk past it three times before the entrance could show itself. You’d never been at that part of the castle, all the way to the seventh floor, and you’d certainly never witnessed the tapestry opposite the hidden spot—Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls how to dance ballet. How ridiculous. So peculiar, indeed, that only a wizard would have gone through it or dreamt it up. The magical world terrified you and befuddled you at the same time. Wonders at every corner. You would never truly get the hang of it, no matter how hard you tried, and you’d have to live with that.

But this room. It was nothing but an empty classroom with a single window, or at least that’s what it appeared to be. An untraceable place that not many people knew of—sounded like a disaster waiting to happen to you. The Slytherin was the first to break the silence, while Seungmin gave your shoulder a squeeze in greeting.

“Mind telling us why we’re here?”

Something passed between the two Ravenclaws, something you and Minho missed entirely. You merely understood it to be mystic work, an ability far beyond anything you had to offer.

The Prefect took a deep breath, gathering his slipping wits about him. “There was an attack on the Wizengamot two hours ago.”

Jisung looked at Minho who looked at Seungmin like the boy just confirmed an appointment with him. Indifferent, with those characteristic undertones of his that you still haven’t managed to figure out. Not one. This was serious. Connecting it to what the Slytherin told you earlier, it seemed to check out, because—

There hadn’t been any attacks…anywhere, really, since the late nineties. At least not confirmed ones, and it was then that the news clicked in you, the gears in your brain crossing from one dot to the other. Chan needed to hear this. He needed to know. But above all, you had to gather more information. Jisung seemed to think the same thing.

“Was anyone hurt?”

A faint shake of brown hair. “They mostly targeted the building itself. But the Senior Undersecretary…”

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho moved closer to the window, his focus moving with him.

“The— Wait, what?” Jisung did a double take on his friend, the words registering in his ears.

“What about her?” you ask.

There’s low muttering and then a Patronus Charm is casted, an Adder slithering its way across air, waiting to be directed. Minho whispers to it, and sends it off with his wand, its blue smoke figure passing through the glass effortlessly. One second you see magic being conjured, the next Jisung has his own unicorn core pointed at the Serpent’s neck, gaze vicious, suspecting.

“What did you do?” he asks him roughly.

You reach a hand out to rest it on his shoulder, but he’s rigid, ice cold. There’s no getting through to him at all. And for good reason, you think. But what if we weren’t always so mistrustful? What then?

“That’s his mother, is it not?” Minho asks but it’s rhetorical. The question already has an answer.

“And?”

“Hyunjin’s father is Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement. If the Minister’s Undersecretary was attacked,” he paused and blinked pointedly, “don’t you think it was an inside job?”

“Jisung…” you spoke softly. The boy clenched his jaw, but dubiously pulled back, lowering his wand.

“I warned him,” the Slytherin looked at all of you. “That it’s began.”

“You knew?” Seungmin asks, perplexed. Offended. “You knew and said nothing?”

Minho fixed his emerald blazer, eyes flashing. It was obvious he was reaching his limit with this interaction. He humored the Ravenclaw anyway. “I know fuck all, Prefect. I’m preparing myself for every outcome, as should all of you. You think they’re going to stop there? What a foolish assumption, if so.”

“Your father is an Unspeakable. Excuse me if I have a hard time believing anything that comes out of your mouth right now, Lee,” Jisung snapped, staring hard at the green board on the wall opposite him. “What about the Minister? Surely she’s not been Imperiused?” he caustically drawls.

“Wouldn’t you expect an ex-war heroine to be at least a little bit watchful over her employees?”

The room switched in a flash. Desks went flying, but none of you visibly moved an inch; instead books and telescopes occupied the space around you, the sound of them hitting the ground nonexistent. Peculiar clocks, astral maps, constellation globes and a humongous hourglass the size of a grizzly bear stared back at you, the sand slowly flowing to the bottom bulb, an ominous warning. It was in that moment that Jisung’s body tensed up next to you, his eyes going wide then glazing over, a thin strip of haze frosting them in place. Your heart jumped, and you grabbed his hand, until you remembered there was no way of bringing him back.

No way of waking him up until the vision was over.

“The room is trying to tell us something,” Seungmin said, flipping through the numerous books. He looked frantic, quavering. “A prophecy…she was waiting for a prophecy.”

“Well, he’s working on that, isn’t he?” Minho points at the Raven, currently a thousand worlds away. A typical occurrence.

You never once drop your friend’s hand, but your brain is already working on possible scenarios. One thing burned in your chest, though, like liquid fire—whatever this was, whatever it would become… Everyone close to you would be involved, because everyone was tied to the people responsible in some way or the other. Jisung to Seungmin, Minho and Hyunjin and their Ministry fathers, Felix and Changbin… All purebloods had connections to higher ups in the wizarding world, years of positions of power being passed down from generation to generation.

“Why Wizengamot, though?” You ask, piecing the puzzle together.

“The place that condemned them. Sent them to Azkaban,” the Serpent folds a map down the middle, and looks at you simply. No patronizing glint or ironic raise of the brow. Just classmates speculating.

Funnily, you think you can get used to this.

“But Seungmin’s mother was still a student when the trials were held.”

The other Ravenclaw is too busy looking through star charts to join in the conversation, but Minho appears almost eager for this back and forth. Perhaps to provide answers for himself as well as the rest of you. Somehow, you think Chan and the others should be here as well. They deserve to know, to prepare themselves.

“They wanted to send a message, sweetheart,” the prune-haired boy nears you, lifts a strand of your hair and looks at it. You hold your breath—hold Jisung’s hand even tighter. His mouth curves, and he pierces you with those glittery brown eyes, a curse wrapped with a bow. You will your mind to close in on itself, just in case.

“The law is below them this time. They are the law.”

Jisung heaves a breath and shivers all over, coming back to the present or reality, you’re not sure which one came first. No one knows where he goes during his visions, nor do they know how long it’ll take for him to return. All they know is that if he has one, it’s important. Consequential. His fingers squeeze the side of your hand, and your attention turns to him, Minho glancing momentarily at the Soothsayer before taking a step back and going over to Seungmin, giving an absentminded spin to one of the globes.

“What is it, Ji?” you murmur, nuzzling your chin on his vest, worried, eager to learn about the unknown. You would never acquire this piece of magic by yourself, you would always have to rely on others for it.

Seungmin stopped what he was doing and looked up, sensing something you could not. Even Minho seemed to catch onto it, both his eyebrows disappearing under his bangs.

“A blood moon will rise over the one who has to make the choice,” he says stiffly, but his head shakes, like it doesn’t make much sense to him either. “He wears a black ring, he has a golden friend.”

The Slytherin chuckles but it’s not humorous. It’s not even mocking. It’s a dry, dark thing that fills you with fear. Something you don’t know. Again and again. Jisung softly untangles from your grasp, and looks around the room in a daze. He appears to understand why it’s the way it is, why the constellations are important. Ravenclaws and their moon magic, their mystic ways. It’s nothing but an alien concept to you, and it infuriates you to no end.

“We might have to brew that potion faster than I thought,” he says.

“What potion?” Seungmin asks, nose buried in another book.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

“Min,” Jisung calls. His friend snaps his head up. “Golden friend. Cancer to the west, Virgo to the east—it’s the Leo constellation.”

“Oh, fuck me,” the Prefect groans. “The Sickle.”

You were entirely lost, embarrassingly confused. “What are you talking about?”

The Raven turned to you, a tired smile on his lips. “It means we have a question mark in our hands, darling. We don’t know who the ‘Golden friend’ is.”

“I do.”

You all look to the Serpent in the corner, a muggle cigarette in his mouth. He was staring directly at you.

“It’s Lee Felix, the Hufflepuff that possesses the Time Turner.”

Golden friend. Jisung is the first to scramble for the door, never forgetting to grab your hand as he goes to leave. Seungmin yells at him to slow down, and from the corner of your eye you see him putting his face in his hands, exasperated.

“If we leave now, we may never find these books again!”

“These books are not the answer, Seungmin,” Jisung retorts, turning the carved, bronze knob.

“Then why did they show themselves to us? I better stay behind.”

Your Raven rolls his eyes and shakes his head as you come back out the same way you went in, Minho following close behind. You look both ways, and then run down the corridor, down the stairs, time a mystery, only the mission in mind. Who’s friend? You kept repeating in your head. He wears a black ring. Your Gryffindor boys only wore silver jewelry. A hidden anxiety that lay heavy on your shoulders evaporated at once with that thought. It’s not them. And if not them, then who?

“Hard headed Ravenclaw…” he mutters, but you can tell books never held answers for him. Not to the questions that mattered.

“I know another one,” you say teasingly. “He has a death grip on my hand right now.”

His hold softens, an apologetic look flashing in his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbles quickly. “That wasn’t what we’re looking for…” he admits, rushing down the stairs of the fourth floor.

“Jisung, slow down!” you say, and for the life of you, you can’t seem to catch your breath.

It’s Minho who catches you before you can fall flat on the staircase, the boy close behind you with his own thoughts, all three of you heading the same way. You glance at him only for a moment, before pulling yourself back to your feet, your fingers catching the Ravenclaw’s again. He’s staring right through you, though, to the purple of the Slytherin’s hair, and you’ve just about had enough with the secrecy.

“We need to tell Chan,” you assert. “We have to. And then we can find Felix. This is so much bigger than us,” you plead with the Metamorphmagi. “Please.”

“Don’t want to rush you, Raven, but we need that prophecy,” Minho says and you realize he’s been reading Jisung’s mind this entire time. “You know it as well as I do that without it we’re fucked.”

Just in time for dinner, the unlikely trio enters the Hall conversing in hushed tones, searching through the tables’ crowds to find the boys in question. Once again, your hand leaves the warmth of the person holding it as soon as you spot the soft curls and toned shoulders. Jisung smiles at you anyway, because this time it’s changed—you are partners in something far greater, bigger than life. You will stop a war from happening. You will fight together against the dark forces that are threatening your very freedom, just like your predecessors did all those years ago. You’ll do it better, even.

You had a plan.

He leans into you, his lips in your hair, and he whispers, “Think about me. Think about me like I think of you. All the time. Desperately.”

Then the Serpent says, “Meet me at the abandoned girls bathroom tomorrow, at four o’clock,” and he leaves, too. Goes to his Houses’ table, and sits down next to Hwang Hyunjin, the blonde busy sketching in the notebook in front of him, unaware of most things.

You glance back at your teammates and sigh. How to persuade them to listen…

“Look who the cat dragged in!” Changbin exclaims, patting the seat next to him. “Jake joined us tonight, hope you don’t mind.”

You waved at the younger Gryffindor, and stared at the empty plate in front of you. Then at the full table of delicious food that didn’t seem one bit appetizing at the moment. Not after what you’d learned. All you had to do was tell them about later tonight. After that, Jisung would take over. Somehow, a simple task like that was making your palms sweaty, and it mostly had to do with the fact that neither of your friends seemed particularly keen on fully believing in Divination. Even after witnessing what the Raven could do. Even after being proven wrong. Multiple times.

“Hey, so, guess what,” you start, but you’ve no idea how to go on after that. All three boys turn to you, Jake blushing and looking away quickly. “Party at the Ravenclaw Common Room tonight.”

Changbin furrows his eyebrows at you. “Jisung never mentioned anything.”

You chuckle nervously. “Yeah, it was sort of last minute…”

Chan knows you best of all, though. Your mirror, since you met him. He nods, though believes not one word of it. You think he looks especially beautiful, with his natural curls and black shirt. Like a sculpture or a Greek God or both. Definitely always holding gold in his hands, flying high in the sky, overlooking, coaching. When your eyes meet, he knows something happened. Something that regular ears cannot bear to hear. He reaches over the wood for your wrist, and his thumb traces the bracelet adorning it, the beads colors moving, like smoke encased. A birthday gift long ago. He can’t believe you still have it, that you still wear it. Sometimes he can’t believe you love him back, that, perhaps, you’ll love him forever.

He will. Until the end of time. No matter what.

“Minho was with you again,” he says, but keeps his tone neutral, not wanting another fight.

Though, it did lead to mindblowing sex.

You scoop some mashed potatoes on your plate, your cup filling up with apple cider as soon as you decide to eat, and you nod, avoiding his inquisitive gaze. Changbin passes you a couple dinner rolls unasked, and talks animatedly with Jungkook about Quidditch. You touch his forearm in thanks, and he smiles lopsidedly at you. It’s the innocent way you care about each other that fuels your impatience. The sooner they know the better they’ll be protected.

Despite wanting this, you can’t help but think that you like the way it feels to know a Ravenclaw secret that they don’t. Or a Han Jisung one, more like. It makes your heart flutter in a way you can’t ignore.

“What did you study today?”

“Ancient Runes,” you reply, chewing on bread. “It was a particularly tricky passage I had to transcribe today. Jisung was on top of me about it.”

The bells only rang inside your own head, but it felt like someone was pointing a flashing arrow above you, your guilt and the weight of what you did nearly crushing you to death. The same feeling of not being able to inhale enough oxygen burst through your lungs, just like that night when Gryffindor won, that suffocating song echoing in your ears. Still, you chastised yourself to sit through dinner, to pretend, and to be a good friend to the people you’ve known all your wizard years. It seemed as though, if you weren’t able to do even that much, the chain would break, the spell would lift.

You’d no longer be tied to Bang Chan or his reflection. And that scared you immensely—like not recognizing your own self. You eat more bread, and look at the long fingers playing with your bracelet. Without realizing, your eyes lock with the Raven’s, over your table, over Chan, and Alphard and Kevin Chang. You wonder how long he’s been looking, why your heart had been searching for him before your eyes did. Weird how a person can just…be there, all of a sudden, when before he was nowhere around. He will always keep happening to you now.

“It’s a good thing he’s around then, yeah?”

“Huh?” You zoom back to Chan’s face; his full lips, and sharp jaw. His carved features tug at your split heart.

His eyes are dark, watching you ruefully. “Perhaps a little too much,” he concludes, letting the bone of the chicken hit the plate loudly. Changbin turns at the sound, even amongst all the commotion.

It’s clear that the captain is getting angry. And it’s entirely directed at you. Like you’d ever be able to escape him. Like you can even try. He’s all mouth, then, rotten, saccharine, with sharp teeth and an even sharper instinct, cutting through you like a surgeon, opening up your passageways, inspecting the reasons you are not how you usually are, and if not, then why do you seem to stand lightyears away, when just this morning he held you in his arms? Had fucked you in his bed?

Someone was stealing you away. Over his dead fucking body.

“We should skip the party,” he suggests, but you know him, he’s declaring—for the both of you. “We have practice tomorrow anyway.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Change of plans,” he replies easily, serving himself some pudding. “We need it if we are to win against Slytherin.”

“This again…” you mutter under your breath, annoyed. “Do you ever just think people have other plans, Chan? Besides Quidditch?”

You don’t think you’ll ever forget how he looked at you then. Like a wounded puppy, like a soul sliced in half. You hated hurting him; it gutted him like no other, because it was you, because your words carried a different weight altogether. But he was being selfish and territorial, and he needed to stop. Stop demanding, stop assuming, stop deciding for you when you are perfectly capable of deciding for yourself.

Of course he’d never admit to it. Not in front of others, and especially not in front of his team. Changbin seemed uncomfortable listening to your conversation. He didn’t mean to—it was just impossible not to. His hand moved under the table, giving your knee a supportive squeeze. You squirm.

“Forgive me then,” he apologizes coldly, and the subject is dropped.

“Ravenclaw has the pitch tomorrow, man,” Changbin informs his captain. “They requested an emergency practice, since the game is around the corner.”

“Cool. Guess I have no say over anything anymore.”

You audibly sigh, piercing him with a strict glare. “You’re being dramatic.”

Chan wipes his mouth and laughs. It’s an uncontainable laugh, something that bubbled out of his throat maniacally, like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. He avoided your eyes.

“Dramatic? Baby girl, it’s you who’s lying to me,” he gets up suddenly, and passes a leg over the bench, getting ready to leave. “Ravenclaws don’t have fucking parties. And my girl has certainly never smelled like pinewood before.”

By that point, almost the entire table had stopped talking, every student staring at the interaction between the Royal couple of Gryffindor. The title never suited you; you always felt the weight of it being next to the Quidditch captain, the heaviness laying on your chest at night, thoughts of having to keep the act together for a strong and unified House or even just a peaceful school experience. You’d figured early on, that if you were to go against Bang Chan’s plans and wishes, it would be more than merely you suffering.

Because no one goes against him. No one has ever attempted to.

“Hey,” Changbin snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts. “What’s going on, almighty Seeker? Can’t figure yourself out of this one?”

Sensing people were still not minding their business, he did you a favor and scared them all off with a harsh bark of “Show’s over!” and a blazing scowl. You were never more glad to have Seo Changbin as a dear friend. He never failed to make you feel better. So many instances you can think of—he always came to the rescue, knowing just the right thing to say. A magician, but not the usual kind.

You shuffle closer to him, turning your head so your mouth is close to his ear. He leans in, curious, dark hair brushing the side of your face, brow raised. From the ceiling—snow. You watched as it fell on the student's shoulders and disappeared right away. Like it was never there.

“Jisung had a vision,” you start from the most familiar part.

Changbin almost groans, his head falling back, a disbelieving expression forming on his hard face. You squeeze his hand at once, willing, begging him to listen. And you’re not sure what it was; the serious tone of your voice or the way your eyes did not waver, not even a little bit, not even as he visibly faltered, refused to listen—

“You’re not telling me to cut it out,” he observes, baffled.

You softly shake your head, treading this subject carefully. “It’s crucial you believe me this time, Binnie.”

The beginning of the end. Your friend takes a deep breath, muscled shoulders rising and falling, and looks around before focusing on you, on what you had to say.

“Okay,” he said. His brown eyes turned dark. “I’m listening.”

As soon as Bang Chan exited the Hall, he regretted everything he said. But to go back? Admit his mistake? His ego would never let him, and he was aware of that. Perhaps he’d let a couple days go by, try to clear out his mind by flying or—he could write a letter to his mother, surely, she would have the answers, she’d guide him as she usually did…

Yes, that seemed like a solid idea. His chest deflated, his step bouncing, seemingly a weight lifting off of him—right as he was about to step on the stairwell to go to his Common Room, a certain Raven stopped him.

Not physically. By surprise.

“I thought you’d be at your table,” he remarked. “Where were you?”

Kim Seungmin stared at the Gryffindor dumbfounded. He wasn’t expecting to bump into him, and he definitely was in no state to explain or make a convincing enough excuse. Your words rang in his mind, and by the unassuming look Chan was sporting, he guessed Jisung still hadn’t told him.

“We’ve been busy,” he shrugged. “Look, there’s something you need to know. Something I found—I mean we, we found out today. It’s important.”

Chan nodded, assessing the disheveled state of his acquaintance. “Alright. What is it?”

The Ravenclaw hesitated, clearly overwhelmed himself with the discovery. He’d been informed his mother was in stable condition, that she’d be good to go come tomorrow. Even with this piece of information, Seungmin couldn’t stand still, couldn’t stop wondering. Why all this now? Why not years ago?

But he knew he couldn’t afford to think like that. A victim mindset got you nowhere with war games. He was to deal with this head on, like chess. Kill or be killed. But most of all—keep your wits about you.

The light near the Entrance flickered, like the entire castle was uneasy with the things unsaid. Seungmin didn’t doubt it whatsoever. An ancient castle has more than likely seen one too many battles, lost one too many parts of itself to cruel magic.

“There was a reading. A telling one. The Minister came and talked to us about it.”

Chan shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, strong arms folding over an equally sculpted chest. He was aware of this, everyone wouldn’t seem to stop talking about it the other day. But what about it?

“Did Han wrongly predict someone’s death again?” He asked humorously, but was greeted with a grim smile.

“It would’ve been preferred,” the Prefect agrees solemnly. “But no. He predicted a war instead.”

The captain’s eyes widened, a throaty chuckle considered answer enough. When the other boy didn’t laugh back, though, Chan got worried.

“Good one, Seungmin, yeah?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Oh, come on, man!” He tried again, this time more desperately. “It’s the twenty-first century. Wars are a thing of the past.”

The Ravenclaw nodded at that. He would’ve even agreed in the morning, before everything. But now—now was no time for doubt. For hesitation.

“I don’t suppose it will be a war with Giants and bloodshed, Chan. They’re infiltrating the Ministry. Once they take over, they’ll fight us with laws and regulations. I imagine the Death Eater clan will be freed, and their kids made pawns for their interests.”

It was too much, all at once. Chan had a plan, a premeditated life. National, then international. Captain of the Gryffindor team for now, then a Warrior. Holding the Cup, every single time, blood rushing through his veins, adrenaline getting him higher on his broomstick, crowds cheering, his team proud, proud, proud—

You. Next to him.

Not this. Certainly. For fuck’s sake.

“What are you fucking saying, Kim?” He rasped, too shocked to make sense of anything. Surely this was a mistake, a miscalculation, an error.

Chan had dreams, ambitions. He could leave this country right now and not have to deal with any of it. It would set him back—a whole fucking lot—to not graduate, to not bring one last cup to his House, but trials for the Wollogong Warriors started in six months, and if he trained consistently enough, perhaps he could—

But who was he kidding? Because of who he was, he’d have to stay. Fight. Protect. Changbin getting left behind, the Gryffindors, his team, you—he couldn’t afford that. He would never let it happen. Because it’s him, Bang Chan the King, the butterbeer pong extraordinaire, Hogwarts’ most valuable athlete, the one that would make it big, the guy everyone trusted, respected, counted on.

“Danger,” a familiar Ravenclaw voice behind him replied. “This means we’re in danger.”

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