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pinkrelish · 2 years

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𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶Cold to the bone, delirious, and scared out of his mind, Eddie is guided by the group through the woods. "Where are we going?" he asks.

They spare him not a glance. "The Safe House."✶

NSFW — one bed trope, cuddling, hurt/comfort, eddie munson needs a hug, drug/alcohol mention/use, wingman steve + robin, 18+ overall for smut, canon typical gore

chapter: 10/15 [wc: 7.7k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 10: The Safe House

His skin was rubbed raw from the damp clothes he’d been wearing for hours on end. Shoes coated with dirt, socks soaked from lake water, and feet covered in blisters. Cold everywhere. No sleep for days; only sporadic glimpses when he felt safe in the sunshine under the blue tarp in the boathouse. At night, it was fear. Fear of being hunted. Shaking, and starving, knowing he wouldn’t have the energy to put up a fight. Just running. Running, stumbling, tripping, like he did now. But, unlike before, when he was abandoned, Nancy reached out her dainty fingers, and helped him with strength beyond measure.

Eddie was surrounded by friends, if they allowed themselves to be called that. Brave friends.

It hurt worse to walk, but he was encouraged to do so by Max, of all people. Vecna’s target, marked for death, and yet she bumped past his shoulder with her chin held high in the full moonlight breaking through the twisted branches of budding trees. She gave him a curious once-over, and nodded for him to follow, thinking he’d gone dizzy and lost his way. Dustin was courageous too, acting as the navigator at the front of the party. Guiding them to some unknown destination.

Steve grasped him around the bicep, and steadied him out of his stupor. He could tell Eddie was rattled after what he’d been through. Two gruesome deaths, traversing a literal hell. Still, it was Steve, with his neck torn to shreds and hobbling with gaping wounds, who comforted Eddie. “We’re almost there,” he said with such a strange glint of his teeth, as if he were grinning. But he wouldn’t be, right?

“Where’re we going?” Eddie asked, having been subjected to wandering through darkened woods for days. From the pitch-black Upside Down, to nighttime Hawkins.

“The Safe House.”

“The what?”

Dustin waved his compass up ahead, and whispered-shouted at the two men lagging behind. “If you two don’t get a move on, we won’t make it in time for dinner!”

“Twerp,” Steve muttered under his breath.

For once, Eddie focused on anything other than his abject misery. “Dinner?”

No one volunteered to answer him.

Too preoccupied from yanking his leg out of the dense bramble, Eddie also missed the shifty looks shared amongst the group, and the big blue sign outside the building they were approaching, and the orientation of the layout–particularly, the long stretch of rooms, and especially, the corner unit with an extra window facing the edge of the forest.

——Three Days, 7 Hours, 29 Minutes Prior——

Reefer Rick’s address flashed on screen. It wasn’t a perfect lead, but it was the best they had. Understandably, Steve nabbed Family Video’s master keys from under the desk, and ushered everyone towards the door, while Robin checked for customers in the aisles. Max was ready to get out of there too, until she realized another set of footsteps did not follow.

Dustin’s gaze remained glued to the phone sitting before him.

“Come on, dude. What’re you waiting for?” Steve spread his arms wide in annoyance at the gall of Dustin to be the one keeping them from finding his friend. His super cool older male role model friend who listens to loud music, dresses however he wants, and runs his little nerd game, or whatever the f–

“Finding Eddie is important, but..” Dustin’s curls bounced as he grabbed the phone and ran off with it to the manager’s office. “There’s someone else we should call! His girlfriend! She can help us.”

Steve choked back a laugh. “Girlfriend?” When the girls didn’t join in on the joke, he pursued Dustin with a vengeance. “Eddie “The Freak” Munson has a girlfriend?” He expected Robin to be just as bewildered, but she was in her own world, gathering the other phone to her chest and dialing 4-1-1.

Dustin nodded. “She goes to Penn State–”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “She’s in college?”

“I met her when she played DND with us,” he explained.

“She plays Dungeons and Dragons?” Steve’s voice couldn’t get higher.

“Yeah, she’s really cool!”

“And she’s cool?” he squeaked. It actually could go higher.

Ignoring him, Dustin turned his attention to Robin.

“Hi!” she said, full of cheer to the withered directory assistant. “What’s the area code for Penn State–Uh, Pennsylvania State University?” After a second, she spoke aloud for Dustin. “8-1-4? And the weather is mild, uh.. Okay. And oh, neat, we’re in the same time zone.”

Dustin punched the buttons on his phone for the local operator. 814-555-1212. “Hello, fine sir, I hope you are having a swell day.” Someone should tell him the fake ‘adult’ persona he assumed did little to convince anyone he was an actual grown up. “I’m in search of the contact information for.. Uh.. Someone in charge at the dorm for the women’s athletic teams at Penn State?” he finished quickly, sounding not unlike a balloon losing its air. “I’m looking to speak to an athlete for a.. report. Project. Thing. For school.”

The static funneling through the phone went silent.

After a stretch of heart palpitating seconds, the man spoke up, and gave Dustin the number for the Resident Adviser for the dorm.

Steve made an indignant scoff at them, and leaned towards Max. “Did you know Eddie Munson had a girlfriend?” She gave him a weird look, and shrugged. Righting himself, he asked Robin, “Is this really necessary? Eddie could be, well,” –He dragged his thumb over his throat– “by the time we wrap up this little game of Telephone and hit the road.”

She rolled her eyes at him and took the phone from Dustin to talk to the dweeby sounding Resident Adviser. “Hello, my name’s Robin Buckley. I'm a reporter for the Hawkins Post inquiring to speak to one of your athletes for a story about her coming from a small town and making it big.” Pressing the phone to her shoulder, she whispered to Dustin, “She is from Hawkins, right?” He gave a thumbs up. “Yes!” She spoke to the self-righteous, self-important voice on the line. He must’ve refused, because her face dropped. But so did her voice, as she abstained from making eye contact with anyone else in the room, twirling her finger around the phone cord. “If you patch me through, I’ll..”

In unanimous effort, the rest of them tuned her out, until she shoved the phone to Dustin’s ear.

He listened to it ring. And ring. And ring. And finally..

A gravelly, “Eddie?” answered.

Steve and Robin smashed their faces on either side of his, eavesdropping. Fully invested.

“Riddle Master Valendrei!”

“..Dustin?”

Way too enthused, he gasped, and clutched his chest. “You remember me! And what a coincidence you brought up Eddie! So, listen, he’s uh, in a little bit of a situation, you could say.”

There was rustling in the background. A lot of movement from what could’ve been bedsheets, followed by the metallic click of a purse being popped open. Point blank, tired, and weary, you inquired without a second thought, “How much is his bail?”

Steve snorted in approval. “She definitely knows him, all right.” Dustin smacked him from over his shoulder.

“It’s not that. Rest assured, nothing like that. It’s, ah.. Well. It’s worse. Can you come down here, like, soon? Extremely soon?”

Many responses started and died on your tongue. It was obvious you were pacing, probably wringing your neck with how it distorted your words, “Worse? H-How serious is it? I’m not on Spring Break yet, and I have midterms next week. Is there any way this can wait?”

Robin spoke up, “Probably not something you want to wait on, but we can do our best to keep him safe.”

“Safe?” you cried. “Goddammit.. Okay, uhm, give me a day or two and I can be there. I need to take care of a few things first, but–Jesus Christ, Dustin–tell me what’s going on before I have a panic attack. Where’s Eddie? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, so, last night..”

——Present Day——

Eddie was steered in the direction he should go. A hand pressed into the middle of his back, the owner’s warmth sinking through his jacket. He had the wherewithal to recognize he was delirious, but not the competence to divide his fleeting attention. Just when he’d grasped he was staring at a gray painted wall, he was shoved into a line. Someone was in front of him. Who? Too obscured by the shadows of the short building to tell. They were disappearing through a hole. A black square hole. Where to? Where.. Where to?

The owner of the hand on his back said something in his ear. Steve? Or maybe it was Lucas, and they pushed him forward. It was his turn to climb through. He complied. Not because he was brave, but because he was forced.

Nothing greeted his unadjusted eyes by sight, just the shuffling sounds of people moving out of his way. Using their hands to guide him into a packed place. Snug with bodies crowded around the entrance, whispers bouncing off the nearby walls.

“Is that everyone?” a kind, but stern someone asked.

“There’s a conga line of about twelve mosquitoes waiting to get in if you don’t close the window,” Steve said.

Eddie was lost in darkness. Until his Light found him.

A lamp clicked on by the turn of a knob. Eddie’s big, brown eyes grew. Familiarity, and a stark realization, greeted him. He was standing in the same room he’d been in half a year ago. The queen sized bed, two nightstands, an array of sitting chairs with one table near the front window next to the door, and a chest of drawers at the end of the bed balancing a large mirror.

The rest of the audience meandered to give space for the two wayward halves to reconnect.

His gaze landed on you, and his bottom lip shrugged.

Eddie was more prone to showing his vulnerability than most other men, that much you knew–wearing his sensitive heart on his sleeve around those he trusted–but you didn’t anticipate his relief to be so visible, knocking the air from his lungs. Stuttering his breath with every dragging step. Long strides of aching desperation to close the vast distance between you once and for all.

To anyone else, it would have been underwhelming, but to you, your world becoming his dirty hands reaching for you was a life of eternal pleasure incarnate. You knew not to expect him to hug you, and maybe that was for the best, because the simple act of his fingers curling in, and you accepting his weight against your knuckles, had your knees wobbling.

His gaudy rings dug into your bones. Flakes of blood and dirt and ash and decay grimed on contact. You kept him steady by the extraordinary opportunity of being able to touch him. Skin on skin. You could cry as he shivered into your body heat. Leaning into the unique embrace until nothing else existed. No sound outside two overworking hearts.

He’d never been this close on purpose. Where the tense expanse of his shoulders dropped into a relaxed slouch, and his head dropped forward, foreheads a suggestion apart. Eyes drifting half-way closed as he let go of his inhibitions, and studied you up close with the tantamount enthusiasm you examined him in–like neither of you could grasp the concept of being within arms reach after drifting apart one missed call at a time.

But did you ever really drift apart?

The trembling fondness in your matching grins proposed otherwise.

Attentive to the mild abrasion on the corner of his jaw, you spoke with such hushed awe, even he strained to hear beyond the hard consonants. “You’re okay.”

He was worse at keeping his voice down, but he tried for the sake of the moment, without losing the absolute cloying affection in his whisper. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

Your eyes greedily drank in the other’s appearance, and when satisfied, they met. Gazing across the months of solitude. Of pain, and loneliness, and longing. Watery, and sweet.

“I missed you.”

“M’ssed you, too,” you said.

And the moment came to a close with his snuffed out smile as reality sank into his features.

Fascinated, Robin said in quiet amazement, “That was the most sensual fist bump I’ve ever seen in my life.” And Steve added a breathless, “Yeah.”

Eddie pointed a strict finger at you and rounded on the people he considered closer than family under recent circumstances. “Why is she here?” The group straightened their spines against the teetering vitriol laced in his clipped words. A dangerous balance between restrained anger, and denial. Daring them to confront him.

He zeroed on one person in particular. “Dustin? Don’t tell me, man..”

Robin stepped in. “We thought you could use your girlfriend here for support, Eddie.”

“We’re not dating,” he interjected.

Lucas pulled a similar expression to those around him. “What do you mean you aren’t dating? You literally never shut up about her–”

You smacked Eddie’s hand out of your face and shoved your way past him. “I’m here to help you, you idiot.” Rounding the corner of the bed, you reeled at the sight of Steve, blood slipping down his throat, wearing Eddie’s vest and surely staining the inside with the pool of gore seeping from his abdomen. “Jesus.” He fixed his mouth in a slant and shrugged.

Eddie was quick to claim your attention by following you on your heels. “This isn’t a goddamn sleepover with your best friend like it's the good ol’ times. I don’t know what they told you, but I’m a wanted man. You can’t be here. Hey, are you listening to me?” He cornered you at the other nightstand, fuming at your back while you sorted through your purse without a care in the world. “I’m wanted for murder! If you get caught, you’re harboring a fugitive. That’s a prison sentence! Think of your future. Your degree. The Olym–Huh?”

You cut off his ranting by sweeping your arm across his chest, moving him to the side so you could speak to the group. “Here’s the key for the black car parked across the street. If anything goes wrong, there’s about four days worth of food and water in the trunk to feed.. Well, some of you. I’m not made of money.” You lifted the mattress and produced two sheets of dirty metal. “Fake plates are already on. I got the car from a rental outside of Indy who doesn’t ask too many questions. If anything happens to it, it’ll go on Sasha Pennermen’s record.” Answering the puzzled glances around the room, you slid the thin piece of plastic off the nightstand and held it up. “My fake ID.”

“Fake plates, fake ID. How do you get this stuff?” Steve asked, catching the jangling keys and pocketing them.

“I live in a college town,” you shrugged it off like a duh? and put your illegal items away. “Same ground rules as what we discussed earlier. One: no talking to cops. Two: if you need to call me, use a payphone on the corner, not the ones attached to a store. They’re startin’ to put those freakin’ cameras everywhere. Can’t have any fun these days.”

Nancy made herself heard from where she shrank into one of the chairs, hugging herself. “A little late for the ‘don’t talk to cops’ speech.”

“That’s not all,” Erica confided with an accusatory glance around the room, crossing her arms. “I imagine we all have targets on us after we ran away from them.”

You were clasping your hands so tight, they shook. You clapped, turned your palms up, and clapped them again, smiling through your grimace. “A room full of wanted people. Great. Looks like we have our work cut out for us, then. Hiding from the police smack dab in the smallest town on the planet.” A few of them had the good graces to appear remorseful.

Eddie was uncharacteristically quiet.

Moving on, you apologized to the worn-down, fatigued group squeezing into any comfy spot they could fit into. “Sorry, I would’ve been here sooner. Had a few things to sort out before I could leave.”

The pinch of confusion concentrating between Eddie’s eyebrows subsided. His posture wilted, then stiffened. Jaw set. Grinding his teeth, pulsing the muscle there.

“Dinner should–ah!” The phone rang. You answered, and spoke briefly in, “Yeps!” and “Okays.” Pulling your wallet from your purse, you counted some cash, and made finger guns at the door. “Be right back.”

Eddie stopped you. Imposing his unassuming stature like a brick wall; expressionless, eyes glinting fragments of amber in the dim lamplight. Tone eerily calm, “You have Nationals in two days.”

“How do you even know that?”

“Nationals? I thought you said you had midterms this week?” Dustin recalled.

If looks could kill, Dustin would burst into flames under the ire of your glare, and you would be in the fifth circle of hell from Eddie’s.

“Midterms?” he repeated, turning his face away from Dustin to you, ever so slowly, pinning you with repercussions of his stare. “Midterms?” The incredulity spat from his lips. “Midterms?” He sounded in danger of hyperventilating. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“It doesn’t matter, Eddie,” you stressed. You dodged him, succeeding two paces towards your exit.

He trailed you. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Of course it matters! Wait–Why wouldn’t it matter?” He caught the sleeve of your flannel, pulling the unbuttoned shirt down your shoulder, showing off your black muscle tank underneath.

You saw the question in his eyes. He saw the answer in yours.

“Why don’t your midterms matter?”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“..You dropped out?”

His weak whisper begged you to deny it. You pressed your lips in a nonnegotiable reticent line, and continued walking away, to where Robin and Steve observed you two at the table. But Eddie wasn’t done. When he was determined, he dug his hole to bedrock. Stubborn. Hounding you until you grasped the door knob, saying the one thing he shouldn’t.

“Please tell me you’re joking? You quit college to come here? Your entire future is planned out for you! I refuse to let you throw your life away for this!” Eddie collided with a force to be reckoned with. Whatever he was going to say on that next intake of breath was suffocated under your knuckles.

Initially, you intended to stab your finger at the center of his chest, but he failed to slow down at the same time you experienced a wave of confidence, so you eviscerated his hope by eliminating the space between your bodies, planting your fist firmly on him. A monumental touch.

The toe of his shoes nudged yours. His heartbeat swelled under your mighty hand. There was a gloss to his eyes, now, knocked from his outburst and coming to accept the gravity of you being here.

Your gaze bore into his. Unwavering, unflinching. Devoted and devastatingly honest. “I have earned the right to this life through blood, sweat, and tears,” your voice quivered. Channeling a lifetime of unworthiness into the cut of your words, leaving no room for argument, “I’ll do with it what I want. I’m not leaving you again, Eddie.” Any rebuttal vanished on those pink lips of his the moment you lifted your finger to his chin, dragging it across his stubble. “And I’d appreciate a thank you next time, sweetheart.”

At that, you were gone.

Eddie’s stomach clenched at the closed door.

“I like her,” Erica admired from her perch next to the TV, and Max agreed in an impressed, “Yeah.” Lucas shifted uncomfortably between them.

“Goddamnit, Goddamnit, Goddamnit.” Eddie paced, running his hands through his hair, exhaling repetitive expletives. Combing, raking, worrying until his oily fringe stood on end, and his short curls frizzed into a mane. God-fucking-damnit. “She.. Oh, fuck.”

He came to a forced halt.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve caught him in the curve of his arm–winced at the impact stretching his wounds–and turned their backs to the rest of the room with the exception of Robin, who offered Eddie a gentle smile.

Controlling his voice so only his chosen trinity heard, Steve thought it was time to give Eddie a heart-to-heart similar to the one he gave him in the Upside Down.

“Now, I acknowledge my privilege in regards to women willing to jump into a lake for me, but I’ve never seen anything like that with these optimistic eyes of mine,” he said in the same cadence Eddie used on him. Sparing a glance at the door, he clicked his tongue. “I’ve never known someone who’s just a friend to sacrifice the amount she has to be here today. We told her you were in trouble, and she came running. College education, whatever the hell Nationals is for her to have delts bigger than mine; nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing else mattered in the world except for protecting you. And that, that, is more than casual friendship, dude.” He leaned in. “To be honest, I’m jealous. If I were you, I’d have put a ring on her finger, like, yesterday.”

Eddie dragged a hand down his face, and kept his eyes closed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, man. She’s my best friend.”

“Oh!” Robin snapped. “I love rom-coms, let me guess! You’ve been best friends since you were kids and–” She stood, eyes darting as she searched her memory for the hundreds of movies she’d watched. “Yeah, definitely best friends since you were kids, and you grew up together, always there for each other, fell in love with her years ago, and you’re scared that if you confess, either she’ll reject you or she’ll admit she’s been in love with you too, but then there’s the fear of something going wrong in the relationship, and you’d lose not only your girlfriend, but your best friend too! How’d I do? Did I get it right?”

In love with you for years.

The knot in Eddie’s throat bobbed under the eagerness of her beaming grin. Did Robin have a special talent, or was he that easy to read? Either way, his long hair was his saving grace, shielding his red ears from betraying him amidst the second worst week of his life.

“I think it’s sweet she’s wearing your shirt.”

“My..?”

“Yeah,” she answered his confusion. “The tag was sticking out. Your initials are E.M., right? Written with one of those jumbo Sharpies.”

The door knob jiggled. Eddie considered ducking behind a piece of furniture, but he figured his life couldn’t get more fucked than it currently was, and merely blinked at the opening door with disinterest, welcoming his fate.

“Dinner’s here,” you announced, juggling a stack of pizza boxes. The combined anxious energy of the room, and the deathly quiet, alerted you to the man-shaped brooding aura at your side, with his hands stuffed in his leather jacket’s pockets, and head dipped to deliver a condescending remark directly into your ear.

“Exactly what part of this situation screams ‘pizza party’ to you?”

Overflowing with a devious pout, you raised your shoulder to your chin, and batted your lashes at Eddie with a look of pure innocence. “Don’t worry, I ordered a sausage pizza just for you.”

“I’m going to kill you,” he stated.

“Wouldn’t want a second murder charge, Munson.”

“Actually, you’d be the third,” Dustin clarified, opening the top box and taking a slice of pepperoni before you could set them on the table. “He got a second charge yesterday, and now his name’s been released to the public. Got a whole village mob thing goin’ on. Pitchforks and all, probably.”

“Definitely,” Lucas mumbled.

At this point, your brain was too burnt-out from receiving shocking information for one day, so you nodded at them, and said, “Ah.” That’s it. Two murder charges? Wonderful. Police searching for the seven sets of hands clamoring over breadsticks? Lovely. Eddie’s name released to the public? Stupendous!

Life was great.

Yeah, life was great.

You sat on the side of the bed closest to the door, where you left your purse, and leaned against the pillow; and without a hint of communication, Eddie walked around to the other side, and mirrored you, sitting with one leg folded in front of him and the other hanging off the side, body slightly angled away, and scarfing down a slice of pizza. When he was done, you handed him another one. Along with a napkin.

Oddly, his attention seemed to be aimed at the back of your neck, and the tint of rosiness to his cheeks hadn’t disappeared from your innuendo earlier.

Sitting criss-cross on the floor, Robin sighed in bliss, “Warm food feels so good right now.” There was a round of drowsy hums in harmony. Tucking into their cheap, greasy fast food with the kind of melancholic joy of a prisoner eating their last meal.

“So..” you cut through the sounds of chewing. “Is anyone gonna explain why I’m here? Why the cops think Eddie murdered people, why you’re covered in blood, all that?” Considering you were judging Steve and his ability to eat with a gaping hole in his stomach poorly patched over with a strip of sweater, he took on the responsibility of filling you in

“A girl named Chrissy Cunningham–”

“Chrissy? I know her. We took tumbling together at the rec center as kids.” You heard Eddie’s hard exhale behind you, and sneaked a look at him. His eyes were screwed closed, and his face was scrunched in pain, smoothing his fingertips over the bridge of his nose.

Steve continued, a bit more gently, “Well, she was at Eddie’s trailer when she died. Murdered would be a better word, by Vecna, who I’ll get to in a minute, but that’s why the police think it’s him. Anyway, yeah, Vecna’s this dude who lives in a place we call the Upside Down..”

Calm. Calm. Calm. CalmCalmCalm. calmcalmcalmcalmcalm.

Chrissy was at Eddie’s trailer.

Chrissy was at Eddie’s trailer and you could feel the etch of his stare on the side of your face, analyzing your reaction. You gave him nothing but passivity. Resisting the urge to scratch at the sudden itchy sweat dripping down your back. Refusing to take your eyes off Steve, who was going on and on about shit you couldn’t fathom, trying desperately to not dwell on the reason why Eddie cringed when he remembered you knew her. Thinking maybe he meant to pick someone anonymous to date, and this was crossing a boundary. Forcing yourself to hang onto every word falling from Steve’s mouth in order to smother the nagging voices in your head taunting you, telling you he stopped calling because he had a girlfriend.

“And, yeah, the Upside Down is just like Hawkins, but there’s monsters everywhere, and Vecna controls them..”

“Oh!” Robin perked up at you. “You would’ve been great with the Demobats! You could’ve punched them right outta the sky. Couldn’t she, Steve?”

Steve stuttered, “I-I mean, they’re bigger than a normal bat.. And have barbs on their tails. Big teeth and claws. And, uh, stronger than you think.. I could’ve taken them too, if I wasn’t ganged up on by.. ten, or more of them..”

Erica’s judgy sneer spoke for all of you.

You meant no offense to Steve, or any of the kids joining him in explaining this whole other dimension, and girl-with-powers thing, but it was mostly going in one ear and out the other. It was hard to follow along with what nonsense they were spouting when Eddie’s gaze was still on you, and you were ashamed to admit how much it bothered you to know he was dating someone else. Not you. Never you.

“A hell world filled with monsters and a big bad guy that looks like beef jerky, and he’s the one that killed Chrissy and Patrick and Fred, and now Max is next, and all this is connected to a girl whose name is a number. Got it.” You sipped your water.

Dustin quipped, “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Great,” Steve groaned, pushing himself out of the chair, and unanimously, the rest of the group followed his lead. “Now that we’re on the same page, we should get going.”

“Wait, where’re you going?” Eddie panicked.

Lucas sucked the oil off his fingers, much to Erica’s revulsion, and then wiped them on his pants, much to Max’s dismay. “We have our own Safe House.”

“Yeah, you two get some rest, we’ll be back tomorrow to work out a plan,” Steve said, making his way to the window and opening it for the party to leave through. “Should probably take care of these bites before I die of sepsis. That would be lame way to go out. And your van is still in the woods next to Reefer Rick’s, right? We’ll take care of it for you. Make it look like you left town or something.”

“Is there anything you want us to save in there before we do?” Robin asked.

Many emotions influenced Eddie’s facial expressions. Fond thoughts of his precious amps, a guitar or two, a few stashes of keepsakes that were less important than the ones in his room, but worthy of rescuing nonetheless. “Yeah, there’s uh..” he trailed off. The crust of his sausage pizza went limp in his hand.

He did not need a bunch of children discovering what else he had hidden in the back of his van–namely, the specially ordered magazines featuring women in little clothing, with pages dogeared on the models who resembled someone currently narrowing their eyes at him.

“Actually, forget it,” he said after spacing out. “Do whatever you want.”

Eddie shoved the crust in his mouth to prevent him from saying more.

“‘Kay.. You two have fun,” Steve said, sporting an annoying salute. It was obvious he wanted to imply more, but reading the mood of the room, he let it go, and climbed through the window, shutting it behind him.

“Not too much fun,” Robin chimed in from beyond the glass as the two halves of the curtain united.

The stillness that followed was heavy. Cold. Even when they were quiet, it was impossible to disguise the racket a group of people produced; breathing, swallowing, shuffling their feet, sighing. There was an awareness in the tension remaining. You and Eddie. Sharing the same bed.

And what better way to shush your nerves than by opening the mini fridge. “Now that the kids are gone,” you said, grabbing two ice-cold bottles, and walking them to Eddie.

He accepted the beer with more gratitude than you deserved. “A 40oz? Have I ever told you you’re an angel?”

“Don’t think you’ve ever called me that, no.”

Each step away from him was a deliberate action. Choosing to return to your side of the bed instead of sitting next to him. Sinking into the plush duvet, backs facing each other, playing with twist tops until the other cracked theirs first–tsss. Minds drifting to the same topic, yet declining to acknowledge it. Until the bile burning the length of your chest was too much to ignore.

Staring at the joint where the popcorn ceiling met the wall, you supposed you went over the sentence in your head hundreds of times before you could articulate it casually and without an underlying tremor of jealousy.

“Not that it matters, and you don’t have to answer, but.. What was Chrissy doing at your trailer?”

“It was just a drug deal.” The fact he chose the direct route of correcting what you were implying was not lost on you. He used a strong, swift, powerful voice to allay any worry you had before it could evolve into suspicion, “When Vecna picks his target, they start getting these massive headaches, and have hallucinations. She came to me looking for weed at first, and then asked for something stronger. I knew I had some K at home, so I took her there, where she.. s-she..”

Glancing, you made eye contact with him through the mirror, and when he turned to look at you, you twisted to face him.

“I swear it wasn’t anything more than a drug deal,” he promised softly. Imbuing his words with sincerity, and his wide eyes with naked candor, pleading for you to believe him with more passion than a friend should have, as if it mattered to him that you knew he didn’t have feelings for her. But neither of you addressed that convoluted mess, just like he didn’t question the significance of you crawling across the bed to sit next to him only once you knew he wasn’t dating someone while you were away.

He spread his legs to increase the staggering amount of thigh you had pressed against his in an invaluable moment of overindulgence.

You clinked his beer.

Both of you closed your eyes, put the bottles to your lips, and tipped your heads back, drinking with a sigh.

“In trouble and from darkness you come, Eddie, yet your coming is joy to me,” you said in a wise, old voice.

“Quoting Earthsea at me?” His chest rose with a besotted hum. “Never change.”

Swallowing the bitter taste of alcohol, you asked, “Is what they said true?”

“Never met Eleven, but yeah, it’s all true. Robin was right, too. We could’ve used your help back there. Coulda punched the bats right outta the sky.” He mimicked throwing weak punches while making cartoon sound effects with his mouth.

You snorted into your bottle while taking another gulp. Eddie copied you, downing his with more vigor. No one could blame him.

“Is it, ah..” he started, running his palm over the shredded strings of his jeans stretched over his knee. “Is it true, about school? Did you..?”

“It’s not so cut and dry,” you assured him, figuring he’d been tortured enough for one day. “I drafted my letter, but it still needs the signatures from the rest of my professors, my Coach, all that stuff.” Beer fueled your dismissive hand movements. “I tried to finish my first midterm on Monday, Eddie, I really did, but I couldn’t just sit there and focus on a stupid test while you were 8 hours away, in deep shit.”

In your periphery, you saw his disappointed head shake, causing knotted strands of his hair to fall over his hunched shoulders.

“I still think you’re ruining your future.”

“What if I don’t give a fuck?” He jerked at your abrasiveness. You collected the condensation from your bottle and dried your hand on your thigh, wedging your fingers over the curve of the muscle, and sliding them along his leg. “What if I don’t want to go to college anymore, or work myself to an early grave and not get appreciated for it? Win all the Golds I can hang around my neck, but can’t walk the next morning? What if I want to join the circus and learn to juggle while tightrope walking? What if I die there, instead? What if I don’t know what I want to do with my life? Is that okay? What if New Years was the last time I saw you?” You stopped to suppress the air in your lungs. Holding it there. Not letting it go. Not until the tears stopped blurring your vision. “What if I don’t give a fuck about any of your dreams for me? Not yours, not mom’s, not Coach’s. What if I’m finally doing what I want?”

He stopped wringing his lips together to ask meekly, “And what’s that?”

You released a sad, single laugh, and conceded to the one thought repeating on an endless loop above all others in your head. “At first I was going to say keeping you out of trouble, but I think we both know.. When you’re in trouble, I’m right there with you. I want to be right there with you. Forever, remember?”

Unable to verbalize what he was thinking to give the outer corners of his eyes a delicate kiss of wrinkles, he made a noise of agreement, and cheers you with a dear lean into your shoulder. You braced him. For just a brief second. It was lovely.

“And to address the elephant in the room,” you began in a mocking tone, “Yes, that’s my gym bag next to my suitcase, and yes, I can still compete at Nationals if I want to. I haven’t officially dropped out yet.”

“Good to know.”

The conversation stalled as Eddie downed the rest of his beer and sat it on the nightstand with a clunk. You weren’t far behind him. Despite the pleasant tipsiness you both had at this point, the humor of the night dwindled to the circular cycles of grief. Of uprooting your life for someone who unfairly witnessed too much.

“I’ve never been more scared in my life,” Eddie admitted in a whisper. His stare was unfocused. Haunted. Remembering things he never should have been subjected to. “I’ve just been running.. Running away in fear. I can’t even process what’s happening anymore.”

“Mm, I think my brain shut down hours ago.” Probably after your sixth caffeine pill wore off post-midterm and post-packing your car for an undetermined amount of days trip and post-driving in the countryside at night. It was reprehensible enough your first thought upon learning of Chrissy’s death was to accuse Eddie of fucking her instead of mourning her life like any sane person, but you tried to give yourself a break. Nothing about the last few days had been sane, or rational.

Gliding the back of your fingers along the seam of his jacket sleeve to the top of its broken zipper in an attempt to soothe him without direct contact, you reeled at the black goop you collected in the process.

Eddie took the hint. “Guess I should shower now.”

“Yeah, you smell awful.”

“Breaking my heart here, babe.”

Nothing woke you up quite like him using a pet name for you. He might rejoice when his battered body hit the mattress later, but you could cry now. Embarrassingly, you could weep at his use of a term of endearment. Babe. He was so sweet to someone so selfish as you.

He asked, “Will you be asleep when I get out?”

You put your whole body into nodding, and answered gruffly, “Oh, yes.”

~~~

Eddie stared at his naked self in the mirror. A bruise the size of a basketball was swelling to fruition along his ass cheek and hip from when he caught Robin during an earthquake. Spinning in a slow circle, he assessed more. Turning this way and that to find scrapes in strange places. Muddy brown blood mixed with unnatural black. Constellations of purple under layers of filth. Traumas to the surface he couldn’t recall earning. He hurt so much, he couldn’t feel them anymore, and scavenging his body was the preferred distraction from where he knew he was retrograding. The inevitable.

Snap.

Twist.

Squish.

Pop.

Adrenaline was a backhanded thing. It aided memory. Thrills you wanted to imprint for a lifetime, and horrors you did not.

Why did he work so hard to swim for air only to be met with the snap of Patrick’s knees echoing across the surface? Jason’s reedy cry when his friend’s mangled body splashed his face?

Why did he keep his eyes open when Chrissy’s popped, and wetness rained upon his cheeks?

Water felt awful on his skull. Drumming like their twisted fingers on his scalp, tracing the ridges of his spine. Running grungy with muck, and never feeling clean. The white soap you left for him was too pure. The shampoo bottle felt wrong under his torn fingernails paling from the strain of his clutch on reality. The cold tile dripped with sludge found at the bottom of the lake as he rested his forehead there, trying to calm himself down.

He tried. He tried. He tried.

Scrubbing himself til his skin blushed pink. Til his tangled hair combed smooth between his fingers. Til the beat of hot water on the tub drowned everything out. Til he didn’t care that he was using your toothbrush after his fourth consecutive day of morning breath.

Wiping the fog from the mirror, he knew he’d lost it.

He didn’t recognize himself.

He did, but he didn’t.

Toeing at his dirty clothes stretched across the floor to be dealt with at a later time, he dressed in his blue checkered boxers, and peeked outside the door.

The room was dark, and you didn’t make a sound.

Creeping further into the short hallway, he saw your back facing him from the bed. Shoulders just a touch above the covers.

Eddie opened the door wider and reached for the light switch. He hesitated, and dropped his hand.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t turn off the light. Too dark. For days on end. The forest surrounding Lover’s Lake, Skull Rock, the Upside Down, and Hawkins. Dark dark dark.

Going to the small TV on the chest of drawers, he flipped it on, and turned the volume down low. Adjusting the antennas, it was with a passing bit of ease he understood what he was watching. The fuzz dissipated. The dampness on his skin dried. The wrestlers slammed their backs on the squared circle. Not popular wrestlers who had audiences flocking to see them. Obscure ones. Still, he knew their names from the hours he’d spent at Gareth’s, insisting he used his cable to watch the weekly shows. Because it made him feel connected to you.

He walked to his side of the bed. Watched you for a moment. Shoulders rising and falling in peace under a loose white shirt. Bedsheet wrapped around your fists nestled to your chin.

You were wearing something different from earlier, and he was mostly naked.

Opening your suitcase, the black muscle tee welcomed him like an old friend. Tattered. Holes along the hem. It wasn’t sleeveless when he gave it to you some odd years ago, you must’ve ripped them off. What a liar. Claiming you returned all his clothes before you moved away. He wasn’t too surprised, though, running his finger over the tag with his initials.

Afterall, he collected many more reminders of you.

Moving on, he dug deeper. Clawing his way through your neatly folded outfits. Searching, searching. Pulling things out at random and holding them up to his body and tossing them. Over and over. He was panicking. Sweating. Couldn’t catch his breath. The inevitable. It was happening. It was happening. It was coming. It was here.

His chest tightened.

He grabbed a dark blue sweatshirt and pulled it over his head. It didn’t fit. The cuffs resisted meeting his wrist. Covered most of his skin. It’d have to do.

He went to his side of the bed again. And stared.

Snap.

Twist.

Squish.

Pop.

“Hey.” It came out as a whimper. “Are you awake?”

The first tear beaded over his lower lashes.

Could you feel it if he touched you? The secrets he kept suppressed for years? Screaming violence in his blood when you got a little too close. When he let you take things a little too far. When he dropped his guard a little too much. When you looked at him for the first time in months, and he got carried away, almost pressing his forehead to yours in a kind of intimacy he’d never explored before. Take, take, take. More, more, more.

He couldn’t. It was inappropriate. Friends. You were just friends. Best friends.

What were you wearing? He couldn’t find bottoms that fit. His legs were exposed. Were yours?

Shaking. Shaking. The ache was getting worse. Building, building, building. Throat constricting. Teeth clacking. Inappropriate, inappropriate, inappropriate.

A tear clung to the corner of his unsteady frown.

“Can I hold you?”

You didn’t answer, sleeping.

His Light. His Safe House.

Snap.

Twist.

Squish.

Pop.

The last of his energy being used to stave off the inevitable vanished. He buckled. He couldn’t do it. Beaten down by his reputation, his cowardice, his inability to succeed, his self-destructive habit of resisting taking refuge in the one person who brought him unconditional shelter without expecting anything in return.. All of it broke at once.

Light.

Safety.

Refuge.

Sanctuary.

With his gaze on the floor, his tears dotted the carpet as he tried between desperate inhales, “N-Need to hold you.”

He pulled back the covers and crawled into bed next to you. Shifting closer, closer. Sliding his arm under your head, throwing his other across your chest, and bringing you to him. More, more, more. It was wrong. It should feel wrong. It didn’t feel wrong. Your sleepy face was pressed into his flexed bicep, lifting your cheek to his nose. To where his lips muttered into your soft skin. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.

He said it in coughs due to his sobs. “Sorry–S-Sorry,” he wept. “I–Sorry. I. I.” His tears slipped over his nose, falling to your cheek in one stride. He shouldn’t be doing this. Holding you like this. Legs tucked against yours. It was wrong. Inappropriate. “Just need to hold you. I’m so sorry. Oh, God. I’m s-so sorry.” He risked more intimacy. Hugging you to his chest with the strength of his dormant urges. Years of cravings stirring in his muscles. Desires coaxing his lips–just once–to discover your jaw as he attempted to control himself, and force his face into the vacancy below your ear, burying himself against your neck, making a small whine when your hand found his safe haven.

You reassured him in a tender stroke along his temple. “It’s okay, Eddie. I’m here. You can hold me.”

Taglist: @xxhospital-for-soulsxx @myfavoritesareproblematic @henhouse-horrors @tlclick73 @sidthedollface2 @i-will-duckyou-up @qnsfwthoughts @captainonaboat @eddiemuns0nl0ver @godcreatoreli @harrys-tittie @eg-dr3amer3 @trixyvix88 @venomsvl @lacrymosa-24 @sashaphantomhive @sharp-and-swift @emokid-ellie @mantorokk-writes @drdvlss @mirrorsstuff @bebe0701 @eddiethesexy @edsforehead @b-irock @brittney69 @princesseddie @hes-a-rainbow @churchmuffins @barbielibra @lulukings92 @emotionaldreamer @whoahoney @walleloveseve @glossiepjm @hellfire-puppet @eiriancrow @munsons-mayhem28 @mattymurdocksbitch @tayhar811

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

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pictureyous · 1 month

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Anna Kendrick as Beca Mitchell Pitch Perfect

@lgbtqcreators creator bingo | hexagon layout + favorite character + mint

#userheidikins #userlgbtq #beca mitchell #pitch perfect #userdean #userkarolina #tuservaleria #userbuckleys #usermaguire #useralison #tusermichi #usertix #userhallie

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strawberryfragola · 2 years

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unknown treasure

dragon hybrid! zhongli x reader

warnings: NON!CON VOYEURISM, afab!reader, dragonish zhongli, yandere behaviour, stalking, predator/prey dynamic, breeding kink, hints to oviposition, masturbation, MDNI

zhongli noticed the swell of your hips first. you were wrapped up in a cute little apron, the strings pulled tight around your waist, and inadvertently displaying your curves to the creature who craved someone like you. absorbed in serving a customer, you didn’t notice the stranger studying you. he found his heart warming as he watched you getting flustered at your customers demands, panicking and apologising when you brought the wrong dishes, knocked over glasses and generally made a fool of yourself.

he couldn’t help but smile at your ineptitude, lost in his own thoughts. it didn’t matter you were hopeless, with him you would be perfect. he could protect you, keeping you safe and content in his nest. and those hips, he sighed, his cock throbbing, as images of what he would do to you when he captured you, when you were his treasure, overwhelmed him. you would look beautiful with your stomach swollen with his hoard.

he took his time in approaching you. he needed to play this carefully, needed to eliminate any suspicion of his involvement when he finally made his move. zhongli intended to make notes on anyone who might notice your disappearance, friends, family or (he grimaced at the thought) lovers, who would notify the millelith. he was pleasantly surprised to learn how easy this would be. you were not of liyue descent, any relatives you had were far away and would take months to realise that their letters were going unanswered. you haggled with the fisherman down at the harbour, visited the market stalls on weekends and bought flowers whenever you got paid, but outside of work colleagues, you had no regular interactions with anyone.

it also transpired you had no lover when zhongli finally visited your home. of course, he had only meant to survey its layout, perhaps peek in through a window to see if he could learn anything new about you. what he hadn’t expected was to hear was needy moans from your bedroom window. you were lying splayed out on your bed, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. one hand was trying desperately to cover up your lewd whines, while the other was under the hem of your skirt playing with yourself. with every movement, zhongli could hear a wet squelching as you pumped your fingers in and out of your dripping cunt.

he didn’t realise he had taken his cock out until he was matching your rhythm, stroking himself as beads of precum leaked from his head, smearing his gloved hand. he watched as your thighs began to shake, your moans increasing in pitch as you got closer, and zhongli had to cover his own mouth, muffling his voice as he watched you. he shouldn’t be watching you, shouldn’t be touching himself as he watched you do something so depraved. he should be inside, kissing your neck gently as your smaller body shook beneath him. he would hold you steady as you came, murmuring your praises into your ear in that deep authoritative voice. you were everything to him, more valuable than cor lapis, brighter than mora.

as you convulsed on the bed, back arching as you gasped for breath, zhongli bit back a groan as he came hard into his palm, hot cum splattering the wall next to your window. he rested his forehead against the cool pane of glass as he caught his breath. his legs felt weak from exertion, head spinning as his dark fantasies intermingled with images of your blissed out face as you came. without thinking, his claws dug into the wall, destroying his leather gloves. it needed to be soon. you were his, even if you didn’t know it yet.

a/n: there will be a pt.2 of this soon! im just v busy with work rn but this is it for now :)) enjoy

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin impact posting #genshin impact smut #zhongli smut #zhongli genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin.txt

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en-eunhee · 5 months

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( ♡ ) ... 🎧 ⁀ EUNHEE'S PROFILE !

-`♡´- BASIC

NAME: Kim Eunhee (김은희)

ENGLISH NAME: Liz Kim

BIRTHPLACE: Incheon, Seoul, South Korea

HOMEPLACE: Los Angeles, California, USA

NATIONALITY: Korean-American

BIRTHDAY: April 17, 2004

ZODIAC: Aries

LANGUAGES: Korean, English, Japanese

MBTI: ESFP-A

-`♡´- PHYSICAL

HEIGHT: 165 cm (5'5)

BLOOD TYPE: A

PIERCING: 2 earlobe piercings

FACE CLAIM: Kim Winter (aespa)

VOICE CLAIM: Winter (speaking), Sullyoon (singing)

DANCE CLAIM: Hwang Yeji

-`♡´- CAREER

PROFESSION: Idol

GROUP: ENHYPEN

LABEL: BE: LIFT Entertainment

TRAINING PERIOD: 5 years

POSITION: Main Vocalist, Lead Dancer, Visual

SOLO FANDOM: Eunluvlys

REPRESENTATIVE ANIMAL: 🐩

-`♡´- STATICS

VOCALS: 10/10

DANCE: 8/10

RAP: 3/10

STAGE PRESENCE: 7.5/10

SONG WRITE: 10/10

VARIETY: 10/10

ACTING: 7/10

-`♡´- INFO

Trained in SM Entertainment for 2 years (2016-2018)

Known for her bubbly, cute, and loud personality

Ranked 2nd in I-LAND with 1,314,572 votes

Huge fan of IU and IZ*ONE

Best friends with many idols such as Yuqi, Bahiyyih, Hanni, Wonyoung, and etc.

Grew up in California (2006-2013)

Loves doing skincare with Sunoo

Very picky eater

Has an older brother

Wishes to become a Music Bank MC since she's been a substitute MC multiple times (once with Sunghoon)

Has a strong passion for songwriting and composing (wrote for 17 different ENHYPEN songs)

Has perfect pitch (like Heeseung)

mint chocolate hater

layout: enh-sua

#enhypen 8th member #enhypen female oc #enhypen extra member #enhypen oc

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rebelspykatie · 7 months

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Kinktober Day One: Mutual Masturbation

When they moved into this place, just the two of them, Steve never expected for this to happen. He needed somewhere to go after his parents sold the house and Eddie wanted to give Wayne some space of his own. Neither of them had the means to live on their own, even with the government hush money, but they did have enough to get a place together.

So in September of that fateful year they defeated Vecna, they moved into a shitty two bedroom apartment with the thinnest walls and the smallest kitchen. It wasn’t much, but it was home. They painted the walls and hung up curtains at Robin’s insistence, making it homey and less like a meth lab might have possibly once existed in their living room.

Eddie finds a job with a mechanic and gets his GED, while Steve tries out some community college courses with Robin, picking up minimum wage jobs here and there to keep them afloat. It’s not perfect, but it works.

What Steve doesn’t think about until it’s too late, is exactly how thin the walls are. The layout of their place is a big rectangle, with a living room on one end, kitchen in the middle, and the bedrooms at the end of a hall. The two bedrooms are stationed directly next to each other, just a wall separating them, with a bathroom in the hallway that they share.

It doesn’t take more than a few days for Steve to realize the mistake he’s made. It’s late one night, both of them having gone to their rooms when Steve hears it. The unmistakable sound of someone getting off. And it’s not just anyone, it’s without a doubt Eddie that he’s hearing. They’ve been there enough nights at this point for Steve to know it’s louder than when the couple next door is going at it. Their sounds are muffled, a little more distant, easy to ignore. This is like surround sound in their quiet apartment.

Breathy moans filter through the wall, little huffs and groans that reverberate in Steve’s ears. If he closes his eyes, it’s like Eddie is lying right beside him. Eddie’s bed frame is old, something they thrifted when they moved in, and it squeaks when you move too vigorously. Steve can almost time the motion of Eddie’s hips with the creaking sound that he’s hearing, can learn the rhythm of how Eddie’s stroking his cock from the pattern the bedpost is drumming on the wall.

He clenches his eyes shut and puts a pillow over his head, trying to drown out the sounds, but they just get progressively louder and Steve resigns himself to having to sit through this. He learns a lot about Eddie that night, like how long he can go before he comes, the way he likes to change the rhythm, speeding up and slowing down to edge himself, the high pitched keen that leaves his throat when he does finally come. It’s overwhelming information to have about one of your best friends.

He doesn’t know what to do with the tent in his own boxers that he tries to push down with the heel of his hand. Something electric sings through his veins when he touches his own cock while he knows Eddie is touching his on the other side of the wall. He pulls the pillow over his head again and tries to imagine anything else to get his erection to go down, eventually falling asleep once Eddie’s finished.

He doesn’t know how to bring it up the next morning. How do you tell your best friend you know what they sound like when they come now? How does he tell Eddie that he wishes he could edge himself that long before shooting off? He doesn’t. He keeps it to himself and ends up suffering through several more nights of this. He’s taken so many cold showers and gotten himself off hurriedly so as not to run up their water bill. Too scared to get off in his own bed with Eddie on the other side, knowing exactly what it sounds like through the walls.

Then, one Friday night, he finally gets a chance. Eddie is at band practice, gone for the evening. He won’t be back until at least ten, so Steve has the apartment to himself. He takes it nice and slow, working himself up, running his hands along his thighs, palming his nipples, pinching and twisting them. It feels like forever before he wraps a hand around his cock. It’s like sinking into a warm bath after a long day. Too long since he could take his time and really touch himself.

Grabbing the lube from his nightstand, he pours some into his hand and fists his cock again, sighing at the glide, the slick, cool sensation that lights up every nerve in his body. He pumps his fist slow and steady, swirling his palm over the head and then back down. He doesn’t even know when he closes his eyes and starts to fantasize, his thoughts drifting to a lot of different things, but one thing stands out. The image he’s conjured of Eddie doing this exact same thing in his own room. He’s unconsciously setting the same rhythm he remembers Eddie set that first night, speeding up and slowing down at the same rate.

Maybe Eddie was onto something because he’s never been so turned on in his whole life. He feels a pang of guilt that he’s getting off to things his friend gets off to, but there’s no way he can turn that part of his brain off right now. The lack of privacy has really started to get to him, so he lets it all out, moans coming out louder than normal, getting it out of his system before he has to go back to blue balls every night until he can shower the next day.

And maybe he should’ve taken more precautions, been a bit more conscious of his surroundings and that plans can change because he doesn’t hear the front door. He doesn’t hear anything except his own moans until Eddie is already in his room and he hears the bed squeak, halting his movement on this side of the wall.

He holds his breath, so close to the edge that he doesn’t want to stop, tightening his fist around the base of his cock to stop himself from shooting off right then. He almost cries out in frustration at being interrupted, but he waits to see what Eddie is going to do. There’s no way he missed the sounds Steve was making, he has to know what Steve is up to, and he didn’t knock on his door to say hi like he normally does when he gets home, so he definitely knows Steve is busy. You could probably hear a pin drop in their apartment at the sudden silence, but it doesn’t last long. Eddie’s bed creaks, the rustling of sheets, and then Steve can hear the familiar sound of Eddie stroking his own cock.

And if he thought palming his cock down in his shorts felt electric before, it’s nothing like the weight of his dick in his hand as he knows Eddie is doing the same on the other side of the wall. He was too close to finishing before to stop now, he can’t just roll over and pretend like this isn’t happening. As quiet as he can manage, he starts to stroke his cock again. Biting down on the knuckles of his other hand to stifle a moan.

It’s wrong to do this, but Eddie has to know what he was up to, and he has to know now that Steve can hear him when he’s going at it. Something about that knowledge and them still touching their cocks together, lights him up from the inside. His cock has never felt more alive, more ready to hurdle over that edge, but then he hears it. It’s so soft and muffled that he thinks he imagined it, but it rings in his ears anyways.

Through the wall, he hears Eddie moan his name. It’s strangled, like he’s face down on a pillow or covering his face with an arm, but it’s distinguishable and Steve’s never been more aroused in his life. It only takes a few more pumps before he’s coming all over his chest, grunting and panting as if he just ran a marathon, unable to hold it in any longer.

And then like a flip has switched, Eddie’s moans get louder, amplified like Steve’s orgasm has given him confidence that he’s allowed to do this. Steve’s heard a lot of them at this point, but this one feels different, like Eddie is putting on a show just for him. He just sits in his drying come, afraid to break the spell, listening to Eddie finish himself off. A resounding smack of a hand hitting the wall between them makes him jump, but he’s even more surprised to hear his name, no longer an embarrassed whimper into the night, but a loud unmistakable shout.

Steve’s not really sure where to go from here but he guesses they’re about to figure it out when a quiet knock on his door startles him upright a few minutes later.

AO3

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #katie writes #and they were roommates

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sprintingowl · 23 days

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Jackals

Jackals might be the weirdest normal rpg I've read in a minute. It is d100, osr, fate, indie, traditional, historical, and ahistorical. It is a feature length system with rules for everything from morale to wilderness exploration, a hefty bestiary, and multiple sample adventures, and it feels like sixteen different colors of playdoh all smooshed together.

I think this is honestly going to be a favorite system for some folks, because despite the clunk of a lot of what it's doing, the whole is cohesive. The game works.

The basic pitch for Jackals is that it takes place in a sort of Stargate Sumerian mythic past on another world where an empire of animal-headed people has recently stopped oppressing humanity due to its catastrophic collapse. The PCs are spear-and-sandals militarized vagabonds who wander through ancient ruins and fight against the remnants of the empire.

There's a fair bit of worldbuilding and culture, and the book dances back and forth across the line between stereotype and fresh. Ultimately what it evokes is a sort of hollywood style world, where it feels a little staged but a lot of effort went into that staging.

And speaking of effort, the layout of Jackals is excellent and the artwork is full color, highly detailed, and very evocative of the setting. You can get a perfect snapshot of what Jackals' world is like by glancing at a single piece. John McCambridge knocked it out of the park with his illustrations.

Probably the closest comparisons to what Jackals is are The Bloody Handed Name Of Bronze (which is much more loose and story-tell-y) and Agon (which is much more narratively structured.) Both are solid systems, and definitely worth a look, but for now I'm going to stay on topic.

Jackals plays like the sort of rpg that you think of when you think rpg. You pick your culture, you assign stats, you roll d100 for checks, you fight hyenamen and steal their gold and use it to barter for a better helmet. However, in alongside all the special ability picking and magic learning and skill percent assigning there's fate points, a meta-currency called Clash that you can spend during combat to take more actions during your turn, a HP system that differentiates between sweat and meat, and a lot of clever little flourishes.

What I'm saying is there's plenty of familiar landmarks. You can power attack and dual wield and whatnot. But Jackals might have the most aftermarket additions I've ever seen bolted onto a d100 system, and it's surprisingly stable as a result.

When I started my read I wasn't sure what to expect from Jackals, but the more I mull over it the more I like it. D100 engines are squirrely, but Jackals caught that squirrel and cooked it into a delicious stew.

#ttrpg #ttrpg homebrew #ttrpgs #ttrpg design #indie ttrpgs #rpg #indie ttrpg #tabletop #dnd #rpgs #bronze age #fantasy #osr #d100

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pluralgraphics · 8 days

Note

Can you give some examples of your graphics/what we can request? :0

HELLO!! oh my gosh yes of course you can! Now, all of these are, like. Mocked up. Fast. Because some silly little fellow (mee :3) didn't think to make any samples before he started his blog. And that was a bad idea. Don't do this at home. Be prepared.

So essentially, you can request flat-out anything, and I'll take a stab at it. I'm sure there's graphics and detailing and stuff that I forgot about the existence of in making these examples, so if what you're looking for is not shown below dw about it!! I'll still try my best, cross my heart and all that

BANNERS (in a variety of themes, and colours, and so forth. this was just the greatest representation of the range I could manage in a short amount of time lol)

perfect for simplyplural headers, pluralkit bios, use on tumblr blogs, centerpieces on carrds- comes with text, no text, whatever you want. banners. whoo yeah let's hear it for banners!!

next up. dividers.

for the sectioning of text and of keeping everything neat. you know what a divider is, i'm sure. sorry. preaching to the choir here.

again, comes with text, no text, a set of all the same, a set of however many different- but-similar ones you want, in any colour that you want! you can even have them in a range of colours if you're feeling real fancy

ICONSyes that is the guy from casablanca. don't judge me 🙄

any image you want or need (they don't HAVE to be of a person look here's some cool aesthetic icons of not-people)

now. i know what i provide is a lot like those cool simplyplural layout people except without the er. simplyplural layout. and if you're looking for one of those then of COURSE i gotta direct you to my good comrade-in-arms @yoursimplypluralhandbook and their awesome designs 👍 but yeah in order to spice up my offer i am extending my range to

which i am happily throwing into the mix x) ooo you want a blinkie so bad oooo yeah you doo

ahem. anyway. sales pitch officially over. i hope this helped!!

#endo safe #plural graphics #PAGAHAG can you tell ive never done one of these before? 🙏 so you uh. you gotta cut me a lil slack here man /silly

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godsmenusuperbowl · 8 months

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I Suck at My Job? ~ *Han Jisung*

Summary: Jisung has bought the perfect house for parties and making music. The best part is it came super cheap. However, he’s about to find out why such a perfect house didn’t have a bigger price tag.

Pairing: Han Jisung X G/N!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Oneshot

Word Count: 2285

Warning: Ghosts, brief description of death (NOTHING GOREY I PROMISE!)

Masterlist

Taglist: @foxwinter @rai-scutum @imagine-a-life-like-this @mxnsxngie @maeleelee

A/N: Dude. You could make a mini series out of this…

It was the perfect house. It wasn’t too big or too small. The layout was clean and easy to navigate. There was space for all of his many hobbies and he even managed to turn one room into a recording studio, while still having enough space for when his parents came over. However, Jisung found the house to be the perfect place to host all kinds of parties for his friends, making his place the ultimate hang out spot.

Despite all of the great amenities the house had to offer, there was one teeny, tiny little problem.

The place was haunted.

Now, Jisung didn’t know this little fact when he bought the house. He thought it was just the perfect house of the perfect size in the perfect location. Of course, he should have known something was wrong when he saw how low the mortgage was. But he wasn’t thinking. He was blinded by the perfection of the house he just bought.

On the first night, he heard lots of sounds, things were moved, and lights kept flickering on and off. However, he tried to pass it off as an old house. Granted, the things moving were a bit harder to explain. Nevertheless, he didn’t think too much of it. Besides, if he didn’t acknowledge it, the occurrences didn’t exist. At least, that’s what he told himself.

It wasn’t until he had been in the house a week that he realized the place actually was haunted.

Jisung was asleep when he felt someone tug the blankets off him. He tried to play it off like he just kicked them off, but deep down he knew better. He watched his curtains rustle in the still room. He also hears sounds but he pulls his pillow over his head, begging whoever or whatever is doing this to please stop and let him get some sleep.

“Am I scaring you?”

The whisper by his ear was crystal clear. Shooting up with a scream, he looks around frantically, trying to figure out who said it. But there was no one there. However, he would not be deterred.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“I said, am I scaring you?” The whisper was quieter and spread around the room like a fine mist.

“Uh, yeah. I wouldn’t be asking these questions if I wasn’t terrified beyond reasonable belief!”

A high-pitched noise that sounded like a cross between a shriek and a laugh reverberated through the room. Jisung placed his hands over his ears and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed a faint glow near his dresser.

“I can’t believe it! I finally scared someone! This is so cool! I can’t wait to do this forever!”

“What are you talking about?”

The faint glow strengthened until he saw a person bouncing around next to his dresser. Jisung felt himself go pale at the sight. If he didn’t know any better, and he did know better, there was only one thing that could be:

A ghost.

With a groan he flopped back down on his bed. “You can’t be serious.”

The ghost stopped giggling to themselves to stare at him. “What are you talking about?”

“No wonder this place was mad cheap when I paid the down payment! It’s haunted! And, no offense, but I hate ghosts!”

Their cheerful attitude quickly soured, folding their arms over their chest. “First of all, when someone says ‘no offense’, it’s usually followed up by an offensive statement. And that statement was plenty offensive. Second of all, I don’t see what the big deal is. All I plan to do is scare you until the house is under new ownership. I’m not going to like, try and kill you or whatever.”

He glared at them. “Not the point. The point is this place was supposed to be the ultimate hang out spot for my friends and I. But because we have a creepy ghost here, that isn’t going to happen. Man, what am I going to tell the guys? They’re supposed to come over for a housewarming party this weekend! They’re going to be so disappointed when I have to tell them not to come over.”

“You know you’re really mean!” They wailed. “I’m not creepy! I just want to be scary, not creepy! That’s what ghosts are supposed to do. Besides, it’s not like I’m telling you your friends can’t come over. If it bothers you that much, I can leave you alone that night. Of course, that means I plan on being extra scary the next night, but I will begrudgingly leave you alone.”

Jisung stared at them. They couldn’t be serious. Weren’t they just saying they were super excited to be a ghost that scared him anyways? Why would they allow him a night to party with his friends? His mind was spinning from everything that had just happened. Twenty minutes ago, he just found out that he had a real ghost that lived in his house. Holding his head, he took a few hundred steps backwards.

“Okay, hang on, hang on.” He mumbled. “Before we get ahead of ourselves here, who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

“OH! Oh my God, oh my- you are so right!” They quickly sat down on the foot of his bed and he was a little surprised to see they made an indent. “My name is Y/n and I died here like five years ago.”

“Huh, you think I would have heard about that.”

“Well, it was an accident. I feel from the roof.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I was stargazing up there. You can actually get to the best spot from this window. I fell asleep under the stars, rolled off the roof, and hit the patio. Woke up dead as a doornail. For the last five years, I’ve been waiting and training to be the best ghost I could be. And then you bought the house! So now it’s my mission to scare you!” They explained with malicious delight.

Jisung frowned. “What if I don’t want you to scare me?”

They returned his frown, placing their head on their hands. “Then what am I supposed to do? Ghosts are supposed to be scary! I don’t want to just be stuck up in the attic for ages! I want to have fun too!”

“Can’t you like, move on to the afterlife or something?”

“I don’t know what my unfinished business would be, so I don’t think I can.”

He groaned. “Well this sucks.”

“Hey, I did say I would leave you alone if you wanted to party with your friends. Just as long as I get to scare you twice as good the next night.” They huffed, crossing their arms over their chest now.

Jisung stared at them, really taking in their features. He had to admit, for a ghost, they weren’t at all bad looking. They had a nice charm to them and even though they had sass to spare, they were nice enough. They weren’t like any of the malevolent spirits he watched in cheesy horror movies. Jisung conceded that there were worse ghosts he could have gotten stuck with if he were to ever move into a haunted house. Besides, their agreement was relatively reasonable. There was just one slight issue he had with it…

“What if I don’t want to be scared?”

There was a brief pause before they let out a bark of laughter. “Oh c’mon! Who doesn’t want to be scared? Besides, it’s what ghosts are supposed to do!”

“Who says?”

“Everyone!”

“More specifically?”

Again, they pouted, their bottom lip jutted out childishly. “Don’t you watch movies and TV shows? Ghosts are supposed to be scary, therefore I must scare you!”

“There are two things wrong with that. One: have you ever heard of Casper the Friendly Ghost? He doesn’t scare people. I mean he might accidentally, but he doesn’t ever do it intentionally. Secondly, you’re not exactly scary. So you’re failing pretty horribly at this whole being-a-ghost thing.”

Their jaw dropped. “Are, are you saying that I, I suck at my job?”

He shrugged. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Oh. Okay then.” They stood up and rubbed their arm, their eyes looking anywhere but at him. “Well, I guess I’ll just, um, be on my way then. D-don’t worry! You won’t have to hear from me or see me again because, you know, you said you don’t like to be scared. So I won’t. Try to scare you that is.”

Jisung felt his heart snap a little at the ghost floating solemnly out of his room. He didn’t mean to upset quite that badly, but he wasn’t lying either. They weren’t scary. And if they were so hellbent on being scary, they were doing a pretty sucky job at it. Still, he felt guilty. Which sort of shocked and confused him. Never in his wildest dreams did Jisung ever think he would feel bad for a ghost, especially one that wanted to make his life a nightmare.

“Wait.”

They poked their head back into his room and he could see a hopeful glimmer in their sparkling eyes. “Yes? Can I help you?”

He gave them a lop-sided smile. “I actually prefer Casper the Friendly Ghost over Vigo.”

“You know Ghostbusters?”

“Duh. Who doesn’t know Ghostbusters?”

They giggled, stepping fully back into the room. “You know, you’re not all that bad. I’m sorry for freaking out on you like that. It’s just, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. I have an eternity of sitting here, waiting to crossover, and I don’t know how to spend it. I thought I was supposed to be scary and haunt this house till the end of time. But now, I don’t quite think that’s the case anymore.”

Jisung let out an internal sigh of relief. “Well, maybe the two of us can reach an agreement? Maybe you could be like my cool, undead roommate?”

“That could be fun!”

“Of course, there would need to be rules.”

They nodded, sitting back down on his bed, pulling their knees to their chest. “Absolutely. I’m thinking that one rule be you clean up after yourself-”

He held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I meant rules for you!”

“Me? Please! You need rules too! You’ve only lived here a week and the place is already trashed! I may be dead but yikes, man! I can’t stand to look at all the garbage you’ve accumulated.”

Though he felt resentment from their words, he knew they were right. He sighed again. “Fine. We’ll make rules for each other. I’ll try and keep things cleaner around here and you can’t bother my friends when they come to the house.”

“Sounds good! Alright, my turn. I won’t torment you every second of your life here and you need to learn to cook.”

“Wait what?! Why?”

They shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because food smells so good! If I wasn’t dead, I would totally be cooking every second of every day! It was one of my favorite things to do when I was alive.”

Jisung massaged his temples. “Alright fine, counterpoint to that rule: I will invite my friend Felix over more often since he can cook and bake.”

“I’ll take it!”

“Okay next rule, if you don’t bother me when I make music, I won’t bother you when you need your alone time.”

“You make music?” They lit up. “Can I at least listen? I’ll be quiet, I promise! I just want to be there when you’re making it.”

“Sure, fine. As long as you’re quiet.”

“Awesome! Okay, I will be your spy for you when your friends are over if you and I can set an hour aside every day just to talk.”

Jisung furrowed his brows at your comment. “What do you mean?”

Again, they shrugged. “Well, I can eavesdrop on your friends’ conversations and if you want to know what they said, I can let you know. Of course, I will only tell you when you ask me to. I don’t want to betray the trust you have with your friends. That would just be heartless.”

He shook his head. “No, I got that. I mean why do you want to set an hour aside just to talk?”

“Oh.” They became somber again, avoiding eye contact. “Well, for the last five years I’ve been alone. I haven’t talked to anyone in so long. Besides, if we’re going to be roommates, I want us to get along and be friends. The only way to do that is by talking, learning about the other person and so on and so forth.”

Again, Jisung felt that nagging sensation of guilt. He wouldn’t know what to do if he was in that exact same scenario. To have died and wandered around your childhood home for five years with no one to talk to or be with? It sounded awfully lonely. Besides, it was just one hour. He could block out that kind of time for them.

“Alright. I think that’s a good set of rules for now.” He nodded. “I look forward to being roommates with you.”

You beamed. “Me too! Well, good night Jisung. I will see you in the morning, where you will be cleaning the whole house from top to bottom, got it?”

He gave a small chuckle. “You got it. See you in the morning.”

As he laid back in bed, arms behind his head, he couldn’t help but smile. Somewhere deep inside, a giddy sensation was building inside him. This seemed like the start of a beautiful friendship.

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jadesmycure · 2 years

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Hailee Steinfeld Icons, like or credit jadesmycure if you save/use!

#hailee packs #hailee steinfeld layouts #hailee steinfeld icons #haileesteinfieldedit #dickinson apple tv #dickinson icons #hawkeye #pitch perfect

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rylem33 · 3 months

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Piping-hot Delivery

In the heart of the city, nestled among the glowing neon signs and the constant hum of urban life, stood “Luigi’s Late Night Pizza,” a local favorite known for its delicious handmade pizza. Inside, the air was rich with the aroma of baking dough and simmering tomato sauce, a beacon for the hungry and the night owls alike.

On this particular evening, as the clock ticked closer to midnight, an order came through, catching the attention of the staff with its unusual request. The screen flashed with the message: “Extra hot delivery, please. A huge tip awaits for scorching service!” The challenge was clear, and the stakes were enticingly high.

Among the staff, it was Alex, a seasoned delivery driver, known for his unflappable demeanor and unmatched speed through the city’s labyrinthine streets, who stepped up to the plate. With a confident grin, he accepted the order, his eyes glinting with the prospect of the promised reward. “This one’s mine,” he declared, the excitement in his voice mirroring the buzzing energy of the pizzeria.

As the kitchen sprang into action, the chefs at “Luigi’s Late Night Pizza” masterfully assembled a pizza that was worthy of adoration. The crust, golden and crispy, provided the perfect foundation for the rich, bubbling cheese and the spicy slices of pepperoni that adorned the top, promising a mouthwatering experience for the lucky recipient.

Meanwhile, Alex was making his own preparations. Standing at 5’10”, with a build that spoke of his love of a good slice or two, he ran his hands through his wavy black hair and put on his helmet. With practiced ease, he slid the piping-hot pizza into the insulated delivery bag secured to the back of his sturdy motorcycle, ensuring it would retain its tantalizing warmth. He mounted his motorcycle in his jeans and Luigi’s shirt and began his ride.

The night air was cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the oven-fresh pizza he was about to deliver. He glanced back at the pizzeria, its windows aglow with activity, then set his gaze forward, his mind already navigating the route. As the city lights blurred into streaks of neon, the Alex gunned the engine of his motorcycle, the urgency of the hot delivery fueling his haste. He zigzagged through the bustling traffic with a practiced ease, the streets a familiar layout in his mind. Each daring maneuver a testament to his determination for that promised hefty tip.

On a particularly crowded avenue, he spotted a slow-moving minivan blocking his path. Without a second’s hesitation, he revved harder, finding a narrow gap that seemed to appear just for him. As he accelerated past the minivan, he instinctively called out, “Sorry!” The word sliced through the night, but to his surprise, it carried a melodic high pitch, unrecognizable to his own ears. “Must be the adrenaline,” he mused, brushing off the oddity as he focused on the road ahead.

As he swerved around a corner, narrowly avoiding a late-night street vendor, he felt an unusual weight shift within his uniform. Confused, he spared a glance downward, only to witness the inexplicable growth of large breasts straining against the fabric of his shirt. The transformation was as bewildering as it was swift, leaving him momentarily breathless.

The city continued to flash by in a blur of colors and sounds, but the driver’s attention was now divided, his mind racing to comprehend the changes his body was undergoing. His once short, black hair began to tickle the nape of his neck, growing rapidly, cascading in golden waves that shimmered under the streetlights.

In a surreal twist, his uniform began to shift and morph, seams unraveling and fabric reweaving itself into the form of a small, vibrant red bikini that hugged his new curves. The transformation was complete, leaving him clad in attire that was as impractical as it was eye-catching for a night of speedy deliveries.

In a surreal twist, his uniform began to shift and morph, seams unraveling and fabric reweaving itself into the form of a small, vibrant red bikini that hugged his new curves. Amidst this bewildering transformation, Alex felt an unusual sensation, as if the very ground was inching closer. In moments, he realized he wasn’t just imagining it; he was actually losing height, shrinking down, his stature now adding to the drastic change in appearance. The transformation was complete, leaving him clad in attire that was as impractical as it was eye-catching for a night of speedy deliveries.

His voice, now unmistakably feminine, giggled with a girlish quality over the din of the city. Each “excuse me” and “coming through” sung with a high pitch that seemed to dance on the cool night air. Yet, despite the bewildering changes, the driver never lost sight of the mission: the hot delivery. Weaving through the last stretch of cityscape with a grace he never knew he had, he arrived at the destination. With the night’s journey behind him, the driver stood at the doorstep, the warm pizza box in hand. The door swung open, revealing a customer whose expression shifted from anticipation to bewildered amazement at the sight before them. In the soft glow of the porch light, the driver, now a striking figure in a small red bikini, with long blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, offered a playful smirk.

Leaning slightly forward, the driver spoke, her voice a melodic, girly pitch that seemed to float in the cool night air, “Well, you said you wanted the delivery hot. So, where’s my big tip?” The words, laced with a playful challenge, hung between them, her transformation adding an unexpected layer of heat to the delivery promise.

The customer, caught off guard by the surreal turn of events, paused for a moment, processing the scene. He stammered for a moment before saying, “come on in.”

#bimboization #m2f transformation

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enmi-land · 1 month

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HELLO DIDIIII Sooooo I made the btbt cover andddd here it issss

BTBT-MILA X NI-KI

btwww If you listen to it and wonder why Ni-ki's voice is more highpitched than usual it's because the ai model i used is old and therefore it is more high pitched buttt anyways i hope you like itt mwah🤭💓💓

(i was going to do a cc lyrics buttt it took way to long and i couldn't do it :'( and i even made the layouts and everything if you wanna see them then here they are 🥹)

and I'll send in another asl showing you the new posters i made for wonyoung and le sserafim cause they're literally so mila coded😭😭😭

love you

-mina💌

WAAAAAIT OMG HOW DID I NOT SEE THIS IN MY INBOX 😭😭😭 IM SO SORRY BB FOR NOT RELAISING YOU SENT IT ALREADY BUT AHHH IM SHAKING IN EXCITEMENT CANT WAIT TO SEE IT AKSJKSJSOSND IMMA SHUT UP AND OISTJE 🩷🩷🩷 but omggg thank you sm for the effort that you put into this ☹️☹️🩷🩷 don’t worry I’m sure it’s perfect!! the thought is what counts!! but ahhh excuse me for a second while I enjoy this masterpiece you’vee created!! 🤭🤭 BUT ALSO eagerly waiting your other aks with ur poster bc ik they gonna be good good 😍😍

#⠀⠀ 𓈒ㅤ ૮ ֗ ⠀⠀ you got mail ⠀⠀⠀ ꯭✉️⟡#꒰ ۪ ⋆ 🌅۟ ⠀⠀ mina ⠀

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lucidmagic · 2 years

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Alright, here’s the scrapped Alcina x Werewolf!Reader (F) story I originally planned to write (note: I wrote this before re8 was released so that’s why somethings don’t add up in canon, notably Heisenberg being a werewolf, because that’s what was rumored before the game dropped). Hopefully, I’ll be revising this after I finish Phyto’s Guide, since I have a more concrete grasp on the plot, lore, and characterization. No stealing please :)

Words: 8.3k (yeah I know, I got through a lot)

Trigger Warnings: Mentions/implications of domestic abuse, mentions/implications of toxic/abusive family, mentions of murder, torture, and blood, alcohol consumption, canon typical allusions to violence

Something about the village unsettled you.

Fog hung in the air like a miasma of dread and, coupled with a despondent looks in the eyes of the older villagers, this place could easy be described as gloomy. Cobble stones lined the streets in uneven patterns centuries old and the quaint homes were likely just so judging by the narrow alleys and organic layout of the town.

But modernity was sporadically visible at times. Parked cars occasionally came into view, their compact nature and rust holes detailing their age. Electrical lines hung as vines along the buildings and poles, often grouped up into one location that certainly wasn’t up to code. Radio channels pitched into the silence with crackling national or regional updates—maybe even a football game.

The village was dismal compared to the bigger cities you passed through. Traditional. Rural. Isolated.

(Perfect.)

The growl of your motorcycle between your thighs echoed along the aged bricks, perking up heads and gaining glares of the locals. So far, you haven’t seen a similar vehicle like yours and you briefly wonder if this is the first time any of them ever heard or laid eyes on one. You can’t say for certain that was the case with some of the younger generations, but the older people scrunched up their faces and mimicked spitting on the ground as if to ward off a demon.

(Your grip on the handles tightens as an older woman cursed at you and hissed out an insult. Her breath smelt of harsh alcohol and tobacco, a nauseating combination. You don’t miss how her heart quakes against the reverberation of your bike.)

Tells of beasts and monsters saturated any and all questions you asked about this village from the previous. Mysterious murders. Strange disappearances. The typical ghost stories of remote settlements that permeate still with folklore and tradition.

(Good, you thought when you heard. You’ll fit right in.)

Chilled air escaped your nose as you spotted your destination. The Ranger’s Respite. The only inn here that you could gather from a quick google search and the previous innkeeper from two towns back. It was barely three stories high with faded burnt orange paint and plaster with sloping shingled roof that needed repair years ago. It’ll have to do for now.

You navigated your bike to the side of the road and parked. The rumbling of the engine ceased as you turned the key and the sounds of the village filled the emptiness left in its wake. Corvids cawed in the distance. Wind whistled and chimes rang in its wake. People shuffled along the cobble sidewalk muttering about the brisk breeze. Children a block down not so subtly whispered around small hands and pointed in your direction.

Shaking your hair out from your helmet, you felt several pairs of eyes on you already. There was an older man in a chair who nibbled on a pipe, a middle-aged woman pinning cloths along a line, and a group of dark-haired children clustered together. You sighed and entered the inn, trying not to glare. You were the stranger in this place. It’s only natural for them to be curious and cautious.

The inn was what you expected. Wooden tables and chairs, sparse occupants in far corners, and a box television above the counters where a man eyed you from behind. Decades of cigar smoke and sweat pervaded the air. You just resisted screwing up your face.

“Are there any rooms available?” You asked, gaze landing on the bartender. He nodded and told the rate. His gaze was guarded, eyes dark with suspicion. Your Romanian was passible, definitely enough to sustain a conversation, but it was clear you were a foreigner by the accent. “I’ll take one for two weeks. For now.”

He raised a bushy brow but accepted the jingle of lei you produced from your leather jacket. “Planning on staying that long?”

“In the least.” You looked around the place. The back shelves of the bar were filled with more local brands than ones you recognized. A pair of men were playing cards in the corner, but you noticed their frequent glances in your direction. The waitress, around your age, was wiping down a table not too far from you. Something roasted in the back kitchen and the smell sent a pang of hunger to your stomach. You slide into a stool and looked to the chalk scrawled menu. “I’ll take your special, please.”

Mustering up a smile, you gave your best nonthreatening face to the waitress, who flushed when you met her eyes and scurried away into the back room where the roast was.

(Oh no, did you scare her? That definitely was not the intention. You just wanted food. It’s been half a day since your last meal.

Shit, did you offend her? You read somewhere that some cultures don’t smile for no reason and it can be perceived as strange to do to without prompting.)

You turn back to the bartender. He’s a middle-aged man, broad shouldered, with an unshaved face that wasn’t quite a beard yet. He picked up a glass, inspected it, and placed it down before you. “Do you have a preference, doamna?”

Shrugging, nothing on the back wall caught your attention. “Perhaps some ţuică?”

He seemed to appreciate that choice and nodded as he prepared your drink.

(It seems your harried and quick research into Romanian cuisine was paying off for something. At least, for the alcohol.)

“If you don’t mind me asking, doamna,” the bartender placed a filled glass before you. You took it and silently cheered to him before taking a sip. The taste was sharp but sweet—still hints of plum despite it being distilled. “We don’t normally get wanderers here, so it is . . . odd to see a foreigner. . . why is that?”

(It took all of your self-control not to shatter the glass in your hand. Dangerously close though. Your jaw clenched and your back tensed.)

“Travelling,” you replied, smooth and quick. “Looking for work if you have any.”

“Work?” He almost sounded surprised by that. Glancing at the drawer where he placed your dues earlier, you can guess he didn’t fully believe that. But it was true.

(Mostly.)

“Yes,” you smiled, easing the conversation back to your control. “Been travelling so long my funds are getting low. Need something sustain myself.”

The bartender hummed and at that moment the barmaid came out from the back room, savory smells and spices wafted out that commanded your stomach to growl. Mouth watering with anticipation, you turned to the woman, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

She flustered again and moved to set out some utensils. “Will that be all?” Her voice was soft, meek almost.

You shook your head and cut a large piece of lamb and began eating. You nearly moaned and the rumbling from your stomach quenched.

“Tyne, do you or any of the girls know of any jobs available?” The bartender turned away to busy himself with something behind the bar.

The young woman—Tyne—paused to think but ultimately shook her head “No, papa. None that I can think of.”

You swallowed. Your mother taught you that much about manners, “I’ll be open to anything—honestly… Even more masculine jobs.” You added the last part as an afterthought. Rural Romania tended to be gender labor divided, yet that didn’t stop you before with previous bucolic towns. Often you outdid the other men in their labor, much to their chagrin.

The bartender pursed his lips at that. He hummed for a moment. “I think I can ask around the town. Working men often come in here after a long day. Maybe they could know something.”

You gave him a smile, genuine this time. Shoulders relaxed and optimistic, you continued to eat with earnest.

(Lay low for a few weeks here. Get some money to pad your pockets. Rinse and repeat. At this point you’re practically a master of selling your labor, keeping out of the way, and leaving without anyone being the wiser. Been that way for months.

When it will end is still a mystery though.)

“Where are you from?” The shy question came from Tyne. She was cute, you admit, turning to her. Dark hair, big round eyes. She was slim, perhaps bony by some standards.

(You noticed how she favored her left side despite her being right-handed and how her foundation was slightly too think on one side of her face. Trying not to stare, your nostrils flared at the antiseptic lingering on her, something you didn’t notice before, masked by the spices before you.

It’s long past your time to be righteous with your history but there are a few things in this world you consider diabolical—even by your standards. It’s a short list that you will never cross.)

“All over, mostly,” answering, you smiled at her. Tyne returned it, tentatively. “Never settled down enough to call a place home.” You changed the subject expertly with, “Did you grow up here?”

“Yes, my whole life. Papa too. Our family has been here since we opened the inn.” A certain pride emanated from her and it is almost a stark contrast to her earlier demeaner. “Papa is planning on retiring in the next few years and I’ll take up the inn from him.”

The barkeep laughed, “You’re saying that like I’m already there. You know I still have about—”

A sudden noise from outside cut him off. A loud curt breying and the staccato clomps of hoofs passed by. The blurry glass of the windows obscured the dark maned horses but it is clear they pulled a large carriage of some sort, bigger than anything you’ve seen. Clattering of hooves and huffing of beasts meandered along, eclipsing the last remnants of sun that leaked from the glass.

The inn went silent. Dead silent. The men in the corner seized up, cards halfway to the table in the middle of a round. The barkeep tensed behind the bar, going stock still. Tyne inhaled a breath and didn’t let it out. Her body shook as if a sudden breeze hit her.

(All of their hearts raced. Picking up speed like they just heard a gunshot. You can practically smell apprehension wafting from them.)

The shadows of the horses and carriage slowly inched across the plane of glass and for a brief moment the whole of the light was snuffed out. As if night abruptly descended upon them.

But, seconds passed and light began filtering back in like the end of a cloud going by the sun.

Everyone breathed in a collective breath. Then, released it as if they just let loose a good drag of a cigarette.

“Tyne,” the barkeeper voice broke the spell of silence—a plate shattering against the ground more like. “Why don’t show our customer to her room? Let her get acquainted. I bet it’s been a long day.” When Tyne didn’t move, he cleared his throat. “Tyne, show her to her room.” His voice was hard.

She jumped, startled, and turned to you, an uneasy look in her eyes.

(You’re first instinct was to demand to know what the fuck just happened. Yet, the way she is looking at you—like a wounded pup—makes you bite your tongue.

It’s your first day here. You can press for answers later on. Leaving stones left unturned never sat right and you doubt Tyne will be difficult to quell your curiosity.)

She gestures for you to follow as her father hands her an old iron key that looks too simple for a decent lock. Then again, you have hardly any worthwhile possessions on you other than a few thousand in lei, the clothes on your back, and your Ducati cruiser out front.

You trail after Tyne, casting one last glance to the blurred glass and the streaks of light filtering in. A feeling begins to rise in you that you haven’t felt in months, bold, aggressive, and hot. Anticipation.

This village is not what it seems.

XxxXxxX

Dorin—the barkeep—upholds his word to ask around about jobs with the various patrons of his establishment. And it is because of him you manage to find a menial job as a laborer for the local construction crew. You make sure to tip him well when you return from your first day, sweaty despite the nip in the air with aching shoulders. The men working with you were skeptical and snide to you joining the team, but once you threw several sacks of cement mix over your shoulder and tossed it easily on the truck from the depot, they soon quieted down.

(Well, quieted down when they though you weren’t listening. They were rather vocal about your figure—how they… liked it. The exact words made you snarl to yourself.)

Four days passed since arriving in the village. One day of asking around for under the counter jobs. Three days of labor thanks to Dorin. You get up, prepare for the day, eat lunch at the highest point of the sun, resumed working, and got back to the inn just before sundown. Wash rinse, repeat. It was a simple routine. Nothing particularly intense and you liked it like that. The work allows your mind to wander and plan out your next move.

(Continuing east could lead you to the bigger cities. More people. Less individuals to notice a stranger. But more people to possibly avoid. You know your parents are well connected particularly to the south, so that area is off limits.

Ugh. It’s more difficult to disappear than you realized. You underestimated their reach.

Then again, they underestimated your determination to stay true to yourself. So, you suppose the three of you are even.

The only regret you have is not seeing their faces when the realization hit. The picture itself would have been worth this whole trouble.)

Repetition also allowed you to eavesdrop on the local gossip and history without the locals knowing. You’ve learned some things.

The village is ancient. Settled before it was officially put on maps and ledgers in the Middle Ages. Some of the original pedigree continues in the various families. Dorin and Tyne’s family in particular have one of the oldest, continuously occupied buildings in the area. But it didn’t hold the title.

That would go to the leering castle perched on the mountain side. Steeples, gates, and moats. From what you can see from your perch on the edge of one of the roofs you’re helping thatch, it’s reminiscent of the early Renaissance period with turrets and battlements—all surrounded by thick plumes of fog and piercing towers.

It’s ominous to say the least, but you can appreciate the aesthetic.

Apparently, it changed hands many times since the Moldavian and Wallachian wars against outside influence yet eventually found owners in the hands of the Dimitrescu family. According to the workers and a quick google search on your burner, the noble house still holds major sway over the people of the village like it still partakes in the feudal system of previous centuries. You’ve learned the region as a whole was evidently like that with other houses of the Moreau, Beneviento, and Heisenberg still having extensive influence in local politics and culture.

(The way the men spoke of the family—consisting of four women, a mother and her three daughters—they spat out their names in whispers like a curse and signed a holy symbol after mentioning them.

Interesting.

There was also a man in the picture, a Heisenberg. What you could gather he and the mother were adopted siblings. So are the other Lords of the village. United under a mysterious person called Mother Miranda.

Many of the men hissed his name similarly to the women’s.

You tried once to ask why the workers hated them so, but they only glared and turned away.)

Unfortunately, you also learned of Tyne’s husband.

He came in one time when you were leaving for the morning, Tyne handing you a pre-made lunch so you didn’t have to waste time looking for food on your break.

He—Omor his name was—smelt of tobacco and cheap cologne. Tyne smiled at him when he entered the inn, however, it was evident that she didn’t expect him and the briefest flash of what you can describe as fear appeared in her gaze.

Tyne’s husband gave you a once over when he spotted you thanking her—his eyes glinted with possession, his fingers gripped his hat in his hands, and he gave you tight smile. He had pot marks on his cheeks from ache but he could be described as handsome if it weren’t for his thinning hair and constant furrow between his brow.

He introduced himself and stuck out his hand. The grip was tight like he was wringing a neck. It would have hurt if you were any other person. Canines nearly pierced your tongue attempting to stop your snarl. Instead, you returned his grip two-fold, making sure to catch his eye and letting him know it was you.

(It didn’t matter though. Tyne had her sleeves rolled down that afternoon when you returned, not up to her elbows like when you first saw her.)

You exhaled, setting your lunch down to not crush it between your fingers. Legs swinging freely off the side of the roof, you closed your eyes and gritted your teeth.

(You’re a hypocrite. You’ve killed without mercy. Enjoyed it a good portion of the time. But, there are certain things you can’t excuse.

A skewed sense of morals? Yes. But morals nonetheless.)

The worse part is it seems no one noticed. Not her father. Her patrons. Even some of the friendly locals she can be seen talking to on errands. Only you. Tyne was good at cleaning up afterwards and her typical demeaner aids in that regard. Meek, soft-spoken, forgettable. Why you of all people are so concerned is the real irony.

You sigh.

(Doesn’t matter. You’ll be gone in a few weeks. She and you will be nothing more than hazy memories in each other’s minds.)

Finishing up lunch, you stand, brush off your hands on your jeans, and turn to—

You freeze.

Leather. Old cologne. Aged wood. Musk.

You smell him before you see him. It’s unmistakable. That smell. You’ve known it your whole life. Accompanied by thinly veiled lies, disingenuous smiles hiding fangs, controlling hands, and razor-sharp claws. It wasn’t until you left that you realize how strong it truly was.

Deep. Heady. Thick in the air like a pall.

Your body moves without your permission. You scream in your head to stop but your legs disobey. You don’t need this. You’ve done so much to get away. It can’t end like this.

First thing you notice is that he’s midway up climbing into the driver’s seat of a massive carriage. Old cherry wood engraved with silverly filigree that’s chipping along the sides. Two dark horses brey before it, coils of mist rising from their nostrils.

One of his feet is on the step up but he stills, other leg positioned to push up from the ground.

There’s a moment where things go silent around you—a feat in itself with your hearing. Everything fades—in anticipation or fear you don’t want to know either way.

Then he turns and lifts his head up.

You should laugh at his outfit—a dusty leather hat with frayed edges, long black trench coat, oil-stained shirt and trousers, and round sunglasses perched on his nose. His hair used to be black, but it is more streaked with grey than its original color. His face is rugged and slashed with scars, unshaven in a messy full beard.

All you can see of his eyes are the black circles of his glasses however he’s unmistakably staring right back at you. His lips part and his brows arch up. Clearly he wasn’t expecting you either.

A moment.

Another.

Several seconds pass.

(It feels like an eternity since you’ve seen another of your kind. By the way he’s staring at you—it may be the same for him.)

You don’t know why you do it. Maybe it’s the shock of finding another werewolf this far outside of civilization, outside of typical pack territories. Or maybe it’s the unspoken comradery of the same monstrous nature.

You give him a recognizing nod.

It takes him a second. His thin lips quirk up and he raises one of his hands to the brim of his hat. In response, he nods back.

A greeting. An acknowledgment.

(A truce.)

He tilts his head the side, eyes glancing over to the carriage, attention gone. His mouth replies to something but the blood rushing through your ears deafens you. You vaguely know that a voice is heard but other than that you can’t make out what is said.

(You think it may be feminine, but you can’t be sure.)

The man gives you one last glance, smiles, and pulls himself up to the carriage.

You watch as the vehicle trots off into the thick forests surrounding the castle’s hill.

When the carriage can no longer be seen, you recognize the pain in your chest from holding your breath.

You exhale.

This village just got more interesting.

XxxXxxX

The man you recognize as kin begins to come around the village more often. At least, you notice him more often now that you know of his existence.

Every time, you give him a quiet nod. He gives one back.

That’s the extent of your interaction. It’s simple. Clean. Easy.

(Part of you wants to introduce yourself properly, perhaps get his name as well. Form some sort of rapport with a fellow werewolf. You are invading on his territory after all. It’s only appropriate.

Another part of you—the very much human side—is fucking terrified. You’re escaping from your kind. You do not need to befriend one. What if he knows who your family is. What if he knows what you did and why you are here. Selling the information is quick, he can simply make a phone call if he’s connected well enough.)

Until today.

It has been four more days since you first greeted the man, and his presence quickly became a feature in your routine. Get up. Get ready. Head off to the construction site. Eat lunch. Continue to work. Go back to the inn. And somewhere along the way he emerges—sometimes on foot, sometimes on the driver’s seat of the massive carriage. He nods or you nod first. The other replies out of respect.

It’s simple and singular.

But not today.

You just finished a day of slugging cement mix over your shoulder and nailing shingles to a roof. Your shoulders ache in a productive way, and the satisfying burn gives you a sense of pride.

Freshly washed, you descend the stairs to eat a well-deserved dinner to a quiet tavern—

Quiet.

It’s never quiet this time of night. There is usually a rowdy bunch of drunken work men or older card players rousing the night.

The silence is deafening.

You round the banister of the stairs and meet the eyes of the other werewolf in this town.

(Huh.

You thought he’d be taller up close.

That was the first thought in your mind. The second was if he ever takes off those stupid looking glasses.

The third was fuck.)

He gives you a small salute with a shot glass of dark liquor and then throws it back in a quick gulp. He licks his lips and smiles.

“Ah, a newcomer. Rare in these parts.” His voice is low and course with a strange accent to his words and you briefly wonder if he’s native to this region. His smile is surprisingly nice, his teeth are straight and white. You don’t know why that takes you back more so than him acknowledging you.

“Come!” He large coat swooshes behind him as he opens his arms invitingly to the stool next to him. “Have a drink. This place doesn’t get too many visitors. I’m curious.”

You curse at yourself for not sniffing him out sooner. Damn Tyne’s divine cooking thick in the air.

A quick glance at Dorin told you that he would be no help as he shifted from one foot to another avoiding the man’s gaze. His daughter was nowhere to be seen.

Inhaling and bracing yourself, you situated yourself next to the werewolf. Dorin looks to you, eyebrow raised.

“I’ll take what he’s having.”

As Dorin nods, the other werewolf barks out a laugh. “Ah, an outsider and a foreigner. Even rarer.” He motions for the barkeeper to tend to his drink. Pitching his voice low, continues with, “Tell me . . . what brings the like of you to our humble village.”

The like of you. He’s not referencing your locality.

You give a grateful nod to Dorin as he places a glass before you and fills it, giving you time to compose yourself. Being vulnerable and cornered after a long day of work settles in your stomach like a jar of bees. Twitchy, buzzing, unstable.

Throwing back the dark liquid—sharp and spicy, whiskey, good by the smoky after taste—you half turn to the man. “Passing through, need money to continue on.”

The man hums and slips on his shot that was refilled by Dorin. “And how long will that be?”

“About a week more—perhaps shorter if you need me to move on.” You eye him, gauging his reaction.

(If this is a pissing contest, then he has the home advantage. You’re the lone wolf encroaching. The least you need at the moment is to fight for unnecessary territory.)

He stares for a moment, gaze obscured by his dark glasses. A moment passes. And then his smile widens, brilliantly.

“That won’t be necessary.”

The shock must have been evident on your face as the man slaps you on the back—hard and abrupt. You let out a sudden gasp at the action.

(Breathe. Breathe. It was friendly. At least it wasn’t with claws and disdain.

. . . It was nice. If sudden.

May you can get used to this type of affection—

No. Don’t get ahead of yourself. You don’t know this man. He’s a stranger. You need to know his angle first.)

If the man noticed your reaction, he didn’t show it. “You got a name, stranger?”

A second passes before you relinquish your name. Your gaze is hard as he listens—watching for any reaction to your surname. Anything that indicates he knows who you are. Instead, his face is a neutral, amusement in his eyes, and he tilts his head.

He hums. “Heisenberg.”

“What?”

“My name, little pup.” He gives a knowing grin . . . It’s pleasant. Warm. You try to remember an easy smile like that from before but the memory is so hazy it could be deemed nonexistent. “My name is Karl Heisenberg.”

It is then that it clicks. The silence. The stares. The unease in the tavern.

He’s the Heisenberg everyone speaks so darkly of. How they whisper his and the Dimitrescu’s name like a curse.

Is it because he’s like you? Would they react similar if they found out you’re the same? Would Dorin scowl at you when you turn your back on him? Would Tyne tremble as you greet her?

(Is he as lonely as you are?)

You raise your glass to him, and a bewildered look crosses his face. But he still follows suite and clanks his glass to yours. A strong ring resounds around tables.

“To names.” You speak, a small smile crossing your face.

Heisenberg barks a laugh. “To Family!”

The two werewolves continued to chat away. Much to the tavern goer’s dismay.

XxxXxxX

Heisenberg and you start a tentative companionship since that evening. You’d continue your time laboring for the local builders, pocketing the money of the day, but with the added routine of Heisenberg joining you for a quick drink in the corner of the tavern, absconded from prying eyes and ears. Most of the time he was the one who did most of the talking, reminiscing about his stalwart sister, her chaotic daughters, quiet younger sister, ugly brother, and their demanding mother. Other times he would reveal tales of his youth and how he slaughtered a dozen or so hunters bent on slaying him. Or even telling you about his various horses, their personalities, and the apparent horse drama that is always brewing.

Tyne and Dorin give you suspicious looks every time you emerge from the corner when Heisenberg needs to get on with his duties. The father becomes more distant after the second night, glaring from the counter when the other werewolf sloshes some of his drink on the table. The daughter is still nice to you, thankfully, but she’s noticeably more reserved with her grins when Heisenberg chats with you.

The man is full of fire and smiles, and though he slaps you on the back at a good joke, you begin to expect it more and more, stopping yourself from flinching too often.

You haven’t smiled or laughed that much since you ran.

It’s nice.

(You could be friends, a part of you pleas. Start anew here. Build something close to a confidant.

Fool, you equally warn. You hardly know this man. He could be playing the long game—gaining trust before finally baring his fangs and going for the throat.)

“Think you would like them.” Heisenberg says one night. His face is flush from several fingers of whiskey. His glasses are askew, one pale grey eye glinting from behind.

“Oh?” You respond, nursing your drink.

He hums, pursing his lips. “Dani would warm up to you quickly—she’s the most sociable if a bit . . . much at times. Cass is a spitfire so she may play with you in the beginning . . . Bela takes after her mother so she’ll be hesitant but gain her trust and she’ll burn down the world for you.”

You snort. “Why does it sound like you’re trying to set me up?”

Heisenberg holds up his hands. “Listen I’m just saying. There’s an opening for the groundskeeper, since the last one was gutted.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “Oh? That doesn’t sound like a great job security. Sorry, I don’t want my blood to be the new stain for the hardwood floors if I miss a patch of grass.”

“Come on!” He pouts. “You’ll love it! Live in a castle on a mountain. Free to work on projects. Meals and board. Surrounded by beautiful women. Even if you count my over-sized sister.”

You almost lose your eyes rolling them so hard. “I’m regretting coming out to you now.”

He huffs and takes a drink. “I’m just saying. It’s a good position. Think on it. I can’t be there to repair the old place—I have my factory to look after. You got a good mind and a set of strong hands. Alcina will appreciate the help. She’s too dainty for the harder labor stuff.”

The alcohol burns your throat as you take a sip instead of answering.

(It does sound good. Enough work to keep you busy. Protected. Isolated. What more could you want?)

Sighing, you turn to him. “Listen, the offer’s great, but I need to move on. It’s not safe to stay in one place for too long. I’ll only get you and your family hurt.”

“Hey,” Heisenberg places a rough hand on your shoulder. It’s strong, stable, warm. You can almost imagine it to be brotherly or even fatherly if you let your mind slip in that direction. You resist shrugging that thought and his hand away. “Don’t underestimate the family. We’re tougher than you think—tougher than whatever you’re running from.”

You haven’t told him much about your past. Only the essentials—a werewolf on the run from your former pack. From your hesitance and tone, you can gather he picked up the direness in your gaze. Not evening knowing the details, he offered the position almost immediately. You always refuse when he brings it up.

“Well,” you say. “It’s not my or your castle, so I have to hear it from the Lady herself. Don’t want her killing me for knocking on her door.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t do that . . . she’d bleed you dry first then kill you.”

You snort into your glass. It’s alluring to say the least. Multiple times you’ve found yourself on the edge of agreeing but . . . it’s a risk to settle too soon. Last thing you want is collateral, especially to someone who has only shown you trust and thoughtfulness.

“Let me think on it. It’s a lot to change so suddenly.” You give him a smile.

He returns it. “No pressure. Only want what’s best for you.”

(What’s best for you. . .

Those words—simple words really, but words you haven’t heard before. Not from your mother. Father. Brother. They didn’t care so long as they got something out of it, even if it was the worst for you.

That’s why you had to take what’s best for you. Wrangle it away from another, claw at it, tear open a hole for only you. Damn them all, you thought. Damn them all to the darkest, deepest hell for making you choose. Between them and happiness. Between duty and being true. They forced your hand and have the audacity to be shocked when you bit back.)

You shallowed, a lump stuck somewhere in your throat.

(You choose happiness once before.)

“Thank you.”

“No problem, little pup.”

(Maybe you can choose it again.)

XxxXxxX

Tyne stares at you, mouth open, eyes wide, face pale. In one hand, she braces herself against the bathroom sink of the tavern, grip white. The other is covered in foundation, half applied on her left cheek where a blooming bruise is forming.

Omor’s handiwork.

She just stares back in the mirror, caught. You can see her hands shake.

You can only stare back.

The door wasn’t closed all the way so you thought it was open for use. But instead, you’ve caught her in the act of cleaning up her husband’s mess.

A moment passes.

Another.

She doesn’t move under your scrutiny.

After another second, you straighten. Stepping in, you shut the door fully and move the hinge to lock it in place. Tyne lowers her hand covered in foundation as if ashamed. Her head follows.

“Don’t tell, papa. He’ll kill him, in broad daylight if he found out. I can’t lose both of them because of me. I can’t.” She doesn’t look at you, eyes fixated on something more interesting in the sink.

“Omor . . . he has too much power in the village. His family is one of the wealthiest, one of the first to settle here. Papa was so happy when the wedding happened—So was Mama. I was sort of pushed into it because—it was security so I wouldn’t. . .” She’s rambling. Rambling on and on, as if she can somehow convince you it was someone else’s fault, her fault even. It sickens you.

A step, another step. You cross the bathroom in a couple of strides so you’re next to Tyne in under a second.

She doesn’t notice the tears dropping to the sink below. Or the sobs heaving her chest. But you do.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done this here. It’s just there was no time before opening this morning and—”

“Tyne.”

Voice gentle, but sudden and it breaks off her spiraling words. She looks up then. Not in the mirror but she turns to you fully. It’s slow as if you’re a snake and she’s trying to creep by without disturbing you.

You reach around her in the tiny bathroom, careful to choreograph your every movement so she doesn’t recoil. Slow but deliberate, you grasp the pallet and the cream from the counter. You bring it to your front. Tyne continues to just stare, tears drying on her cheeks.

You unscrew the cap to the cream and squeeze some on your fingers. Cautiously, you bring your hand up, telegraphing ever move, each muscle. Letting her know she can trust you.

(You see her throat work to gulp and the perspiration builds on her top lip. Tyne’s heart races as you step half a stride to her.)

As gently as you can muster, you spread the cream across her cheek, over the growing discoloration, over the trails of tears left behind. She sucks in a breath and stills.

It’s at this distance you can see a splattering of freckles across her nose with some across her forehead. Her eyes are a deep brown, like her father’s. One of her incisors is slightly crooked. She’s still pretty, but you can see the wear of months of work and abuse in the way her heart continues to pick up every time you fingers spread the cream across her cheek. There are bags under her big eyes and slight wrinkles at the corners of her eyelids despite being the same age as you.

Her sudden flinch makes you stop.

(Of course, you hurt her. That’s the only thing you’re good at.)

“Sorry,” You quickly say. “I have laborer’s hands.”

“It’s okay,” Tyne breathes. “It’s still sore.”

(It takes all of your self-control not you sprint out of there, follow Omor’s cheap cologne, and rip out his throat, and watch him gurgle on his blood. It’s the least he deserves.)

“Do you want him gone?”

Tyne stills. “W-what?”

“I said,” voice firm, you place the cream tube back and keep your gaze on hers. “Do you want your husband gone?”

She just stares at you, mind catching up to what you said.

“I can’t—Papa won’t ever—”

“You have more than your father who cares.”

It is then Tyne realizes the extent of your question. Her eyes go wide and her mouth tries to form words but can only move.

“I—I—”

“You don’t have to answer now.” You take a step back and it seems she exhales as you do. “But you do need an answer. Because it will affect what I do from now on.”

Speechless, she stands there. Eyes and body unmoving. Face covered as best as you could do given the rage flowing through your veins.

It is at that you turn, stepping to the door, unlock it, and turn the knob.

“Yes.”

Tyne’s voice makes you stop. You catch her eyes over your shoulder and it is perhaps the first time you don’t see fear in them. Resolute. Unwavering. No sign of the earlier woman.

With one last second, you nod, open the door, and leave.

XxxXxxX

Three days pass since the bathroom incident. Three days of broiling rage in your heart and bloodlust filling your mind—the only thing you can really concentrate on. Your labor doesn’t faulter but the men around you notice the intensity of your gaze and they keep their comments to themselves.

You added an extra two weeks to your tenure at the inn much to Dorin’s surprise, but he gladly took the money and the extended friendship to his daughter. Tyne continued to talk to you, almost like nothing had drastically changed between the both of you and she didn’t give the okay to kill her husband. Still, there was a heaviness now to your interactions, like any moment the other shoe would drop and she would rescind her approval.

But it never came.

So, you bide your time in the village. Working hard during the day, drinking with Heisenberg during the evening, and contemplating how you’re going to rip out Omor’s throat.

(Personally, you’re leaning to your bare hands so you don’t miss the way the light from his eyes dim.)

If the other werewolf noticed the change in your demeanor, he chose not to mention it, instead focusing on the topic of his new mechanical project which you listened to with half an ear.

“But I learned that if you create cage around the power plug with a polymer-steel blend—”

“Here is your ţuică,” Tyne interrupted, setting down your drink as your previous dwindled down to only a sip. “Is there anything else you need?” She gave Heisenberg a small smile. Slowly, she’s been warming up to him, even if it was miniscule, no longing flinching when his gaze landed on her.

“If you get another finger of whiskey that would be delightful, darling.” Heisenberg gave his best white grin and winked. Tyne had a good enough sense to only roll her eyes and give a slight shake of her head. His words were already slurring and he still needed to ride back to his factory.

“How about good stew and water, Lord Heisenberg?”

He pouted like a child not given his fourth cookie of the night but nodded all the same. No one can deny Tyne’s skill in the kitchen even if it was at the expense of alcohol.

You couldn’t help but snort, taking a sip from the new glass before you. Tyne caught your gaze and turned in your direction.

“Have any plans for the weekend?” She asked.

You hummed, “Not particularly. Probably just going to ask for overtime or get my muscles a break from slinging cement.” There was glint in her eyes. Intent, focused. “Do you have any plans?”

“Oh no,” she started, waving a dismissive hand. Her acting was good to others but her flickering look gave her away to you. “Just staying in the house. Omor is going hunting with a few childhood friends of his. One of them has a cabin a dozen or so kilometers in the forest. Just going to be a quiet few days.”

You hummed. “Well, I hope he has fun.” It was a monotone comment, almost reflexive.

A few more pleasantries were passed before another inn-goer waved for Tyne. She gave a farewell and left.

Sitting back in the booth, you took a long simmering sip of your drink and saw Heisenberg shift besides you. He could smell blood on the wind.

“Fine time to go hunting in these parts.” He began, lowering his voice. “The deer are fleshly born and the foxes are out to mate. Good game.”

You keep silence but eyed him over the glass. His lips twitched.

“But wolves are also aplenty and looking forward to eating too. Could be dangerous.”

“Are attacks common?” His gaze locked onto yours and a second passed.

Heisenberg gave a wide, blindly smile. It resembled more like a snarl. “They say monsters roam that part of the forest. Many men have gone missing.”

“How . . . unfortunate.”

(He knows when a hunt is on. The way his eyes glint and his almost wolfish smile widens. He’s eager. You faintly wonder how long since he’s had a proper pack to hunt with.)

Heisenberg leans ever so closer forward never breaking eye contact. “So, little pup. What are your plans for this weekend?”

XxxXxxX

One of the worst things about being a werewolf is the continuous need to remember where your spare set of clothes is. Yes, you and Heisenberg can return to the village like a band of nudist hippies but considering the utter lack of attraction on both ends and the shear embarrassment the two of you can avoid, well, it practically a no brainer.

You made sure to memorize the path to the two duffel bags a few kilometers east of the cabin Tyne told you about. Packed with weather appropriate clothes, snacks, water, and other supplies you’re certain that they will come in handy after the hunt.

(At first, Heisenberg thought it was overkill, yet you reminded him of how your kind typically is famished after a transformation if you don’t eat in your human form. You doubt the days after nursing a tumultuous stomach after devouring an unsuspecting deer will be worth it regardless. Especially since you’re going through this because of Omor.

It’s strange to think but eating a whole deer raw in your full-wolf form doesn’t translate over well and your people learned that human food directly after helps with digestion.)

The air held a chill and the wind coated your skin with a layer of rime. Trees, several feet across, stood proud and strong, had slender, spidery fingers reaching across the canopy. Detritus littered the ground in soft hills blanketed in a thin coating of sleet. It’s not quite winter, not yet. The seasons are on the edge of toppling over like an ill-balanced scale. Your lungs grew brittle as you sucked in a breath.

A thin sliver of the moon is only visible, on the cusp of a crescent. Stars occasionally peaked through the dark clouds of the black sky but most they were shrouded as if they were already mourning what was to come.

It was the perfect night of a hunt and you can’t wait for blood.

Since your escape from your pack, a proper transformation wasn’t in the cards as you stuck close to civilization to hide behind countless faces. Sure, there were half-shifts, where you bared your fangs and claws to unsuspecting nuisances to scare them away. But a full-shift . . . oh how your body is singing for it.

First comes the heat. Almost unbearable, to the point of pain. As if you suddenly came down with a fever in a matter of seconds. Your breath becomes ragged, shallow as you struggle for air as space around grows steadily hotter and hotter. Tendrils of steam curls around your figure, your smoldering body and the chill colliding. Your skin burns and burns and burns until there’s a sharp rip.

Next comes the pain. Your flesh breaks. Your muscles tear. Your skeleton shatters as it realigns to meet you desired form. Cracks, pops, and snaps fill the forest music. And soon your gasps and groans mingle with it, no longer possible to keep in. Somewhere in the distance you hear Heisenberg yelp accompanied by a loud sickening break—you can guess it was his facial bones jutting out.

Then the screaming. Not literally. At least not with you and Heisenberg. Some of your past packmates would scream as they transform. But this isn’t it. The scream is the only way you can describe the overflow of sensory stimuli entering your brain—the sights, the sounds, the smells. Everything is so loud when you fully change—a cacophony, a crescendo, utter chaos floods your body. It’s all too much.

And finally, the stillness. The heat, the pain, the screaming just stops. In a matter of seconds, it all ends. Your new form steps from where you stood, paws sinking into the forest floor, claws carving into the dirt. You are finally free.

A low grumble behind you makes you turn and you see Heisenberg emerge from the tree line. Half hunched but standing close to twice his normal size, his black fur is speckled with grey. His muzzle and face nearly white from this lighting. His body is long, more similar to a humanoid yet with a distinctive otherness that you can’t place. Strong digitigrade legs and humanoid arms capable of either walking or crawling, there are several scars crisscrossing his limbs from his years. Triangular ears pointed upward, long tail relaxed, he licks his jaws exposing long canines still perfectly white like in his human form. Piercing dark grey eyes take you in as well.

(His gaze travels down to your arms, legs, and torse, charting the deep gashes along your fur. Claw marks. Bite marks. Even bullet or blade wounds. For a moment his ears pin back as his eyes land on your muzzle where the scar typically across your face is deepened in this form, and a particularly nasty one on your shoulder in the distinctive dental arcade of your kind. Your pack wasn’t kind the way he is.)

Without a word you both take off in the direction of the cabin on all fours. Twigs and fallen branches barely have time to snap as you sprint, faster than a racing stallion. The breeze coursing through your fur is as if a deity is carting their fingers along the planes of your body.

You’ve never felt freer in that moment. The sliver of the moon over head, the forest singing in the wind, and Heisenberg right beside you, matching your pace.

But you have a mission to do.

Soon the two of you came upon a flickering light in the distance—yellows and oranges painting the trees. The sweet smoke of a campfire filled your senses—and alcohol, whiskey and bourbon, maybe some vodka. Laughter also bounced off the trucks of the trees, deep and slurred.

It was them. You slowed and Heisenberg followed your leave. Your plan was simple. Flank the men. Separate out Omor away from the rest and Heisenberg distract the others—maiming, but not killing and no turning. He seemed pleased with the plan, anticipating their screams and wails was enough for the other werewolf. Omor was yours and yours alone.

(When Heisenberg asked why him, you simply said one didn’t have to be a monster to be monstrous. He seemed to understand, eyes going hard when the pieces clicked in his mind. Heisenberg replied with, “I hope Tyne makes us the best fucking lamb after this.”)

You keep low to the ground, stalking to the edge of the clearing. Not a sound escaped from under your paw steps.

There were four men all sitting around a campfire. Bottles of liquor and discarded guns laid scattered around them. A few yards away a small one-story log cabin stood dark against the backdrop of the woods. . .

[End]

XxxXxxX

Yeah, so that’s about it that I had written before I began to simp for Donna hard and the game came out. Of course, no Alcina and Reader interaction from what I’ve written because I didn’t get that far.

Obviously, canon lore and this don’t align like it should and the Reader’s personality has been shifted slightly (more one-shot like) as well as Heisenberg’s characterization and non-werewolf-dom (though they’re still companions in other aspects, much to Alcina’s chagrin in the actual story).

Tyne’s story line is still the same, but her personality has shifted as well (less timid, more calculated now) because I plan on her becoming involved with one of the Dimitrescu Daughters once her husband is out of the picture and her get the love and care she deserves. Her and the Reader actually do become friends.

This will also be connected to my Donna x Reader story, same universe. Idk when this will actually be written, I have so much to do.

I hope you all liked it, despite it being unfinished.

Stay safe and healthy y’all!

#lucidmagic #ludicmagic writes #my fic #my fanfiction #alcina dimitriscu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x female reader #re8 #phytoverse #re8 alcina dimitrescu #phyto's guide #resident evil village

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